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aeyumicore · 1 month

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misty invasion - hidden motive

━ .ᐟ✧ PAIRING: zayne x female reader (afab)

━ ✧.˖ GENRE: smut, porn with some/little plot, porn with feelings

━ .ᐟ✧ WORD COUNT: 3.6k

━ ✧.˖ WARNINGS: mdni, explicit sexual content, slight spoilers to ‘hidden motive’ (zayne’s misty invasion card), knee humping, titty sucking, titty sucking through clothes, titty nibbling (zayne is a boobie fiend), slight predator and prey, switch!zayne (he’s dom but kinda needy and vulnerable), use of Y/N, sub!reader, unprotected sex, cumming in panties, reader on top

━ .ᐟ✧ LINKS: video | ao3 | sylus's version | raf's version | xav's version

━ ✧.˖ A/N: haiiii guyssss i decided to upload the boys’ misty invasion fics one at a time! first up is baby zayne <3 his card inspired me so much, it was so intimate and passionate.

next up will probably be sylus, hopefully will post in maybe 3ish days! I haven’t watched raf’s or xav’s but i have ideas for them. I’m excited to write, i’m praying i don’t burn out…hope you guys enjoy :) love ya’ll! also i am more active on twitter if you guys would like to follow me there, my link is in my masterpost!

THIS IS MY ONLY ACCOUNT. I WILL NEVER POST MY FICS ON OTHER TUMBLR BLOGS. I WILL ONLY POST ON THIS ACCOUNT AND ON AO3.

✦ . ˖ ✧ .ᐟ ˖ nsfw | minors dni | 18+ only | minors dni | nsfw ✦ . ˖ ✧ .ᐟ ˖

Spontaneity was not something Zayne preferred to indulge in.

He had enough of it in his hectic surgery schedule, so in his personal life he tried to keep things as predictable as possible.

Yet he was graced with an absolute menace of a girlfriend, who, from the second she walked into his life, created chaos in her wake. Always running off on faraway Hunter missions, telling him only after she’d already left. Coming back injured, with a frustratingly adorable and sheepish smile, trying, and failing, to convince him she was fine.

God, you drove him utterly insane.

Which is why now, the normally composed, self-assured, and controlled, chief cardiac surgeon was unraveling at the seams beneath your seemingly innocent touch.

“Why does it smell sweeter than usual?” Zayne’s voice is raspy and breathless from the torrid and heated kiss the two of you had just been locked in. The razor blade and shaving cream had long since been discarded and forgotten.

Before you can respond, he’s pulling your wrist towards his reddened face, making you fall on top of him from your seat on his lap. You’re left straddling his one knee as you fall forward. Your wrist grips the leather recliner cushion by his head to catch you as he cups your lower back, just above your rear, pressing your body deeper into his.

He nuzzles his face into your wrist that's planted beside his head, absolutely enraptured by the scent of your lotion. The scent of you.

Taking another deef lung full of your pheromones mixed with your fruity lotion, his intense hazel eyes desperately seek yours, like he’s conveying his desires with the golden green orbs. You open your mouth to question his unusual behavior, but Zayne’s one step ahead of you. His knee raises to push your backside towards him, making you lose your grip completely and collapse completely atop him.

The recliner chair swings wildly at your combined movements, and you find yourself struggling to steady yourself. In your brief moment of helplessness, Zayne hoists you towards him, burying his face into your chest. His lips find your collarbone instantly, his knee nestled between your thighs to help balance you.

You gasp at his tongue lapping languidly at your fragrant skin, your fingers grasping his shoulders as he sucks at your sensitive collar, no doubt leaving a bruise. His lips dance dangerously close to where your silk camisole hangs off the swell of your breasts.

“Are you taking a break from work?” you ask between your raspy pants. Zayne continues to indulge in your skin, moving lower until his face meets your hardened nipples, separated only by a thin layer of silk. His tongue softly brushes against the soft material of your top, stroking at the swollen peaks through the smooth fabric. His knee grinds into your thighs, craving the warmth and dampness of his most favorite place.

He has to physically pry himself away from your chest, a dusting of deep peach painting his flustered face.

“Do I look like I can work right now?” His question is simple, but the aggressive demand that hides underneath them is urgent, nearly feral. You don’t get a chance to get another word out before he’s sinking back into the warmth of your chest.

This time, his lips close over your entire nipple through the soft silk of your sleeping cami, making you cry out in surprise. Your fingers grip his hair as he absolutely devours you through your top, the silk dampening with his saliva. His teeth come down to graze your sensitive peaks and you have to push him back before you lose yourself to the pleasure.

“...You don’t have to be so intense,” you urge him, despite the clear and inarguable fact that you want more. Clear from the way the panties you’d slept in start to dampen against his bare knee that peeks out from his robe.

Zayne looks unamused, almost sulky, as he mutters, “No working, and not allowed to do anything else…” He looks up at you, mischief briefly flashing across his eyes

He sits up, wrapping his strong arm around your shoulder and bringing you to him in an intimate embrace. You flail forward at his sudden movements, the rocking of the recliner chair making it impossible to find any balance. He takes the opportunity to drive his knee deeper into your core, making you moan lewdly. His chin rests on your bare shoulder, words hot and breathy against your pulsing neck, “Well then…my love, what exactly do you allow me to do?”

His actions make it difficult for you to speak, brain focussing solely on the pleasure he’s both giving you and keeping from you. At your wordless moans of excitement, Zayne continues.

“Will you allow me to do this?” he rocks his knee deeper into you, effectively humping you against his leg. Your nails dig into his muscled back at the unexpected ecstasy, his knee rubbing against your clit in the most sinfully perfect ways.

Zayne hisses at the feeling of the sting of your nails, only making him more desperate to take you right there on his living room chair, “I’ll take that as a yes.”

With his lips at your neck, he slowly and torturously pulls the flimsy straps of your loose top down, until your breasts are pressing against his exposed chest underneath his luxurious bathrobe.

His hands descend to hold your waist firmly, gently pulling you away from his chest so his hungry mouth can find your soft breasts again.

You throw your head backwards when his warm and wet mouth captures your bare skin into its embrace. Zayne is absolutely relentless, bouncing you filthily on his thigh as he absolutely devours your breasts. His teeth and tongue work in tandem to suckle pretty little bruises into the swell of your chest, and around your pert nipples.

Zayne looks up at you from underneath his eyelashes, heated irises drinking in your quivering form atop him. His erection pushes against the feeble restraints of his tied robe, creating a tent in his lap that twitches with anticipation. It brushes against your stomach as he grinds his knee into you, giving him just enough friction to need to bite into your breast to hold back his desperate moans.

You cling to him, trusting him to take all control of your body and of your pleasure. Your nails continue to draw angry red welts into his back, as you feel the familiar coiling of ecstasy in your gut.

You tap desperately on his shoulders, not wanting to make a mess in your panties that are already sticking to your wet folds.

“Z-Zayne, wait I —”

He brings his thumb to your lips, pressing softly against your parted lips, all the while his own lips never leave your aching tits. Against them, he mumbles, “Don’t deny me. Please.”

You’re briefly snapped out of the mind numbing pleasure of your quickly approaching orgasm at the sound of his plea, bordering on a feral demand. It’s so rare to hear him so unraveled and desperate, to hear him demanding things from you. A man who never asked anything of anyone, especially not of you, the one person he treasured more than life itself. It’s so rare and raw that you can’t help but want to give him everything he wants.

You bury your face into the top of his head, his addicting scent invading your senses, and you kiss him gently, “Never, I would never deny you.”

Zayne inhales sharply, groaning at your sweet words, ”Good girl.” He pulls you down fully on top of him again, the leather chair reclining until it’s nearly flat. Your ass is arched into the air, your face pressed into his chest, as his knee pushes into you with renewed vigor.

His lips find themselves sucking urgently at your nipples again, his knee moving faster, wanting to see his beautiful girl come undone all over his thighs. His tongue lathers tortuous circles around your hardened and swollen peaks, soothing the areas in which his teeth bite down softly.

“Let me see you, love. Please. I haven’t gotten to feel you since you ran off into danger without telling me, again.”

Your heart clenched as you realized that was where all this desperation and vulnerability was coming from. You want to apologize, but his unforgiving knee against your weeping cunt made it nearly impossible to get the syllables out.

“I-I’m – nnghh – m’sorry.”

His hand roughly grabs your chin, turning you to level with his smoldering hazel eyes. His voice is gruff and inquisitive, eyebrows raised in doubt, “Are you, sweetheart?”

You whine at his words, his actions only becoming more relentless, as if forcing the responses he wants out of you, “I am!”

The corner of his lips curl up, so faint you can barely see it. An arrogance Zayne so rarely lets show.

“Then show me. Show me how sorry you are.” With each demand, his leg drives harshly into your clit. You nod vigorously, eager to please him.

His darkened green eyes cling to yours, his voice deceptively calm and soothing, “Say it, love.”

You want to respond but the way he’s punctuating his every word with a hard intentional thrust of his knee into your aching cunt makes it impossible to do anything but moan lewdly into his ear, your head hanging down with your hair falling over your eyes.

He pinches your abused nipple, guiding your eyes back to his demanding hazel ones, the golden flecks glowing brightly as they savor the sight of you.

“I-I’m – unghh – s-sorry. Should’ve told you. I’ll be good, just-just let me cum f’you!” You bury your face into his neck, embarrassed by the words coming out of your mouth but unable to stop them all the same.

“Let me see you,” he grunts. When you lift your head, bleary eyes fixing on his, he smiles. It's faint but effervescently warm.

“That’s my girl. Now tell me, hm? How is my beautiful girl going to make it up to me?”

Your eyes fill with tears, overwhelmed by the pleasure his knee brings you, and the raw feelings that are masked behind his lewd words. His facade of filthy demands that hide the suffocating emotions, the same emotions he’d felt when he saw your name on the list of hunters dispatched to the wanderer quarantine zone. Emotions that he was now taking out on your ever-so responsive body.

“Anything you want Zayne, anything,” you gasp, your eyes locked into his as he continues to hump his knee into you,

His breath catches audibly at your words, pulling your chin towards him to capture your lips in a raw and passionate kiss, one that felt like it might stop time and space as you knew it.

At his intensely possessive lips, his throaty demands, his insistent knee wedged into your cunt, it isn’t long before you come undone all over his knee. You cum with a strangled cry, your fingers digging crescents into his muscled shoulders. Your eyes squeeze shut at the feeling of the filthy dampness against the fabric of your panties. Zayne groans at the angelic sight of your face contorted into pure pleasure, his erection painfully hard against his silken robe, pressed into your quivering belly. The heavenly vision of you cumming was almost enough to have him erupting right against your stomach.

“That’s it my love, just like that,” Zayne coos as you cum over his knee, still rocking gently into you as he helps you ride out the waves of your ecstasy. His slender fingers rub soothing circles into the small of your back, cooling your burning skin.

“So good, so good for me,” he murmurs into your hair, your head resting on his shoulders as the post-orgasm tremors come and go. His lips press into your scalp, the moment feeling absolutely and idyllically perfect.

You’re so blissed out you almost don’t feel him shifting beneath you, slender fingers pulling your soaked panties to the side. It isn’t until you feel the all-too familiar feeling of his fat leaking cockhead nestled between your folds, right at the entrance to your most sensitive parts, that your bleary eyes open.

You watch him, cock in his fist, swiping up and down your drenched lips, head hung down in pleasure as he watches the way your pussy quite literally invites him in. A thin layer of sweat glistens on his furrowed forehead, his restraint hanging on by a thread as he tries to calm himself before he burrows into you like an absolute animal.

You grab him by his chin, guiding him to look up at you. You take his throbbing manhood into your own fingers, in place of his. He stares at you heatedly, your languid actions driving him to the edge of insanity. Your body quivers as his cockhead catches on your clit, your body still reeling from the orgasm you’d just experienced on his knee.

Zayne’s hand encompasses yours, your joined palms holding his aching cock at the base. He repeats his plea from earlier, his voice raspy and breathless, “Show me.”

His desperation makes you bite your lip in anticipation, and you nod before sinking down onto his thick member. Your body grapples with the stretch as you slide further and further down, as Zayne writhes below you, panting rapidly and fingers digging into your waist.

“You’re so damn perfect,” he rasps, fingers bruising your hips with the intensity in which they grab you, “Give me more, please love.”

You grin at his rare pleas, teasing him by stopping halfway, not letting him enter you fully. His desperate moans and grunts make you giggle, and you relish in the way his large hands hold you so possessively, in the way only you are able to make him lose control.

Zayne chuckles darkly at your teasing antics, “You don’t sound very apologetic, sweetheart.” He raises his eyebrow at you, in a playful warning. You open your mouth to speak, but it’s cut off with a scream when he slams you down on his thick length, his strong grip pulling you down until your ass meets his thighs.

The impact of your thighs against Zayne’s lap is sinful. Zayne groans at the way he can feel the globes of your ass shake against him, your pussy clenching to accommodate the sudden stretch. And Zayne doesn’t even let you ride him, instead using the raw strength of his arms and thighs to bob you up and down his length, in a rhythm that had you seeing white.

“Nnghh – P-Please Zayne!” you plead, but for what you’re not even sure. You certainly don’t want him to stop or slow down. Your arms wrap around his shoulders, holding on while he bounces you like you weigh absolutely nothing.

Zayne grunts in response, too lost in the feeling of how your walls cling to him, how your body responds to his touch and thrusts like he owns you.

“Always — hah — throwing yourself — fuck! — into danger. Without telling me,” he grits out, his thrusts into you harsh and passionate all at the same time. You can tell by his tone that he’s more hurt than he is angry about you running off to the frontlines of a nearby wanderer quarantine. The deep timbre of his voice conveys more worry and vulnerability than it does domination and accusation.

Your heart flutters at how adorably pouty Zayne was being, in his own way. It was rare for him to act on his emotions like this, and it reminded you of how far the two of you had come. His hands gripped you forcibly, almost as if he was afraid you’d disappear on him again. His face buried into your chest, savoring your intoxicating scent like it was the air he needed to survive. The way your warm plush skin tasted on his tongue and felt against his canines.

So you let him throw you around like a fucktoy, letting him feel how absolutely and irrevocably his, you were. You held him tightly to your chest, kissing the shell of his ear as he rutted into you like a madman, suckling on your breasts like he thought you might lactate for him. The blend of possessive domination and raw neediness was driving you insane.

Zayne tears himself away from your chest, looking up at you with heated expectation, his eyes hazy with animalistic desire, “Nothing to say, Y/N?” He punctuates his question with a harsh thrust that prods against your g-spot, all the way to your cervix.

You gasp out, almost choking for air, “M’sorry Zayne. I-I’ll make it up t’y-you.” His fingers grip you tighter as he relentlessly bounces you on his lap, his fat cock bullying into your g spot. Your teeth dig into your lip as you feel your cunt trembling, close to release.

Zayne nestles his face into the area where your neck meets your collarbone, gasping out as you get increasingly tighter, until it feels like he’s suffocating with pleasure.

“Let me cum in you,” he growls, moving back to your chest, nipping at the swell of your breasts, lapping at a reddened bruise he’d unwittingly left there. Zayne normally wasn’t keen on these juvenile displays of affection, leaving hickeys like a horny highschooler. But something about the way you constantly threw yourself into the face of danger for others, left him uncharacteristically uncontrollable and unrestrained.

“Let me leave my mark in you so you know better than to go running off into danger without me again.”

A string of whimpers escapes your mouth at his possessive yet sensitive words, clearly still miffed at the memory of your injured state after saving the pair of young siblings in the quarantine zone. Your talented, self-controlled, god-like surgeon, falling apart at the seams, for you.

It’s all enough to have you at the cusp of another mind-bending orgasm, your eyes rolling up as you try to warn him, “Z-Zayne, c-close.”

Zayne chuckles as you warn him. How adorable you were to think he needed to be told, as if he didn’t know your body like the back of his hand. That he couldn’t feel the telltale way your pussy pulsed and quivered around his cock, so tightly it threatened to break him.

“Look at me, my love. I need to see you.” He rams up into you, hands possessively on your hips, bringing you down forcefully with each upward thrust. You focus your eyes on him, eyelids hooded with an exhausted pleasure.

Through your blurry vision, you can see that Zayne is close too. His jaw ticks dangerously, teeth grit to hold the swears back. His golden emerald eyes meet yours, and he smiles, his fingers threading into the back of your head.

“Just like that, look at me when you cum,” he demands, pulling your face forward to capture your lips in a final kiss that would have you tumbling down the cliff of ecstasy. His tongue demands entry, teasing the seam of your lips. His fingers cup your face, thumb stroking your cheekbone.

You moan into his mouth as your body succumbs to yet another orgasm, your fingernails scraping into his back. Zayne groans into you as the sting of your nails against his skin intensifies the pleasure of your pussy practically wringing his cock dry, forcing the orgasm out of him.

It’s a passionate and furious gnashing of tongue and skin, his thighs, wet with your release, pounding up into you. Your combined whimpers of pleasure mix with the wet smacks of your ass against his thighs, creating the most sinful blanket of lust-filled ecstasy in Zayne’s living room.

His seed erupts inside you, hot, plenty, and demanding. Demanding to be inside you. Demanding to claim you.

Zayne’s thrusts slow, but don’t stop, plugging you completely full of him. He finally pulls away from your lips, breathing heavily as goosebumps of overstimulation litter his skin. He keeps going until you tap his shoulders in surrender. He chuckles, lifting you easily off of him, removing himself from you.

Your thighs quiver as you remain seated on Zayne’s lap, his fingers rubbing delicate circles on your waist. His lips brush gentle kisses on your collar, savoring the moment of intimacy and adoration that falls over the two of you.

Zayne shifts so that he can look at you, cupping your chin gently in his fingers.

“How are you feeling Y/N?” His deep voice is filled with concern, eyes searching yours, “Was I too…enthusiastic?”

You giggle tiredly, your voice filled with playful teasing, “Maybe a bit. But I loved it. I love you.”

Zayne chuckles, bringing your face back down to rest on his chest, his bare skin peeking through the robe that had become untied amidst all the movement. He cradles your head against his body, his arms secure and protective against you, his lips pressing kisses into the top of your head.

“Can you blame me?” He presses his lips into the space below your ear, leaving a trail of kissing down your neck and along your shoulders.

“When you’re constantly worried about the woman you love…it can leave one a bit pent up.”

His lips on your singed skin has you shivering against him, your fingers trailing up and down his chest, “And are you still…pent up?”

The corner of Zayne’s lips quirk up, the blood rushing back south as he feels you writhe against his most fleeting touches. Always so responsive to his touch.

Zayne uses one hand to guide your chin up towards him, his smile hungry and affectionate all at the same time. His other hand holds yours, and you jolt off his chest when he wraps your fingers around something wet, hot, and hard.

“You could say that.”

.ᐟ✧ THIS IS MY ONLY ACCOUNT. I WILL ONLY POST ON THIS ACCOUNT AND AO3. i am not @/aeyumicores or @/aeyumiicore or any variations of my blog name.

✧.˖ i do not permit translations or reposts of my work on tumblr, ao3, or others. please do not reuse my blogpost headers, dividers, or layouts. these are original designs of my own.

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lil-lycanthropy · 1 year

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Ok I’m not sure if I’m going into a depressive spiral or simply experiencing some burnout but like. God I need a shower but it’s 2:24 in the morning

#delete later #I have been in the process of moving for 3 fucking months #my motivation just absolutely disappeared halfway through Thursday and I haven’t seen it since #plus recovery from surgery is not going quite as expected #which May partially be because I’ve been more active than I should be #and I’m so behind on everything and my sleep has been atrocious #and my room is messy :(#help the bad thoughts are returning #Quasimodo speaks

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ja3yun · 5 months

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please be real | p.js

ex!jay x fem!reader warnings: angst, heartache, smut (mdni), fingering, unprotected sex, cream pie, teasing, pet names (princess, baby), crying, mentions of alcohol, drunk jay, pure heartbreak in the beginning, not proofread, anything else lmk synopsis: after a six-year relationship, you and jongseong part ways due to different needs for the future. when jongseong's first birthday post-breakup arrives, his struggle with your absence reaches a breaking point, prompting a late-night call from his friend that consequently reignites emotions and unresolved feelings. wc: 9.4k a/n: hi! it's me and it's jay's birthday so i wrote him a little something something. i didn't initially intend to rip my heart out as i wrote this yet here i am. this was oddly a healing one to write but i must warn you it does mention the reader not wanting to have children so if that doesn't appeal to you then this probs isn't the fic for you! as always, like, comments, feedback, etc. is all appreciated! ilysm and happy bday jay <3

A sharp, jarring noise pierces your ears, the peaceful sleep you were in rudely disrupted. You groan out loud, covering your face with your covers but it does nothing to stop the ringing from your phone, it doesn’t even dull it a little, the little black device only echoing around the room louder.

Disoriented and groggy, you fumble for your phone on the bedside table, clumsily searching for it in the darkness. It isn’t your alarm, the usual peaceful tones of the birds chirping would be a welcomed sound, one that eases you into the day; no this was a phone call.

Finally grasping your phone, your eyes fight themselves open as you blink away any remnants of sleep, trying to find any sort of centre from your dizzy awakening. You look at the name on your phone but your vision is so blurred you can’t make it out but answer it anyway, knowing that whoever is phoning at this ungodly hour is clearly in need of your help.

“Hello?” you ask quietly, as if you don’t want to disturb the quiet of the night, unlike the person on the other end of the call.

“Uh, Y/N? It’s Jake.” His soft Australian accent drifts from your phone speaker into your ears. He sounds unsure whether he is supposed to be making the call, which to be fair, you understand because you haven’t heard from him in months, not after…

Letting out a sigh, you rub your forehead with the base of your palm tiredly, “Jake, why the fuck are you calling me at…” you pull the phone away, inspecting the time now that you’re more alert, “3.36am?” you ask with a hint of disdain. Normally, you would welcome the boy’s surprise call, after all, you did miss him. But considering he woke you up from a good dream involving you, Jeongin from Stray Kids, and a happily ever after; he wasn’t exactly your favourite person right now.

You can faintly hear some music in the background as he stays silent and you swear to yourself if this is to give him a ride home from a concert turned party, you’ll have his head.

“Listen, I hate to ask you this but can you come to Haven?”

“The nightclub? Why?” Your earlier suspicions are proving to be right, he does want a lift home. That would be an acceptable request if you guys were actively talking every day and the best of buddies but he isn’t even your friend, not really.

You can hear him shuffling around on the other end of the line, his voice can be heard trying to calm someone down but his words are obscured as if the phone is wrested away from his mouth, leaving only disjointed fragments of speech drifting through the receiver.

This sounds like more than just a simple ride home and it causes you to snap to attention, your senses heightened with concern.

Jake finally brings his attention back to you, letting out a sigh of discontentment, “It’s Jay, he’s a mess and he’s calling out for you.”

Jay. Park Jongseong.

It’s been so long since anyone has dared to mention his name to you that it almost sounds like a foreign word.

Seven months ago, you and Jongseong had decided to call off your 6-year relationship, both of you reaching the understanding that it was for the best considering your battling differences and needs within the relationship.

It wasn’t easy, the furthest thing from it actually. You and him had been inseparable since high school and once you both got together in year 12, it was always you and him against the world. He was the love of your life, that once in a lifetime kind of love that only happens in fairytales. Your souls were both painted from the same brush stroke.

But he wanted a peaceful, routine life - a classic white picket fence dream. Evenings would be spent with friends, savouring white wine and casual conversations over dinner. His heart was set on imagining the echoes of your future children's laughter filling your home, family trips to the seaside, and comforting them with kisses and band-aids when they got hurt.

And you craved spontaneity, to embrace life with vigour, travelling the world together was your dream, free from the responsibilities of parenting, cherishing moments just for yourselves. You longed for random midnight trips to Tesco for birthday cake simply because you could. All you wished for was to be with him, just the two of you.

Suddenly, your brain clicks into an important detail and you hurriedly check the calendar on your phone and the date makes you slump in your bed.

Today is Jongseong’s birthday, well technically not anymore given the time, but that means he has lived his first birthday without you by his side in so long. You would always celebrate his big day by doing something from his handwritten bucket list he has had since he was a child. Over the years he has added more to the list, each birthday scoring one out to add another.

The list wasn't extravagant; it was filled with simple yet heartfelt desires. You bought him a bundle of guitar lessons and a Taylor 114e electric guitar to fulfil his wish of learning to play. When you noticed the Download Festival marked with gold stars on his list, you surprised him with tickets for the year Metallica was headlining. And when he expressed a desire to cook a meal from scratch for his mum, you gifted him a kitchen knife engraved with his name and took the time to teach him how to prepare her favourite dish.

His birthdays were the most precious when you were in them, and you weren’t there with him.

“Y/N?” Jake’s sweet voice draws you back to his attention and out of the memory lane swirl your brain has put you in. He knows this is a tough call for you to take considering you and Jongseong said to cut ties completely; it’s better to act like you both didn’t exist than keep a thread tethered to one another that would only hurt you more.

As Jake and Sunghoon whisked Jay away for his birthday celebration, their intention was simple: to help him let loose and have a good time. Jay had been buried in overtime work lately, leaving little room for socialising. Since the breakup, the idea of going out without you - dancing together, stealing kisses in the taxi ride home - seemed unappealing.

Waking up that morning, Jay realised it marked the first birthday in six years without ticking something off his bucket list. The familiar, worn paper lay dormant on his desk, a stark reminder of your absence. He had no desire to celebrate today without you by his side. If he could fast-forward through the day to escape the weight of his birthday, he would eagerly do so.

Yet, with two very persuading friends and a whole lot of whiskey later, here he was, curled up outside Haven, yearning out for you.

“Y/N please, at least come and convince him to get up and come home with us,” Jake pleads. You can hear the cries of your ex-lover more clearly now as Jake kneels beside his friend, checking in on him.

With a resigned sigh, you nod, “Okay. Keep him warm, I’ll be there in 20 minutes.”

Hanging up the phone, you quickly put a brush through your hair and change into a baggy top, one you bought for Jongseong before breaking up, and a pair of grey sweatpants. This is a bad idea, you know it is, but you also can’t leave him to wallow in the middle of the street. You don’t think you could live with yourself if you didn’t help and Jake wouldn’t call unless it was something he couldn’t handle.

You don’t want to see the state Jongseong is in, his wailing cries that you could slightly hear over the phone already made your heart clench in hurt.

As you drive to Haven, your heart races in anticipation with each mile that passes. Is your heart ready to face him after all these months? Staring into the love of your life’s eyes once again might break you even more. You’ve done a good job in keeping yourself together, at putting on a facade that everything is okay, when deep down you know that if one person asked you about Jongseong you would crumble and fall apart.

He wasn’t the only one throwing himself into work to forget. You’ve worked hours and hours trying to keep your mind off the heartbreak, you thought that if you just focused and kept your head down, the phrase time heals all wounds would kick in and you’d be free of the torment of losing your first love. But it hasn’t worked out that way, you know that now as you speed down the empty roads to console the one person you are trying to forget.

As you reach Haven, you can vaguely see three boys under the illuminating sign, almost as if shining a spotlight on them to add to the spectacle that Jongseong is making. Onlookers are watching as your ex-boyfriend cries on the pavement, wishing you would come home.

With a quick exhale, you step out of the car before doubts can creep in, determined to be there for him. Jake and Sunghoon's voices float to you, attempting to soothe him and inject some sense into the moment. Bracing yourself, you approach, ready to offer whatever comfort you can, despite the storm of emotions swirling within you.

Sinking onto the balls of your feet, you lower yourself to Jongseong's level, meeting his strained figure. Instantly, the sight of his distress instantly shatters your heart into a million pieces.

An abundance of tears cascades down Jongseong's reddened face, obscuring his features like a relentless waterfall. His clenched jaw and the prominent vein on his forehead portray the intensity of his distress as he struggles to draw each laboured breath. Curled into himself, his body seems to contort with the weight of physical agony, mirroring the emotional pain that ripples through his trembling form. He’s been keeping this in for so long that his body doesn’t know how to cope with it.

Reaching out to grab his clenched fist, you shuffle forward, “Jjongie? It’s me, baby, look at me,” you say calmly, trying to reassure him with your soft voice.

As your fingers gently encircle his clenched fist, Jongseong's body tenses at the touch. Slowly, he turns his gaze towards you, his eyes bloodshot and filled with an overwhelming mixture of sorrow and longing. For a moment, there's a flicker of recognition in his eyes before they cloud over again with anguish.

He doesn’t believe you’re actually here, considering the long nights where he has conjured up the idea of you, clinging to his imagination on the lonely nights he wishes for your touch. But as you squeeze his hand, he realises this isn’t a dream-induced sighting, you’re really here in front of him.

"Y/N..." he murmurs, his voice choked with emotion. Tears stream down his face in torrents, some landing on your hand that holds his. His cries reverberate through the air, each wail a sharp stab to your chest.

Cupping his cheek, you settle yourself between his legs, ignoring the discomfort of the rocks beneath your knees, your focus solely on him. With a sad smile, you attempt to mask your own anguish, your touch a gentle reassurance amidst his storm of emotions.

"Hey, hey, enough of that now," you hush him softly, your voice a soothing melody in the tumultuous night. Using your thumb, you tenderly wipe away his tears, though they continue to flow unabated.

