#so I didn’t trace it so it’s a little rough

[inseobts]

(Accidental) PDA

characters: zoro, sanji, law, ace, kid

words count: around 300-500 each

masterlist

Roronoa Zoro:

The crew is gathered at a lively tavern, drinks flowing, laughter echoing off the wooden walls. You’re seated next to Zoro, who, as usual, seems more focused on his drink than the conversation. His arm is draped casually along the back of the bench, and at some point, probably without realizing it, his fingers start lightly tracing circles on your shoulder.

It’s absentminded, subconscious, but you notice.

And so does everyone else.

You don’t say anything at first, just letting yourself enjoy the rare show of affection. Zoro isn’t exactly the touchy type, so the feeling of his rough, calloused fingers against your skin is something to savor. You lean into him just a little, and his grip unconsciously tightens.

Then, Sanji snickers “Didn’t take you for the clingy type, Marimo.”

Zoro’s fingers stops instantly.

You can practically hear the gears turning in his head as he replays the last few minutes, piecing together what just happened. His arm stiffens, and when you glance up, you find his face frozen in mild horror, like his own body has just betrayed him.

“What the hell are you talking about?” His voice comes out a little too sharp, too defensive, which only makes Sanji smirk wider.

“Oh, nothing” The cook takes a drag of his cigarette “It’s just cute, that's all. Didn’t think you’d be the type to get all touchy in public.”

Zoro yanks his arm back so fast you almost fall sideways “I wasn’t!” He groans, rubbing his face like he can physically scrub the moment from existence “It wasn’t on purpose.”

You stifle a laugh, reaching up to pat his arm “Relax, Zoro. It’s fine.”

He glares at you, but there’s a bit of redness creeping up his neck “I don’t do that stuff in public.”

Sanji hums, clearly enjoying this way too much “Mhm. Sure. Just keep telling yourself that.”

Zoro grumbles something under his breath, clearly ready to die on this hill. But even as he crosses his arms and scowls at his drink, his knee remains pressed against yours under the table.

Accidental or not, you’ll take what you can get.

Vinsmoke Sanji:

The sun is setting over the Sunny, casting golden hues across the deck. Dinner is long over, but most of the crew lingers, full and satisfied. You sit beside Sanji near the railing, listening to the breeze and the distant laughter of the others. He’s in a good mood, smiling as he talks to you about a new dessert he’s planning, something with caramel and sea salt, he says, because “a contrast of flavors makes things more exciting, mon amour.”

You roll your eyes at the nickname but don’t bother fighting it. Sanji flirts like he breathes, and by now, you’ve just learned to go along with it.

Then, it happens.

You’re mid-sip of your drink when Sanji, without thinking, reaches out and tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

It’s so natural, so smooth, that it takes you a second to process what just happened. The conversation around you continues, but you feel frozen, heat creeping up your neck.

Sanji, of course, remains utterly unaware. He keeps talking like nothing’s happened, his fingers lingering near your ear for just a moment before pulling away. It wasn’t even a grand gesture, just an absentminded, casual thing. But the way it makes your heart stutter? Absolutely unfair.

Unfortunately, someone does notice.

“Oi, Sanji,” Usopp teases, leaning over the table with a shit-eating grin “Didn’t know you were already at the ‘tucking their hair back like a romance novel protagonist’ stage.”

Sanji blinks “Hah?”

Nami chuckles “That was smooth, even for you.”

Sanji frowns, clearly replaying the last few seconds in his head. His hand twitches, as if only now realizing what it just did. He looks at you, at your slightly wide eyes, at the way you’re still holding your drink midair like an idiot, and then… it hits him.

“Oh—!” His face erupts into red “I—I wasn’t—! That was—!”

He immediately buries his face in his hands, groaning “Shit… I didn’t even notice I—!”

“You touched their hair, Sanji,” Usopp deadpans, grinning. “That’s practically a confession.”

Sanji sputters, waving his arms dramatically “It’s not like that! I— I just—” He stops, then sighs, rubbing his temples. “Mon dieu…”

You watch him, amused. The smooth-talking, ever-flirty Sanji, reduced to a blushing mess over one small gesture.

You smile. Maybe you didn’t mind it so much after all.

Trafalgar D. Water Law:

Trafalgar Law doesn't do public displays of affection. The man acts like love is a classified disease, and he’s the only doctor qualified to handle it.

Which is why the Heart Pirates are absolutely living for this moment.

It starts small, Bepo makes an offhand comment about how you and Law seem weirdly close today. And by that, he means Law has casually draped an arm around your waist while reading his book.

Then it escalates.

Law, your usually grumpy, no-nonsense captain, absentmindedly feeds you a bite of his food at dinner. Like it’s nothing. Like this is normal.

The crew goes silent.

Then whispers.

Then snickering.

Shachi elbows Penguin “Did you see that?”

“I felt that” Penguin whispers back, eyes wide.

“Are we being punked?” Ikkaku mutters “Is this a medical experiment or what?”

Meanwhile, Law, completely oblivious, keeps eating... until he notices just how unnaturally quiet everyone has gotten. He glances up, fork mid-air, only to be met with a table full of smug grins and barely contained laughter.

“…What?” he asks, narrowing his eyes.

Bepo smiles innocently “Nothing, Captain. Please, continue being adorable.”

Law blinks. Then slowly turns to you, as if just now realizing what he’s done.

You, being the absolute menace that you are, grin and open your mouth again, waiting for another bite.

A muscle in his jaw twitches.

“You’re enjoying this” he mutters.

“Oh, immensely.”

Law exhales through his nose, looking between the crew and you. For a second, it seems like he’ll retreat, go full grumpy captain mode,

but instead, he smirks, leans in, and presses a quick kiss to your cheek.

The chaos that erupts is instant.

Shachi falls out of his chair. Penguin screams. Bepo claps. Ikkaku nearly chokes on her drink.

Law, of course, acts like nothing happened and goes right back to eating.

But the red tips of his ears? Oh yeah. That’s a win.

Portgas D. Ace:

The bonfire crackles, casting a golden glow over the Whitebeard Pirates as laughter and conversation fill the night air. You’re sitting next to Ace, comfortably close, the warmth of the fire mingling with the heat radiating off his skin.

He’s relaxed, grinning as he chats with Marco, one arm casually slung over the back of the log where you're sitting. It's nothing unusual... Ace has always been a little touchy without thinking much of it. But at some point, his fingers start absentmindedly playing with the ends of your hair, twirling and tugging in slow, lazy motions.

You blink.

The conversation continues like nothing’s happening, and Ace doesn’t seem to notice what he’s doing. It’s almost endearing, the way he’s so comfortable, so unaware, until Thatch smirks over his tankard and loudly clears his throat.

“Well, well” Thatch drawls, tapping his mug against Marco’s “Didn’t realize we were in the middle of a romantic drama. Should we leave you two alone?”

Ace freezes mid-twist of your hair.

His fingers tighten ever so slightly before he slowly lets the strand slip from his grip. The realization crashes down on him in real-time, his freckles disappearing under the deepening red of his face.

“Huh?” His voice cracks slightly “I...That’s not...”

Marco chuckles, sipping his drink “You’re adorable when you’re oblivious, yoi.”

Ace immediately throws a handful of sand in his direction, scowling. “Shut up!” His voice is a little too high-pitched to be threatening “I wasn’t—! It wasn’t on purpose!”

“Sure” Thatch grins, wiggling his eyebrows “Accidental flirting. A classic.”

Ace groans into his hands, looking very much like he wants the ground to swallow him whole. You, on the other hand, are biting back a laugh as you lean in slightly.

“Didn’t know you liked playing with my hair” you tease, just loud enough for him to hear.

His head snaps to you, wide-eyed, before he grumbles something incoherent under his breath. You’re pretty sure you catch the words never living this down.

Still, despite his embarrassment, he doesn’t move away, his warmth lingers beside you, a silent contradiction to his flustered protests.

Eustass Kid:

The atmosphere in the tavern is loud and chaotic, just the way the Kid Pirates like it. The crew is drinking, shouting, and causing their usual brand of mayhem while you sit beside Kid, with your drink. He’s in a rare good mood tonight, smirking as he argues with Killer over some pointless bet.

You’re just relaxing, letting the warmth of the room settle into your bones, when you feel it... Kid’s hand resting on your thigh.

Not just resting. His fingers drum absently against your skin, his grip solid, like it belongs there.

Your brain short-circuits for a second. He’s not the type for public affection. Hell, he barely acknowledges feelings exist, so the fact that he’s touching you like this, so casually, is… unexpected.

And the worst part? He doesn’t seem to realize he’s doing it.

You glance down, then back up at him. He’s still engaged in his conversation with Killer, completely unaware of the way his thumb is now slowly tracing circles against your leg.

It’s fine. It’s totally fine. You can just pretend like this isn’t affecting you...

"Oi, Kid" Heat suddenly snickers from across the table, eyes gleaming with mischief "y/n is so red that it like they're about to explode. Didn’t know you were the handsy type."

Kid pauses mid-sentence "Huh?"

He follows Heat’s gaze, straight to where his hand is resting on you. His fingers twitch. You feel the exact moment his brain catches up with his body, the slow realization creeping onto his face.

The entire table is watching now, grinning like they’ve just witnessed something hilarious.

"Shit," Kid mutters, yanking his hand away like he’s been burned. His face twists into a scowl, and his cheeks—just barely—tinge red "I wasn’t—!" His voice raises, defensive. "It was just—!"

Killer snorts "Yeah, sure. Just absentmindedly groping them in the middle of a crowded tavern. Totally normal."

The crew erupts into laughter. Kid growls, kicking Heat’s chair out from under him, sending the man crashing to the floor "Shut the hell up!"

You bite your lip, fighting back a grin.

Even as he huffs and glares at his drink, grumbling about stupid bastards and their stupid comments, his knee remains firmly pressed against yours under the table.

Accidental or not, he’s not moving away.

And neither are you.

[bloodstainedsapphic]

becoming ellie williams' personal nurse was absolutely not part of your grand plan. in fact, being ellie williams’ anything hadn’t crossed your mind until an unexpected run-in left you the only one available to patch her up after a rough patrol. you’d spoken fewer than ten times before that, but after that night, ellie unilaterally decided you were the only person allowed to help her when she got injured. you didn’t fuss as much as maria, or dina, or anyone else—and that was enough for her. or at least, that’s what she claimed. it certainly didn’t hurt that you were cute.

that's how you found yourself falling into a routine—ellie 'just happening' to show up at your door, flashing those worn green eyes and grumbling about how "it's not that bad" to garner enough pity until you inevitably caved and fixed her up, sparing her yet another lecture from maria.

tonight was no different. she lingered outside, shifting her weight like she was debating whether to knock. but since this had become clockwork, you were already pulling the door open, and she shuffled inside uttering a, “don’t make a big deal out of it.”

you sighed, already moving to nab your ever-growing stash of first-aid supplies as she dropped into your desk chair. ellie had tried to clean herself up beforehand, but it was fruitless—her green jacket, the one now being hastily shrugged off, had been covering the worst of it. a deep gash on her arm, the lingering traces of a nosebleed, fresh cuts along her cheek. she’d been through hell and back.

"ellie," your voice carried a warning as you approached, reaching out to cautiously inspect her wounded arm. "this isn't just some scrape." ellie exhaled sharply through her nose, taking the accosting while settling in the chair she'd visited many times already. "it's nothing. i don't want maria finding out and pulling me off patrols."

your lips pressed into a thin line, but you didn't protest further. you knew how much patrol meant to her—how she needed it. how ellie seemed to rely on it to feel like she provided something useful to jackson. so instead, you got to work, gently cleaning the cuts along her forearm. ellie winced as the antiseptic hit raw skin, her fingers twitching against her thigh. unfortunately, the cut had grazed her tatted arm. you made a valiant effort to be delicate enough to mend the cut without disturbing the tattoo—luckily, it had missed the chemical burn ellie said she'd gotten on that arm years ago.

"oh, stop whining," you chided over her complaints. "shouldn't you be used to the pain by now? little masochist. and what's with you aiming for this poor arm so much? you've got two to work with, you know.” ellie scoffed at your chastizing, biting the inside of her cheek as her expression shifted to annoyance but not full offense. "right, lemme plan my injuries better next time."

you dabbed at a shallow abrasion beneath her cheekbone. ellie's eyes flickered up, trying to capture yours, but you wouldn't budge from the injury. she bit her crimson-stained lip, like she was weighing her next words wisely. "you keep patching me up, though. makes me wonder... i mean, i dunno..." ellie stilted her delivery, partly out of nerves, partly to grab your attention. "maybe you like seein' me all banged up," her tone took on a pitchy lilt as she kept peeking up at you.

the way she said it—less of a tease, a tad second-guessing, trying to dare a reaction out of you—made your stomach do something stupid.

"a better patient would stop causing such a distraction," you shot back, deliberately avoiding her gaze while keeping with the 'strict nurse' facade. you couldn't suppress a hint of a smirk though, briefly wiping your mouth to try and shield the small break over her nervous attempt at flirting. you just hated how right she was—no one was forcing you to do this, to put up with her maddening stubbornness and save her hide time and time again. all ellie had to do was bat those ridiculously pretty greens, and your defenses crumbled.

ellie huffed, pleased with your accidental admission but now more determined to coax more from you. she shifted slightly—and that's when you felt it. the light press of her fingers against the dip of your waist, like she had just meant to steady herself but forgot to pull away. her fingers curled slightly into the fabric of your shirt, sending a shiver up your spine. you said nothing, pretending not to notice. maybe she hadn't even meant to. you'd both insist, later, it was simply the sting of the antiseptic anyway, as if she hadn't weathered worse injuries before. neither of you moved.

ellie couldn't disguise her beaming when your strict charade allowed the gesture. she swallowed, like she was trying to decide whether to try her luck. her fingers tapped your side, hesitant.

“i think you're helping me all the time 'cause you've got a soft spot for me."

your breath hitched, warmth creeping up your neck, but you weren't about to let her win that easily. with a little head shake, you willfully regained your composure and lightly patted ellie's uninjured cheek before schooling your expression. "hush. you're being disorderly. i can't fix you up with all this blabbering."

ellie let out an exaggerated hiss, scrunching her eyes shut dramatically. your stomach clenched in brief panic, helper mode reigniting—until you realized she was full of shit, twisting her head like she'd been mortally wounded when, in reality, you had barely touched her.

"you're impossible," you muttered, smacking her good arm lightly in playful retaliation. "your life is in my hands. don't forget that." ellie leaned forward just enough to close the space between you, her voice dropping. "yeah, yeah, and every time i show up like this, i'm choosing to put my trust in you."

she wavered briefly, then added, softer still—only brave enough to say it now because she was already committed to the bit—"and that’s also why you won’t look at me."

you froze, and the second you met her gaze, it was over—long lashes framing those round green eyes, a smattering of freckles, some loose auburn strands that had escaped her barely-held-together bun sticking to her skin from the leftover sweat of patrol. with scraped skin and blood-streaked face, ellie was a proper mess—and yet, here you were, fighting every aching urge screaming at you to throw yourself on top of her.

you swallowed hard. the unassuming, bashful, loserish ellie was nowhere to be found. replaced by an ellie probably still riding the adrenaline of her close call with a horde of infected earlier, caring a little less about the consequences of her words and even further fueled by your easily cracked stoicism.

ellie seized your defeated, flustered silence to keep going. "also, as my nurse, i'm surprised you don't know the best cure for any injury."

you inhaled to brace for whatever nonsense was about to come out of her mouth. "oh, yeah? what's that?"

".....a kiss."

a drawn-out groan escaped you. "jesus," you muttered, cheeks burning. but fine—just this once. you weren't giving in completely, but you leaned in, pressing a fleeting peck to the tip of her nose.

the way ellie's face immediately split into a stupidly giddy grin was almost worth it. almost. her whole expression flushed a rosy pink, too.

"oh, on the nose? that barely counts," ellie teased, her voice dipping into something softer, more expectant. definitely hoping she hadn’t pushed her luck too much.

"deal with it, williams," you murmured, but your mind was already betraying you.

despite your best efforts, you couldn’t stop yourself from wondering what it would be like if you really gave in. if you disregarded all medical safety and climbed into her lap and kissed her senseless, letting your hands explore each other in desperation and recklessly savoring the taste of metallic red left on her soft lips.

snapping yourself from that less-than-holy thought, you deflected under the guise of needing to retrieve more supplies for another small cut you had overlooked.

when you came back, ellie was still watching you, something unreadable in her expression. you hesitated for a moment, then finally gave her a little glimmer of hope to cling to.

"tell you what," you started. "don't be an idiot—which i know is hard for you—and let everything heal," you let the jab sit for a second to build suspense, "and i’ll grant you the other half of that kiss."

ellie's smile widened triumphantly, though her posture was beginning to laze as exhaustion from the day's chaos caught up with her.

"anything for the nurse."

"yeah, yeah. now hold still so i can finish fixing you up."

and, for once, ellie williams actually listened. pic creds @/elliesgalaxy

[writeriguess]

Hello! I hope you had a great day/night🥰

I was wondering If you could make a smutty fem reader x katsuki bakugo

the reader and bakugo have been together for some time and every time they had sex nothing really happened, the did it, did aftercare and went to bed (most of the times) but this time the reader was at bakugo's house visiting him but for some reason bakugo gets riled up and wants to do it with the reader, his parents weren't in the house anyway so he didn't need to stress about someone interrupting so in the end they end up having sex.

But katsukis mom and dad comes early and he doesn't notice, while the reader and katsuki are doing their thing Mitsuki hears strange noises come from bakugos bedroom. She ends up curious and walks towards his room to find out what was happening but then is meet with you and katsuki.

Katsuki gets really embarrassed but mitsuki isn't mad, instead she shouts "Are you finally making my grandkids"

You don't need to write a fanfic about this! You have full right to delete! But this is just an idea that has been roaming in my head for days and I just really want someone to write a fic abt this😅

Anyways! I won't be sad or mad if you delete this, write it if only you're comfortable❤️

(Also sorry for shifting between bakugo and katsuki I didn't know which of them to use😅)

Heat of the Moment

The thing about Bakugo was that he had control. Most of the time.

Sure, he had a temper, and yeah, he was easy to rile up in a fight, but when it came to you? He always kept himself in check. He never let himself get too lost in it, never let his instincts take over, because he didn’t want to overwhelm you.

That was… until tonight.

You weren’t even trying to be subtle. Maybe it was the fact that his parents were gone, maybe it was just because you wanted to push his buttons, but every little thing you did was setting him off.

The way you sat so close to him on the couch, your thigh pressed against his. The way your fingers lazily traced the muscles in his forearm while you pretended to be watching the movie on the screen. The way you leaned in, lips just barely ghosting over his ear as you whispered, “You’re so tense, Katsuki… want me to help you relax?”

And fuck, he tried. He really fucking tried to ignore it. To just smirk and brush it off like you weren’t making his dick throb with every slow, deliberate movement.

But when you climbed onto his lap, straddling him without a second thought, and rolled your hips down against the growing bulge in his sweats?

That was it. That was the fucking breaking point.

His hands were on you in an instant, rough and possessive as he grabbed your waist and slammed you back down against his hard length. “You think you’re fuckin’ cute, don’t you?” His voice was low, dangerous, but the way his cock twitched against you gave away just how much you were affecting him.

You bit your lip, looking down at him with those teasing eyes that had been driving him insane all night. “Maybe,” you mused, rolling your hips again, slow and deliberate. “Are you gonna do something about it?”

A guttural growl rumbled in his chest before he flipped you onto your back, pressing you into the couch with his weight. His knee shoved between your thighs, spreading you open for him as he loomed over you, crimson eyes dark and full of hunger.

“Oh, I’m gonna do a lot more than something, baby,” he muttered, voice thick with lust. One hand shot under your shirt, fingers finding your breast and squeezing, rolling your nipple between his rough fingertips as his other hand slid down to your shorts. “Gonna fuckin’ ruin you.”

You gasped as he shoved your shorts down, not bothering with finesse. His fingers slid between your thighs, pressing against your already slick folds. “Fuck,” he groaned, a smirk tugging at his lips. “All this from a little teasing? You’re such a fuckin’ slut for me, aren’t you?”

You whimpered, hips arching into his touch, and he chuckled darkly. “Nah, don’t even try to play shy now. You wanted this.”

And then he was lining up, shoving his sweats down just enough to free his cock. Thick, hard, already leaking precum. He didn’t even tease—he just grabbed your hips, lined up, and thrust inside in one deep stroke.

The stretch was sudden, almost too much, but fuck, the way he groaned against your neck made it impossible to care. “So fuckin’ tight,” he growled, giving you barely a second to adjust before pulling out and slamming back in, hard and fast.

You cried out, legs wrapping around his waist as he set a relentless pace, hips snapping against yours with loud, wet slaps. Every thrust had your head spinning, had your body arching up into him as he fucked you deep into the couch.

“Isn’t this what you wanted, huh?” he panted, lips brushing against your ear. “Wanted me to snap? Wanted me to fuck you like I couldn’t wait another second?”

You moaned, nails digging into his back, and he grabbed your wrists, pinning them above your head as he drove into you even harder. “You’re takin’ me so fuckin’ good,” he muttered, lips trailing down your neck, sucking a mark into your skin. “So fuckin’ perfect—made for me.”

His name fell from your lips over and over, breathless and desperate, and he drank in every sound, every little whimper. “Yeah, that’s it,” he groaned, pounding into you with reckless abandon. “Cum for me, baby. Let me feel you.”

You didn’t even need to be told. The coil in your stomach snapped, pleasure hitting you like a shockwave as your walls clamped down around him. Your whole body shook, a high-pitched moan spilling from your lips as you came hard around his cock.

Bakugo snarled, hips stuttering as he chased his own release, burying himself as deep as he could before spilling inside you with a guttural groan. His grip on your wrists tightened as he rode it out, panting against your neck before finally collapsing on top of you.

For a moment, the only sound in the room was the ragged breathing of both of you trying to come back down from the high. Then, finally, Bakugo chuckled, low and satisfied.

“Next time you wanna tease me,” he murmured, voice still husky from exertion, “just tell me you wanna get fucked stupid, princess.”

You giggled breathlessly, running your fingers through his damp hair. “Noted.”

Though, judging by the way his cock twitched inside you again, it seemed like one round wasn’t going to be enough tonight.

A while later, you were on it again.

Katsuki had barely given you a break before he was all over you, flipping you onto your stomach and muttering about how you were gonna “pay for riling him up like that.” Not that you were complaining.

The only problem? He was so lost in you that he didn’t hear the front door open.

Didn’t hear the sound of keys dropping into the bowl.

Didn’t hear the unmistakable click of his mother’s heels as she walked down the hallway.

You, on the other hand, froze the second you heard a voice call out:

“We’re home! Bakugo, did you clean the—”

And then, before either of you could react, before Katsuki could even think to move—

The bedroom door swung open.

Mitsuki Bakugo stood there, eyes wide, taking in the absolute disaster of a scene before her. Her son, bare-ass naked, hovering over you. Your face buried in the pillow, Katsuki’s hands gripping your hips. The sheer horror on your face as you registered what was happening.

For a moment, there was silence.

Then—

“HOLY FUCK, MOM—!”

Katsuki launched himself off of you, scrambling for the sheets in sheer panic. You barely managed to yank a blanket over yourself before Mitsuki’s voice rang through the house:

“ARE YOU FINALLY MAKING MY GRANDKIDS?!”

You wanted to die. Right there. On the spot. Instant cardiac arrest. Take me now.

Katsuki’s face was redder than his damn explosions. “WHAT THE HELL, OLD HAG? GET OUT!!”

But Mitsuki wasn’t done. No, she was grinning. Grinning. Hands on her hips like this was the best news of her life.

“Damn, about time!” she continued, ignoring the way Katsuki was practically combusting. “I was starting to think you were incapable—”

“SHUT UP!!” Katsuki grabbed the nearest object—a pillow—and launched it at her with enough force to send it flying down the hallway.

Mitsuki just cackled, dodging effortlessly. “Make sure you’re using protection, brat—unless you’re actually trying to give me grandkids—”

“OUT!!”

With one last laugh, she finally strolled out, still muttering about how she was “too young to be a grandma, but still, wouldn’t mind a little mini-Katsuki running around.”

The moment the door slammed shut, Katsuki flopped onto his back, covering his face with both hands.

Neither of you spoke.

Neither of you could speak.

Until finally, after what felt like an eternity, you whispered:

“…So, uh. Round three?”

Katsuki groaned. “I hate you.”

But the way he rolled back over you said otherwise.

[animamii]

Part deux of Toji's Valentine's Surprise

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

Your body locks up. Your breath stills. Toji—in the flesh—is standing in your living room, looking smug as hell, arms crossed over that broad chest like he knew he just rocked your entire world.

"You should see your face, princess," he chuckles, tilting his head. "Like you seen a ghost."

Your mind is racing. He’s supposed to be locked up. This is impossible. And yet—he’s here. Solid. Tangible. Real. Smirking at you like he didn’t just pull off the stunt of the century.

"You—" You inhale sharply, fists clenching at your sides. "How—" You don’t even finish the question before you smack his chest, hard enough to make your palm sting. He doesn’t even flinch, just grins like he enjoys the reaction.

"Miss me, baby?" His voice drops, smooth and teasing. Still the cocky bastard he's always been.

"Are you insane?" Your voice comes out breathless, uneven. "You’re supposed to be—"

Toji hums, unfazed. "Supposed to be what?" He steps closer, looming over you with that tantalizing smirk he always adorns. his presence thick and heavy—dangerous and intoxicating. "Locked up? Far away from my girl? Mmm, nah. That was never gonna last."

His girl. That shouldn’t make your stomach flip the way it does. Especially after all this time, but it does.

"You’re reckless," you breathe out, but your voice betrays you—too soft, too shaky. You forgot just how little he made you feel, like a little lamb standing in front of the big bad wolf.

"Yeah?" He reaches out, fingers brushing along your jaw, tilting your chin up. "And yet here I am, standing in front of you. Right where I belong." You swallow hard, heart hammering against your chest. His thumb traces your bottom lip, a touch so familiar, so effortlessly possessive, it makes your knees weak.

"Say it," he murmurs, eyes hooded. "Say you missed me."

You hate how easy it is for him to unravel you. How he knows you did. Toji leans in, his breath warm against your ear as he whispers, "Or do I gotta remind you how bad you missed me?"

Your breath catches. You should shove him away. Should demand answers. Should do anything other than what you do next—fisting his shirt and yanking him down into a teeth clashing kiss.

Toji chuckles against your lips, the sound low and deep, like he expected this reaction all along. His hands—warm, calloused, and oh so familiar—find your waist, pulling you flush against him. It’s been too long, and your body betrays you, melting into his touch as if he never left.

"You’re crazy," you whisper, looking up at him with those wide eyes that he's always loved.

He grins, lips ghosting over your jaw before pressing a slow, lingering kiss just below your ear. "You say that like it’s a bad thing."

Your fingers tighten around his shirt, the fabric bunching between your fists. "It is," you hiss, but your body betrays you, tilting toward him when he moves. "You—Toji, you broke out—do you have any idea—"

"Shhh." He silences you with another kiss, deeper this time, his grip tightening around your waist. "We can talk later."

You should be more worried. Should push him away, demand answers, tell him this is reckless and insane. But the moment his hands slip lower, gripping your thighs and lifting you effortlessly, you’re wrapping yourself around him, letting him carry you to the bedroom like you knew this was how tonight would end. It was Valentine's Day after all.

Toji kicks the door shut behind him, smirking down at you as he lays you on the bed. His eyes—sharp, dark, hungry—roam over you like he’s memorizing every inch all over again.

"Missed you," he mutters, voice rough, as his hands slide up your thighs, pushing that silky dress higher.

You swallow, lips parted as you try to catch your breath. "You’re insane," you whisper again, but it comes out weaker this time, more breathless.

Toji smirks, dipping his head until his lips brush against yours again. "And yet," he murmurs, voice thick with amusement and something darker, "you’re still here. Wrapped around me like you never want me to leave."

You shudder. "I hate you."

He laughs, a quiet, knowing sound, before pressing his lips to your throat. "Liar."

Your breath stutters when his lips drag down the column of your throat, slow and deliberate, like he’s savoring the moment. Like he knows he has all the time in the world. His grip tightens on your thighs, his body pressed between them, and it’s infuriating—the way he’s taking his time, the way he’s acting like he never left. Like he never spent months locked up, sending you teasing, filthy little letters to remind you he still owned you.

"Toji—"

"Shhh, baby," he murmurs against your skin, voice thick with amusement. "S’been too long. Lemme take my time with you."

He’s impossible. Infuriating. But your body betrays you, arching into his touch, fingers threading through his dark hair as he kisses his way lower. You hate how much you missed him—hate how, despite every part of you screaming that this is reckless, stupid, you can’t bring yourself to stop him.

