#so i was reading that to him :] and he was super into it asking me abt words i didnt know he even asked me Why is his last name snicket... | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

arbitrarykiwi · 3 days ago

Note

Hiiii I was wondering if you had any thoughts about mean nam gyu :3 holding your head down into the pillows and plowing you from behind even when you cry!!! And like trying to reach behind you to slow him down and he just grabs your arm 😵‍💫 sheesh I just know he can fuck someone through the mf mattresss I’m like going insane

You Can Take It

do I have any thoughts about mean namgyu??? OH BOY DO I!!!! Lemme tell you when I got this request I was jumping for JOY!!! I could not stop thinking about it. I just know, I FEEL IT IN MY SOULLLLL, that this man could fuck you dumb into the mattress EASY!! He definitely also has a huge thing for fucking you until you cry

Warnings: smut (18+), in the squid games, rough sex, fucked dumb!Reader, exhibitionism (fucks you in the main room) choking, spitting, oral (m and f recieving), deepthroating, name calling (slut/whore), dirty talking, dacryphilia (he fucks you till you’re crying), read at your own risk

You found yourself pulled into a group with Thanos, Nam-gyu, Semi, and Min-su. It wasn’t really your idea, you remember after the first game, and after you voted to continue playing, Nam-gyu had approached you.

Well approached isn’t very fitting. He had grabbed your wrist as you were passing by, pulling you back to him. He simply said, “You’re sticking with me. You’re mine.” And you weirdly agreed.

You hung around him and the rest of the group from then on out. He was super touchy- always wanting to be near you but…he was also mean. He would scoff at anything you said. Try to argue with you over the smallest things. But then he would ruffle your hair, rub his thumb against your cheek to calm you down after the second game. It was weird. But hey, you needed all the people in your corner you could get.

During the game of Mingle, after multiple rounds and the players getting increasingly frantic as tensions rise, the group number was 3. When Thanos grabbed Min-su and Nam-gyu into his side you were sure you were going to die.

You were pulled away by a stray group of two men, rushing you to a door. You never got to see how Nam-gyu was fighting out of Thanos’ grasp to try and team up with you.

When the game was said and done you found yourself hurrying back to the purple hair you caught in the crowd- because where Thanos was, Nam-gyu would also be. After the game all you found yourself wanting was to be near him. It was weird. You figure the trauma of this hellhole made you bond to him in some odd way.

He was colder than usual, he allowed you to be near him, to lean on him. It was embarrassing, really. All you wanted was some sort of comfort or attention, a hand on your shoulder or even a him ruffling your hair like he normally did…but nothing.

So eventually when lights out came around, you made your way to your bunk. You sat down on the edge of it, looking down at the concrete and your white shoes- well used to be white now they are a sick red color. Dried blood. You stand up and begin kick off your shoes, stretching once done to try and ease the ache in your bones.

You straighten up when footsteps approach. The lights dim but you can make out the bold white ‘124’ of the jacket patch. “Nam-gyu?!” You ask in a whisper, surprised.

“You really are dumb aren’t you?” He growls, taking steps closer to you. His gaze is dark, angry. It’s also mixed with something you can’t pin point. Your face turns into a scowl, moving to back up with each step he takes towards you. “I’m not dumb.” You retort, “What the fuck are you even on about??” You say in a hushed voice.

“That stunt you pulled at the game today.” He says through clenched teeth, backing you against your bed, the back’s of your knees hitting the sides of the metal frame, nearly making you fall down. “What part of sticking with me do you not understand?” He growls, his face a few inches from yours.

Before you can even think to move one of his hands grabs your face in a bruising grip. It hurts, you’re sure he could break your jaw if he wanted to. You suck in a shaky breath, he’s so close, the metal of his rings sting your skin in an ice cold bite, was he always this hot?

What the fuck are you thinking??

You shake your head of the thought and furrow your eyebrows, realizing what he meant. “It was 3 to a room. You and Thanos had Min-su.” You hiss out, “I was also grabbed- pulled away. I wasn’t about to fight it and get myself fucking shot.” You growl out, was he really that serious?!

Ever since you he pulled you into their odd group he wasn’t the friendliest to you. It was weird, he was oddly protective but he would only ever scoff or mock anything you said. Sure he said ‘you’re sticking with me, you’re mine’, but with how he treats you, like you’re an annoyance for joining the group- why the fuck would he care if you went another group during Mingle.

“I told you…” he growls out in a low hushed rumble, tilting his head to look at you better. In the light that seeps through the windows of the doors at the front of the room you can see him taking in every bit of your face, his lower lip caught in his teeth as he breaths in a breath. “…to stay with me. ‘N I would have thought you were smarter, could follow directions…” he whispers, coming closer so as he speaks his lips brush against yours.

You chock it up to the days of carnage around you changing you into a different person- because you have no idea why you’re not slapping him, you didn’t usually take shit like this and you’ve gotten into plenty of fights, you could fight him off. But you don’t.

Instead you find yourself feeling so very hot, a warmth beginning to blossom deep inside you; a feeling you know all too well. To say you’re a little ashamed is an understatement…but fuck, you might die tomorrow. That thought of death looming over your shoulder throws most of your dignity out the window. And you succumb to the delicious feeling in your lower stomach that you’ve been trying to fight.

“That being said I came to teach you a lesson.” He says, pulling back from you the slightest bit to look down at your lips- admiring how they’re slightly parted, allowing him to feel your shuddering breath against his skin. “I don’t like sharing what’s mine…and I’d say I’d made a good claim on you, told you, you were mine from the get go, yes?” He hisses in a hushed tone through his teeth. The tone of his voice, one you have never heard when you were around him before. It’s deeper, rougher, desperate even.

It has you speechless, thighs squeezing together without you even thinking about it. When you don’t respond his hand connects with your cheek. It’s not hard, it’s quick and sharp, a light sting to get you to focus. And as fast as his hand connects with the flesh of your cheek, it’s back to jaw in the same bruising grip as before.

“Y-yes you did.” You choke out, and he grins in response. “Thaatssss riiighhttt.” He draws out in a heinous, mocking tone. “So I think ‘s only fair that I teach you a lesson on how to properly fucking listen right?” His smile widens, his hand not on your jaw comes to settle on your lower back, pulling you against him.

You only bite your lip and nod, your hands grounding yourself on his chest. “Good.” He laughs, and then he’s on you in an instant. His lips collide with yours in a rushed, nearly frenzied motion. It’s involuntary, but you whine into the kiss.

His hand drops from your jaw, both hands moving under your jacket and shirt to grab at your waist. His hands were warm against your cold skin. You could feel the multiple silver rings, the metal nipping coldly at your skin.

He was unforgiving to say the least, the kiss had you incredibly hot. His tongue snaked its way into your mouth expertly, tasting all your mouth had to offer. You don’t even realize one of his hands has removed itself from your hip and has attached itself to your throat.

It’s a rough grip, enough to make you let out a choked gasp, eyes shooting open as he pulls away from the kiss. He can see the way your pupils are dilated from the way the dim light catches your eyes. He scoffs, “So pathetic…you enjoy this. You’ve been wanting this haven’t you?”

You open your mouth to speak but he interrupts, his other hand gliding across your waist and moving down your stomach, fingers dancing along the waistband of his sweatpants. “Mhm…” he lets out in a low growl, fingers untying the knot of your sweatpants stings.

“‘S all you needed, someone to set you straight. Probably so worked up because no one’s fucked you like the whore you really are…” his grin widens, his eyes never leaving yours, his hand on your neck squeezing; the other hand is dipping under the material of your track suit sweats and under your panties.

His hand splays across your pubic bone before running his long slender fingers through your folds. His eyes widen when he feels just how wet you already are. “Yeahhh….” He drawls out, almost in a hushed coo, “‘S exactly what you need, ain’t it?” His fingers rub against your entrance, playing with your folds for a couple seconds before gliding his fingers up and against your clit as he draws his fingers out of your pants.

He pulls his fingers up in front of your face, spreading them out so you can see your arousal web between your fingers in thick, sticky strings. You let out a strangled moan, it’s a silently sound due to the pressure on your neck.

He chuckles softly, bringing his fingers up to your open mouth and shoving them against your tongue- forcing you to taste yourself. Your lips instinctively wrap around his ringed fingers, sucking the digits into his mouth, tongue swirling around to clean his fingers off.

He hums in approval, “Trying to win me over, huh, sweet thing? Tryna be good…” he laughs, his fingers shoving themselves further down your throat. You gag around them, making him let out a low moan. “But it doesn’t work like that…no….you still have to be punished sweetheart….needa show you that I meant it when I said you are mine.” He rasps, a hungry, lustful look in his eye.

In a second he’s pulling his fingers from your mount and picking you up, tossing you onto the bed. He’s onto of you in a second, straddling over your form. His hand presses against your throat, just admiring how his hand look against you. It trails down your sternum, over the swell of your breast before gripping at it harshly through the material of your shirt and bra.

It has you arching up into him, a soft moan falling from your lips as a plea for more. He’s lifting his hand, grabbing the hem of your shirt and bunching it up, lifting it up above your bra. He sits back on your thighs, looking down to admire you.

“Prettiest set of tits I’ve ever seen..” he growls, hand not holding your shirt up working to pull down your bra. When your tits are out on full display he sucks in a breath, head diving down to capture a nipple into his mouth. He’s biting and sucking relentlessly, his other hand on your other breast kneading the flesh in his large hands.

It was a while since you felt any sort of attention like this and with the situation you’ve been stuck in the past couple days, it’s like an itch that’s finally being scratched. It’s like a massive weight has been lifted off your shoulders. You let out a large sigh, arching into him.

Your hands come up to entangle in his hair, trying to press him even further into him. His teeth and tongue are relentless, lathing over your hard nipple and working around suck bright red marks into your skin.

He pulls back with a wet ‘pop’, smiling down at you with the same wicked grin he’s had since this whole thing started. Like only he knows just how truly ruing you were about to be.

“I’m going to fucking ruin you…” he says scoffing down at you. “Going to fuck you dumb so all you remember is my god damn name.” He growls. Suddenly he’s moving off of you settling at the foot of your bed, kneeling, and as he moves he’s pulling you up into a kneeling position to mirror him.

“But can’t fuck you right now…” he growls, hands gripping your face, squishing your cheeks together. “No… that would be a reward not a punishment…” he chuckles, his hands drop to push down on your shoulders. You know what he’s trying to insinuate, you comply, sinking down onto all fours, facing towards him so his hard, clothed cock is directly in front of your face.

You look up to him, the look in your eyes making him laugh in a low, degrading tone. He’s gripping the back of your head and pressing your face into his erection. It’s filthy. He’s smushing your cheek against his cock, rubbing it up and down, the fabric of his pants feeling abrasive against your cheek.

“Just needed someone to set ya straight….no one’s ever put you in your place.” He hums down at you, you’re looking up at him with an angry glare but you’re not pulling away. “Awh…what’s that look for?” He laughs, “you’re jus’ provin’ my point sweetheart, you’re nothing but a brat who needs the attitude fucked out of ‘er.”

He’s pulling your head back far enough for him to grip at his pants and underwear pulling them down. His cock springs out, falling against your face with a hearty ‘plap’. You can’t help the gasp that you let out, both feeling it and seeing it for the first time.

His hand moves to the top of your head as he holds you still, his other hand on your cheek, using thumb to hold his cock on your face. He’s thrusting back and forth, dragging his thick length along your face. You hate that it makes you all the more hotter. You can feel the way your panties stick uncomfortably to your cunt, your arousal surly begging to soak through your track suit pants.

Yet you still look up at him with the same defiant expression, like you hated him. But he knew you didn’t. “Keep that expression, girlie. Just makes me harder.” He growls pulling his hips back. His hand that’s not holding your head grips the base of his dick, rubbing the leaking red tip over your lips. “Actin’ so mean and angry when you’re just achin’ to suck my cock ain’t ya?” And in response, you part your lips.

“Heh…yeah you are.” He muses lowly, pushing the head of his cock into your warm lips. He removes his hand from the base of his cock, grabbing the hem of his shirt in his hands and pulling it up out of the way. You keep staring up at him, watching as his head throws back and his chest heaves as he draws in a large breath.

He pushes his cock deeper, letting out a low groan as he draws his hips back the smallest bit to only sink back into the heaven that is your mouth. Your tongue flattens out, taking more of him in, relishing in the taste of him on your tongue. His hand that rests on the top of your head wastes no time to push you down the length of his cock. You let out a choked sound of surprise that only makes him laugh.

“You really thought I was gonna go easy on you? Are you that dumb?” He scolds, grinning down at you wickedly, your eyebrows furrow at his words, letting our muffled sounds of protest as you look up at him with a scowl- or the best one you can make with his cock shoved in your mouth. “Yeaaahhh…” he drawls out, “keep looking at me just like that…” he continues through gritted teeth as he pushes his cock further into your mouth, the bulbous tip beginning to press at the back of your throat.

You let out a muffled gag around his cock, the movement of your throat only allowing him to sink further in. Yet, he realizes your hands are still by your side- you’re not even bracing against him or trying to jerk off the length that’s not in your mouth.

“Ahh look at that. Maybe you are good for something if you can’t listen. Good fucking cock sucker ain’t ya?” He laughs, rocking his hips a couple times before pushing the back of your head hard- sinking your mouth all the way to the base of his cock, your nose pressed against his pelvic bone.

You gag around him, spit bubbling at the corners of your mouth, your eyes screwing shut. His hand that’s not on your head comes in contact with your cheek in a few quick, sharp, taps. “Oh no, open your fucking eyes and look at me.” He orders. You obey, your eyes opening, glaring at him from tear soaked lashes.

He tilts his head, beginning to pull you up and down his cock, making sure every time he sinks into your mouth, he’s sinking balls deep. His heavy balls hit against your chin with every thrust. “That’s it, looking at me so angry when you’re gladly taking my cock down your throat” He mocks, pushing you down so your nose brushes the dark hairs that surround his cock. You choke around him, muffled gags of protest just causing more spit to bubble up and escape your mouth.

He pulls you completely off of him, you’re turning away and coughing, spitting, using the back of your hand to wipe your mouth. His hand in your hair roughly jerks your head back to look at him. “Did I say you can get clean? You really don’t know how to fuckin’ listen.” He growls, before you can react, he’s spit directly on your face and shoved you back down on his cock.

You moan out around his cock, it pains you how much being used like this turns you on, but fuck does it feel so good. When you look up at him this time, your eyebrows aren’t furrowed in anger- but upturned in a desperate look as if you wanted to do nothing but please him.

“Thaatss it..” he growls, his words slurred, eyes trained on you as he fucks his dick impossibly deeper into your tight throat. “You just like being’ used, fucking slut.” He says chucking, pressing your face all the way to the base of his dick to make you choke again. “Say it, say you like it.” He says lowly, drawing his cock put your throat ever so slightly.

With watery eyes you try to speak around his cock, responding with an ‘I like it.’ But it just comes out as garbled chokes, the words hardly able to be made out but it’s exactly what he wanted. “Yeahhh you do, fucking bitch.” He says, thrusting his cock in and out of your throat in a brutal pace.

And you just take it. You can feel your cunt dripping in your pants, the sticky arousal that weeps out of you coating your inner thighs.

You’re sure the other players around you can hear the debauched, wet, sloppy sounds you were making as you suck his cock, taking him in so greedily despite the tears welling up in your eyes and the lack of breath available to you that his cock in your throat causes.

He reaches the hand that’s not in your hair down to cup your jaw, chuckling darkly has he hooks his thumb in the corner of your mouth. It makes you so embarrassed. It causes even more drool to slip out of your mouth and your mouth to ache even more than it does. “See, now you’re not looking up at me all pissy, just needed a cock in your throat to calm ya down.” He laughs, shaking your head side to side on his cock by the thumb that’s hooked into your cheek.

You whine out around his cock, your drool beginning to cover your shirt, the white fabric becoming visibly darker and beginning to stick to your skin. He pulls his thick length out of your throat, a large amount of bubbly spit being pulled away with it. You gasp, catching your breath.

“Bet you’re fucking soaked you slut. I just know choking on some cock gets ya’ all nice n’ sloppy.” You bite your lip and whine silently, you don’t want to agree but you know it’s true. Your panties are stuck so uncomfortably to your cunt, your arousal now soaking through your track suit completely- leaving a dark wet patch all over the crotch and inner thighs of the fabric.

He’s quickly turning you back around away from him and pushing you to all fours once again, his hand is pressing on your back forcing you into an arch. You can feel his hand run up your spine and grip at your hair.