He leans into your touch, “I miss you so much, Y/N, please. Please,” he pleads as you feel his warm breath against your skin as he nuzzles into your palm, seeking solace in the familiar sensation he's been yearning for.

It’s hurting you just seeing him like this, the man you once knew to be strong-willed and resilient, keeping his emotions under control unless he’s sharing sweet vulnerable moments with you under the covers, is now a shell of himself, stripped bare by the weight of grief.

Turning your face to look at Jake, you offer him a small smile, “I’ll take him home.”

“You sure?” Jake asks, knowing that it’s a dangerous game for you both if you do.

“Yeah, I don’t think he’s going to move unless I do,” you chuckle sympathetically but there’s a bubble in your throat as Jongseong’s whimpers flow into your ear from beside you.

Nodding, Jake gestures to Sunghoon, silently enlisting his help in the task of ferrying the drunk man to your car. The weight of Jongseong's limp form proves cumbersome as you all struggle to navigate his dead weight, his limbs hanging heavily without offering any assistance.

"Let's get you home," you murmur softly, your hands pressing gently against Jongseong's chest to steady him, aided by his friends who lift him onto their shoulders.

His eyes lock onto yours, an intensity burning within them. "Please be real," he whispers, his voice trembling with desperation. Despite feeling your touch and catching hints of your scent, doubt gnaws at him. If this is merely a figment of his imagination, he knows he'll never forgive himself. You're so close, so tangible - it has to be you.

With much struggle, the three of you get him to your car, putting him gently in the backseat so he can lie down, but he wraps his arms around your waist as his legs stay situated outside of the vehicle, holding you close to him.

"Come on, Jjongie, lie down for a minute," you coax gently, guiding him to stretch out along the seats. But he remains unmoving, clutching onto you as if fearing you'll slip away if he lets go. With a soft sigh, you stroke the back of his head, your hands moving in a soothing rhythm. "I promise, I am not going anywhere," you whisper, your words a tender vow to him.

Yet, your attempts to reassure him seem to go unheard. His face burrows deeper into your stomach, his words muffled by the fabric of your t-shirt and the weight of his tears.

You exchange a worried glance with Jake and Sunghoon, “How much did he have to drink?” you ask, scared of the answer they will give. Your ex-boyfriend has always been so good at holding his liquor that it must have been a hefty amount he consumed.

“Like two weeks' wage worth,” Sunghoon winces, his neck tightening as he looks at his best friend.

"Oh, baby..." you sigh softly, feeling a wave of empathy wash over you. Returning your attention to Jongseong, you press a tender kiss to the crown of his head, hoping to offer some comfort amidst his distress. His response is to cling to you even tighter, his sobs echoing against your chest as he seeks solace in your embrace.

You need to get him home, he’s a mess and the longer he stays like this, the more his body is going to wear out.

With a gentle hand, you stroke his hair, your touch a soothing caress against his trembling form. Despite the chaos swirling around you, you find a semblance of peace in this intimate moment, anchored by the bond that still lingers between you.

"I've got you, Jjongie," you whisper softly, drawing back as he eases up his grip on you. His friends go to help you but you halt them with a firm gesture, "You guys can go, I've got it from here."

Sunghoon shakes his head, concern etched on his face. "He's too heavy, Y/N. You won't be able to manage him into the flat without us," he protests.

But you stand your ground. This is your and Jongseong's mess, and you can’t let others help you clean it up, "It's okay. You guys have done your shift for tonight. Go home," you insist, your voice resolute.

Reluctantly, Sunghoon and Jake nod and bid you goodnight before going their separate ways home, leaving you alone with Jongseong and the weight of your shared history.

Taking a deep breath, you hoist him in, his body listening to you a little more now that you’ve reassured him you aren’t leaving him. He sprawls over the backseats and lays still, the alcohol consuming him into some form of comatose now that he has relaxed slightly.

You slide into the driver's seat, the engine humming to life beneath you. Glancing at Jongseong's slumbering form in the rearview mirror, you steel yourself for the journey ahead.

_____

Arriving at his house makes you more nervous than before. This wasn’t just his flat, it used to be your shared home, the place you lived for 2 and half years and made countless memories in.

You were the one to move out and find your own place, thinking it was best since your work was further away and you could find an apartment closer to it. But the truth is, you just couldn’t face being reminded of him in each room and in the pieces of furnishings.

It was selfish of you to leave him with the remnants of your relationship surrounding him, all you thought about was you and your needs, neglecting to think about how he might feel being surrounded by nothing but memories.

Lugging him into the flat, his legs are working in tandem with you now unlike before but he still isn’t proving to be the easiest person to carry. The last time you had to hold his weight like this was when he got drunk at your prom after taking sneaky shots in the hotel garden with his friends. It was funny but you blame him for some of your back pain that you’ve endured in your early twenties.

As you push open the door and step into the living room, a wave of nostalgia washes over you like a tsunami. Though only seven months have passed, it feels like a lifetime since you last stood in this space with him by your side. Everything remains unchanged, frozen in time since the day you left. The same couch sits in its familiar spot, adorned with throw pillows and blankets you bought for last season. Photographs of you both, captured during Christmases and holidays, adorn the walls, each one a snapshot of happier times. Even the vase that his mum had gotten you both for your housewarming gift, one that you loved and he hated, remains in its pride of place on the mantlepiece.

You push your thoughts down and make your way to your once-shared bedroom, walking through the memories and heaving your ex-boyfriend along slowly. His nose nudges into your hair, sweeping in your scent as he loses himself in the feeling of you.

As you reach the familiar threshold, you can't help but feel a pang of bittersweet longing. This room, once a sanctuary where you both shared your laughter and bodies, now serves as a poignant reminder of the love you've lost.

Gently, you ease Jongseong onto the bed, sitting him up, “I’m going to get you some clean boxers okay?” you ask him but he’s not here, not really, so you make your way to the drawers on the other side of the room.

Walking over, you spot a familiar t-shirt lying crumpled on your old side of the bed. You make a b-line to investigate it and as you pick up the crumpled t-shirt, a flood of memories washes over you, transporting you back to simpler times. Your fingers trace the familiar fabric, still faintly carrying the scent of you, now mingled with his cologne. You piece it all together pretty quickly, the way it still smells faintly of you but is not starting to be overpowered by his cologne. He hugs it at night to find peace of mind.

“Oh, Jjongie,” you sigh, heart reaching out to him. You’re no better, you have one of his hoodies that you snuck into your luggage as you packed and wear it when you’re at home. Just like your t-shirt, his hoodie is starting to lose its scent from the amount of times you’ve hugged yourself to sleep in it.

Jongseong has always been reserved, his emotions carefully guarded behind a facade of reason and rationale. To see him like this, vulnerable and raw, strikes a chord deep within you. If he had always worn his heart on his sleeve, perhaps it would be easier to understand. But the complexity of his emotions only serves to deepen the ache in your chest.

You place the t-shirt back on the pillow before opening the dresser drawer and retrieve a clean pair of boxers, his favourite ones with the faded Hellow Kitty print that you've always teased him about.

Gently, you begin to undress him while he rambles incoherent nonsense that you can’t understand between the mix of tears and drunk slurring. The top half is easy but the bottom half proves difficult as he only looks up at you, whispering pleas as he stares at you, keeping his bum firmly sat on the edge of the bed.

As you finally manage to remove Jongseong's jeans and boxers, leaving him naked, a new layer of vulnerability settles over the room. He sits before you bathed in the soft glow of the hallway light, his silhouette outlined in the darkness.

His beauty, illuminated by the faint light, is both captivating and heartbreaking. The familiarity of his form, once etched in your memory, now lays before you in the flesh, a tangible reminder of the love you still harbour for him. How could you not still love him? He was perfect in every way possible.

"Stay with me," he whispers, his voice a gentle plea as his hands begin to roam your sides, tracing the contours of your body beneath your shirt. Each touch ignites a flurry of sensations within you, sending butterflies fluttering in your stomach.

He pulls you onto his lap, your sweatpants becoming the barrier between his cock and your pussy. Yet, none of you are really thinking about that right now, all you both want is to hold one another again.

“Jongseong, we broke up, and for good reason,” you rationalise with not only him but yourself as you find yourself sinking into his touch as his hands roam your back.

Nuzzling his nose against yours, he begins to cry softly again, his face rubbing itself against yours as his tears transfer from his cheeks to yours, “Please, baby, don’t leave me,” he mumbles as his lips ghost over yours.

He doesn’t just mean tonight, he means forever. A tear from your eye cascades down your face, getting lost in the mixture of his, your empathy for him overwhelming you because you feel the same way he does. You need him in every way, you need to be close to him, to feel his heart beating in synch with yours once again.

But you know better than this. You’re both just prolonging heartache if you succumb to being with him again. You can’t give each other what you need.

“Baby, don’t do this,” you beg him, knowing that he has the power to pull you back into his life with the click of his fingers, that resolve you have worked so hard to build up now hangs in the balance, “Let me get you changed and then into bed, yeah?”

Reasoning with him is a lost cause, his arms now hugging you tightly like before as he ignores your suggestion. The last thing he wants is to put on those boxers because he knows when he does that you’ll leave.

"Please, Princess," his voice is raw with emotion, his desperation palpable in the air between you. And as you look into his eyes, you see the depth of his longing mirrored in your own.

His plea hangs in the air, a heavy weight pressing down on your already burdened heart. You feel torn between the overwhelming desire to give in to his request and the harsh reality of the situation.

With a deep breath, you summon the strength to gently extricate yourself from his embrace, feeling the weight of his disappointment lingering in the air. His hurt expression tugs at your heartstrings, but you shake your head firmly, "Just tonight, okay?" you assure him, your voice soft but resolute.

Curse you and your heart that caves into his pleas so easily.

You disregard getting him dressed and instead, remove your sweatpants and replace them with those very boxers you planned to adorn him with and swap out your t-shirt for the one on your old pillow. Jongseong clumsily climbs into his covers, getting comfortable and finding some happiness in the fact that you’ll be in his arms at least for a little while.

Once you climb into your side of the bed, he instinctively hugs you from behind, the comfort of your body pressed against his. He spoons you, tucking his face in your neck as he exhales in contentment. This is all he has been craving since that night you left and he couldn’t be happier. All the turmoil and anguish from earlier slowly depletes as he finds himself sinking into a much-needed sleep.

You can’t deny you feel the same, his arms wrapped around you feel like home, like you’ve been on a seven-month business trip and you’re now finally back where you belong. You sink into him further, relishing his skin against yours.

“Happy birthday, Jjongie,” you whisper, bringing his hand up to kiss it before intertwining your fingers with his.

_____

Waking up, Jongseong feels like his whole body has crashed into a brick wall. His bones ache and his head feels tight, but there is a weight that feels so familiar yet foreign, his legs tangled around something and his arms holding it close. This feels different from the t-shirt of yours he clings to every night, this has more substance.

Please don’t be some random girl he thinks to himself, scared to open his eyes.

Even if he did want to open them he couldn’t because they are being held together so tight by something. Was he crying last night? Actually, what even happened last night?

He replays the fragments of the evening in his mind, a few scattered images begin to surface - Jake and Sunghoon dragging him to Haven, the raucous atmosphere of the bar, and the ill-advised decision to ride the mechanical bull. And then nothing.

As he tries to recounter the night, you see him attempt to pry his eyes open and decide to help him out. Swiping your thumb over his eyes, you wipe away the mix of his dried-in tears and sleep. He looks so confused when you touch him and his body tenses.

Either he is having a severe case of hallucinations to the point where he is starting to physically feel you or the girl that he took home last night resembles your touch. God, how he hoped it was the first one.

Opening his eyes with your help, he blinks away the blur and sets his eyes on your face, his expression reading one of relief that quickly turns into astonishment.

“Y/N? Baby?” he whispers, his hands instinctively reaching for your cheek, “Please be real.” The same words he pleaded out last night leave his lips again. Jongseong has spent so many nights dreaming of you, wishing in an alternative universe that he can hold you again, so much so that this doesn’t feel real.

You don’t know what to say but obviously, you have to say something. It was one thing to confront drunk Jongseong who didn’t have a wit about him but now it feels like there’s a boulder on your chest as you try to conjure up the courage to speak to a sober, semi-alert Jongseong.

All you can do is nod, no words escaping your dried lips. You look down to see you and his limbs mangled together just like they used to be, the feeling of his body pressed so tightly against yours almost feels like heaven.

He takes in the sight of you, the lines of disbelief on his features soften, replaced by a glimmer of hope. Slowly, almost tentatively, he reaches out to you, his fingers brushing against your cheek as if to confirm your presence.

The touch sends a jolt of electricity coursing through you, he’s caressing your cheek so tenderly it reminds you of the time you had the shift from hell and Jongseong held you the whole night, whispering sweet words into your ear and stroking your tears away, just like this.

Except there are no tears this time, you’re all cried out - months of mourning the loss of your relationship will do that to you.

As Jongseong's eyes meet yours, a flicker of recognition passes through them, followed by a wave of embarrassment. His voice is soft as he speaks, a hint of uncertainty lacing his words, "What are you doing here?" he asks, his tone laden with confusion.

"You got pretty drunk last night," understatement "And Jake asked me to come pick you up."

You can feel the tension in the air as Jongseong processes your words, his expression a mixture of shame and regret, "Sorry, I don't usually drink that much," he murmurs, his voice tinged with remorse.

The explanation stings, not because Jongseong has been drinking more, but because of the distance it creates between you. It's as if he's explaining himself to a stranger, rather than to the person who once knew him better than anyone else. The past six years you’ve known how he knows his limit and that he doesn’t tend to breach it, not subconsciously.

All you do is nod, accepting his explanation as you slowly start to detangle yourself from him, “I better get going.”

“Y/N, please let's talk,” he pleads as his voice wavers, his grip tightening around your waist, and his desperation palpable as he pleads for your attention. But you've made up your mind, and no amount of persuasion can sway you from the path you've chosen.

"Jongseong, please, let's not do this," you implore, your voice tinged with a mixture of sorrow and resolve, "We're only going to hurt ourselves again."

You both know the reasons behind your breakup are deeply rooted, immutable truths that cannot be changed. It's not a matter of cheating or petty disagreements—this is about fundamental differences in desires and aspirations for the future.

But Jongseong refuses to accept defeat, his forehead coming to rest against yours as he breathes his love out, "Princess, we can work it out, I know we can," he insists, his words heavy with sincerity.

You steel yourself against the onslaught of his love, knowing that to give in would only prolong the inevitable pain, "We want different things, Jjongie," you remind him gently, your voice tinged with regret.

“I can do without them. It’s you I can’t live without…I can’t breathe without you here by my side.” His words are sincere and you know it, but you can’t accept it. When you both discussed your future, he looked so excited at the prospect of kids that your heart broke instantly. You knew right away that you couldn’t give him what he wanted most.

Closing your eyes and sucking in the bottom of your cheeks, you steady yourself to have this conversation yet again, “You can’t give up the idea of having kids. Having the life you want is much more important than me. You can find someone who can give you that.”

It hurts to say but you need to rip the bandaid off quickly.

“You think I want that life with anyone but you?” His voice raises lightly, hinting at the anger rising into his chest. He needs you to listen to him, to understand him, “Y/N, if it’s not with you then I don’t want that life.”

Shaking your head determinedly, you sit up, “But I can’t give you that life, it’s not what I want.” You feel like you’re reliving the argument that ended it all those months ago.

“That’s okay.”

“No, It’s not,” It’s your turn to get angry, your eyebrows lacing together as you try to read him. How can he say all of this so easily? Like he wasn’t trying to promise you that he would change his entire life plan just to be with you. Is it romantic? Sure, but it’s also fucking stupid. No one should change just to keep someone they love because if they were meant to be, then their values would align…right?

"It's not that simple, Jongseong," you argue through the silence, your voice tinged with frustration, "You can't just sweep aside your dreams for the sake of our relationship. What about what you want? What about your own happiness?"

Jongseong sits up, the covers hiding his naked lower half; he hadn’t realised he was naked and it only adds a new layer to his vulnerability. He is laying himself bare to you.

But Jongseong's gaze remains unwavering, his determination evident in the set of his jaw, "Since we broke up, I've realised that you are the life I want," he declares, his words carrying the weight of his conviction, "Whatever that looks like for you, I want it."

You feel his words like a pickaxe, slowly breaking away at the wall you’ve spent months building around your heart and reason. A whirlwind of conflicting emotions sweeps over you. On one hand, his declaration of love sparks a glimmer of hope amidst the ruins of your fractured relationship. Yet, on the other hand, doubt claws at your insides, gnawing away at any semblance of certainty, the pure love that you have for him only wishes to make sure he’s happy and gets everything he wants in life.

"Jongseong, I..." you start, your voice wavering as you grapple with the turmoil inside. How do you express the depth of your feelings?

Grabbing your face with his large hands, he kisses you, his soft lips now coating yours. You’ve missed him so much that you become overwhelmed by his actions, a soft tear leaking from your ducts.

So much for being all cried out, you think to yourself.

"It's you, Y/N, I only need you," Jongseong whispers against your lips, his urgency evident as he seeks solace in the warmth of your embrace, stealing kisses with a hunger born from longing.

In spite of yourself, you find your lips responding to his touch, drawn in by the familiar sensation of his mouth against yours. Your arms instinctively wrap around him, fingers grazing lightly over the muscles of his back as you hold him close; your brain is telling you to push him away but your heart is pulling him tighter to you.

"It's not fair to you, Jjongie," you murmur, the words weighted with a sense of guilt and remorse.

"I'd rather be with you happily than with kids and someone else miserably," Jongseong confesses, his words carrying the weight of his heart's deepest desires.

Jongseong wishes you could see it from his point of view; of course, he has wanted kids and a comfortable life for so long but the idea of achieving that when you are not his wife seems fucking ridiculous. There is no one in this world he wants to be with other than you and if that means he has to be an uncle rather than a dad, so be it.

You are all he has ever wanted. To grow old with you, to experience each of your accomplishments together and have you close to him. He wants to protect you and look after you the way he knows he should and that is his new life goal. This isn’t a decision he has made lightly but a decision he wanted to make.

His hands glide down your sides, trailing over your thighs as his kisses continue, each touch a manifestation of the craving that has consumed him. His need for you is overwhelming, every fibre of his being yearning for you in every possible way. Another moment without you feels unbearable, as if he might die.

You surrender to his touch, sinking back onto the bed as he hovers above you, his grip on your thighs firm yet tender. The intensity of his desire leaves marks, but in this moment, you welcome anything he offers.

It's astonishing how the feel of his lips on yours dismantles your resolve, scattering your apprehensions like leaves in the wind.

Slowly, he removes from you the t-shirt that has absorbed his tears on countless nights and the boxers you borrowed from him, leaving you exposed beneath him. As he looks upon your naked figure, his eyes drink in every curve and contour, offering silent gratitude to the heavens for letting him have you like this. You are everything he wants and more.

“You’re so fucking beautiful, Y/N,” he whispers into your mouth as he presses his body hard against yours, his member rubbing itself against your folds.

The feeling of him rubbing against you is enough to elicit a moan. No amount of toys was enough to satisfy you, not the way Jongseong could. Over the years you learned about one another’s bodies so intimately that no one could ever know you the way he does, not even yourself.

You couldn’t bear the thought of sleeping with someone else, even if you and Jongseong had broken up, your heart couldn’t do it. You never even considered a one night stand because deep down you knew that your body belonged to Jongseong and no one else.

He moves his hips, slowly rubbing himself against you, the bell of his cock grazing your clit teasingly. It feels like a dream for him to touch you this way again, and the fact that you were coating his cock with your wetness was enough to tell him that you need this too.

Kissing you desperately, his tongue darts into your mouth and swirls with yours as he seeks to taste you, his buds dancing along with yours. He moans into your mouth and acts as an echo of his love for you.

“I missed you so much,” he whispers as his hips continue to move slowly, teasing your hole with his tip each time he draws back. It’s becoming increasingly obvious how much it’s starting to irritate you, your need to have him inside you is evident in your whines of frustration.

"I missed you too, baby. More than anything," you confess, your hand finding his cock as you press against him, seeking to create greater friction between you. With each movement, the pressure builds, sending waves of pleasure coursing through both of you.

With each synchronised movement, the tension between you mounts, the desire for one another lingering in the warm air. His hips continue their slow, teasing rhythm, each brush against your core sending sparks of want up your heat and into your chest.

Feeling the urgency building within you, you guide his cock with precision, pressing it against your eager entrance. A soft gasp escapes your lips as you feel the head of his length dip into you only slightly, the anticipation of being filled with him heightening your senses.

"Please," you whisper, your voice laden with need and longing, a plea for him to take you.

With a teasing grin, Jongseong relents to your plea, but not in the way you expected. Instead of thrusting into you the way you want him to, he trails his fingertips along the curves of your body, igniting a trail of fire in his wake. His touch is light and tantalising, tracing patterns across your skin as he savours every moment. He wants to take his time with you, no matter how much his dick longs to be surrounded by your walls.

You like to be teased even for a little bit, the payoff at the end always hits the right spot.

You squirm beneath his touch, aching for more, but he continues with deliberate slowness. His fingers dance over your heated flesh, exploring every inch of your body with an intimacy that leaves you breathless. Each caress sends shivers down your spine, building the anticipation to unbearable heights. God, you missed his hands all over you.

As his right hand dips lower, he begins tracing circles around your sensitive clit and you can't help but arch your back in pleasure, a soft moan escaping your lips. The sensation is electrifying, sending waves coursing through your body as he expertly teases you.

Feeling your body tremble with anticipation, his touch becomes more urgent as he presses his fingers against your throbbing clit h and with practised skill, he begins to move faster, applying just the right amount of pressure to have you writhing beneath him.

“You look so fucking perfect, all desperate and whiney like this, Princess,” he says as he leans down to kiss you, breathing in deeply through his nose as he tries to fill each of his senses with you. It wasn’t just enough to feel you, he wanted to taste you, to inhale your scent, to hear you cry out for him, to see you unravel beneath him.

Your breath catches in your throat as the intensity of his touch sends you spiralling towards the edge of bliss. Each stroke of his fingers drives you closer to the brink, your body humming with the need to let go.

But just as you feel yourself teetering on the edge, Jongseong suddenly slows his movements, drawing out the pleasure with agonising slowness. It's a torturous tease, the brief moments of intensity followed by long, drawn-out strokes that leave you gasping for more.

“Please, please, please, Jjongie,” you whimper in frustration, your body aching for release as Jongseong continues to play you like a symphony, alternating between fast and slow, building the tension to unbearable levels. Just when you think you can't take it anymore, he finally gives in, his fingers dipping into your heat and thrusting into you at a rough pace, your pussy soaking his digits as he coaxes out your orgasm.

“You’re clamping down on my fingers so hard, Baby, you gonna cum?” he asks arrogantly, knowing that with each curl of his finger, he is watching your body lose control and surrender to him.

Nodding quickly, you pull him down for a long, searing kiss as his thumb joins the party and flicks your clit rapidly, “Oh my god,” you moan out into his mouth through bated breaths, “I’m gonna cum, Jongseong, please can I cum?”

“You never have to ask baby,” he moves his mouth to your ear and lightly nibbles your lobe, “Cum for me, Princess,” he gently commands.

Jongseong continues to work his magic, his fingers moving with expert precision as he guides you through the throes of ecstasy. Your vision blurs and every nerve in your body hums with pleasure as you reach the pinnacle of bliss.

With a final, desperate cry, you let go, your orgasm crashing over you like a tidal wave. You arch your back and cry out his name as pleasure consumes you, your body trembling with the intensity of it all.

His fingers remain still inside you, but his thumb maintains its relentless pace, each swipe sending jolts of pleasure coursing through your body. Your hips instinctively twitch in response, your nub throbbing with sensitivity and yearning for a respite. Yet, Jongseong shows no signs of letting up, his determined flicking only intensifying.

"You like that, baby?" Jongseong's voice is hoarse with desire as he intently watches your reactions. His eyes are dark with need as he continues to work you with wild desire.

Your senses are overwhelmed by sensations pouring through you, so you can only respond with a gasping nod. Every single nerve in your body is buzzing with ecstasy, and all you can think of is the delicious agony of his thumb against your delicate clit.

"Tell me what you want, Princess," he asks, his voice a seductive whisper in your ear, "Do you want more?"

You can only make a frantic plea, your words barely comprehensible in the middle of intense pleasure. "Yes, please, Jongseong... More..."

Jongseong's lips curl into a wicked grin as he hears your plea, his confidence growing with each breathless gasp that escapes your lips. With a teasing twinkle in his eye, he moves his fingers again, pressing them against your contracting walls, his hot breath ghosting over your ear as he speaks.

"What do you want, Y/N?" he whispers, his voice dripping with anticipation, "Tell me, and I'll give it to you."

Your mind is a haze of desire, but amidst the fog, one thought stands out clear and demanding. You need him inside you, filling you completely with his presence. With trembling hands, you reach for him, your fingers curling around his cock, guiding him to where you need him most, pushing his hand out of the way.

"I want you," you whisper, your voice trembling with need. "I want all of you, Jongseong." When you utter the words, there’s a deeper meaning to them, a meaning that Jongseong is clinging to.

The way your fingers wrap around his rock-hard member elicits a hiss from him, your touch mixed with your words only fuels him to give you everything you need.

Jongseong lets out a guttural groan, entirely surrendering to your touch and words. His eyes darken with want as he watches you take control, and his breath quickens with anticipation as you guide him inside you. His breath coming in ragged gasps, he looks into your eyes with a mixture of desire and adoration, "God, Y/N," he murmurs, his voice rough with need, “You feel so fucking incredible. I’ve missed how you just suck me in like this.”

You look down and watch as his entire length gets lost in your heat, his cock’s head hitting deep within you. You’ve missed how he fills you up so much but you hadn’t realised just how badly until right now as he shallowly thrusts into you.

You respond with a low moan of pleasure, your nails digging into his skin as you pull him closer, urging him to go deeper. "Yes, Jongseong," you whisper, your voice laced with longing, "just like that. I need this so much, I need you."

With each thrust, he grunts in response, his movements becoming more desperate as he seeks to satisfy your every desire, "I'm yours, Y/N," he declares, his voice filled with raw emotion, "completely and utterly yours."

As he lifts your legs and closes them, gently draping them over his left shoulder, your warmth envelops his shaft, drawing him in closer. Jongseong relishes the sensation of your tightness, revelling in the snug embrace of your canal around him. And you too find delight in the pressure of his girth, relishing the way he stretches you further with every powerful thrust.

Each movement of his hips is deliberate, each one designed to bring you both closer to the edge of ecstasy. As his hands stroke your legs tenderly, contrasting with the intensity of his thrusts, you find yourself lost in the intoxicating rhythm of your bodies moving as one.

His jerks grow more intense, the pace quickening as he drives deeper into you, each stroke bringing you closer to the edge, "You feel so good," he groans, his voice filled with unrestrained passion, "so fucking perfect for me, Princess."

In response, you curve your back and meet his thrusts with equal conviction, the heat between you building to an almost euphoric level. "Jongseong," you exclaim, your voice a symphony of fulfilment, "don't stop, please don't stop."

Jongseong intensifies his efforts with a wild growl, each movement driven by a burning need to push you to the edge of satisfaction and beyond. At this moment, there is only you and him, burned by the fires of passion.

With a swift motion, your lover bends you in half, positioning your legs by your head as he quickens his already rapid pace. Lost in a whirlwind of desire, your eyes roll back and your hands instinctively grip his shoulders, your chest heaving with each forceful thrust of his cock. Your nails dig into his skin, leaving marks on his shoulder blades as you cling to him, lost in the intensity of the moment.

Feeling the sting of your nails, he grits his teeth and strains his neck, the veins in his temples pulsating as he fights the overwhelming urge to release inside you right then and there.

“Fuck, claw my back, Baby,” he growls, his voice thick with desire, “make me yours again.” With determination, he continues to pound into you, each movement bringing you closer to your shared orgasm.

After hearing Jongseong’s go-ahead, you dig into his back, dragging your nails across his skin, leaving fiery red lines in their wake, just like he wants. It burns him in the most delectable way, making his cock throb inside of you.

Your breaths combine in the air, creating an ensemble of desire as you both reach the edge. The tension between you grows with each thrust, a crescendo of want reaching its peak.

As he slams into you furiously, his voice fills the room with urgency, "You gonna cum again, Princess? You want it?" His words are a mixture of want and domination, starting a fire inside you that threatens to consume everything in its path.

With a firm nod, you meet his gaze, your eyes brimming with want. "Yes, Jongseong, please," you beg, your voice a frantic appeal for release once again.

In response, he increases his efforts, his motions growing more frenzied as he propels you both to your orgasms. And then, with a final, strong thrust, you shatter, your body convulsing from the ferocity of your release. Jongseong follows closely behind, his own climax mirroring yours as he finds release within you, “Fuck!”

His body stills as he shoots his seed into you, the tremble of both your bodies vibrates the bed beneath you. Finding it hard to keep himself up, he falls onto you, moving his cock into you further, only drawing out a final moan from your lips.