"You’re a wanted man," you remind him breathlessly, grasping onto some semblance of control, but Toji just grins, his teeth grazing over your collarbone before he presses a kiss there.

"Yeah? And?" His fingers hook under the hem of your dress, sliding it higher. "That stop you from wanting me?"

You glare at him, but the effect is ruined when he tugs the fabric over your hips, leaving you bare beneath him. Your pulse pounds, heat rushing to your cheeks, and Toji just chuckles, gaze darkening as he drinks you in.

"Fuck, baby," he rasps, running his hands up your thighs, rough fingers making you shiver. "Been waitin’ for this. Dreamin’ about this."

You should push him away. Should demand answers. But instead, your fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt, pulling him back down until his mouth crashes against yours. All that could wait for later, right?

Toji groans into your mouth when you pull him down, all teasing amusement vanishing as his body presses flush against yours. His hands are rough, calloused from years of fights and cold aridness of prison, but they touch you with a hunger and gentle warmth that makes your breath hitch. His knee slots between your legs, pressing just enough to make you whimper, and he smirks against your lips.

"Missed me that bad, huh?" His voice is thick with pride, like he knows what he’s doing to you. Like he couldn't wait to make you melt like this.

You glare at him, chest heaving and lips glossy with swapped saliva. "Shut up, Toji."

He chuckles, low and dark, before flipping you onto your stomach in one swift movement. A startled gasp escapes you as he presses his weight against your back, lips ghosting over the shell of your ear.

"That any way to talk to the man who just risked everything to see you?" His voice is silk and gravel, smooth yet dangerous, sending a shiver straight down your spine.

You swallow hard, pressing your palms against the sheets, heart hammering. "You’re insane."

"Yeah?" His hands slide down your sides, slow, possessive. "And yet here you are, lettin’ an insane man touch you like this."

You open your mouth to snap at him, but then he bites down on your shoulder, just enough to make your breath stutter. You feel his smirk against your skin, feel the way his grip tightens like he’s testing you, waiting for you to fight him, to push him away. But you don’t. Instead, you press back against him, feeling the way his body stiffens for a brief second before a deep, pleased growl rumbles in his chest.

"Fuck," he mutters, voice raspier now. "That’s my girl."

Your stomach flips. Your fingers curl into the sheets.

"Toji—"

His hand slides under your chin, tilting your head just enough for his lips to brush against yours. "Say it." His voice is low, insistent. "Say you missed me."

Your throat tightens. You hate how easy it is for him to pull the truth from you.

"I—" Your voice shakes, but the words tumble out anyway. "I missed you, okay?"

Toji groans like he felt those words, his hand sliding down your stomach, fingers toying with the waistband of your underwear. "Yeah?" His breath is hot against your ear. "Show me, baby."

And then his hands are everywhere, his mouth pressing desperate, feverish kisses along your spine, and you let yourself get lost in the way he devours you like a man starved. Like he’s spent every second of his time locked up thinking about this. About you.

Toji moves like he owns you—like he never left, like he never spent months locked away with nothing but memories and filthy daydreams of you to keep him sane. His hands are rough, greedy, sliding over your skin like he’s trying to make up for lost time. And maybe he is. Maybe that’s why his mouth trails fire along your spine, why his grip tightens every time you sigh his name.

"Fuck, baby," he groans, fingers digging into your hips as he flips you onto your back again. He looms over you, eyes dark, wild, hungry. "Look at you. Been dyin’ to have you under me again." His dark blue eyes scan over every inch of you, burning it into his memory. The way the silk clings to every curve, the lacy trim that is snug against your breasts, the way one straps slides off your shoulder.

Your breath is uneven, chest rising and falling as he takes his time devouring you with his gaze. He licks his lips, dragging a hand through his messy black hair, and the sight alone makes your stomach tighten. It's as if he spent all his time in prison getting even more sexier.

"Toji," you whisper, fingers ghosting over his jaw, the scar on his lip. He catches your wrist before you can pull away, pressing a kiss to your palm, slow and lingering. Like he needs to feel the warmth and softness of your skin, of your touch.

"Say it again," he rasps. It's music to his ears, hearing it in person rather than through a grainy prison call. Seeing it, the way your pretty lips move as every syllable spills out.

Your throat tightens. "Toji."

He groans, like he felt that in his chest, before surging down to capture your lips again. It’s not just a kiss—it’s a claim, a demand, a promise. He presses himself against you, and it’s impossible to ignore how much he wants you, how much he missed you too.

"Missed you, baby," he mutters against your lips, his hands sliding under the silky slip dress he sent you, pushing it up, baring more of you to him. "Thought about you every fuckin’ night. Couldn’t even sleep without—"

He cuts himself off with a curse, shaking his head like he’s annoyed at himself for admitting it. But the way his grip tightens on you, the way his lips move over your skin, says everything he won’t.

You bite your lip, fingers threading through his hair as he kisses a path down your stomach. "Then why’d you leave me?"

Toji stills. His breath hitches against your skin, just for a second. Then he exhales, slow and controlled, before pressing one last kiss to your hip.

"Didn’t wanna drag you into my shit," he finally mutters, voice rougher now. He lifts his head, meets your gaze. "But guess that was pointless, huh?"

You swallow hard. "Yeah," you whisper, tugging him back up, pressing your forehead against his. "It was."

His lips curl into something between a smirk and a grimace, like he knew this was coming but hoped you wouldn’t say it. He sighs, cupping your face, thumb stroking along your cheek.

"You mad at me, baby?"

You exhale, your fingers tightening in his hair. "Ask me later."

Toji chuckles, low and dark. "Yeah?" He tilts your chin up, kissing you again, slower this time, deeper. "Guess I’ll have to make it up to you first."

And he does.

Over and over again.

Happy Valentine's Day.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡

Part twoooo!! I love this sm idk I luv itttt. Requested by the lovely @cheolliehugs

tags ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ @psoycy @yourname-exee @fandomsearcherforcuntymen @universallydepressed13

ꨄ︎ comment to be added to tag list for the lockedup!toji series ꨄ︎

[tinyluvs]

⁺‧₊˚ piercings 𖤐 swiss&phantom ˚₊‧⁺

❥ summary; swiss and phantom have fun with their piercings, that’s it, that’s the fic. based off of ꒰꒰ this ꒱꒱ post i made heheh ❥ warnings; piercings, dick&tongue, a very messy blowjob xo ❥ authors note; it appears i’ve forgotten how to write, sorry lol ❥ wc; 2.5k ₊˚⊹♡⁺‧₊˚𖤐 read on ao3; ˗ˏˋ ꒰꒰ here !! ꒱꒱ ˎˊ˗ 𖤐˚₊.⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

all swiss can do is watch in anticipation. he knows what phantom is going to do, swiss probably knows the smaller ghoul and his body better than he does and yet, all he can do is watch and wait 

phantom doesn’t appear to be in any great rush though, his body shifts, getting comfortable on his knees while his hand travels up and down the length of swiss’ cock. he moves slow, his fist far too loose to really do anything, a lazy drawn out handjob that swiss doesn’t really mind, he’s just waiting for what comes next. unfortunately, he’s just a little impatient. 

“show them to me,” swiss asks eventually, his voice low, scratchy and rough, the result of leaving his jaw hanging while he watched everything phantom was doing to him. phantom cocks an eyebrow, a tilt pulling his head to one side, “please,” swiss finishes, rolling his eyes 

“is it really that hard for you to say please?,” phantom asks with a whine. he drops his hand from swiss’ cock, ignoring the way the bigger ghoul grunts, to cross his arms over his chest and sit back on his calves

before swiss can reply, something witty and full of cheek no doubt, he hears one of his favourite sounds. in theory, it’s not a great sound, a little metallic clink, clink, clink, as phantom knocks his piercings against the back of his teeth, but, it excites swiss to no end 

over exaggerated and in true swiss fashion, swiss asks, “please,” long, gravelly and drawn out, bending slightly at the waist to hover right over phantom, “lemme see them,” and in true phantom fashion, he does, the thought of saying no to swiss never even crossing his mind once

he tilts his head back, giving it a little shake to clear his hair from hanging over his eyes, stares directly up at swiss and then, like something out of an adult film, he sticks his tongue out, exposing his piercings and swiss keens

“fuck bug,” swiss groans, reaching down to slide his fist over his cock just as a thick bead of pre bubbles from his tip. phantom blinks up at him, feigning innocence as he curls the tip of his tongue upwards, showing off the little spit shiny metal balls sat on either side of his tongue 

phantom doesn’t really know how he got his snake eyes piercing, it was just there when he got summoned, a bar pressed horizontally through the tip of his tongue, a little stud on either side and almost immediately, swiss had gone feral for it. so, phantom never took it out 

“lemme see yours,” phantom whispers, the metal in his mouth tapping against his fangs as he talks. he straightens his back and leans forward, sticking out his tongue just underneath the head of swiss’ cock to flick upwards against swiss’ piercing 

swiss shudders as the movement wiggles the piercing through his cock. he has one silver ball nestled in his slit and the other sat against the underside of his cock. swiss wasn’t summoned with his piercing, didn’t actually have any when he got topside but he’s ended up with more than he can count on his own fingers

he threads his fingers through phantom’s messy hair, gripping hard enough to keep the smaller quint still as he presses his cock down over phantom’s mouth. slowly, swiss traces phantom’s lips with his cock, running the bottom ball from side to side over soft, wet skin 

“fuck,” swiss breathes, dragging the word out while he watches pre dripping from his cock and over phantom’s mouth, mixing with the spit bubbling between his lips until it’s dripping slowly down his chin, “messy,”

phantom hums in agreement, the vibration rumbles down, and through, swiss’s cock violently, the action earns him a loud gasped moan from swiss. phantom flicks his tongue out quickly, licking up the mess he made, that’s dripping down swiss’ length to his heavy balls, until there’s no mess left

swiss pants unevenly, once again stuck watching as phantom teases him, his tongue swirling around and around the head of his cock and on every pass against the underneath, phantom wiggles his tongue over the metal

there’s not really any way for swiss to describe what it feels like, a metal bar through his tip being forcefully nudged from side to side should feel weird, painful even, but to swiss, it just feels good, too good. phantom could, and has, managed to make swiss squirt just from doing this but swiss isn’t going to allow him to do it this time, he has other plans 

“stick your fuckin’ tongue out,” he grunts, pulling his hips back to move his cock away from phantom’s mouth. a movement that’s supposed to urge phantom to do as he’s told quicker, definitely not solely because swiss will spill embarrassingly fast if phantom continues his teasing 

“say please,” phantom lilts playfully, licking slowly over his bottom lip so swiss can still see his piercing but doesn’t yet have any chance of touching it, so close, yet so far away

he’s not really sure what he was expecting to happen but swiss pulling his hair hard, yanking his head all the way back maybe wasn’t it, “please,” swiss growls, chest rumbling with the noise and just to drive his point home, he smacks the head of his cock against phantom’s parted lips 

in any other circumstance phantom would tease him further, tell him to say the whole sentence again, to ask him properly but swiss doesn’t appear to be in the mood for his teasing right now, so, phantom just lets his tongue loll out of his mouth 

“good boy,” swiss hisses, partly sarcastically, his head twitching to the side just barely as he says it. phantom nods though, no doubt in his pretty little head that he is in fact, a good boy. swiss won’t argue with him either, not yet anyway

phantom’s eyes flicker from swiss’ face, downwards. the multi ghouls hips stutter forwards, his cock rubbing just right over phantom’s tongue. a gentle stream of moans spills from swiss, his head tipping back slightly as he finds a rhythm 

except, he doesn’t fall into one. phantom goes a little cross eyed, trying to focus on swiss’ cock sliding over his tongue. uneven little humps of swiss’ hips barely create any movement, swiss’ tip staying right over the end of phantom’s tongue, right over his piercing 

“y-you know i ca-, fuh-fuck, feel it, right?” swiss stutters through a moan. he presses his cock down further onto phantom’s tongue and then, it clicks in phantom’s mind. swiss is rubbing right over the bar that runs horizontally through his tongue and oh, oh, no he didn’t know that 

it’s never even occurred to phantom that swiss can feel it, he can feel it when he accidentally bites his tongue but knowing others can feel it, that, opens up a whole new load of ways for phantom to tease 

“you can?” phantom asks, slurred and garbled by swiss’ cock still laying heavy on his tongue, but he’s not really looking for a reply. as swiss opens his mouth to answer, moan out that he can feel it, phantom moves quickly. 

phantom dips down and forwards slightly, pressing the tip of his tongue, where the bar is, right into the base of swiss’ cock before quickly dragging it upwards until the bar is catching underneath swiss’ fat head 

swiss howls, nothing intelligible, and the sound makes phantoms own hips jerk forwards, chasing any sort of stimulation he can get to his own stiff cock. his hand ghosts over the front of his pants, not enough to really give him any pleasure but enough to calm the ache 

“t-there, right fuckin’ there,” swiss grunts, gripping a handful of phantom’s hair, the burn against the smaller ghouls scalp should hurt, instead, it makes his cock leak profusely, soaking a large wet spot into the front of his pants 

as swiss rocks his hips, keeping the bar pushed right up under the head of his cock, phantom does his best to press his tongue up, pushing hard until the bar is biting against swiss’ sensitive skin

for a little while phantom just becomes a toy, simply there for swiss to use to get himself off while the multi ghoul pours copious amounts of pre and slick down his throat, coating the inside and making it feel thick and heavy 

spit and drool drip from phantom’s outstretched tongue, long strings of it snapping and splashing onto his thighs and the floor underneath him, a messy state of affairs all around it seems but phantom sits sweet through it all, just letting swiss take and take and take, until it’s suddenly not enough 

“suck,” he orders, pressing his hips forward until his cock is sliding past phantom’s lips and into his mouth, not giving the smaller ghoul a chance to ask him to say please but, phantom frowns and refuses to close his lips around his length until he does, “please,”

the second swiss hisses the word, phantom closes in around him, the warmth and wetness of his mouth enveloping around swiss so nicely, all he can do is groan, the sound vibrating off of the walls around them with how loud he does it 

phantom pulls back until just swiss’ tip is sat between his lips and as he looks up at swiss, all wide eyed and cute, he slowly traces his tongue over swiss’ slit and furthermore, the piercing ball sat against it 

the metal waggles from side to side as he does it, tasting entirely of swiss’ thick pre and phantom groans as it slips down his already coated throat. swiss groans in unison, the feeling of it all making his cock throb until his hips are shoving forwards accidentally 

as swiss’ cock pushes all the way into phantom’s mouth, phantom gags a little, the sudden bump to the back of his throat surprising him. his hands shoot to swiss’ thick thighs, blunt nails digging into solid muscles too hard, he’ll look for bruises later 

“sorry, f-fuck, sorry bug,” swiss pants but makes no attempt to withdraw his cock, the feeling of phantom’s throat tightening around the head of his cock, in a gag, makes his balls draw up

tears collect along phantom’s lash line, threatening to spill down his cheeks at any moment but he also doesn’t make any move to retreat. instead, he takes a second to breathe through his nose, nestled right against the soft thatch of hair at the base of swiss’ cock, and then starts to bob gently 

swiss’ piercing rubs against the back of his throat, the metal slightly colder than his cock, a stark contrast to everything phantom is feeling and somehow, someway, it feels right 

“lucifer, ‘m so close,” swiss grits out between clenched fangs, willing himself to look down at phantom and oh, he’s a sight to behold. fat tears slip down his face, his loose curls fall in front of his eyes and his cheeks are dusted red, he looks gorgeous, and completely ruined, in swiss’ opinion 

a soft whimper bubbles out of phantom’s throat, being stuck under swiss’ gaze forces that reaction out of him often and swiss loves it, loves knowing the effects he has on the smaller ghoul, “pretty little bug,” swiss purrs, warm and smooth like honey, phantom nearly chokes

so, he decides to get his own back. he pulls air into his lungs until they expand and burn and then pushes his tongue out between his bottom lip and the base of swiss’ cock 

he laves at the soft skin at the top of swiss’ sack and over the pulsing vein at the bottom of his cock all at once. swiss hisses as the metal through phantom’s tongue drags over his skin, also slightly too cold, chilled from the cool air surrounding them 

there’s a wet, slick, garbled sound as phantom works his tongue, and piercing, against swiss, pushing the bar as far into swiss’ skin as he possibly can, all while trying his hardest not to choke from the intrusion in his throat 

“oh, oh, shi-fuck,” swiss rambles as his fingers twist further into phantom’s hair, holding him still and close, needing the smaller ghoul to make him spill, just like this, “s-so close,”

swiss’ entire cock twitches in phantom’s mouth, almost bouncing off of the inside of his hollowed cheeks. phantom hums, whimpers, swiss doesn’t really know but he knows phantom is urging him on, sending him hurtling towards his orgasm at a speed that feels very unnatural 

the breath in phantom’s lungs starts to run out all too fast. his eyes pinch shut, forcing fresh tears down his cheeks. his fingers dig deep into swiss’ thighs, though the multi ghoul barely feels the slight amount of pain, the euphoria coursing through his body outweighs all of it

phantom slips his tongue, a little too fast, from side to side, nestled right between swiss’ drawn up balls, bumping them from side to side and it should hurt, or ache at least, with how sensitive they are. but, it forces swiss over the edge before he even knew he was falling 

“oh, f-f-fuck,” swiss shouts, his thighs quivering underneath phantom’s hands. he tugs hard on phantom’s hair, dragging him all the way off of his length

as it turns out, phantom is a good boy. before he even tries to suck in a breath, fill his lungs with what they need, he sits back and sticks his tongue straight out. his eyes still stream with tears as swiss jerks himself off, once, twice and three times before his cock kicks and he spills 

thick beads of cum erupt from swiss’ tip, bubbling out around the metal ball in his slit. hot strings drip from his cock onto phantom’s tongue, pooling in the centre of it and while phantom does his best to keep all of it, wave after wave of cum splashes from swiss’ cock and some of it gets lost, slipping off of his tongue and down his bare chest 

“oh my-” swiss trails off into a deep growl when his cock stops spitting and phantom finally pulls his tongue into his mouth to swallow, swiss barely getting a glimpse of the piercings covered in his cum before he’s dragging phantom upwards, “s’fucking good,”

phantom whines as swiss backs him up against the wall behind him and no sooner has he gasped at his body hitting the solid foundation, swiss is kissing him. there’s nothing gentle or smooth about it though, just a harsh collision of fangs as swiss devours him 

desperately, phantom presses his tongue through his lips to swipe quickly against swiss’, still coated with a thin, filthy, layer of swiss’ cum, making the multi ghoul groan into the kiss 

swiss shoves his hips forwards against phantom’s, pressing the quint’s painfully hard cock against his hip. phantom gasps and his head rolls back, bumping against the wall, “i’m hard, swiss, m’so hard,” he rambles, sniffling through his tears, “help,”

and well, swiss is about to shove his hand into phantom’s pants anyway, stroke his cock until he spills over his fist but before he does, “say please, bug,”

thanks for reading! remember to like! reblog! & comment! i’ll give you a kiss if you do, mwah! send prompts to my ask box!

𖤐 ghouls masterlist

[00valentina-writes00]

nsfw alpahbet w/ ellie?

♡♥︎NSFW Alphabet – Ellie Williams♥︎♡

A = Aftercare

Ellie is clingy as hell after sex. Flushed cheeks, arms wrapped around you, burying her face in your chest as she catches her breath. She’ll mumble something soft like, “That was so fuckin’ good, babe.” Loves when you play with her hair or trace little circles on her back while she melts into you. If you get her water? She’s in love.

B = Body Part

On you? Your hands. She’s obsessed. The way they grip her hips, tug her closer, slide between her legs—she shudders thinking about it. On herself? Her thighs. She loves the way they tense up when she’s close, and she loves when you hold them apart just to tease her.

C = Cum

Ellie soaks through everything. Your fingers, your face, the sheets—she’s a mess. She gets embarrassed about it, hiding her face while mumbling, “Fuck, I made such a mess, didn’t I?” Loves when you run your fingers through it, teasing her about how wet she is.

D = Dirty Secret

She gets off on the thought of being recorded. She’d never actually ask, but the idea of watching herself get wrecked later makes her squirm. If you ever whisper, “Wish I could film how pretty you look right now,” she’s done for.

E = Experience

Ellie knows what she’s doing, but it’s more about instinct than skill. She’s a quick learner, picking up what you like fast. The first time? She was a nervous wreck, fumbling a little, but once she got into it? That natural desperation took over.

F = Favorite Position

Anything where she doesn’t have to do much work. Loves when you pin her wrists down, straddle her hips, and take what you want. She also loves laying back while you eat her out, thighs trembling, body arching into your mouth.

G = Goofy

Ellie can’t help but crack a joke. If she moans a little too loud, she’ll giggle and be like, “Damn, that was embarrassing.” But if you tell her to shut up and take it? She’s instantly back in the moment.

H = Hair

Definitely has a little bit of hair down there—she’s not super meticulous about it, but she keeps it tidy. A little scruffy, but soft. The first time you went down on her, she was worried about it, but when you moaned against her? Yeah, she stopped caring.

I = Intimacy

Depends on her mood. Sometimes she’s needy, whimpering, clutching at you, begging for more. Other times, she wants it desperate and messy, grip-tightening, nails-digging, teeth-clashing. Either way, it’s always intense.

J = Jack Off

Ellie masturbates a lot. She’s got zero self-control when it comes to thinking about you. If you leave for a few days? She’s in bed, hand between her legs, whispering your name. She won’t admit it, but if you ask her how many times she did it while you were gone? Her face goes red.

K = Kink

Loves being pinned down and controlled. Hand on her throat? She’s putty. Loves being teased until she’s a whimpering mess. Also? Overstimulation wrecks her. If you keep going after she’s come? She’s sobbing, trembling, begging for mercy.

L = Location

Loves anywhere private where she can be loud. She’s not great at being quiet, so a bedroom is best. But? If you pull her into an empty room, cover her mouth, and fuck her anyway? She’s ruined.

M = Motivation

Whisper in her ear. Say something filthy. Brush your fingers between her legs and act innocent. Tell her she’s yours, that she looks so good like this. That’s it. She’s gone.

N = No

Ellie isn’t into being too rough. She loves a little dominance, sure, but anything that feels degrading? Not for her. She also won’t fully dom. Ever. If you try to get her to? She’s laughing in your face.

O = Oral

Loves receiving. She gets so whiny when you eat her out, thighs twitching, hands gripping the sheets, whimpering your name. Tries to return the favor, but she’s way too eager, all sloppy tongue and muffled moans.

P = Pace

If she’s in charge? She’s slow, teasing, dragging it out. But if you’re in control? She’s squirming, gasping, begging for you to go faster.

Q = Quickie

She’s not against them, but she prefers taking her time. If you push her against the wall and slide your hand down her pants? She’s not complaining.

R = Risk

Ellie loves new things, but she gets shy about asking. If you introduce something new? She might tease you about it at first, but she’s secretly so into it.

S = Stamina

She comes quick, but she can go a few rounds. She’s so sensitive after her first orgasm, panting, thighs trembling—but if you tell her you’re not done? She’ll take it.

T = Toys

She pretends she doesn’t like toys. But the first time you used a vibrator on her? She was a mess within minutes, clutching the sheets, gasping your name. Now? She acts like she doesn’t need it, but the second you bring it out? She’s already spreading her legs.

U = Unfair

She loves teasing, but she hates being teased. If you edge her for too long? She’s whining, trembling, begging for you to let her come. She gets bratty about it, too—until you shut her up.

V = Volume

Ellie is so fucking loud. Whimpering, moaning, gasping your name like a prayer. Tries to bite her lip to stay quiet, but it never works.

W = Wild Card

She likes it when you tell her what to do. If you say, “Touch yourself for me,” and sit back to watch? Her whole body shudders. She’ll start slow, eyes locked onto yours, breath hitching every time you praise her.

X = X-ray

Ellie is pretty. Neatly trimmed hair, soft skin, slick and warm. She’s so sensitive, too—the second your tongue touches her, she’s already trembling.

Y = Yearning

Ellie’s sex drive is ridiculous. If you so much as look at her a certain way, she’s already squirming. If you ever tell her “You’re so needy, huh?” She gets so embarrassed—but she doesn’t deny it.

Z = Zzzz

After sex? She’s dead. She’ll mumble something sweet, press a lazy kiss to your shoulder, and pass the fuck out. If you try to wake her up? Good luck.

[andy-15-07]

Hii good morning! Would you like to write anything smut for Javier Peña or any other Pedro's character you like? Thankss

The Allure of the Night

Pairing: Javier Peña x Reader

Word Count: 2334 | requests are open (send requests, I will gladly answer them all)

Pedro Pascal Masterlist

The dim light of the bar cast long shadows, painting the scene in hues of amber and gold. Javier Peña nursed his drink, the ice clinking softly in the otherwise quiet space. He watched as you moved across the room, a vibrant splash of color in the muted atmosphere. Your laughter, light and unrestrained, drifted over to him, and he found himself smiling despite the weight of the day. He’d known you for… how long had it been now? Long enough to know the curve of your smile, the way your eyes crinkled at the corners when you were truly amused, long enough to know the comfort of your presence amidst the chaos that was his life.

You reached his table, a playful glint in your eyes. “Javier. You look like you’re contemplating the mysteries of the universe.”

He chuckled, gesturing to the empty chair opposite him. “Just thinking about how much trouble one woman can cause.”

You raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing on your lips. “And what trouble have I caused, Agent Peña?”

“Oh, you know,” he said, his voice low and teasing. “The usual. Disrupting the peace, corrupting my morals…”

“Your morals were already corrupt, Javier,” you retorted, sliding into the chair. “I just helped you embrace it.”

He laughed, the sound genuine and warm. “That you did. That you did.” He signaled the bartender for another drink. “So, what brings you out tonight? Besides the irresistible allure of my company, of course.”

“You wound me, Javier,” you said, feigning hurt. “Your company is always a draw. But I actually came to hear about your latest escapades. Anything exciting happening in the world of drug cartels and international intrigue?”

Javier’s smile faded slightly. “Same old, same old. Cat and mouse. Except sometimes it’s hard to tell who’s the cat and who’s the mouse.” He swirled the ice in his glass. “It’s… complicated.”

“Complicated seems to be your specialty,” you said softly. You reached out and covered his hand with yours, the simple gesture grounding him. “You know you can talk to me about anything, Javier.”

He looked at your hand on his, the warmth of your touch a welcome contrast to the coldness of the metal. “I know,” he said, his voice rough. “And I appreciate it. More than you know.”

The conversation flowed easily between them, a comfortable mix of banter and shared confidences. They talked about the case, the frustrations, the small victories that kept him going. You listened patiently, offering insightful comments and a sympathetic ear. You understood his world, not because you were a part of it, but because you understood him.

As the night deepened, the bar emptied, leaving only a handful of patrons. Javier and you remained, lost in your own little world. The air between you crackled with an unspoken tension, a familiar dance of attraction and hesitation. You both knew where this could lead, where it usually led, but neither of you dared to break the comfortable rhythm.

Finally, Javier leaned back in his chair, his eyes fixed on you. “You know,” he said, his voice low and husky, “I’ve been thinking…”

“Oh, this sounds dangerous,” you teased. “Javier Peña thinking.”

He grinned, a flash of white teeth in the dim light. “Dangerous is my middle name. Or it should be. Anyway, I was thinking… about how much I enjoy your company.”

“Is that so?” you purred, meeting his gaze.

“Yeah,” he said, his eyes tracing the curve of your jawline. “I do. You’re… you’re good for me.”

“And you’re good for me,” you replied, your voice barely a whisper.

He reached across the table, his fingers brushing against yours. A spark ignited, a familiar flame that flickered to life between them. He pulled your hand towards him, his touch surprisingly gentle. You didn’t resist.

“Come here,” he murmured, his voice laced with desire.

You stood up, your chair scraping against the floor. He met you halfway, his arms wrapping around you, pulling you close. The scent of his cologne filled your senses, a heady mix of sandalwood and something distinctly Javier. You tilted your head back, offering him your lips.

His kiss was slow and deliberate, a探求 touch that ignited a fire within you. It was a kiss that spoke of unspoken desires, of a connection that ran deeper than either of you were willing to admit. He deepened the kiss, his hand moving to the back of your neck, his fingers tangling in your hair.

The world seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of you, locked in a moment of shared passion. The bar, the case, the complications of his life… all of it disappeared, replaced by the intensity of his touch, the heat of his kiss.

He broke the kiss, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He rested his forehead against yours, his eyes searching yours. “Come home with me,” he whispered.

You didn’t hesitate. “Yes,” you breathed.

