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rowarn · 1 year ago

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PLEASE, LOVE ME. PT2

simon riley / reader

FIND PART ONE || read the full thing on ao3

tags: childhood friends, friends2lovers, virgin!reader, soft!simon, protective!simon, afab!reader, hurt/comfort, angst with a happy ending, MDNI

cw: reader is over 20, pining, masturbation (reader), loss of virginity, explicit workplace sexual harassment/assault, so much crying, one-sided love, not-really-unrequited love, vomiting, panic attacks, depression, crying, sex related shame, PTSD (reader), codependency but cute, self-deprecating thoughts, slut shaming, wet dream, dry humping, simon fucks up tho, reference to suicide & suicidal ideation, really nasty argument, reader hits simon sorry, apologizes tho!!!, reader struggles to orgasm, drinking, fooling around while drunk (no sex), breast play, fingering, orgasm denial, simon's a tease, p-in-v, cunnilingus, multiple orgasms, creampie, mating press, missionary, simon's dirty mouth, dirty talk, wet&messy, big cock, uncut simon bc i said so, reassurance & encouragement, some pain upon penetration, clit spanking, post-coital crying!!!!!!, aftercare, briefly edited so apologies for any lingering mistakes

note: this is part two and contains the gratuitous smut portion ur all looking forward to <3

you've loved him since you were children. after a confession when you were 14 went rejected, you vowed to never let your feelings be known again. but after an incident that left you hurt and fragile, you find it hard to keep that promise.

PART 2: 17.9k total: 35.8k

Things seem to get much better between you. Your anger and resentment towards Simon diminishes significantly and you can finally say you feel comfortable around him again. You wouldn’t say you’ve forgotten everything that happened, you fear that the entire ordeal has left its scar on you.

But you finally feel ready to truly begin to work on yourself and get to a better place mentally.

You’re humming to yourself as you dust the surfaces in your living room, cringing in disgust when you see how dusty a particular shelf was.

Just as you go to give it another swipe, your front door opens and Simon stumbles in, huffing from effort as he carries two armfuls of groceries.

“Simon!” you cry out, watching with wide eyes from the stepstool you stood on as he ungracefully dropped them on the floor, “Why did you bring them all up here like that?”

“Didn’t wanna make another trip,” he explained lamely, flexing his hands as he looked over all the bags.

“Okay, I guess,” you chuckle softly.

Simon finally looks up at you, “What are you doing?”

“Cleaning,” you shrug, waving the duster at him, “I haven’t felt like doing it until now so might as well get it done when I feel like it!”

He’s quiet for a moment before he steps over the bags of groceries.His boots thunk heavily on the floor as he approaches you. Suddenly, he wraps an arm around your middle. You squeak in surprise when he very carefully and gently pulls you off of the stool and places you back onto your feet.

Then he walks away like nothing happened, snatching up a couple groceries up from the floor to take to the kitchen.

You decide not to comment on his behavior and simply choose to grab a couple of bags and help him out. When you get inside the kitchen, he’s already stuffing things into the refrigerator. You place the bags down and go back to pick some more up, transferring all the bags of groceries near him so he can easily put them away.

You notice one of the bags has some piping, lightbulbs, wires, and other things you can’t identify.

“What’s all this?” you ask, holding the bag out to him when he turns to look.

He grunts, closing the fridge, “Gonna fix some shit around here.”

“Why?” you ask, scrunching your nose up as you place the bag on the counter.

“Shithole needs it,” he mumbles, moving to start opening the cabinets, “Since you refuse to let me move you out of this place, I’m gonna make sure it at least functions.”

You hum and nod your head. Simon had attempted to convince you to move out and into an apartment of his own choosing but you flat out refused. He was already paying the rent on this place, you weren’t going to let him spend more money for a different place – because you know Simon would choose somewhere that would cost a lot more than your current flat.

But you couldn’t deny, the idea of Simon doing a little manual labor around the apartment made your heart flutter in your chest. The way he took care of you and was willing to get his hands dirty just to make sure you were comfortable. The little domestic tasks you could imagine him doing.

It almost felt like something a husband would do.

You felt your cheeks flush immediately at the train of thought. How embarrassing and juvenile to think something like that

“I can cook dinner!” you mumble after clearing your throat.

Simon actually has the audacity to laugh. You frown as he shakes his head, closing the cabinet before turning to you.

“Absolutely not,” he says.

Your jaw drops, “Why?!”

“Because,” he steps closer, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead before breezing past you, “You’re a terrible cook, love.”

You open your mouth to retort but can only huff. Because he’s right. The last time you tried to make dinner for the two of you, you had confused cayenne with cinnamon and made the most diabolical stew known to man. He vowed to never let you cook anything that required more than boiling water since.

You pout your way back to the living room, mumbling a petulant, “Fine…” as you went.

You didn’t catch the broad grin on Simon’s face as he watched you sulk away. He was just happy to see your vibrance returning before his very eyes.

True to his word, however, he began to do some random odd jobs around the apartment. He changed that damn leaky faucet in the kitchen first. He would never admit it but it was beginning to drive him completely mad. He swore he could hear it dripping into the metal sink basin in his dreams.

Then he fixed the piping in the bathroom so they would stop all that god-awful clanking that practically woke up the entire complex. But after that, he figured he might as well fix the piping under the sinks as well.

That’s when you saw him. On his back, big body sprawled out as he worked underneath the cabinet, wrench in hand and soft grunts of effort coming from him. His t-shirt rose up just a bit, exposing a small stretch of tummy and his happy trail. Every once in a while, you could see his muscles flex and it made your mouth go completely dry.

You felt like a Victorian man seeing his first ankle on a woman. Ridiculous.

Sure, you’d seen Simon shirtless countless times – hell, you walked in on him completely naked once or twice. But there was something particularly…delicious about him like this. Unaware, casual, just doing work.

It made a swell of heat settle in your abdomen. You squeezed your thighs together as you watched him. His biceps flexed and bulged, making the sleeve of his t-shirt grow taut around his skin. His muscles moved underneath the tattoos inked into his skin.

You dragged your eyes down his body, past his pecs, past the sliver of tummy. You imagined yourself crawling between those thick thighs and unbuckling his belt, tugging at the button of his jeans. You imagined getting to see his cock chub up inside his boxers before you would pull it out and wrap your lips around the leaking tip.

Salty, you imagine. You’ve always heard that men’s cum and pre-cum would be salty. Would Simon’s taste as bad as some of your friends had told you back in highschool? You hoped not. You couldn’t imagine not enjoying every part of him – even his cum.

You wanted him to shoot in your mouth, let you taste it. You wanted to milk it out of him, give him no choice but to cum down your throat.

“Are you just going to stand there or do you need something?” his voice startled you out of your thoughts.

Wide eyed, you looked to meet his gaze but you found he wasn’t even looking at you, still staring at the piped overhead.

“Um,” you cleared your throat, floundering for an excuse as to why you were ogling him like a piece of meat, “I didn’t want to interrupt you. I-I was just wanting to make sure the shower was okay to use?”

He grunts, letting out a soft sigh before pushing himself out from under the sink, closing the cabinet before wiping his brow with the back of his hand, “Yeah, go ahead and shower, love.”

You give him a tight-lipped smile, casting one last glance to see that his t-shirt had fallen back into place. Disappointing.

You trudge out of the kitchen and into the bathroom. Softly, you close the door and turn on the shower. The pipes don’t clang when the water shoots through them. It brings a smile to your face.

Once you’re stripped and standing under the warm spray, you let your hands wander your body. First, you cup your breasts, watching your nipples harden under your own touch before you slide one hand between your thighs. There’s a slickness between your folds that's distinctly different from the water, it’s slippery and sticky. But it makes your touch against your clit easy.

You bite your lips to keep quiet, scared to death that Simon could hear you from under the sound of the water. You make quick, tight little circles against your clit. The bud is hard and twitches under your fingers. It makes the breath stutter out of your chest.

You need more room, you realize, hiking your foot up onto a shelf. It spreads you open just a little more, gives you a little more access for your fingers to play. You sigh, head tipping forward to watch as you circle your own clit.

But the more you touch yourself, the faster that tingling, warm sensation dissipates. You huff through your clenched teeth, frustrated.

Usually, you could at least feel the beginning of that peak forming but this time…not even close. So you shamefully close your legs and go about your shower as if nothing happened, taking care to wash the slick from between your thighs especially.

As you lay in bed that night, Simon breathing deeply beside you as he slept, you were lost in thought.

Surely, you were in the wrong for thinking about Simon like that – for getting wet at the sight of him. And then sleeping soundly next to him as if you weren’t some kind of pervert. Maybe you should just confess and apologize to him.

No. You quickly admonish that thought, glancing over at his prone form. You couldn’t bear to see him be disgusted by you. He’d already rejected you years ago, finalized it and put the nail in the coffin so you would never be dumb enough to do it again.

What would he do if he found out about your…attraction to him? He practically lived with you now, after everything happened. He was in your flat more than he was on base now. It was only a matter of time before he caught you with your hands dancing in your pants.

Your cheeks flushed at the idea. Part of you thought it hot – for him to find you needy like that, desperately playing with your clit as you try to make yourself cum.

But on the other hand, you could see the wrinkle of disgust in his brow and sneer on his face as he walked away. That outcome was not worth it, you decided.

With a sigh, you rolled over so your back faced Simon and closed your eyes for the night.

You both should have known better that the fragile peacefulness between the two of you was just that – fragile, balancing on a delicate precipice that could shatter at any moment.

The ring of his phone was the break.

“Answer that for me, love!” he called from the kitchen where he was busy preparing dinner.

You leaned forward to check the number. It wasn’t in his contacts but Simon never got calls from people unless he knew them. So you slowly slid the button over and accepted the call.

“Hello?” you mumbled into the phone.

There was a beat of silence before a woman’s voice responded in kind, “Hello?”

“Um…” you swallowed down the apprehension that settled in your chest, casting a glance towards Simon’s back as he stood over the stove, “Who may I ask is calling?”

“I’m looking for Simon,” she said, sounding much more coy than a second ago. She knew his real name and that irked you. People from work always referred to him as Ghost, only those he considered trustworthy or friends were privy to calling him Simon.

“Um, he’s busy at the moment, can I take a message?” you ask, loud enough for Simon to hear in the kitchen if he was interested in intervening. But he didn’t move.

“Sure!” she giggled, “Tell him that Victoria really wants to see him again and to call me so we can!”

You swallowed around the lump in your throat, “Y-Yeah, sure. I’ll let him know…”

“Thank you,” she cooed in a sultry tone, “Oh! And tell him I really had a great time last time we were together and that I’m looking forward to a repeat performance.”

“Yeah. I’ll do that,” you assured, hoping you didn’t sound as tense as you felt.

She giggled before the call disconnected and you were left glaring at his stupid stock phone wallpaper.

“Who was it?” Simon comes to the archway of the kitchen, leaning against the wall. You can’t hear anything cooking anymore so you assume he’s finished dinner.

“Victoria,” you spit the name out like it’s poisonous, “Says she wants to see you again and she had a fantastic time with you last time.”

Simon shifts where he stands, looking down at his feet before looking back up to you, “Alright. I’ll call her back later.”

That sends knives straight through your heart. It aches so badly that you want to bite your own tongue off to make it stop.

Jealousy, you realize. You’re fucking jealous. Some girl calls and asks for his dick and he just says okay?

He’s not yours, you tell yourself. He can fuck whoever he wants.

But that does nothing to quell the inferno raging inside you.

There’s other feelings brewing inside you; rejection, fear, loss.

You feel bitter that you’re right there and he would still never choose you. He’ll always choose someone else because he doesn’t see you like that. It feels like he’s throwing it in your face, just spitting at you to show you that he doesn’t love you like you love him. He never has and he never will. You’ll never be an option to him because he doesn’t want you.

Then you’re scared he’s going to leave you. He’s going to go to this Victoria chick and leave you all alone so he can get his dick wet again. Just like last time. Maybe he’ll like it so much he wants to stay with her. Maybe he’s going to leave you behind so he can start a new, happy life without having to worry about the dead weight that’s been dragging him down since he was 8. You. His responsibility. His problem.

You’re so scared that he’s going to be ripped from your grasp. That you’re going to lose him to someone else and it’s going to be you and your pathetic one-sided love for the rest of your life. Fuck, you’ve loved him since you were 4. You’ve loved him for so long that it makes you nauseous to think about. How many people loved one person for this long?

Please, you wanted to cry to him, please love me.

Please, just love me back.

“So you’re gonna go then?’ you finally find your voice, bitterness and resentment thick in your tone, “You’re gonna leave me to go to a booty call again?”

He stands up straight at that. Arms cross over his chest, he watches that way you glare at him, heated and teary-eyed. Hurt.

He knew you still weren’t over the way he left you that time – when you needed him the most. You’d been ignoring the residual hurt that lingered, intent on pretending that everything was fine. He had been doing his best to make up for it but it always felt like one step forward and two steps back with you.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he assures softly, “I’ll call her back to tell her that it won’t happen.”

He tries his best to remain level-headed and soft, to be reassuring like he knows you need. But your expression doesn’t change. You continue to glare at him with that furious, hurt look in your eyes.

Suddenly, you stand.

“I don’t believe you,” you hiss, turning your back to him, storming down the hallway.

He almost winces when he hears how hard you slam the bedroom door. He thinks about going back there to talk to you but decides against it. You need some space to calm yourself down.

He eats the dinner he made for both of you alone, putting your half in the fridge for later. He goes about the apartment, locking the door and turning out all the lights. Then he gets to the bedroom door and goes to turn the knob and it doesn’t budge.

Despite himself, he laughs. He jiggles the knob, jerks the door a little harder like it’ll open with a bit of force. And it might, it’s a flimsy ass door if he’s being honest – he’s forced bigger and heavier doors open before.

He snaps your name, humor gone from his voice. You don’t answer.

“Open the damn door,” he snaps, trying the knob again. He gets silence in return so he slams his fist against the surface. The sound is loud enough that it makes his own ears ring, “I said open the door. I’m not playin’ this game with you, sweetheart.”

“Sleep on the couch, Simon!” he hears your wobbly voice call back. Of course you’re in there crying, he thinks.

“I’m not sleepin’ on the fuckin’ couch,” he hisses, leaning his forearm against the door, resting his head against it with a sigh, “Open the door and let’s talk.”

“Don’t wanna talk to you,” you whine, bratty as all hell. He would have laughed if he wasn’t so damn pissed, “Why don’t you go sleep with Victoria since you like her so much.”

You don’t know why you say that last part. You don’t want him to go to her, you don’t want him to go anywhere. The thought of it brings more tears to your eyes.

Simon is silent on the other side of the door for a long while. You almost think he walked away and succumbed to the couch. You wouldn’t actually let him sleep on that awful thing, of course. You just…you don’t know what the end goal here is, if you’re honest.

“Fine,” he finally spits, “If that’s what you want, I’ll fuck off and find Victoria.”

You hear the floorboards creak under his weight as he walks away. You sit up straight in bed at that, eyes wide as you listen to him stalk through the house. You swear you hear the jingle of his keys and that’s what has you lurching out of bed in a panic.

You almost trip over the sheets as they tangle around your legs but you manage to free yourself and wrench the door open.

“Simon!” you practically shriek, rounding the corner of the hallway to find him standing with his back to you, facing the door.

He’s got his hoodie and mask on, boots firmly on his feet and keys in hand. He stands still, back straight as his shoulders rise and fall with his breathing. But he waits.

“Don’t go,” you find yourself whimpering, “‘M sorry. Come to bed, okay?”

He doesn’t move and that makes your heart pound in your chest. You know he’s pissed, can see it in the way his fists stay clenched at his sides. His fingers twitch and he makes a move for the doorknob and you surge forward, wrapping yourself around his other arm, yanking him away from the door as hard as you can.

He lets your weight knock him off balance, lets you drag him away from the door. He lets you tug him down the hallway, sniffling and crying as you do.

“J-Just…” you find yourself frantically tugging his mask off, tossing it away before you rip the hem of his hoodie up. He doesn’t help you or fight you as you try to take it off of him. He just stares blankly at you, like he’s assessing you. You hate it. “G-Get ready for bed, okay? Just…we can go to sleep.”

“Why do you make this so fuckin’ hard for me?” he finally breaks his silence, the question cold and calculating. Like he’s tired. Exhausted, “I keep tryin’ to make it up to you. But every time something goes wrong, you throw everything back in my face and you act like you hate me again. I can’t keep…” he trails off, shaking his head before he sits at the foot of the bed, hands clasped together and head hanging between his shoulders.

“I love you,” you blurt out, a sob breaking out of your lips as you do. Simon doesn’t move. Your hands cover your eyes, as if being blind to his reaction will make the rejection hurt less, “I love you and i-it just keeps messing me up inside. I’m sorry.”

“You love me?” he asks, still no emotion in his voice.

When you peek at him, he’s in the same position as before, hands clasped, elbows on his knees, head bowed. You have no idea what expression he’s wearing and you’re scared to find out.

“Yes,” you hiccup, sniffling softly, “I’m sorry.”

“Why are you apologizing?” he asks softly, almost solemnly.

“I promised,” you cry, another choked sob escaping you.

“Promised..?” he doesn’t sound cold anymore, just confused, “The fuck’re you talkin’ about?”

“W-When I was 14,” you whimper, shame filling you as you recall your now-broken promise, “I-I told you I liked you and you said you didn’t feel the same. You told me to never bring it up again and I promised I wouldn’t. B-But…” you sobbed again, stopping yourself from finishing the sentence.

“Fuckin’ hell…” he breathes, bringing his hands to his face, scrubbing them up and down vigorously in a way that looks like it hurts. Then he laughs.

He fucking laughs.

It’s like your worst fears come to light. He’s laughing at you, at your confession. At your feelings. A fresh wave of tears fill your eyes and fall down your cheeks. You bite your lips to keep from making your sobs audible anymore. You didn’t want him to laugh at that too. You hang your head, wringing your hands together behind your back anxiously as Simon quiets down.

“Shit,” he breathes, getting to his feet. He stands before you, cupping your cheeks and forcing you to look at him. He frowns when he sees the utter despair on your face, the heartbreak in your eyes, “No, baby. No, no. I wasn’t laughin’ at you.”

Baby. You catch onto it. He’s never called you that before.

You dash the spark of hope that it causes.

He rubs his thumbs under your eyes, wiping the tears away.

Then, he leans forward and slots his lips against yours.

It’s like fireworks explode in your chest. Your heart races so fast that you feel lightheaded. You can’t even respond to the kiss in time before he pulls away, your mind is moving too fast for you to process any meaningful thought. But he kissed you.

Simon kissed you.

“What?” you finally manage to whisper, looking up with wide, shocked eyes, “Why did you..?”

He looks confused for a second, still cupping your cheeks as he looks into your watery eyes, “You really have no idea?” Your brows furrow immediately and you shake your head, “How I feel about you?”

“You feel..?” you dumbly repeat.

He smiles softly, thumb rubbing softly over your cheekbone, “You really think I don’t feel the same?”

“B-But when…when we were kids I…” you stumble over your words, the truth you’ve believed this entire time seemingly false, “You s-said you didn’t feel the same.”

“Jesus, love,” he huffs softly in disbelief, “You were fourteen. I was seventeen. You were way too fuckin’ young for me, it wouldn’t have been right.”

“B-But then…” you stutter, reaching up to wipe your cheek, “When did you..?”

He shrugs, “Not sure exactly. Suppose sometime after you turned 20 was when I realized I felt somethin’ for you.”

“So you really…” you whisper, snagging your hands into his hoodie to pull him close, “You really…I mean…”

“Love you?” he smiles softly, “Of course I do.”

You lean forward and press your lips to his. He hums, wrapping one strong arm around your middle to pull you even closer. His lips work magically over yours, taking control of the kiss with ease. You easily melt into it, following his lead. It’s not as easy as you thought it would be and you hope Simon doesn’t notice.

But he does, of course he does.

He pulls away and smooths the palm of his hand down your cheek before it comes to rest on your jaw. His thumb slides over your bottom lip and he hums.

“You ever kissed before?” he asks, voice calm and level with no teasing to it at all.

Still, heat explodes all over your face. Embarrassment overrides the euphoria of your requited feelings. You try to pull away but Simon’s much stronger and he won’t let go unless he wants to.

“Hey, don’t run,” he coos softly, turning your face to look back up at him, “I was just askin’.”

“No,” you mumble, still burning with embarrassment, “I-I’ve only ever liked you so…”

“Fuckin’ hell…” he whispers, letting you step back just a bit so he can look over you, “Is that right?”

“You should know that,” you mumble, feeling small under his scrutiny, “You know everything about me.”

“Didn’t think datin’ history was somethin’ you felt like sharin’,” he shrugged off.

“Well, now you know,” you mutter, your gaze glued to the floor.

“That I do,” he hums in agreement, reaching out to brush a hand down the length of your arm.

A soft, quietness falls over the two of you. You’re not sure what to do and it seems he’s content where he is. He’s watching you, tracking every little shift and fidget you make until he finally seems to take pity on you.

“Let’s get to bed,” he says softly, giving you a soft nudge towards the bed.

You take the opportunity to dive into bed, yanking the blanket over you as Simon strips himself out of his boots and hoodie. You go to look away as he yanks his belt free with practiced hands but you can’t seem to. He slips the belt out of the loops and drops it on the dresser before unbuttoning his jeans and slipping them off.

Your mouth waters at the sight of him in a tight pair of navy boxer-briefs slung low on his hips. You can make out the shape of his–

“Enjoyin’ the view?” he mumbles half-heartedly as he turns to root through the dresser to find some sweatpants.

“Sorry…” you mutter shamefully at being caught.

He chuckles under his breath, pulling the sweats on before he rounds to his side of the bed and drops onto the mattress, “Nothin’ to be sorry about.”

He leans over you and turns out the tableside lamp. Then he settles into his pillow with a soft sigh.

“Si..?” you whisper.

“Yeah?” you can hear the smile in his voice.

“Are we um…” you clear your throat, “I mean like…are we…together now..?”

You feel him roll over and toss his arms around you. You squeak when he tugs you towards him roughly, securing you against his chest before he kisses the top of your head.

“Do you want to be together?” he asks, muffled by his lips pressed against you.

“Yes,” you whisper quickly, wrapping yourself around him almost possessively.

He tilts your head up and carefully slots his mouth over yours again. You sigh happily at the feeling.

You notice that he keeps it a lot slower than he had before, moving his lips carefully against yours. Like he’s trying to make it easier for you to keep up. It makes your cheeks flush again but you sink into the pillow and let him kiss all he wants as you do your best to match his movements.

His body shifts, torso hovering over you as he rests his weight on his elbows on either side of your head. Your hands rest against his shoulders and simply get lost in the kiss.

After a moment, he deepens the kiss, sinking into you with his chest pressed against yours. You whimper and wrap your arms around his neck, carding your fingers through his cropped hair.

One of his hands moves, coming to grip your waist, fingers sliding up the hem of your shirt. It’s like a dream come true. Literally.

All those nights you spent with your hand between your thighs, thinking of him. Thinking of him touching you like this – with his hand sliding your shirt up a little further every second. You even feel that familiar wetness soaking your panties.

Then why was your heart racing from anxiety instead of excitement? Why did you feel a fearful tremble setting in your thighs, as if your knees would be knocking together if you were standing. Why were you scared?

Before you can stop yourself, you’re shoving your hands against his chest with a weak, “No!”

Simon is off of you in seconds but you can feel his gaze on you in the darkness. You struggle to catch your breath as you lay there, heart pounding in your ears. Your head hurts, you realize with a wince.

“Um…” you find yourself attempting to appease him, “I-I don’t…I’m sorry, I…”

“It’s alright,” he whispers sincerely, settling down into bed with a content hum, “Nothin’ to worry about, love.”

You scoot closer to him and hesitantly place your head on his chest. Simon’s arm wraps around your back and tucks you even more snug against him. You close your eyes and will yourself to relax and sleep as you feel Simon’s comforting hand rubbing your back.

Neither of you talk about it in the morning. Or the day after that. Or the day after that. You don’t bring it up, even though you want to, and Simon doesn’t try touching you like that again. Part of you wants him to, you’ve been dreaming about his touch for years but once you finally get it, you freak out?

You can’t stop beating yourself up over it.

But then you think about the anxiety that it had caused. The apprehension. How uncomfortable it felt – how you wanted his hands off of you.

You sighed, flopping onto your side on the couch where you sat. Your mind was buzzing annoyingly from your thoughts.

Regardless of your problems, you were happier than ever with him. He was finally yours. Wholly and truly yours. It was bliss.

“Got a call,” Simon says, snapping you out of your daze, “Gotta leave.”

That makes you sit up, “Leave?”

You finally notice that he’s got his bag packed – the one he only takes when he’s getting deployed. You’re on your feet in seconds, following him to the door. He’s wearing his skull balaclava so all you can see are his eyes – sad, apologetic.

“H-How long?” you ask, unable to ignore the ache in your chest as you watch him.

“Few weeks, probably,” he mutters, placing the bag down so he can tuck his feet into his boots.

He straightens up with a grunt before turning to you. He sighs, gloved hands cupping your cheeks when he sees how sad you look – like a kicked puppy. You wish you could feel his bare hands on you but can’t find it in you to ask.

“I don’t want you to go,” you find yourself mumbling.

It’s selfish and even a bit cruel of you to voice that desire. Simon’s thumb strokes your cheek in that sweet way he always does and you melt into him. He lets you thump your head against his chest as you suppress your cries, biting your lip so you can keep your tears at bay.

“I know,” he softly whispers, stroking your back as you cling to him, “I know, but I have to.”

“I know,” you mumble, finally looking up at him. You know your eyes are glassy and you make sure to blink back the tears so they never overflow, “Just be safe and come home, okay?”

He lifts his mask up just enough to expose his lips before he leans down to kiss you. It’s a whole body experience this time. He clutches you against him like his life depends on it, gloved hands fiercely gripping the back of your t-shirt. His lips move smoothly against yours, hand coming up to cup your jaw so he can tilt your head and pull you even deeper into his kiss. He pulls away when he needs to breathe, smiling when he sees the dazed, lovesick expression on your face. He tugs his mask down and lets you go but you stay as close to him as possible.

“Make sure you stay warm,” he coos, “Gonna start gettin’ real cold in a couple days.”

“I will, Si,” you assure him.

“Left some cash for you to do your shoppin’,” he adds, “I know you’re a shit cook but I left a list of some easy recipes. Don’t burn the flat down.”

You snort and playfully smack his shoulder, “I’ll just buy some cup noodles in that case.”

He rolls his eyes, pinching your side to make you gasp from the ticklish feeling, “Don’t even think about it.”

Your grin falters when his phone makes that obnoxious beeping noise that lets you know it’s something urgent. He sighs, the tranquil happiness between you two broken immediately. He kisses your forehead through his mask and pulls the front door open.

“Keep this locked,” he mutters, stepping past the threshold, “I’ll be home soon.”

He closes the door and you’re left with an emptiness that overcomes you. You’ve always been scared for him when he has to go off on missions – you know that his job is extremely dangerous and he could lose his life at any moment. That thought alone makes a nauseous pit settle in your stomach. You push down the feeling of bile rising in the back of your throat and click the lock on the door with a sigh before you go about your day, trying your best to keep your mind off of him and where he might be in the world.

True to his word, however, the temperature drops bitterly cold within 2 days after he leaves. There had already been a chill in the air that drove you to turn the heating on just a bit but now it was full blast. But now, it was dipping to freezing and you were anticipating the arrival of snow soon enough as well.

You wake up one morning, however, and your apartment is bitterly cold. You sit up, confused before climbing out of bed. Your feet are immediately freezing as you step onto the floor. You hiss, wrapping your arms around yourself as you stumble over to the radiator in your room. You touch it and find absolutely no heat emanating from it.

All the radiators are the same. Absolutely no heat.

You curse, realizing you have no idea what you’re supposed to do. You curl up on the couch under a heavy throw blanket as you type with bitterly cold fingers into Google, looking for anything that can help you. But it’s to no avail. You can’t understand a thing.

Your next thought is to call the building manager but you know that’s pointless. The useless man never actually helps with any work for his tenants.

There’s no way in hell that you can afford to call someone to come and fix the problem. You have money for groceries but if you spent that you wouldn’t have anything to eat. You sigh, resolving yourself to bundling up and trying to stay as warm as you can.

You pile all the blankets you have into bed and pick out only your thickest, warmest sweaters.

This is going to be miserable, you think.

The snow comes just a short week later and it feels even colder. You venture out of your flat to go to the grocery store, picking up ingredients for the dishes Simon wrote down for you and also some cans of soup that you can cook to stay warm. You also throw some boxes of tea and some hot chocolate in with it, figuring why not. Warm drinks will help.

It’s almost 3 weeks of living like that. It’s miserable and makes your bones ache from how stiff the cold makes you feel. You make sure to eat nice, hot food to keep yourself warm and make frequent cups of warm drinks so you can keep your hands warm for as long as you can. You do your best.

The worst is showers, though. When you’re standing under the blisteringly hot spray, it’s bliss. But the second you step out and your wet body is hit with the freezing air, you couldn’t have felt more miserable.

The night Simon walks through the door, he finds you bundled up on the couch sipping a cup of hot chocolate.

“Simon!” you gasp excitedly, tossing the blankets off to take a running leap at him.

He huffs contentedly when he catches you in his arms, letting you embrace him for as long as you need. He strips his mask off and brings you in for a delicate kiss.

“Let me wash up,” he mumbles, stalking through the apartment.

“Um, before you do, Si,” you catch him at the entrance to the hallway. He turns to you and looks at you with a brow raised, “The um…heating is broken so…just letting you know when you come out of the shower it’s gonna suck.”

“Ain’t nothin’ I haven’t dealt with before,” he mutters and pauses, “The fuck you mean it’s broken?”

“Heating cut off a few weeks ago…” you shrug, wrapping your arms around yourself as you start to feel the cold creep in again.

“A few weeks ago?” he hisses, running a stressed hand through his hair, “Fuckin’ hell. You didn’t call someone to fix it?”

You pout as he raises his voice, clearly frustrated, “I couldn’t afford it, Si! I had the money you gave me for food but I wasn’t gonna spend that to get the heating fixed. You know the building manager is a piece of shit, not like he was gonna call someone.”

He sighs, crossing his arms over his chest, seemingly thinking something over. Then he turns on his heel and storms into the bathroom, slamming the door.

“I’m sorry, Simon!” you call through the door, “I didn’t know what else to do! Please, don’t be mad.”

The shower turns on and all you can do is look up and sigh in exasperation. The second he’s home and he’s already pissed at you.

You sulk over to the couch and flop down, tossing your blankets over you as you grab your mug. The hot chocolate is still warm but not as hot as it was. It’ll have to do.