Your face is shoved into the mattress, it’s rough, causing you to fall over with a choked whine ripping through your throat. He’s leaning over you, his thick cock grinding itself up and down the valley of your ass, his head right next to your ear. “I knew a whore like you would love to be manhandled, isn’t that right?” His words are a mocking, almost evil titter, hissing into your ear as his hips rock against your ass. You can feel his erection through his pants.

You’re infinitely glad that your bunk was one in the far corner of the large room, the shadows of the other bunks and the dark room shrouding what you know was surely about to happen. You know you’re horrible for even thinking this- but you’re also thankful that the many bunks around you weren’t all full, a large number of the people who used to surround you were killed off by the second game.

And he knew that. When lights out came, and he knew he had to teach you a lesson. He took his opportunity.

He’s hovering behind you, his hands running down your back, to your waist, and then your ass. His hands quickly move back up to the waistband of the tracksuit and pulling the material down your legs to be bunched around your ankles.

You try to turn your head to look at him but his grip on your hair tightens, it’s relentless and mean- you’re sure some strands of hair were ripped out. But it only causes your cunt to weep desperately, arousal only beading and dropping in thick, gooey strings onto the sheets.

“Nuh-uh..” he growls “you’re not calling the shots here.” He emphasizes his words has his hand pushes you deeper into the plush pillows. “You’re going to sit there, like the compliant slut you are. N’ you’re gonna let me use this sweet cunt, isn’t that right?”

The fingers on his other hand that wasn’t in your hair run softly over your ass, it’s a strange soothing motion. As his hand runs lower though, it’s soon apparent that the feather light, almost delicate motion was just to throw you off. His hand comes in contact with your pussy, giving it a hard slap.

You cry out, body jerking forward. His palm grinds into your clit, a delicious pleasure awarded after the sharp sting of the slap. “Fucking answer me.” He growls, his hand that’s manipulating your face to pull it out of the pillows some, allowing you to look at him.

“Y-yes, mhmm.” You whine out desperately, your head trying its best to nod despite his hold on your scalp. He lets out a low chuckle, feeling your hips push back into his hand. He got you exactly how he wants you. No more of that bratty attitude. No more talking back to him.

“No fuckin’ shame…just desperate to be touched” he chuckles out, sitting back up, his hand pulls back from your pussy, sticky ropes of your arousal stringing his hand to your cunt. “Haven’t even done anything and you’re drenched. That’s how much of a slut you are? Hm? Just so needy for some cock.” He mocks, his fingers running through your folds.

He’s simply addicted to the sight of your swollen cunt, desperate to take whatever he gives and just continuously spilling milky white arousal. The sheets below you are stained a darker color, a pool of evidence doing nothing to help your case.

You can only whine, “P-please, p-please.” You chant out and he only laughs. “You poor thing..” he chides, sitting up and leaning over you to smile wickedly at you. “You want it bad? Huh, sweet thing.” He says, his voice oddly softer, his hand gently brushing your hair back out of your face.

He looks at you tenderly, mirroring your pout. You nod, tears starting to build up in your lashes having been needing him inside you for so long. “Mhmm.” You hum out, rocking your hips against his palm that cups your pussy. “Want it so bad… wan’ you.” You mumbled out, looking up at him like some kind of doe eyed prey.

“Should have thought about that before you decided to be a fucking bitch.” And the wicked grin is back, he’s going to take his time with you.

His hands grip at the globes of your ass, letting out a low growl. He pushes forward, spreading you open nice and wide for him. You can’t help but to shiver when the cold air of the room hits your pussy. It’s embarrassing, you can’t see him but you know he’s just staring at your weeping hole.

“Such a cute lil’ pussy…” he hums out, making sure you can hear his words. Two of his fingers run up and down your cunt, lightly petting at your clit. You bite your lip, a muffled ‘mhmm’ coming out of your mouth as you feel his fingers touch exactly where you needed him.

“Doesn’t take much to get you dripping does it?” He says with a laugh. “Just running my fingers over your clit and being mean to you..” he says, pausing to spread his two fingers, moving your lips aside to show your clit fully. “..makes your little cunt cry f’me…” he says watching with a trained eye as a new thick, white drop of your arousal pushes out your entrants and runs down, collecting on your clit.

He hunches back over your arched form so his mouth is right by your ear. “How filthy can you be? I mean really, letting me use you like this…here? Sobering all over my cock and whining like a bitch in heat when my fingers are touching your pussy…do you not have any shame?” He rambles in a low gravely tone as his fingers just play with your puffy cunt.

It’s feather light touches that have you gripping the pillow and trying to push your hips back into his fingers for more. He just laughs at your desperation, pulling his hand back and siting back up so he can have a perfect look at you.

His hand pulls back from your sopping heat and he spreads his fingers, admiring how messy his hand already is. His palm and fingers glisten with your arousal, a wet shine that has his cock pulsating angrily in his pants. He wants nothing more than to sink balls deep in your tight cunt- but that’s what you want, and he can’t give you what you want.

He spreads you open, his hands gripping harshly at your ass, spreading you wide so he can truly see the mess he’s made of you. The stretch causes your back to arch, pushing your hips back towards him, calling out a weak cry of his name.

One of his fingers stretches to circle around your tight hole. It’s a light touch that has you shivering. It’s not nearly enough to drive you to the release that you desperately needed. His eyes are fixated on your pussy, fingers dancing along your entrance, watching as you clench and spasm around nothing.

“If I knew this is all you needed to set you straight…” he mumbles, a single finger pushes into your wet cunt, a moan is ripped from your lips as you finally get what you needed most. “…I woulda done this the first day here. Made sure you knew who you belonged to.” He rasps, his single finger beginning to pump in and out of you.

He’s entranced by the way his finger disappears in your tight heat to be pulled out covered in your milky white arousal. When he pushes his finger back in, feeling your tight walls suck him in, gushing even more syrupy wetness out, his tongue is licking at his lips.

“So tight..” he mumbles, his hand that’s nod busy fucking you still holding your ass, fingers clawing into your flesh to keep you spread open for him. “How are you even going to take my cock, pretty girl? Gonna have to get you ready, hm?” He coos at you as another finger begins to push into your entrance.

The stretch of his two fingers is enough to have you moaning out a choked call of his name. His fingers move expertly in you, scissoring themselves and working you open. You’re gushing around his hand, covering his pale fingers and knuckles with your wetness. It makes every thrust of his fingers into your cunt a noisy, sloppy wet sound resonates. Anytime his fingers slam back into you, another sob is wracked through your body.

His fingers spread themselves, opening your hole up to him. You can only whine and hide your head in the pillows, you don’t think you’ve ever been this vulnerable and for some reason you’re allowing it to happen at the worst time and in the worst place. You can hear a low, gravely rumble come from his throat when he watches your pink cunt gape around his fingers, entranced at the way he can see your cunt try to clench around his fingers that hold you open for him. He leans in and you feel like you’ve been electrocuted when his tongue dives deep into your pussy between his spread fingers, licking around your walls like he’s already addicted to the saccharine taste of your cunt.

He pulls back with an obnoxious slurp that has you whining in embarrassment. He sits there for a moment, basking in the taste of you on his tongue. And you’re fucked, because he thinks it’s better than any high he’s had. No drug rush could compare to the euphoria the taste of your cunt gave him.

He’s on you in an instant, mouth engulfing your cunt and sucking your clit into his warm mouth. It’s filthy. His nose is pushed into your entrance, rubbing into you and sniffing like a dog. When he releases your clit, his is tongue laps at you in large encompassing licks, you can tell it’s not for you but for him. It’s like he’s drunk off your arousal. Every loud, obscene slurp and shake of his head has you crying out, your hips circling back onto his face.

You can tell he’s truly just eating you for the sake of tasting you, teasing you relentlessly by never running directly over your clit. He’s around it, tip of his tongue just millimeters away from when you needed it most but he never gave you that sweet release. Every bit of arousal that spills from your abused cunt is swallowed greedily by him.

You shake and writhe against him, fingers tearing into the bedsheets as you try to catch your breath. But he never lets you, so just have to sit there and choke out sob after sob as he slurps at your pussy.

When he pulls away you cry out, trying to push your hips back, seeking out the solace that was his tongue. He’s standing back up and placing his hefty cock against your ass, still wet with your spit from taking him down your throat it allows him to slide easily between your ass cheeks. He’s humming to himself, the image of your perfect ass underneath his aching cock. The plush of your ass squeezing against the side of his length as he rocks against you.

“You gonna stick with me from now on, sweetheart. Gonna fuckin’ listen?” He says, his voice softer than usual. You can hardly form a coherent thought let alone string together an answer. You nod your head dumbly. He growls, his hand connecting with your ass in a painful smack, hard enough to imprint his hand into your flesh, the skin becoming red and raised. You keel over moaning out a broken sound that was probably his name- it was so shaky and wrecked you couldn’t tell.

“Use your words. C’mon now I haven’t even fucked you yet and you’re already acting like a dumb whore.” He says in a low rasp, hand smoothing over the area that’s raised in the shape of his palm. “Y-yes I will…” you sob out, pushing back against him. “‘M yours!” You whimper, turning to look back at him.

He raises an amused eyebrow, “ohhhhh….” He says in a sweet coo, gripping your ass roughly with both hands, “That’s it, didn’t even have to ask you to say it…good fucking girl….”

He’s suddenly drawing his hips back and lining up with your dripping hole. He’s pushing in without any restraint, bulling his fat cock into your cunt until he’s balls deep. You’re sobbing out into the pillow, it doing little to muffle your wrecked sounds. He’s so fucking big it feels like you’re being split in half. You feel him so deep inside you, you feel like he’s going to permanently etch the shape of his cock into your walls.

His head is thrown back, his hands gripping into the plush of your ass, nails breaking skin. The heaven that is your tight cunt granted him just what he needed to get him through these games. You’re so wet and so warm and you’re squeezing him So. Fucking. Tight.

“Knew this sloppy cunt would be perfect f’me.” He hisses as he begins to slowly draw his hips back. The drag you feel when his thick length pulls out of you is intense, it has you nearly sobbing into the pillow below you.

And just when you think you’ve adjusted to the violent stretch that he imposes on your cunt, his hips begin to pound into you. You’re surging forward, biting your lip so hard you’re sure you’re drawing blood as you try to keep quiet. It’s useless though, the wet sounds of skin slapping on skin and the thick smell of sex is enough to give you two away regardless of the noise you make.

He’s fucking brutal. Both hands are releasing your ass and moving up to your head, his thumbs are overlapping each other while his other fingers tangle into your hair. He’s shoving your face, hard, into the thin pillow of your bunk, every sharp thrust of his cock deep into your swollen cunt has you surging forward on the bed. You can’t even move, not one bit, the two hands on the back of your head pushing you down so hard you can’t even twist your head. All you can do is sit there and take it.

Your cunt is gushing around him, every thrust of his hips sound off a wet sloshing sound. “Making a mess out of my cock you filthy fuckin’ thing.” He growls, positioning his hips into you at a pace that has you seeing stars. Every time his balls slap against your clit, pushing his thick cock deep into your tight walls, the tip of his cock pounds against your cervix. “Can you hear your sloppy cunt?” He muses into your ear, his hips drawing out slowly and jackhammering back into you in long, deep thrusts, making sure you hear every wet squelch of your pussy.

It’s a punishing force that makes you begin to sob out, your hips driving back to meet his thrusts pathetically as tears begin to well in your eyes. His hand pulls your head off the pillow the slightest bit, using your hair to yank your head to the side- shoving your head back down into the pillows with a harsh movement of his hand when he maneuvers your face where he wants it.

When he sees your face streaked with tears and your lashes clumped in wet bunches a wicked and sadistic grin creeps across his face. “Oh!? You fuckin’ cryin’?” He laughs, his thrusts becoming even harder, the wet slap of his pelvis against your ass becoming so rough it nearly stings every time he connects against your ass. “What happened? Thought you could take it. You’re a big girl aren’t you?” He mocks.

You can’t even speak to respond, you’re quite literally being fucked dumb. All you can do is cry and take it. It felt so fucking good but it was too much. His hands still at the back of your head, fingers gripped tightly to your hair and using it to drag you back into him, it leaves you no where to run.

You reach back behind you, your hand trying to push at his torso, crying out a choked moan, “H-holy fuck! P-please ‘s too much.” You beg your hand desperately pushing against his stomach, though it does absolutely nothing to stop the relentless jackhammering of his hips. He just scoffs, adjusting himself quickly, his hands grabbing both your wrists and crossing your arms behind your back.

“Nuh-uh you’re not running away from me, you’re going to fucking take it.” He growls. He’s able to hold both your arms behind your back with one of his large hands, his grip was definitely going to leave purple and blue hues on your skin. His other hand is back on your head, grabbing a fist full of your hair and hauling you upright- your back flush with his chest, “Gonna. Take. Every. Fuckin’. Inch.” His words are punctuated by long, deep strokes up into your cunt that split you open. When he finishes his sentence he stills balls deep inside you, grinding his cock into your cunt.

Tears soaked your face, your eyes were red and puffy, and raw pussy was still being abused by his thick length that grinds slowly in you. You let out a sob, your face turning to the side to try and look back at the absolute beast of a man that was fucking you dumb. His hand releases your hair, coming up to latch onto your throat.

He hooks his chin over your shoulder so he can look at your face, when he sees your tear stained faze, drool covered lips and hears the pathetic breathy whines that flip between ‘too much’ and ‘harder’, he lets out a deep moan that makes your body shake against him. “You look so pretty cryin’ f’me.” He muses, the hand on your neck trailing up your jaw so two of his thick fingers could push themselves into your mouth.

He presses his fingers deep into your mouth, pressing on your tongue and holding your jaw open. Drool just pours out of your mouth, dirtying the white shirt you still had on even further. It was sticking to your skin, the warm, wet damn fabric becoming see through as you keep messily babbling around his fingers.

“Just taking whatever I give you,” he hums happily at your debauched state, “Messy fuckin’ girl, you just love getting fucked dumb by me don’t you?”

Your eyebrows are upturned and you nod in response as you try to thrust your hips back to get him to begin pounding into you again. “You think you deserve to cum?” He’s mocks, his hips slowly driving up into you in short thrusts. He finally removes his hand from your mouth for you to respond. You look at him, your eyes desperate, “F-fuck yes…please. I need to-“ you choke out a whine when he begins to slowly pick up his pace, “I-i need to cum. Ohmygod please!” You babble.

He stares at you for a moment taking in your fucked out state. Usually you were so bratty, so defiant, a scowl or quizzical look always on your face- not now. No, now you’re looking at him like he’s got your life in his hands, like you’re utterly devoted to him and that’s what exactly what he wanted.

“Mhm…yeaahh…” he hums, leaning over to kiss you, it’s slow and meticulous, a drastic contrast from the erratic way his hips hammer his cock deep into your pussy. “You look like you deserve it now, go ‘head and cream on my cock you slut. Let everyone here know who makes you feel like this.” He murmurs in a low, tantalizing voice.

His hand drops from your neck to your clit, rubbing furious circles around the neglected bundle of nerves. You’re straight up sobbing now, it’s so fucking much. His fingers on your clit, the relentless way his thick cock abuses your cunt, and the way he’s dragged out your release for so long makes you cum so hard your vision goes dark.

You’re gushing around him, crying out his name as he uses his hand still holding your arms behind your back to drive you down onto his dick, riding out your orgasm. He’s following right behind you, the way your cunt spasms around him, like a vice that’s trying to suck him in and keep him there, makes him cum deep into your pussy.

“Gonna cum so fucking deep in your slutty cunt..” he growls out. You fall limbless against him shaking as you feel him pump you full of his thick cum, and as he gently thrusts up into you, riding out his own orgasm, you can feel it being pushed out of you. There’s so fucking much. And he’s letting out the most beautiful sounds in your ear as he cums and cums, hitched breaths and low groans of your name spill out of his lips.

Both of you are breathless, he holds you against him, rocking his softening cock into you a couple times before pulling out. You hiss from the movement, the absence of his cock filling your pussy makes you feel so empty now. Before you can look back at him to say anything, he’s pushing your arms into your back and forcing you to fall back forward.

His hands are back on your ass, spreading you for him so he could see the mess he made of you cunt. Your whimpering and writhing against the sheets, any sort of stimulation of your pussy is overstimulating. “Quit complaining.” He growls, eyes entranced by the look of your abused cunt- red, raw, puffy and covered in a mix of your arousal and his cum that was pushed out of you. He grins to himself hands massaging inwards, pushing towards your pussy, you moan out, hands gripping the sheets desperately.