The drive back to his apartment was a blur. Neither of you spoke, the silence filled with anticipation. When they arrived, Javier unlocked the door and ushered you inside. The apartment was dimly lit, the only light coming from the streetlamps outside.

He turned to you, his eyes burning with intensity. He reached out and gently brushed a strand of hair away from your face. “You’re beautiful,” he murmured.

You blushed, the compliment warming you from the inside out. “Thank you,” you whispered.

He pulled you close again, his arms wrapping around you tightly. He kissed you again, a kiss that was filled with a desperate longing. His hands moved over your body, exploring the curves and contours you knew so well.

He led you to the bedroom, the air thick with unspoken promises. He closed the door behind him, shutting out the world. He turned to you, his eyes filled with a raw desire that made your breath catch in your throat.

He reached out and began to unbutton your shirt, his fingers fumbling slightly. You met his gaze, your own heart pounding in your chest. He undressed you slowly, savoring every moment. You did the same for him, your fingers trembling slightly as you unbuttoned his shirt.

He pulled you close, his body pressed against yours. You could feel the heat radiating from him, the hard muscles beneath his skin. He kissed you again, his tongue tracing the outline of your lips. The kiss deepened, becoming more urgent, more demanding.

He lifted you up, your legs wrapping around his waist. You gasped, your hands clutching his shoulders. He carried you to the bed, his eyes never leaving yours. He laid you down gently, his body hovering over yours.

He kissed you again, his lips trailing down your neck, your chest. He explored every inch of your body, his touch sending shivers down your spine. You moaned softly, your hands tangling in his hair.

He moved lower, his lips brushing against your skin. You arched your back, your breath catching in your throat. He continued his exploration, his touch igniting a fire within you that threatened to consume you.

He finally entered you, his movements slow and deliberate. You gasped, your body tightening around him. He paused, his eyes searching yours. “Are you okay?” he whispered.

“Yes,” you breathed. “Yes.”

He began to move, his pace quickening. You met his rhythm, your bodies moving together in perfect harmony. The world dissolved, leaving only the two of you, lost in the throes of passion. You cried out his name, your voice filled with a desperate longing. He answered you with a groan, his body shuddering as he reached his climax.

He collapsed on top of you, his breath coming in ragged gasps. You held him close, your fingers stroking his hair. The silence was broken only by the sound of your breathing, the beating of your hearts.

He finally rolled over, pulling you with him. He held you close, his arm wrapped around you protectively. You snuggled against him, your head resting on his chest. You could feel the steady beat of his heart, a comforting rhythm that lulled you to sleep.

The morning light streamed through the window, waking you gently. You stretched, your body feeling pleasantly sore. You turned to find Javier sleeping soundly beside you, his face relaxed and peaceful. You smiled, a feeling of warmth spreading through you. You reached out and gently brushed a strand of hair away from his forehead.

He stirred, his eyes fluttering open. He looked at you, a soft smile gracing his lips. “Morning,” he murmured.

“Morning,” you replied.

He pulled you closer, his arm tightening around you. He kissed you softly, a lingering kiss that spoke of affection and tenderness. “I’m glad you’re here,” he whispered.

“Me too,” you replied, snuggling against him.

The dim silence of the early morning had given way to a warm glow as you slowly stirred beside Javier. The memory of last night’s fierce passion still shimmered in the quiet air of his bedroom. Your body felt pleasantly tender and alive with anticipation for what the morning might bring. As you shifted on the rumpled sheets, Javier’s eyes fluttered open, heavy with sleep but quickly brightening at the sight of you.

“Good morning,” he murmured in a husky tone, his fingers tracing lazy circles on your bare arm. His voice carried a mix of lingering desire and a promise of more.

“Good morning,” you replied, a teasing smile curving your lips. “I was hoping we’d have a few more moments like last night.”

Javier’s gaze darkened with need as he shifted closer. “I can’t get enough of you,” he whispered. “Tell me, do you want to taste me… again?”

The question, spoken with both vulnerability and raw passion, sent a shiver through you. You slid your hand to his chest, feeling the rapid thump of his heart beneath your palm. “I want every bit of you, Javier. Let’s not hold back.”

In that intimate, sunlit haze, the roles of giver and receiver blurred in a dance as old as desire itself. Javier was the first to act—his lips trailing heated kisses along your collarbone before softly biting at your skin, eliciting a quiet moan from you. You arched into his touch, your body inviting his exploration. With deliberate care, he began unfastening the delicate straps of your lingerie, his tongue occasionally flicking out to taste the warm skin revealed with each freed inch.

Moments later, you took control, shifting so that your eyes met his in a silent exchange of mutual invitation. “Now it’s my turn,” you said breathlessly. You slowly slid off the top of his loose T-shirt, your hands exploring the hard planes of his torso. Your fingertips grazed over the sensitive skin of his chest, drawing a low groan as you trailed kisses downward, savoring the subtle saltiness of his skin.

Before long, you found yourself kneeling between his thighs, his eyes never leaving yours. The raw desire in his gaze spurred you on as you began to tease him with gentle, exploratory kisses along the inside of his thigh. His hand threaded through your hair as his breath grew ragged, his murmurs mingling with the soft sounds of your ministrations. You took your time, letting each kiss and soft lick build the intensity between you. When you finally moved closer, your warm mouth enveloped him; every deliberate stroke of your tongue was a pledge of your shared passion.

“God, you feel so good,” he groaned, his hands resting on your head to guide your movements. His pleasure was as evident as the way his body responded to your every touch, and soon you both were caught in an intoxicating rhythm of mutual giving.

But the intimacy did not stop there. As the taste of desire and satisfaction mingled with the soft light of morning, Javier shifted his focus. With a gentle yet commanding look, he guided you so that you lay back, your body exposed in a vulnerable yet empowered state. “Now, let me show you how much I crave you,” he whispered.

Rising to his knees, he began his own exploration, his tongue tracing patterns along your inner thigh before finally reaching the most sensitive places. Every touch, every flicker of his tongue, brought soft gasps and the quickening of your breath. You arched your back, your hands gripping the sheets as waves of pleasure built inside you. In the quiet intimacy of that morning, you were both performers in a delicate, passionate duet, each act of oral caressing the other as much as it filled you with need.

Between whispered words and the music of soft moans, you exchanged playful, heated dialogue. “You taste even better than I remembered,” Javier murmured as you both took turns exploring each other’s most intimate parts. “I love hearing you moan, knowing that every inch of you is mine,” he said, his voice low and filled with adoration.

“You make me feel alive,” you responded, your words punctuated by another soft moan as he switched back to you, ensuring that every bit of desire was both given and received. The raw energy of your morning encounter was as wild as it was tender—a true celebration of trust, passion, and the magnetic pull that drew you both together time and again.

As your bodies reached a blissful crescendo, the lines between giving and receiving blurred until you were both lost in a haze of mutual ecstasy. In the aftermath, breathless and spent, you lay entwined in each other’s arms, the quiet of the morning punctuated only by soft, contented sighs. The passion of the night had transformed into a gentle, lingering tenderness as you both savored the afterglow.

In that sacred space of shared vulnerability, you knew without words that this was more than just a physical connection—it was an affirmation of the depth of your desire, trust, and the unspoken promise of many more mornings filled with both wild abandon and tender intimacy.

[hisfavegirl]

Endless Battle Of Love- Modern!Jace Velaryon x Female.

Prologue, Chapter 1.

Word Count : 10.2k

Jacaerys Velaryon Masterlist.

House Of The Dragon Masterlist.

and also big thanks to @zaldritzosrose for let me using yours beautiful dividers 🫶🏻.

The first thing you feel is warmth. Not just the warmth of the sun spilling through the curtains, but something else.

Something solid.

Something strong.

Your lashes flutter open, blinking against the golden light filtering into the room. For a moment, you’re disoriented, your mind still heavy with sleep. But then— Your breath catches.

Jace.

He’s right there. His arms are still wrapped securely around you, his body solid and unmoving beneath you. Your head rests against his chest, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat thrumming softly beneath your ear.

You froze.

Shit.

Slowly, everything from last night crashes back into your mind. The nightmare. The panic. The way you broke down in his arms. The way he held you.

You swallow hard, your fingers curling against his shirt. You hadn’t meant to fall asleep on top of him, hadn’t meant to practically cling to him all night and yet… Jace hadn’t let go either. Even in sleep, his arms are still wrapped tightly around your waist, his body still curled around yours like he needed to hold you.

Your chest tightens.

You should move.

You should.

But for the first time in so long, you feel safe. Still, you can’t just stay like this. Carefully, you begin to pull back, your movements slow and deliberate his arms tighten. You freeze.

Your eyes snap up to his face, but Jace’s breathing is still even, his lips slightly parted. His brows furrow just slightly, as if instinctively aware that you’re trying to leave.

Your heart skips.

You hold your breath, waiting to see if he’ll wake up. Seconds pass. He doesn’t. Relief washes over you, and you very slowly try again, inching away just enough to slip from his grip. Almost there— "Where do you think you’re going?"

Your body jerks.

You snap your gaze up to find Jace’s very awake golden-brown eyes locked onto you, sharp and focused despite the sleep still clinging to him. You swallow. "I—I was just—"

"Leaving me?" His voice is still rough from sleep, but there’s something in his tone—something dangerous. "After using me as your personal pillow all night?"

Your face burns. "I didn’t—"

"Shhh."

Your breath hitches as one of his hands loosens from around your waist, coming up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. His touch is gentle. Too gentle. Your heart pounds. "Jace—"

"Stay," he murmurs and the way he says it—the command laced beneath the softness— You don’t move.

You hesitate for only a second before slowly relaxing back into Jace’s embrace. Immediately, his arms tighten around you, pulling you closer.

This time, however, it’s different.

Last night, he had been careful—almost cautious—as if he was afraid of holding you too tightly. But now? Now, there’s a quiet possessiveness in the way he wraps around you.

His chin rests against the top of your head, his warmth completely surrounding you. You don’t know how long you lay like that, but eventually, you find your voice. "I should make us breakfast," you mumble against his chest. "You must be hungry."

Jace hums, his fingers idly tracing slow, lazy circles against your back. "That can wait," he murmurs. "Let’s stay like this a little longer."

Your stomach flutters.

"But it’s already late—"

"It’s our day off," Jace cuts in. "We don’t have any meetings, no schedules, nothing to do." You open your mouth to argue, but he shifts, nuzzling slightly into your hair.

"You’re comfortable," he says simply. "And I’m comfortable." Your breath catches. The words shouldn’t affect you the way they do, but there’s something about the way he says them—something firm.

Like a fact.

Like he’s already decided that you’re staying right here, in his arms, for as long as he wants.

Your fingers unconsciously clutch at his shirt, your heart hammering against your ribs. Jace notices. Of course he notices. You feel his lips curve slightly against your hair. "Relax, sweetheart," he murmurs, his voice still husky with sleep. "You’re safe."

Your chest tightens.

You don’t know if he’s talking about last night—about what happened with your ex, about the nightmare that followed— Or if he’s talking about himself. Either way, you let out a slow, shaky breath, closing your eyes and for the first time in a long time… You let yourself believe him.

Your entire body freezes as the sound of the door creaking open reaches your ears. You barely have time to react before—

"Well, well, well."

Shit.

Your eyes snap toward the doorway, where Cregan Stark stands with his arms crossed, a shit-eating grin plastered across his face. You don’t know what’s worse—the way his eyes widen slightly at the sight of you practically curled into Jace’s chest, or the way his lips twitch like he’s about to burst into laughter.

You panic.

Your hands fly to your thighs, hastily tugging down the hem of Jace’s oversized shirt, which had ridden up sometime during the night.

Cregan notices.

His grin widens.

"Ohhh, this is interesting—" He doesn’t get to finish. Because suddenly, a pillow flies across the room— And smacks him right in the face.

"Get the fuck out, Cregan!" Jace growls, his voice still rough with sleep. Cregan stumbles back slightly from the impact, but it does nothing to wipe the amusement off his face. "What? I just came to—" Another pillow hurtles toward him.

"Out!" Cregan dodges this time, laughing loudly as he raises his hands in mock surrender. "Alright, alright! No need to get violent, Chairman Velaryon!"

Your face is on fire.

Jace is still seething beside you, his arm tightening slightly around your waist as if trying to shield you from Cregan’s teasing gaze.

"You have five seconds to leave before I throw something heavier," Jace warns, his tone deadly. Cregan chuckles, stepping back into the hallway. "Relax, man. I just wanted to check if you were coming to the office today—"

"We’re not." Jace snaps. "Now go." Cregan smirks, his eyes flickering toward you one last time before he salutes playfully. "Got it, boss."

And with that, he disappears, the door clicking shut behind him. You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, your hands still clutching at the hem of Jace’s shirt. Silence stretches between you.

Then—

"Are you really throwing pillows at people now?" you mumble, your voice slightly muffled as you press your hands over your burning face.

Jace scoffs, shifting slightly beneath you. "He deserved it."

You peek at him through your fingers. "He’s your best friend."

"He was about to become my dead best friend," Jace mutters darkly. "He saw you like this."

You blink. "Like… what?"

His golden-brown eyes flicker to your thighs— To the way you’re still half-draped over him, to the way his shirt barely covers you. Your breath hitches. Jace swallows hard. His jaw clenches and for a split second— Something dark flickers behind his gaze.

Then— "Nothing," he says, forcing himself to look away. "Just go back to sleep."

You hesitate. "Jace—"

"Go back to sleep," he repeats, this time softer and you don’t know why, but something about the way he says it makes your heart stutter. So you don’t argue. You let yourself relax against him once more, pressing your face into his chest. His heartbeat is faster now and for the first time— You wonder if it’s because of you.

Jace steps out of the bedroom quietly, careful not to wake you. His fingers linger on the doorknob for a second longer than necessary before he finally sighs and makes his way downstairs.

He finds Cregan in the living room, lazily sprawled on the couch with a cup of coffee in his hand. The moment Cregan sees him, he grins.

"So," Cregan drawls, setting his coffee down. "How was sleeping with your secretary?" Jace doesn't even hesitate. He grabs a pillow from the couch and hurls it straight at Cregan’s face.

"Fuck off," Jace mutters, running a hand through his disheveled curls.

Cregan just laughs, unfazed. "Come on, you can’t blame me! I walked in, and she was practically wrapped around you like some clingy little thing. You looked—"

"Cregan." Jace’s voice is sharp. Cregan stops, eyeing him carefully and then— His smirk falters. Jace exhales roughly, collapsing onto the couch across from him. "It’s not like that," he mutters, rubbing his temples. "Last night was… a lot."

Cregan leans forward. "Talk to me."*

Jace is silent for a moment. Then, without looking up, he speaks. "Her fiancé— no, her ex—was blackmailing her."

Cregan’s expression shifts immediately. "What?"

"That bastard recorded her—" Jace's jaw clenches. "—without her knowing. That’s why she stayed with him. He trapped her."

Cregan swears under his breath. "That sick fuck—"

"It’s handled," Jace cuts in. "Aemond and Aegon took care of it." Cregan stares at him. "...Took care of it how?" Jace doesn’t answer.

Cregan sighs. "Right. I probably don’t wanna know."

Silence stretches between them. Jace leans back, his head tilting up toward the ceiling. "She had a nightmare last night."

Cregan watches him carefully. "And?"

Jace’s fingers twitch against his knee. "And I—" He exhales sharply. "—I nearly lost it."

Cregan raises an eyebrow. "Define ‘lost it’."

Jace doesn’t answer right away. His mind replays the way you had curled into him last night, the way your body had trembled against his. The way you had moaned in that goddamn video—

Jace inhales sharply, shaking his head. "She was crying in her sleep, Cregan." His voice is tight. "She was whimpering like she was still stuck there—like he was still touching her. I just—" His hands clench into fists. "I wanted to kill him."

Cregan’s brows furrow slightly. "Jace—"

"And then," Jace continues, his voice almost a growl, "when she woke up? She looked at me like I was the only thing keeping her safe." Cregan stays silent, watching his friend with knowing eyes.

Jace exhales roughly, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. "I—" He pauses, his fingers threading through his curls. "I don’t know what the fuck is wrong with me."

Cregan lets out a small chuckle. "Oh, I do."

Jace glares at him. "Cregan—"

"You’re obsessed with her," Cregan states simply. "And you have been for a while."

Jace freezes.

Cregan grins. "Come on, man. You think I haven’t noticed? You’ve been looking at her like she’s the only woman in the world since day one."

Jace grits his teeth. "I was just—"

"Protecting her?" Cregan cuts in, raising an eyebrow. "Sure. Keep telling yourself that, boss."

Jace scowls. "Go to hell."

Cregan only laughs. "Already on my way, brother. But you? You're screwed." Jace groans, leaning back against the couch and running a hand down his face. And for the first time, he wonders if Cregan is right.

Jace and Cregan were still speaking in hushed tones, their voices low to avoid waking you. "So, what’s your plan now?" Cregan asked, sipping his coffee. "You can't just keep her locked in here forever, you know."

Jace ran a hand through his hair, exhaling. "She needs time. She just went through hell. I’m not throwing her back into the office like nothing happened."

"And after that?" Cregan pressed. "You think she’s just gonna act like this whole thing never happened? You think you can go back to just being her boss?"

Jace didn’t respond right away. Instead, he stared at the coffee in his hands, his grip tightening slightly around the mug. Cregan sighed. "Yeah. That’s what I thought."

Upstairs, you had already woken up. The morning sunlight filtered through the curtains, casting a warm glow across the room. You had taken a shower, letting the hot water wash away the lingering fear and exhaustion from last night.

Now, standing in front of Jace’s wardrobe, you hesitated before reaching for something to wear. The only thing available was his clothes. You had worn his oversized t-shirt earlier, but this time, you decided to put on one of his white button-up shirts.

The fabric was soft against your skin, the scent of Jace lingering in the material. It was big on you—too big—but at least it covered your body properly. Taking a deep breath, you stepped out of the room, making your way downstairs. As you entered the living room, both men turned toward you.

Jace's gaze darkened immediately. His eyes swept over you—his shirt hanging loosely over your frame, the way the collar dipped slightly, revealing just a hint of your collarbone. You swallowed, suddenly feeling self-conscious under his intense stare.

"Morning," you said softly.

Cregan smirked. "Well, look who’s finally up."

You walked closer, hesitating for a moment before taking a seat on the couch. "How are you feeling?" Jace asked, his voice softer now.

You exhaled, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. "Better," you admitted. "Thank you… for last night."

Jace nodded, his gaze still fixed on you. "You don’t have to thank me."

Cregan leaned back in his chair. "Alright, I feel like I’m intruding on something here," he teased. "Maybe I should go."

"You should," Jace said flatly.

Cregan let out a laugh. "Damn. Not even subtle about it."

You shook your head, hiding a small smile. Jace stood up and walked to the kitchen. "You should eat something," he said, glancing at you over his shoulder. "Come on, I’ll make you breakfast."

You blinked. "You can cook?"

"I’m not completely useless," Jace muttered.

Cregan chuckled. "Debatable."

Jace shot him a glare before disappearing into the kitchen. You turned to Cregan, curiosity getting the better of you. "What were you two talking about before I came down?"

Cregan smirked. "Oh, you know. Just about how obsessed Jace is with you."

Your breath hitched slightly. "He’s not obsessed with me," you said, but even you weren’t sure if you believed it.

Cregan raised an eyebrow. "Right. Sure."

You hesitated, your fingers playing with the hem of Jace’s shirt. "He’s just being… protective."

Cregan leaned forward slightly. "Listen, sweetheart. I’ve known Jace for a long time. And I’ve never seen him act this way over anyone. Ever."

Your heart skipped a beat. Cregan grinned. "You might not see it yet, but trust me… he’s completely gone for you."

Before you could say anything, Jace reappeared with a plate of food. "What the hell are you telling her?"

Cregan only smirked. "Nothing you wouldn’t admit to yourself eventually."

Jace shot him a warning look before turning his attention to you. "Come eat."

You nodded, taking the plate from him. As you did, your fingers brushed against his. The contact was brief, but it sent a small shiver up your spine. Jace noticed. His eyes flicked to yours, something unreadable in his expression. Cregan stretched, standing up. "Alright, I’m out. You two lovebirds enjoy breakfast."

"Cregan," Jace warned.

"Later," Cregan said with a grin before walking out.

The door shut behind him, leaving you alone with Jace. You cleared your throat, picking up a fork. "So… what’s the plan for today?"

Jace leaned against the counter, arms crossed. "We’re staying in. You need to rest."

You frowned. "Jace, I can’t just—"

"You can," he interrupted. "And you will."

You huffed, setting your fork down. "You’re acting like I’m fragile."

Jace’s jaw tightened. "You are fragile. After everything that happened, you need time to recover."

Your gaze softened. "Jace…"

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I just… I don’t want you to force yourself to act like everything’s okay when it’s not."

Your heart ached at his words. He wasn’t just your boss—he was someone who genuinely cared and maybe, just maybe, Cregan was right. Maybe Jace cared too much.

Jace wasn’t paying attention to the TV. Not even a little.

His eyes were on you—the way your lips curved into a soft smile, the way you hugged your knees to your chest, completely at ease in his oversized shirt. You were laughing at something on the screen, completely unaware of the thoughts racing through his head.

He never imagined this scenario would actually happen. You, in his home. Wearing his clothes. Sleeping in his bed.

Well… maybe he had imagined it once or twice. Late at night. Before falling asleep. But not like this. Not with you still haunted by the memory of him. Jace exhaled sharply, leaning back against the couch. You turned your head slightly, noticing his expression. "Jace?"

"Hm?"

"You’re staring."

He blinked, caught off guard. "Am I?"

You rolled your eyes, turning back to the screen. "You’re acting weird today."

"Weird how?"

"I don’t know… distracted?" You glanced at him again. "Are you okay?"

Jace hesitated. He could lie, brush it off. But something in your voice made him pause. "Yeah," he said, voice lower than usual. "I’m fine."

You didn’t seem convinced, but you didn’t press further. Instead, you turned your attention back to the show.

A comfortable silence settled between you.

But Jace couldn’t focus.

His mind was stuck on the way you looked in his shirt, the way you felt curled up against him last night, how your breath had tickled his neck as you slept.

And worse, his mind kept drifting back to that damn video. The raw panic in your voice. The way you had been used. Jace clenched his jaw, gripping the edge of the couch. The thought of him—your ex—touching you, forcing you, recording you without your consent—

"Jace?"

Your voice pulled him out of his thoughts.

You were looking at him with concern now, your brows slightly furrowed. "Are you sure you’re okay?" He exhaled through his nose, forcing his body to relax. "Yeah."

You stared at him for a long moment, then shifted closer. "Do you want to talk about it?" Jace scoffed. "Shouldn’t I be the one asking you that?"

"Maybe," you admitted. "But right now, I feel like you’re the one who needs to talk."

Jace let out a dry chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck. "It’s nothing. Just… thinking."

"About?"

"About what happened. About him." His expression darkened. "And what I should’ve done sooner."

You swallowed. "Jace… it’s over now. He can’t hurt me anymore."

"Doesn’t mean I don’t want to hurt him." His voice was sharp, filled with something dangerous. You reached out, hesitating slightly before resting a hand on his arm. "Don’t do anything reckless. Please."

Jace exhaled slowly. "I won’t."

You tilted your head. "Liar."

That made him smirk, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

"I just hate that I couldn’t protect you sooner," he admitted. "That I didn’t notice."

Your chest tightened. "Jace, none of this was your fault."

"Maybe not. But it doesn’t change the fact that I want to make sure nothing like this ever happens again." His hand lifted, almost unconsciously, brushing a strand of hair away from your face. His fingers lingered against your cheek for a second too long before he pulled away. "And that means keeping you close."

Your breath hitched slightly. "How close?"

Jace’s blue eyes darkened. "Close enough that no one else gets to touch you."

A shiver ran down your spine.

"Jace…"

"I know." His voice was rough, low. "I know I shouldn’t be saying this. But after last night… after knowing what he did to you—" He stopped himself, exhaling sharply. "I can’t stand the thought of you with anyone else."

Your heart pounded.

This was Jace—your boss. Your obsessive, overprotective boss who had been crossing lines ever since that night and yet… You weren’t stopping him.

You took a deep breath, gathering your thoughts. "Jace… I just need time."

He stayed silent, watching you carefully. "I’m still trying to deal with everything. The nightmares, the fear…" You swallowed hard. "I can’t rush into something when I’m still trying to put myself back together."

Jace’s jaw clenched slightly, but then, to your relief, he nodded. "I get it," he said, voice softer than before. "I won’t push you."

You felt some of the tension in your chest loosen. "Thank you."

Jace exhaled, running a hand through his curls. "But just so we’re clear—" His gaze locked onto yours. "I’m not going anywhere. I’ll wait as long as you need."

A warmth spread through you at his words, at the sincerity in his expression. "That means a lot to me, Jace."

He gave you a small smile. "Good."* Then, as if trying to shift the mood, he glanced at his watch. "Anyway, we should probably head out soon."

You blinked. "Head out?"

"Yeah. Shopping."

"Shopping?"

"For clothes." You frowned slightly. "Jace, I have clothes."*

"Do you?" He smirked, eyeing the oversized shirt you were still wearing. "Because all I’ve seen you wear for the past day is my stuff."

Your face burned. "That’s because I didn’t have anything else!"

"Exactly."

You rolled your eyes. "I can just go home and grab some of my own clothes."

Jace’s expression darkened instantly. "You’re not going back there."

Your stomach twisted. "Jace—"

"No." His voice was firm. You wanted to argue, but the look in his eyes told you it was useless. You sighed. "Fine. But I don’t need anything fancy. Just something simple."

Jace smirked. "Yeah, yeah. We’ll see." Something about the way he said it made you nervous.

The store was filled with racks of clothes that seemed perfectly chosen for the season, with soft lighting and music playing in the background. But Your fingers froze on the fabric of the dress you were holding. The voice was unmistakable, sending an unpleasant chill down your spine.

Slowly, you turned, and your stomach twisted when your gaze landed on him—one of his friends. His smirk was dripping with malice as he looked between you and Jace, eyes gleaming with sick amusement.

"So it’s true," he sneered, arms crossed. "You really are just a cheap slut who jumps into another man’s bed the second things get hard."*

You felt like you had been punched in the gut.

Jace, who had been flipping through a rack of clothes beside you, stilled. His entire posture changed in an instant—his shoulders tensed, his jaw clenched, and when he turned to look at the man, his eyes were dark with fury.

"What did you just say?" Jace’s voice was low, controlled, but there was an edge of pure danger underneath.

The guy scoffed, rolling his eyes. "I mean, look at her." He gestured toward you mockingly. "Still parading around in another man’s shirt like some desperate little thing. You didn’t even try to pretend, did you? No wonder—"

The words were cut off with a sharp crack.

You barely registered what had happened before the man stumbled back, clutching his face in shock. Jace stood in front of you now, his fist still clenched, his breathing heavy.

"Say one more word," Jace’s voice was calm—too calm. "I fucking dare you."

The man’s face twisted in anger. "You think you can—"

Jace grabbed the front of his shirt, yanking him close until they were nearly nose to nose. "You and your pathetic little friends think you can intimidate her?" His voice dropped lower, his grip tightening. "Do you have any idea who you’re messing with?"

The man swallowed hard, his earlier arrogance faltering under Jace’s deadly gaze. "Jace," you whispered, placing a hesitant hand on his arm. "Let him go."

Jace didn’t move for a long moment, his chest rising and falling in barely contained rage. But then, with a disgusted scoff, he shoved the man back.

"Get the fuck out of here before I break your fucking jaw," Jace growled.

The man hesitated only for a second before scrambling to his feet and practically running out of the store. You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. Jace turned to you, his expression still stormy. "Are you okay?"

You nodded slowly, though your hands were still shaking. "Yeah. I just… I wasn’t expecting that."*

Jace exhaled sharply, running a hand through his curls. "He won’t come near you again."* His voice was firm, his eyes locking onto yours. "None of them will."

You swallowed. "Jace…"

"Come here," he murmured, reaching for you. You didn’t hesitate. You stepped into his arms, letting his warmth envelop you as he held you close.

Jace froze.

Your whispered confession sent ice through his veins, his grip on you tightening unconsciously. His entire body tensed as the words replayed in his head, as if his mind was refusing to believe what he had just heard.

You felt his arms tremble slightly around you.

"What did you just say?" His voice was barely above a whisper, but the rage simmering beneath it was unmistakable.

You swallowed, your fingers clutching onto the fabric of his shirt. "They… sometimes they would take turns," you whispered again, your voice almost too soft to be heard. "I didn’t know how to stop them. I thought if I just—if I just stayed quiet, it would be over faster."

Jace’s breath turned ragged, his heartbeat pounding against your ear where your head rested against his chest.