After a couple of minutes, Jongseong rolls over, his chest heaving up and down rapidly. God, he missed the way you feel under him, he could go another ten rounds if you asked.

But that would mean you would stay, and is that even something you want? He doesn’t want to ask, your answer being the deciding factor of whether he goes on his life with misery or happiness.

He knows he can’t force you into this relationship but he hopes he has done enough to convince you that you are all he wants.

“Please be with me again, Y/N. I can’t live without you,” he whispers into the air, not daring to look at you.

You on the other hand only want to look at him, to see if you can really try this again, “Even if it means no kids? No playdates with other parents? No family trips to Jeju?”

“Even without all that.” He does look sincere, his eyes now burning into yours with a new lease of determination.

The truth is, you’ve missed him so much that it hurts. Behind the strong facade is just a girl who misses her lover. Being without him is like being in a fire with no escape, constantly fighting your way out of a blaze while your lungs collapse. He’s the clear path to fresh air you desperately need, there is no denying it. And clearly, he thinks the same about you.

Seeing him last night so fragile and broken engulfed you in the flames, burning you alive because you know that you feel every ounce of hurt that he is. It was a mirror to how you were feeling and you don’t think you knew how badly you needed him until that moment. You were trying to be so strong about it all, giving yourself only a short amount of time to grieve that as you looked at Jongseong last night, you know he has done the same.

You need one another to extinguish the fire.

“Jongseong, truly think about this, this isn’t me saying no to letting you go on a lads holiday, I’m denying you the opportunity to be a father,” you plead with him one last time, giving him an out to all of this as you lay it all on the table.

“Princess, I have had seven months to think about it. I am not compromising or altering my needs for you, this is a decision that I have made on my own. If I truly wanted the life I thought I did, I wouldn’t be begging you to be with me right now. I know this isn’t an easy choice but I have never been more sure about anything in my life.”

Jongseong kisses all over your face, each one a receipt of his sincerity.

His words strike straight into your heart. He’s serious. A part of you wants to still feel guilty like you’re forcing him into this but on the other hand, he’s right. You’ve given him a multitude of opportunities to leave and find a girl who will cater to him, but he hasn’t.

He doesn’t need to because all he needs is you and your love, to Jongseong, that is all he needs in his life.

“Okay, but if you ever change your min-”

He interjects with a kiss, one filled with so much happiness and love that it’s almost intoxicating; either that or all the booze in his system has transferred its way into your bloodstream.

You giggle as he rolls over on top of you again, peppering loud and wet kisses all over your face and neck akin to a dog licking you from utter joy. Your hands try to fight him off playfully, your laugh growing louder as he nuzzles into your neck.

“Oh, wait!” Your lover's sudden pause catches your attention, his eyes sparkling with excitement as he swiftly rolls off the bed and rushes over to the messy pile on the chair by his dresser.

Curious, you crane your neck to see what he's up to, watching as he retrieves something from the floor.

“What is it?” you inquire, intrigued by his enthusiasm.

Turning back to you, Jongseong holds up the familiar torn sheet of paper that you recognise instantly, his smile lighting up his face. He grabs a pen from the desk and returns to your side, handing you both items.

“Tick it off,” he urges, pointing to the bottom of the page where a new addition was made yesterday morning. Despite his internal conflict about the list, he couldn't bring himself to tear it up. If he never saw you again, this would be a precious memory to hold onto.

So he added a new aspiration at the bottom.

Taking the pen from his hand, you read it slowly, “Make Y/N mine again..”

You gaze up at him in awe, understanding the significance of this gesture and how much the list means to him, “You wished for this?” you ask, to which he simply nods at your question, “Then you need to tick it off.” You push the pen and paper back to him but he stops you.

“No, you made the wish come true, so you need to tick it off,” he replies, the corners of his lips upturning slightly.

So with the pen, you draw a line over the words, scoring it off once and for all as you beam proudly, happy that both of your souls are now joined together again. You pull him in for a long, deep kiss, the bucket list discarded as you lose yourselves in the moment once again.

#enhypen smut #enha smut #enhypen x reader #enhypen angst #jay smut #park jongseong smut #aj writes #jay x reader #park jongseong x reader

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ybklix · 2 months

Text

hidden lovers

★ pairing: idol bf!lee know x fem!reader

✦summary: Minho and you have this little game of dating in secret, but keep a completely opposite image for the rest of your friends.

♡ genre - warnings: smut, mean and soft dom minho, established relationship, enemies to lovers briefly written; fingering, mutual masturbation, edging, oral sex (f. rec.), cunnilingus, orgasm denial, unprotected sex, creampie, pet names.

word count: 5k

╰ ⋆⭒˚.⋆ masterlist - taglist forms

୧ ‧₊˚request by anon₊ ˚⊹♡ secretly dating minho w enemy plot yesyes<3

a/n: i hope u liked it 🍮 mwahmwah, i think lino has a puddin in the pic lmao so cute

divider by enchanthings

It was pouring rain outside, it was one of those rainy summer days when you really missed your boyfriend, you wanted to be in his arms watching a movie or spying through his cell phone whatever he was doing. But he was busy, he couldn’t visit you so often because he spent hours at the company, he arrived exhausted at his apartment which he shares with three other colleagues and friends; plus it was that season when coincidentally the rest of his seven co-workers and best friends were more glued to him since it was when they were hard at work on their new album, so being so close to them, they usually tend to be insistent and ask in detail what he does outside of work and Minho, your boyfriend, could not risk them finding out that there is something between you.

So, amidst the heavy rain, your perfect signal fell with it; Han Jisung, your brother and one of Minho’s closest friends sent you a message, asking you for help with household activities in his apartment, blackmailing you while reminding you that he was the one giving you money, since he’s rich and an extremely important pop star and claiming that it was one of those days when they didn’t go to the company and Chan took the opportunity to put the rest of them to clean their respective apartments. You honestly didn’t think much of it, going to your brother’s apartment would mean you would see Minho one way or another, despite living in different apartments, you were pretty sure you would be able to see him.

You thought it was strange that Minho didn’t tell you that he didn’t go to work today, you thought he must have been busy ordering Felix, Seungmin and Jeongin to clean their rooms like little kids since it was your boyfriend who was in charge of the place. So anyway, you decided not to tell him and see him as a surprise; you dressed up perfectly, you haven’t seen him for days except through facetime and you really missed the closeness and smell of your man nearby.

You left your apartment and headed to the building of your older brother and his other almost older brothers, Chan, Changbin and Hyunjin and sighed as you passed through the wide hallway, the famous hallway reserved for the eight of them, only two doors on each side of the hallway, the place where they lived, you sighed, because you knew that Minho was probably in his apartment.

You knocked on the door, where a very confused Chan opened it for you, wearing comfortable clothes, with his curls and his face totally free of any traces of makeup.

“Oh, hi, Y/N, I didn’t know you were coming.”

His confused countenance gradually softened into a smile. He was confused as Han had authorized your entrance all the way to his door without previously letting anyone know you were coming.

“Yeah, well neither did I...”

“Come on in, we’re just cleaning up a bit.”

“Yeah, I know, that’s just what Han calls me for, apparently.”

You walked in and even Chan couldn’t help but watch you as you walked by, smelling your perfume and getting slightly lost in your bare legs through your short dress; which you were wearing only for, who they consider, your enemy.

“Agh, my dear sister who’s going to help me do the laundry and dishes, how good you look, have you eaten yet?” said in a fake and dramatic tone your brother, greeting you with an exaggerated expression of excitement and hugging you, which he never does and was just overacting and being funny.

“Fuck you, Han” you answered him as a joke, you were really there just to see Minho and you were starting to get desperate, you wanted to run into his arms and kiss his nose exactly where he had his little freckle.

Han changed his expression to an annoyed one as soon as he pulled away from you after his brief hug, “Hey, watch your mouth, I’m older remember. Also, why are you wearing so much perfume, are you wearing makeup?”

“I can’t believe you brought your sister all the way here just to help you” Chan interjected.

“Hey, Y/N, nice to see you” interrupted Hyunjin as he came out of his room and walked around the apartment.

“Hi” you replied sweetly smiling at Hyunjin.

“She came to see me, it’s obvious” you heard Changbin suddenly say, who came out of the laundry room, approaching Han and you.

Changbin winked at you and gently grabbed your waist, flirting and teasing you, making Hyunjin laugh. But Han didn’t find it the least bit funny so he opened his big round eyes in shock, raising his eyebrows, ready to exclaim in his typical voice:

“Ya, are you out of your mind? Get your dirty hands off my sister or I’ll kill you.”

Chan laughed at Han’s reaction, who was also joking, since he fully trusted each of his friends and knew that they were just playing around, he knew that none of the men he lived with every day would touch you and Han had a strict rule of not trying anything with you, since you were the closest to them, all the time living with them, a rule which they all respected since at least four of them also had sisters and understood the seriousness of the situation... however it wasn’t quite like that, Minho was the one who dared to touch you and would fuck you every day if only you could be together all the time and, for the rest, Minho was really the last option in the list of people who would even have anything to do with you, since for them, you two are enemies and hate each other. Plus Han would never agree to you dating any of his friends, you were strictly forbidden and he reminded them of that every chance he got.

Changbin let out a guilty chuckle and walked away from you.

“Well, I was assigned to do the dishes and laundry, please help me, my room is a mess, I’ll clean that up. I’ll buy you five Chanel bags, I promise, please” spoke your brother, you rolled your eyes and walked towards the kitchen without answering him.

Hours later, the night came and you finished without a problem, you handed the freshly washed clothes to each of them, you left the boys’ kitchen spotless and went a little frustrated to your brother’s room to see what he was doing, he had finished cleaning too, tiredly you sat on his bed, each time losing hope of spontaneously seeing your boyfriend and surprising him, so you thought about going to the bathroom to send him a message, saying you were there and that if he had the rest of the night he should spend it with you, making a little drama by reproaching him for not telling you he would have the day off, supposedly, since you knew he might be cleaning.

“I’m thinking of buying another piece of furniture and putting it in...” started to tell you Han, pointing to a part of his room but you decided not to pay attention at all,

And suddenly a voice, a sound so familiar that it filled every part of your body with excitement, you heard in the distance the typical whine of your boyfriend, followed by his manly voice in a soft whine saying, “Agh, are you guys done already? I really didn’t want to clean up today, why did you guys finish so soon?”

Han opened his eyes in surprise and looked at you with a bit of fear, he also recognized perfectly well that it was Minho.

“Is that Minho?” you asked suddenly, hiding every excited particle of your body, your heart pounding as if you were a young girl about to see her crush.

“Oh no… if you want, I’ll get him out of here before he sees you” Han replied and before you even thought how to stop him he was already leaving his room.

You quickly stood up and went after him.

“Ah, Hannie, let’s go get some dinner and let’s all eat it in my apart...” spoke Minho cheerfully as he saw his friend coming out of the hallway but he didn’t finish the sentence as his world stopped as he saw you coming out behind him.

And there he was, Lee Minho, looking as handsome as ever, in comfortable clothes and a bare face, his hair looking soft and shiny black. You had to contain your joy, feeling him so far away but so close at the same time; as did Minho, who held back with all his might a smile from his lips at the sight of you, instead, his expression tightened completely, furrowing his thick eyebrows, his thin lips pursed a little, his big eyes sharpened if that was possible, looking at you contemptuously and an irremediable tension for the rest of the guys formed in the atmosphere, they all looked at each other complicitly, amused and slightly worried, Chan, Changbin, Hyunjin and Han, moving their eyeballs quickly as they noticed you and Minho were looking at each other.

“What the fuck is she doing here?” spat Minho annoyed.

His tone and demeanor gave you goosebumps, just as it made your pussy throb, it really turned you on to see him upset, he looked so hot, you ran your eyes along his bare arms with your gaze, you wanted his veiny hands on your neck but you had to maintain your sanity and be tough, acting your best role, as Minho’s enemy.

“Minho be nice...” Chan said softly.

“With... that-her, never. Oh, and I see why you guys finished early. That’s unfair, you have a fucking maid” said Minho again in annoyance.

“Minho...” your brother replied in his sternest tone and giving him a dirty look.

“Actually, let’s all eat at Minho’s, that sounds good” you finally spoke, walking and teasing your enemy.

“You can’t come into my apartment” Minho answered you, his eyes dark with desire as he saw how pretty you looked and it made him feel so good to know you were doing it for him.

You knew that look so well, so intimidating and wetting you in seconds; while for the rest it was a look of hatred and spite.

“I’m hungry, let’s eat” Changbin added, approaching you two and gently squeezing your forearms as he saw that you seemed to have a staring contest, “Come on, maybe you’re just mad because you’re hungry.”

The story of you and Minho really was funny, you truly used to be enemies and hated each other; Minho met you when you were younger, for him, back in his trainee years, and instantly thought of you as a spoiled brat who was given absolutely everything, your voice irritated him, the way you acted, everything. You both had such similar personalities that you just couldn’t manage to match each other... until years later, the big revelation fell on Minho with the intensity of a crash, he liked you, you were so cute all of sudden and he also suddenly fantasized about beating your ass to stopping you from being so badly behaved. Your start of romance was so fiery, as you were suddenly confused by his strange behavior, flirting with you while still being rude to you and, since then, a year ago that you’ve been dating. And you decided to hide it for obvious reasons; although Minho had already told you that he had no problem claiming you as his own, that he loved to possess you and have you as his girlfriend, he loved the intensity in which you loved him.

And now acting like enemies in front of everyone and lovers in secret between just you two, became such an exciting game you couldn’t stop, you lived for the mystery and the adrenaline of never getting caught, and when the guys started joking that ‘those who hate each other end up falling in love’ —literally your situation—, Minho would be really mean to you again, but he rewarded you so fucking well that you even forgot why he apologized. Sex after fake hard fights was always the best for you.

Changbin led everyone to Minho’s apartment, everyone without truly thinking about why they followed him and the rest of the people who lived with Minho were surprised at the timely arrival of the rest of his friends and you.

“Woah, what is this? What are you guys doing here?” you watched Jeongin say in surprise as he slowly lowered the cell phone from his face.

The three of them were sitting on the couch in the living room, Felix, Seungmin and Jeongin, watching you enter with astonishment reflected on their faces.

“It looked pretty serious the way they all came in” Felix added smiling, “Hello, Y/n.”

“Yongbok don’t say hello to her or I’ll kick you out of the apartment” replied Minho quickly.

“What do you guys want for dinner?” spoke Chan.

“You’re not even invited to this house, plus I’m still not done with my chores” replied Minho directly to you, serious and a bit irritated.

“What you guys haven’t done yet? Let us help you so you can finish soon” spoke Chan kindly again.

“Minho hasn’t done anything, he just kept bossing around” Seungmin exposed him with a smile and pointing at him, causing a soft chuckle among his other two roommates.

“Kim Seungmin, count your days” Minho hissed.

“A whole pile of clothes to be folded is waiting for him in his room” Seungmin joked again.

“Shut up, Seungmin!” exclaimed your boyfriend.

“Y/n should go help him, it would be fun to see them not fighting for five seconds” commented Jeongin amused with his cocky tone and raising his eyebrows.

“Never, I’d rather burn your clothes” replied Minho.

“Yes yes, put them both in punishment” exclaimed Seungmin with a huge smile on his face.

“For all the nights they had their little fights every time we went out” Changbin continued the joke.

Hyunjin and Felix laughed, Han and Chan watched you both with amusement.

“There’s not going to be any more nights together because I’m going to kill every single one of you” mumbled your boyfriend.

You watched the scene, trying to be the strongest and hiding the immense urge you had to indeed see your boyfriend's room.

“No way” Chan lifted his shoulders, “You have to fulfill your duties...”

“Okay, okay, but who said I would agree to help him?” you spoke suddenly.

“Oh, yeah, you both have to go while we order food” Changbin sentenced, waking over to you to gently push you.

“Do it” you heard Han order you.

“Just because I seriously don’t want to fold all those clothes by myself...” whispered Minho.

You looked at him surprised, and with a face of indignation you followed him. But deep down you were just waiting for all the drama to be over and you could be alone with him.

“Wow, he really accepted her help” Hyunjin commented in amazement as he watched you walk to Minho’s room.

“Shut the fuck up, Hyunjin, I’ll cut your tongue out!” shouted Minho to which Hyunjin made a quick funny grimace in response.

“Try not to kill each other in there!” yelled Changbin.

You and Minho stood for a few moments near his door, looking at each other complicit and with your breathing heavy, so eager to be near each other; you watched him through the darkness of his room, diverting your gaze from his big bright eyes to the rest of his room with huge windows overlooking the city, his room was beautiful, after all he was part of a very important group and maintained his reputation by having a luxurious place to live in... and almost at one end of his bed, a pile of clothes waiting to be folded. There were few times that you had entered Minho’s room as privacy was very limited.

You were both waiting for the boys’ attention to be diverted elsewhere and, Minho recognizing and hearing that they finally managed to get distracted, he locked the door. Minho knew them so well and recognized perfectly when their attention was diverted to something new; their loud voices ceased softly as they were heard lower with his door closed and he without wasting any time, grabbed you by the hips, pulling your body to him.

You smiled broadly, once again with every particle of you excited to finally have him near.

“I missed you so much, baby, you look so good today” he spoke to you sweetly, leaning into you and kissing you.

You couldn’t answer him, your whole body went warm as you felt his lips on yours, you both missed each other madly and wanted each other immensely, so quickly the kiss became desperate and lustful, his sharp nose rubbing against your face, your hands wrapping around his neck and stroking his hair; Minho hugged you, leaving his hands on your back and slowly leading you to his bed.

As you bumped against the edge of his bed with your legs, he slowly let his body drop, making you fall onto his bed gently, both of you breathless, lewd with the temperatures of your excited bodies, Minho wanted to make you his now and you needed your boyfriend’s affection so bad that your weak pussy was so soaked and needy for his touch. Minho moved away from you a little, only to pull up your dress and reveal that you were only wearing your panties underneath it, you noticed his disapproving look, still he said sweetly:

“Settle in, princess, make yourself comfortable, so I can touch you better.”

You stirred a little, getting comfortable with his pillows on your back and Minho kissed you again, positioning his body over yours, sticking to you to the point of feeling his swollen hard erection rubbing against your sensitive center, he was kissing you so passionately, getting even for all the nights he had to spend it alone, when he had you as his girlfriend and he was partly able to come and see you, you taking care of him so well. You moaned softly as you felt his cock grinding into your pussy and, Minho being himself, he began to gently ram into you, rubbing and squeezing his member into your needy area, rubbing against your clit, causing you to lubricate yourself more and every muscle in your pussy to throb hungrily for your boyfriend’s cock.

Your groans were held between his lips, but Minho was fucking you slowly and torturously, moving his nimble hips against your pussy, leaving you so wet.

You both caught your breath, Minho watched your face slightly illuminated by the night’s exterior reflected in the window. You gasped, still watching him lovingly, placing your hands on his cheeks.

“I missed you too, Minho.”

“I know, sweetheart, sorry I was busy” gasped Minho breathlessly, enjoying his cock being compressed against the friction of the fabric of your panties on your pussy.

He moved his hand down to your pussy finally, pushing the fabric of your panties aside, reaching down to your entrance and smiling smugly as he noticed how incredibly wet you were. Minho bit his lip and inserted two fingers deep into you, making you moan and the sound of his fingers immersing between your lubed cunt.

“I want to fuck you so bad, princess, c'mon, ask for it, kitten. I loove to hear you beg, you know that, don’t you?”

“Ahh, mmm, M-minho, p-please” you sighed excitedly, his fingers were tickling a sweet spot in you.

You wiggled your ass gently, aroused to have your boyfriend’s fingers working on your sensitive vagina and exploring your insides, as you reached for the hem of his shirt, gently lifting his simple white t-shirt, stroking his abs; Minho smirked again smugly and abruptly slid his fingers out of you.

“You want to touch me too, don’t you, kitten?”

Minho drew a half smile on his face to which you only nodded in a trance, completely lost in the incredibly hot and sexy atmosphere created between you and your boyfriend. He hurried, taking off his shirt and quickly pulling down his shorts and boxers, exposing his very well erect cock, you could appreciate how needy he was too, detonating his veins and his pink tip covered by shiny white precum. You almost sighed, wanting to have fun in so many ways with your boyfriend’s cock, so almost reflexively you directed your hands towards his member, stroking it to feel its stiffness, causing sweet gasps to escape from Minho’s lips, you looked at him, in his face captured pure pleasure, so you wanted to get up, change positions and suck his cock, but he stopped you instantly, also almost reflexively.

“Ah, ah” spoke your boyfriend in disapproval, pushing you off your shoulder, “Be a good girl and do whatever I say and want, okay?”

Minho darkened his gaze more and said it in a tone so intense and demanding but being gentle with you that it made your body tremble in excitement, you bit your lip and nodded.

“Now, stroke my cock and cum in my fingers like a good princess” he spoke again, his dirty words made you throb again, “But... let me see a little bit your pretty body...” Minho licked his lips and abruptly sought a way to pull the straps of your dress to expose your chest, “You always look so good, baby” Minho let his gaze linger on your bare breasts and then came closer and kissed you again.

You were so distracted, blinded by the incredible pleasure built up in your body, busy with your mouths joined, your hands in stroking up and down his cock and, as soon as you felt again the tickle of his fingers touching your pussy, your hairs stood on end; Minho without stopping kissing you, inserted in your entrance three of his fingers, making you gasp at the sensation of your entrance stretching. He moved his kisses down, down your neck, his hot breath hitting your sensitive skin, until his mouth reached your breasts, licking them, sucking them and biting your nipple, while his hand on your pussy fucked you and his thumb caressed your clit, getting his hand and the thin fabric of your panties you were still wearing wetter and wetter.

“We need to discuss later why you only came in that tiny dress, in panties and no bra, to an apartment full of men, you’re such a very bad kitty, you need a little punishment, but you feel so good right now, I wanna make you cum” Minho said, exasperated and excited in your ear.

He was so aroused too, desperate for an orgasm as he felt your hands skilfully but a little clumsily touching all over his length, stroking his glans, his testicles, feeling every inch of him, which dick you were internally screaming for by wanting such a member to be in you right now, but you couldn’t deny it, you loved the way your boyfriend liked to play and entertain your pussy, ramming it with his fingers and crushing and stroking your needy, throbbing clit. Minho gasped loudly, so close to his orgasm whose he took the decision of delaying it himself, he wanted every drop of his cum inside you, so runny and thick drops of his precum fell on your bare abdomen; his cock was so swollen and throbbing and you felt it in your hands that, in a whimper you practically begged him:

“M-minho please fuck me, I need you.”

Minho smiled.

“Then cum to your first orgasm in my hand, sweetie, you can do it.”

He, being pushed to the limit by your caresses on his cock, sped up his movements in your cunt, desperately fitting his fingers deep inside you, enjoying your walls in his digits, the softness of your throbbing clit on his fingertip. You whimpered loudly, staring into his eyes, arched your back, so ready for your orgasm, every muscle in you squeezed with intensity.

“Are you about to cum, kitten? Do it now, come on.”

“Oh, ffuck” you squealed with a shaky voice, catching one last glimpse of Minho’s handsome face with a smug little smile, before your vision blurred and you rolled your eyes slightly back.

Your legs tensed, you squeezed his cock slightly tighter, only to release yourself in orgasm, squirting into his hand, just as he desired.

“Good girl” Minho commented smiling.

He withdrew his fingers and in one swift movement, slipped your panties off and without warning of anything, brought his face up to your pussy, licking your sweet liquid sliding down your hole. You moaned at the sensation of his thick hot tongue, of his lips sticking to your pussy to slurp hard from your entrance to your labia, feeling his high bridge nose rubbing against your core, Minho left his hands on your thighs and began to eat your pussy, raising his piercing gaze, watching with joy your body struggle with your heavy breathing.

This time you enjoyed every movement of his mouth on your pussy, his kisses, his soft bites, the intense sucking and licking; you were in paradise, his pace was hot and slow, little by little speeding up the way he ate your pussy, Minho was enjoying it too, getting harder on his dick, causing a little pain to his erect cock hanging in the air, in need of attention, screaming to cum, but the slight pain was turning him on more, he loved pushing himself to the limit, making you enjoy only you as you deserve it, besides he had this idea or theory, that he didn’t deserve to cum as he wasn’t being the best boyfriend these last days, he missed you and felt guilty for not being able to come to see you, and that you had to be the one who was looking for him.

Minho again sensed your orgasm so close, your gasps rose, honestly the noise didn’t bother him, the walls were thick and his friends were being ten times louder in the living room of the apartment. So he suddenly stopped having his mouth on your pussy, roughly wiped his face with his dry hand and got closer to your face.

“Don’t cum yet, princess, I need to fuck you now” he whispered, giving you a sweet kiss on your cheek.

You saw him in confusion, you couldn’t even groan because you instantly realized that you were finally going to have his cock inside you.

Minho repositioned himself again, took his member and began to tease your wet and needy entrance, stroking his glans into it, sliding it in so gently and just enough to get your hole dilated, but he would pull it out again. You whimpered with excitement and desperation as you perfectly recognized the game your boyfriend was playing.

“You want it don’t you?” he said amused with his typical smug smile as he saw your needy body and countenance, your pussy made a beautiful mess, your length so shiny from your wetness and his licking, your entrance resenting his tip inside you, “So needy for my cock.”

You whimpered, his broad tip slipped out of you and this time he grind your labia with his erection, rubbing himself on them.

“Y-yes, Minho, please, please, please.”

“Only because I’m the best boyfriend” he replied haughtily.

Minho slowly slid his cock inside you, you gasped, he was big and wide, squeezing your walls hard and stretching your entrance. He sighed, almost feeling a relief as he felt his cock around your warm core, he pulled his body closer to yours, wanting to feel your body touching his; he was so deep inside you that he almost took your breath away, still, he began to thrust you slowly, never leaving his depth and intensity, moving his hips to take you to the limit, caressing your cervix, and his balls rubbing against your exposed pussy. You tightened your legs and encircled his body, while your hands rested on his strong back, you both began to pant, his slow deep thrusts heating your lower abdomen, torturing you but sending you to heaven itself at the same time. Minho kept a pace that only he knew how made you go crazy, slow, then he accelerated fast, pounding you hard. You dug your nails into his back, you were so close to your orgasm; Minho sped up the movements of his cock in you, but as he felt your walls squeezing his member hard, he couldn’t take it, he gasped loudly in your ear and ejaculated, milking him dry every drop of his cum in an intense orgasm. You felt his cum instantly, your legs also squeezed his body tighter and you whimpered loudly, cumming again and covering your boyfriend’s cock in your so intense orgasm.

Minho left his head on your neck for a few seconds, then distanced himself and watched your pussy image after the action.

“So sweet and all mine” Minho said, looking down at his cock sliding out of your core, dripping the glorious orgasm of both of you in a glistening liquid; he moved closer to you again, to give you a sweet kiss, your mouth was dry, from moaning and breathing by it, but quickly Minho’s soft lips ceased any sensation, “I love you” he whispered into your lips, bringing your foreheads together.

You smiled, about to answer him something cheesy, but Minho’s doorknob turning sharply and banging on his door alerted you a little.

“Dinner’s ready, why is the door locked?” you heard Seungmin’s voice shout from the other side.

“Linoo” you now heard Changbin’s voice shout, “Are you okay?! He must be dead already.”

Minho sighed in frustration, “These idiots...” he muttered, catching his breath near your face.

—————-

𐙚TAGLIST: @rylea08 @hann1bee @iovecb97 @armystay89

2K notes · View notes

deadghosy · 3 months

Text

How my favorite Slytherin boys react to you passing out.

Warning: Hogwarts legacy to Harry Potter

Ft. Sebastian Sallow, Ominis Gaunt, Tom Riddle, Mattheo Riddle, Draco Malfoy, Theodore Nott, Lorenzo Berkshire.

Sebastian Sallow

“I think I’m gonna pass out.”

“Please don— BLIMEY!”

Immediately catches you a little and takes you to the hospital wing. He’s definitely most worried about you since he was scared in the back of his mind that you might have been cursed like his twin sister during an adventure.

After he found out it was cause you hadn’t eaten, he’s shoving some honeyduke sweets down your throat and meals. 3 meals per day is what he’s making sure you are eating before another adventure starts.

Ominis Gaunt

You haven’t slept much, all these adventures sure were wreaking your body. You came in the common room to rest on the couch. Not noticing that a certain gaunt had sense you, you passed out before getting to the damned couch.

He sensed you passed out and he started to feel scared. He was put away his wand and started to feel you on the floor. And when he finally got the touch of your arm, he gripped it and pulled you towards him. Setting your head in his lap as he was praying to anything, anyone for you to wake up.

So when you woke up he felt relieved but asked you to go see the nurses when you felt like you could walk.

After finding out you haven’t been getting sleep from the trials and adventures you have been going through with Sebastian.

He gave the poor sallow boy an earful of a scolding.

Mattheo Riddle

You passed out due to overheating yourself. You were studying day and night. Of course your beloved riddle was concern, so he comes into your room. When you seen him and tried to stand up, that’s when you fell like an animated cartoon.

Mattheo thought you tripped on yourself, but when you didn’t move he got worried and checked you out.

As he felt your head was burning, he unbutton your shirt and ran to the bathroom to get a cold towel. Putting it in your forehead, he waited.