His movement causes his huge cum load to begin to drip out of you. The feeling is filthy, you’re whining and shaking against his touch. His fingers move to scoop the large glob of his cum that was dripping out of you, two fingers intruding into your pussy to fuck his cum back into you. “If you were as good as I thought you were you would have kept it all in and we could have avoided this, sweetheart.” He laughs.

“But you-“ you go to talk back, to rightfully blame him for making it spill out of you but he cuts you off by removing his fingers and dragging his tongue up your cunt once before pulling back. “Enough of that.” He scolds, a hand smacking against your pussy.

He scoots back and works so haul your pants and underwear back up your body. “Gonna keep these on the rest of the night, you’re gonna sleep with my cum leaking out of you like the whore you are…” he growls, leaning back over your arched form so his lips are right by your ear “Then tomorrow you’re gonna meet me in the morning for the next game and stick by me…isn’t that right?”

You nod and look up to him. He places one last kiss on your lips, it’s oddly soft compared to the rest of what just occurred. He’s brushing your hair out of your face and pulling away slowly. He doesn’t waste time, he’s hauling himself off your bed, tucking his soft cock into his pants and headed back over to his bunk.

You collapsed into jelly on your bed, finally beginning to catch your breath. You couldn’t think, your head foggy, the only idea in your mind was the one that involved immediately going to Nam-gyu’s bunk in the morning. Maybe he’d reward you for listening so well.

If what just happened was a punishment you could only excitedly imagine what his reward would be.

OH M GEEE this was so scrumptious to write. I hope yall enjoyed!!! Requests are still open im makin my way through them slowly but surely! I also wanna start letting yall know what requests I got cookin up next everytime I post a request

Next up I got more thangyu content!! First I got one just about the general dynamics of the relationship out of the games (gonna be sfw with little nsfw snippets)

Then… you guessed it MORE THANGYU!!! It’s gonna be them passing’ you around like a blunt, complete nsfw

After that…MORE THANGYUUU BABY!! I got a wonderful ask for a thicc!reader x thangyu smut with double penetration and lots of love for thighs n tummy’s

Thank you guys as ALWAYS!! Your support means the world - <3 kiwi

#nam gyu #namgyu fanfic #squid game fanfic #squid game fanfiction #namgyu smut #namgyu x reader #player124 #player124 smut #player 124 x reader smut #player124 x you #player230 x reader #namgyu x y/n smut #nam gyu x reader smut #namgyu x you #nam gyu squid game #namgyu x reader smut #player 124 x reader

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no-144444 · 21 hours ago

Text

abu dhabi- o.piastri

summary: your first season as an f1 driver doesn't start the best, and you quickly realise McLaren doesn't like women very much. On top of that, your race engineer is as smug as the rest of them, and you have to deal with him all the time.

pairing: race engineer! oscar piastri x f1driver! fem! reader

warnings: lots of misogyny, lando is an asshole in this, illusions to ed behaviour, reader is not in a good head space, all of mclaren is super sexist, mentions of crashes and injuries.

a/n: thank you all very much for your patience, this series means a lot to me and I've had a lot of personal stuff going on, so I felt bad for leaving you guys hanging for a bit. Thank you all so much for reading this series and I hope you guys enjoy this as much as I love writing it!

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Abu Dhabi. World Drivers Champion. World Constructors Champions.

Holy shit.

All those years of hard work, of giving up being a child, of giving up having friends or family. You’d done it. You were a winner.

You jumped out of the car and ran straight to Oscar, jumping in his arms. He caught you (of course) and cheered with you.

“You fucking did it!” he smiled, pulling your helmet off. “You did it!”

Every emotion flooded through you, but one in particular stood out; gratefulness.

You were grateful for Oscar, for how he treated you, for who he was. He was there for you through everything, he helped you whenever he could, and while yes, you had a rough start, in the end you couldn’t imagine F1 without Oscar in it.

“Thank you, Osc, for everything,” you smiled, hugging him close.

“Anytime. Whenever. Always,” he nodded.

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

He was drunk as fuck, but he was still watching you as you chatted with various team members.

“You’re fucked, aren’t you?” Lando chuckled, joining his side.

Oscar rolled his eyes. “I’m drunk, yes.”

“No. You’re fucked for her,” Lando pointed twoards you. Perfect, unreachable, you.

“Yes,” he nodded, frowning. “I’m fucked for her.”

“It’s pretty clear.”

“I know it is,” Oscar scoffed. “Thanks for Baku, by the way.”

Lando sighed. “Look, I’ve said a lot of shit this season that I didn’t mean, and I’m sorry I was a dick to the two of you. It wasn’t right and I do feel bad about it. So, I’m sorry.”

“Thank you, but that doesn’t solve the fact that she’s being this mysterious weirdo and acting really into me and then really not,” Oscar whined.

“She’s a very broken person-”

“You think?” Oscar rolled his eyes. “You’re not exactly giving me much hope right now.”

Lando laughed at his drunk state. “Just talk to her,” he offered. “She listens to you no matter what.”

Oscar stared at him, then nodded. “Good idea!” he announced (a little too loud as it drew the attention of a few people around the two of them), and looked at you. But you weren’t there. Oscar frowned again.

“You’ll find her before the end of the night, I’m sure you will,” Lando clapped a hand on his shoulder and passed him a bottle of water to sober him up. “Good luck.”

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅

Oscar had decided to go find you, he wanted to talk. On the way there, he’d acquired about three more drinks and pissed off a small group of other McLaren employees by spilling one of his three drinks and apologised profusely (albeit rather mumbly), and that’s when you came in with a hand on his shoulder and a gentle smile that brushed it all over.

“Are you alright?” you asked him, taking him to a corner to look him over.

“Y/n?” he questioned, his vision blurry. “Is that you?”

You chuckled. “Yeah, it’s me buddy, you alright?”

He nodded, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you in for a hug. “I’m so proud of you.”

“I’m proud of you too, Osc, come on, we get you to bed?” you offered, pulling one of his arms over your shoulder and helping him walk.

“Bed sounds good,” he nodded, allowing you to walk him to his room.

Drunk Oscar was what you assumed three year olds acted like. He pressed every button in the lift, ding-dong ditched people in the hallway, and stripped (almost) naked the second he got in the door of his room. After a few minutes of being in his room, he decided it was a good time to puke his guts out in the toilet, and you, being the good samaritan you are, decided to stay with him.

“Feeling any better?” you asked, putting a cold cloth on his head as he lay in bed. You sat beside him, holding his hand.

He shook his head, his eyes closed and a grimace on his lips. “Shit.”

You chuckled lightly. “You’ll feel better in the morning.”

He opened his eyes and stared into yours, his hand resting over your hand. And time (as it always did when he was looking at you like that) stopped. The world melted away, and it didn’t matter that it was 2 in the morning, or that he’d just vomited, or that all of this was a lot more confusing than either of you had anticipated. You two just got to be with each other, and that was enough for the both of you.

“Why don’t you love me?” he asked, his voice small and raw. He spoke to you with all the care in the world, but you could see he was hurting. You were hurting him.

Fuck. Why couldn’t any of this be easy? Why couldn’t you just… talk to him? Confess to him? Be normal? The boy you love was sitting there in front of you telling you he loved you and you just… froze for a moment. You took a deep breath. “Osc, of course I love you,” you whispered. “But you shouldn’t love me. I wouldn’t be any good for you.”

“I don’t care-”

“You’d end up hating me-”

“I could never hate you,” he shook his head, reaching a hand up to cup your cheek. “I could never hate you.”

And you believed him. That was the scary part. You believed him when he told you he loved you. You believed him when he said he cares. You believed him when he said you look beautiful. You believed him when he said he wouldn’t hate you. “You should,” you whispered, tears forming in your eyes.

“I couldn’t,” he whispered back, a soft smile on his face. He wiped away a tear that fell. “I don’t want you to be scared of how you feel.”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” your voice broke. “I’m not an easy person to love.”

“I disagree,” he chuckled, wiping every tear away. “I find it’s as easy as breathing.”

And you couldn’t take it anymore. You curled up beside him and sobbed. You didn’t know how long you’d done it for, but you woke up beside him, the steady rise and fall of his chest against your head giving you something to ground yourself to. You remembered every moment of last night, every word he said, and everything you said.

You just hoped he wouldn’t.

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When Oscar woke up, he knew there was something he had asked you last night, but he couldn’t remember what. After his conversation with Lando, there was nothing else he really remembered, apart from the fact that you had brought him up to his room, and he pieced together that he’d probably asked you to stay (being the pathetic hopeless romantic he is), and that’s why you were in his bed.

A few seconds after waking up, the hangover hit, and fuck it was bad. His entire body ached.

“I’m never drinking again,” he groaned, his voice hoarse.

You chuckled beside him. “Remember anything?”

He sighed, turning to meet your eyes. “Nope.”

As much as that destroyed you, you knew it was for the better. Oscar was better off without you, that, you knew for sure. But, you also couldn't put aside the confession he'd made last night. “I find it’s as easy as breathing.” It played in your head over and over again, like a mantra that made every negative thought in your head silent for a few seconds. Oscar was good at that, making you question yourself. Either way, you were glad he hadn't remembered. It was for the better, right?

There was a split second where he could’ve sworn he saw a flash of disappointment in your eyes, but it was gone as quickly as it was there, replaced with a smile. “Well, let’s go back to Monaco.”

He groaned just thinking about facing the day, but the fact that he woke up next to you meant it was better than any day he’d ever had.

He definitely needed to know what he asked you last night. And you definitely needed him to not find out.

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rosedustdreams · 2 days ago

Note

Hey! I’ve been reading your Walker works and I need more from you lovely!

Would it be alright if I asked for a Walker x Reader where they do an interview together and he keeps being so obvious about his feelings for her? And like after the interview goes live, a bunch of fans make ship edits, and basically they’re just never beating the dating allegations?

If not it’s quite alright!! Just keep up the amazing work lovely!!

Not So Subtle

You weren’t nervous, not exactly. It was just a press interview, something you’d done countless times before. Still, being paired with Walker for this particular one had your pulse doing somersaults. Not because of the cameras or the audience, but because Walker couldn’t help himself when it came to you.

As the two of you settled into the studio chairs, the host greeted the audience with her signature enthusiasm, introducing you both and hyping up the upcoming season of the Percy Jackson show.

“So,” the host began, her grin playful, “you two have been spending a lot of time together on set. How’s that been?”

Walker immediately leaned forward, his elbow resting casually on his knee. “It’s been amazing,” he said, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye. “I mean, how could it not be? She’s kind of the best.”

Your face heated up, and you laughed nervously, trying to brush it off. “We have a great cast dynamic,” you said, keeping your tone light.

The host raised an eyebrow, clearly catching the subtle tension. “I see,” she said, drawing out the words. “And Walker, I have to ask—there’s a lot of buzz about how much you hype her up in interviews. Care to explain?”

Walker grinned, completely unbothered. “What can I say? She’s insanely talented. And hilarious. And, you know, just… easy to be around.”

You shot him a look, but he just shrugged, his grin turning slightly mischievous.

The host smirked, clearly loving every second of it. “Interesting. And what about you?” she asked, turning to you. “What’s it like working with Walker?”

“Oh, he’s great,” you said, doing your best to stay professional. “Super dedicated, really supportive. Definitely keeps things fun on set.”

“Fun how?” the host pressed, her tone teasing.

Walker jumped in before you could answer. “She’s laughing at me half the time,” he said, his tone playful. “I’m basically just a walking joke to her.”

“That’s not true!” you protested, laughing despite yourself.

“Oh, so you don’t think I’m funny?” he teased, leaning a little closer.

“I think you’re plenty funny,” you said, rolling your eyes.

The host looked between the two of you, her smile widening. “Okay, okay. I think I’m starting to see why fans love you two so much. The chemistry is very real.”

You both froze for half a second before laughing it off, though you could feel your cheeks heating up.

The rest of the interview passed in a blur, with Walker continuing to find small ways to tease you, compliment you, and generally make it impossible for you to escape the growing attention. By the time it ended, you were both smiling, though for very different reasons.

When the interview went live, it didn’t take long for the internet to explode. Within hours, TikTok was flooded with clips of the two of you, complete with dramatic zoom-ins, captions like "Walker is DOWN BAD," and edits set to romantic songs.

One particular video caught your attention: a slowed-down clip of Walker staring at you while you spoke, set to the lyrics of “Can’t Help Falling in Love.” The caption read, “The way he looks at her 😭 they’re not beating the dating allegations fr.”

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. “This is bad.”

Walker, who was sitting across from you in the trailer, leaned over to peek at your phone. When he saw the video, he just laughed.

“I mean,” he said, grinning, “it’s not that bad.”

You shot him a look. “Walker, they think we’re dating.”

He shrugged, utterly unfazed. “So?”

“So?” you repeated, incredulous. “You don’t care?”

“Not really,” he said, his tone casual. Then, after a beat, he added, “Unless… you do?”

Your breath hitched, and you looked away, suddenly very interested in the floor. “I just don’t want things to get weird.”

Walker tilted his head, his grin softening into something gentler. “It wouldn’t be weird. At least, not for me.”

You looked up, meeting his gaze. There was something in his eyes—something warm and steady and entirely too honest.

“Walker,” you began, but he cut you off with a small smile.

“Hey, relax,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “We don’t have to figure it out right now. But just so you know…” His smile turned playful again. “I’m not in a hurry to beat those allegations.”

Your cheeks burned, and you groaned again, but this time, there was a smile tugging at your lips.

Because maybe, just maybe, you weren’t in a hurry either.

A/N:i love this request so much thank u for requesting

Tags: @izzystylinson, @sophand4n4, @kaiwrites092, @shellsarepretty, @cheoriemoawa, @prettiesteyess, @vintagewntr10, @hecallmebigpurrr420, @killualovbot,

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notiddygothgf · 3 days ago

Text

SEX IS FREE (her)

★ pairings: nanami kento x f! reader

★ synopsis: In the search for solace, Nanami stumbles right into the arms of an exotic dancer. In the search for money, an exotic dancer finds more than she bargained for. In the heat of the moment, a contractual relationship turns into something more. (or; the one where sugar daddy!nanami is sweet on his girl)

★ c.w.: nanami being sexy asf, suggestive content, mentions of sex (more content warnings and tags)

★ a/n: HIIIIII omg so i can explain the hiatus lol.... it was totally unintentional. i wound up getting super depressed over school and then fell into a chainsaw man hyperfixation (read shameless, its an aki ff i wrote youll love it). I FINALLY PICKED THIS STORY UP AGAIN because for some reason it's been getting a lot of attention recently??? lol anyway! your comments inspired me to continue writing it (though i cant promise that i'll update quickly, i AM a full time student so #bepatientwithme).

I was salivating over Nanami in this chapter if you couldnt tell lol.... but enjoy!!! keep those comments coming! who knows, maybe i have another chapter stored away and will update a little earlier....... x

★ w.c.; 5.6k

my kinda love; chapter index

‘AND I’M BAD LIKE THE BARBIE. I’m a doll, but I still wanna party,’

“Donnie, baby, you in there?”

“Yeah!” You called back, loud enough for your coworker to hear through the door. You pressed the tube of red lipstick against your bottom lip, peering into the mirror, filling in the outline you had done in black. When you didn’t receive an immediate answer, you continued humming along to the song playing quietly from your phone. “Pink vette like I’m ready to bend. ‘Imma ten so I’m pullin a ken, likeee.”

Your coworker entered the dressing room – you were the only one there. Most of the other girls from the afternoon shift had gone home already.

“Some dude wants to rent you,” She told you.

“No. I don’t do private rooms,” You replied without even looking back. You knew who she was. You weren’t the biggest fan. “I’m good, Mandy.”

“He asked specifically for you,” She added. “Offered a lotta money, too. Helluva lot more than we normally charge.”

You froze up at that. Initially, your first thought was to send her off a second time. Then, you thought of her running off with your money.

“Is he one of them greasy, sleazy old guys?” You asked. It was wild, how quickly you perked up when you heard that. “Last guy was throwin’ himself onto me. I should’ve filed a police report.”

“Oh, stop your ‘bitchin,” The girl sighed. “He’s paying 200 just to see your ass.”

If you had a tail, it would have started wagging.

What? A girl had bills to pay. “So he is a greasy old pervert.”

“No, actually. He’s a fine, young thing. Well, not young, but younger than most of the guys we usually get back here,” She trailed off in thought. You watched her body move in the corner of the mirror. “Sexy as hell. Serious, businessman type. Tall, blond, handsome, a jawline that could cut paper,” here, she bent over, leaning over you and muttering the next words into your ear, “I could always take him off your hands, y’know.”

“As if,” You replied. Spinning the chair back around, you got up. “Better not be expecting nothing extravagant. I’m considering this overtime.”