"I’ll kill them."* The words were spoken so softly, so calmly, yet they dripped with pure, unfiltered hatred. "I swear to god, I’ll kill them."

You pulled back slightly, looking up at him. His jaw was clenched so tightly it looked like it might break. His hands, still gripping you, were shaking. His eyes—those usually warm brown eyes—were dark, hollow, filled with an emotion so raw it scared you.

"Jace," you whispered, lifting a hand to touch his cheek. "I’ll be okay… as long as you’re with me."

His breath hitched at your words. His entire body seemed to be at war with itself—rage battling against the desperate need to protect you, to comfort you, to make sure you never had to feel that kind of fear again.

"You don’t understand," he said, voice shaking. "This isn’t something I can just let go, sweetheart. They don’t get to walk away after what they did to you."

You shook your head gently, your fingers tracing along his jaw. "I don’t want you to do something you’ll regret."

"The only thing I’ll regret is not making them suffer enough."

Your heart ached at his words. You knew Jace was not a violent man by nature, but you also knew that there was nothing he wouldn’t do for the people he cared about. And right now, you were at the center of his entire world.

You leaned up slightly, pressing your forehead against his. "I just need you," you whispered, closing your eyes. "I need you to be here. That’s enough for me."

Jace exhaled shakily, his hands slowly moving up your back, holding you as if you were the most fragile thing in the world.

"I’m here," he murmured. "I’m not going anywhere." For the first time in a long, long time, you believed it.

Jace carefully put the car into park and turned off the engine. The drive home had been quiet, aside from the soft sound of your breathing as you slept. You looked peaceful now, curled up slightly in your seat, your new clothes in a shopping bag at your feet. But all Jace could hear in his head were your words from earlier.

"They sometimes took turns."

He gritted his teeth, his hands tightening on the steering wheel. His jaw clenched so hard that it ached. The rage inside him had been simmering all day, barely contained beneath the surface, but he forced himself to stay calm. This wasn’t about him. This wasn’t about his anger. This was about you. And you needed rest, not the weight of his fury.

Jace exhaled sharply through his nose, shaking his head before turning to you.

"Sweetheart," he murmured softly, reaching over to brush his fingers gently against your cheek. "We’re home." You didn’t stir.

Jace huffed out a small, exasperated laugh, but there was nothing but warmth in his gaze as he looked at you. He hesitated for a moment before carefully undoing your seatbelt. Then, with an ease that only came naturally to him, he slid his arms underneath you and lifted you into his arms.

You barely even reacted, only letting out a soft sigh as you instinctively curled into his chest.

Jace swallowed thickly.

Holding you like this—so close, so trusting—made his protective instincts flare even more. He had no idea how you had survived everything you had gone through, how you were still standing, still smiling despite everything. But you shouldn’t have had to survive it and that was something Jace would never forgive.

He walked into the house with steady steps, kicking the door shut behind him. The house was dimly lit, silent except for the faint hum of the air conditioning. He carried you upstairs, straight to his bedroom, lowering you gently onto the bed.

You mumbled something incoherent in your sleep, shifting slightly, but didn’t wake.

Jace let out a breath, brushing a few stray strands of hair from your face. His fingers lingered against your cheek before he forced himself to pull away. He stepped back, running a hand through his hair, his mind still clouded with thoughts of your past.

Jace knew what needed to be done. He pulled out his phone, walking toward the balcony to make a call. The night air was cool against his skin, but his blood was still boiling. He pressed the phone to his ear and waited for the familiar voice on the other end.

"Jace," Aemond’s voice was sharp, knowing. "Tell me."

"It’s worse than we thought," Jace said, his voice low, dangerous. "Much worse." There was silence for a moment. Then Aemond sighed. "I’ll handle it."

"No." Jace’s grip on his phone tightened. "I want to be there."*

"Jace—"

"I need to be there," Jace snapped. "You don’t understand. They didn’t just hurt her, Aemond. They destroyed her. I want them to see my face before they beg for their lives."

Aemond was quiet again. Then, finally, "I’ll send you the details."* Jace ended the call and took a deep breath, closing his eyes for a brief moment. When he turned back to look at you, still fast asleep on his bed, his expression softened. He would take care of this. For you. For everything they had done to you.

Jace was focused on chopping vegetables when the familiar sound of heels clicking against the floor made him pause. He looked up just in time to see his mother, Rhaenyra, stepping into the kitchen, her sharp eyes scanning the space before landing on him.

"Cooking, are we?" she mused, arching an eyebrow. "That’s new." Jace sighed, setting the knife down. "Mother." He wiped his hands on a kitchen towel before turning to face her fully. "Thanks for coming."*

Rhaenyra gave him a knowing look, removing her coat and draping it over a chair. "You said it was important."*

Jace nodded, glancing toward the stairs before lowering his voice. "She’s asleep upstairs."*

Rhaenyra tilted her head slightly. "She?"

"Her name is—" Jace hesitated, then shook his head with a small chuckle. "I guess you’ll meet her soon enough."

Rhaenyra’s lips curled into a small smirk. "You’ve never invited me over to meet a woman before. Should I be flattered?"

Jace rolled his eyes. "It’s not like that. She…" He trailed off, running a hand through his hair before exhaling. "She’s been through hell, Mother. Worse than you can imagine."*

That made Rhaenyra pause. The teasing glint in her eyes faded slightly, replaced by something more serious. "Tell me."*

Jace clenched his jaw, staring at the cutting board for a moment before speaking. "She was trapped in an engagement with a bastard who abused her." His fingers curled into fists. "And not just him. His friends. They took turns—"

Rhaenyra inhaled sharply. "God."

"And he had leverage over her." Jace’s voice was tight, controlled rage lacing every word. "A video. He was threatening to release it if she left him."

Rhaenyra’s expression darkened, her shoulders tensing. "Where is he now?"

"Handled." Jace didn’t elaborate, and Rhaenyra didn’t ask. She knew what that meant. "But she’s still scared, Mother. I can’t leave her alone, not even for a second."

"And yet, you’re leaving tonight."* Rhaenyra’s tone was pointed. "Why?"

Jace hesitated, but there was no point in hiding it from her. "Because I need to make sure this never happens again. To her, or to anyone else."

Rhaenyra watched him for a long moment. Then, slowly, she nodded. "You’re your father’s son," she murmured. "Too much of him, sometimes."

Jace swallowed hard. His father. A man of action, not words. A protector. "Stay with her tonight," Jace said after a pause. "She trusts me, but I don’t want her to be alone."

Rhaenyra softened slightly, stepping forward to place a hand on his cheek. "Of course I’ll stay."

Jace exhaled, nodding. "Thank you."

Rhaenyra smiled, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. "Go do what you have to do. But Jace…" She narrowed her gaze. "Come back to her in one piece."

Jace smirked slightly. "I will."

At that moment, they heard soft footsteps descending the stairs. Jace turned just as you appeared in the doorway, rubbing your eyes sleepily, still wearing his oversized shirt. You blinked in confusion when you saw Rhaenyra. "Oh…" Your voice was still groggy. "We have a guest?"

Jace smiled and gestured to his mother. "Yeah. This is my mother, Rhaenyra."

Rhaenyra stepped forward, her gaze softening. "You must be the woman my son can’t stop thinking about."

Your eyes widened slightly, glancing at Jace, who groaned. "Mother."

Rhaenyra only smirked. "Come, sit. Jace was cooking something, though whether it’s edible remains to be seen." Jace rolled his eyes, and you let out a small laugh. For the first time in a long time, things felt… light. Safe. Even if you didn’t know what was coming next.

You frowned slightly as you watched Jace grab his leather jacket from the chair, sliding it over his shoulders with practiced ease. There was something about the way he moved—controlled, purposeful, but also… tense. Like he was bracing himself for something.

"Where are you going?" you asked, your arms crossing over your chest.

Jace glanced at you briefly, then at his mother, Rhaenyra, who was watching the exchange silently from her seat. He exhaled through his nose, adjusting the sleeves of his jacket. "I just have to take care of something."

You didn’t like that answer. "Take care of what?"

"It’s nothing you need to worry about." His voice was even, calm, but you could tell he was deflecting.

"That’s not an answer, Jace." You stepped closer to him, tilting your head. "Why won’t you just tell me?"

Jace clenched his jaw slightly, his hands tightening at his sides. "Because it’s not something you should be involved in."

Your heart skipped a beat at his words. "Is this about—" You hesitated, your voice lowering. "—him?"

Jace didn’t respond right away. Instead, he looked down, inhaling deeply before meeting your gaze again. "I just need to make sure this is over."

Something in his tone sent a chill down your spine. You weren’t naïve—you knew what kind of power Jace had, what kind of family he belonged to. His mother, Rhaenyra, and her brothers, Aemond and Aegon, weren’t just businessmen. They weren’t just wealthy elites. They were dangerous. And now, you were starting to realize just how far Jace was willing to go for you.

"Jace, you don’t have to—"

"Yes, I do." His voice was firm, unwavering. "I won’t let him haunt you anymore."

You swallowed hard. "But what if something happens to you?"

For the first time that night, Jace’s expression softened. He stepped closer, reaching up to brush his fingers against your cheek. "Nothing will happen to me," he murmured. "I promise."

You hated this. Hated that he was walking into something dangerous for you. Hated that you felt powerless to stop him. "Please don’t go." Your voice was barely a whisper. Jace sighed, his thumb tracing slow circles against your cheek. "I have to."

You clenched your fists, feeling frustration and fear twist in your chest. "Then take me with you."

Rhaenyra, who had been silent until now, let out a small chuckle. "That won’t be happening."

You turned toward her, frowning. "Why not?"

"Because," she said smoothly, standing up and adjusting the rings on her fingers, "you’ll be staying with me tonight. And I don’t take no for an answer."

You felt your frustration build, but Jace gently squeezed your wrist, drawing your attention back to him. "Stay here," he urged softly. "Please. Just for tonight."

You hated this. But you hated the thought of him walking away even more. Reluctantly, you nodded. "Fine."

Jace smiled slightly, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead before stepping back. "I’ll be back soon."

You watched as he walked out the door, the sound of his footsteps fading into the night. Something told you that when he returned… things wouldn’t be the same.

Jace stepped out of his car, his blood running hot as he took in the sight before him. Rows of black SUVs lined the abandoned warehouse, their tinted windows hiding the men inside. He recognized them instantly—Aemond’s and Aegon’s people. Loyal. Efficient. Ruthless.

His jaw clenched as he stalked toward the entrance, barely sparing a glance at the two men standing guard. They nodded in acknowledgment, stepping aside to let him through without a word. The heavy metal door groaned as he pushed it open, revealing the dimly lit interior of the warehouse.

The scent of blood and sweat hit him first. The muffled groans followed.

Aegon was the first person he saw. He leaned casually against a wooden crate, a cigarette dangling between his fingers, looking entirely at ease. His hair was slightly disheveled, his expensive suit speckled with something dark—blood, most likely.

"Took you long enough," Aegon drawled, exhaling a cloud of smoke. "We were starting to have fun without you."

Jace barely acknowledged him, his eyes scanning the room until they landed on the group of men in the center.

They were barely recognizable. Bruised. Bloodied. Tied to chairs. Some slumped over, barely conscious. Aemond stood among them, pristine as always, his single blue eye gleaming under the dim light. He held a bloodied knife in his gloved hand, turning it over between his fingers with a bored expression.

"You’re late," Aemond remarked, his voice smooth as silk. "We were just getting started."

Jace ignored the chill that ran down his spine. He had grown up around violence, around men like Aegon and Aemond, but he had never let himself sink into it the way they had. Yet tonight… tonight felt different.

His gaze landed on your ex-fiancé—the man who had haunted you for so long. The man who had tormented you. Jace’s hands curled into fists. "Untie him."*

Aemond arched a brow, but didn’t question it. He simply nodded toward one of his men, who stepped forward and cut the ropes binding the bastard to the chair.

Your ex slumped forward, coughing, spitting blood onto the concrete floor. When he looked up and saw Jace, he managed a weak, bitter laugh. "Ah… look who it is. The fucking knight in shining armor."

Jace didn’t speak. He didn’t need to. He simply stepped forward—one, two, three paces—before swinging his fist.

A sickening crack echoed through the warehouse as his knuckles connected with your ex’s jaw. The man let out a strangled noise, his head snapping to the side, but Jace didn’t stop. He grabbed him by the collar, hauling him up before slamming him back down onto the chair.

"You think you can do whatever you want and get away with it?" Jace’s voice was eerily calm, but the fury burning in his eyes was anything but. "You think you can hurt her and just walk away?"

Your ex spat out more blood, grinning through crimson-stained teeth. "What’s the matter, boss? Jealous that you can't fuck her like i did?"

Jace punched him again. Harder.

"She begged," the bastard continued, his voice rasping. "She moaned. She fucking loved it—"

Jace saw red.

The next thing he knew, he was on top of him, his fists colliding over and over with his face, his ribs, his gut. The bastard coughed and wheezed, but Jace didn’t stop.

"Say her name," he growled between blows. "Say her name, you coward."

Your ex-fiancé choked, struggling for air, but Jace didn’t let up. His knuckles split, blood—his or the bastard’s, he didn’t know—dripped onto the concrete.

"Enough," Aemond’s voice finally cut through the chaos.

Jace barely registered the hand gripping his shoulder, pulling him back. His breath came in ragged gasps, his vision blurred with fury. "He’s not worth dirtying your hands over," Aemond murmured, his voice almost amused. "We’ll handle the rest."

Jace hesitated, his entire body trembling. He wanted to keep going. He wanted to make sure this bastard never had the chance to hurt you—or anyone—again.

But Aemond was right.

Jace let out a sharp breath, pushing himself to his feet. He took one last look at the man bleeding out beneath him. "If I ever hear your name again… if I ever see you near her…" He leaned in, his voice deadly quiet. "You won’t be so lucky next time."*

Jace straightened, wiping the blood from his split knuckles onto his pants before turning away. Aegon chuckled, taking another drag of his cigarette. "Didn’t think you had it in you, nephew."

Jace wiped the blood from his knuckles, his breath still ragged as he stepped back. His heart pounded against his ribs, not from exertion, but from the raw fury still coursing through his veins. He wanted to keep going. He wanted to make them feel even an ounce of the pain they had inflicted on you. But then he remembered—this isn’t about me. It’s about her.

He turned, his gaze locking onto Aemond and Aegon, who watched him with knowing eyes. Aegon still had that smirk on his lips, but it had lost its usual arrogance. Aemond, ever the unreadable one, simply tilted his head slightly, studying Jace like he was something new. Something unfamiliar.

Jace exhaled sharply before speaking, his voice eerily calm but laced with something dark. "She told me something today."

Aegon raised an eyebrow, but Aemond didn’t move.

"She told me how they took turns," Jace continued, his fists clenching again. "How they held her down. How they laughed. How they made her beg."

Aegon’s smirk disappeared entirely. Aemond’s expression darkened.

Jace took a slow, measured step forward, his gaze never leaving theirs. "And you know what she said after that?" His voice wavered, but it wasn’t with weakness—it was with restrained rage. "She told me she would be okay… as long as I was there."*

Silence.

The air in the warehouse shifted, turning heavy, suffocating. Aegon and Aemond weren’t easily shaken, but now? Now they looked like statues, frozen in place, their expressions unreadable.

Because they knew.

They knew what those words meant.

Jace let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. "She was trembling, sobbing into my chest, and she still had the strength to tell me she would be okay. But I saw it—I saw how broken she was. I heard it in her voice. I felt it in the way she clung to me."*

He looked down at his bloodied hands, disgusted. "And I just stood there, helpless, while she suffered alone for so long."*

Aemond’s jaw tensed, and Aegon muttered a curse under his breath, running a hand through his hair.

Jace finally looked back at them, his eyes colder than they had ever been. "So tell me—tell me why I shouldn’t rip them apart with my own hands."*

Aemond was the one who answered, his voice low, controlled. "Because that’s not your job, Jacaerys."* His eye flicked toward the barely breathing men on the floor. "It’s ours."*

Jace clenched his jaw, but he knew Aemond was right. He didn’t belong in this world, not like they did. But for you? He would burn everything down.

Aegon sighed, flicking his cigarette to the ground and stomping it out. "We’ll take care of it," he said, his tone surprisingly serious. "They’ll never touch her again. They won’t even exist when we’re done."

Jace stood still, his breathing still uneven as he watched Aemond crouch down in front of your ex-fiancé, pressing the cold barrel of his gun against the man’s temple. The pathetic excuse of a man whimpered, his body trembling violently. Blood dripped from his swollen lip, mixing with the sweat on his face.

Aemond tilted his head, his single eye glowing with something far more dangerous than rage—it was amusement. Contempt. "You know," he started, his voice soft, eerily calm, "I’ve done many things in my life. I’ve killed men. I’ve burned down businesses. I’ve taken apart people, piece by piece. But you?" A small, humorless smirk pulled at his lips. "You disgust me."*

The man whimpered, shaking his head frantically. "P-please—"

"Please?" Aemond echoed mockingly. "Oh, that’s rich. Did she beg you? Did she cry? Did she plead for mercy?" His voice dropped lower, sharp as a blade. "And what did you do? Laugh? Tell her to be a good girl?"

Jace clenched his fists so tightly his nails dug into his palms. He wanted to tear the man apart. He wanted to make him suffer. But he had done his part. This was Aemond and Aegon’s world now.

Aemond pressed the gun harder against the man’s forehead, making him flinch. "You see, we have rules," he continued, his voice laced with venom. "We kill. We manipulate. We control. But we don’t do what you did." His eye darkened, his lips curling in disgust. "We don’t prey on the weak. We don’t break something so completely that it may never heal."

The man let out a choked sob, his body jerking as he tried to move away, but Aegon was behind him, pushing him back down with a forceful grip. "You don’t deserve an easy death," Aegon muttered, his usual arrogance replaced with something cold.

Jace turned away, inhaling deeply through his nose. "Make it slow," he murmured. "Make him feel every second of it." Aemond chuckled darkly, finally pulling the safety off his gun. "Oh, don't worry, nephew." His voice was smooth, almost gentle. "We intend to."

Jace didn’t stay to watch. He had no interest in what happened next. His mind was already back with you. With your soft voice, your trembling hands, your fragile smile. You had told him you would be okay as long as he was by your sidea and he had promised himself—no one would ever hurt you again.

Jace’s breath hitched, his heart pounding violently in his chest. His fingers curled into fists, his nails digging into his palms so hard they nearly broke skin. He turned swiftly, his eyes burning with fury as he stalked toward the man who had spoken.

"What did you just say?" His voice was dangerously low, a sharp contrast to the sheer rage radiating off him.

The bastard smirked, lips curling in amusement. "You heard me," he sneered. "There’s more. Some where she was fully woke up... and some where she wasn’t."

Aemond’s grip on his gun tightened. Even Aegon, who usually had a twisted sense of humor, had gone still, his expression unreadable.

Jace lunged, grabbing the man by his shirt and yanking him so close their noses nearly touched. "Where?" he growled, his breath hot and heavy. "Where are the videos stored?"

The man chuckled, completely unfazed by the sheer malice in Jace’s tone. "You think I’d tell you?" he taunted. "It doesn’t matter anyway. The upload is already set. Three hours from now, and the whole world will see just how much of a whore she really is."*

Something inside Jace snapped. Without thinking, he pulled back his fist and slammed it into the man’s face with all the strength he had. The impact sent a sickening crack through the air, blood spraying as the man’s head jerked to the side.

"Talk," Jace hissed, his voice a whisper of pure, unfiltered rage. "Tell me where it is, or I swear on my life, I will make you wish you were dead."*

Aemond stepped forward, placing a firm hand on Jace’s shoulder. "Give me five minutes," he murmured, his voice eerily calm. "He’ll talk."*

Jace didn’t hesitate. He let go, stepping back as Aemond crouched in front of the bleeding man.

"Now, now " Aemond said, adjusting his grip on his gun, "let’s play a game. Every time you lie, I take something from you."

The man’s face paled, his smirk faltering for the first time. "Y-you wouldn’t—"

Aemond fired.

The room echoed with the deafening sound of a gunshot. The man let out a bloodcurdling scream, clutching his hand where his pinky finger used to be. Blood dripped onto the floor, pooling around his trembling body.

"That was just for fun," Aemond mused, tilting his head. "Now, let’s try again." Jace watched, his chest rising and falling rapidly. He didn’t care what Aemond had to do. He didn’t care how much blood was spilled.

All he cared about was you and he would burn the world before he let it hurt you again.

Jace’s patience had worn dangerously thin. His hands trembled with unrestrained fury as he snatched the gun from Aemond, ignoring the sharp warning look his uncle shot him. He didn’t care. There was no time left.

He pressed the cold barrel of the gun against the bastard’s forehead, his jaw clenched so tightly it ached. "Where is it?" he barked, his voice raw with barely contained rage. "I swear to the god, if you don’t tell me right now, I will splatter your fucking brains all over this floor!"

The man whimpered, his eyes darting between Jace and Aemond. He was shaking now, his bloodied hands twitching as he tried to inch away. "You... you wouldn’t—"

Jace clicked the safety off. "Try me."

Aegon, who had been leaning lazily against the wall, whistled low. "I’d talk if I were you," he said casually. "Jace isn’t usually like this. But when he snaps? Well... you’ve seen what happens."

Aemond, still crouched beside them, smirked. "I’d say you have about ten seconds before he actually pulls the trigger."

"Alright! Alright!" The man’s voice cracked, his breath coming in quick, shallow gasps. "It’s... it’s in my phone!"*

Jace narrowed his eyes. "Bullshit," he spat. "We already took your phone. There's nothing there."*

"No—no!" he stammered. "It’s backed up! Cloud storage! There’s a scheduled upload! It’s linked to my laptop!"

Jace’s grip on the gun tightened. "Where is it?"

"My apartment!" the man gasped. "The files are on my laptop in my apartment! The password is in my notes app! I—I swear that’s all there is!"

Jace exchanged a glance with Aemond, his chest rising and falling rapidly. There was no way he could take this bastard’s word for it.

"Aegon," Jace growled, "get his phone and unlock it. Now."

Aegon pushed off the wall with a sigh, fishing the man’s phone from his pocket. "What’s the password?" he asked lazily, flipping the device in his hand.

The man swallowed hard. "My birthday... zero five, twenty-three, ninety-two."

Aegon smirked. "Cute." He tapped the numbers in, and sure enough, the screen unlocked. He scrolled for a moment before letting out a satisfied hum. "Notes app... here we go."

Jace didn’t lower the gun, his heart still hammering against his ribs. "Aemond, go. Get to that apartment and wipe everything."

Aemond didn’t hesitate. He stood, adjusting his coat. "Give me twenty minutes."

As he turned to leave, the man beneath Jace whimpered, "You said you wouldn’t kill me!"

Jace let out a humorless laugh, pressing the gun even harder against his skull. "I never said that."

Jace’s breathing was ragged, his hands gripping the phone so tightly his knuckles turned white. His pulse pounded in his ears as he scrolled through the files, each one labeled with cruel, mocking names. Twenty four videos. Twenty fucking four. His stomach churned with a mixture of rage and nausea.

Aegon stood beside him, arms crossed, watching his nephew with an unreadable expression. "Told you it was worse than you thought," he muttered.

Jace ignored him. His thumb hesitated over the first file before finally tapping it open. His jaw clenched so hard it hurt as the screen lit up with the sight of you.

You were lying on a bed, your eyes half-lidded, body limp. Your voice—soft, broken—murmured something he couldn’t make out, but the desperation in your tone was unmistakable. Jace's entire body locked up as he saw the way those bastards touched you, the way you flinched, how your fingers weakly gripped the sheets.

"Turn it off," Aemond’s voice was sharp. He had just returned from the bastard’s apartment, his coat slightly damp from the night air. "Jace, don’t watch that."*

But Jace couldn’t stop. His hands were shaking as he scrolled to another video, then another. Each one worse than the last. Aegon exhaled through his nose, rubbing his temple. "This is beyond fucked up."

Jace finally snapped. "You think I don’t know that?!" he roared, hurling the phone against the wall. The screen shattered upon impact, but the damage had already been done. The images were seared into his mind.

He turned back to the bodies on the floor—lifeless now, blood pooling beneath them. It wasn’t enough. It would never be enough.

"Did you erase everything?" he demanded, his voice hoarse.

Aemond nodded. "Their devices are wiped. The cloud backups? Gone." He paused before adding, "But that won’t erase it from her mind."*

Jace let out a slow, shuddering breath. He knew that. No matter how many files he destroyed, how many people he killed, it wouldn’t take away what they had done to you. The nightmares, the fear—it would all still be there.

"She’s waiting for you," Aemond said quietly. "Don’t make her go through this alone."

Jace didn’t need to be told twice. Without another word, he turned on his heel and strode out, his mind set on one thing—getting back to you.

Jace exhaled sharply, trying to steady his trembling hands as he looked at his mother. The blood on his knuckles had already begun to dry, staining his skin in deep crimson. His heart was still pounding, his body still buzzing with the remnants of rage.

Rhaenyra’s gaze was unreadable, flickering between the blood on his hands and the haunted look in his eyes. "You should clean up first," she said softly, though there was a firmness in her tone. "She’s asleep now. She doesn’t need to see you like this."

Jace clenched his jaw, glancing toward the staircase. He wanted to go to you—needed to—but he knew his mother was right. You’d already been through so much, and the last thing he wanted was to wake you up in the middle of the night covered in blood.

"Did she wake up at all?" he asked, his voice rough from exhaustion.

Rhaenyra shook her head. "No. But she was restless."*

Jace cursed under his breath. Of course you were. Even in your sleep, you couldn’t escape what had been done to you. His mother sighed and stepped forward, gently placing a hand on his arm. "Jace…" she hesitated before continuing, "Is it over?"

Jace let out a slow breath, his eyes dark. "Yes." He didn’t elaborate. He didn’t need to. The bodies were still lying in a bloodstained warehouse, their screams still echoing in his head. But it was done. They would never hurt you again.

Rhaenyra studied him for a long moment before nodding. "Go clean yourself up. I’ll stay here until you’re done."*

Jace nodded, dragging himself upstairs. He peeled off his bloodstained clothes and stepped into the shower, letting the scalding water burn away the evidence of the night. But no matter how much he scrubbed, he couldn’t get rid of the weight in his chest.

Once he was done, he threw on a clean shirt and sweatpants before quietly making his way to the bedroom.

You were curled up under the blankets, your face peaceful in sleep, but he could still see the faint traces of dried tears on your cheeks. His chest ached. He gently sat on the edge of the bed, watching you for a moment before hesitantly brushing a few strands of hair away from your face.

You stirred at the touch, blinking up at him sleepily. "Jace…?"

"It’s okay," he whispered. "Go back to sleep. I’m here."*

Without thinking, you reached for him, your fingers curling around his wrist. "Stay?"

Jace swallowed hard, nodding as he slid under the blankets beside you. You immediately curled into his warmth, your head resting against his chest.

He wrapped his arms around you, holding you close as he pressed a soft kiss to your hair. "I’m not going anywhere."*

And for the first time that night, he finally let himself breathe.

Jace stared at the ceiling, his body tense, his mind refusing to rest. Sleep was impossible—not after what he had seen.

Those videos.

Each frame was burned into his memory, each desperate cry of yours clawing at his sanity. He had thought he knew rage before, thought he had reached the peak of his fury when he had put bullets in those bastards' skulls. But this—this was something else. A different kind of anger. One that seeped into his bones, poisoning him from the inside out.

His fingers curled into fists, his jaw clenched so tightly it ached. The only thing grounding him was the feeling of you in his arms.

You stirred, shifting slightly in your sleep. A soft whimper left your lips before you curled deeper into his embrace, your hand tightening around the fabric of his shirt. Jace inhaled sharply, his anger momentarily replaced by something far more fragile.

His grip on you instinctively tightened, his hand moving up and down your back in slow, soothing strokes. "I got you," he murmured, barely above a whisper. "No one's ever touching you again."*

You let out a quiet sigh, your body relaxing under his touch. Jace’s throat tightened. He wished he could take all your pain away, wished he could erase the memories from your mind the way he had erased those men from existence. But it wasn’t that simple.

You had been strong for so long. Too long. And now, it was his turn to be strong for you.

His gaze flickered to the faint traces of tears on your cheeks, barely visible under the moonlight. A bitter taste filled his mouth. He had been too late. He should have been there. Should have stopped it before it ever happened.

Guilt gnawed at him, but then you moved again, pressing your face against his chest, a small sound escaping you. It was barely a whisper, but he heard it.

"Jace…"

His breath hitched. "I’m here."

He thought you had fallen back asleep, but then you spoke again, your voice hoarse. "Do you think… I’ll ever be normal again?"

