#one that smells of leather. smoke. and him

[reveriebae]

Unveiled temptation

pairing(s) : Song Mingi x reader

word count : 5731

summary : You swore you’d never meet an online friend in person—until Mingi. One secret visit to his performance, one photo sent without a word, and now he’s found you. And tonight, he’s going to ruin you.

genre : smut

warning(s) : dominance, obsession, mild possessiveness, public teasing, and explicit language. Expect manhandling, desperate pacing, and overwhelming pleasure. Let me know if I missed anything!

A/N : this fic is my favorite one this far. I hope you guys like it🥺🫶

Minors do not interact, 21+ only!!

🪐smut under the cut 🪐

You had always been careful. Always drawn lines you refused to cross.

The internet was a playground, a place to connect, but it was never supposed to be real. You had rules—clear, solid ones that kept you safe. No meeting people you knew online. No getting too attached. No blurring the lines between fantasy and reality.

And yet…

Mingi.

It started with a simple follow. Then the occasional like on your posts. Then came the conversations—long, winding ones that stretched across midnight and bled into early mornings. His words were addictive, pulling you in deeper than you should’ve allowed. He was confident, but never pushy. Smooth, but not rehearsed. He made you laugh, made your stomach flutter with the way he spoke so easily, so casually, yet always with just enough bite to make you wonder if there was more behind his words.

And there was.

You knew it when he sent you a video of him playing guitar late one night.

"I play here every Saturday," he had texted once, sending you a picture of a dimly lit stage. "You should come watch me sometime."

Your answer had been immediate. "I don’t meet people from online."

His reply had come just as fast. "One day, you will."

It sent a shiver down your spine, the kind that came not from fear, but from the way your pulse picked up at the thought.

And now, here you were.

Breaking your own rule.

The bar was warm, filled with the hum of conversation and the deep strum of a bass vibrating through the air. Dim lights bathed the wooden floors in a soft glow, casting long shadows against the walls. The scent of alcohol and faint traces of cigarette smoke lingered, mixing with something earthy and familiar—something that smelled like leather and musk.

Your eyes flickered to the stage.

And there he was.

Mingi.

You had seen him in photos, watched his videos, but nothing compared to seeing him in person. He was taller than you had imagined, broader. The loose fit of his black tee did nothing to hide the way it stretched over his shoulders, his sleeves pushed up just enough to reveal the veins trailing down his forearms.

But it was his presence that stole your breath.

He wasn’t just playing. He was feeling the music. Fingers dancing over the guitar strings with practiced ease, head tilted slightly as if he were lost in the rhythm. His lips parted, brows furrowing slightly in concentration, his body moving with every note. He wasn’t just good—he was mesmerizing.

Your grip tightened on your phone.

You shouldn’t.

You really shouldn’t.

But you did.

Lifting the device, you snapped a picture of him mid-performance.

His fingers curled around the neck of the guitar, his head tilted back slightly, a sheen of sweat on his jawline catching the light. He looked unreal.

Your heart pounded as you typed out the message.

"You look good up there, rockstar."

You hit send before you could overthink it.

And then, you waited.

The song ended. The bar erupted into cheers and applause. You watched as Mingi pulled out his phone, his sharp gaze dropping to the screen. His thumb hovered over the message.

Then, his head lifted.

And he looked directly at you.

Your stomach dropped.

You knew the moment he recognized you.

His eyes darkened, his lips pressing into a firm line as he shoved his phone into his pocket without replying.

And then he moved.

Fast.

Your breath hitched as he pushed through the crowd, weaving between bodies with laser focus. People tried to stop him, patting his shoulder, talking to him, but he ignored them all.

You panicked.

Your heart hammered as you scrambled to stand, but it was too late.

Mingi was in front of you.

Tall. Intimidating. Gorgeous.

He didn’t say anything at first, just looked at you. Long and hard. As if he were seeing right through you, as if every conversation, every teasing text, every moment you had shared online had been leading to this very second.

“You just had to break your own rule, huh?”

His voice was deeper in person. It sent a shiver down your spine, something dangerous curling in your stomach.

“I—”

“Come with me.”

It wasn’t a request.

Before you could process what was happening, his fingers wrapped around your wrist, warm and firm. He didn’t give you a chance to argue, guiding you through the bar with a grip that wasn’t rough, but commanding.

You should’ve pulled away. You should’ve protested.

But you didn’t.

Because deep down, you had wanted this.

The drive to his apartment was silent, tension so thick it could be cut with a knife. Mingi’s hands gripped the steering wheel tightly, his jaw clenched. You stole glances at him, at the way his fingers tapped against the leather, at the way his throat bobbed when he swallowed hard.

He was holding back.

And you weren’t sure if you wanted him to.

When he finally pulled into the parking lot, neither of you moved. The air inside the car was heavy, thick with anticipation.

Then, Mingi exhaled slowly and turned to you.

“You’re really here.” His voice was quieter now, almost disbelieving. His eyes dragged over your features, slow and deliberate, memorizing you in person.

You swallowed. “Yeah.”

Silence stretched between you.

Then, something in him snapped.

In an instant, he was on you.

His lips crashed against yours—hot, demanding, desperate.

You barely had time to gasp before he was kissing you deeper, tongue sliding against yours with a hunger that made your head spin. His hands gripped your waist, pulling you onto his lap, and you melted against him, fingers tangling in his hair.

“You have no idea,” he growled against your lips, “how long I’ve wanted this.”

His fingers dug into your skin, possessive, needy.

You whimpered.

And then, he devoured you whole.

The heat of his body seeped into yours, his large hands gripping your waist as you straddled him in the dimly lit car. His lips moved against yours with raw hunger, as if he had been holding back for far too long. Every brush of his tongue, every nip of his teeth sent a delicious shiver down your spine.

Mingi was possessive.

Not just in the way he kissed you, but in the way he touched you—like he was claiming you.

His hands roamed over your thighs, gripping the flesh beneath your dress, kneading, teasing. His breath was hot against your mouth when he pulled back, his gaze dark and unreadable.

“I should take you inside,” he muttered, his voice rough, strained.

You nodded, swallowing hard, but didn’t move.

Neither did he.

You could feel the hard press of his length beneath you, the way his fingers flexed against your hips, holding himself back.

“Mingi…” you breathed, your hands still fisted in his shirt.

He exhaled sharply, a muscle in his jaw ticking. “If you say my name like that again, I might just take you right here.”

Your breath hitched.

The idea of him not waiting, of him losing control right here in the car, sent heat pooling low in your stomach.

But then he groaned, tilting his head back against the seat. “No. Not like this. Not in a damn car.”

Before you could say anything, he tightened his grip on your waist, lifting you effortlessly off his lap. Your legs wobbled when your feet hit the ground, but he was already out of the car, grabbing your wrist again.

The walk to his apartment was a blur.

Your heart hammered against your ribs as he led you down the hallway, his long strides quick and purposeful. He was tense—like he was forcing himself to keep a leash on his desire.

And the moment the door shut behind you, that leash snapped.

You barely had time to take in the dimly lit apartment before you were pinned against the wall.

Mingi’s hands were on you in an instant—gripping your hips, your waist, sliding up to your throat. His chest pressed against yours, his breath heavy, ragged.

“Do you have any idea,” he murmured, voice dangerously low, “how long I’ve wanted to get my hands on you?”

Your breath came out in a shaky gasp. “Then do it.”

His pupils dilated. His lips parted.

And then, he did.

His mouth was on yours again, but this time, it was different.

Slower. Deeper.

He wasn’t rushing anymore. He was savoring.

The kiss was a drug, intoxicating and thorough. His tongue teased, exploring you with a patience that made you ache. He pulled away just enough to nip at your lower lip, smirking when you whimpered.

“You taste just as sweet as I imagined,” he muttered, voice husky.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging slightly, and he let out a low groan.

“You like teasing me?” he mused, pressing his thigh between your legs, applying just enough pressure to make you shudder.

You bit your lip, trying not to moan, but he noticed.

“Oh, baby,” he breathed, amusement laced in his tone. “You need me to ruin you, don’t you?”

Your body burned at his words, the sheer dominance in his voice making you tremble.

Mingi leaned in, his lips ghosting over the shell of your ear.

“Then let me.”

And that was all the warning you got before he lifted you into his arms and carried you to his bedroom.

Mingi’s bedroom was dimly lit, the warm glow of a single bedside lamp casting long shadows across the space. The moment he set you down, you barely had time to register your surroundings before he was on you again.

His hands found your waist, fingers digging in just enough to make you feel small under his touch. His lips hovered over yours, teasing—so close, yet refusing to give in completely.

You whimpered, tilting your head up, trying to close the distance.

He smirked.

"That desperate already?" His voice was a low drawl, dripping with amusement.

Your cheeks burned, but you refused to back down. "You're the one who dragged me here."

Mingi hummed, tilting his head slightly. His silver chain glinted under the low light, drawing your attention to the sharp cut of his collarbone. You swallowed hard, resisting the urge to reach out and run your fingers along it.

But he saw where your eyes landed.

And he used it against you.

His fingers reached up, wrapping around the cool metal of his necklace, tugging it slightly as he let out a thoughtful hum. "You like this?" he mused, rolling the chain between his fingers before letting it dangle loose again.

Your throat went dry. "I—"

He didn’t let you answer.

Instead, he leaned in until his lips brushed against your ear. His breath was warm, teasing. "Say it," he murmured. "Say you like it, baby."

Your pulse pounded. You hated how easily he could unravel you with just a few words.

"... I like it," you admitted softly.

Mingi chuckled, the deep sound vibrating against your skin. "Yeah? You like my silver chain?"

His hand suddenly grabbed yours, guiding it up until your fingers wrapped around it. The cool metal pressed against your palm, stark against the warmth of his skin.

"Then hold onto it," he whispered. "While I ruin you."

Your breath hitched.

Before you could process what was happening, his lips crashed into yours again—but this time, it was hungry. Deep. Possessive.

You gasped against his mouth, and he took advantage of it, his tongue slipping past your lips, claiming you without hesitation. The kiss was messy, all heat and need, his hands roaming down your back before gripping your ass, pulling you flush against him.

The bulge in his jeans pressed into your core, making you whimper.

He growled, nipping at your bottom lip. "So fucking soft," he muttered, dragging his hands up your body. His thumbs brushed over your hardened nipples through the fabric of your dress, and you shuddered.

Mingi smirked against your mouth. "That sensitive, baby?"

You bit your lip, trying to hold back a whine, but he caught your chin between his fingers. His eyes darkened.

"Don't you dare hold back on me."

Your heart stuttered.

Mingi was playing with you. Teasing you, drawing it out just to watch you fall apart. And it was working.

His hand moved to the straps of your dress, slowly sliding one down your shoulder. Then the other.

The fabric pooled at your waist, exposing your bare chest to the cool air.

Mingi inhaled sharply, his gaze devouring you.

"Fuck," he muttered, almost to himself. "You're even prettier than I imagined."

His fingers trailed down, ghosting over your nipple—but not touching. Not yet. Just enough to make you squirm.

You whined softly, arching into him, and that was exactly what he wanted.

His lips curled into a smirk.

"Needy little thing," he murmured. "I should make you beg for it, shouldn’t I?"

Your eyes widened. "Mingi—"

His thumb finally brushed over your nipple, rolling it between his fingers.

You gasped.

He chuckled darkly. "I’ll take my time, baby. Don’t worry."

His mouth lowered, lips hovering just above your skin. You could feel his breath, so close, but he still didn’t touch.

The anticipation was torture.

"Mingi, please—"

His teeth grazed your nipple, just barely, and your whole body jolted.

He groaned. "Shit. You're so fucking sensitive."

Your fingers tightened around his silver chain, and he felt it.

His head snapped up, eyes burning into yours.

"You like that, huh?" His voice was darker now, rougher.

Your breath came out shaky. "Y-Yeah."

Mingi exhaled sharply, his restraint hanging by a thread. "Then let me see how much you can take."

And with that, his mouth latched onto your nipple, sucking hard.

A strangled moan left your lips, your back arching as heat shot straight to your core.

Mingi growled against your skin, his hands gripping your thighs, pressing you down onto his lap where his cock was already hard against you.

Your fingers pulled on his chain, making the silver dig into his throat.

Mingi groaned.

"Oh, baby," he rasped. "You keep doing that, and I’m not gonna last long."

But that was a lie.

Because Mingi wasn’t anywhere close to being finished with you.

Mingi's grip on your thighs tightened as he continued to devour your skin, his mouth moving from your nipple to the soft expanse of your chest. He was taking his time, teasing you, making sure you felt every brush of his lips, every graze of his teeth.

But it wasn’t enough.

Not for him. Not for you.

The way your fingers clenched around his silver chain sent a shudder down his spine, a deep groan escaping his lips. He loved it—loved the way you pulled at it, the way you held onto him like you needed him to keep you steady.

“You like playing with my chain, baby?” he murmured, his voice thick with desire.

You nodded, your breath shaky. “Yeah…”

Mingi smirked, his eyes burning into yours. “Then keep holding onto it. I wanna feel you pull when you can’t take it anymore.”

Before you could process his words, his teeth sank into the soft skin of your breast, just enough to make you gasp.

The sting melted into pleasure as he soothed the bite with his tongue, lapping over the mark he’d just left.

Your body arched into him, desperate for more, but he wasn’t done teasing you yet.

His hands trailed down, gripping your thighs before suddenly flipping you onto your stomach.

You barely had time to react before he was behind you, pressing you into the mattress. His chest was hot against your back, his breath fanning over the shell of your ear.

“Look at you,” he murmured, his hands sliding down your sides. “So eager… so fucking desperate for me.”

Your cheeks burned at his words, but you couldn’t deny it.

You needed him.

Mingi knew it too.

His fingers trailed lower, just barely brushing over the damp fabric between your legs. You jolted, a choked whimper slipping past your lips.

He chuckled darkly. “You’re already soaked, baby?”

You bit your lip, trying not to beg, but Mingi wasn’t having it.

His free hand wrapped around his chain, pulling it taut against your throat as he leaned in close. “Use your words, sweetheart,” he murmured, his lips grazing your ear. “Tell me how bad you want it.”

Your fingers tightened around the cool metal, your body trembling beneath him.

“Mingi… please.”

His grip on the chain loosened just enough to let you breathe, but his fingers slipped beneath your underwear, dragging over your soaked folds.

He groaned. “Fuck. You’re dripping for me.”

A broken moan escaped you as he slid one long finger inside, slowly, teasing you, curling just enough to make your stomach tighten.

Your grip on his necklace tightened.

Mingi smirked.

“Oh, baby,” he purred, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. “We’re just getting started.”

Mingi’s breath was hot against your skin as his fingers moved achingly slow between your legs, dragging through your wetness just to tease you. His touch was barely there, like he wanted to see you squirm before he gave you what you wanted.

And you were squirming.

Your hips rocked against his hand, silently begging for more, but he only chuckled.

“So desperate, baby.” His voice was deep, smug. “I barely touched you, and you’re already this wet?”

Your cheeks burned, but you didn’t deny it. You couldn’t.

Because he was right.

The way he was controlling you, the way he was dragging this out, made your body pulse with need.

He brought his lips to your ear, his silver chain brushing against your skin as he whispered, “You like being teased, don’t you?”

You whimpered. “Mingi, please—”

His fingers pushed in deeper, curling inside you just enough to make your breath hitch.

“Fuck,” he groaned. “So fucking tight.”

You gasped, your grip on his necklace tightening, making the cool metal press into his throat.

Mingi felt it.

And it made him lose control.

His other hand yanked your hips up, pressing your ass against his clothed cock. You could feel how hard he was—throbbing against you, barely held back by the fabric of his jeans.

“Feel that, baby?” He grinded against you, his breath shaky. “That’s what you do to me.”

Your body shuddered at the sensation. The thick length of him pressing against your soaked heat was torture, but he still wasn’t giving you what you needed.

And he knew it.

Mingi chuckled darkly, pressing a kiss to your shoulder as his fingers continued to fuck you slowly. “You’re so cute when you beg.”

His lips trailed down your spine, his pace never changing, just keeping you on the edge, making you ache for more.

Then, suddenly—his fingers were gone.

A desperate whimper slipped past your lips as you turned your head, ready to protest, but the words died on your tongue when you felt his hands on his belt.

The sound of metal clinking filled the room.

Mingi smirked. “You’re gonna take all of me, right, baby?”

Your heart stopped.

Then raced.

You swallowed hard, nodding.

Mingi chuckled, reaching for his silver chain again, rolling it between his fingers before grabbing your wrist and wrapping it around your palm.

"Hold onto it," he murmured. "And don't let go until I'm done with you."

And then—

He pushed in.

The stretch was intense—a delicious, burning sensation that had your lips parting in a silent gasp. Mingi groaned low in his throat, feeling how tight you were around him as he buried himself inside you, inch by inch.

"Shit," he muttered, his fingers gripping your hips with a bruising force. "You feel that, baby?"

Your nails dug into his silver chain, the cool metal pressed against your burning skin as you gasped, trying to adjust to the sheer size of him.

"Mingi—"

He pulled out just enough before slamming back in, making you cry out.

He grinned.

"That's it," he murmured, rolling his hips deeper, making sure you felt every inch. "Let me hear you."

His pace was slow, almost torturous, dragging out every sensation, every pulse of pleasure until you were whimpering beneath him. He loved it—loved how your body clenched around him, loved how you held onto his chain like it was the only thing keeping you grounded.

"You're so fucking tight," he groaned, his fingers trailing up your spine. "Taking me so well, baby."

You tried to move your hips, desperate for more, but his hands held you down.

"Uh-uh," he clicked his tongue, amusement lacing his voice. "You don’t get to rush this."

He leaned down, his body pressing against yours, his silver chain cool against your heated skin. His lips brushed against your ear, sending shivers down your spine.

"I'm gonna fuck you slow," he whispered, thrusting deep. "Until you're begging for me to ruin you."

Your breath hitched.

Mingi chuckled darkly. "And baby?"

His pace suddenly snapped.

"You will beg."

The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room as he fucked you harder, the slow tease replaced with deep, merciless thrusts that had you gasping for air.

Your fingers clenched around his chain tightly, the metal digging into his throat, making his groans deeper, rougher.

"Fuck," he growled, his hips snapping forward. "You love this, don’t you?"

You couldn’t even speak—all you could do was moan, your body completely at his mercy.

Mingi grabbed your chin, turning your head so his lips brushed against yours. "Say it," he demanded, his eyes dark with lust. "Tell me you love it."

Your voice was shaky, breathless. "I—I love it."

Mingi groaned, his lips crashing against yours in a bruising kiss as he drove into you harder, his silver chain dangling between you, cool against your sweat-slicked skin.

"You better," he muttered against your lips. "Because I'm not stopping until you’re ruined."

Mingi’s hand was still gripping your chin, forcing you to look back at him as he thrust deep inside you, each stroke hitting the spot that had your toes curling. His silver chain dangled in front of your lips, glinting under the dim lights of his apartment, teasing you like he knew how much it turned you on.

“You keep pulling on it,” he murmured, voice dark, teasing. “You like my chain that much, baby?”

You whimpered, unable to form a proper response with the way he was fucking you senseless.

Mingi’s grip tightened. “Open your mouth.”

Your lips parted without hesitation, your breath shaky.

A slow smirk spread across his face. He took the chain between his fingers and dragged the cool metal across your tongue, making you taste the mix of sweat and heat from where it had been pressed against his skin.

“Good girl,” he murmured, his thrusts never faltering. “Suck on it.”

Your eyes rolled back as you closed your lips around the chain, the taste of metal and him flooding your senses while he slammed into you from behind.

Mingi groaned, his head falling back. “Fuck, you’re so filthy for me.”

His hand slid lower, wrapping around your throat, tightening just enough to make your breath hitch. His grip wasn’t harsh, just enough to make you feel lightheaded—drunk off him, off the way he was completely owning you.

“You like being used like this?” he rasped, his pace merciless. “Being my little toy to fuck however I want?”

The way your body clenched around him told him everything he needed to know.

Mingi growled. “God, you’re so fucking dirty.”

One of his hands slid down, slipping between your legs, rubbing you in tight circles that had your entire body trembling.

“You gonna cum for me, baby?” he taunted, his voice dripping with pure sin. “Gonna cum while sucking on my chain like a filthy little thing?”

Your whimpers turned into cries, the mix of his cock, his hand, his chain pushing you right to the edge.

Mingi felt it.

“Fuck—do it,” he groaned, his hand tightening around your throat. “Cum for me, baby. Make a mess all over my cock.”

And with one final snap of his hips—

You shattered.

Your entire body convulsed, your vision going white as waves of pleasure crashed over you. Mingi cursed, feeling you clench so tight around him, and before he could even pull out, he was right behind you, spilling inside you with a deep, guttural groan.

For a moment, all you could hear was heavy breathing, the sound of your heartbeat pounding in your ears.

Mingi leaned over you, pressing a slow, possessive kiss to your shoulder before whispering,

“Next time, baby… you’re gonna swallow something else.”

Mingi barely gave you time to recover. Your body was still trembling, your breath uneven, your skin slick with sweat—but he wasn’t done with you. Not even close.

He pulled out slowly, watching with dark, hooded eyes as his cum dripped out of you, coating your thighs.

His tongue clicked. “Look at that,” he murmured, dragging his fingers through the mess he made. “You’re leaking all over yourself, baby.”

You whimpered, your body over-sensitive, but Mingi didn’t care.

He brought his fingers to your lips.

“Clean it up.”

Your breath hitched as you stared at him, dazed, but when his brows lifted in expectation, you obeyed—your lips parting, your tongue flicking out to lick his fingers clean.

Mingi groaned, his cock already hard again.

"Fuck, you’re so filthy," he muttered, his silver chain swinging as he grabbed your jaw, forcing you to look at him.

"You want more?" he taunted, pressing his cock against your entrance, rubbing it against your aching heat. "You think you can handle another round?"

You nodded quickly, desperate.

But Mingi wasn’t convinced.

“Beg for it.”

Your breath shuddered.

"Mingi… please," you whimpered, shifting your hips to try and push against him. "I need it. I need you."

His smirk was ruthless.

"That’s my girl," he murmured, and before you could brace yourself—

He slammed into you.

A sharp cry left your lips as he bottomed out in one thrust, stretching you all over again, but this time—there was no slow build-up.

No teasing.

Just pure, raw, animalistic fucking.

Mingi's hands gripped your hips, pulling you back to meet his thrusts as he fucked into you with no restraint. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, the headboard banging against the wall with each brutal stroke.

His silver chain dangled over your face, brushing against your parted lips.

"You take me so fucking well," he gritted out, watching how your body shuddered beneath him. "You're just made for me, aren’t you?"

Your moans were incoherent, your body pushed past its limits, but you didn’t care.

You wanted more.

Mingi’s hand snaked around your throat, forcing you to arch your back as he pounded into you harder, his cock hitting deep, bruising places that had you screaming.

"You wanna be ruined, baby?" he growled. "Then take it. Take every fucking inch."

Tears pricked your eyes, the pleasure too much, too overwhelming, and yet—you still wanted more.

"God, you’re squeezing me so fucking tight," Mingi groaned, his voice strained. "Gonna cum again, huh?"