Waking up to see mattheo was sure a shocker since you would’ve thought he might’ve took you to the hospital wing.

Theodore Nott

He caught you when he noticed you had gotten “dizzy” is what you said in the morning.

He knew something was off when you kept looking spaced out. So when he caught your body that was going to hit the floor, he took you to the medic wing and let the head nurse treat you.

He visits often, telling you about the classes and slight drama. And after you still recover and leave the wing, he’s treating you like you will break.

And now you got a overprotective Theodore on your side

Lorenzo Berkshire

Panic mode actived

Poor baby let out a scream which alerted a professor over and took you to the medic wing

He was anxious waiting for news on when you can be release and how the blazes did to pass out.

You passed out because you forgot to ate for the 2nd time. Prepare for this Slytherin boy to put a lot of food on your plate for weeks.

1K notes · View notes

fallinforgyu · 9 months

Text

steamroller

pairing: mingi/fem!reader

genre: childhood best friends to lovers, college au, angst, smut - minors do NOT interact

warnings: no dom/sub dynamic, unrequited love, mutual loss of virginity, mingi has a massive cock, fingering, oral sex (f. recieving)

word count: 10k

a/n: i want to be honest with you guys, this is not a comeback. this is just a little fic that i’ve been working on for the past year or so that has brought me a lot of comfort, and i hope that it can do the same for you. i’m not sure if i’ll ever be active on this blog like i used to be, but please know that i will always be a writer and i will always read every single comment, reblog, and note that is sent to me. thank you for being my readers. i love you all so so dearly <3

“Hey, Mingi,” Yunho asked, staring at his distorted reflection in the back of a flimsy dining hall spoon, “Have you ever eaten a girl out before?”

“W-What the fuck?” Mingi choked on his homemade sandwich. “Why would you ask me that?”

“Because I want to go down on my girl on our next date…” he dropped the spoon on his tray, frowning as it clanged. “We’ve already fucked but I think it’ll be a nice way to show her I really care, you know? But I’ve never done it before.”

“Wait-” Mingi dropped his voice to a whisper, leaning forward across the table. “You’ve had sex before?”

“You haven’t?” Yunho grinned.

“Of course I haven’t, asshole! Why didn’t you tell me?”

Yunho shrugged. “Guess I just didn’t think it was that important. What time’s your next class?”

“I’m done with classes for the day,” Mingi crumbled the tin foil that previously held his sandwich into a ball. “Yours is at 2:30, right?”

The older boy nodded and the two stood up, making their way to the nearest trash can.

“Besides,” Yunho placed his tray on top of a growing stack of them while Mingi threw away his brown paper bag. “I thought you would’ve already fucked that girl you’re always with by now. What was her name again?”

Mingi’s eyes widened as your name slipped past Yunho’s lips. “Sh!” he hissed, looking over his shoulder. “I told you to stop asking about her. She doesn’t like me like that.”

“But you haven’t even tried!”

“Yes, I have!”

“Giving her a warm Tootsie Roll that had been sitting in your pocket all day does not count as trying.”

“But I gave it to her on Valentine’s Day!” Mingi whined. “That counts for something, right?”

He reluctantly met Yunho’s eyes, groaning when he saw his friend’s lips pressed into a thin line and his head shaking.

“You’ve gotta just tell her, dude. You’re never gonna know if you don’t try.”

He knew Yunho was right. If he ever wanted anything to change, he’d have to talk to you. Otherwise, he’d spend his entire life wondering what would’ve happened if he would’ve just had the balls to tell you.

He’d do it today, he decided, when he met you at your usual spot to walk back to your dorms together. That way, he could just run home if you said you didn’t feel the same way! Perfect plan.

Mingi wiped his hands on his pants as he walked to your usual meeting spot, attempting to calm himself down and hype himself up at the same time.

He was really going to do it now; he was going to spill his heart out and hope that you somehow ended up in his arms. He’d start with how he’d loved you since you were kids when you took swim lessons with him at the community pool. You jumped right in the water when he was too afraid to duck his head underneath, and he remembered wanting to be brave like you. He loved you in middle school when you noticed him struggling with his math homework and offered to help. He loved you when you introduced him to Yunho, your friend from the student council who would end up becoming his best friend. And he loved you two years later, when he read your summer reading book aloud to you because staring at the pages made you sleepy.

He loved you last year when you went to prom together, even when you made a point of announcing to the rest of your group that the two of you were “Just really good friends.”

Oh, well. He loved you when he gave you that Tootsie Roll three months ago, too.

And he loved you now, when he approached you slowly and timidly, waving his hand to get you to look up from your phone.

“Oh, hi,” you grinned, pulling the earbuds out of your ears.

“Hi,” he smiled.

“How was… how was your day?” You asked the same question you always asked when you saw him, but it sounded different this time. It was like an exhale; Like you were breathing the words instead of speaking them. If he didn’t know better, he would’ve thought you were nervous.

“Good,” he nodded, gripping the straps of his backpack.

“Good!” You repeated, clasping your hands together. “So…”

He braced himself to say it. I’m in love with you. I have been ever since we were kids. I don’t want to be your friend, I want to kiss you.

But you spoke first, and you said, “I think we should have sex.”

He thought that he was having a stroke. He thought that you were having a stroke. “W-what did you say?”

“Hear me out,” you waved your hands and closed your eyes. “We’re the last virgins in our friend group, right? And everyone thinks we’ve already fucked, anyway. So we could just do it together and get it over with so that it’s not as big of a deal when we do it with other people!”

“I don’t…” His face felt like it was on fire. His stomach burned, and his palms were even sweatier than before. Get it over with?

You sighed. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have dumped that on you so fast. I’ve just been thinking about it for a few weeks now, and…”

Your voice turned into a murmur in the back of his mind as he analyzed your words. Been thinking about it for weeks now? Thinking about…

“But you don’t have to decide now, okay? I just wanted to see if you would be up for it.”

He slowly blinked and nodded back like an idiot. “O-okay. Yeah, I’ll think about it.”

You nudged his shoulder with yours as you stood up to walk home with him, down the streets of the campus that had been home to you for the past nine months. “And there’s no pressure, alright? You can say I’m gross and you see me like a sister and I won’t be mad,” you laughed.

You’re beautiful. I want you to be my girlfriend.

“I’ll think about it,” he repeated.

“Cool,” you nodded. “How’d that stats test go?”

You felt sick when you tried to go to sleep that night, nauseated with the thought that you might’ve just ruined everything.

You didn’t mean for it to come out so fast. You didn’t mean to make him embarrassed. You only meant to present the idea to him; a sort of business proposal that would benefit the both of you before you went back home for the summer.

None of your friends were virgins anymore. Only you and Mingi were left, and you’d known each other the longest, anyway.

You turned in bed to stare at the pictures of the two of you taped to the collage on your wall. He stood next to you in a cheap rental tuxedo at prom, his mouth pulled into a gummy smile and his arm linked with yours. In another picture, he stood three inches away from you at your middle school graduation, a reminder of the awkward phase the two of you went through when you realized that he was a boy and you were a girl.

But there were pictures from before that time, too, like the one of the two of you covered in nasty, artificially-colored green frosting from the cake at Mingi’s Incredible Hulk-themed birthday party in 2005. Or the two of you dressed up as Cosmo and Wanda from Fairly Odd Parents for Halloween in fourth grade.

Your oldest friend. The person who’d seen you through every phase of your life – even your emo phase in seventh grade – and stuck by you nonetheless.

You thought of his full lips and his broad shoulders, his big hands. He was handsome, there was absolutely no arguing that, but he was also kind and gentle and sweet. He was always the first to notice when something was wrong and the last to believe you when you told him you were fine.

Being his lover would be amazing, but not if it meant you couldn’t be his friend anymore. You wouldn’t fall unless he asked you to because losing him wasn’t an option.

You’d tell him tomorrow to forget it. That it was stupid, and you changed your mind.

Mingi told Yunho about it at lunch the next day.

“She talked to me yesterday,” he mumbled, picking the peel off of a clementine.

“And? What’d she say?” Yunho leaned forward, anticipating Mingi’s answer.

“She wants to fuck me.”

Yunho let out a laugh of disbelief. “Don’t play with me right now.”

“She does! She said, and I quote, ‘I think we should have sex.’”

“Well,” Yunho chuffed, “There you go, buddy! I told you all you had to do was talk to her!”

Mingi knew he didn’t really talk to you. He knew he just listened (well, half-listened, half daydreamed about what losing his virginity to you would be like) while you gabbed on about how it was a win-win situation.

But Yunho seemed so happy… No, proud of him. His validation made Mingi feel good – like this was the right decision.

“So, when are you going to do it?” Yunho squeezed a gluttonous amount of ketchup on his dry chicken patty.

Mingi stared at his Ziploc bag of slightly brown apple slices. “Well… I haven’t really told her I’d do it yet.”

“What? Why not?”

“I just didn’t know if it was right…”

“The girl that you’ve been in love with since you were a kid wants to give you her virginity and take yours at the same time, and you don’t know if it’s right?”

Mingi smiled. “Yeah… I know.”

“Tell her today. I bet you’ll do it before you go home for the summer if you tell her today.”

“Okay, yeah.” Mingi nodded, feeling more sure of himself. “I’ll tell her today.”

You had headphones in when you waited for Mingi after school, but you weren’t listening to any music. There was already too much buzzing around in your head, and music would only overwhelm you even more.

You chewed on your nailbeds and rehearsed your script in your head. Hey, I was way off base yesterday. That was weird and I shouldn’t have put you on the spot like that. Let’s just pretend it never happened and enjoy the summer, okay?

You saw his sneakers first. They were clean, exactly how they looked when he bought them four months ago.

He was smiling when you looked up.

“Let’s do it.”

“Wait… really?” You tilted your head to the side, trying not to stare at his lips.

“Yeah. You were right, it just makes sense for us to do it together.” His cheeks were pink.

You slowly nodded, trying to convince yourself that it was a good idea again. “Right. Yeah… yeah, it makes sense.” You clapped your hands together. “Well! It’s settled then! Is Yunho leaving town anytime soon?”

“I don’t… I don’t think so?”

You stood up to begin your walk home, and Mingi followed suit.

“Well,” you sighed. “My roommates are probably home, but we should be fine if we’re quiet.”

Mingi stumbled a bit as he walked. “Wait, we’re doing this right now? Like, literally right now?”

“No!” you turned your head towards him as you spoke, but you didn’t look him in the eye. “But don’t you think we should do other stuff first? And like… work up to the big thing?”

“Other stuff?”

“Just to warm us up. You know, so it won’t be as scary when we…” You pictured Mingi naked and on top of you, his eyebrows furrowed and his pretty lips parted in a moan. You cleared your throat. “You know.”

“O-okay,” he nodded. “Okay, yeah.”

Mingi sat on your bed with his hands tucked underneath his thighs to hide how badly they were shaking. He looked around the room, jealous of your full-size bed. He and Yunho were in a shared room dorm, and his feet always hung off the end of his twin mattress.

Meanwhile, you scrolled through your phone to find a good playlist. You hit shuffle on the first one that suited your taste and a familiar song tumbled out of your cheap Bluetooth speaker.

“You’ve kissed someone before, right?” You put your phone on your desk and walked to your bed.

“Yes,” he nodded.

You narrowed your eyes at him. “Who?”

He squirmed, adjusting his hands under his thighs. “My lab partner in ninth grade. She felt me up under the bleachers.” I was thinking about you the whole time, his internal monologue chimed in, the words never making it past his lips.

“Gross,” you laughed, sitting on your bed. “Just let me lead, okay? Try to mirror what I do.”

You reached up to hold his jaw, and his entire body stiffened.

“Hey.” You waved your hand in front of his face. “Don’t be nervous, Ming. It’s just me. We don’t have to do this if you don’t want t–”

“I want to!” He interrupted. “Please. I really want to. I’m just nervous.”

You rested both your hands on his shoulders. “It’s just me,” you repeated. “The same me that I’ve always been.”

Yeah, he thought, that’s the problem.

“Just follow my lead.” You gave him an encouraging smile, which he weakly returned. “It’ll be fun, okay?”

Mingi nodded, closed his eyes, and held his breath. A few seconds later, he felt your lips against his, and they were even softer than he imagined. He was sure that his were chapped, and he regretted not wearing lip balm more often like his mom always told him to.

“See? That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

He opened his eyes at the sound of your voice and gave you a tiny shake of his head.

“Do you want another one?” You smiled.

“Yes, please,” he whispered.

You kissed him again, a little bit longer this time. Your lips naturally slotted with his, and butterflies filled his tummy when you rested your hand on his thigh.

And then your lips parted. He wasn’t sure what to do other than follow your lead like you’d told him to, so he let his lips part, as well.

His breath caught in his throat when your hand slid down to his neck. He barely had time to recover before you slipped your tongue in his mouth, playful and teasing and light.

“O-oh,” he breathed, a shiver running through his body.

“How was that?”

“Good. I liked… I liked the part when you used your tongue.”

“Shut up,” you laughed. “You wanna… keep going?”

“Yes,” he nodded.

And that was how Mingi had his first makeout session with his childhood best friend. He tried to keep his whimpers to a minimum, but it was hard to when your kisses progressively got more heated. Your tongue in his mouth was unlike anything he’d ever felt before, and he blushed at your giggle when he tried to mirror your movements.

“Such a fast learner, Ming.”

“T-thanks…”

“You know you can touch me, right? You don’t have to sit on your hands.”

He looked down, completely unaware that his hands were still tucked underneath his thighs. They were both numb now, and they tingled when he pulled them up. He flexed and relaxed them to get his blood flowing again.

“I’ve never…” he whispered, “I’m sorry. I don’t- I don’t know where to touch.”

You gave him a smile laced with what might have been pity and took his big hand in yours, moving it to rest on your hip.

“What about the other one?” He whispered, even quieter than before.

And then you were lifting his other hand and placing it on your cheek. His breath caught in his throat again.

It’s strange to truly look at someone whose face has always been a constant in your life. You looked different, but also the same. People change, but they don’t.

Mingi was sure of one thing: your face was the most beautiful he’d ever seen. He liked it ten years ago, and he liked it now.

He kissed you first the next time. And since he’d gotten a little more confident, he let his lips part and used his tongue first, too. He kept his hands where you’d placed them and you kept yours around his neck. You kissed and kissed and kissed, and for now, that was enough.

It didn’t stay enough for long. You and Mingi practically ran to your dorm after school every day, barely taking time to breathe before attaching your mouths together once your door was shut. Your obsession with Mingi’s lips had only grown since you started spending most of your free time kissing them.

His hands were nice, too. They’d gotten a little bit more curious since that day, sometimes giving your hip a gentle squeeze or moving up to your waist while he kissed you. Any noise you’d make would immediately be met with a “sorry” – a constant reminder that no matter how attractive the boy you were making out with was, he was still just the same old Mingi.

And the little reactions he’d make were precious. He’d gasp when you touched his thighs, he’d hum when you stroked his neck, he’d whimper when you took his plump bottom lip between your teeth. The more you worked him up, the luckier you felt to have been the only person to have ever seen him like this.

You wondered how that could be while you sucked his lips. Plenty of girls had crushed on Mingi over the years. You knew because they’d always ask you if you were his girlfriend before they tried to confess to him. No matter how many times you told them you weren’t, he never ended up dating any of them.

You detached from his lips with a smack. “Mingi?”

“Mm?” He blinked, eyes slightly glazed over and lips swollen from kisses.

“Why haven’t you had a girlfriend before?”

His eyes widened for a split second, and he tried to cover it up by blinking a few times. “Uh… just never met the right person, I guess.”

“But girls have been throwing themselves at you for years… You didn’t ever want to try anything with them?”

“Guess I just wanted to wait for someone that I really…” he swallowed. “Trust.”

That made sense. The thought of doing all of these things with a stranger was horrifying, but you felt safe with Mingi. You smiled, kissing the corner of his mouth.

“I trust you too, Ming. Wanna try something new?”

“O-okay, yeah.”

You tapped his shoulder twice. “Lay down.”

Like a puppy who’d just been given a command, he lowered himself against your pillows, swinging his legs up so he was laying on the bed. You swung a leg over his hips to straddle them, and his eyes immediately widened.

You’d never really taken time to admire how pretty Mingi was. His chest, which was more toned than you’d realized, was swelling and deflating as he attempted to stabilize his breathing. His Adam’s apple dipped as he swallowed, and you’d be stupid to not notice the way his thick thighs tensed and relaxed underneath his black jeans.

And then you leaned down, hovering over him to study his face. You ran your thumb over his sharp jaw as you took in his other features; The same darkness in his eyes that wasn’t mysterious, but warm and inviting. The straight line of his nose, the pointed tip of it. The birthmark under his eye, the one on his cheek, the acne scars that dotted his cheeks like stars. Those fucking lips.

Mingi was really fucking cute. Had he always been?

You kissed him again, smiling when a little whimper escaped his lips.

“Cute,” you mumbled, unaware that the word had left your mouth until it was too late.

Or maybe it was a good thing that you said it. Mingi’s response was enough to make you think that, at least. He moaned again, louder this time, as he pushed his hips forward against yours.

Mingi always got hard during your makeout sessions, but you always pretended not to notice to spare him from any embarrassment. However, pretending not to notice was incredibly difficult with his bulge grinding against your heat.

He moaned at the stimulation, but quickly interrupted himself. “Ooh-sorry! I’m so sorry, that wasn’t on purpo–”

You clapped a hand over his mouth. “I told you we have to be quiet.”

He nodded, eyes wide as your hand stayed pressed to his mouth. You slid it down to rest on his chest when you whispered in his ear. “Don’t be sorry. That’s what I wanted to try.”

You pushed and pulled your hips against his erection again in one experimental thrust, grinning when his eyes screwed shut and his lips pressed together. You cupped his face to guide his lips to yours again.

It was as uncoordinated as two virgins could be. Though your lips easily moved together from a week of practice, neither of your hips were skilled enough to set any sort of rhythm. You just desperately grabbed at each other, groping and humping and kissing like your lives depended on it.

Soon, you could feel your soaking panties uncomfortably sticking to your core. The fabric gave you the tiniest bit of stimulation, dragging against your clit and ever-so-slightly teasing you. And the boy underneath you was driving you insane, with his messy kisses and his tiny groans.

You didn’t know what the end goal was, but you knew that it felt better when you grinded your hips faster, so that’s what you did.

“Ah-” You silenced Mingi’s moan by pressing your mouth to his again, sighing as he hummed against your lips.

And then he whimpered your name. He’d said your name a thousand times before, but he’d never said it like this. Like it was a cry for help, a desperate plea for something. The sound fueled the fire of your desperation as you continued moving your hips, hoping to God that he’d say it again.

And he did. You attached your lips to his neck and he whined your name once more, followed by a tiny breath of, “O-oh, god…”

His little sounds were getting better and better. Your name slipped past his lips between breathy whimpers and choked hums, and you kept licking and sucking his neck while you grinded your clothed, soaking pussy against his painfully hard, just as clothed dick.

Finally, you took pity on the poor thing. His moans were getting increasingly desperate, and you could tell that he was doing everything in his power to keep them quiet. You hovered your lips directly over his ear.

“What’s wrong, baby?”

“A-ah-mph!” He squeezed his eyes shut as he writhed on the bed, pressing his hand to his mouth to keep his pathetic noises in. His whole body was shaking when you sat up.

A wet patch on the crotch of his jeans made the dark fabric even darker, and a horrified expression washed over his face as your eyes immediately landed on it. If he would’ve looked between your legs, he would’ve noticed that your shorts were just as soaked, but he didn’t. He only saw your dumbfounded expression as you tried to figure out what you were supposed to say. All that came out was, “D-did you just…?”

You just made a boy cum. From kissing. This had to have been the best day of your life.

“I’m sorry,” he breathed, pushing you off of him. He immediately stood up, locating his jacket on your desk and holding it in front of his pants as he slid his bag over his shoulder. “I’m… I’m sorry.” He looked down the whole time, never letting his eyes meet yours as he slipped his way out of your bedroom door.

“Mingi!” you called two seconds too late. “You’re not going to–”

You sighed, letting your voice get quiet. “Help me?”

He didn’t come back, leaving you with soaking panties and an unsatiated pulsing between your legs that wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon.

You texted him the next morning.

It’s not a big deal, Ming. Do you want to come over?

He didn’t respond. You went the whole weekend without hearing from him, and even when you waited for him at your usual spot on Monday, he didn’t show. You sent him another text.

Stop being stupid. I miss you.

He didn’t respond to that, either. By Tuesday, you were so anxious to see him that you waited outside his lecture hall after his morning class, scanning the crowd of faces for him. He wasn’t difficult to find; his tall frame easily distinguished him from the rest of the crowd, even with his shoulders slouched. He made eye contact with you and immediately put his head down, walking faster.

“Mingi!” You yelled, weaving through the crowd to follow him.

His pace quickened, his long legs carrying him out of the brick building and through the grassy common area, skillfully dodging flying frisbees and strategically-hung Enos.

“Mingi! This…” you panted. “This isn’t fair! Your legs are longer than mine!”

He flinched with each call of his name, but he didn’t turn around. He didn’t slow down. You picked up your pace to a jog, huffing as you tried to catch up to him. “MINGI! Stop fucking ignoring me!”

After quickening your steps to a borderline sprint, you finally got close enough to grab the handle of his backpack, yanking him backwards and causing both of you to collapse on the lawn in the process.

“Ow…” he whined, rubbing his butt and attempting to brush grass off of it.

“You…” you breathed. “You fucking suck. Why aren’t you talking to me?”

“W-What do you want me to say? What the hell am I supposed to say after humiliating myself like that?”

“I told you it wasn’t a big deal, stupid! I wanted to make you feel good!”

His ears burned as he looked at you with wide eyes, a mixture of embarrassment and shock painting his face.

“And you… you didn’t even stay and help me. I was more turned on than I’ve ever been in my life, and you just got up and left! Right after I helped you finish! Who the fuck does that?”

“I…” he breathed, trying not to pass out. He made you more turned on than you’d ever been in your life? “I didn’t think you wanted me to…”

“You didn’t think I wanted to feel good, too?”

“No!” he stammered, “No, I just… I didn’t think, I mean, I thought you would think I was gross.”

You sighed, rubbing your temples. “Mingi, the entire point of having sex is to feel good. I didn’t think you were gross, I was jealous of you.”

And see, that was where he fundamentally disagreed with you. As far as Mingi was concerned, the entire point of having sex was to be intimate with someone you love. Feeling good was just a bonus.

He loved you so fucking much. Knowing that you didn’t feel the same way about him made his chest physically ache, but he knew that you needed him, and that was more than he could have hoped for. If you didn’t love him, at least you could love the way he made you feel.

“I’ll make it up to you next time,” he assured you. “I promise I’m gonna make you feel good.”

Your smile reappeared, and he felt like he’d been hit by a train.

“Yeah,” you laughed, punching his shoulder. “You better. Wanna try that new boba place?”

The boba was mid, but it was nice to just be in Mingi’s presence again. He crumpled his straw wrapper as he told you about his weekend, how his mom’s birthday was coming up, and how things were getting more serious between Yunho and his girlfriend.

You liked the sound of his voice. You remembered when it used to crack all the time in middle school, but it had since balanced out into a smooth baritone, cascading your ears in warmth.

“Are you listening to me?”

“What? Yes.”

“No, you’re not,” he scoffed. ”You’ve been staring at my lips for the past five minutes.”

“Yeah, because you have foam on them.”

He immediately wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, his ears flushing a bright red as he mumbled a disingenuous “fuck you.”

The foam was only a scapegoat. You both knew how much you loved his lips.

“Speaking of fuck you…” You shifted in your metal chair. “When… when are we going to… you know…”

“What?”

“You know…” You looked to the side, your eyes widening.

His heartrate doubled. “Oh. Um… I don’t know. Was there… did you have a specific time in mind?”

“Sorry, didn’t realize I needed to make an appointment,” you laughed. “I don’t know. I just… I want to. Soon.”

He remembered your words. Get it over with.

“Okay,” he nodded. “We can. Soon.”

You picked up his hand that was resting on the table to play with his fingers, pinching them between your smaller ones while you chewed on a ball of sweet tapioca.

He swallowed and watched you, his eyes glazing over. I love you, I love you, I love you.

Your stomach dropped a bit when you met his starry eyes. You didn’t know why.

Two days later and you had Mingi underneath you again, his hands gripping your waist while you sucked on those perfect lips.

“Gonna make you feel good this time…” he whispered, trying to catch his breath between your feverish kisses. “Promise.”

You just rested your hand on the back of his neck and sighed.

“Can I… Is it okay if I take your shirt off?” He asked, his face a deep shade of red.

“Yeah,” you breathed. “It’s okay.”

But he didn’t move, so you tugged on the hem of your shirt and lifted it off yourself. His breath caught in his throat when he saw your half-naked torso, covered by nothing but a slightly too tight purple bra that you got on clearance a few years ago.

He shakily brushed a fingertip over the little bow in the center of it.

Your face felt so hot you were sure water would boil if someone rested a pot on your cheek.

“Can you… take your shirt off, too? This feels weird.” You covered your torso with your arms.

“O-oh, yeah,” he nodded. “I’m sorry. Yeah.”

You scooted back so that he could sit up, his trembling hands lifting his shirt over his head.

His chest was flushed red. That was the first thing you noticed. And his belly was lean, but also soft and smooth, puffing and deflating with his shallow breath.

You rested a hand on his chest to feel his heartbeat. He just watched you.

“We’re not kids anymore…” you whispered. There was a sad tone to your words, almost as if you were grieving.

“No,” Mingi shook his head, his voice barely audible. “We’re not.”

It was a beautifully horrifying realization. The kid you used to make mud soup with was a man now, and he was touching you like you’d never been touched before.

You kissed him then. To comfort him, to comfort yourself, to be closer to the person who already knew you better than anyone in the universe.

You unclasped your bra and just let it loosely rest on top of your chest.

“Hey,” Mingi whispered, “Just me, remember?”

Right. Just Mingi.

You tossed your bra to the side, instinctively covering your boobs with your hands.

“Please…” Mingi placed his hands over yours. “I want to see you.”

He sighed when you removed your hands, just as slowly.

“Pretty…” he mumbled. “Is it okay if I touch you?”

You nodded and he ran his hands over the lines on your sides where your bra had been digging into your skin. You cursed yourself for not buying a new one before this. Maybe he’d like one of those silk push-up bras you always saw your friends wearing, or perhaps one of those flimsy lace bralettes that you saw in the windows at Victoria’s Secret last week.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispered, and the insecurity in your stomach almost vanished completely. Almost.

He leaned forward, cupping one of your tits in his huge hand and gently kissing the other. You gasped when you felt his wet tongue drag across your nipple, and he looked up at you for reassurance while you laced your fingers through his hair.

“Does that feel good?”

“Yes,” you breathed. “Y-yeah, that feels good….”

He gently latched his mouth to your nipple, sucking and then running his soft tongue over the flesh to soothe it. You didn’t mean to, but you arched your back, and his free hand found a place in the dip of your waist.

You subconsciously tugged on his hair as he sucked your other nipple. He worshipped your tits, kissing, sucking, and licking them while you quietly moaned, grinding against his erection. You wanted to let him continue all night, but soon, the pulsing between your thighs started to become unbearable.

“Ming… need you to fuck me,” you whispered. “Please.”

He pulled back a bit, his plump lips glossy and his adam’s apple dipping as he swallowed.

“Okay.”

He didn’t move and you didn’t, either. You just looked at each other, breathing heavy though you’d hardly done anything yet.

“... Nobody’s ever seen me naked before,” he said under his breath.

You shook your head. “Me neither.”

He kissed you again, but it was really just so that you wouldn’t watch him while he took his pants off. And you weren’t sure what you were doing, you weren’t sure why, but once both of your pants were off, you reached a hand down and felt him through the thin fabric of his boxers.

He took in a sharp inhale.

“I’m sorry,” you said, “Is this okay?”

And then you felt a large hand between your thighs, softly rubbing you through your panties.

It felt so much different from when you did it to yourself. More pleasurable, sure, but also more vulnerable. More intense.

Neither of you knew what to say. You felt how hard he was against your hand. He felt the little wet patch soaking through your panties. You both needed this desperately, and yet for a few moments, nobody moved.

“Y-you can take them off of me.” Your voice was barely above a whisper and it cracked in the middle, but you were proud of yourself for getting the words out.

His hands shook when he slid them down your thighs. Before he could stare for too long, you slid your fingers under the waistband of his boxers and pushed them down.

You weren’t sure if he was big or not. You’d never seen a penis in real life before, only in porn, and he looked about the same size as what you’d seen in porn. Did that mean he was big?

He looked down, and you realized you were staring. “Sorry,” you stammered, forcing yourself to look him in the eye again.

“N-no, it’s okay. Is it… I mean, do you like it?”

Your face broke into a smile. Mingi, Mingi, Mingi. “Yes, it’s lovely, Ming. Stop stressing.”

You reached for a condom on your nightstand, closely inspecting the foil packet for instructions.

“I think I can do it,” he mumbled, gently taking the condom out of your hand.

“You know how to?”

“I think so.”

After a few minutes of him fumbling with the latex, his lips were on yours again and you could feel his dick resting on your thigh.