With a deep breath, standing in front of the cherry red door, your heart began to pound against you chest. It was some strange mixture of nerves and excitement you felt as you raised your hand to knock.

Here goes nothing. You reached for the doorknob and entered the private room, turning back only to lock it behind you.

“Special delivery!” you crooned, trying to embody a playful tone to mask the jittery feeling within. When you turned around to face the client, you were caught by surprise.

Your wide eyes traced over a familiar silhouette – broad shoulders, perfectly-fitted, navy blue two-piece suit that clung to his large arms, and matching slacks that clung to his legs – his widespread, casual position hinted at sophistication. A pretty, sharp, angular face framed by neatly-cropped blond hair. A tasteful timepiece on his wrist caught your eye.

Narrow eyes obscured by peculiar glasses, chiseled cheekbones and jawline. His blond hair – framing his apricot skin – was done up carefully, perfectly, sweeping over his head like a ray of sunlight. You recognized him by his signature scowl.

He came back for more?

You liked your lips, trying to play it cool (like you hadn’t been waiting for him to come back). “Oh, hey, it’s you again,” you said with a smirk. Strutting over to him, you cooed, “Couldn’t stay away?”

He’s so fucking hot.

Though his response wasn’t verbal, the pink hue that dusted his face was not lost on you. You swayed your hips from side to side. “Can you give me somethin’ to work with? I don’t usually do these rooms, you know.”

The devastatingly handsome man swallowed, fixing his gaze on the door – the one you had locked on the way in. As you worked your way between his legs, teasingly dragging your hands up and down your body, his gaze wandered back to you. Shamelessly, you reveled in the attention – studying his reaction.

You could smell his cologne from here – again – and, shit, it made your head spin all over again. The warm notes lingered beneath the collar of his dress shirt. Amber. Wood. Musk. Something dark?

“So I’ve heard,” The man replied, finally breaking his silence. His voice was a revelation – deep, mellow, and smooth, carrying a certain tone of weariness that seemed to add to his enigmatic charm. Charm? Yes, you supposed he charmed you.

He loosened his tie and undid the top button on his shirt to let some fresh air in. The action drew your attention to his neck, provoking you to take a moment to appreciate the details your coworker had emphasized: Tall, blond, with a jawline that could indeed cut paper.

You were wretched. You had to have been. This is so wrong.

“You seem tense,” You remark, making your second attempt at breaking the ice. “You’re new to the scene, aren’t you?”

The handsome stranger – Nanami, if you remembered correctly – licked his lips, drawing mindless shapes over the deep-toned fabric that covered his knee. “Is it that obvious?” he asks, a faint smile playing on his lips.

The movement did not go unnoticed.

“A little,” You huffed out a quiet laugh. “Do you want a dance? We could just sit and chat, too, if you want. I don’t mind. I know your type tend’ta like talking.”

You couldn’t control the way your eyes flitted down over his toned thighs – mind hazy with unwelcome thoughts. The temptation to crawl into his lap a second time was strong, but you reminded yourself of the situation – he was your roommate’s teacher, for fuck’s sake. Your roommate’s handsome… muscular… expensive-looking teacher… with a deep, sexy voice that you could hardly resist.

You must have been ovulating. That was the only excuse.

“I won’t make you put on a show for me,” Nobara’s professor trailed off, eyes distant, clearly lost in thought. He seemed to snap out of it after a moment, pretty brown eyes peering into yours – they looked so dark up close. “As crazy as it sounds, I only wanted to speak to you.”

Your sultry facade cracked a bit at that, surprised by the sudden turn of the conversation. From your experience, men usually came here with only one thing in mind. He wanted to talk… to you. Oh my god.

You nearly squealed. Clearing your throat and pressing your legs together, you turned to hide your flustered face from the older man. “Alright,” you said. “You have 30 minutes.” Plopping down on the couch next to him, you threw your legs over his lap. “What’s your name, handsome stranger?”

You already knew his name. Still, to keep up appearances, you played coy with him. You knew that, reasonably, there was no reason you should be continuing to entertain him — financial commpensation aside, though you could always reimburse him. You should have turned back the moment you realized it was him.

Then again… he had come to see you. It wasn’t like he knew you were his student’s roommate, but that was besides the point. That alone was moral justification enough for you.

The stiff man had his eyes trained on the spot where your legs had been thrown haphazardly over his. Then, nervously, he answered, “Nanami. Kento.”

Kento. You liked that name. It rolled off the tongue real easy — a buttery smooth name for a man as composed as him.

“Nice to meet you Nanami… Kento,” You chipped, mimicking his prose. “Donetta DiVine. I’m sure you already knew that, though. Do you wanna start, or should I?”

Nanami Kento knitted his brows. “Start…?”

You rolled your eyes rather playfully, giving his leg a nudge with your heel. You had ditched the stage platforms for a smaller pair of stilettos. “What do you do for a living?”

He licked his lips. After a brief pause, he answered, “I can’t really say, but I teach on the side.”

“Ooh— mysterious…” You grinned. Leaning into the couch, you braced your chin on your hand, staring into his eyes. It didn’t take much effort to play the role of the ‘interested’ siren like it normally did. Not with him. “You already know what I do,” You added, “You look tired.”

His brown eyes widened with surprise.

Shit, I overstepped.

You took your statement back quickly, “Sorry, sorry, I didn’t mean it like that.”

“No, it’s not—“ He trailed off. Something in his harsh expression softened. “You’re right. Just the first person to notice.”

If your attraction to the man had been any more obvious, you would’ve been waving a sign around with his name on it.

“Really? You’ve got such tired eyes,” You continued anyway. You figured you would at least try to make the most of this half hour with him. “Wanna talk about it?”

He sighed, “Where would I even begin?”

“Your week?” You answered, making a rolling gesture with your spare hand. “How… how was it?”

He looked equal parts confused and intrigued by you, quirking a perfecftly arched brow before clearing his throat. “My week was alright. I started work again after taking a leave of absence for a few months.”

“No kidding…” You trailed off. It didn’t take much to make your interested tone seem real, as you felt nothing but the most genuine sense of interest while listening to him drone on in that deep, raspy voice of his. You could have listened to it for hours. “What happened?”

Something flashed in his eyes. It was quick, fleeting – you almost missed it. “Workplace injury,” He sighed. “If it’s alright, I’d rather not go into detail about it.”

This guy’s like a brick wall.

“Did you heal up okay?” You asked, eyes wide and prying.

He didn’t seem to mind you much. That was a good sign.

“Had to undergo some minor surgery but, yes, I’m fine. Thank you for asking,” He smiled, actually smiled, and it made your chest stir with something unfamiliar. He was devastatingly handsome – the kind of handsome you kept in a little locket in your pocket when you went to war, or something like that. “My bosses have been pressuring me to come back ever since I left. One superior of mine in particular… has been a nuisance. I was under the impression that sick leave was supposed to be a period of peace… but I guess I thought wrong.”

You laughed at his attempt at humor. It came easily to you. Too easily. “I know how you feel. I busted my ass a few months ago. Twisted my ankle real bad,” You raised your leg off of his lap, twirling your stiletto heel around in the air, cutting through it like a knife. “These things are deadly. Boss gave me a solid two days before he started blowing up my phone asking when I was going to be back. It’s like… can you let me live?”

He laughed, then – really laughed, the kind that made his chest rumble, head thrown back against the cushiony couch. And as he released the melodious sound that made your head spin, his eyes creased at the corners. The experience gap between the two you couldn’t have been more apparent. He was a grown man, hardened by years of trials and tribulations – a mysterious one, at that. And there you were, a naive little dancer with your legs strewn over his lap like he was a partner and not a client. He seemed so wise beyond his years, something only accentuated by the tiredness in his eyes. You longed to hear him drone on about his life a little longer, 30 minutes be damned.

“My superior and I actually went to highschool together. He’s been up my ass as long as I can remember,” He hummed, licking his lips, and you followed the path of his tongue as it wet the skin like a hungry feline.

“Which superior?” You asked, mindlessly picking at the fabric of the velour couch beneath you. “The one you were here with last time? With the white hair?”

When the man knit his brows together, you froze up. Shit. I just gave myself away.

There was a brief, tense pause, during which you tried to focus on the music playing from the speakers, the jazzy tune, the faint remnants of a song playing in the showroom outside and up the hall, the wallpaper – anything but him.

“Yes, that would be him,” He answered, finally. He seemed to be… intrigued by you. Yes, that’s what it was – his half-lidded amber gaze lingered on your face for a moment too long. “You’re very perceptive.”

You cleared your throat. “So, this job of yours… do you like it?”

“I despise it,” He sighed, like he had been waiting his entire life to confess those words. “But, at least, I figure I’m doing something meaningful with my life. You could say I’m a professor on the side.”

I already know that, You thought. Still, he didn’t have to know you knew.

“It’s a demanding job, but I enjoy feeling like I’ve made a difference,” He continued on. “Unfortunately, after the incident, I had to take some time away from the kids to recover.”

“You seem to enjoy teaching,” You answered back, perching your chin on your hand against the back of the couch.

“Sometimes,” He replied. “Other times, the work can be unbearable,” He looked up, then, pretty brown eyes on yours in a way that had your heart skipping more than a couple of beats. You could practically feel the way they burned right through your extroverted facade, saw past the layers of glitter and scanty clothes and deep into the abyss in your chest. See who you really were.

It was him who turned to you, then, asking you, “What about you?”

“Me?” You asked, just to make sure you’d heard him correctly. A client? Caring about your experience at work? That was… dizzyingly rare.

“Yes, you,” He reiterated with the faintest hint of a smile on his lips. “Do you enjoy working here?”

Do I…? You took a moment to consider your answer. You could lie to him – preserve the perfect, sexual image the women in your company were expected to uphold. That was always an option. But, the moment you peered into those all-knowing, tired eyes of his, you found that you didn’t have it in you to lie to him. No, not when he had been so honest with you.

No one’s ever asked me that before.

Before you could catch yourself, the words were already leaving your lips. “Not really, but it pays the bills.”

His eyes softened at that. He didn’t look the least bit upset by your words. If anything, he looked as if he had grown suddenly tender with a sense of understanding. Women didn’t often join your line of work. Not unless they were desperate for money. He seemed mature enough to realize that – to see right past the fantasy you were supposed to paint for him and peer into your eyes like windows into your soul. One look at him, and you knew he didn’t see you as a dancer.

He saw you as a person. As a woman.

You broke the moment with a hum, “Why don’t you keep telling me about your week?” You asked, changing the subject, shifting the conversation back into comfortable territory.

The rest of the half-hour with Nanami flew by like a fleeting dream. He spoke with a quiet ease, his voice low and steady, yet somehow captivating. He complained about the inefficiencies at work—endless meetings that led nowhere, piles of paperwork that seemed to multiply overnight, and colleagues who turned simple tasks into impossible challenges. Yet, when he talked about his students, something in his tone softened, revealing a warmth that made your chest ache. You found yourself asking questions, small ones at first, but each answer drew him out more. The way he spoke—measured, thoughtful, with just the faintest edge of weariness—made you want to listen forever. For someone who seemed so guarded, he had a surprising amount to say, and you realized how much you liked hearing him talk.

You didn’t even notice how much time had passed until a sharp knock interrupted the quiet cocoon of your conversation.

“Donnie? You okay in there? Your 30 was up ten minutes ago.”

It was your coworker.

“I’m good!” You called back, swinging your legs off of Nanami’s lap, turning to him with an apologetic smile. “Sorry, I completely lost track of time.”

“No, it’s alright. I should have been checking my watch,” He rubbed the back of his head sheepishly, long fingers combing through the buzzed, blonde strands of his undercut like wind blowing through a field of wheat. Then, after glancing down at his watch, he stood up, cleared his throat, and straightened out his suit jacket. “Thank you for your time.”

You hadn’t moved from your spot on the couch, brows furrowed. “That’s it?”

You had half expected him to extend the time. The conversation was going so well, you had silently found yourself hoping that he would lean over and do something – place his strong hand on your thigh, brush his fingers up your arm, anything. No-touching policy be damned.

You would make an exception for him. Men that fine don’t just grow on trees.

So, trying your best to lure him back in, you kicked one leg over the other, crawling into a sexy pose on the couch. In the most sultry tone you could manage, you breathed, “Is that really all you wanted?”

Please ask me for a lapdance, You found yourself wishing internally.

He paused, looking back at you like he wasn’t the least bit phased by the sexy pose or the outfit or… well, anything. “Yes, why?”

“Nothing, I don’t know, I just… You spent so much money tonight to be here,” You uttered, suddenly bashful when he was peering down at you like that – he was so much taller than you, a height gap that was only emphasized by your seated position on the couch below him. You imagined you would have to stand on the tips of your toes to be at eye level with his neck, maybe his chin. Mindlessly, you caressed the couch. “I figured you would have at least wanted a lap dance, or something.”

“I’m not going to make you do something that neither of us are interested in doing,” He said, sliding his hands down over his slacks to straighten out the creases that had formed in them where your legs had been resting only a moment earlier. “Sex is free. It’s rare to find someone who’s willing to listen.”

You sat there, stunned into silence, still in that sexy pose on the couch, your body frozen in the aftermath of his words. His calm, unbothered demeanor completely threw you off balance, leaving you scrambling to make sense of what had just happened. Men like him didn’t come in here looking for conversation. They came in here for fantasies, for attention, for touch. But not him.

“Thank you for everything,” he said softly, bowing his head slightly in a gesture so gentlemanly it made your stomach twist. Then, without another word, he moved to the door, unlocking it with smooth precision.

You didn’t even have time to gather yourself before he slipped out, leaving you sitting there in your sultry pose, legs crossed, mouth slightly open. The sound of the door closing behind him echoed in the room, final and undeniable.

You blinked, your mind racing, the moment replaying over and over in your head. Did I just get… emotionally blue-balled?

The thought hit you like a ton of bricks, both incredulous and a little amused at how absurdly fitting it was. You flopped back against the couch, your sultry act forgotten, staring up at the ceiling as the jazzy tune from the speakers drifted lazily through the air.

For the first time, a client had left you feeling something you couldn’t quite put into words. You couldn’t decide if you were more annoyed, intrigued, or just completely thrown off your game.

All you knew was that you wanted more.

DARREN: Hey imu.

DARREN: U busy tn?

YOU: I’m working but I get out early. Y.

DARREN: let me pick u up after work

DARREN: maybe i can help you ease some of that stress.

Darren rolled off of you with a huff and an exhale, proud of himself. He wiped the sweat from his forehead with the backside of his elbow, sighing, “That was great. Did you cum?”

“Yeah,” You liked straight through your teeth. Feeling vulnerable, you reached for your shirt and slipped it back on. There was a point in time where the two of you would sleep skin-to-skin after sex. A point in time long ago, of course, but you couldn’t help but reflect. Now, all that was left was a feeling of discomfort where the intimacy used to be.

He flopped down onto the bed next to you, throwing his arm around your waist. Not moving a muscle, you trained your gaze on the ceiling above, hoping that maybe, if you spent enough time counting the dots in his popcorn ceiling, he would see that you did not, in fact, enjoy the experience. You doubted he would do anything to fix it even if he did know.

52, 53, 54.

You had been counting for the past five minutes – thirty seconds after he had grunted the words, “Let’s do missionary” into your ear before flipping you over. Truthfully, you hadn’t wanted to do missionary. That would mean that he could see you and, more importantly, that you had to look at him. So, to pass time and to avoid his gaze, you looked up at the ceiling, allowing yourself to be carried away by the tides of pleasure that his strokes gave you.

55, 56, 57.

He buried his nose in the crook of your neck, inhaling. “You smell like a man’s cologne.”

Your heart skipped a beat. “I work at a strip club.”

With a groan, Darren rolled onto his back, finally putting a comfortable distance between you and him. “Don’t remind me. I’ve been telling you that you’re wasting your talents at a place like that.”

Your jaw tightened. There it was, the same old Darren: judgment wrapped in concern, but laced with the unspoken assumption that he knew what was best for you.

You slipped off the bed, grabbing your phone from the nightstand. The cool floor against your bare feet helped ground you.

Unlocking your phone, you typed a message to Nobara, your roommate:

Can you come get me? I’m at my ex’s.

The response came almost instantly:

Girl, r u srs?

Your fingers hovered over the keyboard before you replied:

I’ll explain later, ik, just pls… I wanna gtfo of here.

Sliding the phone into the pocket of your hoodie, you turned back to Darren. He was staring at the ceiling now, one arm slung across his chest, his fingers idly tapping against his bicep. For a moment, you hesitated. The familiarity of this scene—him in his sweatpants, you in one of his old T-shirts—was a cruel reminder of how things used to be. But you weren’t that girl anymore.