His fingers slid down to your swollen clit, rubbing you relentlessly.

"Cum for me," he ordered. "Scream my fucking name when you do."

Your vision blurred, your body seizing up as you came violently, your entire form shaking beneath him.

Mingi followed right after, groaning deep in his throat as he filled you up again, making sure you felt every hot drop.

And just when you thought he was finally done—

He smirked.

"Hope you’re not tired yet, baby," he murmured. "Because I’m still not finished with you."

Mingi barely gave you time to breathe. Your body was still twitching, completely spent from the last orgasm, but he wasn’t finished.

Not until you were soaked.

Not until you were dripping down your thighs.

"You’re shaking, baby," he teased, dragging his fingers down your spine as you collapsed against the mattress, your legs weak, your body wrecked.

But that didn’t stop him.

He grabbed you by the hips and flipped you onto your back, his silver chain dangling over your face as he leaned in close.

"You got one more for me?" he murmured, voice deep, low, dripping with sinful promise.

Your eyes fluttered open, dazed, lips trembling. "Mingi—"

He smirked, his fingers trailing lower, parting your thighs as he spread you wide open for him.

"Yeah," he murmured, watching you, eyes filled with pure lust. "You do."

And then—

His mouth was on you.

A loud, shattered moan tore from your lips as Mingi's tongue flicked over your swollen clit, the sensation sending a violent shudder through your body.

But he didn’t stop there.

No, he was hungry.

Desperate.

His tongue was relentless, licking, sucking, his lips wrapping around your clit as two thick fingers slid into your dripping entrance.

"Fuck—Mingi!" you gasped, your hands fisting the sheets, your legs trembling as he pumped his fingers into you, stretching you open all over again.

His pace was brutal—each thrust of his fingers curling against that sweet, devastating spot deep inside you.

You screamed.

Mingi groaned against you, the vibration sending shockwaves through your core. His silver chain brushed against your inner thigh, cool against your burning hot skin, adding to the overwhelming sensation.

"You gonna cum again?" he murmured, his voice filthy, his fingers slamming into you even harder. "Gonna make a mess for me, baby?"

Your entire body locked up, the pressure building so intensely that you could barely breathe.

Mingi chuckled darkly, sensing it.

He pulled away for just a second, his fingers still moving ruthlessly as his eyes locked onto yours.

"Cum for me," he demanded, his voice like pure sin. "Fucking soak my fingers."

And then—

You snapped.

Your back arched off the bed, a broken scream ripping from your throat as hot liquid gushed from your body, completely drenching his hand, his wrist, the sheets below you.

Mingi groaned, watching it happen, watching the way you squirted uncontrollably, your body convulsing beneath him.

"Fuck, baby," he rasped, his fingers still working you, dragging out every last drop until you were begging for mercy.

But he just grinned.

"You’re so fucking dirty," he murmured, bringing his soaked fingers to his lips, licking them clean. "And I love it."

Your entire body shuddered, completely wrecked, but Mingi wasn’t done.

He climbed over you, his cock achingly hard again, pressing against your soaked, sensitive heat.

"You think you can handle one more?" he murmured, his silver chain dangling over your lips, his eyes dark, hungry.

Your breath was still shaky, but you nodded.

Mingi smirked.

"Good."

Your body was wrecked. Your thighs trembled, your breath came in ragged pants, and the sheets beneath you were completely soaked from what Mingi had done to you.

But he wasn’t done.

Not yet.

Not until you were crying for him.

Mingi sat back, his silver chain glistening with sweat as he ran his tongue across his lips, watching you struggle to catch your breath. His cock was hard and throbbing, still slick from your release, and the way his eyes darkened sent a shiver through your already-sensitive body.

"You did so well for me, baby," he murmured, his voice low and dangerous, the kind of voice that made you drip even when you were spent.

"But," he continued, gripping his cock and dragging the thick tip through your soaked folds, teasing you until you whimpered, "I’m not done until I’ve ruined you completely."

And before you could even brace yourself—

Mingi slammed into you.

Your scream echoed through the room as he bottomed out in one brutal thrust, stretching you all over again. Your walls were already achingly sensitive, but Mingi didn't care.

He wanted more.

His hands gripped your thighs, pushing your legs back until your knees nearly touched your chest, folding you in half as he fucked you deep.

"Look at you," he groaned, his silver chain dangling over your face, brushing against your lips. "So fucking wet for me. You love being used like this, don’t you?"

Your answer was a broken whimper, your body already on fire.

Mingi’s grip tightened, his pace brutal, unforgiving, his cock hitting spots so deep it made your vision blur.

"You’re gonna take every inch," he growled, his voice pure dominance. "Gonna cum on my cock one more time before I fill you up, baby."

Your mind shattered.

Mingi’s hands slid down, one wrapping around your throat while the other slipped between your legs, his fingers rubbing tight, ruthless circles on your swollen clit.

"Come on, baby," he taunted, his silver chain brushing against your skin as he pounded into you. "I want to feel you lose control. I want you to scream my name."

You were so close.

Your body tensed, your breath caught—

Mingi smirked.

"Cum for me, baby. Soak my cock."

And then—

You snapped.

Your body convulsed, pleasure exploding through you as your orgasm hit you with a force so strong you screamed his name, your walls clenching, trembling, your entire body writhing beneath him.

Mingi groaned loudly, feeling you squeeze around him, and before he could hold back, his grip on your hips tightened and he spilled deep inside you, filling you up with hot, thick cum.

His thrusts slowed, his breaths ragged, his silver chain swinging as he leaned down, pressing his forehead to yours.

"Fuck," he panted, his voice wrecked, his lips brushing against yours. "That was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen."

Your entire body shuddered, overwhelmed, wrecked, but completely satisfied.

Mingi smirked, pressing a slow, filthy kiss to your lips before whispering,

"Hope you weren’t planning to walk tomorrow, baby. Because you’re not leaving this bed."

[unconventional-lawnchair]

Over and Over Again

Remus Lupin x Muggle!Reader

Summary: The legend of soulmates and the myth of endless lives tied to one another permanently was once a myth you don't believe. Until you met Remus Lupin.

WC: 4k

CW: Angst no comfort- The reader and Remus's depiction crosses gender and species lines. Hogwarts Legacy reference. Animal death and blood- so much death-

The pub smelled of stale beer and cigarette smoke, the kind of scent that lingered in the wood and clung to the air, no matter how many windows were cracked open. The low hum of music played from an old jukebox in the corner, the neon glow of its lights flickering with age.

It was familiar, comforting in a way that only a Muggle pub on a Friday night could be.

You spun your drink in your hands, watching the ice swirl lazily in your glass as Lily Evans leaned against the table beside you. She looked radiant as always, her fiery red hair gleaming under the dim lights.

“I swear,” She promised for the fifth time. “You're going to love them. Just… be nice to Peter, and for the love of Merlin, don’t ask Sirius about his family.”

You frowned. “For the love of Merlin?”

Lily’s lip twitched.. “Ah- Just… an expression. The boys use it a lot.”

You raised an eyebrow but let it go. Lily had always been a little odd, but she was your odd, your best friend since childhood.

She had been gone for the last few years, tucked away in that mysterious boarding school she never let you visit. Every time she came back to visit, she seemed… different. Like she was carrying secrets she could never fully explain.

Tonight was the first time she was introducing you to her boyfriend- James- and his friends. You had spent years watching her fall out of the abusive cycle of friendship she harbored with Severus Snape- you almost felt bad for him. If only he'd grown up too.

You had, in equal turn, been berated with letters about the slimeball that was James Potter. Just to see her ink blots lighten and her words becoming more fond when it came to his name- you were excited to meet him.

You took another sip of your drink, then looked up as the door to the pub swung open.

A burst of laughter and energy filled the pub as a group of four young men stepped inside, shaking off the damp chill of the London evening.

You saw James first, instantly recognizing him from the photos Lily had shown you. He was all messy hair and glasses, grinning like he owned the world- but the way his gaze immediately sought out Lily made your heart warm.

Then there was Sirius Black, effortlessly handsome, carrying himself with the swagger of someone who knew he could have anyone he wanted, but still acted like he was above it all. His dark leather jacket and roguish smirk screamed trouble.

Beside him was Peter Pettigrew, shorter than the rest, with darting eyes and an almost nervous energy, like he was waiting for something to go wrong.

And then there was the fourth boy- no- man.

The second your eyes landed on him, it was like the entire world narrowed.

Remus Lupin.

He was quieter than the others, his posture a little more reserved. He wasn’t as flashy as James or Sirius but something was still there.

Something in the way he held himself- not quite shying away, but not fully stepping into the spotlight either. His soft sandy blonde hair was slightly tousled, as if he had run his hands through it too many times. His face was lean, cheekbones sharp beneath tanned skin, marred by faint scars that ran across his features. But it was his eyes that caught you.

Warm, golden-brown, and filled with something ancient, something tired, something achingly familiar. Your stomach flipped.

Lily’s voice jolted you from whatever spell had momentarily trapped you.

“Come on,” She squeaked, tugging you forward with a grin. “Let me introduce you.”

Your legs felt unsteady as you followed her through the crowded pub, weaving between groups of laughing strangers. The boys turned as you approached, James immediately scooping Lily into a hug and pressing a kiss to her temple. You barely registered it.

Your focus was on Remus, who was watching you with the strangest look you'd ever seen.

Somewhere between horror and intrigue.

Lily cleared her throat, oblivious to the strange, charged silence between you and Remus.

“Alright, boys,” she said, grinning. “This is her.”

James turned away from Lily just long enough to flash you a charming, lopsided smile. “The infamous childhood best friend!” He declared. “Blimey, I was starting to think you were just a legend.”

You let out a short laugh. “Well, I assure you, I’m very real.”

Sirius tilted his head, appraising you. “We’ll see about that,” he mused, then smirked. “The real question is- are you cool enough to be seen with us?”

“Oh, definitely not,” You deadpanned. “I’m a disgrace to all things cool.”

James barked out a laugh. “I like her!”

Lily rolled her eyes but was smiling.

Meanwhile, Remus hadn’t moved.

He was still looking at you, his expression unreadable. His eyes- those deep, golden eyes- seemed locked onto you, as if he was trying to piece something together, trying to solve something that had no answer.

You met his gaze.

“Remus.” He whispered and you muttered your own name back to him without a second thought. And he smiled, lifted his hand-

The moment your fingers brushed as you shook his hand- it happened.

A bolt of pure, electric familiarity shot through your body, rattling every bone in your frame. The pub melted away, the noise, the people, the dim glow of the jukebox- everything faded into a swirl of golden light and rushing wind.

The world around you vanished. The dim pub, the chatter, the clinking of glasses- all of it was swallowed by the sudden rush of something else. Somewhere in the distance, you could hear the rustling of leaves, the whisper of wind through tall golden grass. The scent of fresh earth, sun-warmed fields, and damp fur filled your senses.

And then, you were there…

You were small, swift, your body light as you darted between the tall stalks of wheat. A fox, red-furred and wild, your sharp nose twitching as you ran through the fields.

And behind you, paws pounding against the earth, was him.

A hound.

Lanky, golden-furred, and young, still growing into his paws. His ears flopped when he ran, tongue lolling as he chased after you, barking playfully.

He was supposed to hunt you. But instead, he chased you.

Every day, when his master wasn’t looking, he sneaked away from the farmhouse, bounding over the hills to find you. Together, you would race through the fields, rolling in the wildflowers, playing until the sun dipped below the trees.

Free, weightless. Soft fur against rough wheat and playfully snapping jaws. Then- Pain. Sharp, sudden pain.

A snapping sound- cold metal clamping down around your hind leg. A trap.

You yelped, twisting, trying to free yourself, but it was tight, unrelenting. The more you pulled, the more it bit into your flesh, blood staining the grass beneath you.

And he- your hound- panicked.

He barked wildly, circling you, nudging you with his nose. He tried to paw at the trap, but he was just a dog- he couldn’t undo his master’s cruel work.

You whimpered, eyes wide, pleading. He threw his head back and howled, loud and desperate, as if somehow, that would bring help.

And help did come. But not the kind he wanted. The farmer arrived. Gun in hand.

The hound whimpered, barking frantically, placing himself between you and his master. But he was a dog. And a dog’s loyalty belonged to its owner. Even when his heart was breaking.

The farmer raised his rifle.

A deafening bang-

Darkness.

The darkness faded, but you didn’t wake up in the pub.

Instead, you were staring at your own reflection in a gilded mirror.

A face- not quite your own, but one you knew belonged to you.

Your hair was woven into delicate braids, strands of pearls threaded through like drops of moonlight. A soft silk gown pooled around you, its fabric cool against your skin. The weight of a crown sat heavy atop your head, a reminder of your fate- one you had never chosen, one you had never wanted.

And behind you- fingers grazing your bare shoulder as they fastened a necklace-

Was her.

Your Lupin.

But not as you knew him.

A woman, dressed in modest, elegant gowns, a lady-in-waiting, her golden-brown eyes lowered in the practiced deference of a servant.

But she was not just a servant.

She was your dearest friend. She was your first love.

She was the one who walked with you through moonlit gardens, whispering stories of ancient myths. The one who pressed flowers into the pages of your books, so that when you opened them, they smelled like spring.

She was the one you could never have.

Not in the way you wanted. Not in the way that made your chest ache, that made your fingers tremble when they brushed against hers, that made your heart scream for a different fate.

Not in the way that had offended your betrothed.

Not in the way that would get you both killed.

You turned in your chair, reaching for her.

Her fingers lingered at the nape of your neck, hesitant, uncertain, as if she wanted to stay there forever- but knew she could not.

She met your gaze in the mirror when you looked back.

Golden-brown eyes, filled with longing and sorrow.

She knew, too.

She had always known.

You swallowed against the lump rising in your throat. The distant sound of shouting, the clang of metal, the burning of the city below- it was getting louder.

“…Do you ever wish we could leave?” You whispered.

Her breath caught. A hesitation.

“…Every day,” She admitted. And your heart broke for her. For yourself.

For the life that could never be.

The chaos below grew closer- the sound of swords clashing, boots pounding up the castle steps. They were coming.

There was no time. No future. No way out.

Your fingers lifted, brushing against her cheek. Soft. Warm. Alive.

She sucked in a sharp breath, her lips parting slightly, her eyes flickering with fear, with need, with desperation-

And then you kissed her.

Not a soft thing. Not a hesitant thing.

But something urgent, something burning, something filled with the desperation of two lovers who knew they were out of time.

A kiss of fury, of grief, of love too big to be contained in a world too small for it.

She pulled you closer, her fingers digging into the silk of your gown, holding you, clutching you, clinging to you like she could tether herself to this moment, to you-

Then-

The doors burst open.

The room filled with shouting, with the gleam of blades, with the iron grip of soldiers as they stormed forward, tearing you apart.

You screamed, struggling against them, fighting, kicking, clawing, biting-

But your fate had already been sealed.

You saw her, your Lupin, your love, your heart, struggling, screaming your name, reaching for you-

And then- A soldier’s blade pierced your chest.

Cold. Sharp.

The world lurched, twisted- And then-

Darkness.

London was a city of smoke and gold. It was filth and grandeur, a place where the rich dined beneath glittering chandeliers while the poor shivered in the streets below.

And in the middle of it all- between the gas lamps and cobblestone alleys, between the choking smog and the perfume of wealth- you ran.

Your boots hit the pavement with a quiet rhythm, quick and light, barely making a sound as you weaved through the bustling crowds of Westminster Market. Your coat was patched and thin, your gloves fingerless, your stomach empty.

But that didn’t matter.

Because in your pocket, you now held a gold pocket watch.

Your lips curled in triumph. It was a beautiful thing- heavy, shining, the kind that belonged to someone important. Someone who wouldn’t even miss it.

Or so you thought.

Because just as you turned the corner into a shadowed alley, a hand closed around your wrist. Your breath caught.

Your instincts screamed at you to run, to fight, to flee-

But then you looked up. And your world shifted.

Him.

A man, tall and fine-boned, wrapped in an elegant dark coat. His hair was soft brown, windswept, his golden-hazel eyes piercing in the dim light. He was young, maybe only a few years older than you, but there was something about him that felt older- as if he had lived a hundred years before this moment.

And despite catching you red-handed, his expression wasn’t one of anger. No.

It was curiosity.

Amusement, even.

His grip loosened, just slightly. “You’re quick,” He panted, voice smooth as silk, his accent refined.

“Not quick enough, but still. Impressive.”

You swallowed, heart pounding against your ribs. “Let go of me.”

“You stole from me,” He pointed out.

You smirked. “You can afford it.”

He actually laughed at that, low and warm, before slowly prying his pocket watch from your fingers. But he didn’t let go of you. Instead, he tilted his head, studying you, like he was trying to place you. Like he had seen you before.

“…What’s your name?” He asked, softer now.

You hesitated. Giving your name was dangerous in your line of work. But something about him- something familiar, something achingly familiar- made you whisper it anyway. His lips parted slightly, his grip on your wrist faltering.

And then- he whispered his own name.

A strange, unspoken recognition passed between you.

Like a secret. Like a memory half-forgotten.

Weeks Passed.

And somehow, against all reason, you kept finding him.

Or perhaps, he kept finding you. He was wealthy, but he was not cruel. A scholar, an artist, a man who saw the world in soft strokes of poetry and charcoal sketches.

And despite your differences- a boy from the slums and a gentleman of high society- you kept returning to him. Perhaps because he never treated you like a criminal.

He treated you like something else entirely. Something important.

Something he was afraid of losing.

One night, beneath the glow of gas lamps, you let him trace the lines of your face with careful fingers.

“You keep looking at me like you know me,” you murmured. His lips parted, breath shallow.

“…Maybe I do.”

And then, before either of you could think- You kissed him. The world tilted, time stretched thin between you, and for a moment, it felt like something had finally fallen into place.

Like this had happened before.

Like it had happened a thousand times before.

But fate, cruel as always, was waiting. Because London was not kind to men like you. It was not kind to pickpockets caught in the wrong place at the wrong time. It was not kind to a street thief who had stolen more than just coins and watches- who had stolen the heart of a man who should never have looked his way.

You never saw it coming.

One moment, you were running through the streets, laughing, alive- and the next, the constables had you by the collar, dragging you through the mud.

You never had the chance to say goodbye.

They didn’t let him see you before the sentencing. But he was there when they dragged you to the gallows.

And as the noose was slipped around your throat, you searched the crowd- desperate, desperate to find him.

And you did.

His face was pale, his hands clenched into fists, his golden-brown eyes filled with helpless horror. You had seen that look before.

The executioner read your crimes. You kept your eyes on Remus.

And in that final moment- As the platform dropped beneath your feet- As the world fell away- As you left him behind.

You thought you heard him scream.

Then, darkness.

Then- you were back home, in Feldcroft. The sun setting outside the small cottage, casting warm, golden light across the wooden floors. The air smelled of burning wood and herbs, a familiar scent- one that had lingered in your childhood.

And you?

You were at the table, a book in hand, curled up in your favorite chair. The world was quiet. Peaceful. But then-

Hands suddenly gripped your shoulders.

You gasped, nearly dropping your book- only to be met with a familiar grin, a familiar laugh, full of mischief and warmth.

“Sebastian!” You scolded, playfully swatting at him. “You scared me half to death!”

He only grinned wider, stepping back before tossing something small into your hands. A shrivelfig.

“For you,” he said with a wink. “It’ll make you stronger, you know.”

Before you could reply, another hand snatched it away.

“Absolutely not,” Solomon Sallow’s stern voice cut through the air. Your uncle gave Sebastian a look of pure warning, his eyes sharp with disapproval. “She doesn’t need you sneaking around with magic. She needs rest. A shrivel Fig cannot reverse a curse.”

Sebastian scoffed, his jaw tightening. “She needs more than just rest, Uncle. If we’d just-”

Your heart clenched. You had heard this argument a hundred times before.

Sebastian’s obsession with finding a cure.

Solomon’s desperate attempts to keep him away from dark magic.

And you- caught in the middle, growing weaker by the day.

A sudden wave of pain shot through you. You winced, gripping the table, your breath hitching. Immediately, Sebastian was at your side, one hand on your shoulder, concern darkening his features.

“What’s wrong?” He asked, voice urgent. “Are you alright?”

Solomon tensed, his gaze hardening. “Do you see what I mean, boy?”

Sebastian’s eyes flashed with anger. “I wouldn’t-”. But Solomon was already dragging him toward the door.

“Enough,” He snapped. “Outside. Now.”

Sebastian gritted his teeth but followed. The door slammed shut behind them, leaving the house in silence.

You exhaled shakily, closing your eyes.

And then- A presence. Someone still here. You opened your eyes-

And met his.

Remus. From Sebastian’s letters.

He was watching you from across the room, hesitation written in every tense line of his body. He hadn’t followed them outside. He had stayed.

Slowly, he stepped forward, then knelt down beside your chair. His golden-brown eyes, warm and steady, studied you, searching for something.

He reached out- then hesitated.

“You don’t have to pretend you’re alright,” He said softly.

The words unraveled you.

No one ever said it. No one ever acknowledged the truth- that you were dying. That it was okay. That you could be seen in the smallest of moments and the shortest of times- without needing to be fixed.

Sebastian fought against it.

Solomon ignored it.

But he saw it.

And somehow, that made it real. You swallowed hard. “I’m not pretending.”

He gave you a look, one that said he didn’t believe you.

Then, without another word- he sat beside you. And that was all.

At first, he was just a friend.

Sebastian had introduced him- a quiet but sharp-witted student, someone with more patience than most.

Someone who- unlike Sebastian- believed that saving you meant more than just breaking every rule. And yet, despite his caution, he couldn’t seem to stay away.

He would sit with you during your worst days, reading aloud from books when you were too weak to lift them yourself.

He would walk with you through Feldcroft, letting you lean against him when the world became too much.

And when Sebastian grew more reckless, diving further into dark magic, forbidden spells, anything that might bring you back from the brink-

Remus fought to hold him back.

But it wasn’t enough. Sebastian went too far. The darkness took root.

And even when he destroyed Solomon, even when he sacrificed everything- It still wasn’t enough.

But for Remus, no. For Remus it was enough. To sit by you, by the fire. To listen to you talk in your final moments. Your uncle gone and your brother lost to his mind.

He reached out and placed a hand over yours. And when your fingers interlocked, he sighed. Staring at the fire, until your fingers loosened around his hand.

Until, darkness.

The Pub, 1978

The world slammed back into place. The scent of stale beer and cigarette smoke filled your lungs, the dim glow of the jukebox flickered in your peripheral vision. Laughter and conversation hummed around you. The wood beneath your fingers was real. Solid. Present.

But your body? Your mind? You had been somewhere else.

Across from you, Remus was shaking.

His breath came quick, his golden-brown eyes blown wide- not with confusion, but recognition. His hand still hovered where it had just brushed against yours, his fingers trembling like they had touched something far more than skin.

Something ancient.

Something inevitable.

You knew him.

Not just from this pub. Not just from this life. You knew him from a hundred lifetimes ago. From the fox and the hound. From the princess and her lady-in-waiting. From the thief and the gentleman. From Feldcroft. From every time you had found him- and every time you had lost him.