“Are you ready?” He pulled back for a moment to look you in the eye.

“M-mhm,” you nodded.

He kissed your cheek and held his dick in his hand, aligning himself. A painful stretching sensation flooded your lower half as his thick tip poked at your entrance.

He inhaled shakily. “C-can I… can I push it in now?”

You nodded. “I… think so? Y-yeah… go ahead…”

He pushed his hips forward, and the sensation intensified when you felt his tip enter you with a pop. The pain was excruciating, unlike anything you’d ever felt before. A horrid stretch, almost like a burn, splitting you open in the worst way. Tears pricked into your eyes.

“OW! Ow, ow, ow, stop, stop, stop!” You pushed his broad shoulders away, whimpering when he frantically pulled out. That hurt, too.

“O-oh my god, are you okay? What did I- D-did I do something wrong?”

You looked down at his dick, which was still fully hard. He was big, you supposed. Really big. With his cock resting on your stomach, it went all the way up to your belly button. You felt stupid for thinking you could take him without any prep.

And you also felt embarrassed. This wasn’t how your first time was supposed to go. This didn’t happen in porn. You were supposed to be screaming his name, he was supposed to be groaning yours and pounding you into the mattress. You were supposed to be making him feel good, and he was supposed to be doing the same for you. A lump formed in your throat and you attempted to blink the tears out of your eyes, which probably just made them more teary.

“No,” you breathed. “I think… I don’t think I’m wet enough.”

He frowned. “Did we not kiss for long enough?”

“No, no, we did.” Guilt crept into your chest. You knew this wasn’t how he pictured his first time going, either.

His frown intensified as a pained look washed over his face. “Are you not… is it because you’re not attracted to me?”

“Stop it, Mingi. It’s not for any reason. You didn’t do anything wrong. Let’s just… we can get lube from the store and try again tomorrow, okay? I can jerk you off to help you finish if you want.”

His heart ached. He didn’t want you to ‘help him finish.’ He wanted to make love to you, soft and tender and slow. He wanted to hold your face and kiss your forehead and tell you how much you meant to him.

But his dick was painfully hard, and there aren’t many times that the love of your life offers to help you finish even though they don’t feel the same way about you, so he said, “Yes, please.”

You wrapped your fingers around his erection, biting your cheek to stop yourself from crying. He bit his lip to do the same.

Mingi couldn’t make eye contact with the cashier when he bought lube from the drug store the next day. His hands shook as he put his card into the reader, and they kept shaking while he entered his pin number. The machine dinged and he yanked his card out, snatching the plastic bag from the cashier before they had time to offer him a receipt. His face burned the entire walk to your dorm and didn’t stop burning once he got there.

His breath caught in his throat when you opened the door. “I got the…” he held the plastic bag up. “I got the stuff.”

You laughed and stepped back to let him inside. “You make it sound like we’re about to do drugs.”

Yeah, something like that.

Mingi didn’t say anything when you sat him on your bed and straddled his hips. He whimpered a little bit when you pressed your lips to his, and you assumed that it was just because he was horny.

You held the side of his neck and worked your tongue against his, rolling your hips forward to grind against his growing bulge. He whimpered again, and you moved your face down to suck on his neck.

“I think you need to finger me first,” you whispered in his ear.

“W-what?” He blinked up at you for a moment, his eyes wide and starry before he shyly looked away. “I’ve never… I mean… I don’t know how to do that.”

“It can’t be that hard, right? You just take your fingers and, like… put them in me.”

“I think it’s a little more complicated than that.”

“Well… I’ll just tell you what feels good, okay? I do it to myself all the time.”

His eyes snapped up again as he imagined you touching yourself. He’d thought about it before, late at night when he was jerking off, but hearing you say it out loud made him feel dizzy. Flames erupted across his cheeks again, and his body tensed.

Your face burned with the realization of your confession. “Stop picturing it.”

“S-sorry.”

“I just need your fingers first, okay? I can’t… I can’t take your dick without some prep first.”

It was like you wanted him to cum in his pants again. He nodded and reached for the plastic bag, fishing out the lube and taking it out of its little purple box.

“I’m sorry about yesterday, by the way.” His voice was quiet.

“There’s nothing to be sorry about. That’s why we’re doing this together, you know? Because we feel safe around each other.”

He nodded.

“But for the record…” You lowered your head, still embarrassed about how yesterday went. “I’m sorry, too.”

“There’s nothing to be sorry about.” He smiled.

You kissed him, and you were so glad that you were kissing him.

“I’m really going to need you to walk me through this because I have absolutely no idea what I’m doing.” His cheeks were a splotchy red.

You laughed. “I promise it sounds scarier than it actually is.” You pulled your shirt over your head, embarrassed again when you realized you were wearing the same purple bra that you wore yesterday.

“Shit,” you breathed. “I meant to wear something nicer for you today. Sorry.”

For me? Mingi thought. For me?

But he said, “I like this one. It’s cute.” And he touched the little bow again.

“Thanks.” You climbed off of his lap to take your shorts off. “Lift your arms.”

He obeyed, and you lifted his shirt over his head. It didn’t need to be off yet, you supposed, but you’d been dreaming about Mingi’s lean abdomen all day and you didn’t want to wait another second to have it under your fingertips again.

You laid down on the bed and slid your panties off, but didn’t spread your legs yet. You felt vulnerable again, especially considering that Mingi still had his pants on.

“C-can you–” you started.

“Yeah,” Mingi nodded, already unbuttoning his pants. When they were off, he sat back down and gently brushed his fingertips over your thigh.

“Okay,” he breathed. “Tell me what to do.”

“Just… just kiss me for a second.” The truth was, you weren’t even really sure how to give him instructions, and you wanted to buy yourself some time. You usually just felt around until something felt good, and you weren’t sure how to explain that to him.

He kissed you. You decided that even if he was always too big for you, even if you couldn’t ever take his full length, you’d probably be just as happy kissing him and jerking him off like you did last night.

You felt his hand on your inner thigh and you liked the feeling.

“Okay, so…” you inhaled deeply. “Just start with one. And you can just kinda… feel around? I’ll tell you what feels good.”

“Okay,” he nodded, taking a deep breath, too. “Okay.”

He dripped some of the lube onto his fingers, rubbing it with his thumb in an attempt to warm it up. Your body tensed as you felt his finger slide between your folds, shaking slightly as he rubbed you up and down.

He seemed to stop breathing for a moment. His eyes just raked over your body, all wide and starry while he clumsily touched you.

“You’re gorgeous,” he breathed. “You’re so fucking beautiful.”

“M-Mingi, Ah-” You let out a tiny yelp when his fingertip brushed your clit.

“Did I hurt you?” He immediately stopped, taking his fingers away.

“N-no, that felt good… really good…” You nodded.

He tried to find the spot again, clumsily drawing circles around it.

“S-so good. Yeah, r-right there,” you sighed.

His fingertip slipped a little too far to the left.

“N-no, back where it was.”

After a few seconds of “Here?” and “No, here,” back and forth, he found the spot again and gently traced it.

Your eyes rolled back and closed as your body twitched, trying to get used to the sensation of being touched by another person.

Then his fingers slid further down, but it was intentional this time.

Mingi looked you in the eye and didn’t say anything as he gently circled his fingertip around your opening, coating it in lube and spreading your arousal at the same time.

You didn’t say anything, either. You couldn’t if you tried. But he understood your tiny nod and the look of desperation in your eyes, so he gently pushed his finger inside.

His long, thick finger went deeper than your own ever had, but it didn’t hurt. “O-ohh,” you breathed, shivering.

Mingi was at a loss for words. Your pussy was hugging his finger so tight and you felt so warm and the tiny noises that you were making were about to send him over the edge. “Fuck…” he sharply inhaled through his teeth, staring up at the ceiling for a minute so that he didn’t cum untouched.

“M-Mingi,” you breathed, “Go like this.” And then you held a finger up and curved it inward, and he immediately obeyed.

Your back arched to a borderline uncomfortable degree as you let out a pathetic little noise, and Mingi seriously was on the edge of an orgasm already.

“I-is that a sensitive spot?”

“Do it again,” you commanded. “Mingi, do that again.”

He did, and then he did it a few more times, pumping his finger and setting a rhythm. You were probably being a little too squirmy, but you couldn’t help it. Nothing had ever felt like this before.

“Fuck,” you breathed. “Add another one.”

Mingi meant to ask ‘Are you sure?’ but his head was so fuzzy with arousal that he just obeyed, pushing his middle finger in next to his pointer finger.

“S-shit,” you gasped, sitting up and holding his wrist. “Hold on a sec– fuck.”

“Are you okay?”

“It feels good,” you nodded. “Just forgot how thick these are.”

He understood. He could almost feel you stretching out, and he suddenly felt horribly guilty for not offering to do this before he attempted to put his dick inside of you yesterday.

“You’re doing amazing,” he encouraged you, nodding slightly. “J-just let me know when you want more, okay?”

“C-can you…” You blushed, too shy to complete your sentence.

He knit his eyebrows at you, giving you an encouraging nod. He felt your pussy tighten around his fingers, and he tried not to groan.

“What do you need, baby?” He soothed, “Just tell me what you need and I’ll give it to you.”

Your face burned. Mingi had never been more attractive to you, with his lips swollen and his cheeks flaming and his fingers deep inside of you. He was gently thrusting his fingers, massaging your g-spot, tracing your opening, and stretching you out all in a fluid motion.

“C-can you play with my clit again while you do that?” You whispered.

He nodded immediately, smiling and circling his thumb around your pebbled clit.

“O-ohh…” you moaned, burying your face in his neck. “Oh my god…”

He swallowed roughly. “G-good…” He encouraged as he felt you slowly relax around his fingers.

Your back arched, tiny little whimpers escaping you as Mingi made love to you with his hand.

And he was barely holding it together. He could feel the tip of his dick sticking to his boxers, precum smearing against the fabric and providing his cockhead with the tiniest bit of friction every time he moved his hips.

“Do you want one more? Or are you good with two?” His voice was hoarse.

“I d-on’t—“ You inhaled sharply, eyes closing as you felt the tiny spark of an orgasm in your core. “D-don’t think I can take a third…”

Mingi nodded, and then he kissed your forehead. He wanted to speak, but he was putting all of his effort into keeping up a steady rhythm with his hand and not coming in his pants while your tensed thigh rubbed his dick.

And then it was silent for a few moments, except for the quiet squelching coming from between your legs every few seconds.

“I think I’m gonna cum.” You whispered, keeping your eyes closed. Focusing on that feeling, chasing it.

Mingi swallowed, his breath catching. “Mm.” He hummed. He couldn’t think of anything else to say.

Your breath caught in your throat, the rest of it escaping in a choked whimper. “F-faster…” You breathed, looking up at him with pleading eyes. “Please.”

He nodded, quickening his movements. You leaned up, catching his lips in a messy kiss as you got closer and closer.

You were quieter than you thought you’d be. As your orgasm approached, you hardly made any noise at all, save for a few little gasps.

Your mouth dropped open and you pressed your forehead to your lover’s, letting out one single moan as your orgasm clenched down on his fingers. It ran through your body in waves, your muscles tensing and releasing rhythmically.

“My god…” Mingi groaned, continuing his movements. “G-Good job, baby.”

You squeaked, gently pushing his hand away as you neared overstimulation. His brows furrowed as he worried that he’d hurt you, but you immediately eased his anxiety by holding the back of his neck and pressing your lips to his again.

“Felt so good…” You mumbled through kisses. “T-think I’m ready now…”

His heart fluttered as he felt your hand between his legs, stroking his sensitive thighs. And then he looked at you in a way that a boy had never looked at you before, with big, dark, sparkling, pleading eyes. Like he needed you.

So gently, like you were afraid he’d break, you slipped his dick out of his blue plaid boxers. He was so hard, so sticky and pulsing that you were sure he must have been in pain. “Thank you for making me feel good,” you whispered. “I know it must have been hard to wait…”

He shook his head, closing his eyes. “Don’t thank me.” He let out a tiny noise as you stroked him once. “I loved it,” he breathed. “I loved doing that for you.”

You smiled, kissing him again. “Take these off,” you pleaded, tugging at the waistband of his boxers.

Mingi pushed them down, kicking them off the bed at his feet. And then he was fully naked, hovering above you, also fully naked. It should have been scary, but you’d never felt more safe. You reached your arms behind him, stroking his back before sliding your hands down to teasingly squeeze his ass.

He let out a choked noise and you laughed. “Sorry, I’ve always wanted to do that. You have a really nice ass.”

He shook his head, laughing and kissing you again.

“You’re really beautiful, Mingi.” You whispered, feeling another pang in your core as he groaned at the praise.

He reached a hand up, squeezing your breast as he kissed you and kissed you and kissed you. His heavy cock rested on your belly, clear precum sticking to your soft skin.

You reached for the condom on the nightstand, carefully ripping it open. His eyes didn’t leave your face as you gently rolled it onto him, your small hand wrapping around his girth. You slid his tip between your folds, then coated it in even more lube. You knew it might still hurt a little bit, but you felt much more prepared for it this time.

“The second it starts to hurt,” he whispered, his voice raspy. “You tell me.”

You nodded. The two of you looked into each other’s eyes, and didn’t look away when his tip was aligned with your entrance.

But his eyes fluttered shut a bit when he slipped inside. He couldn’t help it.

Your gasp made him open his eyes again. “Are you okay?”

“Mmh–” You nodded, your voice high pitched and squeaky. He pushed forward, filling you, stretching you, making you his.

“Mingi…” You whined, tears blurring your vision. “S-so big…”

He kissed away the first tear that fell. “I know, I’m sorry,” he whispered, “Y-You’re doing so well.”

He stilled for a moment, allowing you to adjust to his length.

“Is it…” You looked up at him with teary eyes. “Is it all the way in yet?”

“Not yet.” His eyes were full of empathy and adoration. “Can you take any more? It’s okay if you can’t.”

You whimpered. “S’big, Mingi.”

“I know, baby, I know it’s big. Does it feel good? D-Does it hurt?”

“It feels…” you trailed off. “It feels good but it hurts. I dunno if I can take any more.”

“That’s okay,” he nodded, kissing your forehead. “You feel s-so good just like this.”

“R-really?”

“Yes,” he nodded. “You feel amazing. So… so fucking good.” He gritted his teeth as he spoke, shaking and sweating and forcing himself to not instinctively start fucking you hard and fast. “Can I move a little bit now?”

“Yes,” you nodded. “Slow, please.”

He pulled back so that only the very end of his tip was dipped into your opening, then shakily pushed forward in a single stroke, a little over three quarters of the way inside.

Tears stung his and your eyes. You felt better than anything he’d ever felt before, and the stretching sensation was starting to feel more pleasant than painful.

“I’m so…” he whimpered. “I’m so proud of you. You’re taking me so well.”

“Mingi…” you whined in response, clawing at his back. “F-feels good.”

“Yeah?” His eyes met yours. “It feels good?”

“Mmm. I want… want you to fuck me. B-but slow, okay?”

He visibly shivered, the hairs on the back of his neck standing up as his whole body became covered in goosebumps.

“T-tell me if it’s too much.”

He attempted to set a pace then, slowly pushing and pulling his hips to halfway-fuck you as gently as he possibly could. Little moans slipped from your lips in time with his thrusts.

“Ungh…” he whimpered, “God. F-feels so good. You’re so…” his eyebrows furrowed. “Fuck, you’re so tight.”

“Mingi…” You rested your hand on his cheek. “Kiss.”

He didn’t need to be told twice. His perfectly full lips gently kissed yours, softly massaging his tongue into your mouth while he slowly pumped his cock in and out of you. You were embarrassed that you couldn’t take his whole length yet, but you decided in that moment that this wouldn’t be the last time you did this with him, and you had all the time in the world to train for the entirety of him.

“Fuck…” he repeated, resting his forehead against yours. “I’m… I’m close. I’m sorry.”

“You are?” Your eyebrows furrowed as you looked up at him, a moan slipping from your lips when his thrusts got a bit faster.

That was fast, you thought, but it was his first time, you supposed. You hoped he had good stamina, because you didn’t want this night to be anywhere close to over.

“I c-can’t…” His hips were starting to shake a bit. “God, you feel so good. Squeezing me so tight.”

“Ming…” you whispered, holding his face. “I wanna make you cum. Want you to cum for me.”

“Oh, fuck…” he whimpered. “God, f-fuck-“

His voice cracked as his eyes squeezed shut, his belly tensing and his lips dropping open in a silent moan.

And for a few seconds, time didn’t exist. There was only him and you and your bodies, like this was how you were always meant to be. You felt his big hand on your waist and his thick length stretching you out, but you also felt that same comforting atmosphere that always followed him around. You saw his face, the one that you knew so well, contorted in pleasure, and you heard his familiar voice making unfamiliar noises. And there was no one in the world you’d rather do this with. There was no one else you wanted to kiss.

“I love you.”

He cried out as he came, curling in on himself and burying his face in your neck as he pulled out so just his tip was inside, pumping the condom full of his load.

He pulled out and rested his cock on your belly, huffing in your neck as he caught his breath.

You stroked his hair and swallowed, a lump forming in your throat.

You said it. You told him out loud and you’d never be able to take it back.

He just kept breathing down your neck, sweaty and shaking and wondering if he heard you right.

“I– I tried not to…” you breathed. “I tried so hard not to fall in love with you. You’re my best friend and you mean more to me than anyone else. But I just…”

You swallowed. There was really no going back now.

“I see you smiling and it hits me like a steamroller. Like my chest is knocked in and I can’t breathe. It feels… It feels like I’m suffocating and I don’t know how to stop it or make it go away.”

You felt his large hand hold your jaw, and his lips were on yours.

“Please… be my girlfriend,” he mumbled, breathless between kisses.

You pulled back to look in his eyes. “What?”

“I’ve been in love with you since we were kids. Please, please, please be my girlfriend.”

Your face broke a little bit. “You have?”

He nodded, and then his face broke, too. “Please say yes.” He held your face, looking deep into your eyes. “P-please, baby.”

“Obviously yes,” you smiled, tears so close to spilling from your eyes. “Dummy.”

“I love you,” he cried, kissing you again. “I love you so fucking much.”

“Mingi,” you breathed, for no reason other than to say his name.

He kissed you and cried and you kissed him and cried, and he suddenly remembered what Yunho said. A nice way to show her I really care.

He kissed down your neck, across your chest, on your nipples, over your belly, until his shoulders were between your thighs.

“W-what are you doing?” You asked, looking down at him a little too innocently.

“I don’t really know,” he sighed, leaning forward and kissing your dewy pussy.

“A-ah! Mingi!” Your legs instinctively closed around his head, and his big hands gently pried them open again.

“It’s okay…” he breathed, leaning forward again. “I’ve got you, baby. I’m not gonna hurt you.” He sweetly kissed your inner thigh before spreading you with his tongue.

You whimpered and squirmed, grabbing a fistful of his soft dark hair.

“You sound so pretty,” he mumbled, kissing your clit, “And you taste so good…”

His thick, plump lips worked with his velvet tongue to worship your pussy. And it was loud, the room filled with wet sounds and Mingi’s groans, along with the pathetic little moans you were letting out.

You looked down at him. His ears and cheeks were dark red, his eyes closed, the sharp tip of his nose shiny and wet.

“T-that feels really good, Ming—“ You were interrupted by your own gasp as his tongue slipped into your entrance.

“You’re mine now…” His deep voice sounded gravelly and thick. “You’re all fucking mine…”

“Mingi…” You whimpered, lacing your fingers through his hair as his lips sweetly sucked your clit. How did you learn how to do this? You wanted to ask.

But he was moaning against you again before the thought could finish. “I’m gonna do this every fuckin’ day…” He blinked slowly, a string of drool connecting his lips and your pussy. He used his broad shoulders to push your legs open even wider, taking a deep breath before diving back in.

This time, he slipped two fingers inside of you while he worked his tongue. He closed his eyes, enjoying the taste of you while he passionately used his fingers and tongue.

“I’ve dreamed of this…” He paused to kiss your inner thighs. “Wanted this for so long… needed to know what you tasted like.”

“Mingi…” You breathed, watching as his pink tongue drew circles around your clit. “I-I’m gonna cum again…”

“Yes,” he groaned, never coming up for air. “Please, baby. Come in my mouth. I wanna taste all of it, please… wanna lick you clean.”

Hearing those filthy words come from shy, sweet Mingi’s mouth made your stomach flutter. Your thighs clenched around his head as he gave you the most enthusiastic slurp of the night, the otherwise silent room filled with the sounds of his mouth devouring you.

You moaned so loud when you came that there was no doubt in your mind that your roommates heard. Mingi’s groans of enthusiasm were hardly muted, either.

Your thighs twitched, your body shook and your hips pressed against Mingi’s warm mouth as your orgasm consumed you, and you’d never felt more adored in your life.

And then he didn’t stop.

“Mingi!” You cried out, trying to squirm away from his tongue.

But he looped his arm under one of your thighs, keeping you pried open. He used his other hand to spread your pussy, groaning as he licked it again.

“My girl…” He mumbled, and he seemed to be drunk off the taste of you, talking to himself. “Such a pretty fuckin’ pussy…”

Your eyes widened and you twitched as his tongue flicked inside of you again. You’d never seen this side of Mingi before; you’d never seen anything close to this side of Mingi before… and you really, really didn’t want it to stop. But—

“I’m really sensitive, Ming…”

That seemed to snap him out of his trance a bit. He looked up, moving his body up to sweetly kiss your lips again. “I’m sorry, baby. You j-just…” He sighed, catching his breath. “You taste so good.”

You smiled. “I really like it when you call me baby.”

He kissed your forehead then collapsed on the bed, laying next to you. You rolled onto your side, gently stroking his belly.

“Do you feel good?” He asked softly, his full cheeks blushing. “Was that enough?”

“Enough?” You laughed in disbelief. “It was perfect.” You nodded. “Perfect.”

“I’ll always make sure you’re satisfied, okay?” Your boyfriend looked you in the eye, his brow slightly furrowed. “A-and I’ll always make sure you’re taken care of. I’ll make sure your belly is always full and your shoes never get dirty.”

A kiss on his chin, your face in his neck. “It’s just me, Mingi. Just you and me.”

“Just us…” He mumbled, “Just like always.”

You nodded and then sat in silence, touching and being touched. He stroked your thigh with his pinky, his eyes on your lips.

“In our own little world. Just the two of us.”

#song mingi x reader #mingi smut #song mingi x y/n #song mingi x you #ateez fanfic #ateez x reader #ateez imagines #ateez fic #mingi scenarios #mingi fanfic #mingi x reader

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cosycafune · 4 months

Text

— PUSSY’S CONFESSION!

you know that satoru gojo likes you, so you’re confused by why his stupid self avoids you. but after a while, you finally got the answer you’ve been looking for. the man’s smart, but he’s really an idiot in the face of love. maybe showing him other ways will make him confess?

synopsis of acts: unprotected sex, creampies, getting caught, angst, pinning, degradation, virginity losses, missionary, cumming, kissing, slight fluff & potential more. not proofread.

*#*<3

Pinned to the wall, you’re almost breathless — your eyes wide whilst an angered Satoru towered over you. He’s mean, his nimble fingers barely activating their flexibility — when it came to trapping your hands against the door.

It wasn’t your fault that you’re tightened against his bedroom door, your eyes watery as nothing more than his somnolent eyes met yours.

There’s not a hopeful spark. There are no colliding moons that boomed and formed fireworks with you there. To you, your heart pondered on the possibility of Satoru hating you — even after the two of you shared your first kiss.

“I-I know…that you hate me, Sato’,” Shortening Satoru’s name subconsciously, your eyes grow teary at his grasp tensing — your nickname ringing through his frazzled mind.

“Because you know that I’m not capable of loving you properly, without putting you in danger,” Anger adorns Satoru’s wavering tone, “I’m not the light that you’re looking for, even if we did share a kiss.” Your eyes collapse at his impactful let down.

“Am I so easy to give up on?” Mumbling innocently, you speak to him with longing. Longing that you had never experienced before him.

Satoru’s eyes are dead set on your own, even as you attempt to look away — saving your shredding dignity. Dignity whilst he has you at your most vulnerable, his lips inches away from your own as your friends’ laughter lingers against your warm ears.

“You’re going to die being with me,” Bottled, Satoru subconsciously tautened his hold — his eyes meeting your delicate curls of hair.

“Then, why do you have me pinned against the wall?” Sniffling, you avert your gaze to the photo of the two of you — on his brown desk.

“B-Because—”

“—N-No, you just wanted to have almost all of me until you made this stupidity known!” Shouting, writhing vigorously, you continue, “You didn’t have a problem when we were cuddling, talking everything out, comforting each other near death, so what’s changed?” Softening with detrimental hope, your lips contort with restricted freedom.

“Because we got close to having sex, and I couldn’t do that to you, knowing that I might leave you to save you!” Satoru’s bellowing causes you to wince, glancing at him with vast eyes — irreversible damage settled on you.

“You have me pinned to a wall! You haven’t tried, but have the audacity to assume that I’m weak!” Grumbling at Satoru not moving, your heart wavers at his knee settled innocently between your thighs.

“What are you going to do about that?” Satoru’s unfitting teasing leads you into gently grinding against his knee, your summer dress gifting access you’ve never dealt with before.

“I-I’ll grind until you tell me that you love me!” Lightly grinding against Satoru’s reciprocating knee cap, a light moan entwines with your bellowed statement.

“I know that we almost had sex before, but will losing our virginities now change anything?” Concerned, Satoru’s conflicted question sparks a flame within his pensive eyes.

“Only if you tell me that you love me, since you do everything but tell me that,” Halting, you attempt to speak to Satoru’s soul — unwilling to lose yourself if he held no love for you.

“I-I love,” Satoru grows nervous, stilling his confession, unable to fathom placing you in danger, “I don’t want to hurt you.” Satoru’s false anger envelops you, causing you to begin to weep — feeling unworthy.

“I-I’m not weak, and I can protect myself,” You admit, emotionally stuffy at Satoru’s patronisation.

“You’re weak, and you know that,” Heartbroken, you pathetically glance at a wordy Satoru, “But, I still love you, so get killed if you want to.” Muttering, Satoru glances around his dorm room — his lips drawing nearer to your pouty own.

“Don’t speak to me like that again—” Satoru presses his knee upon your clit, softly rubbing upon the area as you break into uncontrolled moans.

“Speak like what, Princess?” Scoffing, Satoru pushes himself into painfully toying with you, dropping a hand of his own to lift up your summer dress — observing your frilly underwear.

“Like I’m less equal than you are,” Standing up for yourself, your lips waver as Satoru uses his vacant hand to rub your clothed clit.

“You’re my equal, so let’s see if you can handle me, without alerting Suguru and Shoko,” Deviously smiling, Satoru cups your ample breast with a newfound intrigue — his fingers brushing over your taut nipple.

—

Dazed, stretched and completely pulverised by an inexperienced Satoru, your eyes are teary, your limbs engraved by Satoru’s ample cock. Satoru had grown greedy, speedily learning how to fuck you.

And, well now, he lingers moments away from making you cum for the first time. He remains towering over you, his girthy cock splitting open your pretty cunt with all of his might. A beautiful might that has you pathetically moaning, your cream upon his cock completely motivating him — leaving him into pushing you further into his bed sheets.

Even with all the bed creaking, Satoru didn’t care as the thought of departing from you like this doomed him. To confess, to him, was to reveal your fate of death. However, like this, a safeness emerged, even if it was through him fucking you gently — stealing away your hesitant breaths.

And there it was, an ethereal face you pose — unable to hold back your cum while he cums with you. It’s something so reckless, but Satoru’s heartbeat entwines with you own as he tenderly collapses upon you. Upon you while you glance up at him, attempting to process how the two of you had gotten away with raw dogging so loudly, your cunt squelching, writhing and taking him all in.

“Sato’, just a little bit more,” Satoru’s inspired by your pleading words, leading him to grow hard inside of you — beginning to thrust gently enough. Gently enough as you had mildly bled throughout, and he didn’t want to hurt you further.

As, seeing your face tighten at his girthy cock filling you out, shaky and close to tears, lead Satoru into almost stopping. But with you holding his ample hand, you encouraged him into pushing through your pain. Your shimmering, teary eyes paired with a jelly smile that crumbled with strain.

“Ah! Sato’! Yes!” Drooling, your eyes roll back with Satoru rearranging your moulding walls.

“S-Shit, never thought I’d learn this right now,” A blushing mess, Satoru’s eyes widen at the extremely lewd sight of you — never had he experienced or viewed you in this lighting.

“Y-You’re so beautiful,” Mustering nervously, Satoru’s eyes mature into a smitten state — finally appreciating you in all of your beauty.

“Ngh! Yes! I-I am!” Connecting your lazy lips with Satoru’s own, you moan into his mouth with each desperate, emotion-storing pounding.

Pounding you know Suguru and Shoko could hear, especially with the crazy amount of shaking that Satoru’s bed made. Satoru’s gentleness was also paired with this unfulfilled desperation, leaving him into basking in your unfamiliar cunt. Something he couldn’t long to let go, memorising the soppiness of your cunt, your ring of cum, your creampie that smears his cock, he just couldn’t let it go.