“I think I should go,” you said, breaking the silence.

Darren’s head snapped toward you. “No, wait,” he said, sitting up. His hair was tousled, his expression almost pleading. “Please… I really want you to stay.”

You crossed your arms, keeping your distance. “Why?”

“Because…” He raked a hand through his hair, his voice quieter now. “I don’t know. I thought things were going good between us.”

You blinked, then let out a short, humorless laugh. “Things? Darren, I come here, we have sex, and then I leave. That’s it. That’s all this is.”

“Is that all I am to you?” His voice carried a tinge of desperation, his eyes searching yours.

You tilted your head, studying him. “Or maybe,” you said slowly, “you’re asking if there’s any chance of us getting back together.”

“Yeah.” His voice cracked slightly, and he swallowed hard. “Is there?”

You laughed again, colder this time, shaking your head. “No. There isn’t.”

His jaw clenched, and he looked away for a moment. When he spoke again, his voice was sharp. “That’s not fair. I’ve done so much for you—”

“Done so much?” Your voice rose, and you stepped closer, anger bubbling to the surface. “You don’t give me shit but dick and attitude, Darren.”

He flinched, but you didn’t stop. “You wanna know what’s not fair? The fact that you went and knocked me up and then forced me to have an abortion. Where the hell were you during that, huh? Seeing as you’ve done so much for me?”

He sat frozen, his lips parting as if to speak, but no words came out. His eyes darted toward the floor, guilt pooling in their depths.

“And you wanna know what’s really unfair?” Your voice cracked, but you didn’t care. The words spilled out like a flood you couldn’t contain. “The fact that you fucking cheated on me when I needed you the most. That’s what’s not fair, Darren.”

Darren stared at you, his face contorted with frustration. “That’s not fucking fair,” he snapped, his voice rising.

“Oh, fuck you, Darren,” you shot back, your hands trembling as you pointed at him. “What else do I have to do to show you I’m done? What else do I have to say?”

“I’m trying!” he yelled, stepping closer. “I’ve been fucking trying! But nothing I do is ever good enough for you, is it? You’re so goddamn impossible!”

You laughed bitterly, shaking your head. “You call this trying? You call cheating, lying, and gaslighting me trying?”

“God, you’re such a fucking idiot,” he spat, his words sharp enough to cut. “You act like you’re perfect, like you’ve never made a mistake in your goddamn life.”

“I’m not perfect, Darren,” you hissed, stepping forward, your voice shaking with anger. “But at least I own my shit. At least I don’t treat the people I love like they’re disposable!”

“Oh?” he scoffed, throwing his hands in the air. “You think you’re so much better than me? You’re the one who keeps coming back. So what does that make you, huh?”

The room was thick with tension, and for a moment, neither of you moved. Then he muttered under his breath, “Pathetic.”

Your blood boiled. “What did you just say?”

“You heard me,” he said, his tone dripping with venom.

“Fuck you, Darren!” you screamed, shoving him hard against the chest.

His expression darkened. “You don’t get to do that,” he snarled.

Before you could react, he grabbed your wrist and pushed you away. The force of it sent you stumbling back, and you hit the edge of the dresser, pain shooting up your arm as you fell to the floor.

“Wait, I…” His face shifted, panic flickering in his eyes. He took a step toward you, his hand outstretched.

You scrambled to your feet, holding your arm where it throbbed. “You know what? I’m done.” Your voice was quieter now, but no less firm. “I’m done, Darren.”

“Wait—”

“No!” you shouted, cutting him off. “Go fuck yourself!”

“Please,” he said, his voice cracking. “Don’t let us go. We had something special. You know that.”

You stared at him, disbelief flooding your chest. Then you laughed—a cruel, hollow sound. “If you thought this was anything more than sex, then you’re the fucking idiot.”

He opened his mouth to argue, but you were already grabbing your stiletto boots from the floor.

“We can make it work,” he said desperately, following you as you stormed out of his apartment.

“Make it work?” you echoed, spinning around to face him as you reached his car. “Make it work?” You hefted one of your boots in your hand. “Make this fucking work!”

Before he could respond, you hurled the boot at his car window. The glass shattered on impact, the sound ringing out like a scream in the still night.

The car alarm blared, its shrill wailing cutting through the silence. Darren stood frozen, his mouth agape.

“Shit,” he muttered, rushing toward the car.

You grabbed your other boot and slung it over your shoulder. “Fix that, asshole!” you yelled as you walked away, the sound of the alarm trailing behind you.

“Her!” Darren called after you, but you didn’t turn around.

You kept walking, the cold air biting at your skin, the adrenaline coursing through you keeping you upright. Your arm throbbed where you’d hit it, but you didn’t stop. You didn’t look back.

You made it about halfway home before the exhaustion hit you like a freight train. Your legs wobbled, and you collapsed onto the curb, cradling your arm as the tears you’d been holding back finally spilled over.

Your phone buzzed weakly in your pocket. Nobara’s name lit up the screen.

“Where the hell are you?” she demanded as you answered, her voice sharp but tinged with worry.

You gave her your location, your words slurred with exhaustion and pain. “I can’t— I just can’t walk anymore.”

“Stay put,” she said firmly. “I’m coming to get you.”

By the time her car pulled up, you were slumped against a lamppost, your eyes half-closed. Nobara jumped out, wrapping her jacket around your shoulders as she helped you to your feet.

“What the hell happened?” she asked, her tone softer now.

You shook your head, too drained to explain. “I’m hungry. I’ll tell you later.”

“Let’s stop and get you something to eat,” She didn’t press further, guiding you into the car. As the city lights blurred past, you stared out the window, the events of the night replaying in your mind like a bad dream.

The car was warm, the quiet hum of the heater and the golden glow of streetlights spilling through the windshield easing the tension in your chest. You cradled your injured arm as Nobara maneuvered through the drive-thru, shooting you occasional glances.

“You want the usual?” she asked as she pulled up to the intercom.

“Yeah. Large fries, nuggets, and a Coke,” you murmured, leaning your head back against the seat.

She placed the order, and soon you were pulling into a parking spot under the dim glow of the lot’s overhead lights. The smell of greasy goodness filled the car as she handed you the bag, cracking open a box of nuggets for herself.

“So,” she said, dipping a nugget into a cup of barbecue sauce. “You gonna tell me what the hell happened back there, or do I just have to assume you went full-on ‘Carrie’ at prom?”

You snorted, the first genuine laugh you’d had all night. “Something like that.”

“Well, shit.” She popped the nugget into her mouth. “Guess I missed a show.”

You sighed, staring at the fries in your lap. “It’s over. For real this time.”

“Good,” Nobara said firmly. “That guy was a walking red flag.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you said, rolling your eyes. “Speaking of red flags…” You smirked as an idea popped into your head. “You’ll never believe what happened at work today.”

Her eyes narrowed as she dunked another nugget. “Oh, this should be good. Spill.”

You leaned back, a grin playing on your lips. “I got booked for a private room.”

Nobara froze mid-bite. “I thought you didn’t do those?”

“I don’t,” you said, shrugging. “But they offered me a shit ton of money. Guess who it was.”

Her brows furrowed in confusion. “Who?”

You couldn’t help but draw it out for dramatic effect. “Your teacher.”

Her jaw dropped, and the nugget in her hand fell back into the box. “No way, Bitch.”

You nodded, trying to keep a straight face.

“What did he want? Is he, like, a total pervert or something?”

You laughed, shaking your head. “No, actually. He just wanted someone to talk to.”

Nobara blinked, clearly baffled. “Huh.”

“I know, right?” you said, grabbing a nugget. “Easiest money I’ve ever made.”

“Damn,” she muttered, chewing thoughtfully. “I never took him as the emotional type.”

“Don’t go telling your friends, though,” you warned, wagging a finger at her. “He told me some pretty heavy shit.”

Nobara tensed, her expression flickering with something you didn’t catch as you reached for your Coke. “Like what?”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Like hell if I’d tell you.”

“Oh, come on!” she said, pouting dramatically. “I won’t tell anyone!”

You smirked, leaning back in your seat. “I’m not risking it. Client confidentiality or whatever.”

“Ugh, you’re no fun,” she groaned, but there was a smile tugging at her lips.

You both sat in comfortable silence for a moment, the car filled with the sound of crinkling wrappers and occasional laughter.

“Hey,” Nobara said suddenly, looking at you out of the corner of her eye. “You’re okay, right?”

You hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah. I think I will be.”

She smiled, a small, genuine one. “Good. ‘Cause if you ever go back to that asshole, I’m slashing his tires.”

You laughed, the sound bubbling up before you could stop it. “Deal.”

As you both dug into the last of the nuggets, the weight of the night seemed to lift, replaced by the warmth of greasy food and a friend who always had your back.

a/n: and there she is! my first update in like a year lol. lmk what you thought! tell me what you would like to see in the story, who knows, i might be able to incorporate it in! Thank you all for your lovely comments. I loveee reading them.

comments + reblogs are greatly appreciated!!

I obviously do not own jjk or anything related to it. I can't find the artist, but if you know them pls dm for credits!!! please do not reproduce, copy, or translate my works anywhere. dont fk w me im a bruja.

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wanna join the taglist? | my kinda love; chapter index

#notiddygxthgf ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚#my kinda love ʕ•㉨•ʔ #nanami x you #nanami x reader #nanami smut #nanami fluff #nanami angst #kento nanami x reader #nanami kento x reader #nanami kento smut #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk x y/n

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kivaember · 3 days ago

Text

another snippet for the umbra 1999 fic and its just arthur standing there like "why is drifter so concerningly fucked up and somehow oblivious about it" while drifter cheerfully recounts a time they got greviously injured and didn't die that time!

Of course, the cause for the misunderstanding between Drifter and Arthur was revisited the next day.

“Yeah, we were gonna spar,” Drifter said, unperturbed by Arthur ambushing them at breakfast (or, “breakfast”, as Drifter was tucking into a pot noodle of all things). “I like to keep my skills sharp, since sometimes it’s easier for me and Umbra to fight separately than as one, y’know?”

No, Arthur didn’t know, but he got the gist. “Then why the secrecy? You could’ve done it during the day, instead of sneaking around and looking suspicious about it.”

Drifter didn’t immediately reply. They simply looked at him and idly stirred their pot noodle, their expression surprisingly difficult to read. Drifter was a bit contradictory like that, Arthur was realising: they were earnest, direct and generally honest, but there were moments where Arthur just… couldn’t gauge them at all.

Still waters, and all that.

“I’m not sure,” Drifter finally said. They sounded thoughtful. “I guess… because I’m used to it?”

Arthur frowned.

“When Teshin taught me to fight, it was in a dark cave hidden away from the world,” Drifter elaborated, seeing his frown. “Because what we were doing was wrong, in the eyes of Duviri. I wasn’t allowed to fight back there. And before that, I was learning how to sneak around the Zariman, since…”

They trailed off with a grimace, looking down into their pot noodle. “Since, y’know. Adults.”

Sol.

“…well, you don’t need to sneak around here,” Arthur said gruffly, not really wanting to court another unexpected bout of ‘fucked up things about Drifter’s past’ in the public food court of all places. Arthur was barely able to mentally withstand them as it was over KIM where there was a safe buffer of physical space and privacy.

“If you want to do something and you’re not sure if it’s fine, just ask, for Sol’s sake,” Arthur continued when Drifter just gave him an unreadable look. “We’re all adults here.”

“Okay…” Drifter said slowly. “Then… can me and Umbra spar with naked blades in the mall during the day?”

“Sure,” Arthur said just as slowly. “Provided it’s under supervision.”

Drifter blinked.

“It’s not a knock against your skills or Umbra’s, before you say anything,” Arthur continued when Drifter opened their mouth. “It’s basic safety, mate. If you were… like us, it’d be one thing, but-”

“But because I’m a squishy and delicate human who doesn’t have accelerated healing like you guys, you wanna be safe rather than sorry,” Drifter finished.

“Right.” Arthur studied Drifter’s face. They didn’t seem pissed off or insulted. Just amused. “Unless you’re going to say you do have super healing or whatever-”

“I don’t, actually,” Drifter admitted. “Uh, maybe? I heal a little faster than a baseline human, but I usually die from my injuries, so I’m not sure.”

Said so matter-of-fact. ‘I usually die from my injuries’, without a shred of hesitation or a flicker of emotion. It was like stating a fun fact like, ‘I have a mole’ or ‘the sun’s out today’. Just, ‘I usually die from my injuries’, leaving Arthur standing there trying to absorb that incredibly fucked up statement while Drifter took a bite of their pot noodle like nothing was wrong.

“…right,” Arthur said again, a lot more stridently. “Well. We don’t want that here. You dying from a stupid sparring accident in the middle of the mall, I mean.”

“Yeah, that sounds like a lame way to die,” Drifter agreed and entirely missing the fucking point. “Probably in my top twenty?”

Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling forcefully.

“Don’t worry, though, Umbra usually patches me up if he accidentally injures me,” Drifter continued, oblivious to or ignoring Arthur’s growing agitation. “One time I messed up a parry and he cut my side open - blood went everywhere-“

“Lettie,” Arthur muttered. “We’re having Lettie supervise.”

“And I almost passed out from the shock of it, but Umbra just immediately started patching me up by using his-”

“Nnngh,” Arthur groaned into both hands.

“-and I didn’t die that time!” Drifter finished cheerfully.

“…” Arthur sighed. Heavily. “Marty.”

“Yeah?”

“When you spar Umbra,” Arthur said, after dragging his hands down his face. “You need myself and Lettie supervising. Closely.”

“Okay…” Drifter said slowly, giving him a bit of an odd look. “Seems like overkill, but this is your mall so… sure.”

Overkill, they say, after telling Arthur all that.

#warframe #warframe 1999 #fanfic #arthur nightingale #warframe drifter #i do find it funny how so many KIM convos with arthur is drifter trauma dumping and scaring him away dfhdhsdh #arthur sitting there like :| outwardly but is internally like “what the fuck is wrong with them” when it comes to drifter #(i really did like the last convo about duviri between arthur and drifter tho)#(hc that drifter really puts up a blase front about duviri and tries to brush it off with morbid jokes and the like)#(but they really are all clawed up about duviri and the zariman... just takes time and trust to really draw it out)#(which arthur managed to do...)

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chronically-ghosted · 1 day ago

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i have a headcannon that despite all of his bitchiness and sass, he is super, duper sweet to the elderly receptionist and the lunch ladies in the cafeteria and any woman, creature or otherwise, who is over the age of 70. He spoils them with little gifts and asks about their grandkids. As such he is the only male and employee under 65 allowed to be a part of their knitting circle - which is basically just them gossiping and reading everyone in the whole office to filth. Max Phillips is sustained on not only blood but GOSSIP and he actually takes up knitting because they won't let him in unless he is actually knitting. He hates it at first but then he learns to make everyone coasters for their coffee mugs and all the ladies in the office are in a twitter about it. He's had several marriage proposals since.

ANYWAY, thank you SO MUCH for reading this fic! Honestly, its made me miss him so much.

Third Base.

rating: 18+, explicit

pairing: max phillips x f!reader

word count: 9K

summary: after the last session went awry, you and max don't know how to be around each other. two months after a blow out fight, max catches you in the parking lot and decides it's time to talk.

warnings: angst, is that plot i smell? period sex (oral), impossible positions but he has super strength and doesn't breathe so shut up, semi-public sex, car sex, some briefly scary imagery (it's a dream), monsterfucking, mentions of a car accident and injuries related, arguing, max being a dick

a/n: MASSIVE shoutout to @jupiter-soups , @beardedjoel , @gasolinerainbowpuddles , @covetyou and @huffle-punk for giving me their blessing to do a vampire + period sex fic. The discord ladies really came in clutch here 👌i hope this makes you as horny as that thread made me

i wanted to get this out by halloween, but that didn't fucking happen so here's a fic that mentions halloween as a plot device. fun fact: orgasms can bring on your period early so no it’s not your 🐈 that’s sore it’s your uterus lining shuffling off

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You’re warm. Everything is warm. You’ve sunk beneath a fresh layer of volcanic ash, heartbeat pulsing with the lazy roll of molten lava at the heart of the mountain. Hands outstretched, you can’t find the edge of the mattress because there isn’t one.

There is only warmth and rocking, gentle waves.

There is only this.

There is only him.

Shoulders hunched between your legs, his tongue is a hard muscle, leverage against which you grind and shift and when you find that spot together, you throb in sync with the rush of blood to your cunt and sink a little deeper into the endless sheets that flutter against your skin like paper in the wind.