And now?

Now you were back.

His lips parted slightly, a breathless sound escaping, like he wanted to say something- like he didn’t know what he could possibly say.

You swallowed, heart pounding, the weight of a thousand lives pressing against your ribs.

“Remus,” You echoed again.

His fingers curled into a fist. His entire body tensed. And then, just as you saw him understand, just as his expression shifted, just as the words I remember nearly fell from his lips-

The door to the pub slammed open.

The moment shattered.

And then?

He did nothing.

Because what could he do?

What could you do?

Say it out loud? Confess to an impossible truth? Tell him that you had died in his arms over and over again?

That this time- this life- he had to stop it?

So you didn’t say anything.

You just sat there. Staring at each other.

Breathing.

And for now, that had to be enough.

Because in every life before, you had never feared the darkness. Just the loss.

~~~

The Great Hall buzzed with conversation. The sorting ceremony had ended, students were chatting excitedly, the feast had just begun. Plates were piled high, goblets filled with pumpkin juice.

Across the room, Teddy Lupin laughed, running a hand through his hair, which shifted colors between turquoise and soft brown as he spoke. His friends chuckled at something he said, shoulders bumping together, the easy comfort of a childhood spent side by side.

Then-

A hand brushed against his.

His laughter stilled.

The world tilted.

It was nothing.

A casual moment, an accidental touch. A transfer student- someone new, someone unfamiliar- reaching across the table to pass a plate of pastries.

But the second their fingers touched-

A jolt.

Something cold and distant- like the echo of a dream he couldn’t quite recall.

Teddy’s fingers twitched. His breath hitched. The transfer student blinked, eyes flickering to his face, lips parting slightly, as if they had felt it too- as if they knew.

Teddy swallowed. His heart pounded.

And then-

He pulled his hand away.

Just a little too fast. Just a little too tense.

His friends didn’t notice. The conversation continued around them. But the transfer student frowned, staring down at their hand for a moment too long, brows furrowing, like they had just remembered something they weren’t supposed to.

Teddy flexed his fingers beneath the table.

His mind whispered something.

Something about foxes and hounds.

Something about princesses and Ladies.

Something about picked pockets.

Something about darkened pubs and stolen moments.

Something about a name.

A name that felt like his and not his, all at once.

The world lurched- but just for a second.

And then?

The moment passed.

Teddy shook his head, forced a smile, and reached for his goblet like nothing had happened.

Like he hadn’t just felt the weight of every life before this one.

Like he hadn’t just remembered exactly what came next.

[crehador]

this time last year, arb dropped that unbelievably perfect samaichi high school au on us and sent me into a high school au tailspin for the entire duration of the event

so. naturally. let's do it again

high school au samaichi, school nurse ichiro always chiding chem teacher samatoki for smoking where their students can see. stealing samatoki's cigarettes and replacing them with mints and sweets. lighting one of those stolen cigarettes on his way out of the infirmary one night, just to hold it and take in the scent, because samatoki's been away chaperoning a school trip for days and ichiro maybe, kinda-sorta, just a bit, misses him

then getting caught by assistant principal ramuda who snaps his photo and sends it into the faculty group chat like "okay assholes time to fess up. which one of you filthy smokers corrupted our darling yamada-sensei"

responses are a mix of people reminding ramuda he, too, is a filthy smoker and other people going "samatoki" "probably samatoki" "wouldn't it be samatoki?"

ichiro says nothing but samatoki still comes home with the smuggest grin, like he knows exactly what ichiro was doing with that cigarette (holding it) and why (missing him)

[museenkuss]

mint, amalfi lemon, jasmine, bergamot // lavender, coffee, artemisia // amber, sandalwood, patchouli, musk, vanilla, tonka bean, moss

"The most handsome ever." - José Eisenberg when asked what kind of personality could wear his fragrances

The notes of Eisenberg perfumes are the same in both the male and the female versions, which suits Eisenberg's comment that we are all people, the rest is masks.

And J'Ose (regardless of the colour of the bottle, most likely) IS a fragrance that utilises many notes usually found in male fragrances. It's woody, the lavender at times shines through in a soapy-balmy way, it has a certain smokey depth to it. However, there's also a powderiness, a lightness to it. It oscillates. So, in short, it's incredibly seductive. It's alluring, it's intoxicating.

I was already back on the street after spraying the back of my hand, but had to turn around and go back into the shop to spray the inside of my wrist as well because I was so overwhelmed with how much I loved the scent.

On my skin, there's a creamy woodsiness (maybe the tonka? The sandalwood?), sweetened and peppered. While J'Ose invites thoughts of morning light falling on the whipped cream folds of an unmade bed, an open window and a breeze of cool-fresh air that already carries the scent that promises a hot day, it ALSO evokes images of a study, of leather-bound books and thick rugs. I think you might have to enjoy the eroticism of that to like this scent, the seductive promise a gleaming wooden desk holds, leather arm chairs, thick carpets, gold-cut books. But, again - we also have the morning light, the coffee and dreamy freshness of a new day. Again, J'Ose oscillates.

[Also, on a side note, the lavender note does put me off at random intervalls when it suddenly shines through stronger and balmier, but that just might be me and my history of lavender-soap-making in 5th grade. It fades quickly, but I'm being honest in my thoughts here. But that messy episode of my past aside -]

J'Ose is sophisticated, comfortable in their skin, dressed up simply by putting on the clothes they meant to wear. There's a quiet, unshakable confidence, deeply rooted in the warm, woody, aromatic heart of this scent. That ease lightens the scent, sweetens it. They know what they want to say and how to say it. It might be that bone-deep confidence that makes this fragrance so alluring, that seduces me as I wear it.

[tojigasm]

i just need to be idk, babied by logan, even though he knows that twenty something isnt a baby, hes showing you how to smoke properly, your sitting on his lap and taking sips of his drink, he lets you lay your head in his lap and cuddles up to him at night with ur cheek against his stomach and he just like, takes care of you? like he pets and humours and tolerates and when ur fucking hes so caring, stroking hair and kissing ur cheeks and forehead ur honour i want him so bad

And you get it soooo fucking bad because the idea of him being so paternal with you is something that just rots me to my coreee you guys. And there's a semblance of casual dominance about it that just makes me sob.

He's in the middle of fucking you. His chest pressed to your back, his skin flush to your own as he stands curved over you on your hands and knees on his bed. He keeps an arm wrapped around your chest, keeping you upright as he rolls his hips into, pressing a long kiss to the back of your head.

You'll be at the counter in the kitchen late at night, working on whatever when he wanders into the room in a grey hoodie and sweats. He makes his way to lean against the countertop, peering over at your notes. "Y'need anything, baby?" He'll eventually ask, running his knuckles over your forearm as you continue to write. "Mm, maybe water," you say, almost jumping out of your seat before you're being pushed back into the leather cushioning of the chair. "Let me do it fr'ya, sweetheart." And you don't get your glass of water until after he's "secretly" stolen a sip. He stands next to your seat at the counter until you're all done.

He's the first time you experience smoking. The smell of tobacco is heavy in the air while he sits on the front porch of the mansion. You've always been one to try new things and Logans never been one to deny you almost anything and so of course he holds the blunt of the cigar to your soft lips and lights the tobacco while you look all pretty fr'him. Takes you a couple tries and a few lessons in watching Logan easily breathe in the smokey tar, but you catch it eventually, earning a "atta' girl." From Logan.

Has you sit in his lap during movie nights at the mansion while he nurses a bottle of Jack Daniel's. He keeps a hand wrapped around your hip and the other on the neck of the bottle. Ever so often, you'll motion towards the bottle, and Logan'll hold you by the chin and tilt the bottle to your lips only for a second before pulling it away. You try to reach for it back, and he's pushing your hand away with a "C'mon, kid, that's enough." And you better not argue, it'll start an hour long discussion on how he knows best.

Or how the two of you will be lying on the couch after finishing a movie. You're resting against his chest as he runs the tips of his fingers up and down your back softly. And he'll just start giving you quick pecks here and there over your cheeks and on the tip of your nose and your forehead and chin before pulling back to look you over. He'll soothe the palm of his hand over the soft apple of your cheek, whispering softly "Yr'my baby, huh."

[beloveds-embrace]

(more of poly 141 x roommate reader bc i got enabled: surprising them when they return home)

The aroma of roasted garlic and thyme filled the apartment, and along with it your voice as you fluttered about the kitchen while music played from your phone. You placed plates of perfectly golden roast chicken, mashed potatoes and roasted vegetables on the dining table beside bowls of creamy mushroom soup and a fresh salad and freshly baked bread.

You would never regret that cooking course you picked up. Everything just looked so… perfect. And that was without mentioning the apple pie and chocolate cake you’d also made, set aside on cute little cake pedestals you’d recently bought.

You smoothed the fabric of your skirt, picking up your phone to check on the time; they’d arrive home any moment now and you couldn’t wait to see their reactions. You’d been planning this dinner since yesterday, when Kate Laswell had called to let you know your roommates would be home today after months of being away on a mission so you could prepare this surprise for them.

You’d promised to send her and her lovely wife a big, big portion just for helping you like that. You always get worried when they take this long, but Kate tried her best to keep you up to date about them whenever they had to be no-contact with you.

The sound of the front door unlocking made your pulse quicken, and you hurried to the entryway, a bright smile on your face. You’d made sure even the candles you and Gaz like to collect were lit up, bathing the apartment in a soft golden light.

“Surprise!” you called, spreading your arms as they stepped inside, grin wide and proud.

For a moment, they stood frozen, tired eyes sweeping over the sight of you and the glowing apartment and the lovely smell of a big, warm dinner. Price was the first to move, dropping his bag and crossing the room in several long strides. His arms wrapped around you, pulling you into a firm embrace, and you melted against him right away, breathing in the familiar scent of him- smoke, leather, and something uniquely John.

“Hi!” You chirped again, patting his back.

“You’ve outdone yourself, love.” he murmured instead of a proper greeting, voice thick with gratitude.

Soap was next, scooping you into a hug so enthusiastic it lifted you off your feet right after John let you go. “Missed ya, lass,” he said, his grin bright despite the weariness in his eyes. “Look at ya, a sight fo’ sore eyes!”

“Put me down, MacTavish!”

Gaz kissed your cheek the second Johnny obeyed, his hand lingering on your shoulder. “You didn’t have to do all this, darling.” he said softly, though the way he looked at you made it clear he appreciated every bit of it.

Ghost, towering behind them, stood silently for a moment. His eyes roamed over you, taking in the nervous smile tugging at your lips. Without a word, he stepped forward and pulled you into his chest, one large hand cradling the back of your head.

“Perfect girl, thank you.” he muttered, so low you barely heard it. But you did feel it rumble through his body.

You laughed, stepping back and gesturing toward the table. You had to know what they thought of it. “Go wash up. Dinner’s ready.”.

Johnny piled his plate high, moaning exaggeratedly at every bite and making you laugh until your sides hurt. Gaz teased him about his lack of table manners while sneaking extra bread rolls for himself. Price, ever the gentleman, made sure your plate was full before his own, and Simon quietly made his way through two full helpings even, the corner of his mouth twitching into the faintest smile when you nudged him to try the mushroom sauce.

Oh yes, you cooked. In more ways than one. You were so very proud of yourself, felt like you’d blow up like a balloon if they complimented you any more.

“This is the best meal I’ve had in months,” Johnny declared at last, leaning back in his chair with a satisfied sigh and patting his stomach. He turned to you, gently caressing his knuckles across your full cheeks. “Thank ya, lass. Truly an angel.”

“You’ve ruined me for army food forever,” Kyle added, humming as he bit into another spoonful, smiling at your giggles. “Whatever next mission we’ll have is so going to suck, by the way. I mean it.”

Price reached over, covering your hand with his. “You didn’t have to do all this, love, but I’m damn glad you did,” he said, his thumb brushing against your knuckles. His mustache twitched, and he smiled at you. “Kyle’s right, though.”

Simon didn’t speak much, but the way his gaze lingered on you, warm and heavy, spoke volumes. You’d already learned how to decipher his little looks, anyways.

As the evening wound down and they cleaned the kicthen, then went to rest in the living room, you brought out the second surprises: the chocolate cake and apple pie, earning a round of groans and cheers. They insisted on helping with the second round of dishes, but you waved them off, laughing.

“Go relax,” you said, shooing them toward the living room. “This is my treat for you. You were supposed to be relaxing today!”

Though you didn’t notice the way they watched you as you moved about the kitchen.

When you finally joined them, changing into something more comfortable, you curl up on the couch tucked against Simon’s warm side and his arm drape around your shoulders almost instinctively. Soap stretched out across the floor, his head resting on a pillow near your feet, while Kyle sat on the other side of you, casually brushing his hand against yours.

It didn’t take much before you were dozing off, their quiet congestion washing over you as a soothing ambiance. You relaxed even further when you were shifted to lay fully against Simon while Kyle put your feet on his lap and began massaging your calves.

John stood by the balcony, his cigar glowing faintly in the dim light. He looked at you, surrounded by them, and something in his chest loosened.

You were too good for them, truly. Such a lovely, perfect sweetheart. But he also just- couldn’t stand the idea of you being with anyone else. Never.

So he wouldn’t entertain that thought. You were perfect as you were now; just a bit more time, and they’d tell you right out how much they want you in every possible way.

Though he didn’t imagine it’d be that hard, anyways. You already acted like their perfect little wife.

[ozarkthedog]

𝐯𝐢𝐬

summary: Logan's feeling impulsive before a mission and you happen to be within reach aka he fucks you in the jet.

pairing: Logan Howlett x afab mutant!reader

warnings: 18+ mdni. feral!Logan. rough sex. dirty talk. bicep choking. biting. spit kink. reader can read minds and regenerate. size difference. brief mention of blood. pure filth - no plot. unbeta'd. w.c: 1.1k

an: this look fucks me up every time I see it, so I had to write something.

𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭 ⋅ 𝐅𝐢𝐜 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐟𝐬 ⋅ 𝐋𝐨𝐠𝐚𝐧 𝐇𝐨𝐰𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐭 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭

Logan fumes with pent-up energy.

He knows he needs to take care of it, or else he's gonna snap. He hopes Scott shows up soon; throwing a few digs at the younger cyclopes will relax him. Still, he stalks back and forth in the empty jet, from cockpit to tail, puffing on a cigar that's smoked down to a nub of tobacco when his ears prick.

He turns just in time to watch you walk up the ramp. You're suited to the nines and ready for the mission, your leather outfit hugging every curve on your body.

Logan feels the rampant energy to kill slowly morphing into one of possession.

You catch his wandering eyes as you reach the top. Flashes of snarling teeth, slapping flesh, and debauched moans spark before your eyes as Logan looks you over.

"Logan," you greet him with a wry smile as the older, silver haired mutant rolls his cigar between his lips and nods. His energy permeates the hull of the jet; he's like a wolf standing over maimed prey.

"Ready for this?" Logan asks, breaking the silence and stepping closer to you. He's so large and consuming; he'd scare you if you didn't have the power of mind control.

"I'm always ready." You quip, jutting your chin.

Logan snorts, cigar snatched between his pearly whites. "That so?"

You reply with a teasing hum as your fingers dance over his suited pecs.

"Think you can take me?" He steps even closer, nudging his larger body against your smaller one before flicking the cigar nub to the ground.

You cock your head, eyelashes fluttering. "Why don't you find out."

He grips your shoulders, spinning you on the spot, and shoves you against the wall of the jet; its gentle thrum vibrates your body as he presses himself against your back. "I can smell you, you know."

Your heart beats wildly like a hummingbird. You'd been aching since you stepped onto the jet. "Don't know what you're talking about." You purr dumbly.

Logan snickers at the blatant lie. "Keep those hands where I can see 'em," he grunts, gripping your hips and yanking you back. Your hands glide down the metal wall as your ass nestles against his cock. He's got you in a vulnerable position, bent over and exposed; any of your teammates could walk onto the jet any second. The thought makes you clench.

Logan unzips your suit from the waist down and groans as your curves spill from the tight material. You hide your face in the crook of your elbow as he takes in the sinful sight. "Y'sure are a pretty lil' thing." He comments against your cunt as hot breath ghosts over your core.

Two brute hands palm your ass, roughly kneading the curves before pulling them apart and brazenly spitting on your cunt.

A gasp catches in your throat, and it makes Logan smirk. "Knew you were a dirty girl."

As your lips part to reply snarkily, a hot tongue drags up your puffy folds from clit to taint, leaving no inch untouched.

Logan eats you alive.

At least that's what it feels like as he tightens his hold on your hips, making sure you don't pull away for a second to leave him chasing after you.

He smothers his face into your folds like a lion eating a fresh kill. His tongue lashes against your clit, sending rapturous shock waves up your spine. His nose nudges your taint as he roughly pulls you closer and spears his tongue into your core. He pushes and shoves your hips back and forth, making you ride his tongue until your knees buckle and you gasp his name over and over like a prayer. A dark growl vibrates your cunt as your slick spills into his mouth, and then he's gone.

As you're left reeling from the mindnumbing bliss, wondering why he stopped, he takes advantage and hooks a strong arm around your neck and lifts until your spine is flush with his chest, effectively trapping you in a headlock.

His bicep presses against your carotid as his cock catches on your soaked opening, making you stumble. "Can feel 'er clenchin'," he rumbles, and his beard scratches the soft skin of your temple. "Don't worry, Sugar. I'm gonna take good care'a 'er."

He sheaths himself in one devastating thrust. You have no choice but to take everything he gives you. Your cunt molds around his length, morphing and reshaping into the shape of his cock as he presses into the deepest part of you. He cruelly grinds his hips, kissing your cervix and tearing soft cries from your lips.

He fucks you with a steady pace, withdrawing his cock until the bulbous head catches on your withering hole before plunging it back in. Each shove forces you onto your toes. You anxiously grip his ungodly thick forearm for support.

The metal hull of the jet does nothing to tamper the lewd sounds of slapping skin and sticky arousal.

He presses his leather-clad forearm against your chin, tipping your head against his chest, forcing you to stare up at him. His features drip with untamed darkness as he smirks down at you. For a moment, fear tingles at the base of your spine.

"Gonna be drippin' out in the field," he chastises. "Wonder who else'll smell you?"

Logan's hips begin to pound against the curve of your ass savagely; muscles ripple, and skin rolls like waves; he chases his high like a man possessed.

The feral, all-consuming vigor from the older man rushes through you like a tidal wave, drowning your senses and free will. Your orgasm ignites, sparking so quickly you're powerless to the blinding pleasure that flares deep in your belly.

He sinks his teeth into your neck, growling like a wolf as he comes. His fingers dig into your flesh, pulling a soft, pitiful whine from your body. Copper fills his senses as your blood washes over his tongue, awakening his primal senses. The pain from his touch has your cunt swirling once more. No man could mark you like Logan, nor would you want one to.

Logan unhinges his jaw and eases himself from your warmth with a hiss. As the teeth-sized holes on your neck instantly begin to heal, he licks away the crimson that stains his lips. Your inner thighs glisten, stained with your combined arousal, as you lean against the wall of the jet, catching your breath.

"Made quite a mess, Sugar." Logan can't help but drag his fingers through the gluey spend. His gloved digits prod your swollen folds as he pushes the heady mixture back inside your warmth.

A lithe whine pours from your lips as he teasingly curls his fingers along your walls for added measure. "Think you can keep from drippin' while fightin' the bad guys?"

feel free to scream at me -> 💌

reblogs & comments are extremely appreciated! follow @ozzieslibrary for new fic updates!

[kirbmey]

⠀⠀ ཐི ˚̣̣̣ ⠀⠀ husband!sylus x reader ⠀ ˚̣̣̣ ཋྀ

synopsis: where you sneak into sylus office looking for him cuz you miss him so so much! ε��(๑> ₃ <)۶з

tw: fluff, sylus is called ‘husband’, reader is especially femenine and shy, usage of ‘kitten’, sylus smokes, he’s sickly in love!, etc.

you know you weren´t supposed to be walking around the house so late, but you were completely restless without your husband holding you tightly while you tried to sleep.

walking around the empty halls while heading to sylus office you yawn; you´ve been trying to sleep for a few hours now, even tried watching your favorite movie or holding your plushie while counting sheep but nothing worked.

so you were left with only one option, looking for him.

he stated a few times that you mustn´t disturb him while he worked, him being the busy business man that he is.

but that didn´t stop you from reaching the pome of the door, hesitant between wether you should open it or not.

once you made up your mind you swang the door open, peeking your head through the small gap to catch a glimpse of your beloved reading some documents while sipping on his favorite expensive wine. he was wearing those glasses you loved, also.

“just come inside, would you?", he stated, not even lifting his gaze to spot you standing in the middle of the room. he relocated his silver frame glasses on top of the bridge of his nose, scooting the big leather armchair aside so you could sit on his lap as you were accustomed to.

“i´m sorry, sylus, i just can´t sleep tonight." you mumble an apology while straddling him, hugging his broad shoulders and hiding your now blushed face in the crook of his neck, inhaling his manly scent.

“that’s okay, kitten. i was about to wrap it up here and go to bed with you, so impacient, aren´t you?" he teased with a low voice, chuckling when he heard you whine against his pale skin.

he left those documents aside, sipping the last drop of his wine and took off his glasses, placing them on the table. then, he grabbed you by the hips, holding you like a baby koala while he walked to your shared bedroom, feeling your breath slowly calm down.

he tucked your little body underneath the warm comforter, heading to the big glass window to open it and move the curtains aside, pulling out a pack of cigarettes and lighting one, sitting on his designated reading nook while staring at you.

puffing the smoke out the window so the smell wouldn´t linger inside the room, he took in every single detail about the scene in front of him; how you fell asleep so quickly in his arms, how you placed your head on his pillow, how your locks framed your face.

once he was done with the cigarette he brushed his teeth, taking note of the late hours. sure, he didn´t need to sleep, but drifting away while holding you was one of the best feelings in the world to him.

he was so in love with his little cherub (｡´ ‿｀♡)

a/n: been thinking about writing for arcane too idk idk (๑•́ -•̀)

— masterlist.

[dmitriene]

cw: pet play.

being lieutenant's simon ghost riley good pup, no one at the base knows the nature of your relationship, and even suspicions do not linger for long, it is more convenient for everyone to shift the focus to the fact that you are so clingy to him because he's your superior and you are looking for his approval, even through you're always at his side.

maybe you have a silly crush on him, everyone brush off, because it's happened more than once there before, but they don't know that you literally belong to simon, his good girl, a personal puppy who is always there to take the stress out of him, waiting for him in his cabinet at the end of the day, looking diligent, with a leather collar around your delicate neck.

scratching behind the fluffy, droopy puppy ears you wear like a hairpins, letting simon imagine that he does, really, has a sweet puppy between his muscular thighs, your face nuzzling in the rough fabric of his cargos, while he smoothest his calloused palm over your head and behind your real ears, fiddling with them and against the nape of your neck, as he smokes a cigarette.