“Hm! Take it, Princess! Yes!” Satoru shamelessly shouts, pulling his thick cock out of you, all before shoving into back inside of a squeamish you so effortlessly.

“F-Feels…so good—”

“—S-Satoru! Y/n!” Shocked, panting heavily, you and Satoru glance at his dorm door in shock — grateful to have locked it.

“Only I’m here,” Serious, Satoru breathless spews his lies — covering your mouth before he lightly thrusts into a tingly you.

“I can hear Y/n moaning, but make sure to at least get plan B,” At Suguru’s proud voice, Satoru feels you wrap your legs around his waist — subconsciously mewling loudly at his deep spurts cum within your abdomen.

“I love you,” Satoru shyly mumbles, observing the shyness you exhibit — covering your features with heavy shame.

“S-Suguru…heard us,” Close to tears, your choppy breaths distort your panicked words.

“I don’t care, since you’re all that matters and I said I love you,” Whining, Satoru collapses against your plentiful breasts — annoyed at the mentioning of his best friend.

“You have to earn it, since you were rude earlier,” Smiling, Satoru kisses your cushiony lips — glancing into your eyes.

To you, his eyes spilled a confession of genuine love. Through the heavens and the earths, his love’s something life-altering.

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ellieslittlewh0re · 1 year

Text

╰┈➤ 𝐇𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐘𝐒𝐔𝐂𝐊𝐋𝐄

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 - 𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐦𝐬 𝐱 𝐯𝐢𝐫𝐠𝐢𝐧! 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 - you and ellie have been dating for a few months. everything is great- perfect even, but you two haven’t had sex yet… ellie is always telling you to take your time, there’s no rush- but you’re finally ready, and ellie is going to give you the proper experience.

𝐀𝐃𝐃𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐀𝐋 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒 - this is v self indulgent lol, fluff, canon jackson ellie behavior, smut, MINORS DNI

Her hands were chill to the touch, and rough against the skin of your thigh, but you didn't mind.

It had been 3 months since you started dating Jackson's designated "it" girl, and by "it" girl- that really means that everyone seems to be a little scared of her for one reason or another. Maybe it was because her face screamed "don't fucking talk to me".

That didn't stop you though.

You had your eyes on her since you arrived through those gates- baby faced and painfully ignorant to Jackson's way of living. It was scary- terrifying even. You weren't sure if you could ever get used to it, but with time and the loving care you had received from the community, it slowly became your normal, and Ellie became your main focus.

"Babe, you're not paying attention to the movie." Ellie huffed, annoyed that you weren't as invested in the film as she was- it was one of her favorites after all.

Little does she know, you were too busy thinking about her, and how far you've come to get to this point.

You giggled, sinking further into her on the bed of her detached garage/home. You wrapped both your arms around her bicep, smiling as you place a kiss on the apple of her cheek, "m' sorry Els, guess I was just distracted." You shrugged, not really expecting her to understand.

But she did understand- painfully so. She may not be good at showing it, but when she saw you that day- day fucking one of you showing up in Jackson- she knew that you would make things that much harder for her. And of fucking course it was her luck that you got paired with her during your first outing of patrol.

Seeing you up close- that sparkle in your eye and the way you laughed so freely like the world wasn't actively ending... it did something to her, something she couldn't explain. Her thoughts were consumed of you- wether it was a glimpse of you she stole earlier in the day or her imagination running wild when she too pent up to sleep.

Now, she doesn't have to imagine it. It was real- YOU were real, and you were hers.

"Distracted? How can you be distracted when there's dinosaurs on the tv?" She asked perplexed, throwing her hand up motioning to the not-so-great looking cgi creatures.

Tension between you two had been rising exponentially high these past few weeks. Even though you have been dating for a while, you two hadn't had sex yet, and that was because of you.

It's not like you didn't want to or you hadn't thought about it, but you were still a virgin, and Ellie always made it clear that it's on your terms- no one else's.

But your birthday just passed, and Ellie made sure you had the best day- making you breakfast, taking you to her super secret spot down by the lake that she guaranteed only the "coolest" people knew about, and you wanted to show your gratitude and appreciation for her- plus the urges whenever you were around her were growing harder to ignore.

Your stomach fluttered, feeling the heat from her body pressed against yours, her hand that never seemed to want to leave your thigh- it felt like the right moment.

You slightly lift yourself off the bed, swinging your leg over her hips as gracefully as you could so you could straddle her. Ellie holds her hands up, not touching you because she was genuinely surprised by your actions. She lets out a chuckle, thinking you were in one of your moods where'd you'd hold her down and borderline torture her with your ruthless tickle attacks, but instead- you leaned in, ghosting your lips over her neck before placing kisses to the skin below her ear.

Ellie's hands move from your hips to the plush of your ass, squeezing the flesh gently in her hands, "oh yeah? Is this is what we're doing now?" She let out a breathy chuckle, tilting her head to the side to give you more access.

"Mmhm." You muffled a response into neck before sucking lightly, pulsing the skin between your lips like how she had done to you so many times before.

Ellie's eyes squeeze shut, relishing in the hot, wet sensation of your mouth on her. Her fingers tightened on your ass, body shifting slightly underneath you because her boxers suddenly felt way too fucking tight.

"Fuck- do you have any idea what you do to me?" She almost confesses, biting down on her bottom lip enough to leave a metallic taste on her tongue.

"I'm not doing anything, just kissing ya." You act innocent, but in your defense you really didn't know what you were doing, but you could tell it was doing something to her by the way her hands grabbed more harshly at your hips and sides, littering your skin with crescent indents everywhere her fingers went.

As hard as Ellie was trying to be patient with you, she was slowly losing control. Mentally, she was punching her head- knocking some morals back into her brain, but fuck-

Your teeth grazed her skin, sending goosebumps down her limbs, "I wanna do it, Els... m'ready."

You pull away, cheeks flushed and lips even more so- batting your eyelashes, and embarrassed out of your mind because you weren't sure how dumb you sounded to your more experienced girlfriend.

But Ellie doesn't think that you sound dumb- instead, she's kicking her feet inside her head, jumping around in a field of wildflowers because you trusted her enough to give yourself over to her at your most vulnerable.

"Babe, are you sure? I don't want you to feel like you have-" Ellie rambles, and honestly, it's quite cute. She was trying so hard to be the good girlfriend, but it didn't matter because you were already cutting her off mid sentence with your finger pressed against her lips, "m'sure" you nod your head in assurance before leaning forward to kiss her lips.

She smiled into the kiss as her tongue slipped inside, her arms wrapping around the the smallest part of your waist to pull you closer to her.

She molded herself into you- or maybe you molded yourself to her- just two bodies holding each other, touching skin, and tasting. You've always loved the way she tasted- the way she smelled when she was this close. It was sweet like honeysuckle and wild berries on the vine when the sun was at its highest in the sky.

Ellie's hands came between you two, snaking underneath the leg of your shorts to squeeze the skin. A moan slips passed your lips and into Ellie's mouth, causing her to chuckle into the kiss, "someone's excited."

"Ellieee~" you pouted, shoving your hands between your legs because you felt weird- a bubbling sensation in your lower stomach, waves

of hot and cold pulsating up and down your body,

"oh, I'm sorry baby, did I embarrass you?"

You nodded shyly, swirling your hips on her lap without notice.

Ellie fakes a sympathetic pout, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, "you poor thing," she said with not a hint of sympathy- instead, dripping with malice.

Ellie wasn't doing it on purpose though, she could never. She was going to savor this moment- the moment right before the storm until it was long past, forgotten between bare skin, linen sheets, and her senses filled with you.

Her hands hold your face, stroking her thumb over the apple of your cheek, pulling you into to her to kiss you. It was slow, deep- the kind of kiss that felt like a goodbye.

You moan into it, arching your back under her touch, mind fuzzy because all you could focus on was getting friction in any way you could, "el-ellie, please." You begged in your sweet, shaky tone that drove her fucking crazy no matter how many times she heard it after a make out session went a little too far.

Ellie's jaw clenches slightly, fisting the sheets beside your knees because she was painfully horny, but tried her best to hide it in front of you. She couldn't bare the embarrassment if you knew all the little things that you did that made her like this- your voice, the way you smelled or even the way you looked at her sometimes. All of it would engrave itself into Ellie's mind, replaying over and over which would slowly shift to all the things she'd want to do to you- wether it'd be something simple like kissing parts of your body that she had never seen before, and the more sinful desires of hers which mostly consisted of your face buried into a pillow, ass high in the air as she uses your hips as handlebars, driving her cock deep inside your dripping cunt-

Yeah, she'd definitely take those secrets to the grave if she could help it...

Her hand travel up your back before her fingers intertwine with your hair, squeezing close to the scalp- not hard, but hard enough to send a shiver down your spine.

Ellie's eyes gleamed with something evil as she relished in the sight on top of her- your half hooded eyes that screamed 'fuck me', your mouth slightly ajar as short quickened breaths escape them.

She used her grip in your hair to pull you in once more, clashing her lips against yours. Your teeth would occasionally bump against hers, but it didn't slow her down.

Things quickly escalated, her hands wrapping around the underside of your thighs as she turned both of you over- leaving you beneath her. Her mouth never left yours as her hand slipped underneath your thin cotton shirt, gently but urgently feeling the plush of your tummy before palming your breast.

You whimper at the sensation of her calloused fingers brushing over your hardened peak- your back arching off the mattress to get closer to her.

She breaks the kiss panting as she lowers to your ear, her warm breath dancing off your skin, "can I take it off?"

You nodded, not trusting your voice to remain steady. She trails kisses along your jaw before sitting up, grabbing the hem of your shirt. You sit up as the fabric is dragged over your back and over your head, leaving your chest on display.

"Fuck-" Ellie breaths out, her eyes twinkling in the warm glow from the bedside lamp, "you're beautiful- so fuckin’ beautiful.." she leans in again for a kiss, but your put your hands to her chest to stop her, "what about you?.. can I see?"

Ellie smirked, flashing a hint of her teeth, "dyin' to catch a glimpse, huh?"

Yes, oh my god, absolutely you were. You can't help feel a little embarrassed by the fact that your girlfriend indirectly called you a pervert, but if your a perv, what does that make her?

Ellie crosses her hands at the bottom of her hoodie, lifting it over her torso and head in one swift motion. You ogle at her toned stomach, slim waist, and prominent v lines that lead your eyes further down.

"This up to your standards?" She quipped, placing her hands on either side of your head.

"Mmm-" you think out loud, tilting your head to the side, "what about this?" You slip a finger into the underside of her sport bra, running it along the hem.

She raises an eyebrow skeptically as you bat your doe eyes at her, "s' only fair." You added, using your sickly sweet voice that made her obey your every command.

She groaned, rolling her eyes, but her cheeks told a different story- bright red and full from the smile she couldn't shake.

She sits back up, removing the article of clothing before coming back down, "happy?"

You nodded your head enthusiastically, wrapping your arms around her to feel her back. Your hands caress the skin- free of the distractions of clothes- from her shoulder blades, spine, and the curve of every muscle- you take your time to familiarize yourself with it all.

She kissed you, holding your face in one hand as the other propped herself up. It was slow, sweet and full of love, but also impatiently brutish- full of desire.

Her lips trialed down, kissing your chin, down your neck and collarbones, and scattering them over the delicate skin- leaving a trail to find her way back home to your lips.

"What about this?" She asked quietly, her breath brushing against the skin above your waistband.

You met her eyes and nod, quickly throwing your head back against the pillow because you were too embarrassed to make eye contact with her as she starts to tug down your shorts.

You lift your hips up, allowing her to drag the fabric down your legs- tossing your shorts to the side as it reaches your ankles.

"Huh-" Ellie scoffed to herself which caught your attention, "what?" You asked all worried something was wrong.

"You do this yourself?" She raised an eyebrow- the corner of her lips tugging up into a lopsided smirk as her fingers brush over the pink embroidered heart in the middle of your panties.

"Oh my god-" you whined as you cover your face in your hands, but Ellie couldn't find it more endearing.

It got her going honestly- how pure, innocent, and untainted you were- knowing that no one has ever seen or touched you like this.

She shimmied lower on the bed, positioning herself between your legs- eye level with your clothed covered cunt. She kissed your inner thighs, her tongue trialing over the skin so delicately.

You close your eyes, toes curling inside of your socks as you focus on her touch. It was hot- burning almost, and it felt magnified. Every pore, hair, and fiber was reacting to her.

Her warm breathed brushed against you as she tugged your panties to the side so it only covered your center, sucking your outer lips- pulling the skin back and letting it fall back into place with a soft *plop*.

She fisted the fabric between her fingers, letting it fold into you as she pulled it upwards- letting it grind against your clit. As soft wine emits from you as you start to squirm, letting your knees drift further apart.

Ellie isn't done teasing you. She loved getting you all worked up over something so small- it's not like it was hard.

Next, she smooths your panties over your puffy cunt, palming it roughly with the base of her wrist bumping your bud as she locked her eyes into your face- watching your eyebrows pinch in aroused frustration, your bottom lip sinking between your teeth. "El-Ellie, please." You barely make out, almost like a dogs beloved toy- airy and only faintly squeaky. "Mm-? What is it? Use your words, baby- I need words." She mocked in her annoyingly cocky tone as she kissed the center of your soaked panties, tasting you through the cotton.

You hiccup- finding the strength to talk, "I need- mmhm.. need your tongue, Els." Your bottom lip pouty and glistening from your spit as you look down at her with begging eyes. Ellie chuckled into your center, sending a vibration through core, "see? That wasn't so hard." Again with the cocky remarks, but really it was just a cover to hide how fucking eager she was.

You lift your hips as her fingers laced into the hem of your underwear, pulling them down to to reveal you in you're most natural form. Her hands quickly found shelter on top of your thighs, hooking her arms underneath your legs to secure you further. You were locked in tight- no one was getting in or out like a panic room or a sealed vault.. not unless Ellie says otherwise. The tip of her tongue tempted a tease- feathering delicate swipes over your glistening folds, but once she had a a taste, there was no point to holding back. She was instantly hooked on the tangy taste mixed with a sweet cider- hooked on no matter how wet you already were, your slick only seemed to keep coming like a never ending supply. "All for her" she thought, and she's not one to let something go to waste.

You fisted the sheets by your side, threatening to close your thighs around her head but she forced them open- her fingers tugging apart the skin on thighs to spread you open further. "this all for me, huh?- " She heaved between the laps of her tongue before flexing the muscle and sinking into your cunt. You cry out as your nails sink into the inked lines of her forearm. Ellie must have liked this reaction, but she wanted more, "answer me, baby." She commanded in a tone that you've only ever heard her use when she was being dead serious. It startled you a little so you meet her eyes with your glossy ones, giving her a nod.

She chuckled lowly, a deep rattle coming from her chest as she brought her hand down, running a finger through your glossy mixture, "say it-" she sunk her finger into you, but not enough to make you feel full. You wine in frustration, a tear spilling over the full of your cheek, "f-for you.. mmph- 's all for you, ellie-"

The air inside your lungs gets cut off as her finger plunged into you, slipping it out only to repeat.

She takes her time- relishing in the sounds of your sopping cunt sucking her back in, and the soft moans that danced off your tongue.

Her mouth latched back onto your neglected bud as she continued to stretch you out- curling her finger inside before she added a second one, "so good, baby.. - fuck.. such a good fuckin' girl." She panted- more liked chanted praises, but not really directed at anyone in particular- more like she was drunk off you- delirious, and wide eyed like making you cum was the only thing she was put on this earth to do.

A pressure was building inside your tummy, and if she kept going- it had nowhere else to go. "El... feels- feels weird.." you choke between each thrust, your voice shaky as it got caught in your throat. Ellie flicks her tongue over your swollen, clit "it's okay, baby. I got you" she cooed, using her free hand to press on the back of your thigh so your knee bounced off your chest with each thrust. But this time- it reached deeper, hitting against your spongy core harder than before. She suctioned your clit between her lips, letting it go as she pulled back.

She sat up, never faltering her pace inside you as you ass bounced against her crotch with each blow she gave you.

You marvel at her- even though her chest was exposed, the position of her towering over you, her crotch lined up with your entrance as you became mush underneath her- you can't help but feel a power dynamic was at play.

You tense under her, your limbs and stomach tightening as you come undone around her fingers. She fucked you through it, whispering sweet praises of "good girl- you're doing so good, baby... such a pretty little thing "

She slow to exit you, knowing your sensitive right now. She leans over you, placing her hands either side of your head to plant a simple kiss to your lips before she leaves to the bathroom, coming back with a washcloth that was damp with warm water. She sits back down with your legs over hers, carefully cleaning you up. When she's done, she helps you get dressed- dressing you in her t-shirt and her comfiest pair of boxers.

Your head instantly finds sanctuary on her chest as soon as she joins you in the bed. She holds you close, placing a kiss to the top of your head- not bothering to continue the movie, just laying together in the silence that was occasionally broken up between hums and soft breathing.

Her fingers dance over the bare skin of your upper arm, resting her chin into of your head, "well-" she chuckles, "was it everything you hoped for?"

You looked up at her, stretching your neck to peck her lips before nuzzling into her, "no, it was more."

☆ 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 @machetegirl109

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midnightwriter21 · 11 months

Note

can we have the first meet soulmate thing for sorcerer! reader please?? w gojo only

jjk hcs: satoru meeting sorcerer!soulmate!reader

characters: satoru gojo x reader, megumi (mentioned), yuji (mentioned), nobara (mentioned)

warnings: u kill a cursed spirit, possible injury but not rly, mature language (reader cusses gojo out lmfao), the kids & reader lowkey bullying gojo lol, gojo is kinda suggestive at the end

AN: soulmate au where the first words your soulmate says to you are tattooed somewhere on your body!! read the non-sorcerer version HERE

SATORU GOJO

being called in as back up for a mission involving a 2nd grade cursed spirit was not on ur to-do list today

but guess where you are!!

an empty mall!!

an empty mall where you’re currently watching 3 teenagers run around like headless chickens

the curse is ugly… as most of them are but..

this one is NASTY looking

several different colored eyeballs sticking out of various places on its body

it’s oozing some sort of greenish brown liquid

and the smell

dear lord it’s bad

the poor pink haired kid is simultaneously holding his nose and trying to fight the curse with one hand

and it’s main attack seems to be the ability to spit that greenish brown liquid at whoever it’s attacking, rendering them immobile

almost like a glue trap for mice

the curse backs the three kids into a corner and prepares to spit that sticky liquid at them

and that’s when you decide to make your entrance

jumping from the second floor of the mall, in front of the kids, and drawing your weapon

you block the attack and jump towards the curse

severing it’s head and therefore exorcising it in one quick movement

you sheathe your weapon and turn to the kids, “why the hell are you three taking on a 2nd grade mission?”

the pink haired boy from earlier explains, “our sensei was supposed to be with us but when we split up he went to the food court… and uhhh… we haven’t seen him since.”

you give the kids a sour look, “your sensei must be a complete moron”

all at once the kids agree

“he is” -the girl with the hammer

“yeah, pretty much” -the boy with the black spikey hair

“i mean.. kinda, sometimes” -the pink haired boy

you sit the kids down on a bench so that you can check over them and access any possible wounds

mama bear mode activated.

you ask the boy, who you now know as megumi, to get in touch with his sensei

when his sensei answers the phone, megumi explains that the curse has been exorcised

but before he can explain about your presence, you snatch the phone from him and let out a string of expletives directed towards the man on the other end

“you must be a fucking idiot huh? your kids could’ve died taking on a 2nd grade alone and you’re off being an irresponsible jackass somewhere-“

before you can continue you hear the dial tone

he hung up on you

without even saying a word

nearly growling in anger you shove the phone back to megumi and move over to yuji

you take his hands in yours and begin to wrap his hands in bandages saying, “you know, if you keep punching through walls you’re going to end up really hurting your knuckles”

as you wrap his hands you’re not really paying attention to your surroundings, so the smug voice coming from behind spooks you a little…

“it’s good that a pretty little thing like you came to the rescue or else my kids could’ve died since i was off being an irresponsible jackass”

he’s throwing your own words back in your face

whipping your head around fast enough to give yourself whiplash, you prepare to launch into another ass chewing

but your words get stuck in your throat when you’re met with a tall, blindfolded, white haired man

a man known to everyone in the jujutsu world

Satoru Gojo

in response to your stunned silence he lets out a chuckle, “what? cat got your tongue, pretty?”

his mocking snaps you back into reality as you fire back, “no, i’m just surprised on how someone like you can be such a complete and utter dumbass!”

“awww cmon is that the way you’re supposed to talk to your soulmate?” he smirks down at you

you give him a confused look before it hits you

his first words to you from earlier…

“it’s good that a pretty little thing like you came to the rescue or else my kids could’ve died since i was off being an irresponsible jackass”

those exact words are printed on your back underneath your shoulder blade in neat handwriting

looking up at him with wide eyes, you watch as he turns his back to you, pulling off his uniform jackets and lifting up his shirt

ignoring the faint gagging sounds from his students

and there it is, printed in the exact same spot as yours, in your handwriting

“you must be a fucking idiot huh? your kids could’ve died taking on a 2nd grade alone and you’re off being an irresponsible jackass somewhere-“

“no. fucking. way.” you say in disbelief as he turns back to face you

“you have a dirty mouth, sweetheart,” he leans in and whispers softly in your ear, “can’t wait to see just how dirty it can get,” he leans back and says in his normal voice, “but we’ll save that for later!”

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evertidings · 5 months

Text

— APRIL 2024.

hi. i’m still alive. and it’s fine, i’m doing as fine as i can be for someone who graduated and is now (helplessly) unemployed. how are you? i’m sorry for being so mia on here. i haven’t been active on tumblr for a long time—i know this. i’m not exactly proud of it, but being on here sucks energy out of me that i didn’t even know i had, sometimes.

it’s been a while since i’ve updated. i know this too. it’s probably been the longest i’ve ever made you wait for an update. and i hate saying this, but you might need to wait even more. to say i’ve struggled with this chapter is an understatement. more so than any other chapter i’ve written. i think it’s a mixture of the content and a bunch of life stuff that’s happened. but this project isn’t abandoned and i still love it dearly. it’s happening. it will happen.

i recently figured out what i’m writing for the rest of the chapter and it’s so exciting. with the romance lock coming up, i’ve been sneaking in little hints and teasing from other characters about which way your hunter has swayed so far (like K smirking at how the hunter blushes at Rylan’s affection, for example). it adds so much to the story and i’m really happy i was convinced to keep it in. for a while, i thought it might be too early to write this stuff, but fuck it. it’s my story.

the goal is to have this chapter out sometime in june, though that’s very optimistic. i’ll see how much i can write in this month and give you all a more realistic update when the time comes. that said, i will be taking a (mini) grad trip at the end of the month, so i probably won’t be able to write as much as i’d like, but, you know. four years of uni. i deserve it.

anyway, thank you all for being so patient. i’ll try and get around to a couple of asks in the next few days. love you <3

#update #when twilight strikes #the midnight hours #interactive fiction

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silkscream · 2 years

Text

angel unaware

ꨄ︎ pairing: peter parker x silk!reader

ꨄ︎ synopsis: you’ve known peter since you were fifteen, shortly after you were both bitten by the same spider. it was too obvious that you’d end up loving him. as you drift apart during your first year of college, you’re not sure how much longer you can keep dancing in circles with him.

ꨄ︎ genres: best friends to lovers, angst, idiots in love, slowburn, mutual pining, hurt/comfort

ꨄ︎ tags: rated explicit/18+ (smut), alcohol usage, mention of drug usage, unprotected sex, oral sex (f receiving), characters are 19, mild violence, gun violence (there is a school shooting in the beginning but there aren't too many details)

ꨄ︎ wc: 13.8k

ꨄ︎ notes: omg. happy valentine’s day y’all. i’ve been working on this Big Bertha for literal MONTHS and i’m so happy to finish it and share it with you. thank you for being around even though i haven’t been the most active; this is a gift to you <3

ꨄ︎ listen to the playlist!

The spider bit you first.

It isn’t until you’re fifteen that someone else finds out about it.

In many ways, you should’ve known. The symptoms, the hypervigilance, the strange, gradual transition of filling out your body. You blame puberty first, but this feels more than abnormal. It's almost as if it's bursting through your skin. The only other person who seems to mirror your coming of age is Peter Parker, whose twitchy nature exacerbates the longer high school goes on.

You keep your head low because there’s no reason for you to tell anyone about your powers. Not even the boy about whom you’re positive shares the same curse as you.

But then the videos come out. Red and blue lycra flying through buildings, a blurred figure saving cats from trees, webs shooting and swaying as onlookers stare like it’s a circus act. He calls himself Spider-man and you think it’s awfully corny.

You’d be a fool to think that you were safe from the antics of Avengers propaganda, rubble, and ash blocking your way to school on more days than not. You’d be a fool to think that you could evade the classic tropes of American violence that force the president to lament about "unthinkable tragedies" multiple times a year. At this moment, you’re a fool for getting yourself locked in a janitor’s closet while there’s an active shooter at Midtown High.

Your breath hitches when the doorknob jangles in front of you. On instinct, you stick yourself to the ceiling, far in the corner with your senses on fire. You’ve never actually had to attack anyone before. You aren’t entirely sure how this would play out with a gun involved.

Peter Parker’s labored breaths fill your eardrums, and without thinking, you shoot your webs directly at him. He stumbles, clumsily tripping over an empty mop bucket. He looks up at you in confusion. He’s wearing half of his suit.

"You. You just–"

"Shut the fuck up," you hiss, covering his mouth with your palm. In the darkness, your eyes widen. Someone is near.

It’s a stupid ordeal. The crime happening, this meet-cute, the way your senses feel haywire being this close to him. Both of you are holding your breath, your heart is pounding erratically in your chest, and blood is rushing through your ears.

The day ends with you and Peter making it out of the closet through a vent and the shooter getting subdued by the police. A troubled sophomore who barely knew how to use the gun in the first place made it easy for Spider-man to intercept the weapon the moment the kid raised his arms.

Peter follows you home that afternoon like a stray cat, babbling over a game of twenty questions that you aren’t in the mood to entertain. Somehow, his presence leaves your chest feeling warm and light, and you realize that you don’t mind the company. Twenty questions become routine.

He’s the only one who gets it, of course.

He tells you about the Avengers, ignoring the way you scoff under your breath. Secretly, you’re only a little jealous. Not because you want that kind of prestige or even a fancy suit, but because at least there’s a group of freaks out there who know. "How come you didn’t tell me?" Peter asks you. He looks small on your couch despite his sixteen-year-old sleeper build and the fact that he’s taking up more than half of your space.

"What do you mean?"

"If you knew about Spider-Man this whole time… why didn’t you say something?"

"What, like I was supposed to seek you out on the street with a mask on?"

He gives you a pointed look. "You had a feeling about me. In school. Didn’t you?"

You don’t answer, which, to Peter, is an answer in itself.

"I didn’t want to be any trouble. It’s my burden to deal with," you say slowly, blinking up at him.

Burden. Peter smooths the word over in his mind and watches the way your nimble fingers pick at the threads of your sweater. He suddenly feels guilty for pestering you with questions, especially after the trauma of today.

"It’s not a burden," he says carefully. You don’t protest, but he knows there’s a certain level of repression inside you that won't let you give this part of yourself up. As if his knowing about your powers would only be that — knowing. He keeps staring at your fingers.

"You don’t have web shooters?" He gestures to your hands.

"Comes from my fingertips."

"No fucking way. You gotta show me."

"You saw it today," you chuckle as you take a breath.

"Not really," he pouts. The amber-brown of his eyes is annoyingly irresistible, and you know it because of how hot the back of your neck suddenly feels. There’s a hint of a taunting smile on his face, as if he knows.

You take him to the fire escape outside your bedroom window. It’s barely past five and it’s already gotten dark. Luckily, your bedroom faces an empty alley.

"I’m not some circus act, just so you know," you warn him.

"Please," he tuts. "If anything, we both are. Two arachno-freaks."

"You should rebrand as that," you say with a grin.

You shoot a web to the fire escape railing above you, holding yourself up and swinging like you're in P.E. climbing a rope. You feel ridiculous, to say the least. You quickly shoot more webs after a quick scan of your surroundings to swaddle yourself in something resembling a cocoon. It hangs like a playground swing from the metal above.

"Holy shit! Does it ever… run out? Do you get web blocks? Does it come out of anywhere else–"

"I’m not answering that." Your cheeks heat up at the insinuation.

"Sorry, just curious." He holds his palms up in defense, then reaches to touch a fingertip to the silk holding you together. It feels soft like cotton candy and is much less sticky than what came out of his web shooters.

He asks you to swing with him, and for some reason, you say yes. You don’t like to swing very much, and if you do, you try to look for construction sites or abandoned scaffolding to evade attention. Tonight, however, the New York City lights look warm against the velvety backdrop of the sky, and you decide that flying through the air with someone else feels better than doing it alone.

____

He doesn’t understand your desire to stay under the radar. Whenever he brings it up, you take the opportunity to bring up the New York City disasters that have gone underway before the two of you even graduate. If anything, you’ve been a decent backup, but you refuse to be in the public eye. You don’t want to be Spider-girl.