Your lips form the shape of his name but in the sigh that leaves your mouth, you can’t be sure if you called out to him or if everything coherent had been swallowed up in a cry of listless pleasure. But he responds all the same. The vibrations in his chest between your thighs, his tongue wrapped around your clit, nearly tear you over the edge that very second – you cry out, not wanting this to end, not wanting to leave this hearth of him, folded over you as if you were made of fine ceramic and he was a fiery kiln. You arch, your release dangerously close, and his grip around your thighs tightens, tightens, pulling you deeper down into his face, his nose, that wicked, wicked tongue, and his grip tightens and it hurts. His fingers, his nails, pinch down into you, your flesh swells between his knuckles as if he’s going to tear straight through your skin, your muscles, your bones – and you yelp.

It’s not fun any more.

You struggle, but he’s on you too tight, a riptide sucking you under. You try and kick him off, push him off with your hands but it’s no use.

Everything is cold and metal and it hurts and you’re begging him to let you go, let you live, when those fangs, as sharp and jagged as steak knives, suddenly embed themselves in your thigh. Your hips jerk with the force of it, with the agony as he slices your femoral artery and drinks deep. And then he bites your other thigh, tearing through your flesh, turning the cradle of your thighs into dripping viscera.

Max, you think you beg, the fight all but drained out of you as your blood flows freely from between his fingers, from the gashes in your thighs, your throat, your wrists. He’s torn out chunks of you and swallowed them whole.

Max.

The creature lifts its head, its eyes blood-red, pupils black as the darkest night, mouth twisted and wrenched open screaming, four glistening bone-white fangs, dripping blood, your blood, your life, your flesh. Begging won’t save you now.

It snarls, the sound pinching off like a dying woman’s scream, inch-long talons tearing up your hips as it crawls forward, crawls into your throat and just before it delivers the killing bite, it whispers:

You asked for this.

The first thing you see when you jerk out of the nightmare is the crease of your pillow, looking up at it from the plush of your mattress. Your cheek smushed into your blue sheets, duvet tangled between your legs, the horror of the nightmare still pressed into the corners of your brain like a tacky, sticky film, you can’t quite understand what you’re looking at. The adrenaline is fast in your blood, heart pounding, your unconscious mind unable to determine what is real and what is not, safety or danger, and your fingers dig into your sleep shorts, arms tucked up underneath you. You blink twice, the headache from yesterday returning, your swollen, black eye almost immediately painful, and then you realize the pounding you hear is not your final heartbeats, but someone at your door.

That buzzing is not the last conscious thoughts in your head fizzling out, but your phone on silent, humming incessantly. Groaning from the pins and needles that shoot up your arm after having slept on it all night, you flop onto your back, your other wrist twinging painfully in its flesh-colored wrap, as you crawl to the edge of your bed – which is thankfully in sight. You can’t pick up your phone with your dead-fish arm and your twisted wrist so you answer the call without looking and put it on speaker.

“Hello?”

“Why aren’t you at work?” His voice is clipped, short, pissed. As if he was your actual boss and not the sales manager, while you worked in legal. After the dream, it immediately sets you on edge. Every major part of you is sore and hurts, either from the accident, or sleeping so hard you figured you briefly went into a coma.

“What’s it matter to you? I called my department and told them I’d be out.”

“Yeah, and I had to find out from Tim.” The pounding from down the hall gets louder and suddenly you connect the two. It should be illegal to be this furious minutes after waking up. “Open the door,” he snaps into the silence over the phone.

“Are you fucking serious right now? You’re at my apartment?”

“Yes, now open the fucking door.”

You chew your lip because you genuinely do not want to see him right now. There’s a reason you called Tim to pick you up after someone T-boned the back of your car yesterday evening and the plausible excuse is that he lives in the same apartment complex as you.

“Open the door right now or I swear –,”

“Alright, jesus. Gimme a fuckin’ –,”

You shrug on your cardigan, hissing as you bend your shoulder.

“What was that?” You swear his voice takes on an edge, catching on something and tearing just enough to let something vulnerable bleed through.

“It’s nothing – I –,” you twist your other shoulder into the arm of the cardigan, the phone pinched up against your ear. “Jesus – okay, fuck this, just stay there and don’t break down my door.”

You pound the red button with your thumb and launch your phone onto your bed before you limp lightly down the hall, the weight on your right ankle just a little less than on your left. It’s half a second difference in your regular gait, but something tells you he’ll know.

He’s across your threshold before you have the door fully open, glaring around your dark apartment as if it personally had a hand in keeping him outside in the hallway. There’s something frenetic in the way he moves, in the way he stands, even if he is completely still. It’s the same sort of wired energy that is usually reserved for end-of-quarter deadlines, isolated to sustained knee bouncing or wearing out the spring of a pen with one too many clicks. Max is . . . uneasy.

“Well?” He rounds on you, hands on his hips, as if you’d just been caught pilfering through the company supply cabinet for ink cartridges to sniff and get high. You’d never been on the receiving end of Max’s bad temper before – in fact, you’d been the solution to it for quite some time now. You’d seen him go off on a vendor that screwed up an order or chew out the competition, but not this. Not that tense jaw that can’t find a place to settle, eyes narrowed in warning. Don’t test me.

“Well, what?” Maybe you should have changed out of your pastel blue pajamas before coming to face your co-worker/occasional sex-fiend/boyfriend(?) but it’s too late now. You try to stand as tall as you can, arms crossed.

“You wanna tell me why you weren’t at work today and I had to hear from Tim – fucking sandwich-eating, wormy-mustache, sword-dildo Tim – that you’d been in a goddamn car accident.”

“It was minor and he lives in my building,” you respond, chin high.

His eyebrows arch as his mouth twists indignantly. “So minor your car wasn’t drivable?”

Point 1 for Max. You bristle, fighting the heat on your cheeks. “It was just easier to call him. He picked me up, dropped me off with some painkillers and some juice, and left. I didn’t fuck him if that’s what you’re worried about.”

He picks up on a thread you didn’t expect him to follow. “He gave you . . . juice?”

“Yes. His sister is a nurse and it was something about the adrenaline and sugar in orange juice – and I don’t know – it was comforting, at the time.”

“Comforting?” He asks like it’s a foreign concept. Something alien and unnatural. “What, like he gave you a hug or something?”

Your stomach turns on something sour. “Sure, Max, yeah. He could see I was upset and he did the terrible, horrible thing of giving me a hug when he saw I was in pain.”

“So was it a minor accident or not?” He takes a step forward and you remember how much bigger he is than you. How wide his hands are. “Fuck, can you turn on a light? I’m fucking straining to see anything.”

The migraine had set in moments after you closed the door behind Tim and like a creature retreating to lick their wounds, you shut off every single light in your apartment and close the blinds tight. You stick a comment about vampire sight up between your teeth and switch on the lamp by your couch.

You catch a glimpse of that pretty face cut with sharp, angry lines and flared nostrils, before it flickers, fades out when he spots the black eye, the wrist splint you forget to hide with your sleeve before it’s too late, the way you hold your weight off your sensitive ankle.

For some reason, you can’t look him in the eyes, so you watch as the taut line of his shoulders deflates, his wide hands with his thick fingers slide bonelessly off his hips, how he stands up right instead of that aggressive forward lean, reserved only for what you thought he saw as enemies.

He swallows whatever was sitting behind his teeth and stares.

Where he had been even temporarily vulnerable with you days ago, it’s your turn to shy away, hiding your tender spots.

Guilt washes up to your eyeballs the longer he stares silently, taking in every bruise and bump. You hate the fact you feel guilty, and you hate that you don’t know where the guilt comes from or why it sits so heavy in your chest.

The truth of the matter is you did think about calling him. In fact, he was the first name you pulled up on your now cracked phone, but sitting on a curb outside of a gas station as a tow truck came to take your car away, you scrolled down past him.

The truth of the matter is Max hasn’t been back in your apartment since the night you went to second base and he bit you on your tit. In fact, he’s been avoiding you in the office for days now. When he wouldn’t meet your eyes over the coffee machine, it became easier and easier to wonder if this was the same man who set out all those candles for you, who put down all of those insane precautions to keep himself from going too far, who couldn’t help but vibrate with pleasure as he drank from you. First base had gone over without a hitch, but something went wrong that night and he’d sooner let the relationship fizzle out than talk about it.

The following shower that night had been awkward and uncomfortable, too close and the steam too hot. He left shortly there after, only a handful of mumbled words exchanged, and he hadn’t come back.

So, maybe, sitting there, your head aching, your wrist pinching, you wanted him to feel as abandoned as you had.

“I’m a little . . . banged up, alright?” Your fingertips brush the edges of the Ace bandage around your palm when your fingers curl and uncurl, your head tilted just off center as if you could hide the swelling from him. “Nothing that a few days of rest can’t fix, so you really didn’t need to come over.”

“Rest and juice, right?” The look in his eyes is raw, rubbed down into nothingness, blackness, totality.

“Oh, fuck off,” you snap, “it wasn’t like that and you fucking know it.”

His head tilts as if considering your words, or considering something else, and by the time you open your eyes in a millisecond blink, he’s got your chin in his palm, his fingers curled up your cheek, thumb firmly pressed into your jaw. Dark eyes roving, he’s inspecting every cut, every bruise, every hair out of place.

Irate at the hot flush low in your stomach at the way he grips you, you push against his chest, yowling out some disgruntled noise, but that only makes him squeeze you tighter. He doesn’t even look you in the eye.

“I’ve healed much worse than this,” he murmurs, breath smelling deliciously of mint and not a hint of anything metallic. “Especially on you.”

His thumb brushes dangerously close to the rim of your purple and green eye and while even the slightest touch stings, it’s nothing compared to the bite of pain his words and soft tone inflict. You give him one more good shove and he backs off, thumb swiping briefly against your chin. His mouth is a straight line when he finally meets your glare.

“I didn’t call you because I didn’t think you gave a shit, Max.” You’ve been in tense business negotiations all your adult life so standing your ground and not crying is something that has become second nature to you. And yet, your eyes grow hot and tight all the same. You’re not crying, but your body is remembering how good it feels to do so. “Ever since that night, you’ve been acting like I’m diseased or something. You made it pretty clear we’re not actually dating, so I called Tim because it was the path of least resistance. I was tired and I hurt and I didn’t want anything complicated. And I didn’t tell you because quite frankly I didn’t think you’d notice I wasn’t there unless the breeze blew the wrong way and your dick got hard.” Every unanswered text and call straight to voicemail over the last two weeks flashes in your mind and your wrist twinges painfully as you gesture to your bedroom. “Because that’s what this is, right? Just a good fuck? A good time? For the record, you didn’t ruin that lingerie set. I put it on cold in the washer and the blood came right out, okay? Everything is totally fucking fine.”

You don’t realize how loud you’d gotten until your apartment rings with silence. It is the absence of noise, of only one set of lungs in use, that makes it so loud.

Max’s jaw still hasn’t found a place to settle, to calm himself. He purses his lips as his bottom teeth grind against the top. His eyes are unreadable, black coals in his head, instead of that gooey warmth you swear you’ve only seen in your direction. He swallows once before opening his mouth.

“So then, do you want me to fix you? Just so we can get back to fucking and I can get what I came here for.”

Soft. Quiet. A rattlesnake you don’t see coming until its fangs are in your foot, pumping you full of poison.

“Get the fuck out of my house. Right now. Leave.”

As if mocking you, he walks out the front door. He could be out and gone before you draw your next breath, but he chooses to click his fucking Armani leather shoes across your tile, open the door – the knob demonstrably small in his massive hand – and slam shut so hard the painting on the wall shudders.

If the shower had been a separation by omission, this had been the real thing.

The heat behind your eyes becomes unbearable, sharp, painful as you begin to choke on everything you didn’t say to him lodged in your throat. Vision blurry, you yank your curtains close and flip the light switch, plunging the apartment back into darkness.

It’s not until you’re curled up on your side in bed, duvet over your head, that the tears come. They’re silent, you’ve only ever known how to cry silently, but they fall fast, dripping off your nose. You squeeze your eyes shut and your black eye throbs, a thunderbolt in a storm. You cry out and touching it makes it worse and you cry because it hurts and you cry because you’re pathetic and you cry because, worst of all, you didn’t make Max realize what a fucking asshole he is.

It’s not until you wake up at two in the morning, suddenly and without a descent, that you realize Max walked into your apartment without a jacket on, his sleeves rolled up and his tie loose. As if he had heard the news and immediately left the office to come to you.

Days pass. And days turn into weeks. It’s two months later and you haven’t heard a word from him.

Everyone at the office has been very considerate about your injuries – holding doors for you as you hobbled through them, your team taking on more client-facing calls while your eye healed, typing up the last bits of the reports when your wrist started to ache. For a company that employed literal hell-spawn, you’d been rather touched by the kindness everyone showed you.

Even Tim. Who offered, after clarifying he definitely wasn’t hitting on you (if only because he feared the legal repercussions you could bring down on him like a smiting hammer) to drive you home while your car got fixed. Those nights when Evan sat in the back because they were headed to a DnD session afterwards were always a little awkward.

Everyone helped out, except one person. A significant person that made your chest twinge every time you saw his door close seconds after you came into the breakroom. You could hear your sister’s scolding voice now: never fuck where you eat.

For sleeping with a vampire, you supposed that statement was doubly true.

As the world turned towards winter, night came early and stayed longer, eager for mischief. The air grew thin, cold, trees sagging, turning brown, and molting. There’s a smell to the air that usually excites you, usually makes you smile and yearn for your couch and a long movie night. But not this time.

Halloween falls on a Monday this year and given the majority of its workforce still remember when it was called Samhain, it’s a company holiday. Ahead of a long weekend, this late, the office is empty. With nothing (and no one) to greet you at home, you stay until it could be officially counted as pathetic to keep working in an empty and dark building, before powering down your laptop, gathering your things for what you foresee as just a long working weekend, and locking your office for the night.

Paper bats hung from the ceiling, with orange and black table clothes thrown over tables in the break room. Cardboard witches and zombies grinned wickedly from the dark corners, woolen webs with freakishly large spiders hiding near the ceiling. The office manager, Carla, has really outdone herself this year, you think, as you unplug the rows of purple and orange lights looping around the ceiling tiles. With your leftover lasagna from Amanda (who insisted you still needed someone to make you dinner), you flick off any remaining lights, the red exit signs guiding you out in the dark.

His office door is open, not unheard of but not common.

The room is dark, so maybe he left early and just forgot to lock up. Your chest tightens at the thought that he ran out of there in a hurry because he was eager to meet up with someone, a pretty someone who looked great in a set of heels and had a fang fetish. You swallow; one of a dozen scenarios you’ve tortured yourself with over the past few weeks, particularly painful.

It’s strange, to go on and live your life when there has been a fundamental and irrevocable change, when there is nothing where there once was something – an outline almost visible as though the air itself was trying desperately to remember, to hold on.

Your eyes grow hot and you blame it on season allergies when you wipe your eyes with your palm. You blame it on the steady headache you’ve had all day. You blame it on the irritability that’s been rubbing you the wrong way for days now. You blame it on the lack of sleep you can never seem to get enough of. Fuck, is it possible to drink yourself into a wine coma? You’d really love to find out.

Without the sun, the wind is particularly chilling, curling over the collar of your jacket and pinching the back of your neck. Your feet ache, the plastic holding the lasagna is starting to sweat, and you’re pretty sure you’ve got a run in your nylons. Fighting back a shiver, you unlock your car and toss everything into the passenger’s seat when you hear your name.

For a fraction of a second, you think it’s the wind. That your mind has been circling its own loneliness for so long, it’s taking pity on your pathetic ass and imagining comfort out of thin air. But you hear it again, stilling with one foot in your car, hand on the door. Your name – quiet, reserved, purposeful.

So unlike him.

“Can we talk?”

Just get in the car. Just get in, turn it on, and drive. Your fingers bite into the cold metal.

“Max, it’s late and I’m exhausted –,”

“Then I’ll make it quick.”

His long coat flutters around his knees in the uneasy breeze, his hands in his pockets. You can’t really see his face in the shadows between the streetlights.

You haven’t moved. One foot on the floor of your car, hand on the door. He sighs and tugs at the tie around his neck. You wait.

“You said you’d be quick –,”

His jaw ticks, finds your gaze for the first time. “It’s fucking freezing out – can I at least sit in the car?”

“There’s lasagna.” Max had the unique capacity to trigger your most basic instincts seemingly out of nowhere. Where did he get off demanding anything? You want to stomp your foot and stick your tongue out. “I mean, you have to move the lasagna . . . and some other stuff.”