you wait for your lieutenant late at night in his quarters, at the foot of his bed, knees pressing into the small, round carpet he keeps there, more to your comfort than his, because simon wouldn't want his puppy catching a cold while waiting for him all ready, your clothes folded neatly at his chair, leaving your body naked and vulnerable for him, except of the most important.

collar tag jingling at your neck, simon's name engraved on the back side more as an show of his ownership over you, than in the case it'll get lost, as he tugs at the leather with his fingers, slipping the thick digits against your neck, sweating, warm skin, and you obey the tug, stretching your neck, until you feel the rumble of his bulky, toned chest against your arched back.

hear the crooned, hoarse praises that smell out of tobacco, soaking in your plump lips, dropped open in a keening, crying moans he draws deep with licking, biting kisses, amused creases around his mouth when he feels your drool seep at his chin, the way your viscous slick pools around his engorged, fat cock, grinding with steady circles in your soppy, warm cunt.

the fluffy, pretty tail you're plugged with in simon's palm, letting his fingers brush over the curve of it and the small bow that decorates the tail, wagging from side to side each time his hips pound against your backside, your drooling, keening face burrowed in the pillows as he ruts sloppily in your squelchy hole, too fucked out to notice that he's tugging at your plug tail.

main masterlist. quidelines.

[ahqkas]

“NOTHING’S GONNA HURT YOU BABY — jason todd.

PAIRING! jason todd 𝒙 fem!reader SYNOPSIS! your roommate is the menacing red hood — who just happens to have a soft spot for you WORD COUNT! 1.5k WARNINGS / TAGS! roommates jason & reader, cursing, smoking, mention of alcohol consumption, reader is described to wear makeup, use of petnames ( doll ) NOTES! i need a vigilante bf sb. based on this req.!! © ahqkas — all rights reserved. even when credited, these works are prohibited to be reposted, translated or modified

THERE IS A STARVED DOG IN THE BACK OF JASON TODD’S THROAT.

It keeps barking, baring its sharp canines at whoever dares to step too close to comfort. It isn’t afraid to bite, to leave permanent marks in its wake because it had been hurt once before and the past hadn’t been so kind. So, it rips things apart, shows its strength to intimidate. A mechanism to keep itself safe. To remain whole.

The dog craves violence and roughness to represent the image it once created. It also craves touch, and not the bittersweet one. The kind that aches to feel, the kind that feels undeserving.

Jason isn’t a violent dog. He doesn’t know why he bites.

He’s chaos wrapped in leather. He’s the rumble of a motorbike tearing down an empty street, the smell of gasoline and adrenaline falling behind him. He’s sharp edges and electricity, the lighting that splits the sky just before the rain comes down. He’s a storm caged in a human shell, unpredictable and restless. Jason is late nights bathed in neon lights and the rush of speed that makes your heart race. He’s fire and fury, a protective shield made of calluses and scars.

You, on the other hand, are the softness in a world that’s far too loud. You’re the quiet that follows the first snowfall, the kind that blankets the earth in white stillness. You’re the warmth of vanilla in a kitchen. You’re the calmness of a gentle breeze, the soft glow of a candle against the darkness. There’s nothing harsh about you; you’re delicate without being fragile, a sweetness that lasts long after you first taste it. You’re a handwritten note, a favorite song played on repeat, kindness that doesn’t ask for anything in return.

Where Jason is a storm, you’re the eye. He’s the clash of thunder, you’re the calmness that follows. He’s leather jackets and combat boots, you’re large sweaters and bare feet on fluffy carpet. He pushes the word back with his fists while you disarm it with your smile.

Maybe that’s why he has such a soft spot for you.

Jason’s large combat boots were heavy on the hardwood as he stepped through the apartment door. He didn’t use one of the windows tonight since he had the luxury to change out of his vigilante clothing. The brown leather jacket still hung from his broad shoulders, but all the other equipment that created the complete look of Red Hood was safely stashed under the stairs of your fire escape.

Red Hood was one side of Jason’s many personalities he tried to shield you from.

He was quiet, mindful of his steps. He avoided the creaking spot on the floor, and he avoided closing the door too roughly. He had told you one too many times that he could take a look at the things that just made your life annoyingly difficult, but you waved him off with sweet words and he obeyed like a man possessed. The apartment was quiet, too quiet for his liking but he shook it off. You were supposed to be out anyway, something about a party your friends dragged you at.

The faint scent of cigarettes hit him before the quiet breeze of the night air rusted the curtains, and Red Hood was instantly on alert. His fingers moved before his mind could even process the situation, feeling the sharpness of his blade tucked in the belf of his pants.

His legs followed, taking him toward the balcony door and stepping outside into the night. He expected anything: a stray cat wandering through various apartments on a hunt for leftovers or even a rookie thief trying to break in. But he didn’t expect you, sitting on a plastic chair with a cigarette between your lips. One his cigarettes.

There you were, knees pulled close to your chest, the heels of your feet digging into the cheap plastic so you wouldn’t fall.

Draped in one of his hoodies he forgot on the couch earlier, you looked like you were ready to call it a day. Still, impossibly beautiful even with that tired look in your eyes. You pulled the cigarette out, puffing a white swirl of smoke into the darkness.

Jason stepped closer, his tall frame easily towering over yours. “You wanna tell me what the fuck you’re doing out here?” The sight of you, your cheeks flushed with alcohol and your hair a little wild from the chill wind, tugged at something buried deep in his chest.

Your glassy eyes met his and your lips tugged into a beaming smile. “Hey, Jason,” you mumbled his name out like it was a melody you hadn’t quite learned yet. “You’re home.”

“Yeah, I’m home. And you’re drunk. Smoking my shit.”

“I stole it from your jacket’s pocket when I did the laundry. I figured you wouldn’t miss one,” you held up the cancer stick towards him, as if to say, ta-da! Look what I found.

You were holding a piece of him. He crouched in front of you, his gloved fingers gently plucking the cigarette from your hand before you could protest. “Smoking’s bad for you, you know. I guess I’m a bad influence for you,” he muttered while his thumb brushed over the filter, the bark of the dog in his throat quieting for a moment. There was a faint pink outline on the white paper. A mark of your lips.

You tilted your head, studying him like you were seeing him for the first time. “You could never be a bad influence.”

Jason didn’t answer right away. His jaw tightened as he put the cigarette against the railing, the faint hiss breaking the silence between you. Then, he flicked it over the edge of the railing, watching the embers spiral down into the darkness below. The city roared faintly beneath you, but here, on this tiny balcony, it was just the two of you.

“You shouldn’t say things like that.”

“Like what?” your brows knitted into the frown he grew to adore.

“That I’m not a bad influence,” his lips twitched, caught between a smirk and something bittersweet. It was all a big joke to him; you didn’t know his true nature and yet here you were defending the man you thought you knew. The irony wasn’t lost on him. “You don’t know me as well as you think, doll.”

Tilting your head to the side, you gazed up at Jason like he hung the moon just for you. The look in your eyes softened. “I know enough, Jay. I know you’d rather jump off this balcony than let anything happen to me. I know you leave food for the stray cat, even though you complain how she’s too noisy at night. And I know that when you’re quiet like this,” you bumped your knee against his, trailing slightly into a quieter tone of your voice, “it’s because you’re hiding something.”

The dog inside Jason growled lowly, warning him to keep his guard up. To start building thicker walls around his bleeding heart. This would only end in tears and anguish. But you weren’t barking back. You held your heart in an open palm, extended toward him.

You leaned forward after a minute of his silence, hand brushing against his knee, and Jason stiffened. “You’re not mad, right? About the cigarette” you voiced your thoughts hesitantly.

Jason sighed, running a hand through the dark strands of his hair. “I should be. But seeing you out here like this . . . ” he trailed off, his eyes flickering over your face and cataloging every single detail. The flush on your cheeks and glass in your eyes. The aftermath of alcohol. “I can’t be mad. Just–don’t do it again, okay? You don’t need to mess with that shit.”

Your lips parted like you were about to argue, but then you closed them again, nodding slowly. Jason exhaled a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, the tension in his shoulders easing ever so slightly. He stood up, holding out a calloused hand to you. “Come on. Let’s get you inside before you catch a cold out here.”

You stared at his hand for a moment before slipping your smaller one into it. His grip was warm, steady, and for a fleeting moment, you wondered if he could feel the way your pulse quickened under his touch. He didn’t let go as he led you back into your shared apartment, the door clicking shut behind the two of you.

The dog in his chest stirred, restless and uneasy. It barked once, softly, a reminder of all the ways he could ruin this. He swallowed hard, his throat dry, his jaw tightening against the weight of it. The dog craved destruction, violence, and chaos—it had always craved those things. But now, as he watched you drunkenly lean into him, the dog hesitated.

It whimpered. Then it lay down, its teeth still bared but its growl silenced, if only for tonight. Because for the first time in a long time, Jason felt something strange, something almost unfamiliar.

It wasn’t the absence of violence or the dull ache of longing. It was the quiet hope that maybe, just maybe, there was something in this world he didn’t have to break to keep.

[tojisun]

price catches it first — that whiff spreading in the den, clogging up his throat like ratafia. it makes him pause, words failing him now, and he snaps his jaw shut at the start of a rumble pulsing from his chest.

he turns just as the others do, watching as you rub on your throat and grumble to yourself. it is bare, the first it’s ever been since you’ve arrived at the base, and his eyes drop to your collar in wonder.

he’s heard of those before — collars that conceal scents. they’ve become a privilege, not quite a necessity, so only a few are found with them. still, rarer are those who would wear them for hours on end, and in the base, you happened to be the only one to do so.

intriguing, if not at least worrying, because price had seen your file. you’re an alpha. an alpha prime, it seemed, based on your presentation records, and yet you came to him with a collar on your throat and your scent heavily suppressed. he didn’t ask, this is not the line of work where one can, and just demanded for your loyalty and skill.

so this is the first that they’re smelling of you. it is overwhelming, like all other alpha scents usually are, but it curls at the end. sweet but burnt. crackling firewood and smoke. it is pleasant but not just; like at every turn, there has to be something that gives. something unexpected; something unusual.

john breathes in sharply, his muscles going taut underneath the fatigues when he realizes what it is. the rest of the squad follow — they sit up straighter, their shoulders drawn higher, and their scents rap against each other, mixing in dizzying blends. the den becomes packed with worry, apprehension, horror, anger, protectiveness, protectiveness, protectiveness.

still, you only look at them with a cocked brow, daring them to go. to speak of what it is weighing down on their tongues.

it is kyle to do so. kyle who you trust more than anyone else.

“you’ve been bitched.”

he says it with no malice, but just as a fact rolling off his tongue, one that makes your fingers twitch while your face stays frozen, still a mask of normalcy. of measured strength and quiet fortitude.

“i have,” you reply, also void of emotion. any other day he would commend the control you have of your emotions to not even let it slip into your scent, especially after having relied on your collar so much, but tonight isn’t the right time. tonight, john’s mind swirls, his tongue heavy with the things he wants to say.

so he tries.

“was it—”

you blink at him. then, you laugh. “oh! yes, of course. i wanted it.”

your reply fills him up, stuffing him with cotton. he realizes that your tension was of worry; you were afraid that they would judge you. and john feels lighter, elated and calm now, but also he feels disjointed, like he is floating, and john, he–

he tries.

he tries not to imagine the weight of your words. he tries not to give them shape. but his mind is faster than his conscience, and john now thinks of you, alpha prime, begging for another alpha to turn you. to fill you up and drown your scent glands with their own before gnawing on your skin. biting. biting. biting. until it takes root, upending every fibre within you to make room for the submission. for the delicateness. for the heat.

john’s thoughts only grind to a halt when the new scent is snuffed out from the room, extinguished in its entirety, leaving no trail. his eyes find you fastening the collar on your neck again, your roughened fingers unlatching the buckle to loop the leather.

he swallows like he is a man parched, but his throat only grows dryer. there is nothing for him to feast on.

it goes by so slowly; your familiarity with the collar does not aid you in fastening its loose end, and john wonders if you might need help, after all. only, just as the question is building on the tip of his tongue, he realizes what you’re doing.

what teases you are leaving.

“so,” you say like you have not just presented an opportunity for them to latch onto. “can i be dismissed?”

john hums his ascent, and ends the meeting for tonight. they watch as you gather your files before waltzing away with only the sound of your boots following you. the rest of the squad stays, awashed by the… offering.

because it was everything and that.

it was a proof of your trust, and a question of their own, one that john knows that they will eagerly prove to you. but it was also an invitation; a revelation and now a question.

john watches the way simon’s knuckles turn white as he balls his hands into fists and wonders if his boys would allow him to be the first to you.

——

this is nothing and everything alike; experimenting on omegaverse in hopes that i’ll get out of my slump </3

[madelynraemunson]

pass the salt • e.m. smut

DAD’S BEST FRIEND!OLDER!EDDIE x FEM!READER

summary: you’re home from college and staying with your dad for the summer, spending as much time as you possibly can with him…and his hot best friend that you’ve never seen in your life.

authors note: okay have you guys ever seen those text posts like “when you say ‘daddy pass the salt please’ and your father and your man both reach for it” 💀💀 well this is inspired by that concept. also i went overboard and this is a LONG BOI

disclaimers — photo credits to @eddiemunsons-missingnipple 🫶🏼porn with plot, reader’s nickname is “sunshine”, reader has female anatomy, race unspecified, divider: @iluvpooks

NSFW — 18+ obv, porn with plot, daddy kink pls keep scrolling if it’s not ur thing, slight age gap (eddie is mid to late 30s, reader is in her early 20s), corruption kink, size kink, masturbation (m&f), p in v sex (protected), dirty talk, teasing, sexual innuendos, extreme flirting, eddie kinda being a perv, praise kink

The sound of breakfast on the griddle summons you downstairs.

Dad never cooks.

For as long as you can remember, weekends at your dad’s have always consisted of Lucky Charms cereal and powdered donuts. That tradition continued even after you started college.

Oh yeah. Someone is here, alright. Someone Dad desperately wants to impress.

Trailing after the commotion, your fuzzy pink slippers guide you down the wooden steps of your dad’s ‘bachelor pad’ and into the kitchen. And when you near the bottom of the steps, you can make out two distinct voices — one belonging to Dad, another belonging to someone who's identity is obscure.

“God, I fucking missed you, Jeff. Missed everyone so much.”

The smells of pancake batter, cigarette smoke, mint, and petroleum fuel reel you in, but not nearly as much as the sight of the man sitting on the opposite side of your dad. He's built, handsome with wavy brown hair, leather, black denim, twiddling a toothpick between his teeth as he listens to your dad speak with a smile on his face. That is, until you come into sight. It then that his intense focus circles in on you.

Funny. You don’t remember this friend. And something in your gut tells you that you won’t ever be forgetting him after this.

The stranger's grin curls into a wonder-filled smirk. You can feel your knees start to buckle.

“Uh oh. Looks like our shenanigans woke up Sleeping Beauty.”

When you get a closer look at Dad’s friend, you observe his faint brown beard — neatly kept and lightly peppered with some gray — delicious lips, shiny white teeth, and grooves along his laugh lines that would deepen with every theatrical cackle he belted out.

You can't help but freeze in your tracks as him and your dad continue on with their banter, reliving their glory days like it was yesterday. Man. What a damn dreamboat.

Your dad’s eyes light up with glee when he sees you.

“Hey, good morning, Sunshine!” Dad cheers. “Thought you’d never wake up. This is my friend Eddie. We were in that band together in high school. Come say hi.”

"Yeah, come say hi," Eddie agrees. feeding into the obvious tension in the room. "I don't bite."

The stranger laughs at his own comment as soon as he utters it.

There’s a charm — a magic — about Eddie that could only be found in Hollywood or the Big City. But of course, you didn't expect any less from Dad's supposed ‘Rockstar Friend’.

When your parents had you at 17, life went on for Dad’s band Corroded Coffin. And although he missed out on the ‘Sex, Drugs, and Rock&Roll’, Dad insists that tea parties and white picket fences were an ideal trade-off. Because — despite how things ended with Mom — it still meant a life spent with you.

You tell him your name as Eddie offers you his hand to shake. Electricity serges through you when your hand is enveloped by his firm, calloused one. Eddie smiles down at you, his presence all-consuming. It's almost as if he knows it. And as much as you were dying to, you resist the urge to fall into him.

Eddie's no better.

It takes everything in Eddie's power to keep his eyes above your collarbones, reprimanding himself with the utmost tedium. Because heaven knows he'd be TOAST if his best friend found out that Eddie thought that you were absolutely stunning — strutting around the house the way that you do, without a bra underneath that poor excuse of a sleep shirt — a sleep shirt far too tight for your own good. With tight, pajama shorts to match…

Of course, this is all an assumption…Not that he caught wind of it or anything.

“You know…” he mentions. “Your dad has told me SO much about little miss Sunshine.”

“Me, really?” is all you can say behind those fuscia cheeks.

“Really,” Eddie insists. “He never shuts up about you, darling.”

“Hopefully you’ve only heard good things,” you mutter faintly.

And instantly, your dad and Eddie share a laugh.

“Only good things,” Eddie assures you. He nudges your dad playfully.

Your dad doesn’t exactly deny the last part, basically confirming to Eddie that you’ve got a hint of spunk to you. The heat settles at your cheeks as you shy away from your father’s curious friend.

Taking note of how timid you’ve just become, Eddie furrows his brows.

“What — was that an implication that you’re not always good?”

“No comment,” your smile melts into an awkward one.

“Kept me on my toes back then,” your dad reflects with a sigh. “Keeps me on my toes now.”

“You don’t say…” Eddie smirks slightly, gaze panning back over to you.

Eventually your dad leaves you two alone, going into the garage to fetch something that he insists Eddie would like. But little did he know that such thing was already in the room, leaning…reaching into the fridge for some orange juice, not realizing its atmosphere caused your nipples to harden.

Eddie’s eyes proceed to follow you as you strut back to the griddle, flipping some hot cakes over before tending to your messy bedhead.

Eddie probably doesn’t know — or maybe he does, who knows? — that you feel him staring at you. It’s a burning gaze that practically impales you, but you’re too nervous to say anything. You’re better off pretending like it’s something you don’t notice.

You and Eddie continue to help yourselves to breakfast, enjoying the company of each other and your mutual silence. That is, until Eddie speaks up.

“Got some sausage for you if you’d like.”

“I’m sorry?” you sputter, looking up from your food.

Eddie shoots you a weird glance as he holds up some breakfast franks.

“Sausage?” he repeats. “Store was out of beef so I settled for turkey. Hope that’s not a problem.”

“Not at all,” you clear your throat. “I love turkey sausage.”

“Okay, good,” Eddie chuckles, seemingly relieved at how quickly the situation had diffused.

“Cool,” you chuckle with him while taking some links to cook.

The silence returns once more and is replaced by the sizzling of the grill. It’s short lived, however, because soon, the man nearly twice your age speaks again.

“What’d you think I said?” Eddie circles back.

“Nothing, why?”

“You just looked stunned.”

“I just woke up,” you shrug. “My mind’s somewhere else.”

“I can tell,” he smirks. “Get that thing out of the gutter.”

The coming days paved way for some more innocent flirting.

…Like when you make sure to wear the shortest skirt in your closet when running Eddie his afternoon beer in the garage.

“Well don’t you look absolutely darling…” he says as he peers up from his guitar.

“Hehe,” you smirk connivingly. “Thank you!”

“You are so welcome.”

Eddie downs the liquid guilt along with his pride, watching you strut around…the hem of that pleated cotton fabric just barely covering the roundness of your asscheeks. And as you blush a rosy pink when you process his little remarks, Eddie can only clear his throat in arousal, fantasizing about just how badly he wanted to turn your other cheeks that very shade.

…Or when you come downstairs the next day to help Dad manually wash his car.

While he and Eddie are harassing each other with soap and that god-forsaken hose, you decide to join in on all the fun.

“Watch out, Sunshine,” Eddie forewarns. “You’ve just entered the splash zone!”

And with the intention of cooling you off on a hot summer day like this, Eddie teasingly sprays you with said hose, your white shirt becoming transparent when lathered with water. He could see everything. Your erect nipples. Your perky tits bouncing in the sunlight as you jump around in excitement. How glazed your oil-nnuendo’ed skin looked when glimmering in the sun. All as intended.

“You got me,” you surrender yourself to him. “You got me good, Eddie.”

And when you walk away, Eddie mutters slyly to himself.

“Yes, yes I did.”

…And then there’s dessert after dinner.

Eddie watches as you lick your popsicle, his fingers curling at his thighs in arousal as you retract the wrapper before enclosing your lips around the bright pink dessert. And he swears he’s going to blow his pants when he envisions the melted sugar shooting into your mouth with the swiftest hollowing of your cheeks, the quiet suction noise you make with your pursed lips forcing him to adjust the way he’s sitting.

…The final instance takes the cake.

“What’s your major?”

You’re in the home library grazing some of Dad’s old books and vinyls, talking to Eddie while your father gets ready for the day. Meanwhile, Eddie is perched at your dad’s desk, rolling around in his expensive swivel chair and occasionally doing some spins on it to make you laugh.

“History.”

“Sounds boring.”

“You just haven’t found a topic that interests you,” you point out.

“Mm,” is all Eddie says. “Maybe I will eventually.”

Eddie watches as you waltz around in front of him, following your movements with his eyes as you get onto your tippy-toes in order to grab some books on the top shelf.

“Oh my god!” you yelp.

Your plan to entice him seemingly fails when you graze a book that’s halfway off the shelf. It’s already flying off of its platform, headed straight towards Eddie's lap before you can even stop it.

Eddie catches it before any damage can be done, saving Dad’s old campaign book with the hand furthest from you and snaking the other around your waist to prevent you from sinking any further into him.

Phew. Crisis averted.

Your eyes meet again.

“I’m so sorry, Eddie,” you gasp in embarrassment. “That book has a mind of its own.”

“You’re fine,” Eddie laughs. “Can’t defy the laws of gravity. Sometimes it betrays us.”

You feel yourself burning up a fever. Excusing yourself from the room, you leave Dad’s library and make your way over to the kitchen for a glass of water.

But you’re nearly taken aback when you feel tight, calloused hands wrap around your hips, and like a feather it’s like you’re whisked away into the air, and soon your body is pressed up against the wall.

Slam!

Breathing heavily against each other now — chest to chest, lips so unbearably close you can smell the whiskey — Eddie draws you even closer to him. You both study each other intently. It’s like you’re waiting for the other to say something. Eddie does the honors and speaks first.

“I wasn’t born last night, doll. I was also your age at one point.”

———

To his own despair, Eddie touches himself later that night. Facing your room, he strokes his rock hard cock with his lotioned-up hand, running his thumb across the slit of his head, pretending it’s your tongue giving him a little tease like you did the popsicle.

“Fuuuck,” he grunts quietly. “You like when I fuck your throat, baby? Gonna suck me dry with that pretty little mouth of yours?”

You’re playing make-believe just as much. Because at the same time, in your room, you’re a drooling, pathetic mess, riding your wall-mounted toy to oblivion in your bathroom, legs trembling when the thick, veiny piece of silicone slams into the spongy part of your heat, initiating shock-waves all across your body.

“Eddie,” you find yourself blubbering. “EddieEddieEddieEddie…”

You both know it can’t be like this, but that was the mere thrill of it all. And when you both have overcome your peak, just one mere wall apart, the floodgates of guilt outweighs both your arousals the way it comes pouring in.