Jace's heart twisted painfully. He shifted, propping himself up slightly so he could look down at you. "Hey, look at me."*

You hesitated before lifting your gaze to meet his. There was so much pain there, so much uncertainty. "You are not broken," he said firmly. "They don’t get to take that from you. They don’t get to decide who you are."

Your lip trembled. "Then why do I feel like they did?"

Jace clenched his jaw. He hated this. Hated that you were questioning your worth because of what they had done.

"Because they tried to break you," he admitted. "But they didn’t. You’re still here. You’re still you. And you’re stronger than you think."*

You let out a shaky breath, and for a moment, neither of you spoke. Then, hesitantly, you reached for his hand, intertwining your fingers with his. "Thank you," you whispered. "For everything."*

Jace exhaled slowly, squeezing your hand. "I’ll always be here. Always."

And this time, he meant it more than anything else in his life.

Jace felt his heart drop as your quiet confession filled the room.

"I tried so many times…" Your voice trembled, barely above a whisper. "I wanted it to stop. I thought… maybe if I disappeared, they would finally stop. But every time I tried, it only got worse. Like they knew. Like they enjoyed seeing me suffer."

Jace’s grip on you tightened. His throat burned with the effort of holding back the rage that surged inside him like a wildfire. He wanted to scream, to break something, to go back and kill those bastards again just for the way they had made you feel.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he did the only thing he could—he pulled you against him, his arms wrapping around you protectively. "You don’t ever say that again," he whispered harshly against your hair. "Don’t you dare think that way. They don’t get to win. They don’t get to take you away."

You swallowed hard, your fingers gripping onto his shirt like a lifeline. "But they already did, Jace. They took everything."

Jace closed his eyes, inhaling deeply to steady himself. "Not everything. They didn’t take you from me."

You let out a shaky breath, but you didn’t argue. Instead, you just pressed closer, like you were trying to absorb some of his strength.

Jace hesitated. He wanted to tell you the truth—that there were more videos. That what he had seen, what Aegon and Aemond had seen, was so much worse than what you knew. That even now, when they had sucssed on tracking down every last copy, ensuring that none of it would ever see the light of day.

But he couldn’t.

He knew you. He knew that if you found out, it would break you. And after everything you had been through, after everything you had barely survived, he would not let that happen.

So he swallowed the truth and whispered instead, "You’re safe now. No one is ever touching you again. I swear it."*

"But what if—"

"No ‘what ifs’." Jace pulled back just enough to cup your face, forcing you to look at him. "I won’t let anything happen to you. I don’t care what I have to do, who I have to go through. You’re mine to protect now."

You searched his eyes for a long moment before something in you seemed to crack. Tears welled up in your eyes, and you broke down completely, your body shaking as sobs tore through you.

Jace didn’t say anything. He just held you. He let you cry, let you release all the pain you had been forced to carry alone for so long. And as he did, he silently vowed— Whatever it took, whatever price he had to pay—he would make sure you never suffered again.

Tag list : @danytar @hangmanscoming @julessworldd @yazzzmints @callsignwidow @giirlinblack @searatarg @vaelry @ashblooddragons

[alittlegiraffe]

Title: Soft for You

When Marshall first met you, he wasn’t sure what to make of you.

You were soft—and not just in the way you looked, but in the way you were. Everything about you was delicate, feminine, from the way you dressed to the way you spoke. You wore pink like it was a second skin, had scented candles in every room, and decorated your space with flowers and fairy lights.

It was the complete opposite of him—gritty, rough around the edges, raised in chaos.

At first, he didn’t get it. He wasn’t used to being around someone like you. You were gentle where he was harsh, warm where he was cold. He didn’t know what to do with that.

But then, one day, it hit him.

He fucking loved it.

It was late at night, and he was sitting on the couch, mindlessly flipping through channels, when you walked into the room wearing one of those silky little pajama sets—the kind that made his brain short-circuit every time.

“Hey,” you greeted sweetly, sitting beside him and tucking your legs underneath you. “Whatcha watching?”

He glanced at the screen, then back at you. “Nothin’. Just flippin’ through shit.”

You hummed, resting your head against his shoulder, and for some reason, that simple action made something in his chest tighten.

His arm instinctively wrapped around you, pulling you in closer.

You smelled like vanilla and flowers—sweet, warm, inviting.

So fucking soft.

You yawned, nuzzling into him. “You’re warm.”

Marshall smirked. “You’re tiny.”

You gasped dramatically. “I am not tiny.”

“You kinda are.”

“I prefer petite.”

“Mm.” He pulled you onto his lap with ease, smirking as you let out a surprised squeak. “Petite, soft, delicate…” His voice dropped slightly, fingers tracing absentminded circles on your bare thigh. “The opposite of me.”

You tilted your head, studying him. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

He shrugged. “Dunno. Just never been around someone like you before.”

You smiled, running your fingers through his short-cropped hair. “And? What do you think?”

He was quiet for a moment before saying, “I think I like it.”

Your heart flipped. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” His voice was softer now, more serious. “I like that you make shit feel… lighter.” He exhaled, resting his forehead against yours. “You make me feel calm.”

Your arms wrapped around his neck, holding him close. “Maybe that’s why we work.”

“Maybe,” he murmured, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to your lips.

You melted into him, sighing happily, and he swore right then and there—

For all the roughness in his life, you were the softness he never knew he needed.

[omelette-the-anomaly]

ROTTMNT screenshot redraw

[geneviveleocardius]

“kiss, fuck, or kill—

price, ghost, or könig?”

you had no idea how a silly game during downtime could spiral into this. the question had been innocent enough: “kiss, fuck, or kill—price, ghost, or könig?” you’d laughed, brushing off the idea, but soap had insisted, his grin wicked as he leaned in, waiting for your answer. the others in the room chuckled, the atmosphere light and playful.

“fine,” you had relented, rolling your eyes but secretly enjoying the attention. “i’d kiss könig. he’s just… so sweet and adorable. i really like him.”

soap hooted with laughter while könig, sitting off to the side, froze mid-drink. you’d missed the way his ears turned crimson under his hood.

“fucking ghost, though,” you added, biting your lip without realizing it. “he’s so… hot. just looking at him turns me on.”

ghost, who had been leaning against the far wall, tilted his head slightly. you didn’t notice the way his dark eyes sharpened, a flicker of something dangerous crossing his gaze.

“and price?” soap asked, barely containing his laughter.

“oh, i’m killing price,” you said, laughing. “he’s like a father figure to me. no way i could think of him any other way.”

the room had erupted in laughter, soap practically crying with amusement. you thought that was the end of it.

you were wrong.

a few days later, you found yourself cornered in the dimly lit storage room. könig and ghost stood in front of you, both men radiating a heat that made your pulse race. you didn’t know how it happened, but the door was closed, and the air felt heavy, charged.

“so,” ghost started, his deep voice laced with amusement, “fuck me because i’m hot, yeah?”

your throat went dry, your eyes darting between them. könig’s hood hid most of his face, but his eyes were locked on you, intense and burning with something you couldn’t quite place.

“and what about me?” könig asked, his voice softer but no less filled with tension. “adorable? sweet? you like me?”

“i—” you stammered, taking a step back until your spine hit the wall.

ghost chuckled darkly, stepping closer. “you really thought that little game wouldn’t reach us?”

könig moved in as well, his massive frame towering over you. “we couldn’t stop thinking about it,” he murmured, his voice low and thick. “you choosing us… the way you said it.”

“and now,” ghost added, his gloved hand reaching out to brush your cheek, “we’re gonna give you exactly what you want.”

your breath hitched as könig’s hands found your waist, his touch gentle but firm. “so pretty,” he whispered, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your lips. it was slow, deliberate, as if he was savoring you. his hands slid up your sides, tracing your curves with reverence.

behind you, ghost’s body pressed close, trapping you between them. his hands gripped your hips, his fingers digging in hard enough to leave marks. “she likes it rough,” he muttered, his breath hot against your ear.

könig pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes filled with adoration. “tell me if it’s too much, schatz,” he said softly, his lips brushing yours as he spoke.

ghost chuckled darkly, his teeth grazing your shoulder. “she’s tougher than she looks. aren’t you, love?”

before you could respond, könig’s lips were on yours again, his kiss deep and consuming. his hands roamed your body, gentle yet possessive, while ghost’s hands moved to your thighs, pulling you back against him.

you felt ghost’s teeth sink into the curve of your neck, a low growl rumbling from his chest. “so good for us,” he murmured, his voice rough and filled with hunger.

könig’s kisses trailed down your jaw, his hands lifting your shirt to expose more of your skin. he pressed soft, worshipful kisses along your collarbone, his touch so tender it made your heart ache.

meanwhile, ghost’s grip on your hips tightened as he positioned you against him. “gonna mark you up, sweetheart,” he growled, his lips trailing hot kisses down the back of your neck. “everyone’s gonna know you’re ours.”

könig’s voice was a soothing counterpoint to ghost’s roughness. “you’re perfect,” he murmured, his lips pressing against your temple. “so beautiful. i’ll take care of you.”

your head spun as the two of them worked in tandem, ghost’s rough dominance balanced by könig’s soft, attentive care. you felt every kiss, every touch, every whispered word, and it was overwhelming in the best way.

“you said it yourself,” ghost murmured against your skin, his hands gripping your waist as he slammed against you. “..you want us.”

könig’s lips brushed yours again, his voice soft but firm. “and we want you, schatz. always.”

the hours blurred together, their attention leaving you trembling and breathless. ghost’s gruff dominance and könig’s tender care were a perfect storm, leaving you marked and utterly claimed. by the time they finally let you rest, you were sure of one thing—your little confession had changed everything.

and neither of them would let you forget it.

[lovieku]

MOTHERFUCKIN’ TRAIN WRECK! ⋆ 정국

when renowned fuckboy jeon jeongguk catches feelings, he loses his mind. only when it comes to you, though.

୨ৎ from the grande series

pairing: fuckboy!jk x fem!reader

genre: fwb au

warnings: based on this ask, small smutty moments (cunnilingus, fingering, tiny boob play), angst, fluffi maybe idk, whipped and jelly koo, ft. namjoon!!!, oblivious oc, deep down she feels it too but jk is simply too much of a simp so it doesn’t look like it at first, he’s also so petty and sassy, jokes about ending it if oc doesn’t give him a chance </3, he’s just a little shit, peep the lyrics from boyfriend hehe, oh btw happy ending!!!

word count: 18k

a/n: wowww i’m so sorry for this pile of nonsense, it’s so bad i vomited a little in my mouth. i hate every single thing about it but i didn’t wanna leave you guys starved. i love u sm and thank u for the support, but u’re allowed to leave hate asks for what u’re about to read rn ❤️ also i’m SO SORRY for being unable to write a jungkook who isn’t a simp

🏷️ perm taglist: @ceellliiinee @jaytheatiny @dolligguk @luvismenu @theyloveyams @stillwjk-channie-lixie @bookstoread199 @girlygguk @vieviela @myngiii @angelxkoo @nnybtitts08 @mpbrinkss @https-mei @lyywst @mhdelu @apobangpogirlyyy @khadeeeeej @awrkive

────୨ৎ────

Jeongguk was only supposed to clean you up. That’s what he calls it when his angelic face finds its place between your spread legs, sinful eyes locking with yours, paired with a smirk you can hardly ever survive.

After all, he’s a man of simple devices. Why bother fetching a towel when he can use his own mouth? When he can let his tongue lap at your juices, slurp every last trace, have an excuse to taste you again, and again, and again?

It’s barely even effective as a way to clean you up, of drying the slick mess that sticks to your inner thighs from cumming three times under his merciless doings— you both know that. Then, how does he expect you not to break a fourth when he runs his wet muscle so torturously along your slit, getting ever more soaked?

Jeongguk is not really trying to end the night. He’s drawing it out. He already had you unraveling in phases— first on his fingers, then all over his cupid lips, ending with you convulsating just another time around his thick length.

It was rough, left purplish marks of his harsh hold digging into your sides, a faint trace of a forbidden hickey just under your collarbones, where you can easily hide it.

In all fairness, he couldn’t help it.

It was you who provoked him. You always do, getting under his skin, teasing him about his skills, downgrading them with playful indifference and nothing more than a meh, as Jeongguk rasps in your ear, clearly affected by your session of foreplay when asking, “Does this make you feel good?”

You’ll be sent straight to hell for lying like that, with seemingly no remorse, but you’re unable to resist the dangerous game and the familiar thrill that comes from it. Nothing compares to the dark wave that takes over his hooded eyes, his motions ever more intentional, almost overwhelming.

He moves to prove something to you, to show you there’s no one quite like him, even with all the guys in your phone, on your lips, inside your sheets.

Jeongguk is your fuckbuddy, and your friend on top of the rest. So, when he first laid his lips on yours, the bottom line plumper than his cupid’s bow, it had taken a great amount of alcohol to flow through both of your veins and blur the lines, let instinct take over.

From there, it was like you couldn’t help yourselves; the physical attraction was undeniable, it’s what brought you here in between the mess of his bed. If you ignore the silly crush you had on him during the first year of college, this was perfect.

Your fuckbuddy contract (Jeongguk hates calling you that, he prefers my friend who makes me cum a lot) includes a heavy emphasis on a no-strings-attached relationship, that can be interrupted whenever one of the two feels uncomfortable, and that should not come before your friendship. On top of all, you both are not exclusive. No commitment, no jealousy. You’re perfectly free of meeting other people, fucking other people. Unless you’re going to date one of those, of course. Then, bye-bye friend who makes me cum a lot.

These rules were established almost a year ago, after your hands couldn’t help themselves from roaming hastily all over his body, pulling him impossibly closer. It was the second time you allowed yourself to feel him, following the night when he initiated things under the clouded lights of a club.

You couldn’t help it. You had been thinking of that moment for weeks now, and when you were left alone with him in his dorm room, pulse racing, it’s all your thoughts were reduced to. Kiss him, kiss him, fuck him.

You felt guilty. A friend shouldn’t be thinking of another friend like you were about Jeongguk. Especially after you promised yourself you wouldn’t let your buried crush resurface and ruin what you had built— even if the memory of that infatuation is honestly just laughable now (you would never think of dating him, pft).

But Jeongguk, ever the gentlest when it comes to you, assured you it was okay to feel as you did, because he felt it too. And was dying to touch you again. His words, not yours.

It’s only sexual. A casual, sexual relationship. Two friends who happen to find each other irresistible.

So when he reacts with a flash of competitiveness at the mere suggestion he might not be the best you’ve ever had, it’s… weird, the feeling that overcomes you. You acknowledge it for a split second, as if you’re searching to name that something inside you stirring, but before you can, it seems to make you fall apart immediately, your grip tighter, back arched, moans high-pitched.

He basks in his silent victory, in the factual demonstration that he in fact can’t be compared to all your other guys.

Except, there’s actually no other guys.

Back when this friends-with-benefits arrangement first started, you were occasionally fooling around with an older guy from campus named Mingyu. Jeongguk knew him, given that they’re in the same photography class. He was also aware of your casual fling with him. And yet, Jeongguk still kissed you. Actually, did so much more than just that.

Either way, the line has always been clear: he has no right to question who you spend time with and what you engage in, Jeongguk isn’t a saint either.

You love him, you truly do. With time, he has become one of your closest friends, and you honestly can’t see yourself getting through college without him.

But there’s no denying the fuckboy allegations, the ones that are constantly thrown at him all around campus. He is a fuckboy. It must be his easy charm, flirting as natural as breathing, tripping out his tongue with seemingly not much thought. At some point, the majority of the girls in your campus got to have their moment with Jeongguk, either because of mindless teasing or one night stands, occasionally turning into casual arrangements.

You have accepted it as part of who he is. You know his fuckboy habits haven’t magically changed when you two started fucking. He doesn’t really spend much time talking about it with you, occasionally mentioning his doings every now and then, but you don’t need to know; his friends and the people whispering in hallways and lecture halls fill in the blanks.

That is exactly why you’ve let Jeongguk believe that your sexual life is equally as busy, floods of boys from your inbox to your sheets, as if you aren’t too much of a hopeless romantic to even think of anything that isn’t exclusively monogamous.

But this isn’t the case. Jeongguk isn’t yours, you aren’t his. It’s just about sex, and you’ve accepted that. You don’t want anything more from him. You tell yourself the only reason you’re not seeing anyone else is that the idea of it makes you uneasy. That you’re more than satisfied with Jeongguk being your friend-turned-into-fuckbuddy, and you don’t need other ones.

Jeongguk is more than enough. Oh, he is.

“Fuck, Gguk. You’re gonna make me cum— Ah, shit— again.”

Your head is thrown back in his pillow, legs weakly tightening around his head nestled so close to your core, and it’s clear his goal has completely shifted from getting you clean and neat when the tip of his tongue moves to flicker on your sensitive nub, relentlessly abusing it with casual kissing and sucking.

He opens his mouth to take more of you, his wet muscle tracing your slit and teasing your entrance for— sadly —the shortest second, and the way he hums approvingly against you brings you even closer to the breaking point.

You’re a fragile mess, overstimulated from the previous orgasms but desperate to chase yet another climax, his hands roaming up to find your breast only spurring you further.

Jeongguk knows you by now, and is aware of all the subtle gestures that make you come undone under him. He knows just what to do to push you over the edge, and when to do it exactly.

You’re a sucker for dirty talk and praise, and occasionally, when the ideal situation comes, you love being degraded. It’s a side of you that only ever arises during sex, mind hazed and irrational, the delirious need for release clouding all your usually composed senses.

At first, he teased you for it. Not because he’s not as much of a fan as you are of talking during sex, but because he never pictured you to be the loud type. And you truly are.

Jeongguk pinches your nipples in hopes of you getting the message and lowering your volume, but it only makes you whine higher, your moans surely not going unnoticed by the other students in the dorm.

It can only be worse when he decides to speak against you, his voice a low, almost unintelligible growl, “Pussy’s so fuckin’ good. All mine, fuck. Want to taste your cum once again, c’mon babe. Give it to me.”

And you, always obliging and well-behaved, let go for a fourth time, hips furiously rutting against his face, his words making your surroundings spin, the way his nose would brush your sensitive nub having your eyes roll to the back of your head.

Your gasp is strained when he retreats with one last wet stripe between your puffy lips, sealing the orgasm with a kiss on your clit, and when he finds your face again there’s a cockish grin spreading across his, chin coated with your juices.

He immediately meets your mouth then, sharing your own taste, and you both moan shamelessly at the action.

Jeongguk collapses next to you, his body warm and relaxed, pulling you closer by your waist and almost making you straddle him with the force of his hold. He sighs into your hair, kissing the root of it, “You did amazing for me, pretty girl.”

A pleasant shiver runs down your spine at the praise and the pet name rolling off his tongue with ease. It’s ridiculous.

With your cheek pressed against his chest, you glance up at him through your lashes and a lazy smile threatens to take over your face, but your playful pout is more prominent, almost convincing, “I’m never letting you do that trick on me again. Next time, I’m just going to take a shower like a normal person.”

The laugh he lets out is rich and unguarded, his chest rumbling under your ear, and it makes you pull away with a mock glare, brows knitted together as you swat at his toned stomach, “Don’t laugh. I hated that.”

His dark eyes soften as they dance with amusement, the corners crinkling, and he hums, going along with your blatant lie from the way your lips struggle to contain a grin, “Oh, absolutely. You were screaming in horror, couldn’t stand it.”

“Whatever,” you mutter incoherently, standing up to escape from the inevitable loss. The slick between your thighs reminds you of why you need that shower in the first place, causing you to awkwardly wobble your way to his bathroom.

Jeongguk watches you with a lopsided smirk, stretched out on the bed, his brown hair a messy halo on the pillow, and it completes the concept he goes perfectly with, the one of a devil dressed up as an angel, even more when his voice drips with faux desperation, “Hey, come back. I need my cuddles.”

“You’ll live,” you toss back before pulling the door shut behind you and stepping into the warm embrace of the shower. The hot water stings at first, then soothes you, sliding down your skin.

Jeongguk already knows the outcome of what he’s about to do isn’t going to turn in his favor, but he tries his luck regardless, standing up hastily and limply making his way to his bathroom door.

He only knocks twice, then puts on his best begging voice, talking loud enough to be heard over the shower, “Toots?”

“No!”

A scoff filters through the steamy air, followed by the unmistakable creak of the door handle as he steps inside. He’s relentless, voices his thoughts with the kind of logic only he would find convincing, “C’mon, we’ll save water!”

You stand with your back to him, his body wash traveling down your skin in soap bubbles, the scent filling the air, and you let your shoulders shrug. You don’t turn around. Number one, because you’ll give in. Number two, because you can hear the pout on his lips, and that’s the reason for number one.

You try your best to sound annoyed, “Jeongguk, just leave. You don’t even pay for it.”

“Our poor earth pays for it,” he quips, stepping further into the cramped space, body still bare, and that’s maybe a number three for you, “Because you wanna be so unfair to your best friend and leave him out in the cold.”

“You’re not my best friend.”

His gasp is dramatic, you even hear it echo through the tiny room, and you fight hard to contain the giggle locked inside you, but it escapes in the shape of a snort, which you quickly try to conceal by clearing your throat. You even further go with the lie, “You heard me.”

“Unbelievable. I’m kicking you out the second you’re done here,” he tries his best menacing tone, the threat barely harsh and effective, closing the door behind his back with an exaggerated thump, followed by unintelligible grumbling.

You take your sweet time in his now steamy bathroom. You shampoo twice, deliberately squeezing out a generous amount of his own fancy product in your palm, making sure the squeak of the bottle is heard through the door so he knows you’re helping yourself. His high-quality hair dryer blasts warm air over your damp hair until it’s only mildly wet. And you even rummage around his cabinet, indulging in his collection of expensive skincare creams. These little luxuries are exactly why you never pass a single occasion to shower over at his dorm room.

And the second you’re done in there, he doesn’t kick you out like he threatened. It takes a moment for him to move his attention from his phone to your figure, wrapped around in his fluffy robe, and he doesn’t even try to keep up the menacing act. Still spread on his ruined bed, his furrowed brows relax, and his lips break into a grin. He scans your face, then giggles, “You’ve got a massive pimple on your forehead.”

“Fuck you. I’m taking one of your hoodies.”

“It’s called borrowing,” even in the midst of checking out your freshly-washed naked body, now being stripped from his bathrobe, he’s still committed to the game of banter you two always play.

“It’s not if I’m not giving it back,” you counter, voice muffled by the fabric of one of his many black sweatshirts you’re already pulling over your head, quickly shuffling into your jeans, helping them up with some small hops that make him grin.

He doesn’t seem bothered by your comeback, too used to losing his own clothes to your closet; rather, he watches you move with what seems like hurry around his dimly lit room. He shifts higher, letting the sheets slip to reveal his still bare, and slightly sweaty torso, “Wanna hang out together at the party tomorrow?”

”Hmm, I’ll just see you there,” you don’t pay him much attention, using your phone camera as a mirror to wipe away any smudged mascara under your eyes. “I’ve already got a partner, actually.”

Jeongguk fully sits up now, vision a little blurry from the hasty and sudden movement, phone forgotten, “A partner?”

The way you casually let a smile tug at your lips while talking about a man is new, “Yeah. A guy from my English class asked me to go with him. He’s pretty cute.”

You’re too busy shoving your belongings in your bag and mentally cataloging every single item to notice the expression your best friend is currently sporting, his jaw tightening almost imperceptibly. Tank top, makeup, laptop… where the fuck is— oh, here. Lip balm. What else?

Jeongguk thinks you’re forgetting something deathly important. A fucking explanation, maybe? He’s known you to occasionally fool around with random guys, but he thought it was just that. Occasional and random. When did it get to having a partner? That sounds silly. Or maybe a little too formal, a little too real. What the fuck does having a partner even entail?

You’re blissfully unaware of the stubborn storm taking over Jeongguk’s thoughts, especially because you’re not exactly sparing him a second glance, moving with single-minded focus, hurrying to leave. Because apparently it’s so bad to want to spend the night with your best friend. Share a bed, watch a movie, talk gossip (it’s been so long since you’ve updated him the way only you can about the latest campus stories, ugh). Amazing, yes, that’s totally fine with Jeongguk.

And he does manage to sound unbothered, “What’s his name?”

“Namjoon.”

Jeongguk focuses on your slim fingers slipping your lip balm into the front pocket of your bag, syllabes leaving his lips in a slow mumble, “Ah, Namjoon. I know him. I guess.”

Fucking Kim Namjoon. Of course he knows him. 6 feet tall, polite, model student Kim Namjoon. Shit. Great choice. No, really, he’s the perfect catch.

“Hm? Well, I think he’s very nice. And hot as fuck.”

He grimaces, “Gross.”

“You’re one to talk,” pulling the hood over your head, you finally meet his eyes. You’re completely oblivious to the thoughts gnawing at him, so you think his disappointment is only caused by your next words, “I should get going now.”

“What? You’re not staying over for dinner?” The way he looks up at you with doe, puppy-dog eyes almost makes you trip on your own resolution, but you only ruffle his hair from your stance next to his bed, hoping the small action is enough to satisfy your hunger. Not for dinner.

“Nah, sorry Gguk. Gotta get up early for English class.”

He scoffs, moving stubbornly from your soothing touch, “Sure. English class with Joohyuk.”

“…Namjoon.”

“Right, that’s what I said. Namsun.”

You raise an eyebrow, half-laughing, “No, it’s Namjoon.”

“Namgi.”

“Namjoon.”

“Whatever, don’t care.” The words have barely any space to roll out through his pout, and along with his petty little slip-ups it’s the most childish act you’ve seen him pull so far. To be completely honest, he seems to break a new record every other day.

You fight the urge to roll your gaze at the ceiling, finding it impossible to deal with pouty, hungry and cuddle-starved Jeongguk. You sigh, muttering, “Insufferable.”

“Give me a kiss, brat.”

The teasing comes so naturally that for a second you don’t ponder on the demand being something a normal friend wouldn’t exactly ask. But it isn’t one you’ll deny.

You bend down to meet him as easily as he let the request out, muttering a playful Oh, I’m the brat now? before brushing his pushed lips with yours in a sweet, short kiss, enough to draw a soft sigh from both of you. You hum against it, voice warm with something that contradicts your words entirely, “I hate you.”

“You love me.”

“Sure,” rolling your eyes, you grant his cocky figure that little win, too tired to put up a fight, even if you almost rethink it when he confidently leans back against the pillows, smirking up at you. You decide to cut it short, it’s for the best, throwing your bag over your shoulder as well as one last look at him, before readying yourself for the walk of shame through his frat.

────୨ৎ────

Namjoon is, by all standards, the perfect guy. He’s genuine, smiles sweetly with his dimples showing and his eyes crinkling into crescents that make him seem both wise and youthful.

Careful, even protective over you, making sure you’re comfortable. With your drink, with your seat, with your conversation.

Almost too attentive, which should calm your nerves, but instead you feel yourself unable to fully let go. Open up to him like he’s doing with you, like you think you want to do.

You’re not sure. You can’t feel that mysterious spark everybody talks about. That spark Jeongguk admitted he’s never felt with anyone so far, no matter the number of girls he’s been with. The one he’s confessed he’s desperate to feel. The one you hope he can find.

Wait, why are you thinking about Jeongguk?

Said boy has yet to acknowledge you, standing across from you in the crowded living room of your mutual friend’s house. Each weekend, the same ritual brings you back here, whenever Taehyung’s parents head off for one of their rich-people, luxurious trips. The space is familiar, a backdrop to countless parties, all too often ending in someone’s drunken confessions and stolen kisses that’d become the talk of campus until the next party came around.

As tradition would want, with the clock ticking its way past midnight, you’d be drunk out of your mind already. Tonight, however, you’re not even sure you want to be here.

Namjoon is keeping close tabs on your drinks, monitoring each glass you reach for, and you know he means well; ordinarily, you’d find it sweet, endearing even. But it only seems to heighten your anxiety now. It just reminds you of how out of place this whole thing feels. You want to drown your awkwardness in a wave of liquid courage, and the irony isn’t lost on you: the very reason why you’re nervous is keeping you from numbing it.

Namjoon makes you way too aware of yourself. You wish your first proper hang out wasn’t at a filthy frat party, the blasting music causing you both to lean into each other to make conversation. The proximity makes your palms disgustingly clammy, and you hope he doesn’t reach for your hand.

You also think this isn’t the type of scenario that best suits Namjoon. You would have loved to be with him somewhere softer, with less noise and more light, talking over coffee instead of loud techno, his poetic speech lulling you into infatuation. Maybe then, this would have gone like you had imagined it might. Like you wanted it to go, just to prove something to yourself. You’re still not sure what exactly.

But this house — this party — is a natural habitat for people like Jeongguk. It’s a playground he navigates with ease, his charisma amplified by the darkened rooms and faint cigarette smoke that seems to follow him, just like everyone around him. They exist solely to orbit his mood.