Briefly thankful for the dark shadows to hide your childish blush, you plop into the car seat without looking back at him. His figure moves around the car and you make the express decision to make him deal with all your shit in the passenger's seat. But to your enormous surprise (and swelling embarrassment), he gathers your briefcase, the plastic container, and your empty coffee mug without comment and puts them gently in the backseat – without flinging them or sighing like he just moved mountains.

Your fingers curl over the stiff steering wheel as he folds his long legs into the car, fighting with his jacket, and grunting a bit when his knees press up against the dashboard. The click as his seat slides backwards to make room is painfully audible.

The overhead light in your car fades long before either of you say anything.

“Max, it’s cold and I wanna go home–,”

“Okay, okay, sorry – fuck –,” he twists the coat tighter around his chest, sliding low in his seat like a toddler throwing a tantrum. “Okay. It’s just . . . this isn’t easy and I don’t –,”

“You don’t what?” You snap, rounding on him, patience finally running out. “You don’t know how to apologize for being a fucking asshole?”

“No – I mean, yeah, but –,”

“So you admit it! You were being a shit and you know it!”

“It’s not like it’s that fucking simple–,”

“Yeah, it is. It really is, Max. You got scared the last time we were together and you took it out on me the first chance you got.”

He shoves his palms into his eyes. “Okay, yes, I was scared, but not then. I mean, it freaked me out a little bit, but . . . it wasn’t the bite that got to me.”

“Yeah? Then what was?”

He huffs, lowering his hands slowly, his shoulders curving in as his hands drop into his lap. “You told Tim and not me. And,” he adds quickly at your rapidly reddening face, “and for about fifteen minutes, I didn’t know if you were alive or not. I just heard ‘not at work’ and ‘car accident’ and I assumed the worst . . . and because of the way I’ve treated this relationship, you didn’t think about calling me just to let me know you were okay. And . . . I fucked up.”

You blink. Slowly, then several times rapidly. “You were scared that you lost me.”

That pained grimace deepens and he scowls at you like you called his Tonka Toy Truck stupid.

“Don’t say it like that. It makes me sound pathetic.”

You scowl back. “Would it kill you to be genuine for two seconds? It’s okay to have feelings. Even ones about me.”

“Of course I have feelings for you,” he rolls his eyes and you want to bite him on his finger. “Why would I put us both through the fucking ringer just so I can bite you if I didn’t care about you?”

“So then if you can easily admit that you have feelings for me, why were you so fucking awkward that last time? Why didn’t you answer your phone? Why were you so fucking mean to me at my apartment?”

“Because I don’t wanna keep this a secret anymore!”

Your car feels abnormally cramped as all the air is sucked out with a vacuum. But, as a vampire, maybe that’s not a problem for him.

Or maybe if he stops, he’ll never be able to get it all out.

His eyes are wide, his broad shoulders pressed up against the door, as if he is trying to escape the confines of the car, or look at you straight on.

“I want to be the one you call when there’s a problem, not fucking Tim. I want you to know I’d never, ever hurt you, no matter how blood drunk I was. I want . . . I want to stay overnight at your apartment and I want . . .” he trails off, swallowing over the words that are seemingly choking him. “I want to be your . . .”

He murmurs something and you assume you didn’t hear him because you are simply too shocked.

“What?”

Max groans and puts his hands over his face as if he is being physically tortured.

“I wanna be your boyfriend. In public. At work. All the time. I wanna . . . I wanna tell people I’m your boyfriend and you’re my girlfriend.” He makes a face and sticks his tongue out, grimacing. “And I wanna fucking graduate kindergarten apparently. Get married on the blacktop. Blegh.”

As he wrestles with the apparently juvenile terms, you fall into speechlessness. There’s a dozen emotions flashing through you like fire embers: relief, anger, embarrassment, curiosity, joy, sadness –

Desire.

Watching his tongue roll around in his mouth, even comically, reminds you exactly why you entered into this relationship/not relationship with him in the first place.

Mouth finally closing, he lifts his gaze to you, chin tilted down, and you can almost imagine the ears turned back and low on his head.

“And I know that’s not what you want. I didn’t want to say anything but then it all just fucking snowballed, and it’s been killing me not being around you, so when I saw you leave tonight, I thought–,”

“Why do you think that’s not what I want?” Your heart rises, just a bit, in your chest, and you feel it tap against your breastbone. “Why wouldn’t I want to go public?”

Max watches you cautiously, eyebrows drawn down. “HR nightmare for one. But in the beginning, since we didn’t, you know, go public then, I just figured . . . Figured you’d want to end it before calling me your boyfriend.”

“But you didn’t want that either, in the beginning, right?”

He nods, suspicious.

“But things changed for you. And . . . you know . . . things might have changed for me too.”

God, maybe your mom can take pictures of you two together at the kindergarten graduation ceremony. Why is this so fucking hard to talk about?

Max blinks at you, his turn to be struck silent.

“So, theoretically, if I stop being an asshole and you call me for all your rides home, I can call you my girlfriend to Tim’s stupid face?”

“If you’re ready to deal with the HR nightmare,” you say, meaning that and a handful of other things. If you really want to deal with all of that for me.

You swear Max’s eyes twinkle gold for a second.

“Um, yeah. I mean, I am if you are.”

“I am if you are.”

“I asked you first.”

“I asked you second.”

A grin sparks across his face, the tension leaving his jaw. Joy crinkles in the corners of his eyes.

“Then I wanna kiss you first.”

Your heart is now knocking between your breastbone and your throat. You nod, swallowing nerves.

“Finally, something we agree on.”

For the first time in your memory, Max moves slow, hesitantly, but encouraged by the smirk on your lips. The car still feels small, but now in the best way possible. He leans forward, the console in the middle squeaking as you press your forearm against it, his hand sinking into your hair, nails against your scalp.

You smell mint, coffee, and finally, something coppery.

You lick your lip a second before his slot against yours.

It’s chaste, as chaste as kissing Max Phillips can be. A thoughtful moment of rediscovery, of possibility, of relieved familiarity. He knows just how to turn his head, to press into you, to make you sigh into his mouth.

“Am I forgiven?” He teases, his voice soft and quiet, eyes half open as they take in every pore and feature of your face.

Desire, buttery and warm, melts into sticky arousal between your thighs. The fingers on his chest dig in as you grasp at the material to drag him closer.

“I think you owe me a base, slugger.”

Max’s eyes widen. “Here? Now?”

“I’m pretty sure the office building is locked up, so unless you have another suggestion–,”

He groans, hands immediately tugging around your knees to pull you literally out of your seat and into his lap. He grinds your hips down against him, as if he couldn’t help it, and you gasp, embarrassingly turned on from his hands on your hips and his sudden show of strength. That goddamn vampire strength.

“I missed you so much, you fucking freak,” he mouths against your cheek, his hand squeezing your thigh once before curling around your neck and yanking you into his hot mouth. Your muffled noise comes across as protest and surprise, but he keeps you pinned, his lips and teeth and tongue fighting over themselves to get to your skin first. “I’ll give you any base you fucking want, but I wanna neck in this car for a bit.”

You nod, quelling the flush of heat between your thighs and the subsequent whimper by burying your hands under his jacket, under his blazer, and tugging his shirt out from his waistband. His skin is cold, despite three layers of clothing and a heated seat.

Max grunts as you palm his stomach, muscles tightening, and he dips his mouth to your ear, your cheek, your neck. The brush of teeth against your hammering pulse point carries only the threat of pain. His tongue circles your vein like a bullseye.

His fingers knotted in your hair, Max rolls his hips once, breaking off the kiss to watch the shiver go through you and end in a subtle moan that has you knocking your forehead into his shoulder.

He mouths your ear, that soft skin just below it, hands rubbing up your hips and inching your skirt up your thighs.

“Are you sure you want it here?” His words are as gentle as his lips — which is to say not at all. He roughly captures your mouth again before you can answer and sucks your bottom lip between his teeth as if he can bleed the answer from you.

He’s kissing you so hard, your back nudges the dashboard. You respond in retaliation; swirl his tongue with yours like a goddamn preview, hands low on his groin as you push him back.

“Yes,” you murmur against his mouth. “Yes, Max, please. Here.”

“Then we’re moving the fucking lasagna again.”

He twists you as he opens the car door, and immediately the wet patch between your thighs is slapped by the cold air. You stumble, shuddering, your nipples tightening in the chilly air. But he’s already knocking everything on the back seat to the floor. Grabbing you and guiding you by your hips to lay back against the pleather and spreading your knees with the brush of his thumbs, his eyes darken as if he can see through your skirt and nylons. Like he can hear your cunt throb for him.

He hovers over you, his Armani fucking shoes hanging off the seat as he kneels on the seat, seemingly struck silent by the sight of you, even with all your clothes on.

“Max,” you say against the swelling in your chest, “you can bite my calf if biting near my pussy is too much.”

Just the mention of that wet, warm place he is so ridiculously fond of has drawn his attention back from his distant thoughts.

“So I can’t eat your pussy after I eat your pussy?”

“If you think you can handle it,” you nudge at his elbow with your toes, “go for it.”

Over his shoulder, you can see the wind tug on his jacket, hear it ghost over the treetops, but with his thick, broad body over you, you feel nothing but warm. Max unbuttons his collar and slides his already loose tie from around his neck. He tickles your nose with it before dropping it onto the floor.

“Leaving this within reach in case you need to scream into something, okay?”

You roll your eyes, flushed hot at the idea that you’re about to have semi-public sex. “You’ve been gone for a while. Maybe you’ve lost your touch.”

Something in his eyes grows dark, sharp, and his chin tilts just slightly.

“I guess you’ll have to judge that for yourself.” He pushes up your shirt to your throat, exposing your white linen bra (that’s what you get for assuming your sex life was over) and your twitching stomach to his hot, wandering gaze. Before you can pretend to protest being cold, he drops his mouth to the swell of your breast and teases your nipple with his teeth. “You tell me if I’ve lost my touch.”

Immediately, a full body shiver radiates from where his lips suck and you stretch out against the leather, eyes fluttering open and shut. He hasn’t earned a moan yet, a fact he seems acutely aware of when his eyes flick up to watch your face as he palms your other breast. He digs one finger over the cup, curling over the material and grazing your nipple with his nail, when you shake your head.

“Too public,” you breathe, as you wrap your legs around his waist, tugging him against you because you want to feel how much this affects him too. “Someone could see.”

“But you want me to eat you out? That’s not too public?” He grins as he tucks his face into your neck, lazily rolling his hips because he knows that’s exactly what you want.

“Just stick your head up my skirt.”

He stills, teeth ghosting your skin. “Yeah?”

You feel him twitch against your thigh and you have to remind yourself not to ask him to full out fuck you in the backseat of your car. You nod, your chin ruffling his hair. His grip on your ribcage tightens, an errant thumb swiping the underside of your breast, as he lets out a noise somewhere between a grunt and a moan.

“Have I told you you’re a fucking freak and how much I love it?”

Your toes curl in your shoes, heart in your ears, and blood hot under your skin. Just as he moves to shuffle back, you cup the back of his neck, turning your teeth and lips to his ear, the hairs there as soft as peach fuzz.

“No. I’m a monsterfucker.”

The sound that escapes him is no longer human, deep, jagged, a warning cry to hunted prey, and you feel just a prick of fangs against your neck. Immediately that rush of endorphins bows your back, a Pavlovian response to be fucked so good over and over again, and you keen into his chest.

“Max, baby, please–,”

Your cunt actually aches.

Max shoves himself away from you, yanking off his coat and suit jacket in one motion, and he actually lets them fall to the concrete parking lot. Before his sleeve is all the way out, he curls over you, one hand shoving up your skirt, and the other snagging the front of your nylons. His grip pinches the coarse hairs and your cunt involuntarily clenches as he peels the nylons over your hips and your knees with one hand. To get them completely off, you’d have to stretch out your legs, so he shoves your nylons to your ankles, before grabbing the backs of your thighs and thrusting you up the seat. Your head knocks against the car door, but he doesn’t seem to care – and neither do you.

The back seat of your ford is not meant for two people, much less two people hellbent on oral sex. And yet . . .

He shoves one knee under your low spine, lifting your hips up and you acquiesce – tightening your muscles to keep the position that nearly folds you in half, but he shakes his head.

“I don’t need to breathe, honey,” he purrs into your thigh and takes your knee around the back of his head, and then does the same to the other. The height gives you enough leverage to balance against the roof of the car, giving your weight onto his shoulders, and your cunt exactly where he wants it.

“That’s it, pretty girl. Now, let me eat.” He sticks out his tongue, flat against his chin.

He clutches your hips and tugs you closer, right into his waiting muscle.

Your spine arches even further off the seat when he takes advantage of the position and licks you from the curve of your ass to your clit. He catches the dripping wetness in his mouth, using it to massage that bundle of nerves with the tip of his tongue, his fingers firm against your hip. Any more pressure and he’ll bruise you. Any more after that and he’ll crush your hipbones.

Your hips thrust weakly, thighs squeezing his head, as he forcibly reminds you that he hadn’t lost his touch, with an additional reminder that no one else touches you like he does. No one. Not a living soul or otherwise.

A side lick to your clit and you bite your lip, eyes shut, your hands above your head to find leverage. You push back against him and he groans into your pussy, aquiline nose breathing harshly into your damp curls.

“Fuck, Max – yes, right there – oh god –,”

That soft teasing feeling that makes your hips cant forward with a sudden desperate need expands with every swipe of your tongue.

He’s never going to let you live it down if you come this fast.

“M-Max,”

He opens his jaw more, dropping his mouth to your exposed hole and licking so deep inside with a curled tongue, your thighs start to shake. You gasp, head lifting forward before dropping back, as he fucks you with his tongue. You want to ride his face.

And then Max lets out a grunt, shifting underneath you, his gaze flicking up to yours. With a hand on your knee as he practically hangs you upside down, he pulls back.

“You taste different.”

It takes you a second to realize he’s said something coherent. “W-what?”

He licks his lips, smeared with a wetness that makes the lower half of his face shine in the murky street lights. He licks you again as if to make sure.

“Your taste . . . your cunt, it’s . . .”

Max’s eyes widen slightly like a wolf catching the scent of a deer.

“Hold on, baby, I gotta try something.”

Without warning, he plunges two fingers inside of you and sucks on your clit. He times his sucks with the rapid pump of his fingers and you’re at your peak in seconds. Your thighs shake, your cunt tightens, the sudden ascent overwhelming and intense, and with a tap against that spot inside you he’s forever marked as his own, you flatten against the seat, as everything inside you bursts, wet and bright, into his waiting mouth. His eyes flutter at the taste as it drips out of you, corners of his mouth smeared with your release.

Max slowly slides his fingers out of you, watching you with apparent curiosity, pride evident in his eyes, and immediately your cunt aches, as if he had just given you three orgasms instead of one. There’s a low throb at the crux of your thighs and you groan, the pain only dull.

But he doesn’t seem to notice. He nudges your thighs back from his ears, opening up you just a bit before he tucks his tongue into you again. The throb, alongside the still settling waves of your orgasm, wants you to push him away, but it’s not overstimulation. After being with Max for so long, you knew what overstimulation felt like and this is not it.

“Max, c’mon, give me a second — fuck,”

Your eyes widen as you feel something wet trickle out of you and into his mouth, his eyes fixated on you. His grip around your waist pulls you closer to his chest.

You watch each other the second you realize what’s just happened.

He leans back and there’s blood on his bottom lip.

Embarrassment scorches through your body and all the shitty feelings you had all week suddenly identify themselves as symptoms of PMS. Fuck.

You immediately push on him, trying to de-tangle yourself from his shoulders, but he shakes his head.

“You wanted me to drink your blood, right? Third base? Well, now we don’t have to worry about where to bite you.”

“But Max,” you struggle, working to sit up right but he won’t let your legs go. In fact, his grip turns rougher and you feel his fingers crush into your hip bones, his other hand pinning your knee to the back of his neck. “Max, c’mon, you don’t have to do that. This is silly and –,”

His wide palm smooths over your knee, like he’s trying to settle a frightened cat.

“Who’s scared of genuine feelings now?” He murmurs.

Only Max Phillips can go soft and sweet with your cunt inches from his face. Your apparently bleeding cunt.

His hand moves from your knee, down your thigh and over your hip, before making the reverse trail, just as slow, just as comforting, while his gaze never leaves yours. You swallow something harsh in your throat, as your lower pelvis starts to ache.

“The last thing I want is to hurt you, but I’ve heard that orgasms can actually help with cramps.” Max says softly. This isn’t a ploy to get (further) into your pants. He’s being genuinely – really, seriously, genuine. Your heart beats just as hard as the cramps as they settle.

“What woman told you that?”