So, so wrong. But oh, so right.

You’re anticipating…waiting…aching for Eddie to make the next move.

He doesn’t.

“Going to the store again,” Eddie announces. “Hopefully this time they’ll have beef sausage. Need anything?”

Need you, is what you think. But you end up shaking your head, a part of you disappointed that you and Eddie won’t be able to spend some time alone together.

“No,” there’s defeat in your voice.

“Are you sure?” Eddie questions softly.

“Mhm,” you nod.

“Okay,” he gives you a grin, one in the form of a tight-lipped smile. “I’ll be right back. You be good.”

“Ha-ha,” you roll your eyes.

——

Eddie leaves the door of his room open that night. Just a smidge. You end up following the sound of his TV that he’s placed at a low volume, making out that it’s Seinfeld just by Jerry’s voice and the laugh track.

Your heart skips a beat as Eddie laughs along with the show, shaking his head at a stupid joke. But he shifts his focus immediately onto you when he sees you at the doorway.

“Having some alone time tonight?” you ask him.

“Mmm…not by choice,” he responds. “Tuckered your dad out after dinner doing P90X.”

Eddie follows a crazy workout routine. He says that it helps with his stamina, especially when he does crowd work during his stage performances. Your mind can’t help but wonder what else he may be using it for.

You snort. “Yeah. Dad wasn’t what you’d call an athlete in high school.”

Eddie laughs at that too. Both you and him know that.

He then pats the space on his bed beside him. “Wanna come watch with me?”

Your stomach does a series of cartwheels when you process Eddie’s question. You know what’s bound to happen if you follow through. And it seems Eddie knows it too. Even if there wasn’t any sexual tension between you both already, the concept of it all would rub anyone that way.

But you still follow through with it. Just like Eddie knew you would.

“You comfortable?” Eddie asks you, eyeing you endearingly as you squirm around on the bed.

“Yeah,” you breathe.

“Good…” he replies, voice nearly at a strained whisper now.

You two watch the show in silence for a few minutes, exchanging commentary and pleasantries regarding the show every so often. It’s not too long after Eddie pulls a laugh from you that he starts closing up the space between you both, scooting himself closer…and resting his gruff palm over the base of your knee.

You inhale sharply as he does so. And evident by your refusal to pull away, it’s enough of a green light for Eddie to hike up further.

A soft moan escapes your mouth from the back of your flustered throat, but you bite your lip in restraint.

"I'm sorry," you whisper.

"For what?”

You shrug sheepishly as Eddie continues to graze your thigh. Your breathing falters even more.

“Don’t be scared,” Eddie coos.

“I’m not,” you insist.

“Then what’s stopping you from getting on top of me? Hm?”

He’s in between your legs now, the rough material of his denim jeans riding up your sex, teasing your clit with every calculated rub against it.

“And riding my rock hard cock til those pretty legs give out?” Eddie continues. “I see how you’ve been looking at me, doll. It's all over your face how bad you want it.”

“The bed is squeaky,” you answer honestly. “And that headboard is a lost cause.”

Eddie puts the dirty talk on pause, squirming around to assess the guest bed’s squeak factor. When it checks out, he gives you an understanding nod. You giggle.

Eddie wastes no more time. You watch as he grabs one of the pillows on the bed and wedges it between the wall and headboard. He issues you a sly smile.

“Oldest trick in the book.”

You're back to fooling around shortly after, your aching core burning with lust as you pine for him.

“The boys at school ever touch you this good?” Eddie quips rubbing circles around your puffy, needy folds as you hopelessly cling to him out of pleasure.

“No, Eddie.”

“Didn’t think so.”

He continues to tease, gliding his fingers along your slit before slowly inserting two large digits inside of you.

His calculated pumps into your needy pussy are steady, a pace so agonizingly beautiful that it makes you squeal sweet nothings into the crook of his neck.

"Shh, baby," Eddie hushes you. "Your dad's gonna hear us. Gotta be quiet for me, mkay?"

Your hot, messy, and muffled sounds cease as Eddie soothes your quivering lips with his tender ones.

The wet sounds that ricochet and fill the room in tandem is almost enough to send him over. And Eddie is sure to communicate that… with an abrupt curving of his three thick fingers.

Fuck.

Needing him direly now, you tug helplessly at his pants.

“God, Eddie,” you whimper. “Just fuck me already. Please.”

Eddie laughs at the desperation. He hasn’t ravaged you to his fullest extent yet, and you’re already a pooling mess beside him.

“Well since you said please, sweet girl,” Eddie obliges as he starts to undress himself. “Your wish is my command."

You watch Eddie as reaches over into the bedside drawer for a fresh box of condoms. Looks like the sausage links weren't the only things he went to the store for.

“Oh.”

Eddie chuckles at your observation before shrugging. Can you really blame him? You both knew what was coming.

You watch with absolute lust as Eddie slides the piece of rubber over his long, girthy, throbbing cock. He’s bigger than anyone you’ve ever had before, and the snarky, hooded-eye smile as he watches you fawn reveals to you that he knows exactly how to use it.

"On your stomach, babygirl. Will have you all nice and pounded out just like you wanted.”

You situate yourself in prone and spread your legs for Eddie to line himself up against them. He teases his wrapped cock against the entrance of your pussy, and when his soothing countdown is over, your lips part in disposition as you accommodate his ruinous stretch.

A throaty moan spills out of the both of you the moment Eddie snaps his hips in and out of you. Meanwhile, one of his hands lays tauntingly at your stomach, so the prideful man can feel himself wriggling inside you, glazing his shaft with your slick more and more with every pump into your weak cunt.

"Fuck, Eddie... yes..." you mewl. "R-right there, Eddie, please..."

And then it picks up. You can feel Eddie’s hips practically collapse right onto you, his balls slapping against you as he digs further into your body.

"God damn..." the man sighs in disbelief.

He can only beam down at you in awe. You were taking him so good, pussy swallowing him so nice and tight. And when you nestle your ankles between each other to keep him there in prone, the nearly cries out in pleasure, but refrains because he knows your dad is resting — just a thin wall over.

That still doesn’t stop him from going to town though. Practically seeing stars, the broken record of a mouth that belongs to you chants Eddie’s name like it’s all you know. Eddie attempts to keep you contained, offering you his fingers to suck on as he’s railing you dumb.

And when he fucks you through your climax, Eddie continues with his string of lust-filled praises, satisfied at himself that he was able to make you wet enough to soak the mattress.

“Did so good for me, angel,” he praises you as he sucks at your temple. “Always knew you weren’t all that innocent.”

The griddle comes out again on Eddie’s last day. But this time, for a homestyle southern dinner.

You and Eddie were on mashed potatoes and gravy duty at the stove, an ordeal that only opened doors for lots of innuendos on Eddie’s part. Meanwhile, Dad insisted on making the rest, having taken pride in continuing his Mama’s legacy.

“This is amazing, Daddy,” you rave. “I really missed this. Do you mind passing the salt, please?”

And to your horror, you watch as your father and Eddie automatically extend their arms, bumping into one another in the process en route to getting you the salt.

The gentlemen meet each other’s eyes.

“Ohp!” Eddie exclaims, letting out a slight chuckle. “Sorry.”

You try your hardest not to blush. Eddie kicks you from under the table, and softly he oh-so-seductively he mutters,

“I was just tryna help her out.”

[pseudowho]

Fire and Iron

Forced to stay the night with Nanami Kento, the town's blacksmith, after tending to his wounds, you find yourself smouldering in his irresistible flame.

Warnings: 18+, fluff and smut, loss of virginity

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

Your boots cracked through the ice-topped slurry puddles scattering the mud path in the village. The shawl bundled over your shoulders was not enough, and the biting cold wind whipped your cloak back, stripping its usefulness off your shivering shoulders.

Townsfolk waved to you, nodding, smiling; greetings for a familiar face, many of them grateful for your travels to their icy town over the years, lacking even a basic healer of their own, let alone one so talented.

Passing by the blacksmith's hut on your way, you paused out the front, feeling the heat bellowing forth like dragon's breath. You tipped your head back, the smell of ash and steel filling your nose. As you paused, moments after, so did the clang of hammer on anvil.

You opened your eyes, stinging in the brutal cold and smoke. You, once more, like a hundred times before, had caught the eye of the blacksmith. He, whose name you did not know. He, who looked but never touched. He, to whom you had passed so many thousands of hours of your life, and his life to you, through gaze alone.

Stood proud at the anvil, shadowing the forge like the door to hell behind him, his broad shoulders wore only an open-chested white linen shirt, and a thick brown leather apron. With his ashy blond hair, and the lines of his face filled with soot, he was ageless and unknowable. He looked to you, his sharp face quiet and impassive; expression always somewhere between fury and tranquility.

Your lips parted once, as if to speak, and it jumped the blacksmith to life. With a barely perceptible nod, and a grunt, he swung his hammer back, brought down in beautiful accuracy, shaping smouldering steel. The clang rung through you, your chest jolting with a short gasp, and you collected yourself, stepping onwards. You were sure you could feel his cool gaze through the back of your head.

Another patient; another healed. Another grateful family; another life prolonged. The days were short now, and as you stepped out of the house of rough-hewn wood and stone, the forest pines were bathed in dying light, netting the low winter sun above the horizon. It was a punishing journey home, on foot, and the horses were long since put to bed.

The blacksmith's hut held its own sunset, the forge open but unattended. You heard stamps, heavy feet and cursing. You paused in the burst of warmth, illuminated, listening. Curiosity carried your feet into the hut, the heavy wet hem of your skirts collecting ashes, absorbing the blacksmith's domain.

"Are you...are you alright?" You called, uncertain, "Sir?" The footsteps, the swearing, had stopped. You stepped further in, feeling the forge belch at you, almost excruciatingly hot now.

"Get away from there!" The bark, deep and commanding, made you squeak and stumble. Darting through the side door, the blacksmith looped one thick arm round your waist before you fell towards the forge, effortlessly lifting you round, his back to the furnace, his face in shadow.

He was close; close enough that you could smell the soft sweat, the tang of fire and metal. He hissed as your hands dropped to his forearm, and you felt a cold dripping cloth draped over it.

"Do you often wander into places uninvited?" He snipped at you. You recognised the cadence in his low voice-- pain.

"I-- ...you're hurt," you insisted, voice barely above a whisper. Looking up, your eyes tried to gauge his unreadable face in the gloom. You felt him huff, warm air across your cheeks. His arm loosened, releasing you. As he stepped back, turning away to close the forge, you saw the blacksmith's mountainous shoulders tense, twitching.

"It's nothing," he retaliated, brisk. You stepped forwards again, placing a soft hand on his shoulder. At first, he flinched, then begrudgingly allowed you to turn him, and lift the damp rag covering his forearm. A thick welting burn, running the length of his forearm, lay weeping and angry on his skin, already nicked with so many little scars. You heard his teeth grit as the air hit his wound.

"Nothing," you scoffed, "this needs dressing. Let me help you." You felt him flinch beneath your hands, hesitant. He felt his skin prickle under yours, finding such curious pleasure in your touch alongside his pain. Your beseeching eyes took him the rest of the way, and he found himself accepting you.

"I...not here," the blacksmith toned, his eyes flitting to the town around him, "if they believe me injured, I'll lose business." You nodded, rummaging in your overburdened satchel, until he took you gently by the hand.

"My home," he began, hesitant, your hand so soft and small in his broad calloused palm, "you'll...you are welcome. It is clean. Quiet. I...I will not harm you. I promise."

Aware of his size and strength, aware of the air of mystery surrounding him amongst the townsfolk, the blacksmith was quick to reassure you. Your eyes softened, and his thumb brushed lightly over your knuckles at your words, electricity crackling up your arm.

"I know you won't," you assured. The briefest smile graced his severe face when you offered your name. You felt it warm you from the belly downwards. As he pulled encouragingly on your fingers, leaving the forge to die naturally with the approaching nightfall, you were led through the back of the hut, seeing a newly revealed sprawling cabin of wood and stone, at the edge of the forest. You felt the first kiss of snow upon your cheek.

"Nanami Kento," the blacksmith replied, welcoming you over the threshold. You smiled up at him, taking in his home; barely lit, at first, until he struck a lantern to life. You placed your bag upon a table, rummaging for salves as Kento began to build the fire, skilled and efficient.

You basked in the homely room; autumnal tapestries lining the walls, skin rugs on the floor and furs on the chairs, hanging herbs above a countertop, circled with hung skillets and pans. You relaxed easily into the sincerity of Kento's welcome. A frigid wind slapped the windows, rattling the door.

Before long, an enormous cast iron pot boiled with water, and you knelt before Kento, appraising his wound in the orange glow. Cleaning your hands, wetting a rag with clean water, you moved to clean the ash from his arm before pausing.

"This will hurt," you apologised, looking up to him. Kento's heart stuttered; how many hours had he spent, imagining those sweet eyes, those gentle fingers? Too long. Too many words unspoken over too many years. He was not used to such tenderness.

"I am used to pain," he hushed, smooth and barely audible above the crackle of flame, "my job has certain...hazards, after all." You hummed, swiping the cloth gently, removing dirt and debris.

"Still," you hummed, "I don't like to hurt a friend." Kento chuckled, and you felt yourself blush from hairline to toes at the rich mirth of it.

"We are...friends, are we?" His voice was low and conspiratorial, and you felt it stir a hunger deep within you. You smiled back, mulish as you dabbed salve onto his burn. His knees were parted, with you knelt between them, and your elbows rested on the thick muscle of his thighs. You felt safe, warm, held.

"All those years, passing back and forth," you sighed, teasing, "and not one hello? Just lots of nods," your stomach swooped as Kento laughed again, "and our friendship is just that. An accumulation of nods."

"Would we have stopped at 'hello'?" Kento retaliated. He caught the brief pause in your bandaging, before you continued. You spoke, uncertain again.

"Well," you hummed, testing the water, "offer me one now...and we shall see where it goes." Looking up, you gasped to find your face just inches from Kento's. He smiled at you, his eyes flicking briefly to your lips and back up again.

"Hello," he whispered, quiet and mischievous, "and thank you."

Your breath fluttered out; Kento could feel it against his lips, beckoning him.

"I...it's getting late," you started, and Kento blinked out of his reverie, glancing to the inky black outside his windows, "I should go."

Kento grasped your fingers once more, rising with you as he stood, your shawl shushing against his chest, barely covered by his soft linen shirt. Kento hummed, sounding grave, stepping to the other side of the room.

"It is night," he said, hands cupped around his eyes as he squinted out of the windows, "and the woods are barely safe in the day. I...I cannot allow you to travel. Alone, in the snow. You must stay."

His tone broached no argument, yet still you tried, packing your bag, your cheeks aflame.

"I...it isn't..." you stuttered, and Kento turned to you, chin inclined to the floor, one fine eyebrow raised. You took a deep breath, certain that if you didn't leave now, you may fall too deeply into Kento's insistent heat. Yet...you knew he was right. The path was treacherous. The snow would take you before the dawn.

"Would you like a bath?" Kento offered, turned away to save you your blushes; a gentleman.

"I-- please don't go to any trouble--" Kento swiftly ignored you, beginning to grasp the enormous iron pot, lifting it with stunning ease. His voice didn't even hitch.

"It's no trouble. I bathe every night. You can go before me." Kento carried the pan, stepping behind a folding wooden screen, and you followed him as if to argue, watching him begin to fill an enormous copper bathtub. Your hands shook as you began to remove your shawl, still blushing, so briefly overwhelmed before squashing it down.

Kento glanced up at you, pausing as he poured hot water, "This will take me some time," he said, apologetic, "please make yourself comfortable. I'll call for you."

You nodded, clearing your throat, hands twisting in your removed shawl. Kento chastised himself for admiring the soft curve of your breasts into your waist, the hidden delight of the swelling of your hips beneath your heavy skirts. He did not see how the steam rose fast, dampening his white shirt, how you could see all the way to his navel as he leaned over the bath. Neither of you knew how the other stirred within.

As you walked the length of the room, your fingertips brushing tapestries and grazing over warm furs, your curiosity drew you to a wide, flat trinket box, inlaid with mother of pearl, the colours an aurora in the rolling firelight. You stroked the box just once, before lifting the lid.

Your eyes crinkled immediately with joy at the treasures within; the box was full of lovingly crafted necklaces of gold, silver, pearl and gem, the chains finer and softer than any you had ever seen. You did not feel Kento approach as you admired them.

"I'd like for you to choose one," he offered, sincere, as you spun to face him. He raised his hands placatingly, a smile at the edge of his mouth, "not in lieu of payment, of course. A gift, I...made them with no real aim as to who should receive them."

"You made these?" You gaped, unable to fathom how such enormous hands crafted such intricate delights, "Kento, I-- they're beautiful, I couldn't possibly..."

If Kento had held any reservation, after hearing his name tumble from your lips, he was filled with the burning certainty that the jewellery should be for you, and you alone. His hand closed over yours as you moved to shut the box.

"Please," he breathed, so close, "choose one, or I shall give you them all." Swallowing, your hand hovered over a fine chain of silver and emerald, your fingertips brushing the gem. Kento hummed his approval, before picking it up, his calloused fingers all softness and grace.

"My favourite, too," he rumbled, brushing your hair off the nape of your neck as he clipped the necklace into place. You shivered at the feeling of his fingers on your neck, and almost ran as he whispered beside your ear, "Your bath is ready."

Stripping behind the wooden screen, hearing Kento amble around the room beyond, you sighed as the hot water enveloped you. Washing yourself with a soft sponge, cleaning off the grime of the day, your hand wandered absentmindedly downwards, fingertips grazing through your folds, naturally moving to relieve yourself of the building tension--

"I've left you a shirt." Your hand darted upwards with a guilty splash, Kento's voice only meters away behind the screen.

"Thank-- thank you," you squeaked, blushing, before climbing out, so naked apart from your exquisite new necklace. Drying on a soft towel, your hand hesitated over the shirt draped over the screen, before pulling it on over damp skin. It reached down your thighs, but left little else to the imagination.

Kento remained outwardly stoic, unreadable, averting his gaze as you crept out, arms holding yourself and squashing your breasts together, the colour of your nipples as faint as a ghost under the white linen shirt. He cleared his throat, coughing lightly before skirting past to the bath. You felt heat creep up your neck at the gossamer hush of his clothes hitting the floor, the shifting water as he stepped in, the way he sighed in relief, almost as if--

"I shall sleep in the chair tonight," Kento said, slow and considered, "and you shall have my bed." You felt indignation roll within you.

"Don't be ridiculous," you scolded, "you're injured, and this is your home--"

'-- and you are my guest," he grumbled.

"I won't allow it," you insisted, almost forgetting yourself as you approached the wooden screen, "I'll put some furs on the floor and--"

"You believe I would let you sleep on the floor?" He growled, furious at your suggestion, "I should rather you have me share the bed with you over that--"

"Fine. Then we shall share the bed. And there will be no more argument." You clapped a hand over your mouth as the words tumbled forth, unbidden. Mortified by your own suggestion, you removed your hand to speak again.

Kento stepped round from behind the screen, his towel draped lazily round his waist. You gaped up at him, stunned. He was...younger than you thought, his blond hair now soft and floppy, the ash removed from the lines in his face, taking ten years off him. You faced him, his towering form, the practiced rolls, peaks and planes of muscle belonging to a working man, his forearms so thick--

"Then...we should get to bed," Kento insisted, stepping past you, through a doorway to his bedroom, where you heard him rummaging for clothes, "it is late and I am up with the lark."

You hesitated where you stood, feeling your heartbeat between your legs, desperately curious, but paralysed.

"I don't bite," Kento called out, and you gulped down the sounds of soft fabric dropping over his body, still crippled with indecision and embracing yourself as he stepped out to put out the fire. You were lost momentarily in darkness before he stepped to you, the lantern between you, a beacon in the dark. You felt his hand close around your fingers again. You heard him whisper.

"It will become cold quickly, now the fire has died. Come. Stay warm."

You allowed yourself to be led to Kento's bedroom, hypnotised by the small swinging lantern. Kento led your hand downwards, placing it to the edge of the bed for you to feel your way, your fingers gliding through soft fur and cool sheets. With shaking hands, you crawled across to the head of the bed. Kento waited for you, flipping down the sheets, flipping them back up to your chin as you both slipped between them.

You heard nil but your own heartbeat. Kento faced you, the torch light embering behind him leaving him only just visible as your eyes adjusted to the light. The sheets had not yet warmed from your bodies, and you shivered. You felt Kento shift beside you.

"You...are cold," he stated as if in question. You remained quiet, gripping your hands to your chest lest they reach out for him.

"I'm...I'll warm up. Soon," you reassured yourself as much as him. You heard one doubtful grunt from him. Five minutes passed, and still, Kento felt you shiver against the sheets. Pulling a fur up to your chins, he felt prickles up his legs as one of your feet reached hesitantly out to touch him. He felt rather than heard you sigh.

"So warm," you whispered, your little voice soft with comfort in the dark. Kento's breath caught in his chest, feeling his cock twitch inside his soft trousers.

"Do you...need me?" He offered. He felt your other foot reach out in answer, cold toes wiggling against the downy hair on his leg. He felt a dangerous, needy arousal thread through him.

Reaching out his uninjured arm, he hooked it round your waist, chuckling as you squeaked when he pressed against you. You hummed in pleasure at the heat rolling off him, basking in his warmth, forgetting your awkwardness for a moment. Kento and you lay intertwined like that, with you softening like butter in his arms.

After a few minutes, you shifted against him, about to drift off to sleep. Kento must have been near sleep as well, groaning into your hair as you shifted, reflexively clinging you closer to him. Your bottom, completely bare with his shirt shifted up your body, pressed back to his groin. His clothed cock was hard and barely restrained in his loose trousers, and pressed between your thighs.

You felt a jolt run through you, feeling a warm trickle of arousal, so alien to you, seep out between your thighs. Kento almost saw stars as it dampened the trousers over his cockhead, and he frowned, his forehead pressed to your shoulder blade in apology and embarrassment.

"I-- I'm sorry, I--...it's been so long...since I've felt a woman-- shit, I'm--" Kento rested his nose against your neck, unable to stop himself from ghosting his lips there. You dropped your head back to him, and he growled in appreciation, nuzzling your neck, feeling your thighs clamp around the tip of his cock, your arousal seeping through his trousers and mixing with his own.

"I've never--" you whispered, blushing furiously, drunk on the feeling of his body against yours, feeling so curiously empty and aching to be filled. Kento understood immediately, and moved to pull back.

"No!" You squeaked, holding onto his arm, pushing yourself back to chase him along the bed, "Please, I-- I want--...you. I want you." Your words sat heavy in the air. Kento shifted behind you, at war with himself.

"You don't know what you're asking," he growled, fighting against you to remove his arm, "I am no boy."

"And I'm no girl, nor stupid," you reassured, "I'm not ignorant."

In an instant, Kento moved above you, on all fours, his arms caging you in, corseting you to his bed. He stared down at you, enormous chest heaving, eyes roving down your body, quickly intoxicated by your peaked nipples, beneath his shirt, the hem of it barely covering your sex, still feeling your arousal dampening his cock.

He leaned down, nestling his mouth against your neck again, tongue flicking out, tasting you. He felt you still under his lips, just a little mouse, in the jaws of a bear.

"And yet, all that knowledge is just academic, until you're crying out that my cock is too big for you," he growled, warning you away, barely able to stop himself. He felt you squirm beneath him, his head swimming with you. He was lost, then, to your tiny whisper in the gloom.