It’s as he saunters back inside after yet another smoke break that you spot him again, his focus entirely on whatever girl is currently at his side. With Namjoon leaving to grab a drink for the two of you to share, you take the short moment to be a shameless creep and study your friend’s movements from the other side of the room.

You can’t help but feel a sting of irritation. Jeongguk is fully aware you’re here. You’d texted him earlier, just something casual to say you’d arrived, maybe even expecting him to meet you or give you a quick wave. Instead, there’d been no reply.

Just like the TikToks you’d sent last night, after you told him you wouldn’t be staying over at his, that also went ignored. You didn’t think too much of it, figured it was probably one of his petty acts. You aren’t any better: it’s not like you’ll go up to him to say hi, not after he ignored you. Those videos were funny, too. He’s the one missing out.

But now, your eyes squinted to try and get the best possible view on each detail of the scene in front of you, what you notice is nothing about him and everything about who he’s currently spending the time he could have used to acknowledge you with.

It’s not just whatever girl. It’s Haeun.

You haven’t seen them hanging out together in what feels like months, and frankly, you’re thrown. Maybe that’s also the reason why he suddenly had no time for you. You scoff.

You’re just confused, really. Jeongguk didn’t mention a thing about her, and it’s not like he’s ever kept his hookups or flings a secret. But Haeun was never just that. She was the one he seemed almost ready to get in his first serious relationship with, the one girl you thought could make him forget all about his usual habits.

When Jeongguk had first started hanging out with Haeun, he’d seemed uncharacteristically interested. You naturally found yourself rooting for him, hoping he’d take a leap and start something real after many failed attempts.

At that point, your casual arrangement with him had been going on for a while, but you knew it wasn’t built to last. You’d expected it to end sooner rather than later, and you were okay with that. You just wanted him to be happy with himself and his choices.

But on the night he was supposed to take Haeun out on a date, the one that could have changed everything, it’s like a magic vacuum turned on and sucked all his progress away. He’d shown up in front of your door instead. No explanations, no details about what had happened; he didn’t want to talk. He only wanted to be near you and sink into silence.

That night you laid next to him, his head on you, hair sprawled out on your stomach, and said absolutely nothing.

Since then, he hadn’t mentioned Haeun at all, and you’d assumed it was over. The right side of your brain was irrationally glad for that, greedily geeking at the prospect of still getting to keep Jeongguk close in ways that go over a simple friendship. In ways that have you thanking God for not taking your friend’s sex skills away from you; in ways that have your nose scrunching whenever he leaves small, delicate pecks on the side of your neck as you watch a movie cuddled in his embrace. If he had decided to go on that date, you would be denied all of this luxury.

The left side of your brain is a little less greedy, a little more rational. The half of your mind responsible for keeping some logic instilled in you even thought it could have been a good thing for Jeongguk to experience a different side of relationships.

You’ve always sensed there to be deeper reasons beneath Jeongguk’s carefree front. You’ve watched him jump from girl to girl, dip in and out of flings with seemingly no thought, as if he’s not trying to bury issues he should find a different answer for, to avoid whatever insecurities he’s run too far away from to face.

He’s never had to spell it out for you. You never pressed him on the topic either. And you think he’s grateful for it, for your silence that offers him the stability he won’t admit he needs, for simply staying and understanding. For allowing him to be vulnerable.

You wish you could give him more than that quiet comfort. Wonder if you should try your luck and push him to see that he does deserve something real— more than the distractions he uses to keep his fears at bay.

Jeongguk would make an incredible boyfriend. He always spots the small details, the slight changes in your mood, and he picks them up before you can even notice yourself, caring in a silent way that doesn't go unnoticed. Not by you.

It’s easy to imagine him being the kind of partner who’d cater to his girl’s needs effortlessly, even in quiet, even if hidden. You know he could be that person if he could just let anyone in beyond sex. When he’ll find the one, it’ll be clear it’s all he was made for.

Right now though, if anyone were to ask you that, you’d advise them to just go and look for another one, because he’s a little, lying piece of shit. You’re just a tad bit upset about it, if your crossed arms and furrowed brows are anything to go by.

You don’t understand why he’s now there, standing next to the girl he himself stood up, the one he looked ready to fix everything for, and then wasn’t. Leaning in close as if nothing had ever happened.

Why couldn’t he tell you, at least give you a heads-up if he was reconnecting with her? You know it shouldn’t bother you as much as it does, but the fact that he’s hiding it stings. Are you overthinking this?

When he lifts his head from her ear and scans the room, his eyes landing right on yours for a brief second just to look away, you don’t think you are. His attention shifts back to Haeun as if he hadn’t seen you at all. What the fuck?

You question what’s the point of having eyes to see when you are now forced to witness Jeongguk leaving the room with Haeun hanging her draggy weight on his arm, his smile cockish as he helps her up by her waist, fingers digging dangerously close to the curve of her perfectly shaped peach.

Their chemistry is undeniable, hands finding skin with unpracticed ease. It must be the way Jeongguk can effortlessly work his charm with any girl he deems attractive enough to fuck, his smirk and the way he lets his nose scrunch almost timidly, as if you can’t see right through him, making women potty in his sculpted hands.

The prospect of your best friend getting laid by the girl he was almost ready to change it all for should make you happy. Smile, at least.

Instead, you frown, mindlessly taking long sips from the straw in your glass and letting it stir your too watered-down cocktail that lacks any real flavor. You don’t even try to find answers as to how another drink landed right on the counter you rest your back on, but you’re glad for it.

You’re more upset at the fact that he decided not to tell you anything. You would have helped him through it, supported him, advised him on what to do, how to move in such a situation. But even if he didn’t need any of this, you would have appreciated just knowing. From him.

The ways in which the two of you are intertwined right at this moment don’t exactly allow him to completely leave you unaware of his actions. It’s not fair.

But then, are you even supposed to feel like this in the first place? Is only sex supposed to have this impact on you? Is even the smallest cell in his brain producing a thought that might take him back to you, and could it compare to a third of what you think and feel?

Does he not get that tingly sensation with you, ‘cause he’s used to it? ‘Cause you’re nothing too different nor special from all the choice he has laid at his feet, nothing out of the usual routine?

A gentle hand on your arm jolts you out of your thoughts. The touch is delicate, but the way it pulls you from your spiral is rough, making you stumble on the already wobbly stool you’re sitting on. When you look to your side, Namjoon meets you with a warm smile.

You hadn’t even noticed him being back next to you, and you figure that’s probably how that drink found its way in your hands. You’re a deer caught in headlights as you look at him, then down at the almost empty glass, then back at the boy. Your eyes widen impossibly more, and you struggle with finding a louder volume to your voice, almost fading with the music, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to finish this all by myself.”

You remember him saying he’d get a drink for the two of you to share before leaving you with your haunting thoughts. He just laughs in a way that should soothe your nerves, but it doesn’t, “It’s okay. You look like you needed it. I’m getting another one for me and catching up with some of my friends over there. I’ll be back in a bit, alright?”

“Yeah, totally. No problem,” your words roll out your tongue in a slurred hurry, face already turning to the opposite side of the room, and you’re not even sure what you’re agreeing on. You just feel Namjoon slip away from the seat next to yours again.

The brief interaction was enough for Jeongguk to have time to completely disappear from your strict observing, and just like the boy who should have had your undivided attention tonight, he equally slips away. From your vision, from the party. And from you. He’s with Haeun now, after all. And you’re alone.

Being truthful, Jeongguk is once again slipping away from his problems only. He doesn’t know how he ended up with Haeun by his side, but when he found your big, confused eyes in the midst of what should have been his escape for the night, he thinks he could name a few reasons.

It’s suffocating, the grip you have on him. He can almost feel one of your slim, delicate hands around his throat. He’s a dirty little sadist, of course he enjoys the pain. But he shouldn’t, so he runs from it until his back hits the wall, and the hold only gets tighter.

There’s nothing to do but face the truth. And you’re in front of him, eyes lost and inviting him to tell you. What should be easy for him to say, what he owes you. But the words get stuck in his throat, right where you’re pressing, and he feels like he might stop breathing.

He could die like this, with your narrowed orbs pitying him, and he badly wishes you would call him a coward. The hold is just enough to hurt him, not to make him lose his senses; if anything, it only makes his head spin around the one thought he wants to avoid. You.

With the quickest distraction he could get his hands on, he keeps adding to it: Haeun clinging to his side, he steps out the packed room to light the nth cigarette, the smoke clouding his vision and making the image of you fade from behind his eyelids. You release your hand from him and disappear. He almost whines. He misses you already. But the faint ache is a reminder.

Instead, in front of him is the only girl he should have truly avoided. Haeun is another reminder. Not because she looks similar to you, you’re way prettier. You’re beautiful.

No, it’s just because he remembers Haeun being his first victim, using her to bury something stronger growing inside him. But it didn’t work then, and it doesn’t work now.

She’s the only girl he tried his luck with to avoid his now unavoidable feelings for you. Then, he physically couldn’t touch another woman beside you. So he started flirting with more cigarettes and alcohol. Maybe some joints then and there.

Jeongguk would love to know why he prefers destroying himself rather than just be the confident man he lets everyone else think he is, go up to you and be honest, like you make it so easy for him to be. The fact that it almost slipped out of him more than a couple times scares him.

It shouldn’t. He wants to fall into that soothing caress, but could he even handle the possibility of you simply, and rightfully if you deemed it the correct choice, rejecting him?

The answer is no. He can’t afford losing your touch on him, your lashes fluttering when you look up at him, your fingers tracing secret maps on his back. He wonders if you’re outlining the safest ways for him to escape from the maze he himself created, of which he forgot the exit to.

With Haeun pressing herself to his side, he thinks he’d rather stay trapped there at this point. A maze built by lies, letting you believe he’s fucking other girls on the side when he feels sickened just by the thought of it, his hand now coming up to push the girl back to a safe distance. Built by insecurities, preferring having you think that you’re simply one of the many he has when he firmly believes you’re the only one that the universe has especially assigned him to.

It’s making him lose his mind, while you live unaware, free from the truth. He’s sure in the stretch that went from yesterday, when you told him about your fucking partner, and tonight, seeing you so close to said partner’s face, your dress custom-made by the hands of every angel populating heaven, Jeongguk developed some kind of clinical illness. The flame of jealousy in his toned tummy has eaten him whole.

And he feels slightly ashamed of himself knowing this is how he found himself circling back to his first poor attempt at running away from you, in the form of a short girl, her eyes now questioning him just like yours had done earlier. Haeun furrows her brows, “Are you seriously doing this again?”

Jeongguk sighs, glancing away to take a long drag from his cigarette that fills his lungs and almost aches. He avoids the eye contact that would be needed for a conversation like the one he’s forced to have — one that wouldn’t have occured in the first place if he could just be a normal person — instead he looks back to the room through the glass doors, “I’m sorry, Hae. I— I can’t do this—“

“Yo, Gguk. You need to come with me now. ___ is throwing up in the bathroom.”

It’s Taehyung sliding the glass door open with more force than what he usually puts, and right now nobody would tell he’s the same one always advising his friends to be delicate with it. The look on his face is panicked and it quickly reflects in Jeongguk’s eyes, flickering between his friend and Haeun.

Next, his reflexes are quicker. He steps inside the house, skipping past Taehyung and the flood of college students dancing their Friday away to Usher and seemingly not caring about the urgency written all over his expression.

He makes it to the bathroom where people have started to crowd around as if lining up to an unmissable show, and he doesn’t care if his pushes are too rough as he makes his way through.

You’re quite literally hugging the toilet, your face one with the lid as a few girls try and help you with your hair. The moment they see Jeongguk, it’s like they know he’s the one that you need, that he’s finally here and you’re in good hands. He shoots them a quick nod as they step aside and then, he’s immediately crouching next to you, gently gathering your long locks into his fist.

He moves some stray strands behind your ears while you keep letting it all out, and as much as his broad back is enough to hide you from watchful eyes, he can still hear murmurs from onlookers.

It’s as Jeongguk is debating whether he should cuss them out or keep his attention on you that Taehyung comes to promptly clear the crowd, closing the bathroom door behind him only after making sure his friend doesn’t need any more help.

Jeongguk appreciates the gesture, knowing how overwhelmed you can get in these scenarios with too many people around. Although, no matter how calm he appears for your sake, his heart races even as you seem to settle and sit on the tiled floor, your back resting against the cool wall.

You gulp down a few times, squeezing your eyes to try and ground yourself, the way you can feel Jeongguk’s hand hold the side of your leg, his thumb delicately brushing the inside of your thigh, definitely helping.

“Toots,” he whispers, face close to your own, “Hey, doll. You’re okay now, hm? What happened?” His voice is low, slow, almost scared of flowing past his lips.

When you open your eyes he’s directly in front of you, squatting down to stay on your level, and his brows are drawn high in worry.

You sniff, your voice still rough from the scratching on your throat, “Fucking— Jimin. I met him in the kitchen and we mixed too much shit together—“

“Weren’t you with Kim Namjoon?” Jeongguk interrupts you, both his tone and the way his eyebrows now dip inquisitive.

You shrug, looking down at your fingers fidgeting, “Dunno. Why the fuck am I still not sober,” the way you tone the question doesn’t make it sound like one, and you end up giggling at yourself, hiccuping in the process.

Jeongguk sighs, unconsciously tightening his hold around your leg, his fingers digging and making you whimper subtly. He notices, soothing the skin only to take both his hands to scoop you up by your armpits, lifting both your bodies on your feet.

You yelp, throwing your weight on him with another one of your senseless chuckles, looking up at his bothered face through your lashes. He straightens your posture with wide palms on your waist, throwing one of your arms around his shoulders and causing you to step out of the small room on your tiptoes. He grumbles, “I’m taking you back to the dorm now. And we’ll talk about this tomorrow.”

“Talk about what?”

“Namjoon.”

You stay quiet as the both of you, your body snug against his, walk through the party and out the house to reach Jeongguk’s car. Your thoughts are sluggish, failing to grasp why he’d even want to talk about Namjoon. Isn’t he just a nice guy? You’re more concerned with Jeongguk’s seemingly irked tone and the distressed way his tongue pokes the inside of his cheek.

A soft, involuntary whine escapes you when you think you might be the reason for that, shuffling yourself closer into his warmth, but the contact is brief as he gently settles you into the passenger seat and clicks the belt, then he closes your door and circles the car to the driver’s side.

Awkward. The only sound that can be heard is the soft hum of the engine, beside the fuzzy buzz in your ears. You feel laughter bubbling up in your chest but you hold it there, turning to study Jeongguk’s side profile. Inhaling, you start, “Can you— can I put on—”

“No.”

Your smile falters, “What? C’mon, give me the aux.”

“The last thing I want right now is to listen to those songs.”

Any previous tipsy instinct that made you want to laugh at the situation fade with his words and the way his grip on the steering wheel says more than what he’s letting on. You’re hazy, but his clenched jaw and laser focus on the road make you sit up straighter, adjusting your slouched posture and the skirt of your dress with it, pulling it further down your thighs.

The tension coming off him feels so heavy that it leads to irrational, childish tears pricking your eyes, and you sound defeated when you whisper, “Are you mad at me?”

He brakes a little too hard at the red light, and you both lurch slightly forward. Jeongguk seems to realize just now that he’s unfairly taking his anger out on you, and the way you let out the question in the smallest voice makes his heart speed up, turning to you with apprehension, “No, toots. No, why would I be? I’m mad at that fucker.”

“He was just talking with some of his—”

“He left you alone. He was supposed to take care of you. Not let you get fucking wasted.”

Jeongguk sounds final, his tone allowing no more condoning nor excuses for the tall guy now left behind you, back at the party. But you don’t seem to focus too much on the meaning of his words, rather you bask in the consequences of them. He’s not upset with you!

That spurs you to contradict him further, this time on the accusation he threw at you, but it’s less than credible when you say it through a sheepish smile that unconsciously made its way on your lips at the protective edge to his tone, “I’m not fucking wasted.”

Jeongguk only sighs, but you can see him visibly relax, shoulders going down and leaning against the back of his seat, right hand coming to pat your bare knee with a small smile on his pierced lips.

You share a look that fully sobers you up only to get you high all over again off his doe eyes, the artificial lights dotting a universe of their own in those orbs, undiscovered galaxies and planets inviting you to move there, even with no water, no oxygen, no way of surviving.

When the soft hue of the red light reflecting on the side of your face morphs to green, he moves his attention back on the road, taking his hand with it to shift gears. Then, he concedes, “Put on the playlist.”

You blink, a little taken aback by his sudden shift in mood, but just as quickly you recover. Your brain seems to be able to focus on one thing at a time either way, so you don’t ponder on your insides collectively moving at the way he looked at you and instead reach for the aux cord, fingers tapping on your phone screen absentmindedly, with a conscience of their own.

Music interrupts the quiet, and you can’t help but join, “The night we met I knew I, needed you so. And if I had the chance I’d, never let you go. Sing with me!”

Jeongguk breaks into a grin, no matter how much he fights it, “You’re so fucking wasted.”

“So won’t you say you love me? I’ll make you so proud of me. We’ll make ‘em turn their heads every place we go, so won’t you please,” Be My Baby by The Ronettes fills the previous silent tension, which you seemingly already forgot everything about, using Jeongguk’s free hand as your own personal microphone, folding it in a fist between your palms.

Jeongguk would never say it out loud, especially now, after he only pretended he had to be begged to put it on, that he’s actually grown attached to this playlist. Started as a little mishap and turned into something that got under his skin, much like you have.

Its creation came about from a comically embarrassing moment that gave you ammunition to tease him for weeks. Although, he’s glad for it when he reflects deep enough: the whole episode helped shape the bond between you two, adding to its foundation.

He still doesn’t know how you managed to slip so sneakily into his dorm that evening, but what’s sure is that he wasn’t expecting you, taking the time of his life in his bathroom, fresh out of the shower. Simply following his usual routine, one that you wouldn’t have exactly considered usual since you only ever knew him as an avid Drake listener, he hummed along to Elvis Presley’s Can’t Help Falling in Love flowing softly from his phone speaker.

It wasn’t just that, of course, because then he started styling his wet hair in an exaggerated pompadour and fully got into character, strutting dramatic poses in front of the mirror and even practicing Elvis’s iconic curl of the lip. If his soul was by any chance watching over the scene, you’d hoped he’d agree with you that Jeongguk was truly giving Austin Butler a run for his money.

The private show sadly ended when he caught sight of you in the foggy glass, your lips sealed shut to try and hold your delighted laughter, but it got ripped out of you in the form of an obnoxious snort the moment his eyes went wide in horror and his face crimson in shame.

It was hell for a few weeks after that. You didn’t let him off so easily, teasing him for being a secret softie with a love for old-school romance under all the layers of his tough fuckboy image that only ever seemed to handle trappy beats.

When you jokingly suggested he might as well get fully into the act and start calling you toots or something, he didn’t back down from the tease, scoffing at you with narrowed eyes. Somewhere along the way, the dry, sardonic tone with which he first used that pet name on you stuck, and it became less of a joke, more of an endearing way to refer to you, and only you.

Before either of you could second-guess it, the playlist was born. You two crafted it together in fits of laughter and late-night texts, with Jeongguk suggesting songs from his secret stash and you contributing the ones you grew up on.

It quickly became the soundtrack to many of your aimless car rides, something that neither of you acknowledged outright but silently cherished. Sometimes, you’d get so carried away and slip into the roles of a ‘60s couple, playfully reciting cheesy lines back and forth.

No matter how much Jeongguk pretends he hates it to save what’s left of his bad boy reputation, he really doesn’t. Not even a little bit. Even the way he rolls his eyes and groans isn’t enough to hide the spark in his eyes when you sing along.

He feels worse than a pubescent teenager when he lets his guard slip to hear you hum words he can only imagine are just for him, meant in the way he wants. You swing side by side and smile up at him with dimples digging long slits into your cheeks, and he has to act as if it makes him feel completely normal and not like he’s going to crash his car any second.

Each lyric that spills from your mouth feels like it’s tying him down, even with your sweet voice a little unsteady, thanks to whatever is still left from the night’s drinks. You’re so not aware of what it does to him.

Your eyes are on the road, but Jeongguk’s linger on you, his fingers unconsciously tapping the steering wheel to the tune.

“I’d save every day like a treasure, and then, again, I would spend them with you.”

Jeongguk purposefully veers off onto streets he doesn’t need to take, buying himself a few extra minutes with you, but you don’t notice and he pretends to not know either. Would never admit it’s because he wants to hear you sing a little more, and that this ongoing joke between the two of you might be his favorite thing in the whole world.

“But there never seems to be enough time to do the things you want to do once you find them. Hold on, this one’s a little lower. I’ll find my note, wait,” you’re mostly talking to yourself, cheek pressed to the cool glass of the window, but you glance at Jeongguk as if seeking for approval, clearing your throat, “I’ve looked around enough to know that you’re the one I want to go through time with.”

Just as Time in a Bottle by Jim Croce fades out, Jeongguk pulls into the campus parking lot, turning the engine off and cutting the music with it. None of you move right away, accepting the stillness in the car.

You don’t accept the silence, though, letting your mind speak a thought that has been nagging at you, “Can you fuck me here? Right now?”

The way you voice the request would make anybody who didn’t understand English think you’d just asked for something as mundane as a glass of water, your eyes unfaltering, a small smile on your waiting lips, voice barely slicing through the quiet. It’s almost as if you don’t know it’s the kind of thing that could derail Jeongguk’s entire thought process.

Jeongguk lightly chokes on his own breath, giving a few coughs before turning to you, his tattooed hand messing his hair further, “Jesus Christ, ___. You know I can’t.”

You tilt your head, considering him, as if this is a serious debate rather than drunken rambling, “Why not?”

Jeongguk can only sigh. He takes in your disheveled state and notices the way your exposed skin prickles with the cold, reaching for the leather jacket he carelessly threw on the backseats before heading to the party, having had no idea you’d be the one wearing it by the end of the night.

He wraps it gently around your shoulders, moving sticky, stray strands of hair from your face, “You’re so drunk. Look at you.”

“I told you I’m not,” you protest weakly, but your confidence falters when his fingers ghost over your face.

“There’s vomit in your hair,” he shuts you bluntly, tone softer than the honest words.

“Oh,” your stubbornness doesn’t work this time, and you’re mortified as you glance down at your lap, where his fingers fall to mindlessly play with the zip of his bomber jacket, brushing your tummy in the process. Your voice doesn’t sound so sure now, especially when each subtle graze sends small shocks through you, “That’s disgusting.”

The soft chuckle he lets out has you stealing a look upward, and when you catch his expression your slowed down brain can only come to the conclusion that maybe he doesn’t find you all that disgusting: he sports a rare, wide curve of his bunny smile, eyes crinkling when that same fondness finds its way onto your lips. You can’t help what they do next, a mind of their own as you rest them on his own mouth, the tip of his nose tickling your cheek.

It’s the faintest of kisses, and it’s delicate, fleeting, over far too soon, but you’re the one to pull back first no matter how much longer you need it to be, “That was probably disgusting too.”

As you rest your back on the seat again, his eyes are still closed, and they flutter open as slowly as a smile stretches on his mouth when he meets you. You’re giving him a look he doesn’t deserve, one he shouldn’t lean into.

His voice is a whisper, and it fans over your face, still close to his, “Not at all.”

Gleaming eyes scan every angle of you, as if trying to find anything that’ll hold him back from what he really wants to do. But, of course, his need only grows when he lets his gaze wander down, then up again.

He glances to the side with a gulp, moving his body back to reach for the car door handle, “You think you can walk or should I carry you?”

“Carry me, please,” you mumble, not even pondering on the first option, and the moment the sound leaves your lips he’s out and reaching for your side, opening your door and scooping you up like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

The walk to his dorm is a blur, with you dozing off in his warmth and being lulled by the hums escaping him and reverberating through his chest, melodies of the earlier songs playing against your ear.

You regain awareness when a splash of warm water cascades over your now naked body, the sensation startling enough to make your lashes flutter against your damp cheeks. The water runs over your face, washing away the remnants of the night, the drowsy yet oddly light sensation taking over you causing a giggle to echo against the walls.

You’re still too disoriented to process the tenderness with which Jeongguk’s hand moves, brushing through your soaked strands of hair and moving them from where they flattened on your face, combing through the sticky locks.

With half-open eyes, you’re met with the sight of him in front of you, standing close enough without needing to step into the small space with you, his brows furrowed as he works the shampoo through your hair. It’s a soothing, slow motion, the one he massages your scalp with, and it only melts you further into sweet slumber.

If it weren’t for one of his hands resting tightly on your hip, grounding you as the scent of the shampoo mingles with the steam curling around you, you would have gladly swayed into his palm, letting your weak body fall into his strong one.

You sniff, leaning into his care, voice small and oddly sincere, “I’m sorry for,” hiccup, “taking you away from Haeun. You two seem close again.”

Jeongguk stills for a moment, his fingers pausing in your hair before resuming their soft motions. He pretends he didn’t hear, and you pretend you never talked in the first place when he guides you to steady yourself as your knees wobble, “Hey, stand still. You’ll get shampoo in your eyes. Close them.”

You obey, letting your eyelids drop shut as you feel his hand gently tilt your head under the spray, his touch as tender as the words he isn’t saying.

If you weren’t a victim of both sleepiness and alcohol at this very moment, your thoughts would be racing each other like eager contenders in the Overthinker Marathon, each one fighting tooth and nail for the gold medal. They’d be dissecting every little detail of the night— the way Jeongguk had ignored you, his lingering hand on Haeun’s waist, only to be there the second you needed him, the girl from earlier not even worth mentioning.

Instead, your every thinking cell has taken a rare vacation, lounging together on an imaginary green field, clinking glasses filled with leftover cocktails from earlier, lazily watching clouds drift by.

Although there’s one cell in particular, too tipsy to sit still. It hops around gleefully, urging your lips to move before the Thinking Cell General can intervene. The way it jumps up and down, up and down, makes you giggle as you blurt out, “I don’t know if it’s the water, but I’m very wet.”

The silence that follows is thick, punctuated only by the sound of water cascading down your back. Jeongguk freezes as if the words have physically reached out and yanked him into stunned stillness. He can only let his throat bob in a visible swallow and look away, warning you in a strained mutter, “___. This is your last warning. Stop teasing me.”

You whine, pathetically wiggling your weak and pliant body in his hold to seek for some kind of reaction, but he doesn’t budge. He’s uncharacteristically focused on his tasks, ensuring every trace of shampoo rinses from your hair, rather than your hardened nipples bouncing with your stubborn movements.

But you recognise the way his jaw clenches so tight it must hurt, how he refuses to let his gaze wander lower where the steam of water outlines your form. His restraint is razor-thin, yet he holds it tightly, breathing only slightly uneven.

You’re not deterred by his warning; you never are. It’s the tiny tracks in his resolve that keep you pressing forward, voice laced with a vulnerability that makes his hand twitch against your scalp, “Just… I just need your fingers. Please.”

Jeongguk exhales sharply through his nose, but he doesn’t answer. Instead, he angles the spray to wash the last suds away, hyper-focused on the practical task as though it’s a lifeline to his dwindling self-control.

But you’re persistent. You reach behind you, fingers messily finding the knob to twist the water off, and with the spray halting you’re left only with the hum of the bathroom fan and the faint drip of water.

Your other hand finds his, guiding his wide palm to rest on your lower stomach, just above where your want is written in every inch of your body. You whisper, plead clear in your tone, ”You know I want this. Won’t ever regret it. I’m conscious enough to be sure of that.”

Jeongguk huffs, his chest rising and falling as he stares down at you, fingers flexing slightly against your skin. He closes his eyes for a moment, inhaling deeply as if accepting defeat. He can’t win this battle.

The brown-haired boy steps into the shower, the small space shrinking even further with the addition of his broader frame, forcing you to back up against the wall. Fully dressed, water clings to his fabric, and the contrast of his damp clothes against your bare, exposed skin makes you irrationally wetter.

Jeongguk keeps silent, and at this point you don’t care how desperate you look, pushing yourself against him and getting his clothes wetter in the process. It pushes him to initiate a torturous path along your skin, using his middle finger to trace a journey from your chest, savoring the way your breath hitches, down to your warm core.

The droplets of water he collects on the way are used to spread your puffy lips and press right on your sensitive nub, making you gasp. You’re a trembling mess from the simple motion, and he has to use his free hand to steady you against the wall.

Your breasts aren’t left without being taken care of, because the moment he begins circling motions on your clit that have you seeing stars, he lowers his head to envelop one of your tits in his ravenous mouth, teeth teasing it punitively, all while looking up at you with sliced, sinful eyes.