Simon comes out of the shower, gets dressed warmly, and joins you in the living room. He doesn’t even look at you as he makes a move for his bag that he left by the door. You almost think he’s going to scoop the bag up and storm out the door. You sit up, ready to stop him but instead, he stoops down and zips it open. He pulls out his wallet and approaches you.

“What are you doing?” you mumble, watching him flip the thing open.

It’s old and worn, a simple black leather wallet. He’s had it for as long as you could remember and you’ve put the poor thing through the washer and dryer so many times that you’re shocked it's still intact.

He pulls out a bank card and promptly hands it to you. Your brain stutters to a stop as you look at it.

“Take it, fuck sake,” he mutters. He sounds annoyed but the way he looks away and his ears turn pink you can tell he’s…shy.

Simon Riley is fucking shy right now.

You take the bank card out of his hand and look at it, flipping over in your hands, “Why are you giving this to me?”

“So you can use it,” he mumbles, slamming his wallet shut and tossing it onto the table, “That way, in case anything happens you can withdraw from my account for what you need. If an emergency happens and I’m not around, use it.”

“Simon…” you mumble, looking up at him, “Are you sure..?”

“Course I’m sure,” he scoffs, taking a seat beside you before softly rattling off four digits.

“Huh?” you dumbly ask.

“It’s my pin,” he responds, grabbing one of the blankets you have piled on the couch and tossing it on his lap.

“That’s my birthday…” you say softly as you repeat the numbers over and over in your head, “Your bank pin is my birthday?”

He snatches the remote up from the table and turns the TV on without another word. But you can see how pink the tips of his ears are. It makes you beam and before you know it, you’re curling snugly into his side.

“Love you, Si,” you whisper, earning a kiss to the top of your head in response.

Simon calls the next morning to have someone come by and fix the damn heating. You listen to the man rattle off some information to Simon about what the problem was but it makes virtually no sense to you so you resolve yourself to sitting on the couch and waiting until it’s warm again.

But even when it’s nice and toasty inside, you still plaster yourself to Simon’s side, snuggling as close to him as you possibly can.

“I want you to meet my team,” Simon says one morning while he’s making some eggs.

You’re standing by the toaster, waiting for it to pop up but his words make you turn to him, “You mean 141?”

“Who else?” he huffs, flipping one of the eggs. It sizzles loudly in the pan, “They wanted me to go out with them tonight. Thought you could join us.”

“Really?” you realize how incredulous you sound and then try again, “I mean really? That’s okay with you?”

He nods, plating the eggs, “I think it’s time they met you.”

“I-I’d love to,” you say, unable to hide the excitement you feel.

You catch a slip of a smile on Simon’s face before the toast pops up and distracts you.

You have to dig into your closet that evening, after a shower, to find something nice to wear. You figure an occasion like this calls for something a little nicer than just jeans and a t-shirt like you usually wear. But you can’t find much of anything.

“What’re you huffin’ about in here?” Simon asks when he walks in, towel wrapped around his waist. He’s still dripping wet from the shower and you can feel the way your mouth fills with saliva at the sight.

“I uh…don’t know what to wear…” you respond, turning your back to him just as he slips the towel off. Your cheeks feel like they’re on fire, imagining Simon completely naked behind you.

“Wear those nice jeans you got,” he mumbles, grunting as he gets himself dressed, “And that little blue top you got.”

“The cropped one?” you ask incredulously, a brow raised as you turn to him. He’s got some jeans on now and he’s meticulously unfolding a black t-shirt so he can put it on, “I haven’t worn that in a while, how’d you even remember it?”

He shrugs, the muscles in his back rippling with his movement before he tosses the shirt over his head and pulls it down, covering his skin once again, “It’s cute. We’re just goin’ to the pub, love.”

“Okay,” you mumble, reaching into the back of your closet to pull the little shirt out, “If you’re sure this will be okay.”

“I’m sure,” he chuckles softly, grabbing his balaclava off the dresser. But he doesn’t put it on yet. Instead, he sits on the bed and watches you change.

You’re acutely aware of his eyes on you as you strip your shirt off. You keep your back to him, trying to ignore your racing heart. You don’t feel uncomfortable at all, instead you feel…excited.

Your mind runs wild, imagining him stepping up behind you, kissing your neck and cupping your bare breasts in his big hands. They’re a little rough from his line of work and you wonder what they’d feel like against the sensitive skin of your tits, thumbing your nipples and pinching them a little meanly.

“C-Can you hand me a bra?” you find yourself asking.

He grunts in acknowledgement and the bed creaks when his weight moves off it. He opens one of the drawers and is behind you in a second. His body heat permeates through his shirt as he presses his chest against your back.

He slings your bra over your shoulder, holding it with one finger by the strap. You can’t help but tilt your head back to look up at him. He’s towering over you, pretty, brown eyes looking down his nose at you.

You realize in this position, he could clearly see your breasts but he keeps his eyes on yours. You take the bra from him and he lets you, simply staring into your eyes with that stern silence he has about him.

“T-Thanks…” you find yourself whispering, mouth feeling particularly dry.

He grunts, lips quirked up just a bit before he turns his back and walks back to the bed. You let out a quiet, slow breath, willing your heart rate to go back to normal.

Simon was so exhilarating. Just being around him sets your heart racing and fingers trembling.

You put your bra on and slip your top over your head, ignoring the sticky feeling in your panties as you do.

“I don’t know, Si,” you mutter, turning to face him, “I-It’s a little tight on me now.”

The fabric once hugged you nicely but now it was snug. It molded around your breasts, even showing the lines of your bra. The neckline was low, giving a good show of cleavage – it didn’t help that Simon picked one of your more well padded bras.

Simon looks up, his eyes immediately falling to your breasts. He sucks in a quick breath and looks away, licking his lips.

“Looks fine,” he mutters, standing to pull one of the drawers open again. He searches for a second, brows furrowed until he pulls out the jeans he was talking about. The ‘nice jeans’ as he called them, were just some low rise jeans you’d only worn about 4 times.

You look dumbly at them as he drops them into your hands.

“These?” you scoff, “Simon, I can’t–”

He quiets you with a kiss to your forehead, “Trust me, love.”

He steps out of the room after that, leaving you to your own devices. You’re thankful that you can change your panties without him seeing how saturated and sticky they’ve become because of him. You bury them in the laundry basket and remind yourself that you should do the laundry before he does because you’d be mortified if he found them.

You don’t even look at yourself in the mirror, afraid you’ll feel too self-conscious if you see what you look like. But you trust Simon’s judgment on what he thinks would look good on you – and you can’t deny that dressing up how he likes feels nice.

You step into the living room, intent on pulling your shoes on when Simon catches you with an arm around your waist. You gasp as he turns you to face him.

“You look lovely,” he whispers, smoothing his hands up your sides, thumbs slipping under the hem of your shirt to stroke your skin.

You swallow thickly as your heart starts racing in your chest again. He leans down and pecks your lips but pulls back before you have the chance to kiss back.

“Let’s go,” is all he adds before walking away, leaving you no choice but to follow like the lovesick puppy you are.

Walking into the bar, your heart pounds painfully in your chest from pure anxiety. Your hand is clasped tightly in Simon’s as he easily moves through the crowd. You suppose his height makes it easy to see over people.

“You alright?” he asks, leaning down to whisper in your ear.

“Haven’t been in a bar since I worked at…” you trail off, giving him a half-hearted shrug.

“If you wanna leave, just say the word,” he mutters, giving your hand a squeeze.

“N-No,” you shake your head, shooting him a wobbly smile,”I wanna meet your team at least.”

He smiles reassuringly and gives your hand a tug to encourage you to follow him. He leads you right to a table situated in a corner, three men laughing and drinking.

“There he is!” the one with the mohawk cheeks, holding up his pint in celebration.

“Shut up, Soap,” Simon grumbles petulantly as he pulls out a chair for you.

Soap, you note to yourself. You know them by name but you’ve never actually seen the faces to put to them. Soap looks like you imagined, a broad grin and pretty, bright eyes – you imagined them green but they’re blue.

“And who is this lovely companion of yours, Simon?” an older man with a hat and mutton chops asks with a kind smile, eyes on you.

Simon says your name before he sits down with a grunt beside you.

“Price,” your boyfriend supplies when you look curiously at him.

The man in question holds out a hand which you take and softly shake, “Nice to meet you.”

“Had no idea Lt. had someone waitin’ for him at home,” Soap says, a teasing lilt in his voice.

So you’ve met Soap, Price, and that leaves; your eyes land on the quiet guy sitting back in his chair, a cool smile on his lips. He meets your gaze and his smile broadens – not teasing like Soap’s but purely kind.

“You can call me Kyle,” he gives you a polite nod.

“Gaz, then?” you question, tilting your head to the side. Kyle looks surprised, eyes flicking to Simon who shifts uncomfortably in his chair, “He’s talked about all of you before. I only know your call signs though.”

“John will do fine if you’d like,” Price says, tipping his beer back to take a chug.

“Simon calls me Johnny,” Soap adds, “You’re welcome to as well. Anyone important to the Lieutenant is important to us.”

Out of the corner of your eye you see Simon roll his eyes. It makes you smile. He leans over, nudging you with his knee, “You want anything to drink? I need one.”

“No thank you, Si,” you reply, intent on having a clear head for the night. You’ve never been much of a drinker anyway.

When Simon’s gone from the table, you suddenly feel incredibly out of place. Price and Kyle have the decency to not stare you down but Soap seems keen on keeping his baby blue’s right on you and a goofy little smile on his face.

“Um…” you shift uncomfortably as you look back at him.

“We’ve never gotten to meet anyone from Ghost’s private life before,” Soap says, saving you from having to think of what to say, “Just shocked s’all.”

“You’re gonna start giving the poor thing the creeps with your ugly mug,” Kyle chuckles which also makes Soap laugh.

“Sorry about that,” Soap lifts his glass and cheers to you before tipping it back.

He grimaces slightly as it goes down before slamming his glass back on the table.

“It’s alright,” you respond, “Si’s not really the open book kind. So I understand.”

“How long have the two of you known each other?” Kyle asks.

You find yourself wondering where the hell Simon even is but answer regardless, “Since we were kids. Um, we lived next door. His mom and mine were friends, I guess.”

Soap nods his head, elbows on the table as he gives you his full attention, “You guess?”

You hum, “I’m 3 years younger than Simon. The way it was told to me by my mom is that…his mom came over and,” you couldn’t fight back the smile as you recalled the story.

“Oh this has got to be good,” Soap nudged Kyle excitedly at your grin.

“Told my mom that Simon didn’t have any friends and that he was a…soft-hearted boy and she wanted him to have some friends,” you giggle, holding a hand in front of your face to hide your laughter, “So she wanted to set up playdates with me even though I was still a baby. My mom didn’t have the heart to tell her no.”

Soap tosses his head back and laughs, “No fuckin’ way.”

“I’m shocked to say it but that actually makes him sound cute,” Kyle adds, unable to hide the laughter in his voice either.

“Don’t let him hear you say that,” Price says, but there’s a smile on his face, “Simon’ll knock you out cold on this table.”

“So you and Simon have been together since?” Kyle asks, glass cupped in both hands.

You nod, “Only time we’ve been apart is when he enlisted and had to go off for a few years to train.”

Soap opens his mouth to say something but a large figure finally drops down into the seat next to you. Simon has a glass of bourbon and a glass that he slides over to Soap who catches it with ease.

“Thanks, Lt,” he nods, taking a sip before making that disgusted face again.

“What are you lot talkin’ about?” Simon asks, drumming his fingers against his glass.

“We were discussin’ all your dirty secrets,” Kyle teases with a charming grin.

“Nothin’ too damning I hope,” Simon huffs before he takes a large gulp of his drink.

The other three men all hide their grins behind their glasses.

The anxiety you had felt at the beginning of the night is long gone. The task force is full of jokes and laughs and even Simon seems like a different person.

With you, he’s kind and even soft. He’s by no means gentle or patient.

But this side of Simon is so jovial and comfortable that it warms your heart to see. He drinks a few glasses and by the end of the night, he’s got a relaxed, lidded look in his eyes that lets you know he’s got a bit of a buzz going on.

“It was lovely to meet you,” Price says when you all walk out of the bar.

“I really enjoyed meeting all of you as well,” you smile, letting Simon tuck you into his side with an arm wrapped around your waist.

“Get him home safe,” Soap teases, your smile only widening when you hear Simon huff in annoyance.

You bid goodbye to the three of them and make your way to the car with Simon, plucking his keys out of his hand and forcing him into the passenger seat despite his grumbled protests of how ‘he’s not that drunk’.

When the two of you finally get into your apartment, you let him lock up and turn out the lights while you go to the bedroom and get ready for bed.

“You looked really nice tonight,” Simon mutters when he finally walks in as you crawl into bed, “I’m glad you liked them.”

“I’m glad they liked me,” you huff, leaning back into the pillows, “They were all really nice guys.”

“Yeah,” Simon hums, tugging his shirt off of his head, taking his mask with it, “They’re good people.”

You nod your head and tuck your knees to your chest while he gets undressed. He slips on a plaid pair of pajama pants and shoves the drawer closed with his hip before yanking the blanket back to make room for his large body.

You bounce a little on the bed when he drops his weight onto it. He smacks his pillow a couple times before he lays back and sighs. It’s clear he’s still a little buzzed from the way he fights to keep his eyes open.

“Simon?” you ask, turning to face him.

That makes his eyes open back up before he looks at you, “What?”

“Can I kiss you?” you ask.

He snorts and it makes you smile. He reaches out and wraps his hand around the back of your head. You let him tug you down, pressing your hands against his firm chest as you kiss him.

His hand travels down your back as he sighs into your mouth. You pull away briefly to look into his eyes before you kiss him again, this time deepening it as much as you’re able. Simon sighs contentedly, his other hand coming up to caress your arm.

“I like kissin’ you…” you find yourself whispering against his lips.

He groans at that, the sound going straight to your core. You feel yourself clench around nothing, already starting to leak into your panties.

“Yeah?” he coos, cupping your cheek, thumbing over your lips, “You can kiss me all you want, love.”

You whimper, surging down to kiss him again. His hands grip your waist, intermittently squeezing you, like he doesn’t know what to do with his hands.

Suddenly, you feel the warm, slick slide of his tongue against your lips. You whimper and pull back, brows furrowed.

“Shh, love,” he coos, pulling you close again, “Jus’ relax and let me…”

You huff, struggling to catch your breath as he urges you to meet his lips again. You feel his tongue again and eagerly open your mouth, letting him taste the inside of your mouth. You shyly meet his tongue with yours and feel his grip on your waist tighten as he groans in his throat.

You’re sure you’ve soaked well through your panties by now. There’s an ache in your clit that you long to reach down and relieve – or better yet, have Simon relieve.

You bet his fingers would feel so damn good against you. You find yourself whimpering into the kiss at the thought alone. Simon lets out a husky laugh into your mouth before pulling away.

A string of spit connects your lips before it breaks and vanishes.

With a surge of confidence, you toss your leg over his waist. He grunts when your weight settles on his hips, on his cock. It’s chubbed up against his thigh from kissing you and he knows you can feel it.

“What’re you doin’, baby?” he huffs, unable to stop his hands from traveling up the front of your body.

You grab his wrist and boldly slide it under the hem of your shirt. He bites his lip to keep from moaning when he feels your bare breast fill his palm. You see the way his eyes start to roll back before he looks at you again. It makes you throb in your panties and you can’t resist grinding against him a little before he grabs your waist and stops you.

“Si…” you whimper, pressing your hands against his chest, “‘S wrong?”

“Can’t,” he clears his throat and sinks into the bed, “Can’t do this, love.”

“Why not?” you ask, feeling a pit of disappointment in your gut, “You don’t want to? I just thought…”

You feel your face burn with humiliation as you slide off of his lap. Simon lets you, simply laying there on his back, eyes closed and a knit between his brows, as he evens his breathing out. You fight back tears as you sit there, biting the inside of your lip anxiously.

“Not…not tonight, sweetheart,” he finally says, reaching over to pet your hair, “Been drinkin’ ‘nd I want to be sober for it, yeah?”

It would have been a solid excuse if it didn’t sound so flimsy coming from his lips. Like he doesn’t even believe it himself.

“Yeah…” you offer, giving him a wobbly smile before turning out the light.

You’re too embarrassed to cuddle into him that night.

“Can I ask you something?” you find yourself muttering as you relax on the couch with him, watching some old movie he picked out, “As long as you promise not to get mad.”

He snorts, taking a sip of his tea, “Won’t get mad.”

“I just want to know…” you clear your throat and sit up straight a little more, going over the question in your head, “Why did you leave that night…leave like that, just to have sex?”

He tenses up immediately, you can feel it. He shifts where he sits, spreading his legs just a little wider so he can sink deeper into the couch, “We already talked about this.”

You wince at his clipped tone, knowing you’re stepping into dangerous territory, “I know but…I want to know the real reason.”

He catches his bottom lip between his teeth and sighs, keeping his eyes trained on the TV, “You think I was lyin’ to you?”

Now he sounds mad. You quickly shake your head, “No, Si. I-I’m not trying to start a fight, I swear. I don’t think you were lying. I just think you…weren’t telling me everything.”

He sighs. You can see the way his jaw ticks when he clenches it, “Is that right?”

“Yeah,” you breathe, scooting a little closer to him, placing your hands on his chest, smoothing his shirt down a bit, “It was just…out of character for you, Si. I was really upset and you knew that. It wasn’t like you to just…leave. Just to get laid.”

He finally looks at you, just out of the corner of his eye. You meet the look, offering him an encouraging smile to show that you’re not upset or anything.

“All night,” he finally mutters, “You’d been kickin’ in your sleep. Kept wakin’ me up.”

You nodded, a look of confusion on your face. You had no idea where this was going.

“You started sayin’ my name,'' he continued, “Moanin’ my name. Fuck, it was drivin’ me crazy.”

Your face flushes hot when you hear that. It all suddenly comes rushing back to you – what you’d been dreaming about.

“You threw your leg over mine and I could–” he cuts himself off, his throat moving with how hard he swallows.

“Could what?” your voice comes out shockingly breathy.

He catches it, looking at you. You can see the way his pupils widen immediately when he meets your gaze. It’s like he can see right through you, see the fact you’re dripping into your panties again. Just from this conversation alone.

“I could feel how fuckin’ wet you were,” he brings a shaky hand up and runs it through his hair before he leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, “Couldn’t fuckin’ deal with it. I had to…let it out somehow.”

“So you knew that I wanted you…like that?” you find yourself asking.

He scoffs and shakes his head, “Didn’t think about it like that. Figured it was just a dream and that’s all it was.”

“Wasn’t just a dream,” you assure, scooting closer to him.

Simon’s breath catches in his throat when you lean over him, resting your hand on the arm rest on his other side, letting it support your weight. You stand on your knees, making you just a little taller than him before you lean down and kiss him.

He remains completely still, like he’s processing. His hands flounder in the air for a second before he’s carefully pushing you to sit back down. You slump against your heels and look at him, perturbed.

“Why..?”

“I need to make dinner,” he says lamely.

“Simon…” you admonish, knowing he’s lying.

He gets up, knees cracking as he does. He winces a little bit before he bends down to pick up the blanket that fell to the floor when he stood. You kept your eyes on him, worrying your bottom lip between your teeth. You almost let him go but before you can stop him, you grab his arm.

“I don’t know what I’m doing, Simon,” you mutter, “I keep trying to make things go further with you but I just keep making a fool of myself and I–”

“‘S not you,” he assures softly, taking your hand in his, “‘S all me, baby.”

“So why…” you frown, “I want you.”

He shakes his head, “Night you told me how you felt. You sounded scared.”

You remember, the way his touch had made anxiety fill you. You had wanted him, of course, but for some reason it had just been so damn awful at the same time. You hadn’t really dwelled on why that was.

“It wasn’t ‘cause of you, Si,” you assured, shifting so your feet were on the floor rather than under you, “I promise. I-I was just nervous, I think. That’s all.”

“I don’t want…” he licks his lips, seemingly thinking over his next words carefully before he says them slowly, “I don’t to hear you sound like that with me again. ‘S why I’ve been avoidin’ it. ‘Cause I don’t want you to get scared again.”

You shake your head, rising to your feet, stepping in front of him. You take his hands in yours and squeeze them, “I don’t want to make a fool of myself with you, Simon.”

He frowns, “You know I would never think poorly of you.”

You smile and shrug, “I know that. I think…that time was just…too soon. After that night at the bar and everything that happened. And then the fact I’m so inexperienced that it’s laughable. I think…I just wasn’t ready for it. I needed to go at my own pace and I have been.”

“I don’t want you to push yourself,” he hums, “I know that night at the bar was terrifying,” he brings a hand up to brush over your cheek, “I understand if you’re not goin’ to be ready for a long time. It’s normal to not be ready after what happened to you.”

You huff, “I’ve been trying to show you that I’ve been ready for a while now, Si. I was anxious at first, yes. But now it’s…like a good kind of nervous.”

“A good kind of nervous?” he mutters, hands moving to your hips to pull you closer. Your breath hitches in your throat and you nod dumbly, “Tell me all about it.”

“L-Like my heart races,” you breathe, “And I feel scared that I’m gonna do something silly and embarrassing but like I want to learn and…and I want to do good for you.”

“Fuck,” Simon groans, dropping his head to rest on your shoulder, “Can’t say shit like that to a man like me, love.”

“Why not?” you whimper, feeling your knees tremble in excitement when you feel his hands start to wander.

“‘Cause…” he whispers, running his hands up your sides, “Makes me think some nasty shit, sweetheart.”

You swallow thickly at the promise in his voice, “Simon…”

You sound so wrecked already and it makes him moan softly in your ear, “Tell me about it, baby.”

Just like that, you’re spilling your guts to him, “Get so wet for you, Si, all the time. I want you so bad that it hurts.”

“Yeah?” he breathes, finally pulling his head from where he was hiding in your shoulder, tilting your chin up, “Where’s it hurt, baby? Hm? Right in that needy little cunt?”

You whimper immediately, looking up at him with wide, hazy eyes and nod, “T-Tried to touch myself. Thinkin’ about you made it hurt so I couldn’t help myself. Thought about you when I did.”

He hums as you babble to him but his mind latches onto one particular word, “Tried, baby? What do you mean "tried?”

Your cheeks burn hot at the slip up. Would he think you were silly for it?

“C-Can’t do it right,” you confess softly, hoping he doesn’t see how embarrassed you are, “Try so hard but n-nothin’ ever happens.”

Simon moans at that. Loud and unbridled, “What’re you sayin’, baby? That you can’t make yourself cum, s’that it?” You shake your head bashfully, “Fuckin’ hell. That’s adorable.”

“D-Don’t tease me, Si,” you whimper but the seat of your panties is so fucking wet that it’s sticking to you.

He hums, a predatory smile spreads across his face, “Am I bein’ mean, love?” You nod your head, tearfully staring up at him. It only makes his smile widen, canines popping out, “‘M sorry. Can’t help myself when you tell me ‘bout how you touch your pretty little pussy and just can’t make yourself cum like you need. Think I can do it for you, hm? Want me to try and make you cum?”

You vigorously nod your head, uncaring how fucking needy you look to him. He’s offering to give you what you’ve wanted for years – to give you a real, honest to God orgasm. And you weren’t going to let this chance slip away.

“Want you on the bed,” he suddenly whispers, “On your back, lose the pants but keep everything else on.”

With a jerk of his head in the direction of the bedroom, you take off. You hear him chuckle behind you at your excitement. He makes sure the door is locked before he heads back to the bedroom.

You’re there just like he asked, pants pooled on the floor, leaving you in nothing but an old t-shirt of his and a pair of the cutest little lilac colored panties he’s seen. You’ve got your knees pinned together, clenching your thighs but laying perfectly still in waiting for him.

“So fuckin’ good for me,” he praises, grinning when you whimper and tremble at his words, “Oh, sweet thing likes to be praised, huh?”

You nod your head, “Wanna be good for you, Si.”

“That’s sweet, baby,” he coos, reaching to the back of his collar so he can tug his shirt off of his head.

Your heart hammers away in your chest when he crawls onto the bed, hands on either side of your head. He looks so big like this, on top of you, completely blocking any view you had of your ceiling and instead filling your viewline with just him. He leans down and kisses you, humming contentedly when you eagerly kiss back. Your hands find purchase on his shoulders as he uses one hand to tug your legs open so he can slot himself between them.

You cry out when he presses himself against your core. He’s wearing nothing but his jeans but you can feel the heat radiating through the thick material.

“Shit, look at that,” he whispers, leaning back on his heels to admire the nice little wet patch that has stained your panties, “You already this wet, baby?”

“Kissin’ you always makes me this wet, Si,” you sweetly confess and oh, you are just so precious.

His hands slide up your stomach, moving your t-shirt up and up until it sits crumpled under your chin. Your tits are bare and move with every gasping breath that you take.

Simon’s hands are just as rough and warm as you’d expect them to be. His thumbs come up and glide over your nipples until they harden into stiff little peaks for him.

Then his mouth is wrapping around one, swirling his tongue around it before pulling off with a lewd pop. His hand pinches the other nipple, rolling it between his fingers as he listens to you whimper and sigh.

“Please, Si,” you whine, “I-It hurts, please.”

“It hurts?” he hums, leaving a fleeting kiss against the nipple his tongue was torturing just a moment ago, “Where? Hm?”

His hand travels down your body, cupping your cunt through your panties. You gasp, arching your hips just a bit to grind against his palm. He lets you, before he meanly pins your hips down with his other hand.

“Where, love?” he smooths the pad of his thumb over the seam of your cunt through your panties. The fabric is saturated with your slick, letting him see every part of you through shape alone. His thumb finds your clit, the little bud poking out through the fabric from how hard and swollen it's become, “Here? ‘S it your pretty clit that hurts, love?”

You nod, eyes rolling back in your head when he presses his thumb against the bud, trapping it under his finger so he can roll mean little circles over it. You’d be mindlessly rutting your hips by now if he didn’t have his other arm slung over your hips to keep you pinned nice and still like he wants.

It already feels so different than when you touched yourself. Maybe because it’s him or maybe because he’s so experienced.

That thought makes you equal parts jealous and equal parts turned on. He’d slept with plenty of people but now he was using that expertise to make you feel good.

“Can you take them off, please?” you whine, pitchy and sweet from arousal.

“Asked so sweetly for me,” he coos, hitching his thumbs into the band of your panties before giving them a firm tug.

You quickly lift your hips, letting him tug them down and off of your feet. You expect him to toss them away but instead he holds them up, thumbing over the slickness in the crotch. You watch him with wide eyes as he analyzes it. Your breath hitches when he suddenly brings them towards his face and licks a wide stripe of the fabric, moaning when he gets a good laste of your syrupy sweet slick.

“Simon!” you gasp – admonish, leaning up to snatch them out of his grasp.

His eyes open, he hadn’t even realized he’d closed them, to look at you. He licks his lips like a dog licking its chops when it tastes something real delicious.

He doesn’t even comment on what he just did or the pure embarrassment that is written all over your face. Instead, he grips underneath your knees and yanks you down the bed towards him so your hips are situated in his lap.

“Jus’ let me touch you, love,” he whispers, “I’ll work a nice little orgasm out of you in no time, yeah?”

You nod your head because you trust him. You know he’s going to be able to give you what you need so badly. You don’t even question it – especially when you feel how good it feels when he uses his thumbs to spread your folds open for him. He groans when he sees the sticky strings of slick that display just how turned on you are.

Pretty little hole clenching sporadically around nothing, dribbling more creamy arousal that makes his tongue feel like lead in his mouth. A pretty clit that twitches and throbs under his scrutinizing gaze. But you make no move to cover yourself and hide from his gaze.

He finally touches the bud directly and it’s like electricity strikes through you. You lose control of your body as your back arches and your thighs violently twitch. Your cheeks burn when you hear him chuckle softly at your reaction.

“Sensitive,” he huffs, a crooked little grin on his face as he brushes his thumb over your clit again, garnering the same reaction as before from you, “Fuck, can’t believe you’re this sensitive and can’t make yourself cum.”

“‘S cause it’s you, Si,” you sweetly confess.

And it’s true. Having him touch you like this directly – feeling his callused skin over the most sensitive little part of you is euphoric. It doesn’t feel anything like when you touch yourself at all. It feels magnified, you feel like a live wire and everything feels like too much. But you don’t do anything to impede him because you trust him more than anything – especially like this, with your body.

He replaced his thumb with his middle finger, prodding at your entrance. You almost think he’s going to press inside you but he doesn’t – instead, he gathers your slick up on his finger and drags it up to your clit. He softly circles the bud, cock kicking against his thigh when you sigh and croon so sweetly for him.

Your cunt makes sticky noises as he continues doing this, gathering your arousal and lathering your precious bud up with it so he can so softly play with it. His touches aren’t enough to actually work you to the edge, it’s much too slow and soft but it feels good. He waits for you to relax against the bed, lashes fluttering as you whimper and twitch on the bed for him.

“There you go, sweetheart,” he whispers, leaning forward to press a kiss against your trembling thigh, “Relax f’me. Want you nice and soft for me so I can get my fingers in this tight little cunt.”

You gasp at that, partly in excitement and also in apprehension. You’ve never actually put anything inside yourself before – except once, you put your finger in and it burned so you never tried it again.

“D-Dont…” you find yourself muttering, making him freeze. He thinks you’ve changed your mind, anxiety getting the better of you and he’s fully prepared to propel himself away from you at a moment's notice, “Be gentle, okay?”

His gaze softens when he looks at you, “Won’t hurt you, love. I promise.”

You remain relaxed for him when he carefully prods you with his middle finger. He keeps his thumb pressed against your clit, not rubbing it or anything, just keeping a nice pressure that keeps you sagged against the pillows.

It doesn’t feel anything like when you tried that one time with yourself. Everything is so much wetter and more pliant. It’s like your walls just suck the digit in, even though it’s so much bigger than your own finger.

You sigh softly when you finally have something to clench around. Simon gives you a sweet kiss to the spot right underneath your belly button in silent praise. He keeps his lidded, brown eyes on your face, watching every little expression you make with rapt attention.

He slowly and carefully fucks his middle finger into you, feeling the way you slowly relax around him, soaking his skin with your arousal. He smooths his free hand up the length of your body, abandoning your clit to wrap his palm around your breast. You place your own hand over his, encouraging him to squeeze harder.

“How’s that feel, love?” he asks, still sliding his finger in and out of you.

“Okay…” you reply, keeping your hand over his on your chest, “But it…um…”

“What?” he urges, “Tell me what you feel.”

“I-It feels nice but…” you trail off and he hums, nodding his head.

“Doesn’t feel good?” he finishes for you. You nod your head and he laughs softly, “I know, baby. Jus’ tryin’ to get you used to the feeling and then I’ll make it feel real good, alright?”

“Okay,” you whisper but he can tell you’re not too convinced that it’s going to feel much better.

You’re worried that the same thing is going to happen – it’ll feel really good and then you’re never going to be able to climb over that wall. You hate to imagine disappointing him, failing to get off. You’d hate for him to put all this work in and you just can’t cum in the end.