But you don’t mind swinging around the city in your handmade suit, spun and woven together with the silk that flows straight from your fingertips. It’s one thing that Peter’s jealous of, but it helps him when he needs to patch up a wound when he’s on the go with you.

Peter comes through your window with a red gash on his thigh. You can smell him before you see him.

"Ugh, you broke the streak. Five days without a scratch. That’s a record for you, Parker," you sigh, already rummaging through your drawers for the usual first-aid kit.

"I’m fine." He winces as he crouches down carefully on the floor. You’ve gotten good at minding your business and not asking about his wounds, at least not ones that aren’t too deep into the flesh. He knows it would only hurt you if you knew.

"And yet you’re here."

"I wanted to see you. You know I always want to see you."

You open your mouth to respond, but nothing comes out. You kneel before him, pouring hydrogen peroxide onto the gash as you dab gently with a hand towel. He hisses and grabs your forearm with more force than he intends to.

"You’ll be fine," you reassure him gently.

"Yeah. I could've done it, you know," he says as he carefully holds your gaze.

"‘S’fun sometimes," you reply without looking at him. Carefully, you wrap gauze around his leg. "When I was little, my neighbor and I used to play House, but it always turned into, like… Hospital. And I’d pretend to be a nurse and take care of her, I’d tuck her into bed, and I’d give her lollipops from my Halloween stash for being a good patient."

Peter chuckles. He wobbles slightly as he stands up with your help.

"Am I a good patient?"

"Mm. A very brave boy," you say as you pat his cheek.

"What, I don’t get a treat?"

"Your treat is staying alive." You take him by the wrist towards your living room couch.

He doesn’t know what he’d do without you. It’s not right for him to think of you as an extension of himself, but he often yearns for your presence like a phantom limb whenever you aren’t on patrol with him. He realizes you're the yin to his yang.

It excites him, the images of you two that end up on the Internet. How good you look together. You, on the other hand, dread any semblance of perception by the world.

"People are catching on, you know. Ned found a subreddit on you the other day," Peter murmurs into your lap.

You snort, rolling your eyes the way you always do. You fiddle with the soft strands of his hair. It’s second nature to you. "Ned needs to reduce his screen time tenfold."

"Rabbit."

You sigh dramatically at the nickname. He’d adopted it after the many jumpscares he’d give you when he’d sneak into your room at night. You’d become so accustomed to him that your spider-sense would dull when it came to Peter. He was your source of comfort.

"What, Pete?"

"Why don’t you patrol with me?"

"You know why." It’s too stressful. Too public. Too many run-ins with death that you can anticipate.

"It’s better when you’re around."

"You’re a big boy, Peter," you murmur. Your hand slides across his scalp again, this time with your fingertips settling in the space behind his ears. You aren’t looking at him; instead, you are watching the documentary on the television at a low volume. He crumples at your touch.

"May says you’re my guardian angel. Every time something really bad has happened, it always worked out because you were there."

"I mean, it probably helps when you have another Spider-person as a backup."

"I think she’s right, though."

You don’t say anything. You’re tempted to reply with something sardonic or self-deprecating. You put too much faith in me. But you can’t – he’s looking at you with something that you can’t fathom. Something earnest and entirely too fragile. You have to look away.

He hums, sighing into a tattered copy of Hamlet. "I can’t deal with any more Shakespeare."

"You’re such a slow reader despite being a goddamn genius."

"Did you just say something nice about me?" Peter raises a brow.

"Oh my God, relax, Big Bang Theory."

He scoffs and swallows down a smart-ass remark. A grin lingers in his mouth as he settles back into the book.

____

You’re apart from Peter for the first time since age sixteen. You don’t tell him – you don’t tell anyone – but you decide on an out-of-state university because you don’t want to feel tethered to him. Your friends consider you and Peter a package deal, and yes, he’s probably the first real best friend you’ve ever had, but the gnawing inside of you telling you that distance is needed doesn’t stop.

You, the black sheep, are the antithesis of your hero of a best friend, despite being bitten by the same spider. You’ve always wondered if your story was supposed to play out like some sort of Shakespearean tragedy because of your bond with Peter, so you decide to take your mind off of it. At least it won’t be as painful as severing it completely.

It feels free to be away from all the chaos. In Rhode Island, you can focus on your art and fold your feelings away in a neat little envelope. You’d rather die than let any of that out, especially when Peter insists on such frequent FaceTime calls.

Sometimes, you fall asleep to the sound of his voice. He tells you about taking a train down to Providence in the middle of September to visit you like some kind of long distance boyfriend. The thought makes something in your stomach bloom and stagger in the same way. He doesn’t keep his promise – chem labs are already kicking his ass halfway to Thanksgiving break, not to mention the crime rate in New York City rockets beyond normal.

Thanksgiving comes, and both of you are the same. Peter is exactly as boyish as you left him three months ago, though his brown hair has grown longer and he wears blue-light readers to help with the mild headaches he gets from staring at screens.

He isn't attached to your hip like you expected. Your week off is filled with missed texts and a marathon of TV shows about broken women—the kind with dark humor and falling in love with priests.

The next time you see him, your roommate is out of town. It's not an unusual occurrence given how little she spends time in the dorm, always elsewhere with her new boyfriend.

Peter takes up so much space in your bed that you almost offer to push the two twin beds together, but the feeling of his warmth is too comforting. Propped against the wall, you’re hip-to-hip with him as you scroll through Netflix on your laptop.

You can feel him staring. It becomes routine, or maybe it’s your senses, but you can always tell when he’s merely observing you, watching you carefully like ripples on a pond. You've never really chastised him about it, but it doesn't help that you know he can tell when you're nervous. He has you memorized.

He likes the way you look when you concentrate. Sometimes, when you’re deep in thought, he likes to take his thumb and smooth out the ridges of your furrowed brows even though you end up swatting him away. When he does this now, you look up at him with wide, doe eyes.

"Still as indecisive as ever."

"I have to be, otherwise you’ll just put on Gilmore Girls," you scoff.

"You’re the one who showed me that!" Peter protests.

"And then it was the only thing you wanted to watch to the point where I genuinely considered locking you out of my Netflix account!"

He doesn’t bother to argue, instead resorting to poking you in the side. You squirm immediately, yelping as he continues. He flashes you a leering grin as you whine in dissent, flinching from the feather-like touch of his fingertips dancing across your skin.

"You’re so annoying," you huff, curling your body toward the wall.

"And you love it."

More than you’d ever know.

You pause, rolling your eyes at him. You contemplate kicking him again just to get a rise out of him, anything other than the short silence between you that feels more present than it should be. Your stomach feels warm at his proximity, but then again, Peter’s built like a human furnace anyway.

When you attempt to playfully shove him, he catches your wrist with quick reflexes until the two of you are tangled together. It’s easy to fight with him when you’re both running off the same biological fuel. When he ends up on top of you, you forget how to breathe.

The two of you stare at each other like this, as if frozen in time. It’s you who looks away first, then back to his big brown eyes, settling a palm to his cheek. You can feel how hard he is. You wonder if he knows.

It’s something you’ve only thought about in your subconscious, in dreams, or in moments when you’re bandaging his wounds. How would it feel to have his skin all over yours? It’s a selfish thought, but it rings in your brain without warning at times like these, times of such closeness. The spider bit the two of you for a reason. Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.

It’s a curious thing for sure, but there are doors you don’t want to open yet.

"One episode and then I pick a movie," you mumble.

____

You don’t tell him about transferring when you come back for Christmas break. It feels embarrassing, despite knowing that he’d be ecstatic about the news. RISD proved to be too difficult for your one-track mind as you found yourself sleeping in more and more, flaking on the most rigorous of classes due to your mood. You’d successfully gotten into Pratt for the next semester and were fully moved out, thankfully. But when you see Peter in the arms of another, you wish you hadn't left.

You should’ve expected it, maybe. Peter had always had a thing for Michelle Jones but could never quite get past the friend zone. It seems as though your absence has nudged him further.

No, that feels too selfish to say.

But it’s still too difficult to bear in the loneliness of December, knowing that when the New Year’s parties hit, you’re still the black sheep. Even in a shiny little dress.

You don’t see him much over winter break, but he gets you a silver necklace for Christmas with a spider pendant hanging on it. It’s more sentimental than you expect, and it’s the nicest gift you’ve ever received. It certainly beats the Lego set you’d gotten for him.

Now, in your black cocktail dress, you smile dopily at Ned Leeds as the rest of the room counts down at the television, waiting for the ball to drop. It’s bittersweet when you remember last year’s countdown, in which Peter insisted the two of you swung out to Manhattan to watch the ball drop in person. You remember how much you wanted to kiss him then, but you didn’t. Thank God for his hero's anonymity and the impediment of his suit.

"Five, four, three, two, one – Happy New Year!"

Makeshift confetti falls to the ground as you watch him and MJ kiss. There’s enough champagne in your system for your heart to grow warm at the sight of it.

____

January is cold. Desolate. Even if you have your friends around you in New York, the place that feels most like home, you’ve come to realize. But there’s still something missing, something lacking. Like you’re inside a familiar place inside a dream.

You ignore the itch, learning to numb it with champagne. It worked on New Year’s, and now it’s been working for several weeks. You don’t leave your apartment.

Even though Peter Parker is a text or phone call away, you fade into the background of his life, watching him through newsreels and YouTube videos. You’re on his mind more than you’d expect. He doesn’t know why, though he does realize that your absence bothers him in small ways.

Sometimes, when he’s on patrol, he’s frustrated by his loneliness, especially in the dead of winter. You were never one to play the hero – he knew that – but it was still comforting to have someone to patch up his wounds or soften his fall. The webs that flow from your fingertips have always been strong, enough to form hammocks in between the corners of his bedroom or a makeshift suit.

And then there are the dreams. They feel real, vivid, and much too physical for something that his mind could conjure in his unconscious. You had only kissed him once before (in real life, that is), at a stupid basement party in the ninth grade, before the two of you were friends, but shortly after the initial spider bite. Although it’s something that’s only been brought up as a joke these past few years, Peter remembers vividly how hard his heart was pounding when the glass bottle landed on you after what felt like an excruciatingly long spin. He could never forget the feeling. He wonders if you feel the same.

It’s not something he should be thinking about right now. Especially when you’re not his girlfriend. He’d rather die a thousand deaths than have you know what you do to him in his dreams when you’re nothing but a reverie of your own silk-spun webs and soft, bare skin. You treat him like prey. He loves it.

Peter can nearly smell you, that sandalwood-citrus shampoo of yours, and your warm breath over his face. Your little whispers of praise, your tiny whimpers. The image of your eyes struggling to stay open while you’re underneath him is burned into his brain.

"I missed you," you say breathlessly. "Missed you so much."

God, how is this a dream? He can feel you so clearly. Until he doesn't, and he wakes up with a groan, an exhale, and an excess of sweat on his brow. Not to mention a dampness below him.

"Fucking Christ," he curses under his breath.

The ghost of you is on his bedroom ceiling, in the corner of his room. Something nearby smells like you, even though you haven’t been in his room in ages. This makes something in his chest hurt until he decides to get out of bed.

He wants to see you, but he feels guilty knowing what he's just dreamt about. He can’t help that the person that makes him feel the most human is the only other one who shares the venom in his blood.

Sometimes he follows you. It feels almost meditative for him to sit on a rooftop and watch you from the window of your favorite cafe, reading and writing and breathing. The brightness of his phone screen illuminates his face as his eyes scan over your contact. Your face smiles back at him, but there’s a distance considering the lack of texts between the two of you over the past month. He sighs as he zooms in on your location – the two of you had shared each others’ years ago and only found it convenient to keep.

Peter doesn’t know why he’s feeling all this yearning all of a sudden – sometimes he recognizes the feeling in his body and he thinks of you and he thinks of safety. Other times, like now, he knows that it only breeds guilt.

But he misses being quiet with you, misses the mundane intimacies of him poking you and you fixing his hair. All the small expressions you make with your face that only he notices. There’s something empty in the space he usually holds for you in his heart, and he doesn’t know why.

He has to see you. Maybe then, something in his brain will click, or he’ll see you as the old friend you’ve always been, and he can blame the heat in his body on his subconscious.

You’re predictable with your routine, because this afternoon, he finds you in your usual spot by the window at your favorite cafe again. You’re writing in your journal with your noise-canceling headphones on, so Peter’s presence is completely unknown to you. After he gets his coffee, he watches you from afar, just for a little bit.

As if on cue, you already know. The moment you skip a song and a millisecond of silence fills the space in your head, you feel him immediately. You always know when he’s around.

"Peter," you murmur without thinking. Your gaze is soft but carries the surprise of a deer caught in headlights.

"Hey," he smiles. "Mind if I sit here?"

He gestures to the armchair across from you, and you nod.

Peter knows how to coax your warmth from you, because within minutes, he has you talking about school, what’s on your mind, and why it feels better to be holed up in a cafe than sit miserably at home. You do the same for him, though you notice he’s more reserved for some reason – he’s tight-lipped about MJ, and doesn’t delve into the details of his hero work. He prefers to bombard you with questions instead, listening intently to your most recent fixations or the newest movie you saw alone in theaters.

"You replaced me yet, Rabbit?" he teases you.

"Never," you scoff, tipping your coffee cup to hide any embarrassment on your face. You haven’t heard him call you that in so long. "You know me. I’m a lone wolf."

"Pratt seems like your crowd though, no? No one at Midtown High was a match for you. You were way too cool."

"Mmm, true, yet you’re my best friend."

"Hey!"

Your laugh is like a song to him; he can’t help but smile ear to ear when he hears it.

"The only person who talks to me at school is this guy Cam from my ceramics class. He’s actually from Brooklyn so we took the train together to get home and he’s around for break, which is cool."

Peter’s face nearly goes cold at the sound of someone else’s name, though he stays composed.

"Fun. Are you two…" He gestures vaguely.

"We hooked up like, once, but I don’t really know where it’s going." You say it so nonchalantly like it’s an afterthought. You’re not even looking at Peter.

"If he fucks anything up, you know where to find me."

You smile, rolling your eyes in that bashful way you do when you shrug things off, and it’s more apparent to Peter now how much he adores all your little quirks and mannerisms. He realizes that he might have them all memorized.

"We’re actually going to a party tonight if you want to come. A friend of a friend’s birthday party in Manhattan, I think? I think her name was Anna?"

"Oh, my friend Gwen knows her and invited me!"

"Small world." You swallow down the image of Peter at the party with an ESU girl for a second, and it feels rough in your throat. But you’ll manage. You always do. "Is MJ coming?"

Peter shakes his head. "Ah, she’s in Philly visiting family. I’ll probably go with Gwen and her boyfriend Harry, though."

You feel shame in your relief. It’s sickening how much you have to bury your desire and your tenderness because you know better. You know that even though the two of you were bitten by the same spider, it doesn’t mean you’re necessarily compatible. Sometimes you think your attraction to Peter is some biological fluke determined by the cells in both of your bodies. And then you think, God, how can anyone look into his brown eyes and not feel a thing?

You're both warm in your chests as you part ways, waiting for your next meeting.

____

The night of the party, Peter revels in the sight of you wearing your spider necklace, which sparkles under the flashing lights of the penthouse apartment you’re both in. His mood dampens when he notices the tall boy attached to your hip like a guard dog.

It’s a stupid game and he knows it. The way he pretends not to see you or acknowledge your presence is cruel, but it feels safe for now. He doesn’t feel ready. He’s high off some gummy that Harry had given him an hour earlier, and it’s still fogging his senses, and even though he can be cloudy and nonchalant at this party, his paranoia precedes him. It feels like you’re everywhere.

He shouldn’t feel this way. Why does he feel this way? You’re his best friend and you have your own life that’s separate from his – he knew this would happen the moment he found out you were going to different colleges. Despite that, there’s a piece of you tethered to him that he can’t bear to cut off. It makes him feel sane, the parts of you that you’ve given him.

But now, he sees you laughing and swaying your hips with someone else’s hands resting on your waist and it makes his face burn.

"Dude," Gwen snaps her fingers in front of his face. Peter blinks back at her. "Are you good?"

"Yeah, sorry."

"Harry wanted to do a shot, you want to join?"

Peter nods numbly, following the blonde to the kitchen. He watches everyone else in the kitchen pour shots and drinks like they are rehearsed marionettes. Harry snaps him out of his daze once he slams down a shot glass full of vodka in front of him.

"Drink up, Parker!" Harry cheers.

The alcohol burns Peter’s throat, but he feels the head rush and the warmth. It feels good, makes him feel looser. Malleable. Invincible, maybe, if he took two or three more. But he knows he has to pace himself. He hates that his default setting is to look for you no matter where he is. But when he scans the room this time, you’re downing a glass of champagne alone.

Your body feels heavy at the moment, so you don’t register him plopping down on the couch next to you. You wake up to the sound of his voice as you always do.

"Hey, you."

"Hey."

Your glass of champagne is empty, so you take the beer bottle out of Peter’s hand without saying a word, and he lets you. He watches you gulp a bit of it down. Maybe you’re a little too drunk. Maybe you’re imagining the way his eyes scan your body.

You’re drunk enough to feel social, but truthfully, you’re deathly afraid of being alone with anyone right now. Being alone with someone would make you feel much too raw and vulnerable, so you convince Peter to introduce you to his friends that you’ve never met, and you try to cope with the fact that they look like they were cut straight out of a magazine.

"Peter talks about you all the time," Gwen gushes, sipping from her champagne flute.

"He does?" you ask, raising an eyebrow.

"Of course," she nods incessantly.

"Only incredible reviews all around," Harry nods, drunkenly slinging an arm around Peter’s shoulders. The brunette smiles sheepishly, bashfully. You raise an eyebrow at him along with a coy smile.

"Should hope so," you tease. "He wouldn’t have gotten through high school without me."

It’s mostly a lie considering Peter was the star student and you were barely second to him. Maybe fifth or sixth. In a way, your words are true, because Peter’s agreeing with you.

You zone out as he starts a story from junior year and you have half the mind to chime in when needed. Harry suddenly puts a whisky coke in your hand and you don’t want to refuse out of politeness, but you know the mix of different alcohol will have your head banging in the morning. Peter downs half of his within a millisecond.

"What?" he asks when he notices you making a face.

"Since when do you drink so much?"

"It’s a party," he shrugs.

"Peter, when I brought you to your first party, you refused to drink anything that wasn’t a fruity canned cocktail. You won’t go near wine let alone whiskey."

"A semester at ESU changes you," Harry interjects. "He’s still a little fruity, though."

Peter chastises him as you and Gwen laugh. As the boys bicker, Gwen gets your attention. She asks you mundane questions, like your major, your zodiac sign, and what you thought of the season finale of White Lotus. You’re grateful when she beckons you to follow her to the kitchen to make another whiskey coke.

Her glossed lips twist to the side, eyes bright with a teasing glance. She has the ability to make you feel calm, almost excited to be there.

"He is obsessed with you," she sneers.

"What do you mean?"

"He just talked about you so much when we met him that I had to stalk your Insta, and I was like Jesus Christ, that makes so much sense. If I wasn’t with Harry I’d snatch you up myself. And then when I met his girlfriend and I was confused that it wasn’t you. Unless you’re doing that, like, exes-that-are-still-best-friends thing."

You blush and nearly choke on your drink. "Peter and I never dated."

"Seriously?"

You say nothing, only forcing an amused smile. You don’t know where to put her assumptions, but you sure as hell can’t keep them.

"I’m actually, uh, here with someone," you mutter, pretending to look around. Briefly, you lock eyes with Peter on the couch, who’s pretending to listen to Harry's rambling. Your eyes flit away quickly. "I think I might step outside for a smoke and look for him."

You don’t have to turn around to know that Peter’s eyes are following you. Or maybe you’re just drunk and projecting. Gwen’s bubbly nature makes her seem like the type to gossip, and just because your best friend happened to talk about you doesn’t mean that there was anything under the surface. But then you notice his slightly nervous energy tonight, the silver necklace around your neck, and the last time he visited you months before, when his body was so close to yours.

A pair of hands situate themselves on your waist and it makes you jump. The warmth feels different, as does the sudden smell of sharp cologne, and then you feel your heart drop the slightest bit when you hear his voice.

"Was looking for you," Cam slurs. You can smell the beer breath as he exhales on your neck, making you shiver.

"You sure? Because you’ve been MIA for like forty-five minutes."

You try to keep your voice even, sighing when he plants a kiss on your neck. Any animosity in your tone is completely ignored.

"I was catching up with some people that I wanted to introduce you to," he says, tugging you along by the wrist like a child. You pull up a chair to a firepit surrounded by a group of strangers, and the charade of icebreakers returns. There’s no point in remembering anyone’s name.

You think about returning inside to look for Peter or maybe Gwen and Harry, but being on Cam’s lap is distracting you. At some point, a joint a passed around, and the feeling of the boy’s arms around you makes it easy to melt into nothing.

____

You’re right. You always are. Peter Parker doesn’t drink, and he’s never drunk this much in his entire life. He’s been sitting in the bathtub for… how long? He doesn’t know. All he knows is that his senses were dulled to the point of detachment and he needed to get alone to ground himself.

He’s so out of it that he doesn’t realize someone’s knocking on the door of the bathroom, and his reaction time is too slow before Harry barges in.

"Are you hiding in the bathtub?" Harry squints.

"No, I’m just… hangin’ out," Peter stammers.

Harry snaps out of the facade of a confused daze and shrugs, unbuckling his belt with nonchalance in front of the toilet.

"Dude!"

"What? I’m turned around!"

Sighing, Peter looks around his surroundings. Generic brand shampoo and conditioner. A deformed bar of soap. A red solo cup with clear liquid. He remembers suddenly – he’d filled an empty cup he found with sink water before getting in the tub.

His brain swims with dizziness and mild nausea that mix up his stomach. Gulping down the water, his throat burns immediately, only to realize that it isn’t water at all. It’s fucking vodka and seltzer. Harry’s turned around again, cackling before washing his hands.

"Idiot."

"Fuckingshitjesusfuckingchrist," Peter groans, pinching the bridge of his nose. "You should just drink straight vodka at this point, man."

"Oh, I do," Harry agrees. He crouches down, squatting to meet Peter at eye level. A warm palm taps Peter’s cheek. "You good, bro?"

"Mmm," Peter nods. His breathing turns shallow as he hunches over, pulling his knees into his chest.

"Jesus, you need to get home, don’t you?"

"‘m fine. You go home."

"Gwen’s been nagging me to for the past ten minutes, so I might. I’d let you crash on the couch, but we’re getting up early to go upstate. How are you getting home, bro?"

Harry frowns when he realizes Peter is barely listening. "Pete!"

He grimaces at Harry’s constant fidgeting. With an annoyed sigh, he shoos the other boy away with flailing arms.

"Heard you," he slurs. "I’ll– I’ll share an Uber with Y/N."

Harry sighs with exasperation, pulling Peter’s arm forcefully to get him out of the tub and down to the living room of the house. Peter is dizzy in his vision, clumsy in his movements, but finds clarity when he glances towards the couch and sees you sitting there with furrowed brows.

"Peter? Are you okay?" you ask.

"Yeah, absolutely not," Harry says. "Gwen and I gotta head home and we’re leaving early tomorrow so he can’t crash. You guys are like, neighbors, right?"

You swallow a lump in your throat, briefly turning your head to glance back at Cam, then back at Peter. He looks at you with a guilty cadence, though his eyes lull with a tiredness that is unusual for him. He’s corpse-like, still hanging onto Harry’s shoulder like a lifeline. It makes the pit of your stomach stir.

It’s unlike him, to be this drunk. The only other time Peter has been this drunk was once in high school, when he was slurring his words all night and determined to clutch you like a teddy bear in his twin-sized bed. You recall his warmth and how his post-puberty figure appeared gargantuan to your body. Foreign, but warm. Comforting. When you think about taking Peter home tonight, you feel like you aren’t allowed to lay next to a body that doesn’t belong to you.

"Yeah, I’ll take him home."

____

"Coulda swung home myself," the boy mumbles. You hit him on the arm and give him a chastising look. Thankfully, your current Uber driver speaks a limited amount of English, not to mention the radio is on blast.

"You couldn’t have. You’re so fucking drunk, you’d kill yourself," you hiss in a low tone.

"Not if you were with me."

"Well, I wouldn’t be. I wasn’t even gonna go home tonight."

"Ah. Of course. Cam,” he exasperates. “Is he your boyfriend?"

You sigh. "No, he’s not."

"Right, you don’t… you don’t do boyfriends," Peter murmurs, rubbing his face with the palm of his hand.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing."

The car stops in front of Peter’s apartment building.

"Thank you," you say stiffly to the Uber driver as you drag Peter out of the car. The elevator ride is awkward and quiet, as is the fumbling of keys when Peter tries to unlock the door.

He leans on your body as you coerce him into his bedroom, with him thumping onto his bottom bunk.

"Jesus. I feel like if Richie Rich called you an Uber himself you could’ve easily made it up the elevator by yourself. Right, Pete?"

"Mhmm. He’s such. A worry wart. For some rea–" Peter makes a gulping sound that makes your face pale. Immediately, you grab his trash bin and place it between his feet.

"‘m not gonna puke."

"I think you might, Peter."

He pauses and examines you as you kneel in front of him. He’s so drunk, so awfully drunk, but he has enough sense in him to take the caution that the anxious voice in the back of his head commands. But fuck, you look so pretty. He doesn’t know what to do about it.

Peter takes a strand of your hair in his hands and curls it around his finger. His shallow breaths feel louder than they should be. Or maybe they’re yours. He can’t really tell.

"What?"

"Nothing," he shrugs. "I won’t vomit. I promise."

You sigh.

"I should get going–"

"Can you stay for a little?"

Swallowing, you nod. You get into bed with him, because, quite frankly, you’ve had your fair share of alcohol tonight, and laying down in Peter’s warm bed makes you want to melt off the bone.

"I'm sorry for fucking up your night." Peter turns to lie on his side and drapes an arm carefully around you. His hand is feather-bare on your hip.

"You didn’t."

"You were gonna go home with Cam."

"It’s fine, Peter. I wanted to make sure you were safe."

"Like a chore."

"Not like a chore."

"Yeah, okay."

He does that thing again – holds a strand of your hair in his hands. He runs his fingertips nimbly across your scalp as if he’s handling an injured bird. As if he’s afraid you’d bite.

Your eyes are huge, like flying saucers. He used to say that all the time, especially whenever you came to his apartment after experimenting with any new drugs. You only felt safe with him – you had told him that – and he took care of you and your big eyes and your tendencies toward erratic behavior. He always knew how to calm you down. And now, in your adult lives, you were doing it for him.

You let him keep his hands in your hair and he doesn’t know why. There’s a theory he wants to test – one that he dreams about even when he knows he shouldn’t. He thinks about it in vulnerable moments. He considers that maybe this is a vulnerable moment.

His fingertips trace your face between the edge of your eyebrow and the baby hairs on your hairline. He taps along your temple gently, smoothing across the softness of your skin until he sculpts down your cheek and jaw. He blinks once, then twice. And then he rests the pad of his thumb on the corner of your mouth.

Almost automatically, you part your lips. Your mouth is pink, dusted with a purplish-red in the center from the merlot you’d drank hours before, and he wants to lick it off you.

He feels your heart beating, too, and you can hear his. It's a loud bang that resonates in between your eardrums. It’s that shared venom that makes your bodies so acquainted with one another. You briefly consider whether a human body can overheat and burn away simply by being touched by another. You wonder how human the two of you can really be.

You close your eyes.

"What are you doing?" you whisper. Your voice is gossamer-thin, barely there, but you’re so close to him that he hears it so clearly.

"Whatever you want." His voice is dripping honey.

You shake your head, still with your eyes closed. Peter’s hand descends to your jaw, thumb on your bone, with the rest of his fingers warming up your neck. You feel like you might just choke on the feeling of it.

"No, that’s not fair. That’s not… okay."

"What?"

"You’re drunk, Peter. Don’t do that to me. Please."

"What am I doing?"

Your face scrunches up as your eyes open to look at him with a pained expression. You have to close them again. You don’t want to look at him. You want his hands off of you, so you push them away.

"You’re with MJ."

"I… I know."

Your face is crumpled as you inch out of his bed. You’re back to kneeling on the floor in front of him.

"Please don’t leave," Peter whispers.

"I’m tired. I’ll sleep on the top bunk," you mumble. You try not to let him catch you sniffling.

"Goodnight.” You don’t respond.

He falls asleep shortly after and smells your perfume even in his dreams. When he wakes up, he smells you. But you’re nowhere to be found. There’s only the cold air coming from a crack of his window left slightly open.

____

It’s not your fault, but you’ve broken his heart a million times. The night of the party was the most recent one. To be fair, he had also broken your heart. He was just too fucking drunk to remember most of it.

You’ve become a ghost, barely texting Peter back, and when you do, your responses are short and clipped. You don’t have much time to hang out, and he realizes he doesn’t either, not when he has MJ to spend time with along with his Spider-Man duties.

But he would make time for you if you wanted it. He wonders if you know that. He feels too ashamed to tell you that himself.

It’s been like this before, and he’s been able to cope. The way you’re on his brain and won’t leave —stuck on him like a parasite. It’s his fault, he decides, not yours. He knows he’s not being fair. Not to you, not to MJ, not to himself. But he keeps it all in and hopes it doesn’t boil over.