He’s greedy, and you can’t believe he managed to hide it so well until now. But his resolve crumbles the more he revels in the way you fall apart for him, and he loses control on your chest. The sensation is sharp, delicious, and the contrast between the harshness of his bite and the softness of his tongue has you whimpering.

You’re ashamedly aware of how close you already are, his digits picking a fast speed that urges you to let go and coat him in your juices. He knows, simply from the way you let your mouth fall agape and release loud moans in the steamy air, pushing your nipples further in his swollen lips.

When he inserts one finger in your warm hole, you jolt in his secure hold, eyebrows shot upwards in the shock of your sudden orgasm, one that hits you all too harshly. It drags on deliciously, Jeongguk never wanting it to end, the slurping sound of his sucking on your tits making your surrounding spin, along with his thumb accompanying the way his single digits thrusts into you.

He only stops when you unconsciously run from his doings, slim hand wrapping weakly around his wrist, and he retreats with one last wet stripe along the curve of your boob, promptly collecting your taste from his fingers, and he thoroughly hums around them, eyes closed and cheeks hollowed.

You think you could come again from the sight alone. Panting, you smile through your ragged breaths, “Fuck. Thanks.”

Five minutes later, no one would bet you’re the same girl that begged him for his fingers and came in record time around them. Now, you sit serenely on the toilet lid, wrapped up in Jeongguk’s warmest hoodie. The oversized fabric swallows your frame, knees tucked under it as you hug them close to your chest. You look as innocent as ever.

Jeongguk stands in front of you, meticulously brushing through your damp hair with practiced gentleness, each stroke of the comb a soothing lullaby. You rest your chin lazily on your folded arms, eyes closed, the edges of sleep blurring your thoughts.

You let out a contented sigh before murmuring, words unfiltered, “You’d make the perfect boyfriend. You always take care of me. And kiss me when I need it.”

The motions of the brush stop for a fraction of a second before resuming, and what you hear next is Jeongguk’s throat clearing, his voice low and almost shaky, “That sounds so very wrong, toots.”

“What do you mean?” You don’t open your eyes as you ask the question, the warmth of his presence and the excuse of the last traces of alcohol still flowing in your tired body making you bolder than usual.

“You want me to be your boyfriend?”

“In another life, maybe. Yes,” you don’t waste time replying, words carrying a dreamy quality, “I mean, would be cool.”

“Cool?” He chuckles, but it’s the kind that’s half-exasperation and half-something else entirely, voice strained with an edge of desperation too, “God, I don’t even know why I’m still putting up with you.”

You only nuzzle closer into the borrowed hoodie, giving voice to your next thought, your thinking cells now hosting a 60s themed party, “Be my, be my baby. My one and only baby.”

The sound of your singing fades under the whirring roar of the hairdryer, and Jeongguk is quietly thankful for the way it drowns your sweet hums completely, fearing if he hears another one of those tipsy love confessions leaving your lips he might drop to his knees, undone by something he knows he can’t claim.

You rest your head against his stomach, full weight leaning on his standing figure, his long digits pulling through your strands. If you’d look up at your best friend for even one fleeting second, you’d probably laugh at the concentration on his expression, his only goal drying your hair enough to not have you waking up with a headache the following day.

You sniffle and snuggle impossibly closer to him, the heat radiating from his tummy and the white noise lulling you further into drowsiness, every careful motion of his hand coaxing you closer to sleep.

When your phone pings from the bathroom counter, the sudden buzz makes you jolt slightly. You lift your head sluggishly and gesture toward the phone, mouthing up to Jeongguk, “Pass it.”

He hands it to you without turning off the hairdryer, keeping an eye on your sleepy movements. You blink at the bright light for a moment before your expression shifts, eyes widening.

You’re completely jolted awake at the only notification on your home screen: it's Namjoon.

You tap Jeongguk’s stomach with the heel of your hand— softly at first, then with increasing urgency. The repeated motion forces him to stop the device and place it on the counter as he looks down at you, trying to peek at the screen, “What?”

You hiccup and sniff before blurting out, “Namjoon. He texted me”

The boy that was just now carefully drying your hair scoffs, arms crossed over his chest, “What does that asshole want?”

The response to the rhetorical question doesn’t come, either because you decide to ignore it purposefully or unconsciously: you look totally engulfed by the words on your otherwise empty chat with Namjoon, and Jeongguk can’t help but subtly lean his body lower to read the same texts you’re going through.

Kim Namjoon [4:26 a.m.]: Hey. Sorry for texting late, I heard from someone you threw up back at the party. I’m so sorry. I completely lost sight of you in that mess. Are you feeling any better? Very sorry again.

Kim Namjoon [4:27 a.m.]: It’s totally okay if you don’t want to hear from me again. But I wouldn’t forgive myself if I didn’t at least try to make it up to you.

Kim Namjoon [4:27 a.m.]: I’d really like to take you out on a date. Would you let me?

Jeongguk kisses his teeth irkedly, “Why the fuck does he text like Prince William? Fucking English major,” and he truly tried his best to sound unaffected, but the words leave his mouth before he even knows he’s thinking of them.

Luckily, you don’t seem to notice, reading the message aloud like you can’t quite believe it yourself, “He said he’d like to go on a date with me. Like, he asked me on a date. And said he would like it. To go on a date—”

“Yes, we got it.”

“He doesn’t hate me, Gguk!” Once again, his petty comments go unnoticed as your face lights up, eyes crinkling with joy as you practically beam up at him.

Jeongguk wants to be annoyed, but he simply can’t when he’s met with all the stars in the universe right in your glossy, tired eyes. He swallows hard and forces a soft chuckle, “No, he doesn’t, toots. Anyone would be crazy to hate you.”

The grin on your lips only widens, nose scrunching adorably as you let your cheek sheepishly brush against your shoulder, “Oh my god, Gguk. I’m going on a date with him! Heh.”

“That’s nice,” he says, picking up the hairdryer again before your words can settle too heavily in the space between you. “I’m not finished with your hair, though. Stay still.”

The device roars to life once more, its noise filling the room and covering your excited giggles. Jeongguk keeps brushing through your hair with steady motions, his face impassive, but he feels something tighten, heavy and unyielding in his chest.

He tells himself the noise is a blessing, a shield from the silence he wouldn’t know how else to fill—or from the sound of his own voice, betraying him in ways he can’t afford.

────୨ৎ────

“I’ll miss the sex when Namjoon will ask me to be his girlfriend.”

In the quiet of the library, your sudden whisper startles Jeongguk. The chair screeches under him and it gains the both of you a few annoyed looks. He nods in apology at their way, moving closer to the table again, and he has to blink a few times before he can even meet your eyes. The scattered pens all over the white surface looked more interesting either way.

“When he— his— what?” He feels pathetic for being unable to even form a senseful sentence, but there’s no absolute way he blames his brain for that. It’s his heart, stuttering along with the barely intelligible question.

It cracks at the middle the more your grin splits your face in half, nose scrunching adorably, and he may be a horrible friend but he can’t bring himself to return your irony, nor the masked excitement under it.

If he were handed pen and paper and asked to write about how he feels right at this moment, he wouldn’t put down a single thing. Not because there isn’t anything to say. He fears your innocent teasing has done something catastrophic, snapping that one damned string that connected his brain to his heart, and the two aren’t communicating. Jeongguk is in the middle of two angered parents, fighting and on the brink of divorce. That’s what he gets for being a total pussy.

You shrug, frowning slightly when all you’re faced with is his blank expression, eyes unresponsive and detachedly looking elsewhere, but you keep yours on him, studying even the small movements, “I mean, he’s a nice guy. I think he’s serious about getting to know me.”

The word serious causes an involuntary twitch of his head, tilting almost imperceptibly to the side, and he sounds way too defensive, “And are you?”

Furrowing your eyebrows at his unexpected reaction, you return to your previous mindless doodling, keeping your voice low, “Well, he’s cute. Let’s see where this thing goes.”

“What about me?”

The question catches the both of you off guard. Your pencil halts as you glance at him through the corner of your eye, and even if you can’t see him clearly, the way his dark orbs widen is almost comical that you would laugh in any other situation. But now, the air is oddly tense and it makes your nose scrunch in awkwardness.

He breaks it with a chuckle, a subtle tremor in it that luckily goes unnoticed by you but that will probably keep him up at night for the next five years, and he lightly shoves your shoulder in an effort at feigning ease, “You really wanna pass on this dick?”

“God, you’re gross,” the annoyed roll of your eyes has Jeongguk releasing a breath he didn’t realize he was holding; it’s odd, but that’s just who he is.

The second you return to weightless banter, he’s back in his element. He can smirk, tease and deflect— these are tools he’s mastered over the months. But the thought of stripping naked for your eyes to see, and not in the sexual way you two engage in almost every night, terrifies him.

The waters are safe for what seems a fraction of a second before you pull him down in the deep, dark seas again, this dynamic between you foreign. While it is a simple, innocent question, your deceptive tone triggers unfamiliarity within him, “Besides, how’s it going with you and Haeun?”

“Huh? Oh. Haeun, yes,” his attempt at buying himself extra time is laughable, especially when Mr. Brain is now yelling at Ms. Heart for always wanting to get in the way of things he can handle alone, “Wonderfully. We— She— Huh, kissed me.”

Ms. Heart is furious. She has no other choice but to reach in her purse and slap the divorce papers on the dinner table, the glasses clinking against the plates, and Jeongguk flinches. Brain is speechless, clueless on how to react.

You only seem slightly taken aback, eyebrows raising in mild surprise, “Really? That’s nice.”

Jeongguk is equally clueless, subtly squeezing his eyes shut as if hoping to wake up somewhere else entirely, maybe in an ideal world where Kim Namjoon doesn’t exist and Mr. Brain and Ms. Heart are happily married.

Instead, he’s still in the library, and you’re still sitting next to him, scribbling on your English textbook. He frowns, getting pitiably lost in the view of your side profile, “Yeah, nice. Huh, when’s your date?”

When you glance up at him, you seem to be realizing just how odd it is for the two of you to spend this much time talking about your respective hook ups, and you cringe slightly at the unusual formality, wishing Jeongguk would just tease you like he usually does when you tell him about your untruthful and made up sexual adventures.

You purse your lips in thought, “Tomorrow, actually.”

“Oh. He’s going fast.”

“I like that.”

“I know you do.”

No matter the effort you put into trying to hide your amusement, a snort escapes you, and you quickly look away to recover from the childish grin spreading on your lips. You shake your head, closing the book in front of you, “You’re fucking disgusting.”

Jeongguk only smirks in an oddly proud way, nodding at your flustered state when he realizes he successfully managed yet again to shift the conversation from topics he doesn’t want to hear or talk about. He shrugs, “You just said that.”

“And I’ll say it again.”

“Whatever,” a small chuckle follows the dismissal, his hand coming to brush through his fluffy hair, getting too long for his liking, “I really wanted to see you tomorrow.”

Once again, Jeongguk is way too honest, way too easily. Ms. Heart is marching hastily with Mr. Brain walking close behind, trying to make sense of the situation and pushing her to reconsider her actions, but it’s no use: she’s tired, and sick of being walked over, again and again.

He doesn’t like the underlying meaning behind that, and wishes Mr. Brain would grow a pair and just swoon her back into love again. Jeongguk doesn’t like the genuine surprise etched across your face either, or, well, he doesn’t like the effect it has on him: it’s almost unbearable to accept that the blush dusting your cheeks, the one you’re probably unaware of, is caused by his unfiltered honesty. Because sincere bluntness isn’t exactly something he tries to show. Then, why does it spill out of him uncontrollably? Why— why do you look so beautiful like this?

“Hm,” your smile is small, but your dimple betrays it, Jeongguk’s whole resolve cracking with the way you sound dangerously decisive, “Too bad. You’re late.”

Jeongguk shouldn’t overthink this. You’re simply engaging in the usual dynamic, teasing him like always, no reason for his palms to sweat. He shouldn’t panic over the way nothing about what you said feels simple, nor usual, and your tone carries more than what you both want the words to mean.

He doesn’t know if it’s a warning or a test—or worse, the truth. Maybe he’s imagining it. Maybe Brain just misinterpreted the comment, too distracted by its constant squabble with Heart, both of them ignoring Jeongguk, who is still sitting at the cluttered kitchen table with his plate half-full, surrounded by a mess of inky emotions he doesn’t have the courage to clean up.

The sound of forks clinking against plates grates against his ears, drowning out the hurried excuses spilling from your mouth, the ones you’re babbling and making up along the way of gathering your things and standing up from the round table, shouldering your bag in the same hurry you left his room with before the next time he saw you was nose to nose with Namjoon.

You huff, giving a small, tight lipped smile that should be meaningless, but to Jeongguk it isn’t, “I’ll go now. See you around?”

“Huh, sure. Let me know how it goes with Namsun.”

You roll your eyes at the playful attempt, his grin just as empty, “Right. Bye Gguk.”

You’re off the hallway before he can add anything else. Not that he would have been able to. Your bag swings with your big steps, slim hands coming to absently tug your plaid skirt lower, and Jeongguk thinks and thinks.

He realizes he really doesn’t want to know how your little date goes. Would rather shoot himself rather than hearing you talk about another guy taking you out to dinner, stealing you from him and sealing the end to whatever the two of you have.

His options are narrowed. He either commits in front of you and forever changes the trajectory of your life or does something about Namjoon. But why does the option of ending his life sound much easier than stepping up to big, buff Namjoon, infatuated with the same girl he likes?

Oh.

The admission jolts him. It’s a physical reaction that causes his chair to shriek again under his movements, but this time he’s not polite enough to apologize for it. He must look crazy, wide eyes burning holes into his hands planted steadily on the table in front of him.

The girl he likes. You’re the girl he likes.

And every signal is there. The spark he sought for now lights a nervous feeling in his stomach, its fireworks interrupting Brain and Heart’s incessant arguing.

Does he look stupid not doing anything for the girl he likes? Not fighting for the girl he’s been falling for all this time?

────୨ৎ────

It should be easy. It is easy.

Jeongguk can’t let the sleepless night spent reciting lines to his ceiling go to waste. He’s sure not even theater kids could match his determination. And as he marches across campus toward the gym, where the squeak of sneakers and the echo of grunts will lead him to the person needed to put the plan into action, he reviews step by step what he’s told himself to do. It’s a well-rehearsed script, each word, every calculated expression—he’s gone over it a hundred times, accounting for every reaction.

Step one, be casual. Friendly, even. Approach Namjoon like there’s nothing calculated about this interaction—no ulterior motives, no scheme brewing beneath the surface. Just a casual catch-up between two guys.

“What’s up, Kim,” when Jeongguk spots the slightly taller boy exercising at a steady walking pace on the treadmill, he immediately hops onto the free one beside him.

Namjoon startles slightly, then smiles with those stupid, charming dimples of his, and it’s one that Jeongguk would probably only give if forced, “Hey, Jeongguk. Long time no see.”

The brown-haired boy nods, setting the speed and quickly catching up to Namjoon. He keeps his tone deliberately cool, even borderline disinterested, “You been good?”

On his left, your almost-boyfriend shrugs, jogging along, “Yeah, just studying, man. What about you?”

“Pretty much the same,” he hasn’t cracked open a book in weeks, and that study session from yesterday was just an excuse to be with you. But he can’t afford to let his thoughts linger on you too long or he’ll lose focus. He needs focus. “You catch that last game?”

Step two, pretend to care about what Namjoon is saying and then proceed with the acting skills only to suddenly remember something totally random he wanted to mention.

“Fuck, don’t remind me. I was so sure we would win,” the sweating man sounds way too affected by the recent football match, and Jeongguk fears if he asks one more question for the sake of pretending he’ll never get to the actual point.

So, he goes straight to it, “Yeah, it was rough. Oh, by the way. You know ___, right?”

The simple mention of your name causes a small stutter in Namjoon’s step, but he recovers with the stupid smile from earlier, only this time it’s wider, “Of course I know her. Why do you ask?”

Step three, just be honest. He just has to lay it all out. Be straightforward. Tell him the truth about how he’s felt for so long and what this whole thing with you is doing to him. It’s not a confrontation—it’s a conversation. Jeongguk will politely explain that he’s liked you for a while now, that he’s been in your life long before Namjoon, and, as a courtesy, he’d appreciate it if he would step back from pursuing you.

Civil. Calm. Totally chill. There’s absolutely nothing to get worked up over.

"You really don't know? Have no idea?" Jeongguk asks, his voice dropping, tone more pointed than he intended.

Namjoon slows his treadmill slightly, glancing over with furrowed brows and a faintly amused smile. “No, man. Enlighten me.”

“She’s my fucking girlfriend.”

What. The. Fuck.

That wasn’t the plan. Not even close to the plan.

────୨ৎ────

You feel stupid.

Wrapped around in your warmest coat, you still shiver. It could be the way your legs are exposed under your wool dress, high black boots reaching just beneath your knees. But there’s something else to the chill, making you shake in fading jitters. The excitement of the evening you told yourself you were looking forward to morphs into anxiety, and the passing looks of people mean more than they should as minutes tick and tick; they seem to glance at you for too long, their looks heavy with what you can only imagine is judgment.

A young girl swaddled in small but striking details from head to toe — delicate earrings that catch the light, a scarf knotted perfectly at the neck, polished nails clutching the strap of an expensive-looking bag, hair done up in a neat slicked bun — glancing nervously at her surroundings can only mean one thing: she’s been stood up.

Namjoon was supposed to meet you in front of the cozy cafè just outside the campus, its warm tones and surely even warmer ambience so very inviting. Maybe you’d go in, order a steaming hot chocolate for yourself, and chalk this up as a lesson learned. But instead, you chose to wait outside, shifting on your tiptoes every so often, scanning the crowd for a glimpse of the first man to ask you out in what felt like ages.

You feel as though you’ll be forever destined to wait more when thirty minutes go by and Namjoon is nowhere to be seen.

You frown, swaying on your heels. What you feel is not disappointment— not at first. But that only causes you to feel worse about yourself when you realize you’re almost relieved the tall man hasn’t shown up, and he’s not here to turn fears into even scarier realities. The date would have given a concrete meaning to your actions, and the thought stirs something not exactly pleasant within you.

The scratch at the back of your mind grows harder to ignore, and no matter how much you try to shake it off, your subconscious finds ways back to it when your hand instinctively dives into the depths of the expensive purse you had specially chosen for this occasion. A purse meant to complement your carefully selected dark ensemble— an effort that now feels entirely wasted. You spent so much time getting ready for something you’re not ready for at all.

Pulling out your phone, your thumb scrolls to Jeongguk’s number with a natural automatism, typing before you even register why he’s the first person you feel the need to tell.

You [9:39 p.m.]: hi

You [9:39 p.m.]: namjoon stood me up lol

The typing bubbles appear faster than you anticipated, and as you watch them dance across the screen, you burrow deeper into the fragile warmth of your jacket, the tip of your nose numb from the cold.

sassy queen 💁🏻 [9:40 p.m.]: Whattttttt????

sassy queen 💁🏻 [9:40 p.m.]: He’s such an asshooooooole

Your first instinct is to snort at his reaction, a childish grin tugging at your lips, but it turns into a scowl when the more you reread the text, the more it sounds weird. He usually never texts like a six-year-old using his mom’s iPad.

You [9:40 p.m.]: yes he is

You [9:40 p.m.]: why are u textin so weird btw lol

sassy queen 💁🏻 [9:41 p.m.]: Wym weirddd

sassy queen 💁🏻 [9:41 p.m.]: I’m totally normal

You [9:41 p.m.]: wtv

You [9:42 p.m.]: u still wanna hang out?

sassy queen 💁🏻 [9:42 p.m.]: Yes please

sassy queen 💁🏻 [9:42 p.m.]: Want me to pick u up

sassy queen 💁🏻 [9:42 p.m.]: Where are u rn

The head tilt is unconscious, but you feel it click in place. You’ve mentioned how Jeongguk is caring, how he can read your needs like no one else and caters to them quietly, but he’s never this pliant, this malleable. You like him because it’s hard to get him to bend (and you’d rather die than let Jeongguk know about this).

You [9:43 p.m.]: is ok

You [9:43 p.m.]: i’ll just walk

You [9:43 p.m.]: be there in 10

The walk usually takes you less than 10 minutes, but before meeting him, you decide to head back to your dorm and change out of these stupid fancy clothes you picked out for the date.

You keep your head low as you walk through the hallways, the full glam you put on impossible to miss as it sparkles under the fluorescent lights, just as your boots' heels echo through the corridors.

Taking off the dress and heels feels like peeling away the embarrassment of rejection, the weight of disappointment settling in as you realize you couldn’t prove to yourself that you could do it, that you can do it, take the leap and let something serious into your life.

You question whether you're even cut out for it when the guy who seemed perfect ended up proving the opposite.

Now, back in more comfortable clothes — Jeongguk's black hoodie from the other day and baggy sweatpants — you feel a little more like yourself. Scared of emotions, scared of commitment, no matter how many hours of your day are spent daydreaming about it.

The second you click the door of your room open, it’s like you can smell a weird shift in the air. And you do, literally sniff, scanning your surroundings for any hint of something burning or out of place.

But it’s not about the dorm in its physical state, no— it’s the odd silence that you’re met with, the people you’re used to sharing the space with now uncharacteristically careful with their volume.

“Oh my god, ___,” that is probably why you’re visibly startled by the sudden voice coming from your side, Iseul looking like containing excitement is the hardest task she’s ever been asked to deal with, just like the few other girls behind her, all practically vibrating, “You’re finally here.”

You furrow your brows, chuckling confusedly at the unusuality of it all— well, it’s not like you don’t get along with these people. It’s just that you’ve never gone over meaningless jokes and talks about the state of the dorm, plus you’ve never exactly been the center of attention like this. It feels off, and it reflects in your uncertain tone, “I am?”

“I’m so happy for you,” Binna chimes in next, grabbing your shoulders with way more enthusiasm than the level of your relationship with her would normally allow, and the way all of their heads nod along that it feels like a coordinated performance is starting to scare you.

“You’re… happy for—”

“I’ve always known you and Jeongguk were perfect for each other,” the affection dripping from Binna’s voice sickens you, maybe even more than the words she’s speaking.

Huh?

You swear you feel your heart skip a long beat before you mask it with an obnoxious, nervous laugh, only growing more when none of them crack a smile or react, “Me and— okay, is this a fucking joke?”

“C’mon, ___,” Iseul says, her sweet voice doing nothing to calm your tension, and if anything it only heightens it, “You don’t need to hide anymore, Jeongguk told Namjoon that you’re his girlfriend.”

Oh. So this must be a fucking joke.

And you can’t stand it.

You barely manage to shake off their relentless curiosity, the entire dorm suddenly buzzing with an interest in you after years of peaceful and civil indifference, and it only overwhelms you to the brim.

Fury boils in your chest as you step out of the building, the cold air failing to cool the anger that flares up within you. With every step, your frustration grows, and you hastily type on your phone as you make your way toward the one person that’s responsible for your temper.

You [10:07 p.m.]: what the actual fuck jeongguk

The response comes so quickly, almost as if he were waiting for you to type it, and you scoff in disbelief. In that moment, you feel a twisted sense of understanding with serial killers. It makes you question how much control you actually have over yourself.

sassy queen 💁🏻 [10:07 p.m.]: What’s up?

You [10:07 p.m.]: why’s the whole dorm asking me how's it like to be your gf?

sassy queen 💁🏻 [10:08 p.m.]: Eeehhhh???

sassy queen 💁🏻 [10:08 p.m.]: That’s so weird

You’re actually gonna fuck this man up.

You [10:09 p.m.]: jeon jeongguk.

You [10:09 p.m.]: they’re saying you told namjoon i’m your girlfriend.

sassy queen 💁🏻 [10:09 p.m.]: Don’t use my full name and the period please 🥺

You [10:10 p.m.]: i’ll fucking kill you.

sassy queen 💁🏻 [10:10 p.m.]: You’re so hot when you’re like this

You [10:10 p.m.]: shut the hell up.

The banging on his door comes shortly after, and Jeongguk doesn’t even flinch. He knows it’s you, and frankly he was even expecting your arrival to be louder, hit him a little harder than it does. And when he lets you in, you storm in his space with no room for oxygen, door closing behind you but unable to contain the volume of your rage private.

“Can you explain why the whole campus thinks we’re dating? ‘Cause you’re not my boyfriend, and I’m not your girlfriend, and this is not fucking funny.”

But Jeongguk evidently does find it funny, chuckling under his hand coming to cover his mouth while the other one lifts to show you the bright screen of his cracked phone, “Really? The uni Instagram page is shipping us.”

“Shipping us?” You snatch the device from his hands, eyes widening as you scroll through the amount of stories posted in the last hour, everyone and their mother feeling entitled to weigh in on your nonexistent relationship. You whine, a hand resting at your forehead in disbelief, “Oh my god, this is ridiculous.”

“What, are you ashamed of me?” Jeongguk asks casually, walking back and sitting on the bed with a soft thud, his whole demeanor relaxed with a nonchalance that makes your left eye twitch.

You scoff, unwilling to grasp how this is even an actual thing happening to you, tossing the phone back at him, “A little bit, yeah. You think this is a fucking joke, huh? I’m now apparently dating the uni’s most popular fuckboy.”

The damned boy in front of you leans on his forearms, pouting just for show, “Hey, that’s mean. I’m no fuckboy.”

Bag thrown to the ground with a violence that it does not deserve, you start pacing back and forth in his room, letting out a borderline insane laugh, not knowing whether to scream or cry, “Yes, you are. You went through every single girl in this building.”

“Do you really think of me like that?”

The sudden sincerity that you think you spot in his tone makes you halt your steps, body turning to him as he sits straight again, his head tilting slightly.

You sigh, frustration mounting, and you throw your head back at the ceiling for any signal from the universe that this is indeed a joke, a bad, huge joke on you, “Jeongguk. Please.”

Silence fills the room next, but it doesn’t make it any easier to think nor does it quite register in your brain, mind racing with jumbled and chaotic thoughts, barely coming through as coherent words, getting intertwined with one another.

But the more you walk from one side of the room to the other, the more you’re almost able to untangle the mess, just enough to start processing what’s happening.

Then, a nuclear bomb wipes it all out, Jeongguk’s words the missile, his quiet tone the explosion, “I don’t want you to see nobody else.”

“What the fuck?”

The aftermath of the destruction is not only loud, ears ringing with a shrieking alarm going off, your figure stiff with shock, but you feel its heat burning your whole body in consuming flames that threaten to swallow you whole if you don’t let them take over, rise, flood every nerve until all you can feel is the rage boiling in your veins when you practically scream at him, ”What the hell does that even mean? You're being selfish!”

“Am I?” Jeongguk asks calm, calculated, gaze locked on yours as if daring you to challenge him further. His tone is maddeningly measured even as he pushes himself off the bed and closes the distance between you.

It’s like he’s planned this— attack after attack designed to destabilize you completely. Not only did he thrust you into the spotlight without warning, claiming you for the whole campus to see as if you’re worth nothing more than a stupid prank and a few laughs.

But now he talks with a grace that belies the chaos he’s stirred, as if his words are just another fact, something as simple as the weather, “I haven’t been seeing anybody since this summer. Since we started using no condom.”

Your pupils tremble with something far more complex than just anger, though you refuse to give it a name. He’s practically towering over you, his stance purposeful, making you feel small; as if the intensity of his gaze is not enough that it makes you falter, as if the humiliation he’s putting you through isn’t either. Head shaking, your voice does too, “That’s— not true. You’re a fucking liar. You— What about Haeun?

“Nothing even happened with her.”

The speed of his denial sets you off, an incredulous scoff breaking free as you roll your tongue against the inside of your cheek—a habit you’d picked up from witnessing his easy tempers, “Then why did you tell me you kissed?”

“Because—” Jeongguk hesitates, and the pause is so out of character that it almost gives you whiplash. The boy who always has something to say suddenly seems unsure. His hand flexes at his side, a nervous tick you hadn’t noticed before, and he exhales as if the words are fighting their way out of him, “‘Cause— I was jealous.”

“Jealous?” Your voice cracks on the word, a laugh bubbling out of you that’s sharp and fractured, borderline unhinged. It cuts through the room like broken glass, and his expression tightens, jaw clenching. But he doesn’t interrupt.

“Jealous,” you repeat, louder this time, your incredulous tone thick with rage. “You’re telling me you made up that bullshit because you were jealous?”

He doesn’t respond, and it pushes you closer to your limit, on the verge of exploding. You don’t know how you find it within you, but with a long exhale and a quick prayer up at the ceiling, you meet his gaze in an almost patronizing manner, “Jeongguk, we are not exclusive. I thought that was well implied. You don’t get to act like this. You don’t get to be jealous.”

Nodding along to your words, Jeongguk’s brows draw together, his expression somewhere between anxious and defensive. There’s something in his eyes, something close to fear, but fear of what, you can’t quite place.