“Hey,” he coos, “Get out of your head, pretty. Don’t worry about a thing, alright?”

You take a deep breath and slowly let it out, allowing yourself to relax against the bed again. Simon waits for you to be nice and pliant around his finger before he starts to fit his ring finger alongside it. He catches sight of the furrow in your brow when he stretches you around two of his fingers. It burns but when Simon brings his thumb back to your clit, tapping against the bud, it vanishes. Your thighs twitch and you whimper, walls clenching in time with the little taps until the burning vanishes completely.

“There we are,” he praises, “Knew you could do it, sweetheart.”

“A-Are you gonna add another?” you find yourself asking.

“Later,” he responds, scissoring the two fingers he has snug inside your cunt, “‘M a big man, love. Gonna need you nice and stretched for me.”

You whimper at that, walls clenching around his fingers as he slowly begins to fuck them in and out of you. Your cheeks burn when you hear the loud, squishing noises your hole makes every time he stuffs them back inside.

After a moment of just getting you used to being stretched on two of his thick digits, he suddenly crooks them up and hits something inside you that makes your back arch. It causes a tingling feeling that you’ve never experienced to heat your tummy every time he touches it.

“Simon!” you squeal, trying to clench your thighs closed but his broad shoulders keep them open, “Th-That feels-!”

“I know, baby,” he coos cockily, grinding his fingertips against that little spot that makes you so gooey and creamy around his fingers, “Feels real good right there, I know.”

Your back arches and your jaw drops. You can’t do anything but moan and cry out as he fucks against that spot. He’s urged on by your sounds of pure pleasure, eyes flicking between where he’s got your pretty cunt spread open and the euphoric expressions you can’t do anything to hide.

It’s so precious, seeing you so open and loud for him. You don’t do anything to hide your sounds of pleasure nor do you even think of faking any of them for his sake. Every little thing you’re feeling, you express, and you can’t help yourself because it’s all so new and so much.

That hot, tingling feeling in your core only intensifies with every experienced stroke of his fingers. Your eyes are rolling back every time he touches that magnificent spot inside you, abusing it with his fingers until your walls are soft and malleable for him again.

And then he brings his index finger into it. He’s even more slow and careful as he fits it in beside the other two fingers. It doesn’t burn like when he had given you his second finger but it’s a certain stretch that simply feels strange.

He gets you stuffed open on his three fingers, up to the third knuckle. You’re spread so wide and squeeze his fingers so tight that it makes him moan when he thinks about what it will feel like around his cock.

If you’re this tight around just his fingers then you’re going to feel positively euphoric around him.

“Simon…” you coo, reaching down to card your fingers through his hair.

He grunts in acknowledgement, but is unwilling to part his gaze from the sight of the creamy mess you’ve begun to leave on his fingers. Your pretty clit is twitching and so swollen, glistening from your juices and he suddenly has the inescapable desire to wrap his mouth around it.

You’re not even looking when he decides to do it. It’s like he can’t stop himself.

All you feel is something wet and hot wrap around the little bud. You practically wail at the feeling of his tongue sliding against it. Your feet kick aimlessly, hitting his back and shoulders as you flail beneath his body.

You sob his name, yanking harshly on his hair in a way that hurts but he’s not going to stop you. He knows it’s mean to do this, not even warning you or easing you into the feeling before he’s suckling your clit. His tongue slips in circles around it, flicking it with the tip of his tongue. His ears practically ring from how loud you’re crying out for him.

His three fingers remain buried inside you but he’s hardly able to move them from how tight you’re squeezing them. All he can do is grind his fingers against your g-spot but it only makes your pretty body more twitchy and makes you squirm even more beneath him. He has to hold you down so you can’t get away.

He doesn’t want your precious pussy to be ripped away from him, your juices are making his taste buds tingle – you taste so damn good.

That familiar heat begins to grow in your core – one you’ve experienced many times before by yourself. You cry and wail for him, sobbing his name and gripping his hair.

“S-Si, don’t stop, please, please, please–” you choke on your own cries, slamming your head into the pillows as your back arches painfully hard.

He grunts lowly, blonde lashes fluttering as he watches your body’s pure, unfiltered reactions to this pleasure. He knows you’re getting close, can feel you clenching around him and your clit pulsing on his tongue in time with your heartbeat.

You feel yourself reaching that wall, the one you can never overcome. But it feels different this time, the pleasure isn’t slowing. It’s not fading like it always does when you’ve got your own fingers on your bud.

It always seems to slip out of your grasp by this point.

This is it, you think. You’re going to cum. You’re finally going to fucking cum.

Then everything stops.

His tongue is gone from your clit and his fingers are nowhere to be found. Simon’s shoulders rise and fall as he watches your face flicker through a range of emotions before your eyes fill with tears and you look at him – utterly pitiful and hopeless.

“Wh-Why…” you finally whisper, tongue feeling heavy in your mouth.

Your cunt pulses and throbs around nothing, the heat of your orgasm quickly dissipating, leaving that horribly empty and unsatisfying feeling in its wake.

“Sorry, baby,” he coos, genuine and soft as he leans up to kiss your face, “That was mean, huh? ‘M sorry. Jus’ want you to have your first orgasm on a cock, love.”

That doesn’t do anything to quell your disappointment but you nod anyway, wiping away some stray tears that trickle from your eyes.

“Please,” you breathlessly whisper, “Please, Simon. Want your cock, please. I-I was so close. It felt so good,” you start babbling, eyes falling to the hard outline of his cock in his jeans, “I wanna cum so bad, Si. Y-You promised. Please, just give me your cock. Please? Please? Simon!”

Simon’s mouth goes dry as he hears your babbled begging. Fuck, you’re absolutely aching for it. All you can think about is cumming. He never thought he’d get to hear you beg for him like this, so pathetically. You should be embarrassed, begging for cock like this when you’ve only just now gotten your first taste of being stretched open. Yet here you are fuckin’ crying for it.

His cock drools pre down his thigh, he can feel how wet his boxers have become from how much he’s leaking it. He’s aching in his jeans – he can’t pretend he doesn’t want it just as badly as you do.

“Shit, alright!” he snarls, wrapping a hand around your throat to force you to look at him. You gasp at the rough treatment, “Jus’ shut up and I’ll give it to you, yeah?”

You obediently nod your head, still staring up at him with those wide, teary eyes. He tries to act like his hands aren’t fucking trembling when he yanks his belt off. He doesn’t think he’s ever felt this needy – this excited to get his cock inside a pussy.

But it’s you. You’re special.

He loves you. This isn’t like the one night stands and hookups he’s had in the past. This is different.

He feels like a fumbling teenager the way he clumsily yanks his belt out of the loops and shoves his jeans down his thighs along with his underwear. His cock, big and heavy, hangs under its own weight – it never slaps up against his stomach. He wasn’t just chatting shit when he said he was a big guy.

He wrapped his hand around himself, giving it a few, firm tugs. He feels your eyes on him, watching the way he touches himself and it sends heat through him. He scoots closer to you again, pulling back his foreskin to show the fat, leaky head that he meanly taps against your clit.

You gasp a cute little ‘ah!’ when he does that brings a smile to his face. He can’t say he’s the best lay for a virgin because he’s so big and he’s a brute – it’s in his nature. But he’s trying his best for you.

“Alright, baby,” he coos, leaning on one forearm above your head, draping his big body over yours. He easily manhandles you into position, caging your knees against your chest and wrapping himself around you, “Just relax for me, hm? Can you do that f’me?”

You nod your head and shakily put your hands on his shoulders, cupping his jaw to bring him down to kiss you. He sighs into your lips, using his free hang to grip the base of his cock, prodding against your hole. You’re so slippery that it slides out of you and slips up your clit. You whimper at the feeling, thighs twitching at the stimulation.

When he finally starts to press inside, your nails bite into his shoulders. It stings – it hurts. He’s so big, making your poor little cunt burn the deeper he presses himself. The head pops in and your hips jump at the feeling, his cock slipping back out.

He huffs, dropping his forehead against your shoulder, “Fuck, sit still.”

“S-Sorry!” you whimper, “I’m sorry!”

“Shh,” he sighs, kissing your cheek, “‘S okay, baby. Hurts, huh?”

“A little,” you whimper, trying to downplay it so he won’t stop.

He hums and presses a kiss against the corner of your mouth. He knows that working an orgasm out of you before making you take his cock would be the nice thing to do but he’s selfish. He wants to feel your orgasm around his cock – where you deserve to have it.

It’s your very first orgasm after all. It needs to be good and he knows he can make it real good once he can get you speared on his cock.

So he grips himself again, sitting up for just a moment to lewdly spit on your pussy. It hits your clit and trickles down where he catches it with the head of his cock. He leans over your body and starts to push in again. This time he tucks his arms under your shoulders and pins you impossibly against him, leaving you with nowhere to run when he starts to press into you.

You whimper, feet kicking against his back when he pushes deeper than before – past the head. He knows it hurts, you’re stretched beyond your limit and he waits with bated breath for you to say the word and tell him to stop.

But you don’t.

You just grapple your arms around his waist and dig your nails in. His skin is sweaty by now and it makes getting any purchase on him difficult. You let out a watery little whimper that has him freezing. You’re speared on half his cock when he finally looks at you.

Your eyes are teary and they slowly drip down your cheeks.

“Do you want to stop?” he asks, brushing some away with his thumb.

You immediately shake your head, no hesitation, “No! K-Keep goin’, Si.”

“Don’t cry, pretty,” he shushes, keeping his grip under your shoulders and his hips pinned firmly against yours so you can’t squirm when he starts pressing in again. Your mouth opens in a silent gasp, eyes fluttering from the ache that settles where he’s stretching you wide, “‘S okay, just take a deep breath. ‘M almost in, love, you’re doin’ so fuckin’ good for me. Takin’ all of my cock so deep, just like you deserve. Hear me? This cock s’all yours now, yeah? Can have it whenever you need it.”

Your walls spasm around his cock as he talks, making him groan low in his chest. He’s almost there, can feel his balls starting to tap against you the deeper he gets until finally, his hips meet yours and you wail.

He prods painfully against your cervix and he knows that it’s uncomfortable but he’s not willing to pull back just yet. He needs you to get used to being stretched and stuffed full of every inch of him. He takes care to do slow, gentle grinds, his pelvis catching your clit that eventually makes you relax.

“That’s it,” he praises, “Just relax and let me make you feel good.”

He finally eases off of you, balancing his weight on his forearms on either side of your head, hovering over you. He slowly pulls his hips back, watching you slump against the bed when he finally stops pressing on your cervix.

He finally starts fucking you, sliding his cock out just a bit before rolling his hips forward again. It's slow and soft, just testing the waters and getting you used to this new stimulation.

It feels entirely different from his fingers. His cock is bigger, fills you so much more, touches deeper.

His cock reaches spots deep inside you that his fingers didn’t even reach. But he’s permanently pressing against that spot his fingers were torturing. It feels so fucking good.

Simon can see the way your eyes roll back as he carefully fucks you. Your first cock and you’re taking it so damn well. It makes him want to see how much more you can take but he knows he needs to ease you into it, he doesn't want to overwhelm you.

“Si…” you sigh softly, blinking as you struggle not to float off and become drunk with pleasure.

“I know, pretty,” he coos, kissing your cheek before leaning back on his heels, fastening the thrusts of his hips.

You can’t keep quiet now, mouth falling open to let out the most precious sounds of pure pleasure. You’re staring at him with wide eyes, like he’s hung the moon and stars in the sky just for you. His cock fucking throbs at the look of wonder that crosses your face. He knows you’re getting close, can feel how tight you’re clamping around him and he can see how much you’re creaming around him – making a mess at the base of his cock and in the thatch of curls there.

“You gonna cum?” he coos, grinning when you shake your head, “Of course you are. I can fuckin’ feel it, baby. Know you got one for me, go ahead. Cum on my cock real nice, c’mon.”

“C-Can’t,” you whimper. It’s too much. You’re so wet. It’s fucking messy but you feel yourself at that damn wall, hanging on a thread and waiting for euphoria to come but it doesn’t, “Please! Simon! Please, I-I can’t! Please, please, please…”

“Fuck,” his hisses when he hears you begging to cum on his cock, “Come on then, baby. You can do it. Just let it go, let me fuck it outta you.”

You toss your head back into the pillows as a sob is ripped from your chest. As if he can sense how much you’re struggling, he brings his thumb down to press against your clit. Your eyes fucking roll, only the whites of them visible. You clench down around him like a vice and it only takes a couple little swipes of his thumb for you to tumble over the edge.

It feels unlike anything you could have ever imagined. Pleasure soars through you and your hearing cuts out. It feels like you lose control of your body, unable to do anything but thrash and twitch as he fucks you through it. You’re not sure if you would prefer him to stop or keep going because it’s all so fucking much that it hurts.

You’re gushing around him, drenching his cock in sticky, creamy cum that drips in thick strings down his balls. Holy fuck.

It feels like hours that you’re speared on his cock, cumming and cumming before it finally leaves you and you collapse against the bed. You’re still twitching, entire body shivering until he finally slows his thrusts to soft little rolls of his hips. He takes his thumb off of your clit and you’re thankful because it was starting to become unpleasant.

You swallow despite how dry your mouth is, eyes finally focusing on him. His brows are furrowed and his bottom lip is tucked into his mouth. Pretty, brown eyes are locked on you and you suddenly feel shy.

Had he been watching you the whole time? You hoped you didn’t make any ugly faces or embarrassing noises.

“Fuck,” he coos, seemingly sensing your shame, “That was a fuckin’ orgasm, love.”

You’re panting, you realize. And you’re tired. You’ve never felt more relaxed in your life.

All you can think is that you’ve been missing out on that your whole life? Now you’re not sure you’ll be able to even live without it ever again.

Simon’s hands cup under your knees and pin them to your chest. You gasp as he bends you as he sees fit. You’re limp, so completely drunk on the pleasure you just experienced that you simply let him.

But you realize he’s even deeper like this – and it doesn’t hurt like it did before. He’s pressing against your back wall and it actually feels good. You feel so sensitive inside, like you can feel every twitch of his cock.

He’s still languidly dragging his cock in and out of you. It’s a fucking mess between your legs, you’ve cum so fucking much that it’s everywhere. He’s never been covered like this before and it’s fucking hot.

Your cum sticks between the two of you in little strings that break and reform every time his hips meet and leave yours. Your little clit is puffy and swollen from your orgasm and he wants to press his thumb against it again but he knows the poor little thing is much too sensitive still.

Your legs flop uselessly as he fucks you, eases you past overstimulation until you’re sweetly cooing for him again. He takes that chance to fuck you properly again, intent on finding his own orgasm deep in your cunt.

His heavy balls slap against your ass. He wants to cum. He plans to make himself cum like this, just using your pretty pussy. But then he sees your eyes widen again and your lips part almost curiously and his eyes narrow.

“You feel it again, huh, sweetheart?” he goads, shifting his weight on his knees so his hips are pressed even closer to yours.

“C-Can’t,” you whisper, the same thing you had before. But it’s different now, “W-Won’t be able to, Si.”

“S that a challenge, love?” he teases, a crooked little smile on his face. You sleepily shake your head, “Hmm, I think I can fuck another one out of you. One orgasm won’t be enough, two is a good number for now. Until I train this little cunt to cum for me all night long.”

You whimper, reaching out the claw at his forearms where he pins your knees to your chest. You’re held so uselessly open, cunt completely vulnerable to his fat cock stuffing you full. His pelvis hits your clit in a way that makes the little bud tingle and your cunt clenches pathetically around him with every thrust he gives you.

Sweet little ‘ah, ah, ah’s’ are punched from your lungs every time he sinks completely inside. He’s gripping your knees harshly, squeezing where he has a grip as his own orgasm starts to creep up on him but he’s going to give you another orgasm. He has to make you cum again, to see you lost in pleasure like that once more. He knows that will push him over the edge, give him what he needs. He wants to cum with you, fill you up while you’re in the throes of pure pleasure that only he has ever given you.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he gasps, fighting the feeling of his own eyes rolling back in favor of watching you.

He loves the way you wear everything you feel on your face. From the looks of wonder when it feels really good to the little rolls of your eyes when he makes it hurt just a bit. It’s so cute.

Makes him want to play around with that little part of you – be a little mean to you.

“Cum,” he growls, fighting his own orgasm down, “Fuckin’ cum right now.”

“I can’t!” you wail, kicking against his hold on your knees, pressing down to spread you open even further.

His hips slam against yours, loud slaps and slick noises of your gooey cunt filling his ears, “You can. You will. Cum, sweetheart. You better fuckin’ cum.”

But you shake your head. It’s so close, you can feel it. It’s creeping up on you and you want it so bad. You want to feel that pleasure again. But you’re not even sure you’re going to be able to cum again, it feels so much more sensitive than before. It’s too much.

Simon bares his teeth, letting go of one of your legs to drift between your thighs. Your eyes widen, you think he’s going to rub it again – it’s so sensitive that you’re not sure you’ll be able to take it.

But instead, he does something else.

You hear it before you feel it, a soft little slap followed by the feeling of being electrocuted. Simon watches you with lidded eyes to see how you react. Just like he expected, you wail and your body gives a mean twitch at the impact.

So he does it again.

And again.

Not too hard, just enough for it to hurt a little bit. A sting against a terribly sensitive little bud. It’s mean – he’s mean. But he can’t fucking help it.

He needs you to cum for him again.

“Cum,” he snarls, giving your clit another slap.

As if on command, it sends you over the edge. Your legs kick out and he has to abandon your clit to hold you down, pinning you harshly to the bed as he uses all his weight to fuck down into your spasming little cunt. You’re cumming so hard around him that you stop breathing. He hears the hitch of breath and doesn’t hear the exhale. All you do is lay there, cry for him and cum.

He finds his end just as violently, tossing his head back to moan into the room as cum erupts from his cock. His thrusts grow sloppy as he milks the orgasm out of himself, voice breaking as he whimpers from how fucking good it feels.

Like no orgasm he’s ever experienced. It’s like he can’t stop cumming, filling you up so much that it oozes out from around his cock.

You’re trembling underneath him when he finally comes down, tearfully gazing up at him with your mouth agape, struggling to catch your breath.

“N-No more,” you pathetically whimper, legs twitching from the aftershocks, “C-Can’t take anymore, Si.”

“Shh,” he shushes, letting your legs go so you can relax comfortably as he pulls his cock from your pussy.

It’s twitching and clenching sporadically, still coming down from your orgasm. It makes his cum drip out of your cunt, a mess that spreads to the already messy sheets. Your cum and his mix together to make a sticky, gooey mess that makes his mouth water. He wants to eat it up, stuff his tongue into your tight little hole and swallow it all down.

But he can’t. Maybe next time, he vows.

His cock gives a valiant kick at the thought of getting to do this again. He sits on his heels, gazing at his messy cock as if softens. He feels dazed, almost drunk.

Then he hears the softest little sniffle from you and his eyes snap up to your face to find your crumpled expression and tears falling down your face. You cover your face with your hands and earnestly begin to cry.

“Hey, it’s alright, love,” he coos, laying beside you to tuck you into his chest.

“I-I don’t know why I’m crying,” you sob, wrapping your arms around his waist as you cry into him.

“It happens,” he assures, “It was a lot and you’re just a little overwhelmed s’all. Just let it out, baby.”

And you do, weakly sobbing into his chest until it feels like you can’t cry anymore. He holds you through it all, rubbing your back and cooing sweet nothings in your ear until you grow silent.

“Alright, love?” he asks.

“S-Sorry, Si,” you sniffle, finally pulling out of the spot in his arms you were hiding in, “I-I don’t want you to think I didn’t want it or that it was bad. I just…”

He gives you a soft smile, leaning forward to kiss you. It’s short and sweet, “I don’t think that. Like I said, it happens. Sometimes people just cry after sex, nothin’ to worry about.”

“Are you sure?” you sniffle, wiping your cheeks dry when the tears finally stop.

“Positive,” he sits up, “Let’s get cleaned up, alright? We need to change the damn sheets, fuckin’ hell.”

You giggle as you look down at the sheets where a very visible dark spot is sitting where you once laid. You don’t even have time to be embarrassed before he’s swooping you off of the bed and escorting you to the bathroom.

It’s too small for both of you to fit but you make it work. He wipes you down with a warm cloth before hopping into the shower to rinse and clean himself before he gets out and lets you do the same. While you do that, he changes the bedding completely and replaces it with new sheets and blankets for the two of you to sleep in together.

When you finally stumble into the bedroom, he wraps his arms around you and urges you onto the bed. You giggle as you flop onto the bed before he crawls in after you and covers the both of you up, wrapping himself around you until you’re tucked securely against him.

“I take it you liked it?” he finally whispers.

You shyly nod, “I-It was um…fun.”

“Felt real good, huh?” he teases, grinning wolfishly when you whimper.

“Y-Yeah,” you whisper, “It felt really good. I already want to do it again.”

Simon groans, hugging you tightly before shaking his head, “You’re gonna be insatiable. Gonna give my cock a run for its money.”

You giggle, affectionately petting his hair before he looks at you with the softest expression you’ve ever seen. It’s like his eyes are sparkling in the low light of the bedroom. He leans forward and ever so softly kisses your forehead, then your nose, before he reaches your lips. He pecks them softly, pulling back for just a second before he kisses you again.

“I love you,” he whispers, so soft that you almost miss it.

And your heart begins to race. You almost struggle to find the words to reciprocate. But when you do, he smiles and tucks you against him again, big arms wrapped around you like a bear hug.

It’s almost surreal. You can’t believe you’re here after everything – with him.

Like you’ve dreamed your whole life, he loves you just like you love him.

PART ONE.

do not modify, translate, or repost

#simon riley smut #simon ghost riley smut #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #ghost smut #ghost x reader #cod smut #cod x reader

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yanderedrabbles · 2 months ago

Note

Hi, I love your drabbles. May I ask how would the yanderes react if the reader tries to escape or leave them?

'Til Death Do Us Part - yandere boys when you try and leave them

Yandere! Soldier is high strung and suspicious of everything. It just comes with the job. He isn't cruel, and he doesn't like hurting you, but if you make a run for it he won't hold back. Calloused hand crushing your windpipe as he drags you back, he'll remind you that nowhere in this godforsaken city is safer than with him. If he has to keep your hands tied for a few days, he will. Even if the ropes rub your skin raw. If your promise to behave, maybe he'll kiss it better.

Yandere! Cowboy is careful to always keep an eye on you. He ain't a fool - he knows that he frightens you. He knows you deserve a better man than him. But he's too selfish to let you go. He'll grab you jaw and glare at you with those coyote eyes. Whiskey and cigarettes on his breath as he pulls you up onto your tip toes and let's his lips just hover over yours. "Come hell or judgement, you ain't ever leavin' me. You got that sugar?"

Yandere! Boyfriend does not take it well when you tell him you want to take a break, that you need some space. He looks you dead in the eye and simply says, "No." He's the type to stand in front of the door and demand a detailed list of reasons you want to break up. And if he doesn't agree with them- and he never does - he simply will not accept things are over. If you insist on it and nothing he says can sway you, then you'll find out just how cozy he's made the basement.

Yandere! Cop's stalker persona is the exact thing he'll use to get you back into his arms. He knows the way you think, he knows the addresses of all your friends and family, he can track your bank purchases and card swipes. And on top of that, people are more than willing to talk to a cop about a poor, missing girl. And when he catches you, he'll make sure you're so terrified of your stalker that you'll never leave him, ever again.

Yandere! Gangster is helpless to stop you if you want to go anywhere without him. You're his boss afterall, and you'll put a bullet in his head the second he steps out of line. That doesn't stop him from begging to come with you. He's practically on his knees for you and looking every bit the kicked puppy. "Fine," you sigh, running your hands through his hair and letting your nails scrape against his neck, "But only if you promise to behave."

Yandere! Incubus feels his composure slipping the second you ask the abbot to let you leave for another abbey. He'll grab your arm and struggle to hide his claws, trying to reason with you. You're needed here, he'll remind you, and if the Holy Spirit guided you to this place, who are you to go against it? At night, he'll slip into your bed and trace his claws across your belly. He'll nip at your ear with his sharp, sharp teeth and hiss, "Whetever you go, I will always follow."

Yandere! Desert Bandit is the son of the dunes and sand. He knows every oasis, every well, every hidden mountain path. Even if you could make it out of his arms and past his men, the desert itself will lead him to you. He'll laugh when he finds you and boast to his men that his woman is smarter than them all, to have made it this far on her own. But when night comes, you'll find his grip tighter than ever before.

Yandere! Apocalypse Survivor knows you'll never leave him. The infected are terrifying and the other survivors are even worse. Still, he always keeps a close eye on you when you visit trading settlements - just because you won't leave, it doesn't mean someone else won't try and steal you for themselves.

#Yandere #yandere x reader #yandere imagines #yandere scenarios #yandere drabbles #reader insert #x reader #yandere oc #When you leave a yandere

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sorchathered · 4 months ago

Text

He’s in love with the girl

Pairing-Jake Seresin x reader

Warnings- smut and language

A/N- I’m baaaack yall! Here’s a little smutty one shot to tie you over until I post for kinktober! @bobgasm and I have been reading too many cowboy romances lately so here’s a little brother’s best friend romance for ya.

Summary- Jake comes home for the summer and falls head over heels for his bestie’s little sister. How’s he gonna tell him that he thinks she’s the one?

———————————————————————————

He shouldn’t be here.

He knows he absolutely shouldn’t , and yet here he is, body pressed up against your bedroom door with his hands in your hair and your lips on his neck.

Any other girl on earth would have been suitable, but no, Jake Seresin just had to fall in love with his best friend’s baby sister.

He’d come home on leave for a month and had expected it to be just like any other trip to Austin. Bar hopping and wrangling cattle, until you walked into his mama’s house. Freshly graduated from college and looking every bit his type. Gorgeous, smart, funny, and a little bit mean to him; it was like kryptonite to him.

He could lie and say he tried to stay away, but you both know that wasn’t true at all. He was down bad, sneaking quiet moments with you in the barn, stopping by to see you after your shifts at the hospital, midnight drives to nowhere that ended with you both tangled up in the back seat of his truck. Your poor brother didn’t have a damn clue, his own life and family kept him just busy enough to keep him out of the loop, and you’d keep it from him as long as you could. Last thing you wanted was for him to pop the perfect bubble the two of you were in.

It wasn’t like he’d held a torch for you or anything like that, anything untoward he was sure Gavin could dream up just wasn’t true. When he’d been reintroduced to you at the beginning of the summer it was like you were a completely different person, not at all the annoying pre teen girl with her one direction obsession that had followed them around years before. You were a bad ass nurse now, someone who took no shit and he’d been falling over himself to get your attention ever since. You’d brushed him off and tried to stay away, but you couldn’t deny that there was absolutely something there, and when he kissed you for the first time it had scared you just how much you wanted more.

“You’re a goddamn dream you know that?” Jake sighed as you ran your nose along his sharp jawline, hands fumbling with his belt as he let his hands roam over the small of your back down to your ass as he kneaded one and then the other cheek before lifting you into his arms. You let out a shriek and erupted into giggles as he carried you to your bed and spread you out on the worn cross and crown patterned quilt.

“You’re gonna get us both in trouble if you keep manhandling me like this you big oaf, the whole house is gonna think-“

“I don’t give a shit what they think, you could scream my name loud enough that they hear it in town, don’t make a difference to me, sugar. I’m tired of sneaking around; want you to be mine.” He had both hands on your hips, staring down at you like you hung the moon and stars. It stole your breath away, you’d thought he’d just been fooling around with you all summer, just another notch in the Hangman’s belt. But the way he was looking at you, it made things feel very, very real.

“Jake. What about Gavin?” You whispered, and he gave a little shake of his head, trying to rid himself of the spell your half naked body had him under. He needed to get this off his chest, if you wanted what he wanted then Gavin could take a long walk off a short pier for all he cared; he’d get over it eventually.

He eased himself on top of you and swiped a loose hair behind your ear, watching as your body relaxed from his touch. Cocky grin plastered on his pretty face as he pressed a kiss to your forehead, he took a deep breath and let the words loose that he’d kept buried deep all summer long.

“You know I love Gavin, I’d go to the ends of the earth for that idiot, but I’d be lying if I said his opinion matters one bit when it comes to this. I want you, y/n. I don’t just want you for the summer, I’ll do long distance, late night phone calls, whatever you’ll let me until I can make this permanent. I never thought I’d be the settling down type but damnit darlin’ I’ve got all sorts of dreams planned for me and you, and if you want that too it doesn’t matter what anyone wants or thinks about us, all that matters is how much I’m totally wrapped around your little finger.”

“But-“ he cut you off by placing his lips on yours, letting his hands slide up your sides to cup your face and stealing your breath.

He wasn’t having it- clearly your stubborn ass wasn’t hearing him, he’d just have to show you instead.

He had you naked and spread out before you could even come up with another coherent thought, golden head of hair buried between your legs as he brought you to the edge…and then stopped.

“Look at me pretty girl, I want your eyes on mine when you come, all those sweet noises you make are for me, no one else you got it?” He was being a giant tease, fingers still buried deep as you tried to fight the urge to smack that stupid grin off his face.

“Fuck- you can’t just stop, I- I need-“

“I know what you need baby, and I’ll give it to you every time. But you’re gonna commit this to memory, no one’s ever gonna get to see you like this ‘cept me ever again, you’re mine, and you know I’m used to getting what I want.” He says with a wink, sliding back down to suck your clit into his hot mouth, watching as you arch your whole body into him with a whine.

“Yours Jake, just yours.”

He felt the sun through the blinds and groaned, it was too damn early and warm all wrapped up in you, but he couldn’t put off his plans forever, there was too much at stake and he’d chicken out if he waited much longer. Pressing kisses to your face and neck he untangled himself from you and grabbed his phone from the nightstand. He had to come clean to Gavin, and if it didn’t end up with a black eye he’d call that a win.

He pulled up to the diner on Main that had been home to many a hangover meal and found Gavin lounging in their favorite booth along the back wall, his gruff exterior a complete facade as soon as Jake came in the door. Goofy wide smile splitting his face as he made his way over to the table, but Jake couldn’t bring the smile to his eyes. He’d been ready for battle on the drive here, but now that he was inside he felt his resolve crumble a little. He’d known him since they were in diapers, their moms had been debutantes together for god sake; what was he supposed to do if this ended sour?

Knocked loose from his thoughts as the waitress, Gladys, who was probably here when the town began, brought him a steaming cup of coffee and ruffled his hair. He could do this, he just needed to man up. He’d fought in firefights thousands of miles in the sky, surely this would be easier.

“You’ve been here all summer and I swear it feels like we’ve barely seen you brother, where the hell you been?” Gavin says as he digs into his breakfast, chomping away at his pancakes with no idea what bomb is about to be dropped on him.