"Show me-- please." Kento shuddered, a drop of pre-cum seeping out of his cock, soaking through his trousers and your-- his-- shirt, to dampen your belly. You shivered, desperate to know Kento biblically, desperate for this fabled ecstasy.

Kento raised his mouth from your neck, reading your eyes, seeing such certainty in them. Tangling his fingers with yours beneath the sheets, he pressed the length of his body down against you as he kissed you, his other hand framing your jaw, gently encouraging it open to slide his tongue against yours. Your soft little moan was like music to his ears.

Kissing you deeply, learning your voice and your mouth, letting you learn the peaks and planes of his body with your free hand, Kento kept your other hand plaited with his own, fearful of leaving you to take this journey alone.

He felt himself shudder with the unbridled privilege of being able to worship you, jealously grateful that you had not been left to some boy. He was overwhelmed by the need to set your standards high at the first hurdle.

"Let me taste you," he murmured into your mouth, and you hesitated, unsure of what he meant. Swiping his thumb across your palm, Kento's mouth ventured downwards, sucking the skin of your neck, nipping before soothing the skin with his tongue, feeling you become pliable, supple as water. His fingers danced over the laces holding your shirt together, giving you opportunity to stop him, before untying them, freeing your breasts.

Laying his tongue flat over one nipple, Kento allowed it to curve to the shape of you, to know you, before drawing it into his mouth, sucking on your nipple while his hand toyed with and kneaded the other. He revelled in your whines, a high, keening mewl as you arched off the bed into his mouth. You felt his licks and sucks, curiously, between your legs, and you could not help but buck up against him.

Kento grunted at the feeling of your pussy pressing against his thigh, and moved one hand down to hold your hips still.

"Slow down-- let me show you," he ordered, gentle in his insistence. You trembled under his fingertips, your hips settling back to the bed. He rumbled his approval, rolling your nipple under his tongue again until you sighed, breathy and ecstatic, "Good girl."

In reward, his mouth continued to trail downwards, and your eyes fluttered closed, one hand coming to rest on the back of his head, your fingernails scratching through his damp hair. Kento shivered at the sensation, feeling his cock leap against his thigh.

When his mouth reached your mound, you squeaked out in alarm, flipping the blankets down to see Kento, illuminated in the orange light.

"What are you-- your mouth, Kento--" Kento's eyes crinkled up at you, and two arms came to loop round the top of your thighs, pulling you down the bed towards him, your shirt being rucked up against the drag of the mattress to completely expose your glistening pussy to him.

Maintaining eye contact with you, you trembled with anticipation as Kento poked his tongue out into a point, first grazing your folds, before stroking from side to side to ease in between them. The sound that broke out from you as his tongue stroked over your clit, hot and wet, was one Kento masturbated to for years to come.

You felt as though you had been lifted from earth and dropped amongst the clouds as he licked at you, sucking, stroking, tasting, the pleasure so otherworldly compared to what your own hand could achieve, that you felt yourself being rushed towards your peak at speed.

Twisting and squirming against his mouth, you reflexively tried to pull your pussy away from Kento's attentions. His arms tightened around the tops of your thighs, growling into you, pulling you back as you tried to scoot away. Your hand tugged at his hair as you arched, whimpering, coated in a fine sweat. As Kento groaned into your cunt, you watched his hips roll and hump against the bed, the sight alone enough to send your orgasm crashing through you, and you worshipped his name in a long, keening cry.

Kento let his laps and sucks become softer, languid, letting you float through the haze of your pleasure. Nuzzling at you, tasting you as you trailed lazy blissful fingers through his hair, Kento planted soft kisses to your inner thigh.

Moving back up, stroking his nose against your neck, Kento felt your hand move down his shoulders and back, before coming round to ghost over the front of his trousers. Kento shuddered, kneeling above you to remove his shirt, skin prickling with the need to feel yours against his own.

Gazing down at you, his eyes like whiskey in the flickering light, he grazed a palm from in between your breasts, down to the hem of your shirt, pulling it up over your head in one swift tug, exposing you completely to him.

Your hand still trailed over his groin as he knelt, and you were captivated, obsessed with the shape, weight and length of his cock in your hands, blissfully unaware of what you were doing to him. As you grasped the lace at the front of his trousers, undoing it, and squeezing the head of his cock between your fingers, Kento moaned, ragged, leaning one hand sideways to support himself.

"Fuck-- I haven't-- not for so long," he moaned, low and husky, feeling your inexperienced fingers explore his cock and balls in a way that felt almost abusively naive. As your thumb glided beneath his foreskin, collecting the wetness of his pre-cum, exploring his slit, Kento hissed, panting and grabbing your hand.

You broke out of your reverie, blushing with mortification, tears pricking in your eyes as you began to apologise. Kento interrupted, shushing you, one hand still gripping your fingers around his cock, the other coming up to cup your face, his thumb swiping across your cheek.

"Not you," he huffed, stroking your cheek, smiling down at you with fevered eyes, "me, it's-- I-- I'll cum in your hand if you carry on." Your eyes glimmered, hungry to see how he looked as you pleasured him, and you moved yourself, leaning close, squeezing him again beneath his own hand, and he cried out in pleasure. You felt another drip of his arousal across your fingers, and you gulped, your tongue darting out across your lips.

As you lowered yourself to his lap, Kento's eyebrows raised in shock, and desperate awe, as you licked the weeping cockhead sticking out from your joined enclosed hands.

A low rumble ebbed through Kento, his eyes suddenly dark and hungry as he looked down at you, wordlessly using your hand inside his own, to pump the length of his cock. Feeling the intoxicating glide of soft skin over woody hardness, you let him use your hand to masturbate himself as you took the head of his cock into your mouth, licking, tasting the musty pre-cum there.

Every instinct screamed at Kento to chase his orgasm, to press your head further down his cock so he could use your little hand to jack off into your mouth, and he felt overwhelmed by the innocent licks and sucks you gave him, eyes cast upwards to see what effect they had on him. Kento moaned desperately, twisting on his haunches, fingers in turn tangling into your hair and coming away, clenching and unclenching at speed.

He felt the approaching rush of divine ecstasy, thrumming up his back in waves, his balls tightening up against the base of his cock--

Snapping, Kento pulled your hand and mouth off him, heaving you up the bed and back onto the pillows, before pinning you down with his body, panting into your neck, trying not to spill his seed over your belly. You were thrilled, ecstatic with Kento's pleasure, eager to see more of it.

You crept your hips up to his, trying to ease his cock into you. Kento huffed, his hand shooting down to press your hips down again.

"--going to kill me-- I swear-- no idea...you have no idea what you're doing to me--" Kento panted, quaking above you, one forearm planted above your head. As his peak ebbed away, Kento plaited his hand with your own again, above your head. He felt his cockhead resting against the smooth resistance of your entrance, and he suddenly felt so responsible for you.

"I don't want to hurt you," he huffed, aware he was bigger than average, but knowing from the fevered look in your eyes that he could not dissuade you-- not that he wanted to, at this point, his cock throbbing with urgent need.

"Please," you begged, "please." You felt Kento's hips press forwards into your soaking wet heat, feeling a slight sting as it met resistance. Kento rested his nose to yours, his eyes still feverish, his body still smelling of iron and ash and smoke.

"On one condition," he pressed, authoritative as his cockhead pressed deeper against your stinging resistance, breaking past thin membrane, gripping your thigh up to his hip as you trembled, biting your lip, tears in your eyes as you nodded-- anything, you thought, anything.

"Marry me," he whispered against your lips, and you squeaked as you felt a twang of pain, his cock suddenly nestled deeply inside you. Kento rocked his hips gently, shushing you, soothing you, his thumb stroking your palm. Not moving, just holding you as you adjusted to feeling so full, Kento waited for an answer.

"Y--yes...yes," you mewled, and Kento growled his approval against your neck, slowly pulling out of you before rutting back into your wet, tender pussy again, so intimate and deep that you cried out for him.

Kento rolled his hips, like a boat on the waves, whispering into you, certain he wouldn't last long; "First-- I'll cum inside you-- then I'll treat you like a queen...haaah...for the rest of my days."

You clung to Kento, lost in the ecstasy of him plowing into you, delighted by his rumbling groans in your ears, blissfully proud of being able to make such an unflappable man fall apart inside you. When his grip on your hip faltered, his shaking hand dropping to stroke quick little circles around your clit, Kento growled and bit into your neck to feel you rock your hips upwards to meet his own.

The sting almost completely eased, you felt quick pangs of pleasure, rising with every beat of your fast little heart, completely carried along by the eroticism of Kento's frantic groans and mumbles into your ear.

"My love I-- you feel so good...so good...god, I need to cum, need you to cum I-- aahhhh, fuck--" Kento felt your pussy clench around him, and he came inside you as you drank down his moans, fascinated by how they matched up with the bounding twitch of his cock, how his hips juddered into you involuntarily, how his face contorted, jaw clenched, somewhere between rage and serenity.

You were famished, starved of him, immediately desperate for more, and you felt him crumple into you, caging you in, shoulders heaving and spent. Kento chuckled as you peppered him with kisses, gripping your thighs round him and rolling him over so you lay above him, straddling him as his cock softened within you.

With his chin on his chest to look down to you, and a lazy lopsided smile across his face, Kento played idly with your hair, stroking your nose, your cheeks. He proudly fingered the beautiful necklace, resting against your breasts, squashed and plush against him.

"You meant it?" He asked, eager, concerned.

You hummed in delight, pressing a tender kiss to his chest as you nodded; "You had me at 'hello'."

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Would the anon who requested Blacksmith!Kento PLEASE STAND UP so I can credit you for breaking my brain.

[moonlight-prose]

i’d love to see your take on #15 from the prompt list: “jealous sex in the alleyway behind the bar” w logan 👀 i’m picturing logan in xmen 1 or 2 specifically 😫

have a cigar

a/n: i am such a fucking sucker for the jealousy trope. especially when he's the idiot who doesn't realize he's the only option. the best one in my opinion. but of course he's got his own hangups and his own issues. so i've thrown a bit of angst in here with the spice. enjoy darling! (the title is based off the pink floyd song which gives massive logan vibes.)

summary: everyone knows who you belong to. if the jacket you wore that left you drowning in the soft leather wasn't indication enough, then the claws attached to your guard dog certainly was.

word count: 3.3k+

pairing: logan howlett x f!reader

warnings: EXPLICIT SO MINORS DNI, possessive logan, violence, tw: blood, animalistic tendencies, cigar smoke, alcohol, harassment, spitting, exhibitionism, p in v sex, rough sex, bruising, choking, logan kinda refers to them as an object (out of love), he's literally unhinged.

The bar reeked of spilled beer and shitty cigarettes. A rock song from the seventies blasted from the speakers—crackling every time the front door was jostled open, another patron stumbling in for a night of fun. Raucous cheers erupted from the corner where four men in leather jackets had taken up residence at a pool table; each one betting higher than the other.

You were perched on a stool. A heavy brown leather jacket wrapped around your body, a half finished whiskey in front of you, and a cigar clutched in your fingers. Neither were yours.

Yet you couldn't help but sip at the drink with a happy sigh, the smoke curling down your hand with a familiar scent that twisted your inside.

For the past ten minutes, you'd been staring at the menu. Trying to discern if ordering the mini plate of nachos was worth it before Logan waltzed back in from the bathroom. He muttered about there being a fucking line due to someone locking the damn stall. But you didn't mind.

Time spent with him was worth sitting here alone.

That is until you heard the telltale familiar scratch of a stool being dragged away—someone sitting to your right with a heavy grunt.

You flinched slightly, turning your back towards them, but their knuckles were already rapping on the bartop. Demanding your attention with another grunt. You could smell the alcohol on their skin, the glaze in their blue eyes as you turned, but that isn't what sent fear curling low in your spine. It was the sleazy grin on their lips.

They wouldn't be taking no for an answer.

"What's a pretty little thing like you doin' sittin' here alone?" he slurred, eyes trailing down your form.

Suddenly wearing the simple sundress for Logan felt like an awful idea. Your stomach turned with nausea as he ogled your body without shame. To him you weren't a person. Fuck you'd be lucky if he even asked for your name before he spewed bullshit about taking you home.

The bartender eyed him with a glare, nodding his head in your direction for some affirmation of safety. He recognized you, knew Logan from the countless times he'd been here, and that left you with some peace to cling to. It wasn't much, but you grasped at it blindly. Offering an awkward smile to appease the victim of Logan's fist when he finally returned.

"I'm with someone." You hated how meek your voice sounded; how small you felt sitting here like prey.

He shrugged, leaning close enough for you to smell the vodka on his breath. "I won't tell if you don't babe."

Heavy boots thumped against the floor and you visibly relaxed in your seat as Logan's form filled your peripheral. He stood stiff at your side, hands curling into fists at the sight of a man practically laying across your lap. Your eyes met his, guilt bleeding into your pupil. Only for anger to fill his. His hand pressed to your back, thumb rubbing into your side softly.

"You got a problem boy?" he snapped.

The man sat up too quickly, his body swaying as he met the guard dog attached to your back. "Just talking to the lady man. Fuck off."

You sighed, feeling Logan's hand freeze. Out of all the mistakes that could be made—that remained the worst. The man had dug his own grave. Logan was merely the executioner tasked with bringing this man to his awaited appointment with death.

Who were you to stand in the way of that?

You slipped off the stool, moving with speed to get out of the way of Logan's claws. Slamming the man against the bartop, he set the blades to his throat. A snarl resonated in the place, forcing everyone to go quiet, as you watched in rapture at the sight of Logan pinning a man. Daring him to move.

He cried in pain, blood dripping from the split open wound in his forehead. But mercy wasn't something Logan gave willingly. You felt his love in the form of wrath. A weight against your chest that you sunk your teeth into with a smile.

He was willing to kill for you.

To spill blood for your lips to curve into a pleased grin.

You were breathless even thinking about it.

"Now," he growled, pressing the man down until he heard the snap of a bone. "Wanna repeat that shit to my face motherfucker?"

"N-No." The scent of copper tinged the air, laying on your tongue. "I'm—fuck—I'm sorry! I didn't know she was yours man."

He lowered his face, nostrils flaring at the scent of blood permeating the air. "Touch her again and it's your arm."

Nodding frantically, you watched as the man practically slid to the floor in a mess of tears. Part of you wanted to feel bad for him. A pathetic soul who couldn't find joy unless it was preying on others. Logan's hand wrapping around the back of your neck is what killed those feelings with a swift slice of an axe. The heat of his touch became an anchor against your skin, sending a shiver down your spine.

Sick, twisted, inhumane. You attempted to label the feelings that catapulted right into your chest at the sight of Logan's red stained fist. There had to be an explanation in the back of your mind. A missing piece as to why you felt such exhilaration in the face of violence.

"Motherfucker," he muttered under his breath, slamming the back door open with his foot, his fingers digging a bit deeper. "Thinks he can take what's mine."

Oh. You liked that.

The click of his lighter and spark of a flame illuminated the shadow of possession that lingered on his face. His eyes watched you, trailed down the form of your body beneath his oversized leather jacket. The soft echo of love was swapped out for something tenebrous—something raw.

"C'mere." He spoke the word as if his hand wasn't still around your neck, leading you into his vicinity.

You stumbled over your own feet, eyes wide with the type of veneration he felt slam into his chest. Such a pretty thing, so lovely and soft for him to caress. To call his.

Perhaps this need to claim you stemmed from an animalistic urge he should have tamped down. He knew he looked like an asshole back in the bar, knew that you weren't a fan of when he got his fists dirty. But the need to sink his teeth into the side of your neck until blood poured into his mouth overtook him on his worst days.

It was fucked to even think about. Harming you, marking you, all to make sure that drunken idiots knew to keep their hands to themselves.

That thought alone was enough to make him feel a hint of disgust over his own fantasies.

Until he smelled it.

Cigar smoke unfurled from his mouth, curling low and falling across your face with a soft brush of air. Your eyes fluttered from the scent, mouth filling with saliva at the thought of him blowing it between your parted lips. All you had to do was ask him—place your hands on his cheeks and press your lips to his. He certainly wouldn't be against kissing you.

But something darker swirled to life in your chest. A hidden truth you felt far too ashamed to reveal that you started to tuck away in the back of your mind.

That didn't stop your scent from growing thick in the air, filling his nose with the sharp tang of your sweetness. He could practically taste it on the tip of his tongue. The ache to see it for himself nearly overwhelmed his body.

Something shifted in the time it took for the both of you to get outside away from the prying eyes inside the bar. Everyone knew you were Logan's. That became clear the second his jacket draped your shoulders—his hand a permanent fixture on your hip as he saw with you at the bar. But seeing him confirm a truth already known.

The spillage of blood was a small price to pay to set his words into stone for those to read. Logan was prepared to do far more than that; the need to bend you over the bar and make you cry those pretty little tears only meant for him growing each time you came here.

"Logan," you murmured, eyes half lidded with lust.

"Yeah you liked that huh sugar."

"I–" What could you say to him? I loved seeing you claim me like an animal in front of everyone. That alone felt too fucking embarrassing to admit out loud.

His thumb pressed into the back of your skull, releasing what tension built up. Moaning softly, you curled your body into his, eyes fluttering shut as he massaged that spot until you purred. You were so pliable under his hold, willing to leap when he said the word, and Logan could feel his cock throb at the sight.

His pretty girl.

"Liked seeing me beat a man cause he touched you." Lips curled into a smirk around his cigar when your mouth parted, breaths coming in harder than before. "You'd let me fuck in front of all of 'em wouldn't ya. Just to show them you're mine."

You went lightheaded, slick pouring out of you, as a soft whine broke through the still night air. Something snapped in your mind at the thought—images of Logan pulling your skirt up and fingering you at the bar. Thoughts of him settling you on his lap to cockwarm him as he smoked his cigar at a table. Entirely at ease with the thought of everyone seeing you leak around him.

They all curled low in your belly, cracking open the door of desires you kept locked shut. Pandora's box was finally about to be pried open and yet all you could think about was his eagerness to show off what belonged to him.

Use me. Mark me. Take me however you want to.

Saying them with a shaky voice and shot nerves would do nothing for that unfathomable throbbing between your legs.

Not when he could see it written across your face with a clarity that should have scared you.

"You're my fuckin' filthy girl aren't ya," he muttered, drawing you close enough to taste the cigar smoke off his lips.

"Uh-huh." The dazed lilt of your words made him smile.

So needy for him even in the proximity of a disgusting alleyway in the back of a bar. How could he resist such sweetness?

His hand moved, closing around your throat, as he plucked the cigar from his lips. "Here's what I'm gonna do sugar." Your open mouth gave him enough leeway to blow the remainder of his smoke past your lips—forcing a gasp past your throat. "'M gonna fuck you right here. And I want you to make them hear it."

"A-Are you sure?"

He smiled, pushing you towards the wall and stubbing his cigar out on the brick. "What? Don't you wanna set those fuckers right?"

Nodding, you let him tug up the hem of your skirt of your dress, fingers delving beneath the lace panties you wore specially for him. With a groan, his eyes fell shut at the feel of you dripping so messily for him. Leaking across his hand even before he pressed the rough calloused pads to your clit—drawing a soft cry from your mouth.

"You get this wet watching me sugar?" he grunted against your cheek, mouth hovering right where you wanted him. "Poor thing. Didn't mean to make ya wait."

"Oh fuck," you gasped, fingers curling into his flannel. "L-Loved seeing you Logan."

He chuckled—degrading yet filled with a tenderness that made your heart ache. "I should fight in front of you more often. Get you nice and ready for me to fuck you whenever I want."

Whatever response you might have been able to form died in the back of your throat. A choking garbled moan of his name pierced the air when two fingers plunged into you knuckle deep. Curling roughly at your walls with a determined flare. This wasn't him trying to get you off. This was him proving he could.

"You hear that? She's singin' for me baby." The wet squelch of his fingers pounding into you left heat blooming beneath your cheeks and down your chest. "Beggin' for my cock."

"Need it Logan–"

A hand hiked your leg up to curl around his hip, lips finally slotting against yours with a stunted groan. Any coherent thoughts you might have had died with his tongue. He licked into you as if he was looking for something. Claimed your mouth with harsh moans and deep hot strokes against the roof of your mouth.

"I'll give it to you," he bit off, sucking your tongue into his mouth until you trembled in his hold.

He was everywhere. Pulling his fingers free and swallowing your whimper, he hoisted you up and shoved you against the wall so hard your back hurt. The pain quickly dwindled into a dull ache when the familiar clink of his belt buckle hit your ears.

Swallowing his harsh growl, you canted your hips against his. The growing heat in your body fanned into a fire you could no longer ignore; his touch echoing with the embers of something disastrous.

You knew you craved him, but this felt like a baseline urge your body couldn't give up. Some neolithic part of your brain that got off on being protected, possessed.

"You've got no idea how badly I wanna give it to ya," he muttered, teeth nipping at your bottom lip. "Gonna drive me fuckin' insane."

"Yes." The word felt diminutive compared to his, but everything else tapered off into garbled moans of his name.

"Already beggin' and I haven't even started." He smiled cruelly, cock sliding through your slickened pussy with a stuttered grunt.

If you were standing, your knees would have buckled. Even now they locked against his waist to keep him from pulling away. Secrets scratched at the nearly open door as he lined himself, fisting his cock with bared teeth and a throaty growl. There became no use in keeping them at bay. Not when Logan shared the fantasy in his own mind—playing it out like a film projected on your heart.

His hand slapped against the brick wall beside your head, the other snuggly resting at your throat. The flutter of your heart pulsed beneath the vein on your neck, directly along the jugular he often nipped and sucked at. The pad of his thumb pressed down against it—tongue swiping at his bottom lip when you moaned. Broken, pitched high enough to bounce off the alleyway walls.

"So pretty when you're needy." His lips caught yours, spit a glossy smear on your chin. "Can't even think straight without it."

You wanted to agree, to tell him you were nothing if you weren't his.

With a snarl pressed into your mouth he sunk into your pussy in one thrust and your mind went numb. You sagged against the wall, a splintered cry resonating in the air when he bottomed out. Your name a harsh groan—his neck strained and eyes squeezed tight.

"Logan," you sobbed loud enough for it to echo back into the bar. You could practically see them sitting there. Eyes wide and they fought the urge to get off to the sound of Logan fucking you within an inch of your life.

Nails scratched along his clothed shoulders in a desperate attempt at getting him closer when he began to pound into you. Hips slapped against yours with each roll of his hips, his hand slowly tightening around your throat. Even now you stared at him with wonder in your eyes. The glimmer he adored finding its way back into your iris as you admired how he looked.

The way his teeth grit together, nostrils flaring as your scent all but drowned him. He was a mythological being who'd come to declare that you had always been his. That this was merely an act of fate; the strings drawing you two together so tight it cut through your skin and bled you dry.