When he speaks, his voice is softer than yours, as though he’s trying to keep it from breaking, “I know. We both agreed to that, yes. We’re both allowed to see other people.”

The words feel rehearsed, like he’s repeated them to himself a hundred times. But with the silence stretching, it’s clear he’s struggling to say more. His lips press together briefly, and his gaze flicks to yours, searching. It’s as though he’s waiting — no, hoping — you’ll interject, offer something to fill the space.

You don’t. You hold firm, tilting your head slightly, your confusion evident. Your wide, questioning eyes, so big, so honest, pull the truth from him in a way you don’t intend, and he exhales like it’s been forced out of him.

“But I don’t want you to.”

The sheer audacity of his words hits you like a slap, the kind that stings more because of its unexpectedness. You snort, although there’s nothing particularly amusing about your heart cracking at the middle, but you manage to keep it from resounding in your words, "That’s so fucking mean. Do you even hear yourself? You get to fuck whoever you want, and I’m kept hostage? And now—now everybody thinks we’re dating!"

"That’s good," he says, simple, unflinching.

You blink, disbelief coursing through you as your lips part in a strangled gasp. "What?" The word is half a whisper, half a shout, and it escapes before you can temper it, "You’re so selfish. I fucking hate you.”

The emotion is foreign from what you’re used to showing him, softness in quiet ways, affection in silent gestures. But now, it’s all loud rage, the opposite of love spilling out of you in volatile waves. Your hands curl into fists at your sides, itching for release, something, anything to make him feel the way you’re being forced to feel, to cut through the weight of his seemingly impassive expression showing only the barest twitch in his brows, a crack too small to satisfy your anger.

It isn’t enough. You need more.

Your palms find his chest, shoving him with the force of every burning feeling inside you. “You’re stupid,” you spit, watching him take the push without exactly budging, like he’s made of stone. It only stokes your frustration further, your hands pushing again, harder this time. “And dumb.”

Jeongguk doesn’t step back, doesn’t fight you. He stands there, his chest steady, absorbing your hits without a word. His lack of resistance only makes the storm inside you rage harder, and the tears you’ve been holding back threaten to spill over.

You scramble for more, anything to turn the reality of what you truly feel into the illusion of anger, “And— and— Why the fuck are you silent! Say something!” You aim another punch at his chest, but it’s impossibly weaker, the exhaustion showing in your useless attempts at getting at him.

You sniff, and you know you lost against his indifference, your voice wavering feeling like a confession you didn’t mean to make. “Asshole. You’re being so mean. You’re making me cry.”

That’s what finally breaks him. Only the tears slipping rapidly from your eyes get his resolve to crumble. His hands are on you instantly, gripping your shoulders gently but firmly, refusing to let you squirm away. You slap at them weakly, but his touch is steady, his fingers brushing strands of hair from your face, cupping your chin to tilt it up toward him.

“Toots, no. Hey, hey,” he whispers, his tone soft in a way that disarms you completely. His thumb swipes at a stray tear, but your face turns away, evading him like it’s your only line of defense. He doesn’t back down, “Stop crying. Hey, look at me. Will you?”

“Stop calling me that!” You finally snap, jerking your face away again. The tears are spilling faster now, no matter how much you want to fight them, no matter how much you want to cling to the fury. “I hate you. You’re fucking all the girls in this college, and I’m only fucking you, because— because—”

“God,” Jeongguk groans, exasperation dripping from his tone. You’re about to hurl another half-formed insult or maybe even take a swing at him again, aiming low, but his next words stop you cold.

“Do I have to spell it out for you?” His tone is quieter now, more deliberate, the vulnerability in it cutting sharper than anything else he’s said. “I like you. I broke the rule.”

You’re sure your heart will fail you today. It misses at least four beats, and it steals the oxygen from your lungs, along with the color from your face.

You stammer, eyes widening as your pulse picks up again and pounds in your ears. “Don’t—don’t say shit like that. I swear to God, I’ll actually fuck you up. Stop—lying to me.”

“What the fuck, ___? I’m not lying to you,” Jeongguk’s voice attempts to be steady but it can’t hide the desperation, as if he’s holding on by a thread. “Why would I?”

The question is simple.

Why would Jeongguk lie to you? Does he have a reason to fake this?

The world seems to tilt, the ground beneath you shifting in some irreparable way.

You should feel scared. You should feel repulsed at the thought of commitment, the weight of his words pressing against you like a cage. But you don’t.

Instead, your eyes dart between his, searching for cracks in his sincerity, like a frantic spectator watching a tennis match, every glance like a volley in the game of something bigger than either of you. The matchpoint sends a thrill through your chest, something overwhelming and terrifying but not unwelcome.

Jeongguk watches you closely, feeling the weight of the silence between you stretch on longer than he can handle. He knows he’s the one that should break it, knows the truth he’s holding inside has to be spoken now.

It’s now or never. He can’t keep pretending—this isn’t just some casual thing to him, and he’s not ready to let it slip away without a fight. You’ve become everything he didn’t know he needed, and yet here he is, paralyzed by the fear of rejection, of being vulnerable, of watching the one thing he wants most slip right through his fingers.

But that’s the thing, isn’t it? If he doesn’t speak up now, he’ll lose everything. His fear has no place in this moment anymore.

It’s a long exhale before his voice drops in soft honey, shaking with the weight of the truth, “Look. I know it’s hard to trust me. You’ve seen me fuck up multiple times over this stuff. But I want to stop this cycle. I want to allow myself something good,” his eyes search for any signal that he should stop talking, but in yours he finds every reason for him not to, “And you’re everything good that life will ever concede me. I can't… I can't let you go. I can't lose you.”

"Jeongguk…" His name slips from your lips like a prayer you've been too afraid to speak aloud until now. But you see it— he’s ready to find every solution, even if it means confronting the fear that has held him back for so long.

“I like you so much it’s killing me,” he admits, voice low and raw, every syllable cracking with vulnerability.

It’s a slow realization, like a tide that comes in quietly, softly. You’ve felt its caress for so long, and now that it embraces you wholly, you feel your heart expand, filling with the same warmth, the same longing.

The words you wish you could say are caught in your throat. You look up at him, eyes wide, trying to comprehend, to take in what he’s offering. You’re almost afraid to ask, as if the answer will shatter something you’ve worked so hard to protect, “You like me?”

“I lose my fucking mind when it comes to you.” His confession is a rush of honesty that sweeps through you, his eyes not leaving yours, like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he blinks.

The world feels like it’s slowing down. There’s so much you’ve been holding back, but you don’t know how to make the words fit, how to make them sound right.

Jeongguk takes a small step back, his voice quieter but still heavy with emotion. “It’s okay if you wanna end it here,” he murmurs, his words barely above a whisper, like he’s bracing for the worst. “At least it wasn’t because you got with some other stupid guy.”

You shake your head, the thought of losing him too painful to bear. “Stop—” You let out a frustrated sigh, hands curling into fists at your sides. “God, you’re so dumb. This could have been so much easier if you’d told me sooner.”

He looks at you, confusion flickering across his face. “What do you mean?”

You feel your chest tighten, the truth slipping out before you can stop it. “I like you too,” you admit, the words finally leaving your lips hastly, like they were just waiting for the right moment. “I agreed to the date because I thought you were still… fucking around.”

His face softens, and there’s a flash of relief in his eyes. “I wasn’t. Haven’t been in so long.”

“...No Haeun?”

“Hell no. I don’t want no kiss if it isn’t from you.”

You laugh, a low sound that fills the air between you. “Cheesy fucker,” you tease, but there’s a warmth in your chest now, a feeling you can’t ignore. “Well, if you want to know, I wasn’t seeing anybody either. Namjoon asked me out randomly, but I haven’t been with anyone else since… this started.”

His eyes widen slightly, and for a moment, everything is quiet. He looks at you like he’s just heard something he never expected to hear. “Oh,” he says softly.

“Yeah.”

Jeongguk steps closer to you, his hands reaching for you, voice thick, “I’m so sorry, baby. I never meant to make you cry. It’s breaking my heart.” His thumb brushes across your cheek, gently wiping away the remnants of the tears you hadn’t even realized had fallen. “I’m so sorry.”

You shake your head, your heart swelling with both regret and tenderness. “It’s okay,” you say softly. “I’m sorry for yelling all that stuff at you. I don’t hate you. I…”

Before you can finish, his lips crash against yours, and all the confusion, all the fears, prove themselves to be worth this moment.

They dissolve into something real, the kiss trying to make up for lost time, for all the things left unsaid.

When you pull away, your foreheads resting together, Jeongguk’s voice is quiet but determined. “Come here, baby. You’re mine.”

“Prove it.”

[tonycries]

Little Heaven

Synopsis. He’s just your friend-with-benefits, right? So why - in the still haze of the soft sheets and you, fúcking you so sensual and tenderly - does he feel like he’s found his own personal heaven?

Pairing. Multiple x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, unprotected, kinda fluffy, he’s both pússydrunk and in love, slow to rough, marking, mentions of marriage and kids, morning, swearing.

Word count. 1.3k

A/N. Probably the fluffiest smút I’ve ever written.

You were just his friend-with-benefits, right? No strings attached, right? 

So why was he here? Sinking into your plush mattress, quiet morning sun just barely peeking in through the curtains as he wraps his arms around your naked figure. 

God, he really shouldn’t be here. He shouldn’t be laying you on your side, drinking in your soft little, “G’mornin’.” Both of your movements languid and still burning with soreness. Your hips pushing back desperately into his as he positions himself so that his leaking tip was just kissing your swollen folds. 

He shouldn’t be whispering soft kisses into the marks that littered your skin. Licking one, long stripe up the sinful trail of hickies down your neck. All sensual touches where it was bruising grips last night. 

That was rule #1, right? No marks. 

Or was it #4… 

Ah, right now he couldn’t give less of a fuck. Not when his greedy eyes wander the expanse of your face, fingers trailing along the features he’s mapped a thousand times over. Tracing delicate patterns across your skin, snaking down, down, down to leisurely lift your leg a little higher. 

Bare chest warm against your back, his voice is low and gravelly in your ear as he whispers, “I had a dream y’know.” 

Mind still thinly veiled with sleep, you lean into his warm touch, “Mhm?” 

Your breath hitches at the way he drags his swollen head teasingly across your slit, pooling your slick on his achingly hard tip. Smearing your juices with his thumb as he pumps himself lazily. It’s so torturously good. You almost miss the way he buries his face into the crook of your neck, murmuring a soft “Had a dream of us.”

Oh? 

Before you can overthink his words, he’s nudging in gently. So agonizingly gentle. And you can do nothing more than let out barely-audible whispers of his name as he bullies his throbbing cock into your snug cunt. 

You feel so full. So drunk off of the delicious burn of your pussy and him. 

And it seems he was drunk on you just as much, because as soon as his hips are flush against yours, the words escape him. So quiet and groggy with sleep, that you almost don’t catch them.

“Had a dream that I made you my beautiful bride.”

Oh. 

That was new. His words hung heavy in the heady air. 

Shivers run down your spine - all the way to where he was buried in your dripping cunt. Your voice is slightly shaky as you let out a humorless laugh, “Oh yeah? Must’ve been a nightmare then.”

Soft lips press against your forehead, breathing in your scent. Absolutely searing as he mutters out a muffled, “No, was the best dream I ever had.”

And then, with the audacity of someone who didn’t just send your mind reeling, he pulls his hips back unhurriedly. Immediately fucking into you at a slow, sensual pace. Tip kissing your cervix as he rolls his hips languidly into yours, making sure you feel every bump and graze against your tight walls.

You don’t know what’s more maddening - his agonizing pace or the words that tumble out of his lips. “Y’looked so beautiful in white. So pretty walking down the aisle to me.” 

His lips brush against yours, hands dancing across every inch of you he could reach. Gently caressing the skin like it’s something divine, soothing over the marks from last night as if an apology. “Don’ think I’d want to see anyone else there.”

You glance back at him - only to find his eyes already on you. A jolt of electricity runs across your skin at the pure warmth in them. And you realize that, no, this wasn’t a joke. 

Not trusting yourself to speak, you simply grind your hips down to meet his, abs rubbing against your ass. Letting out a broken whimper of what sounds like his name as he moves down a hand to press rough, little circles over and over your throbbing clit. 

“Saw a little something else too.” he hums, a sly smile curling his lips as his other hand dances across your body to press down on your stomach. Hard. “Saw that I had some competition - two actually. Funny, right?”

“Hah- h-hilarious.” you manage to choke out as his thumb speeds up on your clit, hips moving a bit more purposefully. A bit more like you were used to. Rock-hard cock plunging into your quivering cunt in deliberate, sloppy thrusts that have you white-knuckling the sheets. 

“Though…” he trails off dangerously, pulling back all the way until his furiously hard tip was just kissing your waiting hole. “I wouldn’t really mind.”

And with that he’s sheathing his throbbing erection in your wet pussy completely. A gasp of delight leaves him at the way you take him so readily. Walls sucking him up so sinfully - perfect. You were always so perfect for him. 

“Dreamt we had a lil’ house with a big garden.” God, he can feel his cock harden so painfully at the fucked-out little ah! ah! ah! leaving your pretty lips each time his hip smack into yours. It’s music to his ears, such a shame he just can’t shut the fuck up right now. “And then you dressed the kids up while I made breakfast.”

“Then you made us do taxes and I didn’t even fucking mind.” His voice is strained now, words slurring together as he rams his cock deeper and deeper, glistening with your slick in the soft morning glow. 

“And finally at night, I say we should make a third one.” 

He looks at you, a sly grin stretching his lips, eyes half-lidded and a dangerous twinkle in them that has you wondering whether everything he said before was merely a ruse to fuck you silly. And it probably shows on your face - because he grins lowly in your ear, “Don’t worry, sweetheart, we have till our wedding night f’me to fuck you slow.”

And oh he almost feels guilty. But he can’t bring himself to slow down at the way your swollen lips drop into such a pretty oh! at his words. Mewling at the sting of his heavy balls as they smack your ass. Walls clamping down desperately on his dick, milking him for every drop of pleasure. Each thrust into your warm core has his eyes rolling to the back of his head, brows furrowing in ecstasy as he focuses on making you lose your mind. 

He shifts his angle slightly, grinding expertly against your g-spot just right, and you throw your head back, releasing a low moan of his name.

“Shit. Yeah, say m’name, sweetheart. Jus’ like that.” he moans breathlessly. 

His name - soon to be yours.

Maybe.

You turn your head to face him, eyes fiery as you capture his in an equally scorching kiss. Cock slamming into your poor, abused cunt with an intensity that matches that of your lips.

Probably. 

Biting down on his lower lips, soft yet insistent. Humming deliriously against his mouth - and in the heat of it all, he feels you smile against his lips. Ever-so-slightly. 

Definitely. 

And then you’re cumming. White-hot pleasure behind your eyes, walls clamping down so deliciously around his twitching cock. It sends him over the edge as well - whispering your name as if a prayer, voice hoarse with emotions neither of you could name at this very moment. 

Hot ropes of his thick cum paint your trembling cunt white, milking the soul out of him as you both ride out your climaxes together. A creamy ring forming around his base as some truly animalistic part of himself fucks his seed into you - a promise, he likes to think.

“I’m serious about the dream.”

Almost as gentle as that one. 

As the haze settles, his thrusts slowing down to just shallow grinds, a fragile silence envelopes the room as neither of you speak. Because maybe no other words were needed. 

And right now, morning sunlight harsh on his skin, strong arms pulling you warm body flush against his, no one but you two in this quiet world - he doesn’t think he’d like to be anywhere else.

All is well in your little heaven.

- GOJO, GETO, Choso, SUNA, ATSUMU, Tsukishima, Kuroo, EREN

A/N. Bro it took longer to think of what to write than to write this. 

Plagiarism not authorized.

[kamitv]

Suguru walking in on you pleasing yourself would probably go something like…

“Well, shit. Didn’t know I had such a slut for a wife,” He’d comment mere seconds after walking in on you.

You’d be laying on your stomach, back arched, knees bent, legs spread, and a hand in between your legs as you fuck a rather lengthy dildo into your sloppy cunt. Your husband, who you weren’t expecting to be home so soon, seems anything but surprised to catch you like this.

If anything, Geto barely tilts his head as he approaches the bed and then cracks a smirk, “Look at this pussy… fuuck, she’s drippin’ all over the place. All because of some stupid toy?” As he makes his comments, he’s unbuckling his belt and tossing it to the side.

“Suguu… S’not ‘cause of the toy,” You huff out with a pout, shamelessly staring at your husband as you continue pleasing yourself. “I missed you.”

“Yeah? Y’Missed me baby?” He’d tease, not even bothering to take his shirt off as he can’t help but reach forward and swat your hand away from the toy stuffed inches inside your cunt. He’d purposefully drag the item out of you, listening to that filthy squelch before brining it to his mouth and licking your taste off. “Mmh. Couldn’t even wait f’me, huh? Were you missin’ me or my cock, princess?”

You let out a heavy sigh and wiggle your hips back a bit, begging for him to give you something-, anything, “Both Suguru.”

“Needy ass girl,” He’d scoff in response.

He’s actually rather kind when he catches you pleasing yourself. Which is how and why you ended up with his cock inside you not too long after he’s come home.

Geto doesn’t really like knowing you were getting off without him but at the same time, something about coming home to you whining his name as you imagined he was fucking you instead of some toy kinda turned him on. He wondered how often you did this kinda thing.

And so he decides to ask you while he’s stuffing your cunt full of his thick cock, “You fantasize about me often, baby?” He hushes out to you, staring so deep into your eyes that it makes you feel embarrassed all over. His tone is so soft and loving with you too that it just makes you shudder beneath him as if he’s not fucking you at such a merciless pace right mow.

All you can do is nod as your jaw hangs open, “Uhuh… mmgh, I-, hah, think about you a-ah, all the t-time, Sugu.” Your words come out in between moans but that only fuels his arousal.

The way his lips curve into that knowing little smirk has your nails scraping against his back before he lets out a low hiss. “Fuck. You imagine my cock’s inside you when m’not even here?” Geto asks rhetorically before shifting his hips and hitting that one mushy spot inside you, “You replay our moments together, huh? Maybe we should record it one time so you have somethin’ better to get off to.”

Your legs squeeze around his waist and he notices your back arching up off of the bed. Geto thrusts in harder and faster, eager to watch your face twist up the same way it was moments ago before he’d caught you— he’d never let you feel that euphoric sensation more with some toy instead of his cock. Not that he’s jealous, of course…

“S-Sugu,” You choke out with how rough his hips grow against yours.

His head tips down into the crook of your neck and you can feel his fat cockhead knocking deeper and deeper into your sopping walls as his strokes become more calculated-, passionate almost. “Mhm, I know baby, I know,” He coos against your skin, his breath hot and tone almost hoarse, “M’right here,” God, his gentleness was a complete contrast to those mean hips of his.

Even the way his hands traced along your arms in search of your hand to grab had you so utterly weak.

“Y’missed this right?” Geto whispers hotly as he shifts his lips up to the crown of your ear, “Missed how I treat this pussy, huh?”

Your neck arches as you toss your head back and you feel his fingers squeeze onto one of your hands whilst he presses it down into the mattress. Moaning quiet little babbles in agreement to his soft-spoken yet lewd words, your cunt gushes around his aching cock, almost invitingly encouraging him to continue talking like that.

And who is he to ignore such encouragement? Pressing against your ear again, he starts fucking you a little slower but noticeably harder, “Agh… Missed you too, pretty girl. Hah, missed how she,” He emphasizes that word with a heavier thrust, “Takes me so fuckin’ well-, shit.”

Then he moans into your ear and you think you cum at the sound alone. So clear and provocative, echoing in your ear and making your mind go blissfully blank. “Ha-ah… ngh, Suguru, I… mmh..” You moan as his cock splits you open so deliciously.

Hell, that’s all you could do. Geto weighs his body down against you, pinning you to the mattress completely as he drags his cock almost all the way out of your twitching pussy just to give you a seconds rest. Not that it really helped as he slipped his dick right back into you, his jaw dropping and a filthy moan leaving his wet lips at the way your cunt feels so utterly soaked and warm wrapped around his cock.

Geto swears he could fuck you like this for hours and hours and hours but he’s too eager to see other things.

“Gonna have t’show me how you fuck yourself one of these days, love.” He huffs out breathlessly between thrusts.

You quickly start shaking your head at that—lost between reaching your high and processing his words, “N-No…”

“No? Oh c’mon,” He puts on this pout to mock you, “You don’t wanna show me? We’re married… I’ve shown you how I touch myself when you’re not around, why can’t you do the same, hm?”

“S’embarrassing…” You mumble with your lower lip poking out so deliciously that it makes your husband smirk.

“Aw, it’s embarrassing?” He teases, “Baby, I like it when you’re embarrassed. Plus, you looked so fuckin’ cute tryin’ to fuck yourself without me. Could’ barely take that piece of plastic ‘nd it’s smaller than my cock.”

“Sugu-“

“M’just sayin’…” He shrugs, “I want you to put on a lil’ show f’me. You can do that can’t you?” You’re shaking your head all over again and he frowns, “No? But baby,” His body presses down against you as if to emphasize his words and you could feel his tip pressing into your sweet spot, “C’mon, don’t make me beg for it.”

“I-I…” You’re left stuttering and moaning as your eyes travel to the back of your skull, “Ah, Suguru-, mgh…”

“Or would you rather me demand it, huh? Should I tell you you’re gonna show me what you were doin’ with that toy before I got here?” Geto pants into your ear, his lips brushing against your warm skin as you nod frantically in response. “Yeahhh? Alright then, gimme one more ‘nd then you’ll put on a lil’ show for me, ‘kay?”

[littlelamy]

Could you do like a post smut……maybe with a sweet shy type of reader and rafe. He has been really rough for once (which she liked) but when she gets up from the bed to walk, she falls in pain to the floor cus she’s super sore and rafe feels really really bad and he so sweet with her :(

author's note: really hope you enjoy this one, and thank you for the request! 💗🌟

your thighs still trembled from where they’d been pinned earlier, red fingerprints a stark memory of his grasp. each step was an ache you hadn’t anticipated, sharp and sudden, your knees betraying you as they buckled. the floor was cool against your skin when you crumpled, a small gasp escaping your lips. the soreness was a strange, searing aftertaste of the way he’d pushed every inch of himself into you like you were a conquest to be claimed.

“shit—baby?” rafe’s voice was still rough, a leftover rasp from the filthy words he’d growled into your ear hours ago. but now, it carried a softness, his bare feet skidding across the floor as he reached you, hands hovering like he didn’t know if touching would make it worse.

you tried to laugh, but it came out more like a whimper, your face half-buried in the carpet. “i… i think you broke me.”

the guilt hit him square in the chest, his brows pulling tight as he crouched beside you. “fuck, sweetheart, i didn’t mean—i mean, you liked it, didn’t you? god, i thought—” he cut himself off, arms gently wrapping around your waist to lift you, careful not to jostle. “jesus, you’re shaking.”

you didn’t resist when he cradled you against his chest, his warmth a balm to the ache. his lips brushed your temple, the gesture so tender it almost erased the memory of how brutally he’d taken you earlier. “tell me where it hurts,” he murmured, voice dipping low, full of remorse.

“everywhere,” you admitted, hiding your flushed face against his neck. “but in a good way.” still, there was a faint wobble to your voice, and he heard it.

he carried you to the bed, laying you down as if you were something fragile. his fingertips skimmed over the marks he’d left, his throat tightening at the vivid shades blooming on your skin. “damn it, i didn’t mean to…” he trailed off, shaking his head, then knelt beside you. “you’re too sweet for this. for me. what was i thinking?”

you caught his wrist, forcing him to meet your gaze. “i asked for it, rafe,” you said, voice firm despite the exhaustion clinging to your bones. “i liked it. all of it.”

but he wasn’t convinced, his jaw tight as his thumb swept along your cheek. “and now you’re on the floor, baby. fuck, i’m the worst.”

“you’re not,” you whispered, and when his lips hovered over yours, you leaned into him, soft and reassuring. “but i wouldn’t say no to you pampering me a little.”

his laugh was shaky, full of self-reproach, but he nodded, brushing a kiss to the corner of your mouth. “you’re getting the works,” he promised, already moving to fetch water and painkillers, blankets to tuck you in tight. “massage, bath, anything you need.”

when he returned, his touch was reverent, his hands steady as they traced circles into your sore thighs, his apologies whispered like prayers against your skin.

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[kateschi]

midnight check-in

synopsis: in the middle of the night, you are woken up by a call from your husband.

pairing: timeskip!bakugou katsuki x f!reader

the phone buzzes on the nightstand, dragging you from the edge of sleep. squinting at the glowing screen, you see katsuki’s name flashing across it.

it’s late—past the time he should have been home, but not unusual given the unpredictability of hero work. swiping the call open, you press the phone to your ear, voice still heavy with sleep.

“did I wake you?”

his voice is rough, but familiar, crackling through the line like static.

there’s no apology in his tone, but you can hear the subtle hint of concern buried underneath, like he’s weighing whether he should’ve waited until morning to call.

“no,” you lie, sitting up and adjusting to the quiet darkness of the room. “it’s fine. what’s up? are you coming home soon?”

there’s a brief pause on the other end. you hear the faint shuffle of his gear, like he’s shifting in his seat, maybe still in the office or the agency car. “yeah, I’ll be home in a bit. just… wanted to check in.”

check in? katsuki doesn’t just check in. the man’s explosive, stubborn, and blunt to a fault—never the type to dance around what’s on his mind. so, when he calls you this late just to ‘check in,’ something feels off.

“everything okay?” you ask softly, leaning back against the headboard. your fingers toy with the edge of the blanket, tracing small patterns over the fabric.

“yeah, just a long-ass day,” he grumbles, his voice a little lower now. he’s tired, you can tell, but there’s something else lurking in the background of his words.

“didn’t mean to be out so late. I know I said I’d be back before—”

“katsuki,” you cut him off gently. “you don’t have to apologize for doing your job. I know how it is.”

he lets out a frustrated huff, and you can almost picture him running a hand through his hair, the way he does when he’s feeling restless.

“still,” he mutters. “I said I’d be there, and I’m not. doesn’t sit right with me.”

your heart softens at that. even though his words are gruff, katsuki has always had a way of showing he cares—usually in his own roundabout, katsuki-style way.

“you’re here now,” you say, your voice a little warmer. “that’s what matters. I’m just glad you called.”

another pause, this one heavier. there’s a slight crackle from his end, like he’s shifting again, probably leaning back in whatever chair he’s stuck in, the tension still clinging to him.

“yeah, well… I didn’t wanna wake up and find out you’re pissed I didn’t get home.” there’s a touch of humor in his voice, and you can practically hear the smirk on his lips. “figured I’d save myself the trouble.”

you chuckle softly, shaking your head. “you’re not getting out of trouble that easily, katsuki.”

“darn,” he clicks his tongue, but the familiar grumble in his tone makes you smile. it’s his way of saying he missed you, without actually saying it.

for a moment, there’s just comfortable silence between you.

the sound of his steady breathing on the other end of the line makes your chest ache a little—wanting him here, not just on the other side of a phone.

“you almost home?” you ask quietly, the warmth of the blankets doing little to fill the empty space beside you.

“yeah.” his voice softens, dropping just enough that you can tell he’s not as guarded anymore. “should be there in about ten.”

“good,” you murmur, stifling a yawn as you sink further into the bed, imagining him walking through the door any minute now. “I’ll wait for you.”

there’s a beat, a moment where his breathing catches ever so slightly, before he grumbles again, but softer this time. “you don’t have to stay up for me, y/n.”

“I want to.”

the silence that follows feels different—warmer, like he’s smiling, even if you can’t see it. and maybe it’s the exhaustion in your voice, or the way you said it so matter-of-factly, but something in him shifts.

you hear him let out a quiet breath, the kind he only ever lets out when he’s alone with you.

“...you’re such a damn idiot,” he mutters, but there’s no bite to it. just warmth.

you smile into the phone, eyes already half-closed. “takes one to know one.”

he snorts at that, a rare sound of amusement that you love catching him off-guard with. “whatever. just keep your ass in bed. I’ll be there soon.”

“mhm,” you hum, already feeling the drowsiness tugging at you again, but there’s something in the comfort of his voice that keeps you tethered.

you shift slightly, hugging the blanket closer, waiting for the familiar click of the front door. before you drift off entirely, you murmur, “love you, katsuki.”

there’s a pause, and for a moment, you think he’s hung up. but then, quietly, with all the weight of a promise, he replies.

“yeah. love you too.”

the call ends with a soft click, but even after, the warmth of his voice lingers in the quiet room. you smile to yourself, feeling the space beside you growing less empty by the minute.

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