Jake wipes his sweaty palms on the front of his jeans as he stares intently on his steaming mug, drawing a shaky breath and preparing for the worst.

“I’ve uh- I’ve been seeing somebody. I know I should’ve been better about keeping in touch, just kinda got caught up in it. It’s why I asked you here bud, gotta talk to you about it before I explode if I’m honest.”

Gavin stops his Joey Chestnut impression long enough to look over Jake’s stoic exterior, and guffaws. Throws his head back and quite literally cackles.

“Ha- oh shit man, I’ve been waiting on you to spill the beans on this shit. You should see your damn face “we need to talk Gav, I’m in love.” Hahaha goddamn, if I’d known all it would take is my sister coming back into town to get you to settle down I'd have tried to play matchmaker years ago.”

Jake nearly drops his mug, eyes bugging out of his head.

“You- you know?! Jesus Christ Gav, I’ve been losing my shit over this for days, way to bury the lead.”

“Oh come on, you two haven’t exactly been subtle. For someone who is supposedly a stealth pilot, you sure don’t know how to hide a relationship. Also, if you’re going to fool around with her at mom and pop’s, might want to remember the walls are paper thin. We found you guys out weeks ago dude.” He goes right back to destroying his plate, like the two of them had been talking about sports scores and not the fact that Jake was definitely fucking Gavin’s baby sister.

“You don’t need my permission, and you definitely have my approval if you were really that worried. She’s harbored a crush for years, doesn’t surprise me in the least that she shot her shot. Just do me a favor, don’t make her wait too long before you propose, she’d probably say yes with a ring made out of napkins from the way she looks at you.”

He didn’t make you wait long at all, and crazy as it all sounded to his squad back in Fightertown when he showed up at the end of block leave with a fiancée, they knew he was hooked from the minute you introduced yourself. You transferred hospitals and made the move to California, and made his empty bachelor pad a home with all your fancy appliances and skincare products he couldn’t pronounce to save his life.

When you both had gotten all the boxes unpacked he laid you down in your shared bed and made love to you like he hoped he’d get to do for the rest of his life, he couldn’t wait to start a life with you, and maybe a baby.. or 5, but that would be a whole other discussion for another day.

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🏷️ tagging- @roosterforme @nouis-bum @sebsxphia @teacupsandtopgun @sunsetsimpsblog @sio-ina-bottle @kissmecaitie @mynameismckenziemae @senawashere @seitmai-too @kmc1989 @shanimallina87 @dizzybee03 @mygyn @jessicab1991 @djs8891 @the-aspiring-fanfic-writer @86laura11

#top gun maverick #top gun maverick fanfiction #jake seresin #jake seresin smut #jake seresin x reader #jake hangman seresin

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darknight3904 · 5 months ago

Text

𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘖𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘓𝘪𝘧𝘦

𝘓𝘰𝘨𝘢𝘯 𝘏𝘰𝘸𝘭𝘦𝘵𝘵 𝘹 𝘍𝘦𝘮!𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

𝘚𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘺: 𝘈 𝘳𝘰𝘰𝘧𝘵𝘰𝘱 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘓𝘰𝘨𝘢𝘯 𝘴𝘢𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘣𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘺 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥𝘯'𝘵. 𝘔𝘦𝘢𝘯𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘦, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘴𝘢𝘺, 𝘩𝘦 𝘬𝘦𝘦𝘱𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘪𝘮𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧, 𝘢 𝘴𝘦𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘵 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘩𝘪𝘮.

𝘛𝘢𝘬𝘦𝘴 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘢𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘋𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘱𝘰𝘰𝘭 & 𝘞𝘰𝘭𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘦 (2024). 𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘪𝘱𝘶𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘱𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘢𝘨𝘦𝘴 𝘴𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘭𝘺. 𝘐𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶'𝘷𝘦 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘉𝘰𝘺𝘴 𝘰𝘳 𝘎𝘦𝘯 𝘝, 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘬 𝘝𝘪𝘤𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘢 𝘕𝘦𝘶𝘮𝘢𝘯 𝘰𝘳 𝘔𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘦.

𝘛𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘴 𝘢 𝘥𝘪𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘵 𝘴𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘰𝘧𝘧 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘺 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘺 𝘗𝘳𝘰𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘦. 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘰, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘐 𝘥𝘰 𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘥 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘵 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵.

𝘞𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴: 𝘝𝘪𝘰𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘶𝘢𝘨𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘷𝘪𝘦.

𝘐 𝘸𝘳𝘰𝘵𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘮𝘪𝘥/𝘶𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘳 30𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘪𝘮𝘢𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘦 𝘩𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶'𝘥 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘶𝘵𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘭𝘰𝘸 𝘢𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘨.

𝘞𝘰𝘳𝘥 𝘊𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘵: 3.2 𝘬

𝘗𝘳𝘦𝘷𝘪𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘗𝘢𝘳𝘵 / 𝘚𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴 𝘔𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵 / 𝘔𝘺 𝘔𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵

You're stunned as Logan gently pushes you away from him. Did he truly not feel anything?

"Don't give me that look." He sighs, "It's your fault. You screwed up. I said no attachment, you agreed."

You can feel hot tears beginning to blind your vision as you take your finger and point into his chest.

"Tell me you feel nothing," You dare him, "Tell me, Logan."

A deep sigh leaves his lips and he pushes your hand away from his broad chest.

"I don't, okay. Let me spell it out for you," He leans down so he's closer to eye level with you, "I. Don't have any feelings for you. The past three months have been nothing but casual for me. Just like we agreed."

You can't look at him as your tears begin to fall down your face. It was like he was devoid of all emotions, standing there with his arms crossed over his chest.

"Here come the waterworks." He groans, "I can't do this today. Come find me once you've pulled yourself together."

You watch as he turns to leave your room. Your anger begins to boil over when his hand reaches the door knob. How dare he think he could get away with treating you like this?

Satisfaction slithers up your spine like a snake as you focus on Logan's blood, pinning him up against the door.

"Put me down." He growls as you walk up to him

"No," You smile, you were going to make this hurt. After all, he deserved it.

"If you're going to puke, at least stand near the trash can."

"What?" You ask, your daydreams were becoming too realistic.

"You've got this sour look on your face. Like you want to hurl whatever you ate for breakfast." Matt says, pushing you towards the trash can behind the counter.

"I'm not going to puke. Just remembered something." You say

"Is it all the alcohol you drank?" Matt teases

"No." You groan, "Where even were you last night? You said you were coming and then bailed. I got stuck with Logan of all people while Wade and Vanessa ate each other's faces off."

"If you must know, I bailed on you for a hot date." Matt brags, "And for the record Logan is perfect for you. Not my fault you can't see that."

"He is not perfect for me." You say, "Spill the details on the date though."

"He's hotter than the sun." Matt sighs

"Yeah right." You scoff, "As if a man like that even exists."

Matt tells you you're a fool and fishes his phone out of his worn out jeans. Leaning across the counter, he pulls up a photo from this mystery man's Hinge.

Alright. Maybe Matt was right about the hotness level of this mystery man.

Your eyes widened as you took this guy in. Dark brown hair sat atop his head, complimented by just the right amount of scruff on his face and big brown eyes that just pulled you in. You swipe through the photos slowly, this must've been the peak of human evolution. Seriously he even looked good sweaty, after a 5k.

"And what's this guy's name?" You ask

"Johnathan." Matt sighs dreamily, "He's even got an accent."

Your eyebrows shoot up your face, if this was a comic book, you'd look ridiculous right now.

"He's from the U.K." Matt explains

"I love accents." You sigh, "British ones are so amazing."

"If you were to land someone with an accent, I feel like an Australian one would suit you better." Matt says

"The last time I met an Australian, he was performing in some Broadway musical. Music boy...no, Music Man." You hum

"How did you meet a Broadway Star?" Matt asks

"Oh, I almost hit him with that car I share with Wade." You explain

"You mean the shitty Honda he bought?" Matt asks

"Yup." You say, "Anyway after I almost ran him over, I offered to buy him dinner as an apology. He was a good sport about it at least. Didn't sue me."

"You literally could've had a rom-com-level romance with this man, and you let him go." Matt scolds you

"He wasn't into me." You shake your head

"How do you know that?" He points out, "Did you even get his name?"

"Uh yeah, it was like...Howard or something."

Matt's nose scrunches up, "That's on the list of unmoanable names for me."

"No wait, it was Hugh." You say, snapping your fingers in memory

"Alright, that's a bit better," Matt admits

The sound of the front door opening has both of you straightening up.

"Who has an unmoanable name?"

Wade.

"What're you doing here?" You ask as he welcomes himself.

"Can't I come to see my favorite roomie on my lunch break?" Wade asks

"You're lying. Your favorite roommate is Dogpool." You point out as Wade stands in front of you

"And don't you forget it." He chimes, reaching out to flick your forehead, "So how was last night after we left?"

Your eyes narrow in suspicion. You were almost certain Wade was up to something. He never visited on his lunch break unless Peter needed to buy a new book to read. You took in his stance, overly relaxed, leaning over the counter, chatting Matt up, commending him on getting a second date with Johnathan. Yes, Wade Wilson was most certainly plotting something.

"Last night was fine." You say blandly

"Just fine?" Wade asks, his smile dropping, "Give me details, girl."

"Yeah, what was your night like with Logannnnn?" Matt teases

Wade gives Matt a high five and you want to rip your toupee-wearing friend limb from limb. Of course, with Matt here, you'll have to stay on your best behavior.

"We just drank a bit and then headed back to the apartment."

You couldn't admit that you barely remembered past the Taco Bell visit from last night. Seriously, the way your mutation delayed the effects of alcohol was horrible. Anything you drank took way longer than a normal person to affect you.

"I bought him a Crunchwrap." You say

"She is totally bullshitting us." Wade giggles, "Laura heard like, your entire conversation with him. That kid of yours has some crazy good hearing."

"You have a kid?!" Matt shrieks in shock

"What? No!" You groan, "She's a metaphorical one. Adoptive I guess is the best way to put it. But I don't like to talk about that, Wade."

Your glare could've turned him to stone as Wade avoided your gaze, sensing he was in trouble.

"Oh. For a second I thought you were hiding some double life from me." Matt laughs

"Double life? Oh just wait, buddy. Pumpkin here? She's an X-ma-"

You slap your hand over Wade's mouth and hiss at him to shut up. Seriously why was he always running his mouth?

"I was an X-Man for Halloween last year." You smile

"Which one?" Matt asks

"Uh, Storm. Bought a wig and everything." You lie.

The wet feel of Wade's tongue has you recoiling in disgust as you pull your hand back. There was something seriously wrong with this guy.

"Nice right? My spit? It's warm. Like a baby blanket from my mouth."

"That's gross." Matt says, "If you excuse me, I need to restock Historical Fiction. Don't uh...lick her anymore, Wade."

Wade waves goodbye to Matt as he disappears into the shelves of the store.

"Whose gonna tell him he's going out with a Viscount? I mean that guy in his phone was totally Anthony Bridgerton!"

"Are you just here to see if my story matches Laura's?" You ask him

"No! I'm also here to bring you lunch."

Wade tosses a brown paper bag on the counter. You pull it open, unimpressed at the contents.

"This is a half-eaten sandwich I made for you this morning."

"And I saved you some. Call me Mother Teresa the way I'm ministering to the less fortunate. "

You sigh and rub your temples. Wade was wildly annoying today. It was like getting laid had him extra dialed up. You thought Vanessa might've calmed him down, yet here he was, driving you nuts.

The cold breeze of the night felt good around his body as Logan lay on the roof of the building. He had made his artful escape while Wade nearly blew the kitchen up trying to cook Alfredo. You had rushed over with Laura to help him put the fire out as he panicked. Logan took that as his cue to sneak out of the apartment, Jack Daniels in one hand, and a cigar in his other.

It was much more peaceful here, staring up at the light-polluted sky of New York. Cigar dangling between his lips he closed his eyes and listened to the sounds of the city below him. He concluded that you must've gotten the fire under control, after all, the building was still standing.

You were so good at everything you did, it annoyed him.

He thought back to how he promised Laura he'd try to get along with you better. He feels rather victorious, he has definitely held up his promise. The two of you had gone all day today without arguing. Sure, you had been at work most of the day, but he counted that as a victory.

Logan wondered if you remembered anything from last night. What you had shared, what he had shared, it was all so heavy. You had avoided him this morning but after your shift at the bookstore, you had returned home and tossed a donut from some bakery onto his lap.

"Thanks for getting me home last night."

Was that all you remembered?

Even though he had promised himself he'd ignore whatever his heart was saying to his mind about you, last night had made things so much worse. Or better....He couldn't quite decide yet. All he knew was that you had been dancing in his mind all day today.

Fuck, this was driving him mad. He felt like some schoolboy, crushing on the popular girl who didn't know he existed.

Another long sip of Jack Daniels and a drag of his cigar has him shaking his head, at this rate you were going to keep him up at night.

Through the clouds, Logan can see the moon. It's a half moon tonight, it shines down and casts a bit of light on his pity party. Truly he was pathetic. It was like your name was tattooed across his mind, you were once again becoming everything to him. It scared him, the idea of that happening again. The possibility of losing you loomed like an evil shadow in his mind.

He ran a heavy hand across his face, cursing his mind and his anxiety over things that were out of his control.

"You drunk yet, old man?"

Your voice has him scrambling to sit up as he straightens the old afghan he stole from Al to lay on up here.

"I'm not a lightweight, bub." He says as you approach him, "And for the record, aren't you pretty old yourself?"

"Seventy isn't that bad. Besides, aren't you pushing two hundred? What were the dinosaurs like? You've gotta tell me."

He ignores your jibe as the scent of food hits his nose and he tries to get a glimpse of what you have in your hands.

"Presenting, a gourmet feast of pizza." You introduce as you pass him a paper plate with three slices on it, "Wade burned the food so bad he set the fire alarm off."

"Figures." Logan snorts as he motions for you to sit beside him, your own plate piled with pizza.

He eats in silence beside you, unsure of what to say. You had been so vulnerable with him last night, he didn't want to let something slip he wasn't supposed to know.

"Are you stargazing?" You ask

"No." He says, "Came up here to escape Wade's loud mouth and bad food."

You hum in acknowledgment, "Too bad, I like star gazing."

"Really?" Logan asks, this is different. In his universe, you had hated being outside. Just the idea of a bug being near you had you shuddering in fear. He'd never catch you laying in the grass just for stars.

"Yeah, when I first got brought to the school, I used to stay up late with Raven and Stargaze on the lawn until Charles caught us. He'd yell at her and tell her teenagers needed to sleep so their minds could develop." You explain

"Sounds like something he'd say. He tell you your mind is like a muscle?" Logan asks

"Of course he did." You laugh

The cool October breeze blows your hair back from your face and Logan feels his chest tightening. You are truly breathtaking.

"How'd you end up in The Void?" He asks, pivoting the conversation so he's not so distracted by your looks.

"It's a boring story. The TVA showed up one day and told me my universe was on the way out. Two seconds later I'm pruned, standing in front of a giant 20th Century Fox logo." You say

Logan nods, it really wasn't all that interesting. At least not like his, getting picked up by Wade like some cheap date and then getting sent there by that Paradox guy.

"What do you think of Laura?" You ask as you take another bite of your food.

"She could use a better attitude," Logan says truthfully

"Doesn't she just...have your attitude?" You ask

"I'm not that moody. She skulks around the apartment sometimes like some....homeless cat." Logan defends himself, how dare you think he was like a moody teen?

"Oh please," You scoff, "What do you call this then? Hiding from all the commotion, in the dark, alone."

"Not hiding. I'm relaxing. There's a difference." He points out

"Yeah, okay." You laugh

It's music to his ears as he listens to you laugh at him. He'd gladly make a fool of himself every damn day if it meant he'd hear that more often.

"I think she's lonely." You say

"I thought she was friends with that kid from her school. Ellie or something?" Logan said

"Ellie is the name of a video game character from that survival game Wade plays." You say, "Laura's friends with some girl named Brooke."

"Oh," Logan says, he never was good with some names.

"I meant lonely in...in the familial sense." You say hesitantly

"I guess so." Logan sighs

Well, that wrapped up that haunch of his. He'd been thinking that for awhile now. Laura was always hovering whenever he and you were interacting. Like some little shadow who just observed everything.

"What do you know about her version of us?" You ask

"Not much. Just that they were in some relationship. And that they died to get her to Canada." Logan says

You slowly nod next to him, "She mentioned once that I taught her how to floss correctly."

"Oral hygiene. It's important." Logan jokes

"Alright, asshole." You groan, shoving him by the shoulder, "She didn't say anything about that universe's you teaching her any life skills, so it looks like I won."

"Won what?" Logan scoffs, taking a drawl of cigar

"The better parent award." You say it as if it's obvious

"Oh really? She's only here cuz of me." He boasts

"It wasn't even you who created her. That other Logan did. Or well, his genes did."

Logan rolls his eyes and lets himself fall back onto the blanket. The empty night sky stares back at him as you join in, laying down next to him.

"Do you think we can help her? Feel less lonely that is." You ask quietly

"Yeah, I'm sure we can do something about that, bub."

Logan watches curiously as you squint your eyes next to him. What were you trying to spot? A passing plane? A stray bird?

"What're you looking for?" He asks

"Stars. Remember I said I like to star gaze?" You remind him

"You're not gonna see any here. Light pollution." He motions to the buildings around the two of you.

"Thank you, Captain Obvious." You sigh, "The stars remind me of home."

"The school? Thought you didn't like it there. Didn't that asshole ruin it for you?" Logan asks

"No, stars remind me of peace and...What are you...oh my god." You groan next to him, hiding your face in your hands

Logan wonders what you're upset about now. All he said was...oh right, he wasn't supposed to know about all that. He internally cringes, there was no going back now

"Is that why Wade was asking me about last night? You told him about whatever I said about my universe's Logan while drunk?" You angrily sit up, looking down at him.

"No!" Logan defends himself, "It wasn't me. Must've been Laura!"

"You're blaming a teenager?" You judge him

He shakes his head again, as he sits up next to you. You have a thoughtful look on your face like you're replaying your day.

"Alright, you're off the hook. Wade said something about Laura earlier. You're lucky." You say

Logan doesn't entirely like the look in your eye. He can't tell what you're thinking as you pick at the threads in the blanket the two of you sit in.

"So what'd I say?" You ask

"Nothing really." He lies

You deliver a hard punch to his upper arm, "Tell me or I send your ass flying off this building."

"Just my ass?" Logan asks smartly.

You raise your hand to him, ready to use that blood manipulation of yours but Logan speaks before you can.

"Alright, alright, calm down. I'll talk." He laughs, taking your hand in his bigger one

"You talked about how this Logan of yours was a brainless loser. Said you fell in love with him and he didn't reciprocate those feelings."

You nod and then look into his eyes, away from where your hands were joined in his lap.

"How do you know he was brainless? He's another version of you."

A soft chuckle leaves his lips, "You might have the worst personality in this universe but even I'm not that blind."

"Blind to what?" You ask

"You, my dear, are absolutely stunning."

"Oh, please." You scoff, regrettably pulling your hand away from his. His skin feels numb without yours there to keep it warm.

"I mean it, that Logan must've been half blind or stupid. Maybe a bit of both." He declares

He's pushing his luck here, saying all this. In an instant, he could be a red stain on the concrete. But he wants you to know all this. You have to know this.

"Logan, has anyone ever told you you're a hopeless romantic?"

"You're the first." He smiles

"I didn't do anything embarrassing right? I remember forcing you to eat that Crunchwrap in the Uber."

"If you don't take a bite I'll shove it so far up your ass that-"

"I'm eating it, see?!"

Logan thinks back over last night. He decides he won't tell you about your stripper moment in the bathroom, that would probably be mortifyingly embarrassing for both him and you.

The shy kiss you had placed on his cheek just before bed bounced around in his mind. He swore his skin was still tingling there even now. You truly had him wrapped around your finger. Technically the right thing to do was to tell you, and in this situation, he should've done the right thing.

"No, nothing comes to mind."

Chapter Five

The other Logan and Reader's relationship is based on the songs Casual by Chappell Roan and Say Don't Go by Taylor Swift.

Tags:

@kellyxo1 @mystiquesvendetta @gingerplague

@veru-boom @qardasngan @fandomsunited @reidsworld

@arrozconpepitoria @iamm3 @gigabitemyass @wordacadabra

@e-ak @khaylin27 @eternallyfrustratedwriter @chaimshelii

@badbishsblog @britttzy267 @lilly4639 @delicateholland

@cherrypieyourface @scrumptiousroadpalaceturkey

@one-of-castiels @littlemissoblivious @littledebbieinabigworld

@kbear8863 @one-of-castiels @jeysbae @moonixlity @spktrlvr

@chronicallybubbly @fearlessxlaurin @m1cky-y-y @loserbaby66

@commanderawkward @mega-kittyglitter-1 @oidloid @mariaxman

@mariaxman

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jinjeriffic · 1 year ago

Text

DCxDP Prophecy Universe Part 2

Part 1

Damian glared at the envelope. He and Father were in the process of analysing the letter for any signs of toxins, explosives or other traps. Obviously he wasn’t fool enough to open a missive from a questionable source without taking precautions. So far, all their scans had come up empty. Literally. The letter was defying all their attempts at chemical or spectroscopic testing, x-ray and magnetic resonance scans were inconclusive, it defied all properties of ordinary matter. It was frustrating. It was vexing. He was blaming magic.

For all intents and purposes, the letter looked like ordinary paper, with an ordinary wax seal, bearing the initials CW. The looping handwriting addressing it to Damian was precise and neat. Swiping the surface of the letter for chemical traces yielded no results. When Damian had tried to cut off a corner of the paper for analysis it had resisted all attempts, including a laser and a diamond headed cutting tool. Damian’s only satisfaction was that when Father had grunted and taken over the task from Damian, he had no more success than his son. As if Damian didn’t know how to perform the standard array of tests!

It certainly didn’t help that his siblings wouldn’t stop their incessant chattering!

“I’m just saying, ghosts wouldn’t be the weirdest thing we’ve encountered, Red. I’m not sure it would even make my personal Top 5.”

It seemed gossip among heroes travelled faster than the speed of light.

“Really, Nightwing? Ghosts? It’s far more likely to be a meta with something to hide. Or a few screws loose.” Damian could practically hear the eyeroll in Drake’s voice “And since when do ghosts act as glorified mailmen?”

“I don’t know Red, since when do aliens pretend to be Kansas farmboys? C’mon, we deal with magic users all the time!”

“And lets not forget people coming back from the dead” Red Hood interjected over the open comm line.

“Magic is just science we don’t understand yet. Any sufficiently analysed magic becomes indistinguishable from science!”

“B, a little help here?”

“Hn” Father straightened up from his position at the lab table “Oracle, any progress on clearing up the footage from Robin’s mask?”

Grayson threw up his hands with a frustrated huff while Drake smirked.

“The program is almost finished rendering. Whatever scrambler they used did a real number on the video quality. I’m surprised the audio is as clear as it is.” Oracle replied.

“Hn. And the isotope tracer on the money?”

“Sorry B, no hits on the local sensors. Wherever the guy went it’s either outside Gotham or shielded somehow.” she said, mildly frustrated.

“Maybe it’s ghost magiiiiic” Drake sing-songed. Grayson lightly cuffed the back of his head, to which the former Robin responded with a firm shove. Their interaction quickly devolved into a childish tussle.

Damian gave an annoyed huff. “Don’t you two imbeciles have anything better to do?”

“Aww, we’re just here to look out for our baby brother!” Nightwing teased.

“Yeah, we gotta make sure your ghost encounter didn’t leave any lasting psychological damage!” Red Robin added.

Before Damian could retaliate for their needling, Oracle chimed in. “Uh, guys? You’re going to want to see this. Most of the footage was corrupted beyond repair, but I was able to pull some partial stills and, well…” she threw a handful of pictures up on the screen. There was artifacting marring them, but parts of the stranger were visible in each of them. Oracle magnified one that had a pretty good view of his face.

“Holy shit” Drake whispered.

Damian frowned. “What?”

“Dami, he looks like you. Just… older.” Grayson said softly.

“What are you talking about?” Damian snapped.

“Disregard the pale colouring for a second. The nose, the chin… he looks like you if you had a growth spurt,” Drake wrinkled his nose “and went through puberty.”

The commlines erupted into chaos.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Spoiler exclaimed “are you telling me there’s an older version of Robin running around Gotham?!”

“Copy?” Batgirl inquired.

“Don’t tell me Talia cooked up Demon Brat 2.0!”

“Given that he looks older it’s more likely version 0.1 if anything,” Drake snarked, “though there’s the possibility of artificially accelerated growth rates…”

Damian had had enough. “Tt. You are ignoring the obvious - if this is some kind of supernatural entity it likely copied aspects of my appearance in an attempt to engender feelings of familiarity.” he said haughtily, pushing down the uncomfortable churning in his stomach. There was no way Mother would replace him with a cheap copy. She couldn’t! “Besides, the creature has obvious powers and neither of my bloodlines has any trace of the meta gene.”

“That’s ignoring the ghostly elephant in the room.” Grayson chimed in, “Maybe it’s a dead ancestor?”

Drake gave their older brother an annoyed look “Even a time travelling descendant from the future is more likely than that. And delivering a ‘prophecy’ to boot?”

Oracle pulled up an aged up picture of Damian next to the stranger’s, highlighting several reference points. “On closer inspection, there’s a couple of discrepancies. The cheekbones for one - Robin definitely takes after his mother, while our mystery meta looks more like… well… Robin’s grandmother on the paternal side.” she finished hesitantly. “B?”

They turned to look at Batman, who had remained silent during the whole exchange. If they hadn’t known him so well they would have thought him unaffected, but the tightening around his mouth betrayed his agitation.

“There’s no use in pointless speculation until we have more data to work from,” he growled, “Oracle, look for any reports of a meta matching the target. Since our regular methods have failed to yield results, I will contact the JLD about running tests on the letter.” He turned to Drake, “Red Robin, see what you can find on recent League activities. If this is another scheme by Ra’s or Talia we need to know about it.”

“The last thing we need is more demon spawn running around!” Red Hood groaned over the comms.

Damian was furious. This was absurd! To even indulge the possibility that that creature was in any way related to him was making him feel like he had swallowed battery acid. He was the Demon’s Heir! He was not replaceable! There was only one thing to do.

“Robin? Stop!”

He ignored his Father’s shout. He stomped over to the lab table, snatched up the envelope and broke the seal.

Nothing happened.

He unfolded the paper and saw the same handwriting that had been on the outside.

Brother of blood, brother of soul

Never buried but already mourned

In lightning and ice the scorned child returned

To strike down the Demon’s Head

With all that Death earned

Damian’s hand shook. He reread the lines over and over again, refusing to comprehend. He could feel his Father standing behind him, scrutinising the letter as well.

“Son…”

Suddenly, the paper burst into green flames, going up into smoke that dissipated unnaturally quickly.

Silence reigned for a few moments. Then…

“Well that was needlessly melodramatic” Nightwing remarked.

Part 3

#dcxdp #dpxdc #dc x dp #dp x dc #danny phantom #batman #dc domics #batfamily #no beta we die like danny phantom #prophecy universe #the one where clockwork uses prophecies to mess things up (and set things right)#fanfic #congrats bruce it's a boy #clockwork loves melodrama

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inevesgf · 4 months ago

Text

UNDER THE LIGHTS • LANDO NORRIS

catching lando norris' eye at a halloween party isn't the best of attention you could ensnare, especially when you're masking your not-so-innocent personality with white wings and a halo.

content + warnings: 18+ smut with plot, p in v, female!reader, swearing, dirty talking, semi-public sex, no strings attached, mentions of alcohol + drinking, slightly intoxicated sex, clitorial stimulation, teasing!reader, mentions of bruises, unprotected sex. word count 2.5k.

even though lando isn't one of my favorite drivers, damn he is so fun to write for. if you would like to be tagged in upcoming works from this special, click the link here ⋆·˚ ༘ * notes + reblogs are heavily appreciated and don't forget to tell me your thoughts via comment, reblog or ask.

as you entered the party an intoxicating mix of laughter and music filled your ears, the bright lights casting shadows that danced upon the wall. light smoke filtered through the air, adding to create the perfect atmosphere as your friends piled in behind you.

dressed in a flowing white gown that draped elegantly on your body, you looked like a vision of light — an unexpected twist for someone who usually wore their sarcasm like armor. oversized wings – feathered and slightly askew – fluttered behind you as you glided into the crowd. a halo perched atop your head, glimmering with an almost mocking brilliance.

you were beyond the frame of innocence or elegance, which almost made your costume all the more perfect, masking your true nature. even though you had thrown the outfit together with items from your closet, eyes hungrily fell onto you as you made your way deeper into the party, a certain pair catching your own gaze with a look of mischief.

it wasn’t until you looked forward and saw lando with his jaw slightly slack that you knew that you had picked the right costume. besides his external shock, there was a hint of a smirk that formed on his lips, his eyes hungry for something that made your stomach turn in excitement.

floating through the crowd, you swiped a shot from the tray a wait-staff member held above their shoulders, you pulled the glass to your lips, quickly downing the alcohol inside.with a satisified hum from your lips, you began your advance towards lando, the amber liquid swirling inside you like a tiny storm as you discarded the empty shot glass onto a nearby table.

“an angel at a party full of sinners,” lando’s voice erupted over the pounding sound of the music, “that’s pretty ironic. couldn’t find a better costume?” a roaring laugh fell past his lips, causing you to playfully roll your eyes before scanning his body. “i could say the same for you – you look exactly like how you dress everyday. it’s a little souless.” you teased, sucking your bottom lip under your teeth as a look of mischief decorated your face.

lando grumbled, taking a sip of the murky gin and tonic that he held lazily in this hand, taking a step closer in order to hear your voice better over the loud music. “i’m a vampire, duh!” he jokingly grumbled, looking down at you with a hint of admiration in his eyes, though his words didn’t show it. “it’s a funny act you got going on, yknow – dressed all innocent, but everyone here knows you’re anything but that.”

you forced out a dry laugh at his words, adjusting the halo that sat above your head as if to mock him. the playful banter between you two was barely audible over the blasting music, but then tension in the air was palpable. “next year, i’m going as the devil. much more fitting, don’t you think?” you cocked, the same stupid smirk decorating your face as if to egg him on with your words, itching to get under his skin.

“definitely,” lando snickered, leaning in just a tad more to the point you could feel the heat radiating off his body, “because right now you’re not fooling anyone.” a satisfied hum fell from your lips, knowing his words were mostly correct. your eyes pooled into his hazel ones as if to undress him simply with your gaze. with hungry eyes, you looked over his costume, his slightly unbuttoned white button-up working perfectly as it fit snug upon his triceps.