The hand on your throat shifted higher, prying open your mouth. "C'mon baby. Let 'em know who you belong to."

A ragged moan ripped free from the shackles of your chest, your eyes rolling back as his cock brushed against raw bliss. He smiled, forehead pressed to yours and hips shifting to keep the angle. Even when you began to cry loud enough to alert people on the streets Logan refused to give you a chance to breathe.

This wasn't the man you came with. This was the animal buried deep within his heart; the Wolverine snapping at anyone who dared to come near his other half.

"That's it," he bit out. "You gonna be a good fuckin' girl and cum for me?"

"Mm-hm."

He panted against your lips, tongue licking behind your front teeth. "Can feel her chokin' my cock."

You couldn't breathe. Each thrust sent what little air you had out of your lungs in small breathy whines. He fucked into you with abandon until you swore you felt him in your throat—the echo of skin against skin and the scrape of his boots on gravel when he shifted you higher became your gravity.

With a sharp intake of breath, he dropped his hand from the wall to cup your ass. Swiftly dropping you on his cock to force a scream from your mouth. It clawed up your chest, that familiar aching pull in your torso. The burn you clung to as he tipped your head back and messily spit into your open mouth. You swallowed it with a moan, thighs clenching around his hips.

"That's it," he rumbled, thumb finding your pulsing clit with ease. "Give it to me, yeah? Make a fuckin' mess on it."

A harsh thrust sent your head flying to the back of the wall. Logan was quick to slam his hand behind you, giving you a cushion to stop from severely hurting yourself. His mouth sought out yours with a mumble of your name, hips grinding deep as you came apart with a broken shout.

Bliss tore through every nerve in your body; your pussy now coating his throbbing cock in a fresh wave of slick. Logan moaned high and desperate against your tongue, following you quickly. Neither of you could tell if it was from the adrenaline of the fight or taking you out in the open, but he wouldn't stop coming.

"F-Fuck." He gasped, eyes rolling back as his head tipped. He filled you so much you could feel it leaking out, dripping down your thighs and coating the front of his jeans.

A nasty thought of dropping to your knees and licking the fabric clean filled your head—your walls spasming around him hard enough to make him hiss in pain. You quickly stored it away for later. When the feeling eventually returned to your legs.

"I think they know not to touch what's mine now," he mumbled, stealing a chaste kiss as he rubbed a soothing shape in your hip.

"Logan." He cupped your chin, lips curling into a dopey smile that bled warmth into your chest. "Take me home?"

His nose nudged yours in an act so gentle you nearly forgot how he fucked you a minute prior. "Sure thing sweetheart. Kiss?"

You grinned, eyes still shimmering with that love-struck awe; he felt it clench around his heart. "Well come here baby."

In the dark of the alley his lips found yours, sealing the deal of fate with the fulfillment of a life spent in each other's arms.

[hoshifighting]

Racer!Reader x Racer!Mingyu 一 Rivals to Lovers

Synospsis: Racer!Mingyu, the new kid, is determined to beat you in the college underground race. Does he have the guts to defeat you, his senior, the reigning queen of the racing scene? Before the race starts, a photo of your boyfriend cheating on you is spread to the students. When you look up from your phone, there's Mingyu with his piercing eyes. [...]

“Hmm, all upset, just the way I wanted,” Mingyu teased, leaning against the doorframe.

WC: 8k

Warnings: Cheating, illegal racing, rumors, smut, angst, penetrative sex, oral (f. receiving), fingering (f. receiving), squirt, clit stimulation, g'spot stimulation, body fluids (cum), kinda of rage make out?, chocking, spanking, dirty talk, sex pic and etc.

Mingyu. A name that had once been just a murmur in the shadows of the racing world is now on everyone's lips. This new kid, this prodigy, decided to go against the grain, to take on the best and make a name for himself. 

And somehow, you're the one he's set his sights on. The competition is obvious, like the electricity in the air before a storm, and the entire college is buzzed with bets. It's impossible to ignore the excitement at the thought of the race tonight. It's been too long since you've felt this alive.

The smell of burnt rubber and gasoline is already in your nose, a scent that brings back a flood of memories. The first time you felt the wind rush past you on two wheels, the rush of adrenaline when you crossed the finish line ahead of the pack. 

The races had been your escape, your way to prove to the world that you were more than just another face in the crowd. 

And now, as you lace up your boots and slip into your worn-in leather jacket, you know that this race will be different. It's not just about the thrill anymore. It's about pride, about maintaining your title, about showing Mingyu that he's bitten off more than he can chew.

The stakes are higher than ever before. You can feel it in the way Mark's eyes darken every time he looks at you, in the way he clenches his fists when Mingyu's name is mentioned.

As you swing your leg over your bike and rev the engine, you push those thoughts aside. Tonight, there's only one thing that matters: the race, the roar of the engines, and the taste of victory.

Mingyu's eyes sparkle inside his helmet, the gleaming visor reflecting the neon lights of the college parking lot that's been transformed into a makeshift race track. He's young, fearless, and he's got something to prove. 

You've watched him from afar, studied his technique, his daring moves that have earned him the title of 'the rookie to watch'. He's good, really good, but he's never raced against someone like you. You're the old war-horse in this game, a veteran who's seen it all and done it all. 

And now, the moment has arrived.

The girl in the quadriculed flag raises it high, her arm muscles taut with excitement. You and Mingyu lock eyes for a brief second, a silent promise of a fierce battle to come. And then, with a nod from her, you both speed off into the night. Your bike responds to your touch like a well-trained steed, the engine purring as you lean into the first turn.

But this is your turf, and you're not about to let some newcomer take your crown without a fight.

As the race extends, the wind whips through your hair, and the roar of the engines fills your ears. The world around you is a blur of lights and shadows, the only thing clear being the track ahead and the figure of Mingyu on your tail. 

You push harder, feeling the bike protest under your command, but she holds steady. You're the lead, with Mingyu playing the role of the eager suitor, eager to overtake. You can't help but smile beneath your helmet. It's been so long since someone's made you feel this alive. The thrill of the chase is intoxicating, and you're going to enjoy every second of it.

As you cross the finish line, you pull a dramatic wheelie, the tires screeching and smoking against the asphalt. You circle around, revving the engine, feeling the power beneath you, and as you come to a stop, Mingyu pulls up beside you. 

You both remove your helmets, and the chilly night air kisses your sweat-drenched skin. His eyes are on you, focused and intense, drinking in the sight of you. Your hair is a wild mess around your face, the wind from the race playing with it like it's alive.

You swing your leg over the bike, the leather of your pants hugging your thighs tightly. You stand there, arms crossed over your chest, looking at him. He's tall, with a muscular build that's clear even through his bulky racing gear. His face is a mask of determination, and there's something about the way he carries himself that makes you want to knock him down a peg.

"So, what's your name, kid?" you ask, your voice carrying over the din of the engines.

Mingyu's face cracks into a smirk, and he extends his hand towards you. "Mingyu. Kim Mingyu," he says, his voice deep and sure. But you don't take the bait. You keep your arms crossed, your eyes locked on his.

His smirk falters a little when you ignore his outstretched hand, and he slowly lowers it. 

The crowd around you goes quiet, watching this silent exchange like it's a scene from a movie. They know the history, the tension, and the unspoken challenge that's just been laid down.

"Well, you must know me," you say, the leather jacket creaks as you tighten your grip. 

"I know of you," he says, his language tinged with a hint of an accent. "But I'm not here to bow down to reputations. I'm here to make my own." You can't help but respect that.

The crowd around you is hushed, waiting for the next move. Mark is there, his eyes on you, a silent question in his gaze. You give him a nod, reassuring him that you're okay, that you're in control.

 The rivalry between you and Mingyu has only just started, and it's going to be one hell of a race.

Mark storms over, eyes flashing with anger. "What the hell are you two talking about for so long?" His voice cuts through the cheers of the crowd, drawing their attention. You feel the tension between him and Mingyu, like a string pulled taut, ready to snap.

Mingyu just watches him with that sly grin, clearly enjoying the show. His gaze flickers over you, lingering on your leather pants, and you feel a shiver of annoyance and something else you can't quite name.

"Hey, Mark," you say, trying to keep your tone light, but there's an edge to it. "Calm down. We were just talking."

"Talking? That's what you're calling it?" Mark's voice is loud, drawing even more eyes to your little drama. He turns to Mingyu, his face red. "And what are you looking at?"

You roll your eyes, the frustration bubbling up inside you. "Mark, walk."

He stares at you, eyes wide in disbelief. "What?"

"Yeah, walk," you repeat, your voice firm. "Just go cool off."

For a moment, it looks like he might argue, but then he glances at Mingyu, who’s still smirking, clearly enjoying the spectacle. With a huff, Mark turns on his heel and stalks off, the crowd parting to let him through.

Mingyu chuckles, a low sound that only you can hear. "What an obedient boyfriend you have."

You shoot him a look, half warning, half curiosity. "Don't push your luck, Mingyu."

He raises his hands in mock surrender, the grin never leaving his face. "Just calling it like I see it. But seriously," his tone shifts, becoming more sincere, "you were amazing out there."

"Thanks," you say, the word coming out more curt than you intended. You take a deep breath, trying to shake off the lingering tension from Mark's outburst. "So, why did you want to race me, really?"

Mingyu’s expression becomes thoughtful, the cocky façade slipping just a little. "Because I wanted to see if the rumors were true. And now, I know they are."

You can't help but smile at that, feeling a rush of pride. "Well, you gave me a good run for my money."

"Next time," he says, his voice low and filled with promise, "I'll be the one crossing the finish line first."

"We'll see about that," you reply, walking out with your motorcycle by your side, glancing at him over your shoulder. 

[...]

Mingyu, the new kid, had something different, something that pushed your limits in a way no other rival had before. It was exhilarating, but also stressful. And your boyfriend’s incessant comments about Mingyu didn’t help.

Every time he brought up how Mingyu looked at you, how rude he was, how he thought he was the most incredible thing, you rolled your eyes. Mark’s jealousy was nothing new, but you’d never seen him so uncomfortable around someone before.

For the past month, you’d heard from other students that Mingyu had been spreading rumors about how he was going to win this race, no matter what. It was irritating, but also a challenge you couldn’t ignore.

As you were heading to your P.E. class, you saw Mingyu and his friend walking down the hallway. He spotted you immediately, a grin spreading across his face.

"Look who's here, Y/N... without the leather jacket?" His eyes roved over your tight gymnastic clothing, clearly enjoying the sight.

You smiled around the scrunchie you held between your teeth as you tidied up your hair, then pulled it free to tie it up. "Look who’s here, Mingyu... still talking big?" you teased back, not missing a beat.

He laughed, a rich sound that echoed down the hall. "Only because I’ve got the skills to back it up."

"Oh, really?" you said, raising an eyebrow. "All I’ve seen so far is a lot of talk."

"Maybe you just haven’t been paying close enough attention," he replied, leaning casually against the lockers. "I’ll make sure to give you a front-row seat next time."

You finished tying your hair and gave him a mock look of concern. "I’d hate to see you disappoint all those fans you’ve been bragging to."

He smirked, undeterred. "Don’t worry, I’ve got this covered. You might want to start thinking about a new title because that crown is coming my way."

"Big words for someone who hasn't beaten me yet," you shot back, stepping closer, your confidence unwavering.

"We'll see about that," he said, his voice low and filled with promise. His eyes held yours for a moment longer, the air between you crackling with tension.

Mingyu doesn't look the least bit afraid of you, of your reputation, of what you can do on this track. He's bold, maybe even a little cocky, and you can't decide if you like it or if it just makes you want to wipe that smug look off his face. 

You've always been the one everyone looks up to, the one they whisper about in the halls. But now, there's someone new, someone who doesn't seem to know his place. And that's what makes him so intriguing.

You know Mingyu will be back, and he'll be better next time. And you can tell your boyfriend, Mark, is not happy about this new rivalry一about the way Mingyu makes you feel alive again.

"You've got to get your head out of the clouds, Y/N," Mark says as you look to the ceiling, "This isn't just a game anymore."

You pull back, looking up at him. "What do you mean?"

"Mingyu," he says, his voice tight with anger, "he's different. He's not like the others."

You roll your eyes, trying to play it off. "He's just a freshman with a fast bike," you say.

"He's been watching you," Mark says, his eyes searching yours, "studying you. He's got a vendetta, and I don't like it."

You swallow hard, pushing the thought away. You can't let Mingyu get under your skin like this. "I've got this," you reply, trying to sound more confident than you feel.

But Mark's not convinced. He's noticed the way your mind has been elsewhere, the way you've been pushing him away. The way you've been turning down his advances, lost in thought about the new kid on the block. He's been frustrated for a few weeks, trying to get you to focus on anything other than the race. 

As the days pass, the tension between you and Mark grows thicker. He tries to initiate sex, but your mind is always elsewhere, replaying the race, thinking about Mingyu's next move. You know you're hurting him, but you can't seem to stop.

 The thought of Mingyu, of the way he looked at you, of the way he talked about winning, it's like a drug. And you're hooked.

The next day, you're in the garage, wrench in hand, making some final adjustments to your bike. You've always been meticulous, but with Mingyu on your mind, you're even more so. You can't have anything going wrong on your bike when you face him again.

The door to the garage opens, and you look up, expecting it to be Mark, but instead, it's Mingyu. He struts in, his leather jacket and bike helmet hanging casually from his hand.

"Hey, Y/N," he says, a smug smile playing on his lips. "I see you're still playing with your toy."

You roll your eyes, not bothering to hide your annoyance. "What do you want?" you ask, not looking up from your work.

"Just thought I'd come by and say congrats," he says, leaning against the workbench. "You put on a good show last night."

You raced a senior from your class last night. You won despite the slippery concrete caused by the rain. Again.

You slam the wrench down, the sound echoing in the empty garage. "Thanks, but I'm not looking for your approval," you reply, your voice icy.

Mingyu laughs, a sound that grates on your nerves. "You don't have to be so defensive," he says, his eyes scanning the garage, "I just wanted to talk shop, maybe pick up some tips from the queen herself."

You stand up, wiping your hands on your greasy rag. "What makes you think I'd share anything with you?"

He shrugs, his smile never wavering. "Call it a peace offering," he says, holding out his hand. "Truce?"

You stare at his hand for a moment, weighing your options. You know you need to keep your enemies closer, especially one as talented as Mingyu. You take his hand, giving it a firm shake. "Fine," you say, "but don't get any ideas."

"Oh, I have plenty of ideas," he says, his eyes glinting with mischief, "but I'll save them for the track."

You can't help but laugh, despite yourself. He's got nerve, you'll give him that. You spend the next hour talking bikes and racing strategies, and for the first time since the race, you feel like you're not just a competitor but a fellow enthusiast. It's strange.

As Mingyu leaves, you can't help but feel a blend of emotions. There's the excitement of the challenge he represents, the thrill of the rivalry that's been ignited. But there's also a nagging doubt, a fear that maybe Mark is right. 

Maybe Mingyu isn't just a racer looking to make a name for himself. Maybe he's got something more planned, something that could threaten not just your title but your relationship. 

You shake the thought off, telling yourself you're just being paranoid. After all, it's just a race, right?

[...]

The sun is setting, casting a warm orange glow over the makeshift circuit that’s been built for tonight's race. You take a long sip of your Gatorade, savoring the cool taste as you mentally prepare yourself for the competition. The grandstand is buzzing with energy, students excitedly chattering about the upcoming event.

As you sit there, focusing on your breathing, Mingyu appears and casually sits down next to you. You chuckle, unable to help yourself. "Are you following me, kid?"

He rolls his eyes, a familiar gesture by now. "I’m not a kid."

"But I’m your senior," you counter, grinning at the way his face sours. He’s always so easy to tease. "What did you plan?"

"Huh?" He seems genuinely confused, his attention now fully on you.

You smirk, leaning back a bit. "What do you have up your sleeve, Mingyu? Some oil on the floor, a pin in my tire...?"

He laughs, shaking his head. "I don’t need tricks to beat you."

"Good," you say, your voice dropping slightly, more serious now. "Because neither do I."

Before the conversation can go any further, your boyfriend, Mark, appears. "What’s he doing here?" he asks, his tone accusatory.

"Just talking," you reply, trying to keep your cool.

"Talking, huh?" Mark scoffs. "Seems like he’s always around, doesn’t it? You’d think he’s got nothing better to do."

"I think you’re overreacting." You breath tired. 

Mark's eyes narrow. "Just remember who’s waiting for you at the finish line."

Mingyu’s jaw tightens at this, his posture stiffening. He looks like he’s holding back something, a secret or a truth he’s not ready to share.

You glance at Mingyu, noticing the shift in his conduct. "What’s that look for?" you ask him, curious despite yourself.

He shakes his head, the tension in his body evident. "Nothing. Just focus on the race."

You button your jacket, feeling the familiar weight of the leather settle around your shoulders. Checking your shoelaces, you make sure they’re tight, ready for the race ahead. The buzz of your phone breaks the moment, a single notification lighting up the screen. You glance around, noticing other students doing the same, pulling their phones from their pockets.

It’s odd, almost synchronized.

The feeling in your gut is like a rock, weighing you down, making it harder to breathe. You glance around, noticing the smirks and knowing looks from the other racers, the whispers that seem to carry on the wind. 

You click on it, and your heart sinks like a stone. It's a picture of Mark, your Mark, kissing a girl. A girl with auburn hair and a laugh that's nothing like yours. And he's wearing the shirt you gave him just this week, the one with the funny racing pun on the back. The same shirt he wore to bed last night, whispering sweet nothings into your ear.

You stand there, frozen, as the world carries on around you. The cheers of the crowd, the roar of the bikes—it’s all just background noise now. You look up and see everyone watching you, their expressions a combination of pity and shock. They all know now. They've all seen it.

And as your eyes meet Mingyu's, you realize that he knows too. There's something in his gaze, a glint of satisfaction that makes your blood boil. Did he do this? Did he send this to you? The thought is like a knife twisting in your gut, but you can’t be sure.

With trembling hands, you slip the phone back into your pocket, trying to compose yourself. You don’t want to give anyone the satisfaction of seeing you fall apart. But as you button your jacket and tighten the laces of your boots, you can’t help but feel like you’re tying up the loose ends of your life. 

Everything’s changed in the span of a single message. Your heart is racing, but it’s not from the thrill of the chase anymore. It stems from the agony of disloyalty and the rage at being played for a fool.

And as you turn to face Mark, who’s pushing his way through the crowd, his eyes searching for yours, you know that the real race has only just begun.

Your breath comes in shudders as you hop on your bike, putting on your helmet. You’ve give all the signs that you are going to race tonight. The crowd is abuzz with anticipation, their eyes locked on you. 

You roll the bike's accelerator, the roar calling for attention so the race can start. The flag girl gulps, her nervousness evident, and you look over your shoulder to see Mingyu approaching.

The girl stretches the flag, and you brace yourself. The lights go out, and suddenly, you're off, the wind in your hair, the roar of the engines filling your ears. Mingyu is right beside you. You can feel the bike responding to your every move, the tires gripping the asphalt like a vice. 

Inside your helmet, your breathing is loud and ragged, a stark reminder of the adrenaline and anger coursing through you.

As you race, your thoughts race too. Mingyu planned everything. He sat by your side to watch you unravel from Mark's jealous crisis, and then those messages minutes before the race start—meant to destabilize you. It’s like a puzzle clicking into place, each piece revealing the depth of his strategy.

The bike protests but holds steady as you apply more pressure. The track is a blur, but your focus is razor-sharp. Mingyu is still there, matching your speed, but you’re not going to let him win.

You replay the moment when you first saw the message, the image of Mark kissing another girl. It stings, but it also sets you aflame. How dare he think he can break you? How dare he underestimate you? You’re not just racing against Mingyu; you’re racing against the doubts and whispers.

Mingyu pulls ahead slightly, his bike edging past yours. You grit your teeth, leaning forward to reduce drag, pushing your bike to its limits. The sound of the engines is loud, the wind whipping past you. 

You glance at Mingyu. He thinks he won, that his plan worked. But he doesn’t know you. 

You see the final stretch approaching, the finish line within sight. You dig deep, finding that last reserve of strength. You and Mingyu are neck and neck, the crowd’s cheers blending into a single roar. The world narrows to just this moment, just this race.

As you cross the finish line, you throw all your weight into one last burst of speed. You cross the line a split second before Mingyu, the crowd exploding into cheers.

You slow down, the realization of your win sinking in. You did it. Despite everything, you did it. But still, there is no taste of victory in your mouth.

The cheers fade as you lean forward, gripping the handlebars, and ride your bike away from the circuit, leaving a cloud of dust behind you. The streets blur past you, seeking an escape from everything. Your dorm or campus are the last place you want to be tonight.

After what feels like hours, you spot a cheap motel by the roadside. Its flickering neon sign is a welcome sight, a promise of anonymity, and a place to rest. You pull in, park your bike and walk to the reception. The clerk barely looks up as you hand over cash for the night. Key in hand, you head to your room.

The room is small and poorly illuminated, but it’s a refuge from the chaos of the night. You lay on the bed, the springs creaking under you, and pull out your phone. The screen is still lit with notifications, but you don’t want to see any of them. Whether it was Mingyu or someone else who shared those photos, you don’t care. Not tonight.

[...]

The weekend drags by, each minute feeling like an eternity. You don’t go to class, don’t leave your dorm except to grab food from the vending machine, because, you can’t face the pity in your friends’ eyes.

You clean obsessively, organizing your bookshelf, scrubbing the floors, folding clothes into neat piles. It’s a futile attempt to regain some semblance of order in your life. It feels like you’re erasing him from your life, one item at a time.

The notifications on your phone keep popping up, your friends and classmates checking in, asking if you’re okay. You manage to reply with short, curt responses. "Yeah," you type, "Just need some space." The lie feels heavy on your fingertips, but it’s easier than explaining the tornado of emotions inside you.

As the day stretches on, you start to feel a little more in control. You’re not going to let this beat you. You’re not going to let Mark or Mingyu ruin what you’ve built. 

So you sit there, in the quiet of your room, and you start to plan. You’re going to show up to class, to the next race, with your head held high. You’re going to leave the drama behind and focus on what you do best—race.

On Thursday, you walk into class, a box in your arms. The whispers start as soon as you enter the room, the eyes are on you like a spotlight. You find Mark’s usual seat and drop the box in front of it, the thud echoing in the stunned silence.

The box, with his things.

You don’t wait for his reaction. You don’t need to. You turn and walk out, leaving the whispers and the weight of his backstabbing behind.

At lunch, you sit with your friends, the same table you’ve shared since freshman year. They all look at you, their eyes filled with concern. "You okay?" one of them asks, tentatively.

You nod, trying to put on a brave face. "Yeah," you say, your voice stronger than you feel, "I just needed some time to sort things out."