Truthfully, Peter wants to avoid everyone. He understands now why you abhor winter to the degree that you always have. The desolation is too much to bear when there’s not much sunlight in January to activate dopamine receptors, so Peter sleeps in longer than he should. Late enough for Aunt May to get on his case about it.

"Something’s up with you," MJ accuses him on a Thursday evening. It’s one of their ritual movie nights with pizza and wine.

"Huh? Nothing’s up," Peter shrugs.

"No, I know you. Something’s wrong."

"I’m fine, Em." A lie.

It’s a miracle that Michelle Jones sees through Peter’s bullshit because it means that she has the incentive to protect herself from any future bullshit that may break her later on. Peter is too numb to process any of it. There was the refusal of admission, the attempt to keep up the wall of his emotions, which crashed down soon enough by the time MJ was out of the door.

He thinks he should call you, but he doesn’t.

____

Peter is used to scrapes and bruises. He’s seen more than enough charred flesh than a nineteen-year-old should. You had never asked to be his caretaker, but over the course of years, that was what you became. His guardian angel.

He used to make excuses to come over after patrol, trying to coax you out of your nest of a room for just an evening. He'd always known you were far more talented than you gave yourself credit for when it came to spider abilities, but it felt more like a curse than a gift for you to bear.

Some nights, he dreams of you falling stories beneath him. Your face is covered in rubble and ash, and although his nightmares often start with this, he knows that somehow, it’s his fault. It feels visceral, the burning in his calloused hands. Torn lycra to show the dirt underneath his fingernails. Hot tears dripping.

He starts taking that Ambien you gave him years ago.

After that, each day passes like he’s trapped in a nightmarish purgatory. No, that’s an exaggeration. He’s just a victim of a New York winter, and he misses you more than he wants to admit to himself or anyone else.

"I can take care of myself." And with that, the image of you disappears.

"I know," he murmurs softly. He’s always known. It is insignificant in comparison to how badly he wants to take care of you if you let him. Your voice echoes in the cavern of his room. You get farther away by the second until you disappear completely, and he evidently wakes up.

Even in your worst state, he’s obsessed with your honeyed skin. It doesn’t matter the number of bruises or cuts – he caresses them all with his nimble fingertips, and he’s ready to kiss them until they heal. He thinks about this sometimes, how much he cares for you and your body. What he'd do if you just let him in, let him devour you however he pleases, and it disgusts him.

In his dreams where you’re hurt, he’s willing to sacrifice whatever he can so that you can revert to your clean, unbothered state. I’d never let anyone break you. It’s a prayer for him. One that he whispers in your ear whenever he can, at least in these dreams. In reality, he knows that he has to let you go because he knows you. Knows how much you want to be free and alone. How you can take care of yourself. You’re not a damsel in distress – you never have been. But Peter feels like he was made to care for you. It would gut him all the same regardless of whether you loved him or not, and he was willing.

When it’s real, he doesn’t know what to do. He didn’t ever think the two of you would be in this position.

He’s been in enough battles to know how these things end. Mr. Stark had walked him through it all and been by his side while the rest of the Avengers repaired the other broken bits of the universe.

Right now is one of those unique times, the quiet and wretched ones, where Peter is contemplating breath after breath before imagining the full picture. Shambles of the street he’s in. The ache of his bruised body and the blood that he sees from yours, that he shouldn’t have seen, because you said it yourself. You’re not a fucking hero. So why is your blood streaked on the palm of his hands?

The distance between you and Peter doesn’t matter – it never does. The moment you’d felt a dread stirring in your stomach, there was a sharp pain in your head that refused to leave unless the working adrenaline in your body was satiated. It wasn’t the same adrenaline that circulated within you from a night of debauchery – instead, it felt like poison. A compulsory kind of pain, a sharp jolt to your senses. Tonight, you’d felt Peter in danger, and it would’ve killed you if you couldn’t get to him. He'd been the destination you'd been dead set on by the end of the night because of your spider instincts.

The police broadcast was too muffled for you to understand much of it, but you picked out the parts where Spider-Man was mentioned and followed through on them. Although you didn’t fall into the shadow of his hero work, you still kept enough tabs on Peter to know where he would usually be on patrol. It wasn’t like he knew, or that you’d ever told him, but when he was starting out as another guard dog for the Avengers in high school, you needed to at least know his approximate location in the event that something went terribly wrong.

An explosion blasts in the center of a park, where the two of you would meet in the middle between Queens and Stark Tower. This is where you lay your courage down. This is where you find Spider-Man’s mangled body before anyone else does.

"Peter," you huff. "S’gonna be okay. You with me? I’m gonna make sure you’re okay."

He’s just less than conscious, the stretch of his animated eyes limited by his weakness. When he sees your face, however, his face glows – not that you can see it through his mask.

He says your name with a fervor that surprises you. His voice is raspy.

"‘m fine. I have to stay," he grunts, his pain palpable. You know that he’s telling the truth, but you don’t want to leave him alone in his misery.

"Peter. You’re hurt."

"You go home. I’ll come find you later. Just let me–"

"You’re fucking limping."

You had always carried yourself like a feather-like, lithe ghost. Quiet, whereas Peter was bold, despite the fact that his anxious nature had rendered him a boyish thing all these years. This is why he’s surprised that you carry him easily with your supernatural strength. He forgets that you have the same abilities as him. If anything, he’d think you were stronger than him in every way.

Even with his thick skin, he melts into something malleable, comfortable. The solace of your arms makes him feel better already.

A pang of small guilt rots away within him, knowing the circumstances of your last meeting. You’re too good. He didn’t deserve to be saved by you, to be patched up with your nimble fingers like he had been treated when he was younger and more naive.

"I can make it to my place, it’s okay," he rasps gently.

You don’t have to say anything, because bullshit radiates through the stern expression of your eyes, your mouth in a grimace. You had always been stubborn and today isn’t an exception. With your webs, you crochet a path for him toward your home, lifting and catching the boy effortlessly as you swing.

A gentle sigh escapes his mouth when the two of you crawl into the safety of your fire escape. The night is quiet behind you. When he looks at you, you have to look away, fixing your hair nervously or occupying your gaze anywhere but in his direction. His eyes are poignant in their longing, though you’re unsure of what he could be thinking. If he’s sorry about before. If he’s ashamed.

Your wispy webs wrap around the parts of him that hurt, but you wince when you check on him to see that the white fibers are slowly saturated with the dark crimson of his open wounds.

"Peter, you have to wash up," you whisper. "Shit’s gonna get infected. I can put some gauze on you after you shower."

He nods wordlessly when you ask him if he can manage the shower on his own. He feels vulnerable, and although your presence is always desired by him, he finds relief in the hot steam of your shower, alone with his thoughts. He’s still shaken from the explosion. Not completely catatonic, but tense. As if he isn’t in his body at all.

When Peter emerges from the bathroom, he looks like a stranger. Scars adorn his sides. Your face crumples at the sight of his fresh wounds.

"C’mere."

It doesn’t take you long to fix him up, cleaning his cuts and wrapping gauze around his stomach and chest. His quiet grunts startle you, as if he's a wild animal. Eyes screwed shut, brows cinched in pain. A heavy exhale and a mumbled apology followed.

You forgive him with a soft touch and a hushed whisper. He wishes the ache would stop. He wishes he could lie on your bed and have you whisper in his ear all night until the sound of your voice lulls him to sleep.

There aren’t many words exchanged, and you want to ask him why. If you did something. But then you think about the images on the news and his withered face, and you decide not to probe the sphere of trauma surrounding him. Peter has probably gone through more in the last twelve hours than you have in a week.

You stop him before he tries to make it out of your bedroom door and towards the living room.

"I don’t mind sleeping on the couch, I’ve done it before."

"It’s like sleeping on a rock, Parker. You just gone through God knows what," you chide. "Just… get in here."

As he breathes in and out, he nestles in your shoulder, his clean hair tickling your bare skin. There’s a nasty guilt that lurches from your sternum. As if you were the reason for his pain. For the state of his body. And you think back to the desperate look in Peter’s eyes the night you took him home from the party. Were you too cruel, then?

It’s like he steals the words from your mouth. He beats you to it.

"I’m sorry," Peter murmurs. His amber eyes blink up at you, unfathomable. You flash him a downturned grin.

"For what?"

"I feel like… there’s been a distance between us lately. And I don’t want that, because you’re my best friend. And now you’re taking care of me when you don’t have to. I just wanted you to know that I really appreciate it. That I, um, lo–," he stammers. He chews on his bottom lip. "You’re really good."

"‘m not all that good, Peter."

But of course, you are, he protests in his head. You are the moon and the stars and everything in between.

"I’m sorry for not being around."

"Not just your fault," you shrug. "Phone works both ways."

He knows you better than you think because, within seconds, his palm rests softly on your cheek, where he feels a hot tear.

"What’s up, Spidey?" he asks you. It makes you laugh.

"Shut up." You shake your head, trying to hide your face. The feeling of his thumb rubbing your cheek makes the tears flow even more. "I wouldn’t know what I’d do if something bad happened to you. If I couldn’t get to you. Or if you – if you were gone."

"I’m okay, Rabbit. We’re okay."

"Yeah," you chuckle, trying to hide your tears.

"Couldn’t get rid of me if you tried."

You feel warmer in his grasp. His small breaths fall on your arm as his body curls up next to you. He’s bigger than he’d been before back when you were teenagers. The jaw is chiseled and sharp. Not as soft and boyish as you once knew. With your senses, you can discern the steadiness of his heartbeat as his chest rises and falls into slumber. You fall asleep soon after, dreamless but full of warmth.

____

Waking up next to him is nothing new, but it’s been years. You never thought anything of it when the two of you were sixteen, staying up all night reading creepypastas and watching movies until you’d fall asleep on top of each other by four in the morning.

After a night’s sleep, Peter's sullen face is a bit brighter despite his dark circles. His limbs are entangled in yours, bodies fused together. Yin and yang. You can only assume that this is how it will always be.

You keep mental notes of him like trinkets. The uneven slant in his left eyebrow. The faint freckles dotted along his nose, the one near the corner of his mouth. The faint shadow of hollowed-out cheeks. Peter is still half-boy to you, and half-man, but you didn’t want to come to terms with it. Maybe he was something else. Half-ghost. Half-angel.

Slowly, over the course of a few weeks, he comes back to you again. Sitting together and reading at a cafe. The occasional 3 am swing. Walking around high at the 7-11.

"Did you like Rhode Island?" he asks over a joint one night.

You hum for a second, trying to come up with an acceptable answer. It wasn’t that you hated being in Rhode Island. It was that you hated being away from him.

So instead, you shrug. "It was nice to get away from everything. Providence is still a city, but it isn't as large as all this–”

You trail off, making a vague gesture with your hands. Chaos, Peter presumes.

"Less overwhelming?"

"Sure," you say, nodding. "I missed being home, though."

I missed you.

Peter passes you the joint. His brain feels fuzzy. Warm. He doesn’t know what to do with his hands. He massages your ankle absentmindedly.

"I get it," he says, breaking the silence.

"You get what?"

"Wanting to leave. I've been thinking about it," Peter shrugs, his eyes squinting in the late afternoon sun. "Sometimes I wish we could pack our bags and go to the countryside. See some cows and shit."

We. We. We.

"There are cows upstate," you snort.

"You know what I mean."

"We can do a road trip."

"You can’t drive."

"I am aware and perfectly fine with being a passenger princess. In fact, I’m looking forward to it," you grin.

He yanks your ankle this time, causing you to slip from where you’re sitting on the pavement. Giggling, you swat away his hands, but he’s too quick, untying your shoelaces as you kick and thrash.

"Honestly, it’s probably better for society if you never get behind the wheel," Peter teases. He dodges you when you try to kick him in the shin.

"Oh, but you can be? You get so distracted so easily! Whenever you’d practice driving, you’d miss so many exits or be too anxious to merge on the highway."

"Okay, well, you’re just a force of distraction," he shrugs, throwing his hands up in defeat. "You have that effect on people."

You look at him quizzically, your eyes narrowing. If there’s anything behind his statement, he doesn’t show it on his face. Peter knows his cheeks are burning, however.

There are more moments like these. Ever since you’d rescued Peter that night, he’s grown accustomed to spending hours of his day idly looking for you, learning your class schedule, and following you home like a pet when it’s time to unwind. He stays for hours like he used to when you were kids, and although he always thinks he’s overstaying his welcome, you don’t seem affected.

You curl into him more these days, like a sunflower stretching toward the morning glow. There are more lingering touches, here and there. You have to remind yourself not to get too comfortable, but God, he makes it so easy.

So the burning question pops out during a marathon of Chainsaw Man.

"Does MJ care that we hang out so much?" you blurt out. He looks at you like you have three heads. Also, his mouth is full.

"Um, webrobrup," he mumbles. He frowns as he looks down. Hot Cheeto fingers.

You mock him, of course.

"English, yeah?"

He chuckles as he finishes scarfing it all down. He shyly licks his fingertips, and you have to stop yourself from staring at the way his fingers enter his mouth. Ugh, gross. This is hardly supposed to be hot.

"We broke up."

You keep a straight face. It’s not like you’re excited or anything. You realize you shouldn’t be surprised because… why else would he be so available to you lately?

"Shit. You really fumbled, then."

"Shut up," he laughs.

"Seriously. Who else is gonna wanna put up with you?" You both know the answer to that.

"It was mutual," he says, shrugging. "I’ve got all my Spider-man shit, she’s getting into a bunch of extracurriculars and even a research internship even though we’re literally first years."

"Classic MJ."

"Yeah."

"We’ll get you back on the market, buddy," you tease, patting his head like a dog. A coy smile lights up your features. It makes something inside him melt.

"I’m not a piece of meat."’

You click your tongue.

"Oh, right, you’re an insect."

"Hey, so are you!"

____

You used to think it was a kind of twin telepathy, the magnetism to Peter that you felt. Bitten by the same spider and entangled in the same web. You realize as you grow older that it’s more than a platonic bond. It feels like wanting to share the same skin.

Or maybe it’s the wine talking.

It’s not your job to keep Peter afloat at the party right now, but both of you remember too well how the last party went. He continually sips water in between gulps of whiskey like a paranoid freak, which you tease him about. Maybe it’s just the darkness of his eyes under this light, but his pupils look wide and dilated.

It’s almost March. You’d both endured a proper New York winter, which usually extends until April if you’re lucky, but global warming has other plans. It's warm enough for you to pair one of your favorite dresses with an oversized Carhartt jacket that used to belong to Peter before the bite bulked him up significantly. You fiddle with the black velvet wrapped around your body as you pretend to listen to banal conversations, leaning your head into Peter’s bicep.

You keep picking at loose threads obsessively. You think about your fingertips and their webs. You think that maybe you should take up crocheting to distract your hands from their restlessness.

Peter grabs your hand away from you, squeezing it slightly, not even looking at you. His flushed palm rests against yours. Gently rubbing your thumb between your finger divots

If you were a cat, Peter would imagine you purring right about now. He wants to take you into his lap, stroke your hair while the alcohol subsides in both of your systems. The thought of you on top of him causes his cock to twitch slightly. His rose-colored cheeks are from the whiskey, he reassures himself. An affirmation. He lets go of your hand.

He knows that this isn't the time or place for such thoughts, so he makes an effort to push the desires down. He knows they'll come up again when the whiskey leaves his veins, but at least he'll be of sober mind.

Christ, he feels like he's at a middle school dance. Especially when you run off with a spring in your step to socialize with some girls you recognize from school. The smell of your hair lingers next to him. It's sweet and slightly floral, a scent that makes him think of when you were kids.

His ears perk up like a dog's when you call his name, reaching out to him so that you can introduce your best friend. He has the right mind to be polite, even funny at times, but he knows he pales in comparison to your current charisma, which contrasts with your usual wallflower nature.

Peter likes watching you talk, and you like that he watches you so intently. When you know he's watching, it's easy to deadpan some drunken jokes and elaborate superfluous tall tales from your high school days. His eyes are bright, and his bottom lip is chewed in between his teeth.

Suddenly, he gets to be alone with you in the kitchen. Your scent permeates the air. He could drown in it.

“Rabbit," you whine petulantly. "Swing me home."

"How drunk are you?" he chuckles with adoration.

"Not very. Just tired, s'all," you respond with a yawn. You scrunch your nose. "Can I sleep at yours?"

Peter looks at you with a soft gaze. "Of course, angel."

Angel. He's never called you that before. You decide that you like the sound of it.

By the time midnight comes around, you're barefoot in his bedroom, black velvet spinning loosely around your figure. In Peter's blurred vision, you look like a friendly apparition, one that particularly favors "Champagne Coast" by Blood Orange.

"Come into my bedroom, come into my bedroom," you quietly sing along as you sway your hips.

"You're already in my room."

Your smile beams at him, huge and illuminating, and impossible to look away from. Peter wishes that he could bottle up this moment to revisit it, or maybe live in it for the rest of his life. The sweetest way to exist.

Your body sinks to his level -- no, collapses -- as you roll over his heavy frame and rest yourself on your back. Your hair fans out like you're underwater. Your lips are red and wine-colored, freshly bitten. When you turn your head toward Peter, his hand plays with the exposed nape of your neck, fingertips grazing the creases of your skin.

"You used to be so gangly, you know," you murmur. Your voice is lower than usual.

"Okay, well, I'm not anymore."

"I could totally still take you in a fight." Still refers to the times when the two of you would attempt something along the lines of combat training, if combat training was just you unleashing your hotheadedness with your mutant powers instead of with your fists. If you weren't so agile, maybe Peter would've had a chance of winning.

"I'd like to see you try, angel."

It's decided -- you are on top of him, knees bent around his waist as you wrestle. The fabric of your dress pools around your waist in a way that feels sacrilegious. Peter has his hand on your thighs, and his touch feels white-hot to both of you, so he closes his eyes, tries to focus on swatting you away like a bat instead. When he opens his eyes, he meets your devilish ones, gleeful that you've managed to pin his arms above his head.

It would take two inches to break this spell of separation. He keeps trying to keep this bubble intact because the last time he tried to pop it, the look on your face made him want to dig a hole and lay in it forever.

Peter feels sorry for many things. He feels sorry for the times he's intruded, when he's made Mr. Stark angry, for the times he couldn't be there for you. He feels sorry that you had to take care of him when he wanted to do that for you.

Right now, however, Peter doesn't feel sorry at all. The slight twitch of your pulse, the way you smell, the curve of your bare shoulders -- it's all too tempting for him to feel sorry for. So he kisses you.

He's surprised when you nearly bite him back. You inhale sharply, pressing your body against him as you let go of his wrists and rest your palms on his jaw instead. Your kiss is fervent, desperate.

His brow cinches in confusion when you pull away.

"Wha--"

"Fuck."

"What is it?" He frowns.

"I owe Ned twenty bucks."

"What?"

"I just remembered. At graduation, he was like, teasing me that we were gonna get together, and we bet on who would make the first move. I was just entertaining him, but you know how that kid gets about twenty dollars."

"So you thought you were going to make the first move, then?”

“I mean, yeah. How was I supposed to know that MJ was going to cuff you before I did?”

“You snooze, you lose, I guess,” he deadpans.

“You don’t even fucking deserve me, you little freak,” you taunt, tickling his exposed midriff.

“God, I know. I’ve known that for a while. Too bad I want you regardless.”

He smiles as he captures your lips again, tasting sweet and smoky at the same time. He coaxes you onto your back and you revel in his body heat and the way his large hands grab the plush of your thighs, pushing and pulling your skin taut. It’s so erotic that it almost feels dirty.

You kiss him back like he’s your last meal while you roam your hands under his shirt, then to his protruding collarbones, then experimentally, to the tufts of his chestnut hair. You pull a bit too hard due to your eagerness and he lets out a mewl that you never could’ve imagined to come out of him.

“You like that, don’t you?” you taunt darkly. “Is that why you always want me to scratch your head when we watch movies?”

“I don’t care what you do as long as you’re touching me,” he breathes out, like a confession. “Don’t care how you touch me, s’long as it’s you.”

A tepid blush soaks your face. You shut him up with another kiss. He licks at your bottom lip, groaning softly at the feeling of your soft body against his.

“You’re so pretty, Peter,” you whisper.

“You are.”

Before you can react, you hitch a breath in surprise when you find that his hands have fully reached above the hem of your dress and onto the bare skin of your hip, toying with the elastic of your underwear. You part your legs, bending your knees so that you can pull the fabric off.

He sighs as his fingers tease the slot of your cunt, which grows wetter and wetter with every touch. Your sensitivity makes you squirm a little. He can tell so easily that you’re falling apart for him. He loves it.

You nearly whine when he takes away his fingers from you. Instead, he towers over your body, pulling your legs toward him as he pulls up the hem of your velvet dress and cascades kisses on your knees. He slowly works his way up to your thighs, biting gently, then hard. Meanwhile, his hands roam the perimeter of your chest and your ribs, all soft and pliable for him. You’ll be delighted when you wake up to a bruise on your thigh stuck in the shape of Peter Parker’s mouth.

A shiver lacerates your lower body all the way up to your neck – you feel it, viscerally. All from his mouth. He slots his tongue onto the bud of your clit going slowly just to watch you squirm.

“Please,” you beg.

“Please what?” His eyes are as dark as the sky. As dark as your dress.

“Your– your mouth. I need it. Please. More.”

Peter’s grip on your thighs tightens as his face moves closer to your center, licking incessantly as you cry out. You attempt to muffle your sounds with your hand covering your mouth, biting the skin on your palm. Your blood is hot, pumping hard, all the way down to your swollen clit, and he treats you like a man starved.

“Oh my God,” you gasp. “More, please. Pleasepleaseplease.”

He listens to you, forcing his ring and middle finger into your cunt and curling upward. Your legs shake involuntarily when he does this and it takes everything in him to not stop just so he can see the look on your face head-on. You look so beautiful right now.

“Gonna cum, Pete. Fuck.”

He closes his eyes as he savors your sweet taste. He feels it when you cum as if it’s happening in his body, too. A jolt to the sense. A vivacious rumble. Your mouth is slack, jaw falling open with your eyes screwed shut as you finish, and Peter towers over you to watch. He’s never seen you like this. He wants to keep the image of it forever.

You thank him with a messy kiss, not caring about the remnants of your lipstick. Your hands attack him, teeth nipping at his earlobe as you help him undress. Soon enough, the two of you are naked together, limbs entangled and kissing without paying any mind to oxygen.

You take his jaw in your hand as if he’s a delicate thing. Easy to break. It’s your turn to tease, now.

“What do you wanna do?”

“You’re such a little shit,” he mumbles, but he can’t help but grin.

“Tell me about it, Spidey.”

“Want you, Rabbit, want to make you feel good.”

“And how exactly will you do that?”

“Gonna fuck you. I’ll make you cry if you keep being a little shit like this, too.”

There’s no time for a reaction. He’s on top of you, pinning you down, and he licks your collarbone up to your jaw as you whine like a newborn kitten. He spanks your ass and you have to your bottom lip to keep from being too loud.

“You want it that bad, huh?”

“Yeah,” you respond breathlessly. He melts at the sound of your voice, cooing softly as he playfully bites the skin of your cheek.

You love him like this, a burst of passionate energy focused on you and you only. His little angel. You remember your rabbit heart caged in your sternum fragile and thumping like an earthquake for him.

He pauses to give you another kiss, this time sweet as he licks up the bottom of your lip. You can feel him at the crux of your legs and you can feel the want pumping in your veins. Patience. Patience. Patience.

“You want me to go slow?”

“Of course not.”

You’re so relaxed in his grasp. Gooey with your desire that it might disgust you if you weren’t so enamored. You keep your eyes on him when he enters you – you want to see the look in his eyes.

Peter feels selfish wanting to tease you like this. He’s slow when he enters you, listening to your sweet exhales.

“Easy,” he warns. “‘m gonna take care of you, don’t worry."

Please floods your entire body like a heat stroke. You bend your knees upward and rake the smooth terrain of his back, lifting your hips up at the same time. He thrusts once, then twice, and already, he feels like he’s ready to unfurl completely.

“Fuck,” he groans. You’re so goddamn wet. Soft. Velvety.

“Don’t be shy, Peter,” you murmur. “C’mere.”

You keen into the way he buries his nose into your shoulder, shallow breaths uneven and erratic as he continues, losing control bit by bit as he goes on. His pleasure is the knife you twist inside yourself.

You gasp at the way he can carve you out, the way he knows exactly where to put his hands as he grasps for your body, like he’d molding you from clay. He drinks down your moans with his mouth, eyes fluttering at the impact of your cunt clenching him.

Peter props himself up now, moving his body backward so he’s perpendicular to your core. He holds you by your hips a little too hard, but you’d always liked it rough. You liked it when he would cuddle you or play with you or put his entire body weight on you. To smother was to be encased in something akin to love.

“Fuck,” he hisses, getting the hang of a constant rhythm. His hips slot with yours as his cock thrusts deeper into you, until he can feel the slight tremble of your thighs.

“You okay?” he asks, chest heaving.

“Yes, keep going. Keep going.”

You underestimate how fragile you are. A rough thrust almost has you there, until he pulls out of you like a stolen breath, and it leaves you whining.

“Pete.”

“Shh, I’m just trying to pace myself,” he breathes, jaw slack and glistening with sweat. “You feel too fucking good.”

“Come back or I’ll break your wrists.”

He chuckles, but you’re dead serious. You lift your body to him so you can pull his down, kissing him with a ragged hunger that’s all teeth and lust. He’s quick to match your vigor but with more tenderness than desperation. It makes you melt, how natural it is, how this is how it might’ve felt in a past life. Your bodies entwined in a way that’s proverbial.

He listens to you. Fucks you much rougher than before, giving in to what he wants, because he’s not sorry about how much he wants you. Your broken moans curl out of your throat and into his mouth and the feeling of him deep in you makes you feel like a balloon ready to burst from the pressure.

It’s like Peter reads your mind, because suddenly, his hand is around your throat. You’ve never looked more angelic to him than you do now, eyes half-lidded and your reddish mouth all lax.

“So fucking beautiful, I love you,” he mumbles against his mouth.

I love you. I love you. I love you.

All of Peter’s muscles are tense from holding back. Fuck, he doesn’t want to cum until you do.

Luckily, the way his cock stretches you out has you nearly drooling underneath him. He touches the deepest parts of your insides like he belongs there, like he was meant to be there, as if the way he turns his hips toward you is a vow in itself. You whimper at the feeling of it all and he nearly loses it.

“I’m so close,” you pants. Thank fucking God.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Cum for me,” he coos. “You’re doing so good. Fuck.”

Your gaze lingers on the shape of his mouth. You think about how his voice sounds when he calls you angel.

Your orgasm comes like a flower blooming, like a beam of light in the darkness. He feels it, too, so vividly like he shares your body. It feels strange how much he feels that he hasn’t felt before, and it makes him come undone right after you.

He pulls out of you and spills onto your stomach unceremoniously with something in between a grunt and a whimper. He’s all over you. You want to bury your body into his.

“Peter,” you whisper, your gaze languishing.

“Yes, angel?”

“I think I owe Ned fifty bucks now.”

He looks at you incredulously but you can’t keep the facade, bursting into laughter as he groans in annoyance and flops his body on top of yours.

“Ew, clean me up, at least,” you complain.

“Right,” he says, nodding. And he does, with a spare t-shirt from his floor absentmindedly while he shares a grin with you. “You serious, though?”

“Of course not,” you scoff. “Ned Leeds will never get anything over twenty bucks from me.”

He laughs and it sounds like heaven.

“You said you loved me,” you tell him.

“I do love you. I’ve always loved you.”

You could cry right now. Surely the influx of endorphins in your body is breaking the rest of your brain.

“I love you, too.”

You kiss him again, open-mouthed, teeth sucking slightly as his lips. He takes a fistful of your hair while his other hand caresses your jaw. It excites you when he breaks the kiss by pulling your hair. His cheeks dimple the slightest bit when he smiles at you.

“Don’t do that, you’re gonna get me hard again.”

“You have the stamina,” you shrug, hugging one of his oversized pillows to your chest.

“You’re cute.”

“Hey.”

“Hi.”

“How come you call me angel now?”

Peter shrugs. He rubs his hands on your calves.

“You’re my guardian angel. Always have been. And you’re not allowed to complain about it being corny because it’s true.”

Peter is shy all of sudden as if he hadn’t just fucked you. His brown hair is tousled to bedhead perfection, messy and slightly frizzy, and the warmth of his skin radiates from the way his whole body seems to blush in front of you.

“I have a proposition.”

“Jesus Christ.”

“Come on!” You nudge him, kicking him with your feet. You get off of his bed to rummage through his dresser drawers for an oversized t-shirt, just dodging his attempts to grab you by the waist.

“Okay. What is it?”

“We should use our webs next time.”

He blinks, smirking, indulging you for a second.

“Deal.”

tagging mutuals: @meliapis @cutetomholland @userholland @sparklingsin @tomdutch @userholland @vendettaparker @selfcarecap @simplykenni @uhlxis @cordiformity @sapphicsoie @seolaseoul @honeyspidey @logangarfield @justapurrcat @arachine @cocoamoonmalfoy @ohcaptains @aniqua

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