“do you bite? since you’re a vampire and all..” a teasing tone poisoned your words, a challenging look decorating your visage. lando chucked dryly at your words, a smirk of surprise coming to rest on his face. he took a small step forward, bringing his head down so he could whisper in your ear, “only if you want me to.” the words sent a shiver down your spine, the smitten look that laid upon your face only growing larger.

you brought your finger to your lips, shushing lando as you pulled him by the collar into the bar bathroom, locking the door behind the two of you. almost immediately, lando’s calloused hands were on you, his fingers carefully trailing down your body as his lips met yours. the kiss was sloppy and hungry, your bodies pulled tightly against each other as the alcohol only suited to broaden the moment.

lando’s hands came down to grip your ass, pulling the hem of your dress up slightly as he squeezed the flesh, eliciting a soft moan from your lips into the kiss. his touch all over you made you feel dirty, and you loved it, your previous sexual tension now finally able to have a place to release itself.

as lando began to pull the hem of your dress up, bunching it around your waist to reveal your lacey thong, you laughed into the kiss, your lips briefly detaching from his. “so eager, huh?” you teased, yet your fingers found themselves delicately coming to unbutton his button-up, your gaze eating him up like a full course meal.

“only for you,” lando growled, his hands lazily resting up your hips as you began to undress him, “especially when you dress like this – all sweet and innocent when i know deep down you’re so dirty.” you laughed sweetly, letting his shirt fall off his shoulders and onto the bathroom floor as you brought your soft lips to his jawline, placing a delicate kiss on his cheek.

“wanna find out?” you breathed against your skin, your manicured nails eagerly finding their way to undo his black dress pants. lando’s breath caught in his throat at your confidence, the usual dominant man melting in your touch. “i’d be sick and twisted to say no,” he smirked, letting your hands dance all over your skin.

as if to regain any bit of dominance he could have had, lando picked you up, his strong arms wrapping around your thighs as he set you onto the sink counter. a small giggle escaped your mouth before you bit your bottom lip, tangling the flesh under your teeth. landos lips immediately landed on your nip, licking and sucking sweetly at your soft skin as he stood between your legs, spreading them with his action.

as he peppered your neck with kisses, his teeth joining in on his movements as he marked your skin, his fingers hooked under the waistband of your thong, eager to rid you of it. a soft moan escaped your lips as you let your head rest on the mirror behind you, yours eyes closed as your breath became labored. “mhm, yeah, take them off, baby,” you hummed, spreading your legs even more before propping your heels up onto the table you sat upon.

lando didn’t waste any time pulling your thong down your legs, discarding it on the floor with his shirt and the white halo you had lazily pulled off your head. his eyes danced around your body as your cunt was revealed to him, your core glistening with your arousal from lando’s lingering gaze and passionate touches.

“so fucking wet f’me already,” lando growled, one of his hands coming to rest on your inner thigh as he whispered into your ear, “want me to touch you, huh? make you mine, pretty girl?” his erotic words sent a shiver down your spine, your body finding itself on a euphoric high from his touch.

“yeah, fuck me like i’m all yours,” you moaned back, your voice low and sultry as one of your hands found its way in his curls, twirling them slightly between your fingers. lando groaned at your words, your actions only serving for lando’s boxers to tighten more at his arousal.

his fingers danced up your thigh, getting closer and closer to your cunt that throbbed with need. the tension in the room was palpable, the sweat beading across lando’s forehead only displaying to dire need between the two of you as his fingers continued their travel, leaving a tingling sensation in their wake.

when his cold fingers make contact with your clit, you let out a satisfied moan before reconnecting your lips with lando’s, kissing him feverishly. lando reciprocated, kissing you as if you were the only source of oxygen left on the planet – like if ge didn’t kiss you, he would die. his fingers worked magic around your clit, rubbing tight circles that had your mouth widening against his lips, impatient moans slipping through.

“you like that, huh?” lando teased, his voice escaping at a low growl as his lips brushed against yours, his fingers starting to pick up the pace. you squirmed under his grasp, whines that lando would call pathetic and needy escaping your mouth as you bucked your hips into his touch.

“fucking love it,” you grunted through heavy pants, small little moans escaping your parted lips, “fuck me.” the melodic noises that escaped from you sounded like music to lando’s ears as he chucked dryly at your whiny plea, the vibration sending a tingle straight through your body.

lando was incredibly turned on by everything about you. from the way you teased him, to your moans and your beautifully wet cunt: it was all so perfect to him. he quickly finished undressing himself, pulling his boxers to his thighs to reveal his painfully hard cock, the tip flushed a deep red as precum leaked from it.

the sight was beautiful, your eyes scanned his tone abs and his hard-on as it took center stage. your panting picked you, your body desperate for any form of touch as lando neared you, your legs spreading even more to reveal the mess between your legs. “so beautiful,” lando hummed, positioning himself between your thighs as his hazels eyes looked down on you, his gaze dark and hungry.

his tip teased your entrance, rubbing smooth circles around your clit which dragged a small moan from your lips. the loud bumping of the music could be heard outside the stuffy bathroom, but the sound only continued to drown out as lando pressed into you, your head spinning at the contact.

pushing his hard, thick cock into you, lando grunted, starting to thrust at a pace that was slow enough to already have you begging for more. whines and whimpers left your lips as lando grunted, the deep gaze of his eyes never leaving yours despite the fact you struggled to keep yours open.

“i didn’t know you were so sensitive,” lando cocked, a teasing tone dripping from his words as he fucked harder into you, your knuckles turning white as your fingers dug into his shoulders, “so messy already and i’ve barely begun yet.” his words had you reeling, your clouded mind hardly pushing out a reaction, yet your body jerked, your highs pushing up to meet his thrust.

“you fuck like a mad-man,” you groaned out, hooded eyes staring into his as his dick twitched inside you, your tight cunt holding him snuggly between your walls. lando chuckled dryly once more, your words only suiting to egg him on more as his thrust grew more rapid, sloppy.

lando licked his lips, sweat beading at his forehead as he tried to regain rhymatic thrusts, the tip of his hardened cock never falling to slam into your g-spot as he gripped your thighs. you couldn’t help but let out borderline pornographic moans as you swallowed his cock whole with your cunt, the air in the room stuffy and hot with the aroma of lust.

lando adjusted his angle, his cock only fucking harder into your pussy as erotic words oozed from his mouth, “spread your legs wider, baby.” his tone came out commanding, your fucked out mind too full of bliss as you mindlessly obeyed him, widening your legs to reveal more of your cunt – red and abused from the prior attack of his fingers. “that’s it .. wider,” lando grunted like an animal, his words coming out in huffed sighs as his cock throbbed in your tight pussy.

loud whines and moans fell from your swollen lips, the sound of the music completely drowned out inside the bathroom and replaced with the hums of the ecstasy of pleasure. “look at you,” lando purred, “such a needy girl.” his condescending words pulled you closer to the edge, your cunt sucking him in deeper as the eye contact remained.

“you can do better than that,” the words feeling from your lips between pants, your hooded eyes trying their hardest to not close tightly shut at the pleasure you ensnared, “fuck me harder, lan.” lando grunted at your command, your words sending a shutter of gruff desire through his body that slowly began to grow tired.

another dry chuckle fell from his cracked lips, the action sending a vibration through your body as his thrusts didn’t slow nor quicken. “you’re in no place to tease, baby, look at you,” he mocked, his calloused hands gripping your thighs harder as he now quickened the thrust of his cock into your tight cunt. your head rolled back in pleasure, the grip your hands had on lando’s shoulders only tightening, sure to leave little bruises in their wake. his condescending words did a number on you, your stomach tightening in pleasure as his cock battered harder in your poor cunt, making your body feel weak yet beautifully pleasured.

“so fucking good–” you moaned out again, little ah-ah-ahs falling so carelessly from your parted lips. lando smirked in satisfaction, your praise only suiting him more as he fucked into you vicariously, giving you his all as he felt his climax rapidly approaching.

your stomach began to spin, your walls clenching around lando’s cock that still pumped into you, the vibrancy of your pleasure radiating off you as your moans sang together like an erotic duet. “yeah, cum for me, baby,” lando grunted, panting and heaving as he egged the two of you closer to your orgasms. your body shook with pleasure, your cunt throbbing as a pleasurable warmth flooded over your body.

before you could come to gather your actions, your climax hit you like a train, smalls moans of lando and little oh fucks falling from your reddened lips. quickly after, as if he was so sweetly waiting for you, lando finished. a guttural grunt fell from his parted lips as he did, thick beads of cum spilling onto the finger-printed skin of your thighs, lando’s fingers having left small bruises upon the flesh.

the two of you slowly came down from your high, the air smelling of whiskey and sex as the two of you gathered your senses and began to catch your breath. lando’s eyes never left yours as he slipped his clothes back on, bending his frame down to the ground to pick up your lazily discarded halo.

a satisfied hum escaped his lips as he placed it back onto your head, a smirk decorating his visage as his cheeks remained flush from the extertion. “see,” lando whispered as if to tease you, “i knew you weren’t all that innocent, angel.”

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rainsiide · 2 months ago

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NOBODY GETS ME .ᐟ.ᐟ

𓊆ྀི❤︎𓊇ྀི now playing Nobody Gets Me - SZA . 𓊆ྀི❤︎𓊇ྀི

“i don’t wanna see you with anyone but me.”

giselle x reader ⋮ you’ll never let go of each other, nobody gets you but her.

warning you! ⋆ toxic exs,

tonight was another spoiled date. this was your last time responding to someone that had swiped up on your insta story. someone’s quick to take you home, huh?

now you back at your apartment. shoes kicked off, jakcet thrown on one of the couches. the ponytail holder no longer in your hair. scratching every bit of tightness out. the fridge called you, so did bed, and so did giselle. your phone buzzed, then again, and once more.

she knew about the date, you know she viewed your instagram story. you didn’t bother to take it out your pocket. you grabbed some water and went your room, face down on the bed. going into something comfortable and throwing your clothes into a hamper, that probably needed washing.

then the text came again, and again. you switched your phone to silent and then to do not disturb. yet, that didn’t block anything and she only hit notify anyway.

then the call came.

you sighed, why’d you pick it up? because you need her. you needed to see her.

“why aren’t you picking up, i know your home by now. unless you took them home.”

“i— just come over. please, i need you.” you felt so embarrassed for saying that. like a fool, a clown. the red tint on your lips might as well have been smeared and if you smiled in the mirror, you’d pass just as a foolish clown. and you’d proababy laugh too.

not long later a knock came to your door, you knew who it was. you couldn’t look desperate and bolt to the door and break off the hinges. you slowly trudged to the front door, and opened it. a sympathetic face staring back at your unwise one. words were exchanged, just not with your mouth. she pulled you in her arms and shut the door behind her. her arms compressed around you, inescapable. not that you wanted to escape.

“i’m here, it’s okay”

she pulled you over to the couch, gently embracing you. you wish she’d never let you go. pulling back gently and putting her hand as she gently caressed your cheek.

“it’s okay pretty girl, no more tears.” she said, placing a gentle kiss on. “you don’t deserve this, stop looking for other people baby. i’m right here.”

so many things came back to you. when you and giselle got back together for the tenth time. when you and giselle got back together after your friends told you not to. when giselle showed up to one of your dates and took you home. when giselle promised she would change for you because she loved you that much, and she did for a week.

giselle was toxic, but unfortunately nobody got you like her. she knew that, and so did you.

her fingers gently caressed your ring finger. the finger that held her promise ring. you’ve both broke the promise by now but, at this point did you really promise anything?

“you know i love you baby, those other girls aren’t worth your time. you know no one else could love else could love you like i do.”

she was right, you knew that. nobody else could love you like her. she always told you that nobody could replace her in your life. and no matter how many dates you went on, at the end she was always there. no matter how long the road was, your destination was her.

“i know, i love you gigi.” you said, like a fool. yet your heart didn’t beat this way for nobody, but her. it burned, beat, pumped, differently from her. she placed a desperate kiss to your red stained lips. leaving them smeared like a clown.

“you can’t leave me, you know this. i’ll always have you won’t i?” she didn’t mean it as a question. she knew you were to dumb to leave her.

“mhm.” you responded, her hands caressing your waist. her lips finding else where. there never was a end to it

#warning! toxic.#giselle x reader #aespa giselle x reader #aespa #aespa imagines #aespa angst

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acotarxreader · 6 months ago

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Flower

Azriel x Reader (Rhysands sister)

Synopsis: You and Azriel are sent deep into the mountains in search of a flower that may save Feyre's life during childbirth but quickly the frenemy status is put to the test as past trials come to a head leaving you to decide between your new sister and the potential love of your life.

Warnings: Fluff,, teasing angst, frenemies, physical fighting, mentions of wing damage/loss, blood, sweetness, silliness, Az calling the reader Kid.

A/N: You voted for it so here it is, my next Azriel fic. I enjoyed writing this, did it kinda quickly so forgive any mistakes and let me know what you think!

P.s I named Rhysand and Readers sister Aruna which means Moon in some languages.

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“We’re lost Azriel”

“We’re not, you have no trust in me, this is basic Illyrian training” Azriel pushed an elongated branch from his path, releasing it thoughtlessly to smack you into the chest, a small yelp leaving you.

“Fucking hell!” You swiped the pollen markings it left from your chest, knotting your face into a scowl towards the back of the Spymaster's head.

“Next time duck” he called back, grin-laced words.

“Next time pick someone else to accompany you on your wild goose chases” Your boot sank into the uphill climb, the mud sinking its teeth into the well-worn leather as you fought with your lungs to keep breathing.

“You were chosen for official Night Court duties by an official member of the Night Court government, have a little pride”

“An official Night Court prick more like” You muttered in reply to Azriel’s faux-inflated self-importance. Two days ago you had left Velaris, in pursuit of a special medicinal flower, Madja’s hope to save Feyre from the birth of her child. You had been hiking upwards for what felt like all 48 hours of your journey, your calves practically speaking to you now.

“Do they not cover outdoor pursuit in your healer apprenticeship?” Another branch slapped into from the direction of the Spymaster.

“Do they not cover manners in Windhaven?”

“You’ve known me for centuries, you know they don’t teach manners” He grinned, your sure footing overtaking his position as he held back a thicket of branches for you. You rolled your eyes as you passed him, missing his clear deception. Your foot snagged on a millennia old root system of an ancient tree, sending you finally downwards on your travel to bump along a forgotten path for a few seconds before another primeval tree stopped your course. Azriel shot with his usual agile step down after you.

“I didn’t think you’d fly that far” He laughed down at you, your clothing covered in moss and mulch from your trip.

“This is it, this is where you kill me. This was all a plot, all those centuries as the best pain in the ass culminating in this fake trip, Feyre isn’t even pregnant is she?!” You threw your arm across your forehead in fake dramatics, feining pain as he Azriel rolled his eyes before offering you a hand to pull you up.

“I think if I was going to kill you, I’d have left Cassian to drown you that time we went swimming when we were 40”

“Ah, the last time I went swimming with you fools” You took his hand as he hauled you up, your muscles settling back into their place after their 360. You both continued your hike with some element of hurry but also with comfort.

“You used to love swimming with us and I mean c’mon I stopped him, no points for that?”

“You only stopped him because the death of Mor’s favourite cousin would have meant your certain death”

“I’m telling Rhysand you said that”

“Fine by me, he knows” You smirked before skipping along, hands behind your back in rested peace, your head gazing up through the canopy, the stars beginning to sparkle down over the moon-bathed forest. Azriel marvelled towards you, somewhat enamoured at the strong sense of peace radiating from his best friend's sister. You stretched above the sunken path towards a low-hanging branch, bright blush berries glowing in the scarce light. Your linen shifted slightly from your skin as you reached, revealing the troves of scars and chasms from the savagery of Spring's deepest betrayal of Azriel’s chosen family. You turned to him, a childlike grin as your cheeks filled with the lush fruit, a small laugh leaving Azriel as he gently shook his head.

“Come here Kid, you’re all berry” He smiled, running the back of his sleeve down your cheek, banishing stray seeds until you pushed his arm away.

“I’m like 10 years younger than you Gramps”

“And I’ll always take care of you because of it” Soft tones of sincerity radiated from the Spymaster, his usual sarcasm towards you banished for a moment of truth.

“Until you get old and frail and I send you to a retirement camp, you have about five good years left my friend” He shoved you back with a laugh, moment over.

Another hour of so of what felt like aimless walking culminated in the both of you scaling prehistoric trees to settle in the canopy for rest, safe from the creatures roaming below in search of their next meal.

Leaks of light snuck through the budding Spring flush of growth, crossing Azriel’s eyes until he stirred from his sleep. He sat up from his hammock, to look over to the adjacent tree to find your sling empty.

“YN?” He yawned out, stretching as the branches creaked with the movement, your lack of reply had him calling out again. Azriel’s boots nearly split the soil on landing as he tried his best to keep his imagination from running away with his logic. He always woke up first and always had to haul you from your sleep, you were famously not a morning person. He called louder into the forest, listening back for any reply or clue as to where you’d run off to. He found his step quicken to match his heartbeat as he transversed great ground quickly. Light flashed around him as he found the edge of one of Illyria's many mountainous lakes, to see your silhouette floating in the centre of it.

“YN!” He roared out, no response from you as his imagination very much took control. Without full consciousness, he tossed his over jacket to the ground, his heavy boots taking a spot next to it as he waded quickly into the silty lake, still calling for you. His feet could no longer touch the muddy bottom as he reached you in the centre of the still lake.

“YN!!!” A marred hand met your abdomen as the other found your lower back beneath the water, forcing your body up where you jolted out of your trance, thrashing water as you kicked your legs awake.

“What the fuck you frightened me!” You pushed back from his hold, wrapping your arms around your waist, your snowy tank top clinging to your wet skin.

“You frightened me! What are you doing out here?” He pushed his wet hair from his face, allowing the colour to return to his face.

“I was getting the moss and leaves out of my hair after yesterday’s little escapades, no need to lose your head” You shot back, before beginning to swim back to shore.

“I was calling for you! I thought something terrible happened to you!” Azriel allowed uncharacteristic anger to leech through his words as you both met the shore again. You turned your back to him as you wring out your hair, the drips of water creating mud in the dust. The soaked fabric clung to the fissures in your back where your wings once sat proudly, Azriel swallowed deeply at the sight, trying to keep the crime from inflating his anger further. You turned at his silence, noticing the path his eyes would have followed.

“Something terrible already did happen Azriel” You bit, snatching your overshirt from the ground to shroud your scars, your shaking hands attempting to lock the buttons into place as the dots connected in Azriel’s head.

“Is-is that why you don’t swim anymore? You don’t want people to see-to see what they did?” You looked up slowly through your eyelashes, hands on the final button before uprighting yourself completely.

“The world should know what they did to me, what no amount of healer study I do can fix, what Tamlin’s fath- what that Court did to me, to my mother to my sister-” You bit out, the anger heating your skin seemingly drying the beads of water on your flesh “-and they will one day when Rhysand decides, when I am once again of use to my Court”

“YN, you’re of use now” he attempted to silence your inner voice escaping into the world, only to have you raise a palm.

“To answer your question, no, that’s not why I don’t swim with you anymore, I don’t because Aruna loved it and the water feels wrong without our little sister-” Cold burning rage that Azriel was accustomed to seeing in Rhysand but never from you filled the space between you.

“Now, let's go find that flower and go home, I’m not losing another sister” Azriel only nodded before leading the way back to the make-shift camp in contemplative silence.

The next few hours carried that thematic silence through the woods, only the occasional check-in broke it up. You didn’t even comment when Azriel released multiple branches in your direction or when you definitely passed the same boulder twice. The soles of your shoes were leaving imprints on your feet but you stayed silent, refusing to give Azriel the satisfaction of being right when he told you to change your shoes.

Azriel swung around to you on his heels as you released a blood-curdling scream from your exhausted lungs, a nearby bird fleeing the tree top at the raised alarm. His face lost any flush of colour as his eyes locked on the arrow piercing through your right thigh. He moved quickly to guide you to the floor as you screamed, blood spurting free from your flesh. In one swift movement, Azriel shielded you from another targeted arrow, it splicing one of the veins of his wings as he winced.

“Azriel!” You cried, your shaking hand going towards the bloodied arrow.

“Stay down!” He ordered, pulling some shrubbery over you as you crowed, his century-long training kicking into action as he launched in the direction of the ammunition. Tracking and trailing as fast as he could until he found the perpetrators, two members of the Hybern army armed to their teeth in weaponry. Azriel launched into swift movements, like a well-learned dance with vicious precision.

Meanwhile, you snapped the long end of the arrow, leaving the cruel head with its teeth buried in your flesh. You pulled yourself up, desperate to follow the sounds of your best friend and his battle cry. Your hobbled step worked perfectly with your exhausted feet, sending you crashing for a second time this trip, down a bank to a stream. The welcomed thud of a great tree stopped you before you could enter the rushing water. You lifted your face from the squelch of the river clay, hazy eyes landing on a brilliantly blue flower, growing like a solitary soldier between ancient rocks. You groaned as you pushed up from the mud, your detour causing the head of the arrow to be pushed in further. You managed to snatch the lifeline from its home, tucking it into your pack before beginning your laboured ascent up the steep bank. The definition of an uphill battle as you fought against the overgrowth, using deep root systems like rescue ropes until you reached the mouth of the bank again. Your faltering step carried you in the direction of the Spymaster, who was deep in his own entanglement. You watched as Azriel slashed the leg of one soldier before pressing the other into a knotty tree trunk, his blood soon covering Azriel as Truth Teller dealt its fatal blow.

“Azriel!” You shrieked in warning as the other soldier regained some strength, just as Azriel turned to your voice, a green-soaked blade slid into the Shadowsinger’s wing releasing pressurised blood systems. The advantage didn’t last very long before Truth Teller claimed another victim, the soldier slumping to the ground with a final breath. Azriel stumbled backwards, his adrenaline fleeting until the support of a large oak met his back, allowing him to slide to the cool ground.

“Az!” You yelped, limping to collapse next to his side, pallor growing across his face. You ran a hand over the wound, bright scarlet mixing with the sickly poison of a blade.

“I told, I told you to stay” He spoke with gritted teeth, attempting to sit more upright against the tree.

“You know I try my best to never listen to you” You smiled weakly, tears beginning to threaten the rim of your eyes as Azriel’s head dipped to fall on his chest. You moved quickly to prop his head up, his eyelids like lead as the poison worked through his system.

“We have to get you help, we have to get back”

“I-I can’t winn-ow both of-of us” Huffs of air left Azriel.

“Winnow yourself, I’ll figure it out” He lifted a heavy eyelid open, looking down to find your wound weeping fresh blood, swirling into his own.

“The-re there could be mor-more of them out here YN, you-you have to be the one to-to go”

“No!” You began digging through your pack, pouring the canteen of drinking water you had over his wound, trying to flush as much of the sick serum out as you could. The cobalt shimmer of the flower caught your eye again as you dug through for more water, looking from its bright colour to the dullness in your best friend. You began mashing it up into the lid of the canteen, its healing powers flowing into the water as you shook the two lifelines together.

“YN you-you found it”

“I did Az and you’re going to drink it” He pushed away slightly from you.

“Its-its for Feyre, get it to Feyre”

“I’ll figure that out, you need it Az” You held the lid of the canteen to his lips, Azriel turning his head from it despite his screaming nerves calling out for its relief.

“Kid, it’s too-too valuable, give it to Feyre”

“You’re too valuable Az! I’m not losing you too, for once in your Godsdamn life don’t fight me! Let me look after you for once!” You grabbed the nape of his neck, tilting his head back to help the liquid into his mouth despite his futile protests. The sacred serum swirled through his system, like a torch in a blackout, defending off the tar-like liquid that tried to clog his system. You took your overshirt from your skin, ripping the clean sections free to soak in the remaining drips in the lid before applying it to the wound.

“No YN, use-use it on yourself” He tried his best to push your arm away, unable to find the strength to allow you to make contact with the tattered spine. Unbeknownst to you, in your adrenaline-fueled state, your trousers were becoming laden with the blood spurting from your wounds. You sat back on your ankles, two Azriels dancing in your double-vision. You forced your eyes close, trying to banish one of the Azriels away, the swirl of blood loss becoming a bit too much as you fell back on your side, using a weakened arm to prop yourself up.

“YN! You’re okay Kid! You’re gonna be okay, stay awake” Azriel turned himself onto his knees, his strength finding its way back to him as his hands met the soft skin of your cheeks, blood leaving them to rush towards your open wound.

“I knew you’d be the death of me” You gave a weak laugh, your head rocking slightly from side to side. Azriel gave a small smile before closing the space between you, his medicinal-soaked lips meeting your frosted ones. Pulses of energy beat between you both, like everything that has ever happened both good and bad didn’t matter before this moment, each other’s lifeline in every sense. The traces of the river flower pulled you back from the brink with the essence of Azriel’s every being guiding you home. Shadows leapt around you both, pulling you both through the space until cool, clean stone laid under your legs. Azriel pulled back from you, his thumbs tracing over your cheeks as your eyes fluttered open.

“Are you kissing my sister?” Rhysand stood from his desk to look down at his closest allies, in a ball on his office floor. Cassian leapt to help you up, lying you down on the chaise before Rhysand went to pull Azriel to his own feet.

“It-it was to save her life” Azriel had thoughts of wishing the arrow had finished him off.

“Likely story” Rhysand laughed, guiding his dear friend to his desk chair before sending for Madja. Cassian busied inspecting your battle wounds.

“We were attacked and-and they poisoned me and YN she-”

“-she gave you the flower?” Rhysand sank to Azriels eyelevel, searching for answers in the stormy eyes of the Spymaster. Azriel nodded gently, his head hanging in both shame and exhaustion.

“It's okay Azriel, I wanted it for my mate, YN wanted it for hers” Azriel’s head shot back up to look at the High Lord's grinning face. Rhysand raised his hand to his face, making a locking motion at his lips before standing again, Madja quick on the scene to help.

—-------------------

5 years later

Azriel stood at the water's edge, the small lapping of the lake at his feet, the sun warming his wings as he stretched in the healing heat, a small V-shaped scar left in one of the spines. He allowed his eyes to fall close, inhaling the scents of the forest and the whoosh of the gentle breeze.

“Argh!” He flinched at the sudden wave of cold water meeting his face, rubbing it from his eyes until he opened to see you stood, waist-deep in the lake and laughing.

“You’re dead” He laughed before wading in as you roared with laughter, attempting to swim away from him to your friends. You took Nyx from Cassian’s arms as Azriel reached you.

“I have the baby!” You laughed.

“Oh weak move YN, hiding behind a child” He tilted his head back in laughter, Nyx kicking water up at his uncle, his own fit of giggles leaving him.

“Not you too Kid! Betrayal!” Azriel chuckled, wiping the water from his face that Nyx quickly replaced again. You hugged Nyx close into your chest, Azriel paddling closer to you, his arms wrapping around the both of you, his hands tracing down the scars on your back, melting into the deep fissures on his hands, making the skin feel whole again.

“Hey Az! Someone’s awake!” Rhysand called from the shoreline before bending down to the travel cot, pulling your baby from her cocoon, still swaddled in plush towelling. Cassian took Nyx from your arms before tossing him high in the air, Feyre immediately lecturing him. You and Azriel went laughing to the shore again, stray splashes escaping you both. Azriel took the baby from his brother's arms, kissing her head softly as she looked up at him, his entire world.

“Hello Flower”

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Whatcha think?

ALSO! There are over 500 of you lovelies!!?? That's so crazy!!! Thank you so much for all of your kind words and support my friends! -C

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woso-dreamzzz · 7 months ago

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Injured (Jenni's Version) III

Jenni Hermoso x Child!Reader

Summary: You sound different to Mama

You are different to Mama, that much is obvious.

It's the obvious things first.

You don't have the same hair. You don't have the same eyes or nose or face shape. You don't have the same build. You walk different.

Mama is very tall. You are very small.

It's personality too. Mama is loud and funny where you are quiet and reserved. Mama attracts people to her. They flock to her likes flies and honey, eager to be around her even just for a little bit.

People do not care as much about you. You are avoided. Your new Tio told you that Jenni is charismatic. She has unbridled charisma that people seem to like.

You don't have that.

Mama takes centre stage whenever she walks into a room, all spotlights on her. She is the main character in the story of her life.

You fade into the background, a reoccurring extra in somebody else's story. You have a few lines here and there but your purpose is to elevate the main characters. You are not important. You are not a favourite. You could be replaced with anyone.

You're not like your Mama.

It's the little things as well.

The stuff that makes you different from Mama that you had never considered before.

Mama is from Madrid. She speaks like it to, the way her tongue curls over vowels and flicks over certain sounds.

You are not from Madrid.

You can change your name. You can change your face and how you act but you can't change where you come from.

Back when you had Alexia (not Mami, not Mami anymore or ever again), she had stressed the importance of your heritage. You are from Barcelona. You are Catalonian.

You learn Spanish at nursery and around the Barcelona team but around family and at home, you speak Catalan.

Alexia and Alba come from a small town just forty minutes away from Barcelona. Alexia once said that is where all the family is, no matter how spread out they have become.

You were part of that family, once upon a time.

Your identity came from being part of that family. You were the same as them.

You were Catalonian, down to your very core. It was something that Alexia had insisted on, proud Catalonian that she was.

You didn't realise something as silly as that would show so obviously.

But you don't speak the same as Mama. You hold your tongue differently and the way you say your words is different too.

Mama is from Madrid.

You are not.

But you are neither in Barcelona or Madrid right now. You are in Mexico and they can't quite seem to understand that you and Mama have different accents other than just plain Spanish.

You seem deep in thought as Jenni looks over at you, sitting on the sofa with Andy swiping his tongue over your hand repeatedly.

It's your first day at nursery and Jenni's sure that you're worried.

The last time you went to nursery was the day Alexia forgot you. Jenni doesn't really want to take you but she's got meetings all day with management and the club and it's not the kind of space that she wants you to be in.

So, nursery it is.

"Bambi," She calls, kneeling in front of you and lightly reaching out to cup your face," Are you okay? What's going on, huh? Can you tell me?"

Your throat bobs. "Mama," You say," What if they don't like me?"

Jenni smiles fondly at you, rubbing her thumb over the apple of your cheek. "They'd be fools not to like you. You're such a sweet girl."

"But what if they don't?"

A feeling that you can't name bubbles in your tummy, swirling around like a tiger pacing in its cage. It's ready to burst out at any minute. It's ready to attack, to claw and bite its way to freedom.

You don't want it to get out.

"They will," Jenni promises.

Mama does that sometimes.

She tells you little white lies to save your feelings.

You think Mama must know you're different to her. You think she must know that people only turn to you because you are attached to her.

You think she must know that people only give you the time of day because you're an extension of her. People do not see you as a separate person, you think, because you're not.

You don't even think you're a real person sometimes.

Alexia's child.

Alba's niece.

Eli's granddaughter.

You don't think you've ever been your own person, not really anyway.

Alexia's. Alba's. Eli's.

Now Jenni's.

You're not sure that you can ever truly be someone by yourself. You don't know how to be a person all on your own.

You are attached to someone else's story.

In movies and your favourite shows, the extras aren't real people anyway. They are made to serve a purpose.