They all nod, understanding without needing the details. They know the score, they know what happened at the race. They know about the picture, the rumors, the cheating.

"You've cried enough," your best friend says, her voice firm but gentle, "It's like that bruise on your knee from when you were seven. It hurt like hell, but it's healing now."

You manage a small smile at the memory. It’s true. You’ve shed enough tears over Mark to fill an ocean. But here you are, breathing, standing, moving forward.

"Let’s talk about something else," you say, changing the subject. "What's new with all of you?"

They exchange glances, clearly surprised by your sudden shift in tone, but they follow your lead. They talk about their classes, their weekends, their plans for spring break. You listen, really listen, letting their words wash over you like a balm to your soul.

"Oh, and apparently none of Mark’s friends want to talk to him," someone says, almost as an afterthought. "They had no idea."

"Good," you say. "He’s not worth their time either."

Your friends nod, respecting your wishes to not delve into the drama further. You don’t need their pity or their empathy. You just need them to be there, to be the rock that grounds you.

The bell rings, signaling the end of lunch, and you all stand up, collecting your trash. "Thanks, guys," you say, your voice genuine.

"For what?" one of them asks.

"For not treating me like I’m made of glass." you reply, smiling.

They laugh, you know they’re worried, but you also know they trust you to handle this. You’re the same person you were before the race. You’re strong.

The sadness has morphed into something else, anger simmers just under the surface, a slow burn that’s been building since that message. You’re not just mad at Mark, but at Mingyu too. You don’t know his role in this, but you can feel his influence, the way he’s been poking and prodding, trying to get under your skin.

And now, it’s like a game of chess, and you’re the pawn in the middle of the board. You can’t help but wonder if he’s been playing you from the start. If all those smirks and smug looks were just part of his plan to take you down.

The bell rings, and you grab your bag, slinging it over your shoulder. As you turn to leave, you feel a hand wrap around your arm. You turn, ready to snap, and find yourself face-to-face with Mingyu. You scoff, rolling your eyes.

“Come on, don’t be grumpy. Running away from me, princess?” he says, a sulky look on his face.

You remember avoiding both Mingyu and Mark all day, doing everything to keep your distance. You start to leave, but he holds onto your arm again, making you huff in frustration.

“You should thank me, don’t you think?” he says, his tone teasing.

You frown. “What do you mean?”

Mingyu smirks. “First, I let you win last Saturday,” he says, lying through his teeth. You remember how he was right on your tail during the race, clearly giving it his all.

“And I got you rid of that asshole,” he adds.

You cross your arms, glaring at him. “So, you’re admitting you orchestrated this whole thing, huh?”

He shrugs nonchalantly. “Well, I warned him it would happen.”

“He knew?” you ask, your voice rising in disbelief.

Mingyu tilts his head slightly, like he’s stating the obvious. “Of course he knew. Y/N, he was cheating on you for a whole semester. At the first freshman party I went to, I saw him with Sayla. She’s from my class.”

“What?” you nearly shout, drawing the attention of nearby students. Mingyu gives you an exasperated look, like it’s common knowledge.

You grab his arm and drag him around campus, heading for the grandstand where you can talk in private. Once there, you turn to him, your eyes blazing with anger.

“I saw the photo, and I know it’s real. But Mingyu, if you’re lying about this, I swear I will fucking kill you.”

He shakes his head, his expression serious. “Why would I lie to you? If I need to tell you something, I’ll say it to your face.”

“Tell me from the beginning,” you demand, crossing your arms.

He rolls his eyes but starts talking. “Well, it was my first party here, a freshman party. I needed to go to the bathroom, and there they were, making out.”

You make a disgusted face, which seems to amuse him. “But in the photo, they weren’t in a bathroom,” you point out.

“Yeah, it happened plenty of times. When I found out he was your boyfriend, I went to a frat party and took that photo,” Mingyu explains.

“That one?” you ask, referring to the incriminating photo.

Mingyu nods. “Yeah, that one. He saw the photo and came to have it out with me. I might have told him that if he didn’t tell you, I would, and that I would love to take care of his girlfriend.”

You scoff. “So that’s why he was so sick-jealous of me?”

Mingyu closes his eyes and nods like it’s the most normal thing in the world. You curse under your breath, feeling the weight of betrayal all over again. “This motherf—”

You stop, looking at Mingyu, who’s watching you with a confused expression. “What do you mean by ‘take care of his girlfriend’?”

Mingyu smirks. “I was interested in you. But when I found out you were dating, I backed off. When I saw your boyfriend slacking, I needed to make it clear to Mark that I was going to reach out to you somehow.”

You narrow your eyes at him, the audacity of it all making your blood boil. “So, you’ve been planning this from the start?”

“Not exactly,” Mingyu says, shrugging. “But I saw an opportunity and took it. Your boyfriend was a dick, and you deserve better.”

You let out a bitter laugh. “And you think you’re better?”

Mingyu’s is smug. “I know I am.”

“And what makes you think I’d be interested in you?” you challenge, crossing your arms.

Mingyu steps closer, his gaze intense. “You’re fierce, competitive, and you don’t take shit from anyone. You’re exactly the kind of challenge I like.”

You roll your eyes, though a small part of you is flattered? “You’re still an asshole.”

He grins. “Maybe, but at least I’m honest about it. Can’t say the same for Mark.”

You take a deep breath, trying to process everything. "Mingyu, just stay out of my way. I don’t need any more complications.”

“What can I say? I know what I want.” He shrugs before leaving, again, with that stupid smirk on his face. 

[...]

You were dragged by your friends to every party on campus, parties you didn’t even know existed, every day a new one. According to them, you needed to enjoy your new ‘single’ life. And with all the guys on campus now aware that you were single, your DMs were flooded. 

Tonight was one of those nights. Everyone saw you parking your motorcycle in front of the frat house, the rumble announcing your arrival. You danced with your friends, met new people, but your happiness didn’t last long.

You caught a glimpse of Mark and Sayla. Sayla was wearing one of his baseball jackets, his arm draped over her shoulder. Everyone stared at them, the ‘new’ couple making a fool of themselves. 

You didn’t expect Mark to be so bald-faced about it. Your blood boiled, your head felt like it was on fire, and you wanted to leave the party. But if you did, you’d look weak. So you stayed, trying to enjoy the party with your friends, but it was impossible. When Mark kissed Sayla, one eye open in your direction to gauge your reaction, you couldn’t take it anymore.

You grabbed your helmet and stormed out of the party, your friends calling after you, warning you not to do anything stupid because you were hot-headed. 

And you were, for real. 

Arriving back on campus, you pulled out your phone, fingers fumbling as you dialed a number. Your steps echoed, the dress you’d chosen for the party riding up with each step, making you pull it down in frustration.

The phone rang, and rang, until finally, a voice answered, “You calling me? Y/N, what a—”

“Where are you?” you cut him off, voice trembling with rage.

“Damn, what happened to ‘hello, how are you?’” The voice was playful, but you weren’t in the mood.

“Where. Are. You.”

“Hell, I’m at my dorm, wassup?”

“Open the door,” you demanded.

“What?”

“Open the fucking door,” you said before hanging up.

Moments later, the dorm door opened, revealing Mingyu with the phone still in his hand, wearing only black shorts that showed a peek of his white underwear. He looked confused, but when he saw you—eyes almost black with rage, in your little dress—he swore it was the hottest thing he’d ever seen.

“Hmm, all upset, just the way I wanted,” he teased, leaning against the doorframe.

You pushed him inside, slamming the door shut behind you and tossing your cell phone on the table. You kissed him, rough and urgent, your fingers tangling in his hair. Mingyu moaned between kisses, the realization that you were kissing him sinking in. His hands found your waist, one hand sliding up to your neck, choking you slightly, making you gasp.

A smirk played on his lips, between breaths. “About time you admitted it.”

“Shut up,” you muttered before kissing him again, harder this time.

Mingyu's grip tightened on your waist, pulling you closer. “You’re so damn hot when you’re mad,” he murmured against your lips.

“Just shut up and kiss me,” you demanded, your fingers tugging at his hair.

He obliged, kissing you with a fervor that matched your own. His hand slid down your back, gripping your ass and pulling you against him. You could feel his bulge pressing against you, a reminder of how much he wanted you. You broke the kiss, breathlessly, your eyes locking onto his.

“What’s your plan, Y/N?” he asked, his voice a low growl.

You smirked, a glint of mischief in your eyes. “To make sure I don’t think about Mark ever again.”

Mingyu’s eyes darkened with craving. “I can help with that.”

“Good,” you said, pulling him back into a kiss, your hands exploring his body, feeling the heat radiating from his skin, fingers fumbling from his big chest, to the defined lines of his abs.

Your hand slides from his lower belly to his cock, squeezing his clothed erection slightly. You feel him twitch in your hand, a broken sob leaving his lips.

“Fuck, you got hard so fast,” you murmur against his mouth.

He moans, his breath hot and heavy. “Can’t help it when it’s you.”

You grin wickedly, turning around to show him the long zipper at the back of your dress. “Help me,” you say, your voice low and inviting.

Mingyu nods, his eyes dark with desire. He bites his lip, trying to stifle a moan as he catches the zipper and slides it down, his happiness akin to opening a Christmas gift. The dress falls away, and you hold your breasts in your hands, turning to face him, your fingers playing with your hardened nipples, watching his eyebrows furrow.

His hot hand covers yours, and you let him take over, feeling the heat of his touch. He pushes you toward the bed, his lips trailing kisses down your neck before biting gently, his notorious fangs grazing your sensitive skin. 

You moan, the sound going straight to his cock. His hands move desperately to your panties, fingers fumbling with the lace until they’re off your legs. He opens your legs with his hands, giving your wet folds a not-so-discreet look.

Mingyu licks his fingers, meeting your eyes before sliding them inside you. You scream at the sudden stretch, feeling his big fingers filling you. He looks at you, to see if it hurts, but then he feels you getting wetter and wetter, your pants filling the room. His hand stills, and you roll your clit against his palm.

His fingers start to slide in and out, the wet noises are sinful as he finds your g'spot. You gasp, your body arching from his bedsheets, your both hands finding his forearm, stilling his fingers curled in this position. 

Mingyu's eyes widen in surprise at your reaction, and he repeats the motion, pressing against your sweet spot again, making your eyes fill with tears. 

''R-right here! Please!" 

“Did your boyfriend never find this spot?” he asks, his voice serious.

You shake your head negatively, your breath coming in short, desperate gasps. 

Mingyu's expression hardens, anger flashing in his eyes. “That asshole didn’t know how to please you,” he mutters, then his voice softens as he coos at you. 

You sob, his fingers curling repeatedly on the spongy spot. “Aw… don’t worry, my love. I’m going to make you feel so good.”

He continues to stimulate you, watching your every reaction, your pleasure nourishing his own. His fingers work you expertly, and you start to get embarrassed by how wet you are getting.

But you can't stop your hips from rubbing against his hands, you can't stop yourself from constantly moaning his name, and you can't help but wonder how you survived without feeling the pleasure Mingyu was giving you.  

Your body tenses so much, you're afraid of getting injured, and the pleasure builds, making your vision blurry, catching only Mingyu's silhouette. “Mingyu…,” you gasp, your voice shaking.

He's in love with your sensitive form. He slides his fingers out, brushing against your clit, making you moan, wanting the stimulation again, but then he munches on your pussy, making a throaty moan leave your mouth, tears wetting your cheeks. You don't even know if you're sobbing or moaning. You can only focus on his warm mouth sucking everything it can. 

Mingyu moans against you, like he's getting stimulated too, and when you manage to squeak out, “Gonna' cum,” he moans even more, the vibrations going to your clit as you arch your back, squeezing your tits. 

He opens your legs—quivering pathetically around his head—with the strength of his arms. He only stops when he feels your clit throbbing incessantly inside his mouth, all sensitive.

You don't know how long it took before you were in your mind again, but you can feel Mingyu kissing your whole body. For him, it was a maxim to calm you down, but mainly to appreciate every bit of your skin. When you open your eyes, he's kissing your hand, his thumb gently caressing it. You don't look much, or you will blush. For him, it could finish like this: you cummed, satisfied, and he gets satisfied. But then you mumble, eyes lidded, “Fuck me, please.”

His eyes almost fall from his skull. He watches your legs spread, and you slap weakly at your pussy, inviting him. Mingyu almost falls back with your tease. His hands, lowering his shorts and underwear in one go, desperate to go over you.

"Wait." 

He stills, and you smile at his obedience. You turn around, on all fours, wiggling your ass at him, and you hear a suffered moan behind you, making you scoff. 

He squeezes your ass between his hands tightly, then slaps your meat, making you hiss. Then another one, making you moan. Then another one, making you drip a line of your cum on the sheets.

Mingyu feels like a crazy creature. He pumps his veiny cock before sliding on your wet folds to spread your cum. And then slides inside. You were so tight, so tight that his blood pressure almost falls down. 

“I need to thank your boyfriend for keeping it tight.” He groans after bottoming out.

You widen your eyes at the comment, he sounded so sincere. And you laugh, your hand covering your face, and he chuckles too, seeing that he can't hold his tongue around you.

He can feel you clenching around him every time you laugh, making him moan synchronized with you. He starts to move and your laughs turn into moans, laughed-moans.

“Shit, you’re so tight, you are squeezing me,” he cries, his thrusts slow and deep.

“Didn’t think you’d be this talkative,” you manage between gasps, your body responding to every move he makes.

“Can’t help it,” he breathes, leaning down to kiss your shoulder. 

His pace quickens, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room. You grip the sheets, your back arching as he hits just the right spot. “Right there, Mingyu. Fuck, right there.”

He obeys, his thrusts becoming more precise, each one sending thrills through your body. “You feel so good,” he murmurs, his hands gripping your hips. “So fucking good.”

"Seriously, Mingyu," continue betwee moans, "you have no filter."

He grins, thrusting harder. "You're too much."

"Too much for you?" you tease, pushing back against him.

"Never," he mooans, his hands gripping your hips tighter. "I could do this forever."

You moan at his words, that feeling on your stomach tightening. "God, Mingyu..."

He leans over, his breath hot against your ear. "You like it when I talk, hm? When I say, how good you feel?"

You nod frantically, your mind a blur, you were cock-drunk, moaning his name like it was the only word you ever knew.

He chuckles darkly, thrusting deeper. "Good, because I’m not stopping until you can’t even say his name."

He stops his hips inside you, balls deep, and you can feel his tip kissing your cervix as he rolls his hips to make you feel it deep. Your arms quiver, making you fall with your chest on the bed, face on the sheets. You've never felt someone this deep before. Your hand reaches the bulge Mingyu makes on your belly, and you writhe.

He dirty talks, "You like to feel me here?"

You answer with a throaty moan. He closes his eyes to your rough moan and says, "Fuck, I need to see your pretty face moaning my name."

He turns you to lay on the bed again, one of your legs on his shoulder, and the other stretched by his hand. Since when were you this flexible? you think. When he slams inside you again, your messy cunt clings to him for dear life.

You moan all sly, and Mingyu is inches from your face now, and he teases you, "Look who's all sensitive right now. Where's that grumpy girl from the race? Hm? You just needed a good cock fucking you right to get you relaxed? Right, babe?"

You want to clap a hand on his mouth to keep his cocky talk out of it, but your pussy betrays you, clenching around him the moment his dirty words start to fall from his lips. Instead, you give some wet kisses on his lips. He reciprocates every one of them.

You ask him to touch you, and he looks in your eyes, asking, "Where?"

You guide one of his hands to your clit. He collects some of the lubrication that formed a ring at the base of his cock and starts to massage the swollen bud, circling it. Your nails scratch his back, and he hisses, eyes closing. He ruts desperately into you, your pussy casting a spell on him, all wet and good for him. 

You glance around the space, the warm illuminated lamp, the scent of his cologne everywhere, his tanned body sweating to give you pleasure, his muscles clenching as he holds you, his hand on your clit, his cock filling you, his eyes focused on every one of your expressions, his moans every time you clench.

You prepare for every detail when your eyes suddenly blur. You feel it coming... fuck. You're cumming, but something else is coming too. 

The realization hits you, and you say, "No, no, no, shit!"

You hold his bicep, your head thrown back, the veins on your neck popping. You try to stop, but you can't. You squirt all over him and his bed.

Mingyu stops inside you, mouth open. Now he gets desperate, taking his cock from you and cumming on your belly, so far that it hits your tits too. He lets your legs rest on the bed, and you cover your mouth.

"M-Mingyu, your bed! I'm sorry, let me put this to wash and—" You start to get up, feeling a rush of embarrassment and responsibility for the mess.

Mingyu, still catching his breath, quickly moves to stop you, his hand firm but gentle on your shoulder. He gives you a little push, making you lay back on the bed again. "Hey, relax," he says, his voice low and soothing. "It's just a bed. We can clean it up later."

You look at him, your cheeks flushed. "But it's such a mess," you protest weakly.

He chuckles softly, the sound vibrating through his chest. "I like it messy," he says, leaning down to kiss your forehead. "Besides, I think I like you better like this."

"But seriously, Mingyu, your bed—"

He cuts you off with a kiss, his lips capturing yours in a tender, lingering embrace. When he pulls back, his eyes are dark with desire. "The bed can wait," he murmurs. "Right now, I want to focus on you."

Your heart skips a beat at his words, the sincerity in his voice making your pulse quicken. "Mingyu," you whisper, feeling the heat rise in your body again.

He tilts your chin up to meet his gaze, his thumb brushing gently over your lower lip. "You're beautiful, you know that?" he says softly. "Especially when you're all flustered and breathless like this."

Mingyu's eyes sparkle with mischief as he leans in closer, his breath warm against your skin. "Then why don't we make a little more mess before we clean up?" he suggests, his voice a seductive whisper.

[...]

Your ex's message lights up your cellphone on the table beside the bed: "Where are you?" Mark asks. You can't help but scoff at the audacity. The nerve of him to ask after everything he's done. A surge of defiance washes over you, fueled by the memory of him flaunting Sayla around like some trophy.

Mingyu's rhythm doesn't falter as he thrusts into you from behind, his hand gripping your hair, pulling just enough to make you feel the pain on your scalp, but loving the pleasure that comes with it too. You reach for your phone, you know exactly how to answer Mark's question.

With a quick swipe, you open the camera, positioning it just right. The screen captures the sinful scene—Mingyu's defined body behind you, your flushed shoulder peeking into view, and your hair being pulled by Mingyu. 

You snap the photo and attach it to the message as a single view photo. 

Letting the image speak for itself.

"Here's your answer," you mutter under your breath, hitting send.

Mingyu's grip tightens, his pace quickening as he senses the shift in your mood. "What did you just do?" he asks, laughing.

You turn your head slightly to meet his gaze, a wicked smile playing on your lips. "Just answered a question," you reply, your voice breathless.

Mingyu's eyes darken with approval. "Good girl," he murmurs, leaning down to kiss the back of your neck, his thrusts growing more forceful. "Let's give him something to really be jealous about."

The bed creaks beneath you, the sound mingling with the chorus of moans and gasps that fill the room. As Mingyu's hand slips down to tease your clit, your phone buzzes again, another message from Mark. 

But you don't bother to check it. 

[kngrose]

𝐇𝐄 𝐓𝐎𝐋𝐃 𝐌𝐄 𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄'𝐒 𝐌𝐄; 𝐈𝐓 𝐃𝐎𝐍𝐓 𝐌𝐄𝐀𝐍 𝐀 𝐃𝐀𝐌𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆.

situationship with sevika part two

WARNINGS: mentions of cheating, coercion if you squint, kinda steamy

from roselí. ᡣ𐭩 : see part one here. ^^

“You gonna answer that?” she asked, her voice low and teasing.

The smell of whiskey and faint smoke lingered in the room, the soft glow of a lamp casting shadows on the walls. You hadn’t meant to come here—not again. Yet, your feet had carried you across the city, through dimly lit streets, and to this place that held so many secrets.

A single unread message glared in your mind, though you hadn’t dared to open it. It was from him. Your boyfriend. You shook your head, feeling the burn of guilt prickling at your chest. “I shouldn’t even be here,” you murmured, but your words lacked conviction.

Sevika stood by the window, her broad shoulders silhouetted against the pale moonlight. Her cigar burned lazily in her metal hand, the smoke curling upward in lazy spirals. She turned slightly at your rebuttal, her sharp gaze settling on you with that same unreadable intensity.

“But you are,” she replied simply, taking a drag from her cigar before stubbing it out in the ashtray. She stepped closer, her boots heavy on the floor, the sound reverberating in the quiet room. “And this isn’t the first time, is it?”

Your breath hitched. She was right. Despite every promise you had made to yourself—and to him—you were here. Again. The memory of the first encounter was still vivid—fleeting moments of passion, stolen in the shadows.

That night had been a mistake. At least, that’s what you told yourself. But the way she had touched you— the heat of her touch, the way she made you feel alive in a way you hadn’t in months. It was a mistake, you remind yourself. A one-time thing. But as the days stretched on, you couldn’t stop thinking about her, about the pull she had over you.

“Guess that boyfriend of yours isn’t enough for you.”

Her words hit a nerve, and you flinched, guilt and shame swirling inside you. “Don’t,” you whispered, but even to your own ears, it sounded weak. You swallowed hard, your resolve wavering as she closed the distance between you. She stopped just a breath away, her metal arm glinting in the dim light as she reached out to brush a strand of hair from your face. Her touch was deliberate, teasing, and it sent a shiver down your spine.

You glanced up at her from your spot on the couch, your head eye level with her hips. “It’s not right,” you whispered, more to yourself than to her. Her metal hand brushed your cheek, the touch cold but strangely grounding. “It’s not right…” she murmured, repeating your words. “Doesn’t stop you from wanting it, hm?”

The question hung in the air, daring you to respond. You looked at her—broad shoulders, sharp jawline, the dangerous glint in her eyes that drew you in like a moth to a flame. She leaned in, and your breath hitched as her fingers traced a slow path down your arm, sending shivers through your body. “You don’t have to stay,” Her voice was calm, almost mocking. “But if you do… you know how this ends.”

You hated how true her words were, hated the way your body betrayed you as she she pulled to to your feet, backing you into the wall. “I…” you started, but the words died on your lips as she leaned in, her scent—smoke, leather, and something distinctly her—filling your senses. Her lips brushed against yours, “Tell me to stop.”

You should have. You knew you should have. But instead, your hands found their way to her chest, clutching at her shirt as if holding on to her could steady the chaos inside you. “I shouldn’t—”

“But you will,” she interrupted, her voice firm, her tone leaving no room for argument. Her hand moved to your waist, pulling you closer until you could feel the warmth of her breath on your lips. “You didn’t come here to say no.”

Her hands, one warm and human, the other cold and unyielding, gripped your waist as she pulled you impossibly closer. You shouldn’t be doing this—not again. But the way she touched you, the way she made you feel like the center of her world, was impossible to resist.

Your chest tightened with guilt, but it wasn’t enough to stop you. It wasn’t enough to keep you from leaning into her, from letting her lips claim yours in a kiss that was just as intoxicating as you remembered. All the guilt, the hesitation, the promises you’d made melted away under the heat of her kiss. Her hands were firm and possessive, pulling your hips flush against hers, as though daring you to regret this later.

You knew you wouldn’t be leaving when she hiked your leg over her hip, gripping your ass with an almost aggravated slap.

When you finally broke apart, breathless and trembling, Sevika chuckled, her voice dripping with satisfaction. “Second time’s the charm, huh, Baby?” You didn’t answer, couldn’t answer. The weight of what you’d done—again—settled heavily in your chest. But as her fingers trailed down your arm, lacing with yours, a part of you wondered if you’d ever be able.

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