They are made to make someone look good or evil. They are made to make people root for the hero or pray for the villain's downfall.

You were made to be someone's child. You were made to be attached to someone. To be moved from one person to the next like those little puppets that danced on strings.

You were never meant to have a season long story arc. You were lucky if you even appeared once per episode.

Without someone with you, without Jenni with you, you're not sure who you are. You're not sure how to act and you're not sure how to interact with kids your age.

You had Jaume for a brief time but even he seemed more like a real person than you even though he was just a baby.

Maybe one day he will become an extra, when the newness and shininess of him rubs off and he becomes just another kid like you.

But you don't think he will.

You think Jaume is a main character. You think he will be a leader like Alexia and charismatic like Olga.

You're crying now, eyes glazed over and blank and Jenni pulls you into a hug, cradling you closer to her.

"Bambi," She whispers," It's okay. It's okay, Mama's here."

Your hand fists her top, white knuckled as that tiger paces in your tummy, scratching at its cage. "Mama," You say," Don-Don't forget about me."

"I won't," Jenni promises," I won't, Bambi. Just a few hours and we'll come home. Can you be big and brave for me? Just for a few hours?"

"I don't have to be big and brave forever?"

"No. Just for a little while."

"I can do that, Mama."

Being big and brave is difficult. You've been big and brave before though, when Alexia took you to football practice, when baby Jaume was born, when you had to go to the mean man and Mama held you down.

But somehow, you can't be big and brave here.

The children speak Spanish but not your type of Spanish. They use words that you don't understand and say things in a way that's confusing.

But this is Mexico and Mama's teammates do the same thing.

You are the interloper here, the extra that's arrived from a different series. You are the one that has to adapt.

You say a few words to a boy and his brow furrows.

"You speak wrong," He says. There's no mistaking what he says this time. "You speak like you're stupid."

The tiger paces more furiously in your tummy and your throat tightens up.

But you must be big and brave. It's only a few hours.

Mama showed you on the clock. When the big hand is at twelve and the little hand is on two, she will come back for you.

"N-No," You say," I'm not."

"You are," He continues," People that don't speak properly are stupid."

The tiger in your tummy snarls and rams its big muscular shoulder against the cage. The bars creak under its weight, warping slightly.

"I...I'm not stupid. I'm just from Catalunya."

He turns his nose up at you. "You made that up! That's not a real place!"

"It is," You insist and the tiger rams its body against the cage again," I am from Barcelona which is in Catalunya which is in Spain!"

The words come easy to you.

You are from Barcelona like how Alexia is from Mollet del Vallès. Both are in Catalunya. Catalunya is in Spain.

You know those words off by heart.

But the boy doesn't accept them.

"That's stupid. You're stupid!"

You don't know what to say to that. You don't know if there's anything you can say to that.

So you just stand there, the tiger snarling in your tummy and the boy in front of you.

A teacher is there though, a soft hand on your shoulder.

"Carlos!" She says sternly," We do not call people stupid."

"But she-"

"She's not stupid. That's a bad word. We don't call people that."

"But-"

"No."

The boy - Carlos - scampers off after being scolded and the teacher takes you to the arts and crafts table.

She says they're drawing pictures of their mummies and daddies.

You join in too.

You draw Jenni and you holding hands.

She's in her Tigres jersey and you're in a tutu. She's holding your hand and you try to get the right shade for her hair.

"And what about your daddy?"

"I don't have a daddy."

The teacher's eyebrows shoot to her hairline. "Oh, sorry. What about another mummy then?"

You stare at your paper. You don't want to draw Alexia.

"I don't have a Mami anymore."

"What about siblings? Have you got any siblings?"

"I had a brother. Once."

You don't know why the teacher is getting distressed but she is. She also just lets you draw what you want for the rest of your time at the station so you do.

You draw little Andy on his leash and your new house in the background and a ball at Mama's feet so she can be happy.

The big hand gets to twelve and the little hand gets to two very quickly and you escape to Mama's arms.

You grip her shirt tightly, white knuckled again and she sits in the back of the car with you.

She rocks you as you sob.

"Bambi," She whispers to you softly, a welcome sound in your eyes," Bambi, baby, it's okay. It's okay. I'm here."

"Do-Do I talk stupid, Mama?" You get out through your sobs and Jenni tightens her grip on you, gently guiding your head to move into the crook of her neck.

"No, Bambi. You talk very well for such a little girl. You're not stupid at all."

"Are you sure?"

The tiger has slowed down its pacing until it curls up in the corner of its cage to sleep.

"I'm very sure."

"Am I meant to speak more like you? Is that what I'm meant to sound like?"

"No, Bambi," Jenni says," You're already perfect the way you are."

#woso x reader #jenni hermoso x reader #jenni hermoso #woso community #woso imagine #woso fanfics #woso

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raven-at-the-writing-desk · 8 months ago

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june 2024 octa + 4koma manga updates

As a reminder, no Episode of Savanaclaw manga chapter this month ^^ And without further ado, some of the highlights (in my opinion) of the latest manga updates:

This month's cover page illustration features Yuuta and Grim marveling over a chess board (since at this point in the story they're camping out in Savanaclaw). If you look closely, each of the pieces on the chessboard represent the relevant TWST characters; there are two card soldiers (presumably one for Ace and one for Deuce), a wolf for Jack, a hyena for Ruggie, and a lion for Leona on the "white" side. On the opposing "black" side (fitting, since Azul will OB soon) are two eel pieces for the twins and one octopus piece for Azul.

We continue the adorable overly flattering Ace from last month's chapter! Sad to say that I, too, would be completely fooled by this act-- asbfalebqejdqo The older merguard is also very cute and enthusiastic. I love that the manga can give faceless NPCs and mobs actual eyes. It grants them a lot more personality and soul! We continue the adorable overly flattering Ace from last month's chapter! Sad to say that I, too, would be completely fooled by this act-- asbfalebqejdqo The older merguard is also very cute and enthusiastic. I love that the manga can give faceless NPCs and mobs actual eyes. It grants them a lot more personality and soul!

HECK YEAH, IT'S TWEELS tERRORISM TIME BBABY 🤡 Jade and Floyd got sooo many good shots this chapter????? Love that the second page above shows us just how long Floyd is + how the two genuinely delight in scaring our crew (RIP Ace, he looks so close to death's door when he seeks Jade and Floyd peeking at him).

These panels paint the picture of the chase and fight being very frantic for our crew, but really being a chill game to the Leech brothers. They definitely have the upper hand this whole time, and the art helps to convey that feeling!

(Side note: that face Deuce makes with the pinched mouth is also top tier 👌)

So this chapter is the one where Leona swipes the keys to Azul's vault and robs him of all the golden contracts. This results in many, MANY distressed, panicked, and/or desperate expressions from Azul... all of which are soooo delicious <3 There's a ton more than what I've included here (I picked some of my faves), I just couldn't include them all because of Tumblr post image limits.

THE SMUGZUL LAUGH?????? ?? ??? ?? ?????? ? HIS ANSWER TO THE OJOUSAMA LAUGH

Featuring: out-of-shape nerd (relatable) Azul fans fr feasting this update 🙏

RUGGIIIIIIE 🥰 He makes a lot of :3 faces that are just great!!

ANOTHER THING THAT CAUGHT MY ATTENTION WAS THE SHEER AMOUNT OF LEONA SMUG IN THIS CHAPTER I MEAN SEEING LEONA SMUG MAKES ME GRIT MY TEETH AND WANNA KNOCK HIM DOWN A PEG BUT WOW IS HE PRETTY LIKE THIS AUVYFB32T73RANfhbabfobiqrBI/.L;,'KJM;N GGRRRRRRRRRRRRRR I HAT EYOU KINHSCHPLAR I HATE YOU SO MUCH i'm gONA PUNCHHF YOU IN YOUR STUPID SLUTTY ,.,NAFCLAVICLE

anyway Anyway ANYWAY!!!!!! Azul is so close to snapping now, boys :)))) Soon... SOON, OB AZUL AND CHILD!OCTAVINELLE IN HIS FLASHBACK...

Now for 4koma news! This month features a comic about Epel playing Magift/Spelldrive and another comic about Jamil cooking curry.

My favorite segment from the Epel comic! Grim is peak cuteness here, love that he curls into himself to brace for impact, INCLUDING THE FRIGGIN TAIL.

HLBQVUFOQVIYFA; This part made me think of my Gordon Ramsay in Twisted Wonderland series, specifically the fish-themed installment with Jamil and Deuce; in it, Jamil plots on making a seafood dish to serve to Azul as revenge for the events of book 4. In the Jamil 4koma this month, Jamil sees Octavinelle and then considers making a seafood/fish curry with that smug-ass face in the bottom-most panel 💀 That's all for now! See you next month for more~

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majinbangus · 8 months ago

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"Got crumbs on your face."

"Huh?" Cheeks puffed up and round much like a chipmunks, you do a small doubletake, a little too distracted with stuffing your face full of ube pandesal, consequently not even bothering with manners and struggle to speak through your full mouth. "Wah?"

"Fuckin'... Swallow your food before you choke, Tweety."

Holding up a finger to indicate a moment to do just that, you force the half chewed chunks of bread to go down your throat. It's actually impressive you didn't choke like last time you attempted swallowing chunks of barely bitten food.

You turn to him again, looking at the man next to you, but sideeye the half-eaten food on his plate. Usually he's finished by now. Hm. Maybe he'll let you have some.

You clear your throat. "What?"

"Crumbs." He taps his cheek to mirror where it's on yours. "Right 'ere."

Oh. Is that all?

Your tongue darts out to lick it off the way you usually take care of stray food particles on your face. Stretching your tongue as much as you can, you think you get it, tasting a ghost of the ube. Giving yourself a few more licks in that same area, you hold in a hum at the lingering taste and bring your tongue back in your mouth. Yummy.

His fist clenches, but you don't take note of the way his pupils dilate or the clink of his teeth gnashing together, nor do you notice how he sits up so straight he could only be described as rigid, and neither do you see his eyes following the tease of your tongue. You should have. Alas, you're a bit of an oblivious fool.

You raise your eyebrows expectantly at him. "That all of it?"

He heaves, and you're not sure why he sounds so exasperated.

"Bloody hell, Tweety..."

"What? Did I not get it?"

"No, fuck, lemme just- "

He trails off, taking the liberty to pinch your chin between his index finger and thumb, tilting your head to the side so he has a better angle. You don't flinch away, though, letting him puppet you this way and that.

It happens at a normal speed, yet somehow time feels slow. Or maybe that's just your reaction time. Perhaps both.

Instead of picking up a napkin like you expect, he closes in on you as if you're the prey that just gave him an opening to strike. In fact, you almost expect to feel a bite encapsulate your throat, for teeth to sink into tender skin, so you close your eyes in preparation for- something.

Really, you should have seen it coming.

Your eyes shoot open at the wet glide of his tongue laving over your cheek. It's not a small kitten lick either, it's a messy one, similar to a dog with no sense of boundaries. You try to pull away for a brief moment- more out of shock and less out of disgust- but he doesn't let you go, pinching your chin harder and jerking you closer. You're barely able to stifle the whine that claws up your throat but concede to letting him leave a trail of slobber over your cheek and dangerously close to the corner of your mouth.

You're tempted to lick back with each swipe to the edge of your lips, but you hold yourself back. Unlike him, you have some decency. Well. You like to think so, even if you're nearly panting like a dog in heat in the middle of the mess hall. At least no one is here. You think. Hope. You really, really hope no one's here to call out the public indecency you're both displaying.

Shakily, you reach up to tap his wrist, the one that's attached to the hand that's going to bruise your chin if he doesn't let go. Not that you'd mind. But still. You try to pull away.

"Uh, I think you got it-"

You're cut off with a yelp and a jerk, whole body nearly toppling over his from how hard he yanks you back. He glares at you when you steady yourself, hand on his knee and eyes blown wide from the intense look he gives you.

Chest rumbling, he growls- an honest to God, literal growl that shouldn't make your stomach flutter like it does- and shakes your head a little as if to admonish you.

"Wasn't done tasting yet."

"But you-"

"C'mon."

He stands from the table and forcefully manhandles you up with him, leaving your trays on the table as he pulls you along by the wrist, long strides almost bordering as a jog. Fuck, it's like he's impatient or something.

"Wait-" you look back at the unfinished food, free hand half-heartedly groping back at it as you stumble along. "What about our food? We haven't- I'm still- who's gonna clean it?"

Shooting you an irritated look over his shoulder as if to say shut up, he tightens his grip and yanks you along in the direction of his room.

"Not my problem. There's something else I'd rather eat instead."

•••

Wanted it to be Soap, but was picturing Ghost, could be any of the 141, though. I like to think Tweety's shared by all of them. Not quite in a barrack's bunny kinda way, but yeah, also in that way, although I picture Tweety to be oblivious and encounters like this frequently sometimes borders on dubcon.

#john soap mactavish x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader #captain john price x reader #soap x reader #john soap mctavish x reader #soap mactavish x reader #soapy thoughts :]#simon riley x reader #kyle garrick x reader #john price x reader #ghost x reader #gaz x reader #price x reader #f!reader #mature themes #afab reader #141 sweet treat <3

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bangaveragewhitewine · 9 months ago

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baby, do you want to come home with me?

Eddie Munson x Reader

Giving in to the tension feels good

Word count: 702

Contents: Making out. Pre-smut and getting handsy in a bathroom. Female reader (one use of 'her'). Title from Wet Dream, by Wet Leg.

Author’s note: This has been sitting half-finished in my docs named 'untilted eddie make out' for well over a month. It's barely read-over or edited, but here you go, Eddie girls. Come get your man!

His breath is hot against your lips, tinged with smoke and hops. That smokey scent blends with spicy aftershave and the earthy fug of green. Every molecule of you feels aflame, sparked by the slide of his tongue against yours and the gentle command he leads with. He is addictive and you need another taste.

After weeks of tension building, attraction growing stronger each time you saw each other instead of waning, you both gave in tonight. And oh are you glad you did.

Eddie smiles when your mouths meet again; another deep kiss to make you melt between him and the scuffed brick wall at your back. He holds you tighter, closer, and presses up against you to make sure you don’t trickle away into a puddle or twirl off back to the dance floor with your ‘come get me’ eyes. He wants you a little longer and fancies his chances of getting to take you home tonight.

He need not worry; the only place you're going is to find a cab, then home to your place or to his. The music is less loud here, but the base rumbles between your twisted-together bodies.

You can feel him, thick and hard and warm against you through double layers of denim - his and hers. There is buttery leather and surprisingly soft curls beneath your fingers, the sharp line of his flexed jaw and the cool hardware on his jacket. He makes you feel greedy for wanting all of it, all of him, the soft and the hard parts (but especially the hard part tonight).

He makes this little noise when you tug his hair and his jaw falls slack when your nails catch on his scalp just right. You make a note of that for later as he licks into your mouth again, making you keen for him as he pairs that slow deep slide with the firm press of his thigh between your legs that feels so good. Your hips take up a slow roll, encouraged and steadied by his hand at the top of your ass and the perfect press of your jeans right there.

You’re not sure where he begins or where you end anymore, with blurred edges and winding limbs even when you break for breath briefly. A hammering fist on the door is just about enough to halt your kisses - but only after a couple of tries on the handle and an unsuccessful first knock.

“Hello?!! Come on, man, I need to piss!”

“Hold the fuck on.”

Eddie’s voice is rough, a sharp pissed-off bark that echoes around the bar bathroom as you hide your warm face against his chest and give in to a dose of the giggles.

“Somethin’ funny?” he asks, soft just for you.

His smile is stained with your lipstick, and you do your best to swipe the worst of it away with your thumb as you float back down to earth. He does a little to fix the smear below your lip, tender from kissing and the nip of Eddie’s sharp teeth.

“I think they’re going to know…” you murmur, resisting the urge to take one more taste for yourself.

There will be no hiding it from whoever is banging on the door, whoever is queued up behind them with their full bladders and baggies of coke. It was not like either of you were subtle enough to fool your friends, even before you both disappeared together tonight. Not with your matching stained mouths, or Eddie’s tighter-now jeans. Not when you leave together tonight and arrive for breakfast together in the morning.

“Is that so bad?”

You give in to that need for one more kiss, slow and sweet unlike the last one. It says enough to answer his question.

Loud music and the sound of your own heart beating hard are not quite enough to drown out the complaints and wolf-whistles as you leave the locked bathroom together. Eddie leads again with confidence, bolstered by your lipstick on his face and your hand in his back pocket. Neither of you miss how the table of your friends raise their bottles and glasses as you pass them, a few bills exchanged for bets placed as you go find that cab and decide ‘your place or mine?’

Thank you for reading 🖤 Reblogs, likes & comments are loved and cherished

#eddie munson #bangaveragefics #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x fem reader #eddie munson x y/n #stranger things fic #eddie munson smut

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starsturni · 2 months ago

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can’t wait *- chris

analysis: when it's your first time meeting chris's brothers, you're obviously scared about messing anything up. maybe chris can help calm your nerves?

song: so i was listening to 'timeless" by the weeknd because idk it js gives chris vibes, lol!

wc: 1k

warnings: fingering, p in v, semipublic sex, cursing, car sex, praise kind, and degradation kink! <333

as we arrive at the busy resturant, i sigh, mumbling to him. "do we really need to be here?" his fingers impatiently tapping on the steering wheel.

he smiles softly, touching my thigh softly. "look, i know you're worried, at least matt is paying?" he says, attempting to lighten the mood.

i scoff playfully as we park, seeing nate step out of his car a few spots over, "that makes a difference."

we both unbuckle, the steady beat of the previous song stopping as he turns off the car.

he sees me sitting, knawing on my freshly manicured nails. he frowns slightly, seeing my distressed figure.

he gently prys my wrist away from my mouth. "baby, you can tell me what's up?" i frown, sighing softly. "what if i make a total fool of myself?"

he softly massages my hand subconsiously "baby, you'll be okay, i promise? they won't judge you." you smile softly. "pinky swear?" i stick my pinky finger out.

he smiles back. "pinky swear."

"plus, we have extra time for you to be able to calm down." he adds.

i notice the way he glances at my glossed over lips, slightly wet from the amount of nibbling on the skin. he then leans in, softly kissing me.

i gladly return the favor, it becoming more and more passionate. his big hands come and cradle my face, the size difference making the moment even more heated. our tongues intertwine, fighting for dominance. i let him win.

not that i'm exactly upset.

we both pull away, needing air.

without exchanging words. we clammer into the backseat, me giggling as i see him struggling to get his feet past the middle console.

his face cracks slightly, a small smile forming at my happiness, even during moments like this.

our expressions immediately change after chris reaches the back seat. his lips latch onto my neck, erecting a pretty moan out of me, the sounds chris loves.

i feel his lips curve into a smirk against my skin as his kisses and nibbles travel to the crook of my neck, him inhaling, smelling my light scent of vanilla perfume.

he groans quietly, slipping his slender fingers under my light pink skirt, finding his way to my damp panties.

his fingers swipe through my slick, feeling my arousal.

he takes the fingers to my mouth, looking at me expectantly. "suck." i obediently wrap my soft lips around his fingers, swirling my tongue around the pads of his fingertips.

his eyes never leave mine, his black jeans tightening at the sight and sounds of the soft slurping.

he pulls his fingers away, going back down past my waist, inserting two fingers through my dripping folds, burying them against my gummy walls.

i let out a soft moan, clenching around him. "oh fuck." i say, letting out a breathless moan. he curls his fingers such a certain angle that makes shivers go down my spine.

i cry out, "o-oh my god, chris!!" my loud whimpers flood the small space of the backseat.

"please, i want you so fucking badly." he smirks at my begging.

"of course baby, don't worry." he mumbles to me, unbuttoning his pants, shuffling them down his knees then ankles, kicking them off.

his obvious bulge showed, outlining his hard length with a small wet patch from precum. i eagerly tug off his boxers, his length spinging up, hitting just above his lower abdomen.

as i start to slip off my skirt, chris's hands overtake mine, doing the job for me. he gently pulls my panties to the side, pumping himself a few times before carefully and slowly sliding his girthy length into my velvet walls.

we collectively let out soft groans, my own coming out from pain and pleasure. i hiss softly, him slowing his movements.

"you okay baby?" he leans forward, softly kissing and nibbling on the back of my earlobe.

"mhm.." i softly hum. he continues kissing on my ear and neck as he slowly pushes himself deeper into my cunt. i moan softly, the simple sound reassuring him.

he then slowly bucks his hips, pulling almost all the out the the tip before burying himself deep into me.

"such a pretty girl, getting all slutty on my dick.." my moans are covered by my right hand, still trying to have some dignity and privacy, though anyone could figure out what was going on in the car just by looking at its movements.

"ohhh fuck, baby you feel so tight, shit." he groans out, his hand grip on my hips could be bruising at this point.

the sound of our conjoined moans and the sinful sounds of skin on skin roughly fills the area of the car.

he roughly slams into me, changing us into a different position with my hands pressed against the glass, his grabbing the mounds on my chest.

as we change our position, he hits new angles and points i didn't know i even had. his tip perfectly taps against my sweet spot, his fingers rushing to my sensitive and puffy clit, repeatedly rubbing it.

"c-chris i can't!" i moan out desperately, my eyes stamped shut.

"let go f'me baby.." he coos out, wanting me to finish first, always.

as i feel my high coming, i let all of my help back moans out, the sheer force of my orgasm having me shook.

"c-chris i'm gonna cum!" my legs almost give out, my orgasm causing arousal to drip down on chris's length as i call out his name.

"chris, oh my fuck!!" he helps me ride out my orgasm as he is about at his breaking point. he lets out a loud groan, collapsing onto me as i feel his thick white spurts coat my insides.

as we lay down together, catching our breaths, his fingers softly toy with my hair, pulling slicked strands with sweat away from my face.

"you did so good baby...you okay?" he says, looking softly into my eyes, his tone sweet, a far comparison from a few minutes ago.

"yeah..you did so good chris.." he smiles softly at my words.

just then, chris's phone buzzes, his screen lighting up. as he peeks at it, it's matt.

'when you guys are done, hurry the fuck up, our seats are about to be given up.'

again, sorry if this is like horrible, im just getting into writing!! :)

xoxo - starsturni

#matt sturniolo #chris sturniolo #nick sturniolo #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo triplets #sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo fluff #nicolas sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #sturniolo smut

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estellan0vella · 2 months ago

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To Han Jisung’s Sheer, Unbridled Stupidity: H.JS Han Jisung x fem!reader (College AU)

WC: 13.1K

CW: Simp Jisung (he's down bad), Horny Jisung, Minho being a menace (standard), mentions of sex, No Nut November, reader making Jisung go through it, teasing, Minho and reader shenanigans General Masterlist SKZ Masterlist Part I Part III

Rain hammers the windows, an unrelenting torrent that turns the world outside into a blur of grey streaks and rattles against the thin glass of Jisung’s room in the Alpha Phi house. The storm is angry, howling wind shaking the old frame of the window, thunder rolling like the earth is tearing itself apart. Inside, though, the room is a sanctuary, warm and alive, lit by the soft glow of Jisung’s desk lamp and the dim blue of the LED strips running haphazardly along the ceiling.

Million Dollar Baby pulses low from the Bluetooth speaker perched on a stack of textbooks Jisung will never read. The beat vibrates faintly through the cluttered room, mixing with the rhythm of the rain and the occasional sharp crack of thunder.

You’re curled at his desk, the mirror in front of you streaked with fingerprints and old, faded smudges of eyeliner, slowly wiping your face clean of makeup. Each swipe of the cotton pad feels deliberate, calming. Your skin is bare now, the freckles you’ve always tried to ignore standing out starkly under the warm light.

Behind you, Jisung sprawls lazily on his unmade bed, his boxers riding low on his hips, the waistband crooked where he’s been shifting around. His messy silver hair sticks up in wild directions, and he looks as comfortable as someone with a hyperactive Staffordshire bull terrier puppy in their lap can be. Zak wriggles and squirms, tail going like a jackhammer as he attacks Jisung’s hands with relentless enthusiasm.

“Zak, you little shit, can you chill for, like, two fucking seconds?” Jisung groans, half-laughing as he tries to fend off the puppy’s relentless tongue. “I swear to God, he’s got no sense of boundaries.”

You glance at them through the mirror, a faint smile curling your lips. “He’s a puppy, Ji. What do you expect? He’s like a toddler on crack.”

“No, he’s a demon on fucking crack,” Jisung shoots back, wrestling Zak’s head away from his face. “Look at this little shit. He thinks he’s in charge.”

Zak, completely unbothered by the insult, barks sharply and lunges for Jisung’s shoulder. Jisung lets out an exaggerated yelp, flopping dramatically onto his back and letting the puppy clamber triumphantly onto his chest. “See? He’s already won. I’m fucking dead.”

You snort, turning back to the mirror to dab toner onto a fresh cotton pad. “You’re such a drama queen. Zak’s, like, a tenth your size.”

Jisung props himself up on one elbow, glaring at you through the chaos of his hair. “A tenth of my size but a hundred fucking times more chaotic. Don’t let his cute little face fool you. He’s a fucking menace.”

You glance back over your shoulder, watching as Zak starts gnawing on the hem of Jisung’s boxers. “Yeah, he’s a menace because you let him walk all over you. He’s got you wrapped around his little paw, and you fucking know it.”

“Bullshit,” Jisung says, but there’s no heat in his voice. His hand comes up to scratch behind Zak’s ears, and the puppy melts, flopping onto his side with a happy grunt. Jisung grins smugly, meeting your eyes in the mirror. “See? Total fucking alpha over here.”

You roll your eyes so hard you swear they might get stuck. “You’re impossible,” you mutter, turning back to your reflection. Your fingers work the toner into your skin and for a moment, the only sound is the music and the storm outside.

Jisung breaks the silence with a sudden, almost-too-loud, “Hey, you missed a spot.”

You whip around, narrowing your eyes at him. “Where?”

He points vaguely at your cheek, an innocent expression on his face. “Right there. No, wait, there. Actually, fuck, you should probably just start over.”

“Fuck you,” you say with no real venom, throwing the used cotton pad at his head. It lands on Zak instead, who sniffs at it curiously before deciding it’s not worth the effort.

“Rude,” Jisung says, grinning as he picks the pad off Zak’s back and tosses it onto the floor. “I’m trying to help here.”

“Your version of help is being a fucking asshole,” you retort, grabbing your serum. The glass bottle feels cool and solid in your hand, grounding you as you pat the liquid onto your cheeks.

Jisung watches you, his head tilted to one side like he’s trying to figure something out. “You know,” he says slowly, “I don’t get why you bother covering up all your freckles. They’re hot as fuck.”

You freeze mid-pat, blinking at him. “What?”

“Your freckles,” he repeats, propping himself up higher on the bed. Zak takes the opportunity to try and lick his face again, but Jisung dodges him expertly. “They’re like, I don’t know, constellations or some shit. Fucking unreal.”

A flush creeps up your neck, but you force yourself to keep working the serum into your skin. “You’re so fucking corny,” you mutter, refusing to meet his gaze.

“Corny but right,” he shoots back, leaning down to kiss Zak’s head. The puppy wriggles happily, thumping his tail against Jisung’s thigh. “You’re like a walking fucking galaxy. It’s nuts.”

You groan, finally turning to face him. “Can you go one fucking minute without saying something completely ridiculous?”

“Nope,” he says easily, grinning at you. “It’s part of my charm.”

Zak barks, cutting through the moment like a knife, and you glance at him with a soft laugh. “Poor baby’s scared of the storm.”

“Scared?” Jisung scoffs, pulling Zak closer. “Nah, he’s just dramatic as fuck. Like me.”

“God help us,” you say under your breath as Jisung manages to get Zak to sit still in his lap for longer than two seconds.

“Victory,” Jisung says smugly, pressing a triumphant kiss to your temple. “Told you I’m the alpha.”

Jisung tilts his head back against the wall, his silver hair sticking up in wild, unkempt tufts. His eyes are half-lidded, following your every move as if it’s the most interesting thing in the world. Zak has finally settled on the bed beside him, chewing on one of Jisung’s socks with the kind of ferocity only a puppy can muster.

“We could pawn Zak off on Chan,” Jisung says suddenly, his voice cutting through the storm’s din. The teasing edge in his tone is unmistakable. “Or better yet, Minho. That fucker loves this little gremlin.”

You glance at him through the streaked mirror, your eyebrow arching. “Yeah, and why the fuck would we send my dog to Minho, of all people?”

“So we could Netflix and chill,” Jisung replies, his smirk spreading wide as he wiggles his eyebrows suggestively. “I mean, as long as I don’t nut, it’s still fair game.”

You let out a laugh, shaking your head as you reach for your moisturizer. “Because that worked out so fucking well last time, right? Minho was banging on the wall the whole fucking time.”

Jisung groans, dragging his hand down his face. “That cunt needs to get over himself. Like he doesn’t fuck loudly. I heard him and some Kappa Tau girl last week, and I’m still traumatized.”

You snort, trying not to laugh too hard as you dab cream onto your cheeks. “You know Minho would bury you alive for saying that.”

“Yeah, well, he can suck my dick until- Wait, no, he can’t.” Jisung pauses, the realization hitting mid-sentence. “Fuck. No Nut November is ruining my comebacks.”

You roll your eyes, biting back another laugh. “Tragic.”

Jisung grins, clearly refusing to let the moment go. “Fine, if Netflix is too risky, what about Disney Plus and eating puss?”

The words hit like a record scratch, and you freeze mid-pat, staring at him. “You’re such a fucking idiot.”

“I’m an innovator,” he counters smugly. “Amazon Prime and sexy time? HBO Max and relax? Babe, I can do this all night.”

“You’re going to make me lose brain cells,” you mutter, turning back to the mirror and smearing moisturizer across your face with more force than necessary.

“Please, you love it,” Jisung says, practically purring. “You love how fucking clever I am.”

“Clever, my ass,” you retort. “You’re a walking shitpost with a good jawline.”

“And you’re the love of my life,” he shoots back smoothly. “Funny how that works.”

Before you can answer, a muffled voice echoes through the wall. “I swear to God, if you fuckers start again, I’m torching this house.”

You blink, startled, and Jisung immediately shouts back. “Shut up, Minho! No one asked for your fucking input!”

“Oh, I’m giving it anyway!” Minho yells. “Every time you so much as think about touching her, I hear it. The moaning, the spanking. Do you have any idea how thin these walls are?”

Jisung looks genuinely scandalized. “Spanking? You’re imagining shit now, man.”

“Oh, I’m imagining?!” Minho fires back. “You’re the one who kept me up until two in the fucking morning last week with your unholy fucking racket!”

“You’re just jealous I’m getting laid and you’re stuck cuddling your cats!” Jisung shouts, his voice dripping with smugness.

“Jealous? Of you? You couldn’t make me jealous if you paid me!” The venom in Minho’s tone is undercut by the sound of Zak barking, his tail thumping wildly against the bed.

Jisung turns to Zak, gesturing wildly. “See? Even the dog agrees you’re full of shit!”

Zak barks again, clearly thinking this is all one big game, and Jisung grins triumphantly. “That’s two against one, Minho!”

There’s silence for a beat, and then Minho’s door slams open. A moment later, he’s standing in Jisung’s doorway, his hair a mess, his face twisted into a mix of annoyance and exhaustion. Zak immediately perks up, tail wagging so hard it’s practically a weapon.

“Fucking hell, I should’ve known better than to try reasoning with you,” Minho says, stalking into the room. “You’re like a fucking feral raccoon in human form.”

“Nice to see you too, asshole,” Jisung says brightly, clearly unfazed. “What’s up?”

“What’s up? I’m about to beat the shit out of you, that’s what’s up,” Minho snaps, lunging for the bed. Zak jumps out of the way just in time as Minho tackles Jisung, both of them hitting the floor in a chaotic mess of limbs and curses.

“Minho, you fucking dick!” Jisung yells, laughing despite himself as Minho gets him in a loose headlock. “You’re gonna fucking kill me!”

“Good!” Minho barks, tightening his grip. “I’ll finally get some fucking sleep!”

Zak bounces around them, barking excitedly, his tail a blur of motion. You sit back in your chair, watching the chaos unfold with a look of mild amusement. “You know, sometimes I think you two are secretly dating,” you comment, winding another strand of hair into a roller.

Minho pauses mid-shove, looking up at you with wide eyes. “Wow, she knows. Guess we’re out now.”

“Busted,” Jisung wheezes from under him. “Sorry you had to find out this way, babe.”

You hum, leaning forward to inspect your reflection. “Makes sense. The sexual tension’s been unbearable for months.”

“Fuck off,” Minho grumbles, finally releasing Jisung and flopping onto his back. Zak takes the opportunity to pounce on him, licking his face like his life depends on it.

Jisung sits up, rubbing his neck with a wince. “Minho, since you’re already here, wanna take Zak for the night?”

“Fuck no,” Minho says immediately as he scratches behind Zak's ears. “But thanks for asking.”

“Coward,” Jisung mutters, collapsing back onto the bed beside you. He looks up at you with that familiar mischievous grin, his eyes sparkling with trouble. “So… Disney Plus and eating puss?”

You throw a hair roller at his head.

The dim kitchen glows faintly under the yellow overhead light, the kind of low, uneven light that makes everything feel softer, less real. The storm outside has eased into a gentle drizzle, the sound of rain on the windows rhythmic and soothing.

You’re leaning against the counter, cradling a mug of tea that’s still too hot to drink, your fingers playing idly with the spoon inside it. The hum of the electric kettle lingers in the background, filling the quiet with something steady.

Jisung’s hoodie swallows you, the oversized fabric brushing your thighs, the sleeves pooled around your wrists. The faint smell of him lingers in the material, making you feel cocooned despite the chill of the kitchen tiles against your fuzzy-socked feet.

It’s stupidly late, probably close to three in the morning, but the house is finally quiet, and you needed this. The calm, the tea, the moment to yourself.

The creak of the old floorboards makes you glance over your shoulder. Minho materializes in the doorway, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his hand, looking half-asleep but still somehow put together in that effortless way that pisses you off.

His red hair sticks up in chaotic tufts, like he’s been wrestling with a pillow all night, and his sweatpants hang low on his hips, barely clinging there. He squints at you, his lips tugging into a crooked smirk.

“Holy shit,” he says, voice scratchy with sleep. “A fucking cryptid in her natural habitat.”

You roll your eyes, turning back to your tea. “Fuck off, Minho.”

“No, really,” he continues, stepping fully into the kitchen, his bare feet soundless on the tile. “I didn’t think anyone else was dumb enough to be awake at this hour, but here you fucking are. What’re you doing? Summoning demons? Making moon water?”

“Drinking tea,” you reply dryly, taking a careful sip. The liquid is still scalding, but you let the heat settle on your tongue, the warmth a small comfort.

“Tea,” Minho echoes, leaning against the counter next to you, his arms crossing loosely over his chest. “At three in the fucking morning. What are you, eighty?”

You give him a flat look. “You’re awake, too, asshole.”

“Yeah, because I’m plotting my victory,” he says, his smirk sharpening into something cocky. “Speaking of, you’re just the person I need.”

“Lucky me,” you deadpan, setting your mug down with a soft clink. “What’s it this time? Another fucking prank? Did you break something and need me to lie for you?”

Minho scoffs, waving a hand. “Please, I don’t need you to cover for me. I’ve never been caught in my life.”

You snort. “Right. I’m sure all those broken lamps were ‘ghosts.’”

“Exactly,” he says without missing a beat. Then his tone shifts, conspiratorial, as he leans closer. “But this? This is bigger. I need your help to make sure Jisung loses No Nut November.”

You blink at him, caught off guard. “That’s what this is about?”

“Duh,” Minho replies, grinning. “You’ve got insider access. You’re practically a double agent. Think of the chaos we could cause.”

You arch a brow at him, unimpressed. “And why the fuck would I help you?”

“Because,” he says smoothly, his grin widening, “I’ll split the winnings with you. Four hundred bucks for each of us. Think about it. Easy money.”

“Easy money?” you echo, narrowing your eyes. “This feels like a setup.”

Minho presses a hand to his chest, looking mock-offended. “You wound me, Y/N. I don’t need to scam you. I’m just here for the bragging rights.”

“Sure you are,” you say, picking up your tea again. “And what if Jisung finds out I’m helping you? You know he’s never gonna shut up about it.”

Minho shrugs, unbothered. “Let him whine. He’s already lost. You just have to speed up the inevitable.”

You take a long sip, letting the warmth of the tea settle in your chest. Minho watches you carefully, his red hair catching the dim light in uneven strands, his eyes gleaming with mischief. He’s serious, dead serious, but there’s that usual layer of smugness that makes you want to slap him and laugh at the same time.

“Fine,” you say finally, lowering your mug. “But if this backfires, you’re fucking dead.”

“Deal,” Minho says immediately, sticking out his hand. When you don’t take it, he drops it with a shrug. “You won’t regret this. Four hundred bucks and bragging rights. It’s a win-win.”

“You’re a pain in the ass,” you mutter, shaking your head.

“And yet,” Minho counters, grinning like the cat that caught the fucking canary, “you always come through for me. Don’t act like you don’t love it.”

You groan, turning away from him to grab a tea bag from the box. “I’m starting to regret this already.”

“No, you’re not,” he says confidently, grabbing an apple from the fruit bowl. He crunches into it loudly, leaning casually against the counter as if he owns the place. “This is why you’re my favourite.”

“Fuck off, Minho,” you say again, but this time you’re smiling.

He winks at you, already backing out of the kitchen. “Remember, Y/N. Four hundred bucks. Don’t let me down.”

“Go to bed, you shithead,” you call after him, laughing softly as he disappears into the dark hallway.

The sound of his retreating footsteps fades, and you’re left alone in the quiet kitchen. The tea in your mug is cooling now, the faint hum of the kettle gone, replaced by the soft patter of rain on the windows. You shake your head to yourself, a small laugh escaping your lips.

You take another sip of tea, savouring the warmth, and let yourself imagine the absolute fucking disaster the next few weeks are bound to be.

Jisung slams his car door with more force than necessary, muttering a string of curses as his bag slides off his shoulder and hits the damp ground. “Fucking perfect,” he huffs, yanking it back up and trudging toward the Alpha Phi house.

The air is crisp, the remnants of last night’s storm lingering in the wet asphalt and the occasional dripping from the gutters. He doesn’t care. His head is pounding, his brain fried from a brutal day of back-to-back lectures, and the reminder email about his project deadline still burns in his inbox, taunting him.

Punching in the house code feels like an Olympic event, and the beep of the lock barely registers as he shoves the door open. Inside, chaos greets him like an old friend. Voices echo from the living room. Loud, competitive, definitely a FIFA match. Someone yells, “Fucking cheater!” and a loud thud follows. Jisung sighs, shaking his head as he drags himself toward the stairs.

“Home sweet fucking home,” he mutters under his breath, gripping the banister as he hauls himself up. His legs feel like lead, and all he wants is to collapse in his bed and sleep until finals are over or until the world ends, whichever comes first.

He reaches his room, pushing the door open, already yanking his sweatshirt over his head. The fabric catches on his silver hair, making it stick up even worse than usual, but he doesn’t care. He tosses it somewhere near his desk and looks up and freezes like a deer in headlights.

You’re on his bed, lying on your side, fast asleep. Your red lace-trimmed nightgown clings to your body like a second skin, the soft material pooling around your thighs. The thin straps barely sit on your shoulders, one having slipped down to reveal more skin than Jisung can handle looking at right now.

The dim light from his bedside lamp bathes you in a warm glow, catching on the curve of your collarbone, the dip of your waist, the soft rise and fall of your chest as you breathe.

“Fuck me,” he whispers, his voice barely audible over the sound of his heartbeat hammering in his ears.

Zak snores softly from his dog bed in the corner, blissfully unaware of Jisung’s internal crisis. The puppy’s legs twitch in his sleep, chasing whatever dream dogs have, and for a moment, Jisung envies the little shit. At least Zak doesn’t have to deal with the torture of you existing like this, looking like every wet dream Jisung’s ever had.

He closes the door as quietly as he can, leaning against it for support as his knees threaten to give out. “Jesus fucking Christ,” he mutters, running a hand through his already-messy hair. “Okay, okay, get it together. You’re a grown-ass man. You’ve seen her in this before. It’s not a big fucking deal.”

But it is a big fucking deal, because it’s day eight of No Nut November, and his brain is turning to soup at the sight of you. He swallows hard, dragging his eyes away from you and staring at the ceiling instead.

“Feet,” he says to himself, trying to drown out the heat crawling up his neck. “Dirty, gross feet. Toenail fungus. Yeah. That’s disgusting. Uh… Chan’s sweaty gym towel. That’s nasty, right?”

The corner of his eye betrays him. He glances back at you, and it’s a fucking mistake. You shift slightly, your leg stretching out just enough for the lace trim of your nightgown to ride higher on your thigh. His mouth goes dry, and he bites his lip, hard enough to hurt.

“Why the fuck are you doing this to me, jagiya?” he whispers, dragging a hand down his face. “This is cruelty. Actual fucking cruelty.”

He starts pacing, his socked feet barely making a sound on the worn carpet. “Minho’s fucking smug face. Yeah, that’s gross. Him winning and rubbing it in my face forever. Fuck that guy. He’s not winning. I’m not losing to him. No fucking way.”

Zak shifts in his sleep, snorting softly, and Jisung glares at him like the puppy is in on the conspiracy. “Oh, sure, you get to sleep through this shit,” he mutters. “Meanwhile, I’m fighting for my goddamn life.”

His eyes flick back to you, again, because apparently, he’s a fucking masochist, and his pacing halts. The soft, steady rise and fall of your chest, the way your hair spills over his pillow like a halo, the gentle pout of your lips as you sleep. It’s too much. His heart pounds in his chest like a drum, and his jeans are officially too fucking tight.

“Fuck, no, no,” he mutters, resuming his pacing. “Chan’s unwashed jockstrap. Disgusting. So gross. Sweaty gym socks. That’s worse. Uh… Minho farting in his sleep. Fucking nightmare fuel.”

But nothing works. His mind keeps circling back to you, to the way you look so effortlessly perfect, so completely at ease in his bed. It’s infuriating. It’s torture. It’s everything he wants but can’t have, not for another twenty-two fucking days.

He collapses into his desk chair, spinning it away from the bed as if not looking at you will somehow solve his problem. Grabbing a pen, he starts scribbling nonsense on a blank page of his notebook, anything to keep his hands busy. “I’m an idiot. A horny fucking idiot.”

The sound of your soft breathing drifts to his ears again, and he freezes. Slowly, he turns his head, just in time to see you stretch slightly, the hem of your nightgown riding even higher. His grip on the pen tightens, his knuckles turning white.

“I’m fucked,” he whispers, burying his face in his hands. “I’m so fucking fucked.”

And it’s only day eight.

It’s day eleven, and Jisung is hanging on by a fucking thread.

He’s at his desk, headphones on, his laptop open to a blank Google Doc labeled Final Project. The blinking cursor taunts him, mocking his inability to focus, but it’s not the assignment that’s frying his brain.

It’s you. Lying there on his bed like some goddess of temptation, draped in black lace and blissful fucking ignorance, or, more likely, deliberate fucking malice. Jisung isn’t sure which one he prefers.

You’re sprawled on your stomach, completely absorbed in a paperback, the cover bent at the spine from the way you’re gripping it. Your legs kick lazily behind you, bare feet flexing as you shift every so often, and the lace hot pants you’re wearing are clinging to your ass in a way that should be criminal. The matching bralette doesn’t help either, thin straps digging into your shoulders, highlighting the line of your collarbone, the delicate curves of your body.

Jisung steals another glance, his eleventh in two minutes, and swears under his breath, dragging his eyes back to his screen. He adjusts his chair, angling it slightly away from the bed in a vain attempt to save himself. But you’re still in his peripheral vision, all soft curves and casual perfection, and it’s like trying to ignore the sun.

Focus. Journalism. Deadlines. Anything but her fucking legs.

“So,” he says finally, clearing his throat in a desperate bid to distract himself. His voice comes out embarrassingly hoarse. “What’s the book about?”

Without looking up, you flip a page and reply nonchalantly, “This girl who goes to a BDSM club and meets a Dom. He’s training her to be a submissive. Felix said I’d like it.”

Jisung chokes on absolutely nothing, coughing as his brain short-circuits. He rubs the back of his neck, heat creeping up the collar of his hoodie. “Cool. Cool, cool, cool. Sounds, uh, educational.”

“It is,” you say, completely fucking unfazed as you turn another page. “Right now, they’re practising shibari.”

Jisung presses his palm against his crotch on instinct, trying to will his dick into submission. The word conjures up all the wrong memories, your wrists tied to the headboard with his belt, the soft ropes he’d run down your thighs one night while you begged him to do more. The image is so vivid it feels like he’s there, the sounds of your breathy moans echoing in his head.

“Great!” he blurts out, his voice cracking like a teenager’s. “Love that for them. Very… artistic. Super… cultural.”

You hum in agreement, your tone casual, but there’s something in the faint tilt of your lips, like you know exactly what you’re doing to him. Jisung’s grip tightens on his desk, his knuckles whitening as he fights the urge to look at you again.

“You okay over there?” you ask suddenly, your voice cutting through the silence like a fucking knife. When he looks up, you’re watching him, your gaze sharp and amused, the barest hint of a smirk curling your lips.

“Me?” he squeaks. He clears his throat, forcing a weak laugh as he spins his chair to hide his crotch from view. “Totally fine. Just, uh, thinking about deadlines. Journalism stuff. You know, very serious, not at all horny things.”

“Uh-huh,” you say, clearly not buying a word of it. You shake your head slightly, returning to your book with that same faint smirk that’s driving him out of his goddamn mind.

Jisung stares at his screen, forcing his eyes to stay there, but it’s a losing battle. Every movement you make, the way your legs shift just enough to reveal more of your thighs, the way your back arches slightly when you adjust your position, it’s fucking torture. He can feel the sweat on his palms, the heat prickling at the back of his neck, and he swears if he doesn’t leave now, he’s going to lose the bet, the pot, and his fucking dignity.

“I, uh, need water,” he says abruptly, standing so quickly his chair scrapes loudly against the floor. He bolts for the door, practically slamming it behind him, leaning back against it once he’s in the hallway.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he mutters, dragging a hand down his face. His heartbeat thunders in his ears, his body still on fire from the last ten minutes of torture.

“Jisung?” Your voice drifts faintly through the door, muffled but still teasing. “You sure you’re okay?”

“Totally fine!” he calls back, voice cracking again as he presses his hands to his overheated cheeks. “Just dehydrated! Gonna go hydrate!”

Your soft laugh floats through the wood, and he groans, pushing himself off the door to head for the kitchen. He needs water. Ice-cold water. And maybe an exorcism.

“Just nineteen fucking days,” he mutters to himself as he stalks down the hall. “You’ve got this. Don’t let her win. Don’t let her fucking win.”

But even as he reaches the sink, splashing cold water onto his face, the image of you sprawled across his bed, all lace and legs, refuses to leave his mind.

Nineteen days has never felt so fucking impossible.

The Alpha Phi house is eerily quiet as you pad downstairs, the faint creak of the stairs barely audible under the soft padding of your Winnie the Pooh slippers. The chill of the hardwood seeps through even their plush cushioning, but you ignore it, tugging the hem of your midnight blue nightgown down slightly. Not that it does much, the lace clings to your body like a second skin, the thigh-high slits swaying with every step. The cold doesn’t matter; the promise of tea and a few stolen moments of peace is worth it.

When you push open the kitchen door, the faint yellow light from the stove reveals a figure already waiting there. Minho leans casually against the counter, arms crossed, his red hair sticking up like he lost a fight with his pillow and didn’t bother fixing it.

He’s wearing grey sweatpants slung low on his hips and a black hoodie, but the smirk plastered across his face gives him an aura of smug authority like he’s a villain in some low-budget spy film.

“Took you long enough,” he drawls, his voice soft but laced with amusement. “Thought you’d chickened out.”

You arch an eyebrow, stepping past him to the counter where the kettle waits. “What the fuck are you talking about? You’ve been lurking in the dark like some kind of horror movie villain.”

“Not lurking,” Minho corrects, pushing off the counter to sit on one of the stools at the island. “Strategizing. This is serious business.”

You fill the kettle with water, side-eyeing him. “Serious business? Are you starting a Ponzi scheme?”

“No,” he says, grinning. “Something better. Day eleven, Y/N. Four down, three more to go.”

You pause mid-pour, glancing over your shoulder. “Four? Already?”

“Changbin folded on day six. Hyunjin broke yesterday. Seungmin cracked this morning, and Jeongin, poor kid, lasted, like, ten seconds after that. Felix is next. I’ve been fucking with his algorithm so all he gets is porn ads. MILFs. Stepsisters. The works.” His grin widens, downright evil. “It’s only a matter of time.”

You laugh, flicking the kettle on and leaning against the counter. “You’re a menace. He’s gonna kill you.”

“Worth it,” Minho says smugly. “And Chan? He’s going down tonight.”

That catches your attention. Your eyebrows shoot up, and you cross your arms. “Chan? No fucking way. He’s supposed to be untouchable.”

Minho shrugs, looking far too pleased with himself. “What can I say? I called in a favour. His girlfriend’s helping me out. Dude’s toast.”

The kettle starts to hum, and you grab a mug, already smirking. “You’re like a goddamn Bond villain. What’s next? A cat and a monologue?”

Minho grins, resting his chin in his hand. “I’m saving the monologue for Jisung. He’s gonna break soon, thanks to you.”

You snort, grabbing a tea bag and dropping it into your mug. “He’s tougher than you think. I’ve been subtle, but he’s holding up.”

Minho’s smirk deepens. “Subtle, huh? That what you call lying in his bed reading BDSM erotica?”

Your lips twitch as you pour the boiling water into your mug. “Research,” you say, deadpan. “I’m helping him broaden his horizons.”

“Sure you are,” Minho drawls, drumming his fingers on the counter. “What’s the next phase of your master plan? Flashing him in Morse code?”

You sip your tea, the warmth soothing against the chill of the room, and pull your phone out of your pocket. “Red lace lingerie,” you say casually, scrolling to the photo of the set you ordered. You slide the phone across the counter to him.

Minho picks it up, and his eyes widen. “Holy fuck.” He slaps the counter, grinning like a maniac. “Crotchless panties? You’re a fucking genius.”

“And lollipops,” you add, sipping your tea. “The good ones, cherry and strawberry"

Minho barks out a laugh, standing abruptly and pulling you into a tight hug. “Y/N, you magnificent, evil, sexy mastermind. I love you.”

You laugh against his shoulder, half-heartedly patting his back. “Okay, calm the fuck down. You’re gonna dislocate something.”

“I can’t help it,” he says, pulling back and holding your shoulders dramatically. “You’re the best. I don’t deserve you.”

“You definitely don’t,” you agree, smirking. “But don’t celebrate yet. He’s stubborn.”

Minho’s grin sharpens, his eyes glinting with mischief. “He’s a man. And all men fall eventually.”

“You sound like a poster for villainy,” you mutter, grabbing your mug and heading for the door.

“Thank you,” Minho calls after you, following close behind. “It’s my life’s work.”

As you both step into the darkened hallway, the quiet hum of the house around you, there’s a shared gleam of determination in your eyes. Jisung’s resolve is strong, sure. But between you and Minho? That resolve is doomed.

Day fifteen of No Nut November feels like a cruel joke, and Jisung is living it. He trudges into the Alpha Phi house, his bag slung haphazardly over one shoulder, the faint drone of an investigative journalism podcast still playing in one ear.

He tugs out the earbuds as the warmth of the house envelopes him, the smell of takeout lingering faintly in the air. His stomach growls loudly, and he follows the sound of voices toward the kitchen, praying there’s something left in the fridge.

As he steps into the kitchen, he freezes.

You’re leaning against the counter, legs crossed casually, wearing one of his hoodies that swallows you whole and a pair of shorts so tiny they might as well not exist. But it’s not the shorts that make his breath catch, it’s the goddamn lollipop in your hand.

Cherry red, glossy as fuck, it glistens under the dim light of the kitchen as you bring it to your lips. Your cheeks hollow as you suck on it, and the slow pull as you let it slide free makes his brain short-circuit. The wet sound it makes when it leaves your mouth feels louder than it should, and Jisung can feel his pulse pounding in his ears.

Across from you, Minho leans against the kitchen island, gesturing wildly as he speaks. His voice is animated, the sharp contrast to your calm, deliberate movements only adding to Jisung’s torment.

“I’m telling you, Anthony’s arc in season two is what every rom-com wishes it could be,” Minho says, slicing through the air with one hand for emphasis. “The tension. The angst. The man is a fucking masterpiece of repressed emotions.”

You nod, twirling the lollipop between your fingers like it’s a goddamn performance art piece. “True, but Kate? She’s everything. The way she completely dismantles him? Perfect.”

Minho claps his hands together, pointing at you. “Exactly! She’s not just a love interest, she’s a fucking force of nature.”

“And Bridgerton’s not even my thing,” you add, rolling the lollipop over your tongue like you’re savouring every second. “But that season? Art.”

Jisung swallows hard, his throat dry as sandpaper. He forces himself to move, heading toward the fridge like it’s his only lifeline, but every movement you make draws his eyes back to you. The way your lips purse, the subtle pop as the candy leaves your mouth, the faint glint of red on your tongue. It’s a sensory fucking overload.

“Jagiya,” he says, his voice rough, barely masking the tension simmering under the surface. “What’s going on in here?”

You glance up, all wide eyes and faux innocence, like you’re not killing him one suck at a time. “Just talking Bridgerton. Minho finally convinced me to binge it with him.”

“Changed her life,” Minho adds with an exaggerated nod. “Changed mine, too, honestly. You’ve gotta watch it, man.”

Jisung barely registers the words as he yanks open the fridge, desperate for a distraction. “Uh-huh,” he mutters, rummaging aimlessly. “I’ll… check it out.”

Before he can decide between the last sad slice of pizza and some questionable-looking noodles, chaos erupts from the living room.

“Zak’s got my fucking shoe!” Jeongin’s panicked voice echoes down the hall, followed by the unmistakable sound of paws skidding on hardwood and a low, playful growl.

“Shit,” Jisung curses, slamming the fridge shut and dropping his bag. “Not again.” He turns on his heel, bolting out of the kitchen. “Zak! No! Drop it, you little shit!”

As his shouts fade into the distance, you and Minho exchange a look, your lips twitching as you try to hold back your laughter. The moment the front door slams shut, Minho breaks first, his grin splitting wide.

“This is too fucking good,” he says, holding out a hand. You slap your palm against his in a victorious high-five.

“Too easy,” you agree, popping the lollipop back into your mouth with a slow swirl. “Fifteen days in, and the guy’s fucking unravelling.”

“Crotchless panties, lollipops, and Bridgerton,” Minho muses, shaking his head in admiration. “You’re a fucking evil genius.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere,” you say, smirking as you lean back against the counter.

Minho leans closer, his voice dropping conspiratorially. “You really think he’s gonna make it another fifteen days?”

“Not a fucking chance,” you reply with a laugh. “He’s hanging on by a thread.”

From down the hall, Jisung’s voice booms. “Zak! Get back here, you little asshole! Jeongin, fucking grab him!”

You and Minho dissolve into laughter, the sound filling the kitchen as you both lean against the counter, barely able to breathe. Zak’s playful barks and Jeongin’s exasperated shouts add to the cacophony, and you shake your head, already plotting the next step in the slow, delicious dismantling of Han Jisung’s self-control.

Minho grins, lifting an imaginary glass. “To the fall of Han Jisung. May it be dramatic and horny as fuck.”

You clink your lollipop against his raised hand like it’s a toast, laughing as the chaos continues in the background.

Day eighteen, and Jisung feels like he’s at war. With himself, with his body, with you. Especially you.

He sits at his desk, staring at the screen of his laptop, the cursor blinking accusingly at him from an unfinished article. The words on the page blur together, his focus long since obliterated by weeks of tension, frustration, and sheer stubborn determination to see this thing through. His head rests in his hands, fingers tugging at his silver hair as he groans softly.

The sound of running water from the bathroom shuts off, and a few seconds later, your voice carries through the partially open door. Soft, teasing, fucking lethal. “Jisung? Can you come here for a sec?”

His stomach tightens at the sound of your voice. He lifts his head slowly, blinking blearily at the bathroom door like it might bite him. “Yeah, jagiya,” he calls back, his voice hoarse from lack of sleep and too much fantasizing. “What’s up?”

There’s a brief pause before you respond, your tone light but with that playful edge that makes his nerves fray. “Do I look okay in this?”

His chest tightens as alarm bells go off in his head. “What the fuck does she mean by this?” He swivels in his chair just as the bathroom door swings open, and his breath hitches violently in his throat.

You step into the room like a goddamn vision, leaning lazily against the doorframe, the silk of your red robe gleaming in the soft light. It’s barely tied, just loose enough to offer a maddening glimpse of what lies beneath. Red lace lingerie. The sheer fabric clings to you, teasing every curve, and it leaves almost nothing to the imagination. Almost.

But it’s not just the outfit. It’s the way you look at him, head tilted slightly, a small, knowing smile curling your lips. Like you’re perfectly aware of the chaos you’re causing. Like you’re daring him to do something about it.

“Fuck,” Jisung mutters under his breath, the word barely audible. His throat is so dry it feels like sandpaper, and his eyes flicker helplessly between your face and the barely-there lace. “Are those… Are those panties crotchless?”

You tilt your head, your smile widening, and his stomach clenches painfully. “Yep,” you say simply, popping the p like it’s a punchline.

He drags a hand down his face, groaning. “Jesus fucking Christ, jagiya.” His voice is strained, low, his usual wit nowhere to be found. “You’re fucking killing me.”

“Am I?” you reply, feigning innocence as your fingers brush the tie of the robe. You loosen it slightly, the silk parting just enough to make his dick throb painfully against the confines of his jeans. “You look a little tense.”

“Tense?” Jisung barks out a sharp laugh, but it sounds more like a gasp. “I’m fucking dying over here.”

You take a step closer, your bare feet making no sound on the floor. His chair creaks slightly as he leans back, as if putting more distance between you will save him. It doesn’t. “Remember,” you murmur, trailing a hand down the edge of your robe, “there are only twenty-nine days in November.”

He stares at you, his eyes wide, his jaw tight. “Eleven days,” he whispers, the words shaky. He nods, more to himself than to you, as if it’s a mantra. “Just eleven days left.”

“Only eleven,” you say sweetly, stepping close enough that he can smell the faint, intoxicating trace of your perfume.

You reach out, your fingers brushing his cheek lightly before you step past him like it’s nothing. He watches, completely frozen, as you walk to his bed, the silk of your robe swaying with each step, offering him maddening glimpses of lace and bare skin.

You climb onto the bed, tugging the blankets up around you like the fucking angel of temptation, and settle in with a soft sigh. Adjusting your eye mask, you mumble, “Goodnight, Ji,” like you didn’t just turn his entire world inside out.

Zak pads over from the corner, circling in his dog bed before flopping down with a contented snuffle. The room falls quiet again, save for the faint hum of the heater and the sound of your breathing, steady and soft.

Jisung doesn’t move. He stays rooted to the spot, staring at you as if you might disappear if he looks away. His chest heaves, his palms sweaty against the armrests of his chair. His jeans are too fucking tight, and his head feels like it’s filled with static.

“Twenty-nine days,” he mutters to himself, still staring at the bed. “I just have to make it eleven more days”

The words hang in the air, unchallenged, as he finally drags himself out of the chair and collapses face-first onto the bed next to you. His brain is too fried to catch the glaring error in his thoughts. November has thirty days.

It’s midnight on day twenty-one, and the Alpha Phi house is cloaked in stillness. The creaks and groans of the old floorboards echo faintly through the empty halls, a reminder of just how old and lived-in the building is. Upstairs, Jisung lies face down on his bed, the thin black eye mask he’s taken to wearing crooked over his face. His breaths are deep, steady, the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest the only movement in the room.

But even in sleep, his body is tense, his hands clutching the edge of his blanket like a lifeline. His subconscious knows, just as his waking mind does, that you are his undoing. One slip, one more calculated move on your part, and he’s fucked. Literally and figuratively.

Meanwhile, in the kitchen, the atmosphere couldn’t be more different. The quiet hum of the heater mingles with the soft clink of mugs and the occasional burst of muffled laughter. You and Minho are stationed near the counter, shoulders nearly brushing as you conspire under the faint yellow light of the stove. You’re wearing one of Jisung’s hoodies, the oversized fabric hanging off one shoulder, and a pair of fuzzy socks. Casual, innocent. Except the glint in your eye betrays you.

Minho leans against the counter, his red hair dishevelled in a way that’s more chaotic than usual, his expression half-amused, half-exasperated. He stares into his mug like it holds the answer to life’s greatest mysteries. “Why the fuck isn’t he out yet?” he mutters, his voice pitched low but tinged with frustration. “It’s day twenty-one, for fuck’s sake. I’ve seen weaker men fold over less.”

You smirk, swirling the tea in your mug before taking a slow, deliberate sip. “Because,” you say with a calmness that only fuels Minho’s disbelief, “I made him think there are only twenty-nine days in November.”

Minho’s head jerks up, his brows furrowed as the words register. He stares at you like you’ve grown another head. “Wait, what?”

You tilt your head, your grin widening. “He thinks November has twenty-nine days. He’s counting down to the thirtieth like it’s December first.”

For a beat, Minho says nothing, his lips parting slightly as the full weight of your scheming hits him. Then, he lets out a low, incredulous laugh, doubling over and clutching the edge of the counter. “You’re a fucking psychopath,” he says, shaking his head. “A diabolical, evil little bitch. I love it.”

“Diabolical, sure. Evil? Maybe.” You shrug one shoulder, looking smug as you lean back against the counter. “But effective.”

Minho slaps his palm against the counter, laughter bubbling up again. “You’re telling me this poor bastard is going to count down to the thirtieth thinking he’s free, and instead he’s gonna…” He trails off, gesturing vaguely with his mug.

“Rail me into next week,” you finish for him, deadpan, the corners of your lips twitching. “Yep.”

Minho’s laughter explodes into the stillness, and he has to cover his mouth with his hand to stifle the sound. His shoulders shake as he struggles to catch his breath. “Holy fucking shit,” he wheezes, wiping at his mouth. “You’re a monster.”

“A monster who gets results,” you counter, raising your mug in a mock toast. “Jisung’s gonna lose. We're getting our money. You're getting bragging rights. I’m getting railed. Everyone wins.”

“Except Jisung,” Minho points out, grinning wickedly.

You wave a hand dismissively. “He’ll get over it. And by get over it, I mean he’ll be too busy thanking me for the best night of his life to care.”

Minho leans back against the counter, clutching his mug like it’s the only thing keeping him upright. “You’re fucking unreal,” he says, shaking his head. “We should get married. You, me, unstoppable force. Absolute chaos.”

You arch a brow, smirking. “The world would implode.”

“Worth it,” he shoots back without missing a beat. “We’d conquer everything. Political coups? Easy. Social manipulation? Please.”

“World domination?” you offer, tilting your mug toward him.

“To chaos,” Minho declares, his grin stretching wide.

“To schemes,” you reply, your voice laced with laughter.

The sound of your quiet chuckles mingles with the distant hum of the heater. Upstairs, Jisung shifts in his sleep, as if some part of him knows the forces conspiring against him. But for now, the house settles back into quiet. Only the faint glint of mischief in both your eyes hints at the storm still to come.

Jisung’s room is dark, save for the faint orange glow of the streetlight sneaking through the blinds, casting long, uneven shadows across the walls. The heater hums softly, and the faint tick-tock of the clock on the wall keeps a steady rhythm, mocking him with every passing second.

Jisung lies flat on his back, his body rigid, tension coiled tight as a spring. The black eye mask he usually relies on is shoved up onto his forehead, forgotten in his hyper-focused state. He stares at the glowing digits of his bedside clock, willing them to change, his chest heaving as he fights to keep himself still.

11:59 PM.

He mutters under his breath, his fists clenching the blanket like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded. “Come on, come on,” he whispers, his voice rough.

His eyes flick to you. You’re lying beside him, curled on your side, your face soft and peaceful in sleep. One of his oversized T-shirts swallows your body, but the hem has ridden up just enough to reveal the curve of your thighs, and the sight makes his throat dry. He has to look away, his fingers twitching against the blanket.

12:00 AM.

Jisung’s entire body tenses. He feels it like a shift in the air like he’s been released from some invisible chain, and all he can think about is you. The past twenty-nine days flash in his mind like a slideshow: the lingerie, the teasing and the lollipops.

12:01 AM.

The dam breaks.

He moves faster than he’s thought about it, the blanket thrown off in one swift motion as he straddles you, pinning you beneath him with an almost feral energy. You let out a startled gasp, your eyes fluttering open as his hands wrap around your wrists, pressing them firmly above your head.

“Hands up,” he says, his voice rough, almost unrecognizable. His silver hair is messy, sticking up at odd angles, his chest heaving as he stares down at you. His eyes are dark, his pupils blown wide with desire, and his lips curl into a wicked smirk. “You’ve had your fun, jagiya. Now it’s my fucking turn.”

You blink up at him, your voice breathless and tinged with confusion. “Jisung? What—?”

“No talking,” he cuts you off, his voice a low rasp as he leans in, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. “It’s December. You’ve been fucking torturing me for four weeks, and I’ve waited long enough.”

Before you can say another word, his mouth finds your neck, hot and insistent, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin. He bites down, harder than usual, making you gasp as heat floods your body. His tongue flicks out to soothe the sting, but he doesn’t stop. He trails down to your collarbone, nipping and sucking until your skin blooms with colour.

“Fuck, I missed this,” he murmurs against your skin, his hands sliding down to grip your hips. His fingers dig in, holding you in place as you instinctively arch beneath him. “Do you know how many nights I lay here, staring at you, trying not to lose my fucking mind?”

“Jisung-” you start, but the words dissolve into a sharp gasp as his teeth sink into the curve of your shoulder. His lips are relentless, leaving a trail of open-mouthed kisses and marks down your chest.

“You’re not allowed to talk. Not tonight, jagiya. Tonight, you’re mine.”

His hands roam beneath your shirt, sliding over your waist, his touch searing against your skin. The tension in his movements is almost frantic, a desperate edge to the way his fingers curl into your flesh. He lifts the hem of your shirt, his eyes flickering down to take in the soft curve of your stomach, the bare expanse of skin he’s been craving.

“You drove me fucking insane,” he mutters, his lips tracing along your jaw. “The lace. The lollipops.”

“Did I?”

Jisung freezes for a split second, his eyes narrowing as he pulls back to look at you. “Oh, you little fucking brat,” he says, his grip tightening on your wrists. “You’re lucky I love you. Otherwise, you’d be begging right now.”

“Big words,” you murmur, your voice laced with amusement. “You sure you’ve got the stamina after four weeks?”

His jaw tightens, and he smirks down at you, his expression dark and dangerous. “Oh, I’ve got plenty of stamina, jagiya. I’m just deciding how long I want to make you wait.”

His words send a thrill down your spine, but you manage to keep your composure, tilting your head to meet his gaze. “You better make it worth the wait, then.”

Jisung’s response is a low, guttural growl as he leans down, his lips capturing yours in a kiss so demanding it steals the air from your lungs. His hands release your wrists to tangle in your hair, pulling you closer, deeper, until the world around you fades into nothing.

Across the room, Zak lets out a soft snore, blissfully unaware of the chaos unfolding just feet away.

And as Jisung pulls back to nip at your bottom lip, his voice rough with satisfaction, he mutters, “Twenty-nine days without sex. Never fucking again.”

You bite back a grin, your heart racing as he presses his forehead against yours, fumbling with the waistband of his sweats. He still doesn’t realize.

There’s one more day left.

The clock strikes three, the Alpha Phi house cloaked in a heavy silence, broken only by the faint hum of the refrigerator and the occasional creak of the old wooden beams. The world outside is pitch-black, the kind of stillness that feels like a held breath.

Upstairs, in the aftermath of chaos, Jisung is dead to the world, sprawled across the bed like a man utterly wrecked. His silver hair sticks to his forehead, his skin glistening faintly in the dim light from the bedside lamp. The sheets are tangled around his legs, his chest rising and falling in a rhythm so steady it almost feels mocking.

You, however, are not wrecked. Not completely, anyway. No, you’re moving, albeit gingerly, your limbs protesting with every step.

The oversized T-shirt you’ve thrown on hangs loosely over your frame, brushing against the constellation of hickies blooming across your neck and collarbones. His boxers sit low on your hips, the waistband twisted from how carelessly you pulled them on. You wince as you descend the stairs, your thighs trembling just enough to remind you of what the past three hours have cost you.

The kitchen light is already on when you step inside, a soft, golden glow casting long shadows across the room. Minho is leaning against the counter, a mug in hand, his red hair an absolute disaster. He looks up when you enter, his expression shifting instantly into a wicked grin.

“You’re alive,” he greets, his voice low and gleeful. “Barely, but alive.”

“Fuck off,” you mutter, collapsing into a chair at the island. You let out a low groan, adjusting yourself with exaggerated care. The movement pulls another sharp wince from you, and Minho’s grin only widens.

“Oh, my God,” he says, his voice laced with mock horror as he gestures toward you with his mug. “You’re walking like a goddamn baby deer. Did he break you?”

You flip him off without looking, grabbing the steaming mug he slides toward you. “If I didn’t need this tea so badly, I’d throw it in your fucking face.”

Minho laughs, the sound sharp and unapologetic as he leans forward, inspecting you like a scientist examining a particularly amusing specimen. “You got absolutely mauled, didn’t you?” He gestures vaguely to your neck, his smirk bordering on obscene. “Holy shit. He really went for it.”

You sip your tea, the warmth soothing your raw throat as you scowl. “He thinks it’s December first. He acted like he just got out of a fucking chastity belt.”

“Well,” Minho says, straightening up with a shrug. “Technically, he did. Self-imposed, but still.” He pauses, tilting his head as his eyes scan the array of purpling marks dotting your skin. “You look like you got in a fight with a vampire and lost.”

You sigh dramatically, rolling your head back to stare at the ceiling. “He was…enthusiastic.”

Minho’s eyebrows shoot up. “Enthusiastic? You’re walking funny, for Christ’s sake. What’d he do? Hit you with a jackhammer?”

You snort into your tea, shaking your head. “Three hours. Three. Hours. I should’ve negotiated hazard pay.”

Minho lets out a bark of laughter, clapping his hand over his mouth to keep it down. His eyes sparkle with unrestrained delight as he leans across the counter. “And you let him go the whole time, knowing there’s still one more day left. You’re a fucking menace.”

You shrug, smirking into your mug. “It’s not like I didn’t enjoy myself.”

Minho groans, slumping against the counter like he’s personally offended. “You’re the worst person I know, and I love you for it.”

“You’re just jealous you didn’t think of it,” you shoot back, sticking your tongue out.

“True,” Minho admits, his grin sharp as ever. He raises his mug in a mock toast. “To chaos. And to you, the evil genius who turned No Nut November into a fucking art form.”

“To my poor vagina,” you mutter, clinking your mug against his.

“To your poor vagina,” he echoes solemnly, before breaking into laughter again. “But hey, at least we’re both four hundred dollars richer.”

“And he’s clueless,” you add, sipping your tea with a smirk. “He’s upstairs, probably dreaming about how he ‘won’ the month. Meanwhile, I’ve got a twenty-four-hour ticking time bomb.”

Minho shakes his head, his grin softening into something almost admiring. “You’re a fucking trooper. A lunatic, but a trooper.”

You groan as you adjust in your chair again, the ache in your thighs flaring up. “If I never move again, it’ll be too soon.”

“Hey, if he comes looking for round two, just scream for help,” Minho says, his tone half-serious. “I’ll grab a fire extinguisher.”

You laugh despite yourself, shaking your head. “If he comes looking for round two, I’m throwing you at him. You can fend him off.”

“Deal,” Minho says. “But only after I tell him he lost.”

The two of you share a conspiratorial grin, the quiet kitchen filled with the warmth of shared victory. Upstairs, Jisung snores softly, blissfully unaware of the truth lurking in the shadows. Down here, you and Minho toast to his downfall, savoring every second of the calm before the final storm.

Morning light spills through the Alpha Phi kitchen window, painting everything in soft, golden hues. The house is quiet, save for the faint ticking of the wall clock and the muffled hum of the refrigerator.

Jisung shuffles in, his T-shirt rumpled from sleep, his silver hair sticking out at odd angles like he’s been wrestling his pillow all night. Zak trots at his heels, his tail wagging lazily as he sniffs around before padding to the back door.

Jisung yawns loudly, scratching the back of his head as he unlatches the door and lets Zak out into the garden. “Go on, buddy,” he mutters, his voice heavy with sleep. “Do your thing.”

The puppy bounds into the yard, and Jisung shuts the door with a soft click, turning toward the coffee machine like it’s his lifeline. He grabs a mug from the cabinet, barely registering Minho leaning against the counter, his red hair dishevelled and his grin obnoxiously wide.

“Morning, champ,” Minho greets, his tone thick with smug amusement.

Jisung blinks at him, his expression blank as his sleep-fogged brain processes the sound. “Morning,” he mumbles back, spooning coffee grounds into the machine. He leans heavily against the counter, waiting for the drip to start, his eyes half-lidded as he stares at nothing in particular.

Minho sips from his mug, watching him with a glint of pure mischief in his eyes. “Rough night?” he asks innocently, swirling the tea in his cup like he’s plotting something.

Jisung snorts, a faint flush creeping up his neck. “You could say that. She’s still out cold.”

Minho lets out a low whistle, setting his mug down with exaggerated care. “Oh, I bet she is,” he says, his voice practically dripping with innuendo. “You two were loud as fuck last night. Thought the walls were gonna cave in.”

Jisung’s face reddens further, and he glares weakly at Minho. “Could you not? It’s too early for your bullshit.”

Minho grins wider, pulling out his phone. “Oh, don’t worry. This is gonna wake you up real quick.” He taps the screen a few times before holding it up, his smirk downright wicked. “Check it out.”

Jisung squints at the screen, his brow furrowing. The bold numbers on the display are unmistakable. 30th of November. He stares, his mind moving sluggishly as he tries to make sense of it.

“Wait,” he says, his voice slow, thick with confusion. “That can’t be right. There’s… twenty-nine days in November, right? Leap year or something?”

Minho freezes, his grin widening into something feral before he bursts out laughing. The sound is sharp and sudden, echoing through the quiet kitchen as he doubles over, clutching his stomach. “Oh my fucking god,” he wheezes, sliding halfway down the counter. “You’re serious? Holy shit- When she said- I thought-”

Jisung frowns, his confusion giving way to irritation. “Why the fuck are you laughing?” he demands, his voice tinged with suspicion. “What’s so funny?”

Minho wipes tears from his eyes, taking a steadying breath before straightening up. He sets his phone down, shaking his head in disbelief. “You, dumbass,” he says, his voice still shaking with laughter. “You got played so fucking hard.”

Jisung crosses his arms, his frown deepening. “Played?” His voice rises with incredulity. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

Minho leans closer, his grin pure chaos. “Your girlfriend,” he says, drawing out the words like he’s savouring them. “She fucking got you. All those little outfits, all the teasing, all the bullshit about November having twenty-nine days? That was all her plan.”

Jisung stares at him, his jaw slack as the pieces slowly fall into place. “No way,” he mutters, shaking his head. “She wouldn’t-”

“Oh, she would,” Minho interrupts gleefully. “And she did. And the best part? It wasn’t even my idea, all I wanted was for her to make you lose. She came up with the whole thing herself. I just sat back and watched her turn you into a horny fucking wreck.”

Jisung’s jaw tightens, his face cycling through disbelief, frustration, and begrudging admiration. “So you’re telling me,” he says slowly, “that all those nights you two spent drinking tea in the kitchen were-”

“Exactly what you thought they were,” Minho says smugly. “Strategizing. She played you like a fucking fiddle.”

Jisung groans, dragging a hand down his face. “You two are the absolute worst.”

“Don’t lie,” Minho counters, smirking as he picks up his mug again. “You love it. Besides, you’re not even mad, are you? Not after last night.”

Jisung glares at him, though his ears burn red. “I should be pissed.”

“But you’re not,” Minho says, leaning back against the counter with a satisfied sigh. “Because you had a fucking night. Admit it—she wrecked you just as much as you wrecked her.”

Jisung shakes his head, a reluctant laugh escaping him. “I can’t believe she did all that for you.”

“For us,” Minho corrects, his grin softening slightly. “She got what she wanted, I got what I wanted, and you got the ride of your fucking life. Everyone’s happy.”

Jisung pours his coffee, stirring in sugar and cream, and takes a long sip before sighing. “You’re right. I’m not mad. I’m impressed.” He glances at Minho, his eyes narrowing. “But you’re still a smug little shit.”

Minho raises his mug in a toast, his grin sharper than ever. “To evil geniuses. And to Y/N, the queen of playing the long game.”

Jisung shakes his head, chuckling as he clinks his mug against Minho’s.

The Alpha Phi house is buzzing with noise and energy, the lazy chaos of a Saturday afternoon after a night of absolute madness. The living room is packed with bodies, sprawled across couches, beanbags, and the carpet, half-eaten takeout containers scattered across the coffee table alongside cans of beer and soda. Someone’s playlist hums softly in the background, but the real noise comes from the laughter and shit-talking ricocheting around the room.

Jisung sits slumped in a beanbag chair, arms crossed, his silver hair still sticking out at wild angles from sleep. He’s been subjected to nonstop teasing for the past few hours, and his pout grows deeper with every passing second. Zak is curled up at his feet, snoozing contentedly, oblivious to the chaos Jisung is enduring.

The sound of shuffling steps draws everyone’s attention to the staircase. You appear, dressed in one of Jisung’s oversized shirts that barely grazes your thighs, a pair of his boxers peeking out underneath. Your eye mask sits pushed up into your messy hair, and your trusty Winnie the Pooh slippers complete the look. Hickies bloom across your neck and collarbones, vivid and unapologetic, like badges of honour.

As soon as you step into the living room, the house explodes.

Whistles, applause, and cheers erupt from every corner of the room. Changbin pounds his fists against the couch arm like he’s at a sports game, while Felix claps loudly, grinning like he just saw the winning goal. Minho practically howls, throwing his head back with laughter, and Jeongin is doubled over, clutching his stomach.

“There she is!” Minho shouts, his grin devilish as he gestures toward you. “The queen of fucking chaos! The woman who broke Han Jisung and made him think there were twenty-nine days in November!”

Jisung groans loudly, burying his face in his hands. “You’re all the fucking worst,” he mutters, his voice muffled.

You yawn, rubbing at your eyes as you shuffle into the centre of the room. “Thank you, thank you,” you say. “I’d like to thank Jisung for not knowing how to use Google.”

Seungmin points at you, snickering. “Genius wasted on him,” he says, shaking his head. “Poor girl.”

“Hey!” Jisung protests, sitting up straighter in his beanbag chair. “You’re all supposed to be on my side.”

“No one’s on your side, dumbass,” Chan says. “You fucked up.”

You laugh softly, shuffling toward the kitchen, only for Chan to intercept you with a steaming mug of coffee. He hands it to you with a wink. “For our resident mastermind.”

“Bless you,” you murmur, taking the mug and sinking into the couch with a sigh. The warmth of the coffee soothes your raw throat, and you lean back into the cushions, your body finally beginning to relax.

Felix sprawls on the floor, his head propped up on a throw pillow. “Honestly? Totally worth it,” he says, grinning. “The three hours of sex noises were a lot, but watching Jisung implode this morning made up for it.”

Jisung points an accusing finger at him, his cheeks red. “You lost to porn ads! You don’t get to talk!”

Felix raises a brow, unbothered. “At least I know how many days are in November, dumbass.”

Minho cackles, leaning forward to slap his knee. “Felix, I’m the one who fucked with your algorithm. Those ‘hot MILFs in your area’ ads? All me.”

Felix’s jaw drops. “You’re a fucking menace.”

“You’re welcome,” Minho replies smugly. He turns his attention to Chan, smirking. “And you? Don’t act all superior. Your girlfriend took you out.”

Chan shrugs, completely unbothered. “She was wearing black lace. I'm just a man”

Minho dissolves into laughter, pulling a wad of cash from his pocket. He counts out four crisp hundred-dollar bills and tosses them into your lap. “Your cut, mastermind.”

You grin, holding up the money like a trophy. “I’d like to thank Jisung’s inability to resist crotchless panties for this award and his inability to read a calendar,” you announce, earning another round of cheers and whistles.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Jisung mutters, sinking deeper into his beanbag chair. “You’re all fucking traitors.”

Changbin leans forward, squinting at the marks on your neck. “What the fuck did you do to her, man? She looks like she got in a fight with a vacuum cleaner.”

Jeongin reaches over, poking a particularly dark hickey on your collarbone. “Does it hurt?”

You swat his hand away, laughing. “Not as much as my legs.”

Jisung smirks, leaning back with a hint of smugness returning to his face. “What can I say? I’m thorough.”

Felix groans dramatically, snatching a cold compress from the coffee table and pressing it to your neck. “Jisung, she looks like she got mauled by a fucking tiger.”

“Nah,” Minho says, his grin sharp. “Just a man who thought he’d escaped No Nut November.”

Jisung glares at him but can’t stop the faint smile tugging at his lips. “I hate you all,” he says, though his tone is lighter than it should be.

“And we love you,” Minho shoots back, raising his mug in a toast. “To Han Jisung’s sheer, unbridled stupidity.”

You clink your mug against his, laughing as the room erupts once more into cheers.

Jisung remains slouched in the beanbag chair, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. His silver hair is still a mess, and his pout deepens with every new “evil genius” compliment directed at you. The teasing isn’t letting up, and Minho, grinning like he’s won the lottery, is the ringleader.

“I’m telling you,” Hyunjin says. “If Y/N ever decides to quit her major, she should go into professional scheming. She’s fucking wasted on Jisung.”

“Hey!” Jisung sits up in his beanbag, pointing an accusing finger at Hyunjin. His pout deepens, and his glare is somewhere between half-hearted and genuinely offended. “You’re supposed to be my friends, you assholes!”

Jeongin, sprawled out on the floor with a throw pillow under his head, snickers loudly, stretching his legs out. “We are your friends. That’s why we’re making fun of you.”

“You walked into this, man,” Felix says, his tone almost pitying. “You let your girlfriend outsmart you for four weeks straight. How the fuck are we not supposed to make fun of you?”

“Because I didn’t let her outsmart me!” Jisung fires back, his voice climbing an octave in his frustration. “I didn’t know—” He cuts himself off, realizing mid-sentence how dumb he sounds, and slumps back into the beanbag with a loud groan. “Oh, fuck you guys.”

Hyunjin snickers, flicking a stray lock of hair out of his face. “It’s okay, Ji,” he says mockingly, his tone dripping with faux sympathy. “We’re just impressed that Y/N did it so flawlessly. She’s like the fucking Ocean’s Eleven of frat house fuckery. She's wasted on you"

“She’s wasted on me?” Jisung retorts, sitting up straighter again. “You’re just jealous you don’t have a girlfriend to even try something like that with.”

“Oh, burn,” Felix mutters, grinning as Hyunjin raises an eyebrow, his smirk sharpening.

“Not jealous,” Hyunjin counters smoothly, his tone calm and cutting. “I’m just saying, if Y/N ever wants to stage a hostile takeover of, like, the world? I’d be her first investor.”

Chan nods, barely hiding his grin. “Honestly, Ji? I think we’re all a little scared of her now.”

“You should be,” Minho chimes in, lounging on the opposite couch with his legs stretched out. He tilts his head toward you, his smirk full of pride. “She’s terrifying. And brilliant. A dangerous combo.”

You take a slow sip of your coffee, glancing around the room with a small, satisfied smile. “Flattery will get you everywhere.”

Jisung groans loudly, burying his face in his hands. “Oh, my fucking god, stop inflating her ego!”

“Too late,” Jeongin says, laughing as he sits up. “It’s already huge. And honestly? Deserved.”

“Fucking traitors,” Jisung mutters, crossing his arms tightly over his chest like a sulking child. His silver hair sticks up in chaotic tufts, and his pout deepens as the laughter around him refuses to die down. Zak nudges Jisung’s leg with a cold, wet nose, his tail wagging furiously.

Jisung glances down, his expression softening slightly. “What? You need to go out?” he asks, his tone still tinged with exasperation.

Zak doesn’t bark, but his answer comes in the form of a wide, excited circle, his little body vibrating with uncontainable energy. Unfortunately, that energy is paired with something far less charming. As Zak zips around the room, a trail of golden piss sprays in his wake.

“Zak!” Jisung yells, sitting bolt upright as the puppy makes another lap, oblivious to the chaos he’s leaving behind. “No! No, no, no, stop!”

The room erupts into absolute pandemonium. Seungmin doubles over, clutching his stomach as tears stream down his face. Hyunjin falls off the arm of the couch. Felix has to grip the side of the couch for support as he gasps for air, his face red from laughing so hard.

“Oh my fucking god,” Seungmin chokes out, his voice high-pitched and wheezing. “Look at him go!”

“It’s like Fast and Furious: Puppy Piss Drift,” Changbin howls, barely managing to get the words out before another fit of laughter overtakes him.

You bury your face in your hands, your body shaking with uncontrollable laughter. Tears prick at the corners of your eyes as you try to catch your breath. “Jisung,” you manage between gasps, “this is your problem.”

Jisung groans, his head falling back in defeat. “This is your dog!” he exclaims, pointing an accusing finger at you. “You clean this shit up!”

Felix, still leaning against the couch arm, grins like the Cheshire Cat. “The poor girl can barely walk because you railed her for three hours last night, Jisung. You break the vagina? You clean the dog piss.”

“Facts,” Minho chimes in, his grin wicked as he sprawls across the opposite couch. “Do your fucking job, loser. Clean it up, piss boy.”

Jisung glares at Minho, muttering curses under his breath as he drags himself out of the beanbag chair. “You’re all assholes,” he grumbles, stomping toward the kitchen. He yanks a roll of paper towels and a bottle of antibacterial spray from the counter before stomping back into the living room, his expression pure misery.

Meanwhile, Chan scoops Zak up, cradling the wriggling puppy against his chest. “Come on, little guy,” he says soothingly, heading toward the back door. “Let’s go outside where peeing doesn’t make everyone hate you.”

Zak licks Chan’s chin in response, his tail wagging like he’s just won a prize.

Jisung crouches down, surveying the damage with a look of sheer horror. “Oh my god,” he says, his voice high-pitched with disbelief. “It’s everywhere. It’s in the fucking floorboards!”

This sets everyone off again. Minho nearly slides off his seat entirely, clutching at the armrest as he howls with laughter. “Scrub faster, piss boy!” he shouts, pointing at Jisung like a ringleader at a circus.

“Don’t forget the corners!” Jeongin adds, his grin so wide it looks painful. “You missed a spot near the couch.”

Hyunjin wipes tears from his eyes, his face flushed as he sits up from where he collapsed on the floor. “Just use the mop on your head,” he says, smirking. “That shit you call hair has to be good for something.”

Jisung pauses mid-scrub to glare at Hyunjin, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment and fury. “I hate all of you,” he mutters darkly, though the corners of his mouth twitch upward despite himself.

“You’re not even scrubbing hard enough,” Felix teases, leaning forward with a grin. “Put some fucking elbow grease into it. Come on, show us that stamina from last night.”

“Fuck you, Felix,” Jisung snaps, though his voice cracks slightly as laughter bubbles up unbidden. He shakes his head, muttering as he sprays more cleaner onto the floor. “You’re all dead to me. Every last one of you.”

“Aw, poor Jisung,” Chan says as he walks back into the room, Zak now happily sniffing a chew toy. “Don’t worry, we’ll give you a proper memorial after you die of shame.”

“You guys are lucky I’m still in this frat,” Jisung grumbles. “Otherwise, I’d burn this whole place down.”

Minho cackles, throwing an arm over Jeongin’s shoulder as he leans back. “You’d probably set yourself on fire in the process, piss boy.”

“You’re all dead to me,” Jisung mutters, spraying the floor with enough antibacterial cleaner to kill any and all germs within a ten-mile radius. He furiously scrubs at the puddle Zak left behind with a handful of paper towels, his movements sharp and exaggerated. “This is the worst fucking day of my life. My girlfriend, my girlfriend, deceived me, made me believe there were twenty-nine days in November, I lost No Nut November to Minho of all people, and now I’m on my hands and knees cleaning up my girlfriend’s dog’s piss. On my hands and knees, scrubbing up puppy piss. What the actual fuck.”

The room erupts into fresh laughter, Minho practically rolling off the couch as he gasps for air. Hyunjin leans back against the armrest, clutching his stomach as tears stream down his face. Jisung groans dramatically, spraying more cleaner onto the floor.

“Fuck all of you. I don’t deserve this. I should be in bed. But no, here I am, cleaning up Zak’s liquid fucking shame while you assholes laugh at my misery.”

Despite the grumbling, his eyes keep drifting toward you. You’re curled up on the couch, your legs tucked beneath you, wearing his oversized T-shirt like it’s made just for you. Your head is thrown back in laughter, your cheeks flushed, and your eyes crinkle at the corners every time Minho cracks another joke. The sound of your laugh fills the room, soft but bright, and something warm curls in Jisung’s chest, cutting through his annoyance.

He catches himself smiling, and it pisses him off even more, but not enough to stop. Each time he glances at you, his lips twitch upward, betraying the fondness he’s trying to keep under wraps. By the time he’s scrubbing at the last of the mess, his grumbles have turned into soft chuckles, and his scowl has softened into something undeniably warm.

“Jagiya,” he calls out, his voice carrying a teasing edge now, his earlier frustration melting away. “You’re lucky I fucking love you.”

You glance over, your smile widening as your eyes meet his. Mischief sparkles in your gaze, and you tilt your head. “Oh, I know,” you reply smoothly, your tone as smug as it is sweet.

Jisung shakes his head, chuckling under his breath as he scrubs at the final streak. “Fucking worth it,” he mutters to himself, his grin lingering as he watches you laugh again. You’re glowing, surrounded by the teasing chaos, and the sight makes his chest ache in the best way.

“I say we just blame Jisung,” Seungmin pipes up from the armchair, his face blank but his voice dripping with sarcasm. “If the house ends up smelling like piss forever, we just say Jisung lost his shit. Like, literally. Pissed everywhere in a fit of frustration.”

Hyunjin bursts out laughing, slapping the couch cushion beside him. “Yeah, like Jisung got so sexually frustrated during No Nut November that he just snapped. Whipped out his dick and started pissing on the floor.”

The room descends into chaos again, the laughter deafening as Minho gasps, “Marking his territory! Alpha Phi’s new mascot, Piss Boy!”

Felix doubles over, choking on his laughter. “Someone get him a leash! He and Zak can take turns on the fire hydrant.”

Jisung glares at them, his ears burning red. “You’re all fucking insane,” he says, throwing a crumpled paper towel at Felix, who barely dodges it.

“No, no, they’re right,” Changbin says, his grin wicked. “We just tell people Jisung got overwhelmed by the smell of sex in the house and decided to add his own.”

“Marking his territory,” Hyunjin repeats, wheezing. “God, I can’t breathe.”

Jisung huffs, sitting back on his heels and tossing the last paper towel into the trash bag. “You guys are seriously deranged.”

Minho smirks, crossing his arms. “Says the guy who just spent twenty minutes on his hands and knees cleaning piss. You’re our leader now, Piss Boy.”

The laughter continues, but Jisung’s attention drifts back to you. You’re doubled over, laughing so hard you can’t even form words, tears shining in your eyes. Despite the relentless teasing and the sheer absurdity of the situation, Jisung feels that same warmth bloom in his chest.

He sighs, pushing himself to his feet and tossing the cleaner back onto the counter and to wash his hands in the kitchen. “You’re all still assholes,” he mutters, walking over to plop down on the couch next to you. His arm loops lazily around your shoulders, pulling you close.

You lean into him, still giggling as you look up at him. “But you love us.”

He smirks, pressing a quick kiss to your temple. “Some more than others.”

This was supposed to come out at the end of November but got delayed so here it is now <3

General Taglist: @nightmarenyxx

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