Max huffs out a laugh, turning his head to nuzzle your thigh. “I was lonely without you and had to make do . . . so I befriended Carla and her gang.”

“The office manager?” You gape at him.

“They all tried to set me up with their daughters,” he chuckles, his hands still roaming over your body. He adjusts his knee so you have something to lean into. “So, pretty harmless. But they are also some of the most incorrigible gossip hounds I’ve ever known.”

“They didn’t mind setting their daughters up with a vampire?”

“Not all of them are human, honey.” His eyes roll up your chest to your face. “And the ones that are were practically begging me to turn them.”

“But you didn’t.”

��No, baby, I didn’t.” He shifts again, tugging you further over his shoulders, thumbs pressing gently into the backs of your knees. “We don’t have to do this if you really don’t want to.”

“I know. It’s just . . .” You touch his thigh behind your back, needing to feel him to gather up the strength to say what you wanted to. “No one’s ever done this before.”

Max’s solid eyebrow jumps, lips pulling back into that wicked smirk. You swear you catch a glimpse of fang as he focuses back onto your cunt.

“Well, you’re a monsterfucker and I’m your monster to fuck.”

His mouth lowers, eyes on you, waiting and begging. You nod and he prods your clit with his tongue again, before licking anything and everything out of your hole.

Max doesn’t eat. He feeds.

He grunts through his nose, trying to kneel as high as he is allowed in the cramped space. Finally, his gaze falls from you, eyes flickering shut, as the cramp in your pelvis digs deeper – you cry out – but then, it melts. The dull ache is spread across your hip bones until it is just warm, hot with your rushing blood. You moan, throwing your head back, and finally you dig your hands into his hair.

As that warm bright coil begins to sink into your pelvis, Max groans between your legs. He pulls back just an inch, his lips a gooey red, to say:

“Pull on it if you need to hold yourself up.”

Why you thought you could ever go back to a human lover after Max is a fuzzy, hazy notion at the edges of your mind when you dig your fingers into his hair, slightly longer than it’s been in the past, and pull yourself even closer to his mouth.

In a truly impractical position, you feel his iron-hard cock poke your back, his hips stuttering, fucking empty air. His arm bands around your hips, your knees knocking against the ceiling, as he adjusts his grip.

The inverse of blood has you going dizzy; blood rushing to your head as Max coaxes blood out of your cunt.

And then you feel it.

Behind your thighs, his chest vibrates and the air is filled with a delicious, primal sound. The sound of a beast being satiated, of a hunt gone well, a feeding that will sustain for a long, long while. Before you found it rather adorable, funny that a grown man like Max Phillips would purr when deeply satisfied, but now, it’s a hair-pin trigger to your demise.

You cry out, loud and wet and wanting, as everything from your hips down starts to tighten up again. You lock your ankles together against his back, toes exposed to the night air, and you use the last of your waning strength in your thighs to lift yourself even further to him. Your hips thrust weakly and that grip around your hip bones seals you to his chest.

Don’t fucking move.

But it’s enough. Your inner thighs a gooey, hot mess, he prods his tongue deep, licking up every liquid that drips out of you, before coating your clit in your own mess.

He sucks and you come. Long and loud.

Your vision slowly begins to unblur, black spots fading, as he lowers you down, careful not to go too quick like he’s trying to not to wake someone from a light sleep. You can feel that sleep, that endless relaxation swelling over you as you go boneless while Max untangles you.

Your eyes stay open long enough to see the smear of red across his lips before he wipes it away. The cramping in your pelvis has been reduced to a gentle throb.

Gingerly, Max pulls your skirt down, hand arching your back so you don’t have to lift your hips as he adjusts you back into some modicum of decorum. He reaches back and snags his coat and jacket from the ground before tossing them into the passenger’s seat. With your feet in his lap, arm stretched out across the back of the seat you just debauched, he shuts the door and instantly the smell of his cologne permeates the air.

You grin, wriggling down in the seat as far you can go like a housecat warmed by the sun.

You sit in silence for a bit, content to just be, a welcome retreat for your breathing to go steady and his cock to soften. His hands brush against the heels of your bare feet.

“You made me purr again,” he says with a grin.

“There’s no way that’s the technical term for it, whatever it is,” you say teasingly as you watch him trace your ankles with his finger. “You should ask another vamp what you’re supposed to call it.”

He chuckles, squeezing your foot once before glancing up at you. Whatever he sees in you, it makes his eyes go soft.

“You mean ask about the thing that only happens during the most intimate moments a vampire can experience? Yeah, sure, I’ll bring it up at the water cooler.”

Satiated and warm and a little loopy from a truly record breaking orgasm, you stick your tongue out at him.

“Fine. I’m going to tell people that you purr like a cute, innocent little kitten until you find a better term.”

He bends your knee so he can press his lips to the curve.

“Just because you’re my girlfriend, don’t think I won’t turn you over and swat your bottom.” He nips at the hollow of the joint with flat teeth, opening up your legs to him again. You can feel that heavy wetness trickle down again, and you sit up, not embarrassed by your bleeding, but suddenly tired beyond belief.

Max lets you move out of his lap as you curl a hand around his cheek. It’s a shame you only see that touch of vulnerability, the man without the quips and the teasing and the bravado, after a good fuck. But you think you might finally have it your way, sooner than you ever hoped.

“Well if my boyfriend would drive us back to his place, maybe I could show how sorry I am for teasing you.”

He studies you for a minute, a full minute that has you surprised he’s not roughly kissing you again.

“Sometimes, around the office, you’d smell different and I never knew what it was. I didn’t put enough thought into it to realize the pattern, but it makes sense now. And it makes sense why you were suddenly very busy during that week when I’d bootycall you.”

You shrug, your neck suddenly very warm. “I dunno. I figured you wouldn’t want to be around me when I’m like that. Not to mention I dress in baggy clothes and wander around my apartment with a heating pad taped to my hips.

“Really? They’re that bad?”

You nod. “Women around the world rejoiced when working from home became an option. Video calls only show from the waist up.”

“Now that’s all I’m gonna be thinking about at the next all-hands meeting,” he grins and squeezes your knees.

“I guess I set myself up for that one, didn’t I?” You shake your head. He nods, humming his affirmation, and kisses you.

“Let’s go to your place,” he mutters against your lips. “There might be no place on earth less equipped to handle Shark Week than a male vampire’s bachelor pad.”

“Shark Week?” You giggle.

“Carla’s words, not mine. The Rising Red Tide. Code Red. Aunt Flo. And my personal favorite, communists in the fun house.”

Your giggle turns to a snort as you lean forward into him, laughing. His lips press affectionately into your hairline as you settle down.

He moves to take your feet out of his lap when you gently take his elbow.

“So we’re good, right? This wasn’t too much?” You are a little concerned by the total and complete lack of fang he showed, but entirely grateful.

As if reading your mind, he says, “the fangs only come out when I need to get through pesky flesh to feed. Your blood came out like a broken ice cream machine at McDonalds.”

You wrinkle your nose as he laughs and you push him out of the car.

“That’s disgusting, Max.”

You snag the keys from your briefcase and toss them to him as he rounds the car and you crawl into the passenger’s seat.

He drops in and immediately turns on your seat warmers. The gesture is subtle and thoughtful, things you thought Max Phillips never could be.

“Speaking of which,” he holds onto the head of the seat as he backs out of the spot. “Carla also told me that ice cream is the cure to most cramps. So, with the lovely picture I just painted in your mind, do you want to go to McDonalds?”

As you look at him, shadows flitting across his face as he drives under streetlight after streetlight, his fingers that had been inside you minutes ago loosely holding the steering wheel, your heart twinges as you come to a certain realization.

This can’t last, right?

He’s only acting like this because he feels bad, feels guilty, right?

Max Phillips isn’t boyfriend material, despite his claims.

As proven before, feelings can change. So you wonder how long until his feelings about you change again and he grows tired of you. Max Phillips is not a housecat.

You swallow, glancing away before he has a chance to catch your eyes.

“Yeah, Max, let’s do it.”

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#comment reblog #max phillips #max phillips x reader #max phillips x you #bloodsucking bastards

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seungfl0wer · 20 hours ago

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Super Star | Soft Seungmin Thoughts

Seungmin x Reader (GN)

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Just thinking about a relaxing day with Seungmin. You’re both cuddled up in bed listing to some soft music as the morning breeze comes through. His hands running over your back as he hums along to the music. Eventually he starts to sing making you smile. “You know. You have one of the prettiest voices I’ve ever heard” you say softly looking up at him.

You can see a small blush coming across his face “you’re only saying that cause we’re dating” he teased.

You pouted “that’s not true. I’ve always thought your voice was pretty. You have so much range, you sing so clearly and it always has such emotion in it.” You said now sitting up to look down at him. “You know when you guys are on tour I put your songs on shuffle or watch the broadcasts with you singing in it so I can fall asleep.” You admitted.

His face lit up, the pure happiness on his face was everything. He sat up the wide smile he had only becoming wider as he cupped your face. He pulled you into a loving kiss before pulling away. He took a second to look over your face smiling fondly. “I didn’t know you thought so highly of me” he said.

“Of course I do. My super star” you giggled.

“I may be a super star but you’re the real super one.” He added.

“What do you mean?” You asked tilting your head slightly.

“You’re always so supportive, so loving and you’re always always there for me. Not to mention you always hype me up so much. It really keeps me going” he admitted.

“Really?” You said feeling a big smile creep across your face.

“Really really” he said pulling you into another kiss. “Now let’s lay back down and cuddle. You can tell me more about how amazing I am another time” he teased.

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💙 If you’d like to read more of my stuff you can find it Here: Master List . Thank you for reading and if requests are open or you just wanna talk feel free to send me something🩵

Taglist: @satosugu4l @do-you-remember-summer-127 @xines16 @minh0scat @troublemaker02 @tr-mha-fan @lunearta @velvetmoonlght @minghaosimp @ldysmfrst @felixleftchickennugget @0omillo0 @jellymochii @stilltrynafuckingtumble @catlove83 @delulkpopstan143

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megwritesriddles · 3 days ago

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A Few Strings Attached ༊*·˚

18+ MDNI !!!

Pairing: Sam (Stardew Valley) x Fem! Reader / You

Summary: Request: I saw your post about requests, and I love your sdv stuff! Could you maybe do something with the reader and Sam being fwb. Sam gets super jealous when she hangs out/starts getting close with one of the others, leading to him confessing the next time they have sex. If you wanted to have him be a little rougher with the reader, that'd be cool to, just whatever you're comfy with ^-^ tysm!!

Tags: Friends-with-benefits, P in V, Unprotected sex, Fingering, Nipple play (minor), Biting, Rough sex, Jealousy, Moody!Sam, Love confession, Possessive behaviour (slight).

Word count: 2.5k

all fandom masterlist | sdv masterlist | read it on ao3

Authors note: This may seem like it starts in the middle, because it DOES!! I wrote too much unnecessary exposition like always so I'm posting it as an optional 'prequel' to read. There's a few weird text formatting things going on that I can't fix but oh well!! Hope you like it anyway mwah ( ◕◡◕)っ ♡

'PREQUEL' HERE !! (you don't have to read it but if you do, prob read it first, it's only 1.3k words)

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

He’s late arriving at the Saloon one Friday for your weekly hangout, a time to enjoy the ‘friends’ part of friends-with-benefits with you and relax with the people he’s closest to. The new riff he’d written on his guitar had kept him busy and he’d lost track of time. When he arrives at the Saloon and heads to the side room to find his friends, he freezes a little at the sight before him. Sure, you and Sebastian had started talking more lately, he’d noticed, but Sam was confident he had you to himself and had no reason to worry. He barely thought of anything but you each day since starting the arrangement, and as you seemed to enjoy the sex as much as he did, he assumed you would be the same. Sebastian had ceased to be any sort of a threat in his mind, until now. The two of you stood at the end of the pool table, way too close together for Sam’s comfort, talking and giggling, nudging each other with your elbows. Sam just stared for a moment as the two of you clearly made jokes back and forth, giggling and swatting each other. What could the two of you possibly have to giggle about? You didn’t have anything much in common… Did you? Sam tried to think but came up blank, yet something was clearly very funny to the two of you. Trying to control the irrational urge inside of him to rush over and stake some claim over you, he took a deep breath and wandered over.

“Hey guys, having fun without me?” he teases, although his voice is just a little tense enough to give him away. He doesn’t think of himself as the jealous type, and really you weren’t his to get jealous over, but the burning of his cheeks tells him exactly how he feels. He wants to wrap an arm around you and pull you in, bite your neck in the way that he knows you love right in front of Sebastian and actually leave a mark this time.

“Hey Sammy, had to entertain ourselves somehow while you weren’t here,” you tease, your voice and expression sweet, unaware that Sam is seething with jealousy. Is this what you’d do if he went out of town for a while or something? Find a way to ‘entertain’ yourself? Turn to Sebastian? His face falls without him being able to help it.

“Right,” he grunts, staring at you intently. You tilt your head at him, finally noticing something is wrong. Sam is seldom moody, he’s always outgoing and happy-go-lucky, so seeing his face twisted into a sour expression is disconcerting.

“Is something wrong Sammy?” you ask gently. “Why were you late?” you clearly assume whatever made him late is what has him upset. Are you really that naive? He glances contemptuously at Sebastian who is still at your side, looking similarly concerned.

“I’m just tired, honestly I’m gonna go home, you’ll have more fun without me bringing you down,” he grumbles, turning to leave. He knows he shouldn’t be acting like this, you’re both his friends. Friends. And it wasn’t like he caught you kissing Sebastian, just laughing with him, but the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach persists. The two of you and even Abigail protest, saying he’ll feel better after a round of pool, but he’s made up his mind, he cannot watch this. If you want Sebastian, who is he to stand in your way? As long as he doesn’t have to see it play out. He stomps back to his house, listening out in case you’ve come chasing after him, but you haven’t, taking him at face value and assuming something had happened at home to upset him. Admittedly, he does feel a little stupid returning home mere minutes after he left, and considers turning back around, but can’t bring himself to. Hiding away in his room sounds best right now. He waits quietly in his bed, glaring up at the ceiling, expecting that you might knock on his window, but you don’t. It pains him to imagine what you might be doing instead. Could Sebastian please you as well as he could? How was he to know? You might be forgetting all about him at this very instant. He comforts his male pride by convincing himself that Sebastian is probably a disappointing size compared to him, even though he has no evidence of this. Then when he realises what he’s thinking, he feels wildly ashamed. Sebastian was his closest and oldest friend here. Wasn’t the whole point of this arrangement for things not to be complicated? His thoughts had never been so muddled. After another half hour, he concludes you aren’t coming to knock on his window, and turns himself over to sleep.

The next day, although he tells himself he won’t, he’s drawn to walk to your farm at his usual time. He’s a little worried about what might be waiting for him. He imagines Sebastian embracing you from behind as you bake, something he’s always wanted to do, as he often arrives just as you finish baking and is sent home with some fresh rolls. He knocks on your door and you open it like usual, smiling brightly.

“Hey Sa– ooh,” a puff of air leaves your lungs as he pounces on you, pushing you to the wall of your entryway. You give him a bewildered look as he tilts your chin from side to side, examining your neck for any marks. “What are you doing?” you chuckle, but he doesn’t answer, examining a tiny dent in your skin that resembles a bite. Was that the same one he’d left on you a few days ago? Beyond hope, he hoped it was. “Sam?” He pulls back and looks at you, examining your face as if something in your expression would give away if you’d done something with Sebastian. “What are you looking for?” you scoff. He knows he’s being unreasonable, so he falters a little.

“Nothing…” he huffs, looking away, though his hands remain on your waist, thumbs rubbing gentle circles. You laugh softly and it sends a jolt through him, reminding him of the scene last night. He slams his lips to yours to shut you up, causing you to squeak in surprise for a moment, but quickly relax, slipping your arms around his neck just in time for him to hoist you up and carry you to your bed. Your lips remain connected, moulding together and tongues finding one another as he walks you over. He’s determined to make you forget everything but his name. The bed dips as he climbs on, lowering you to lie beneath him, wasting no time in sliding his hands beneath your shirt to push it up. You giggle at his sudden dominant attitude, but you don’t mind at all, lifting your arms so that he can free you of your shirt. “No bra…” he purrs. “Expecting someone?” His voice is rough enough to give you a little pause, but his hands dancing all over your bare skin don’t allow your brain to pause for long. His thumbs circle your nipples, causing them to stiffen into peaks.

“You, of course,” you sigh as he lowers his head, wrapping his warm lips around one rosy bud and swirling his tongue, gently rolling the other between his fingers. A gentle moan leaves your lips and he flicks his tongue back and forth.

“Me,” he mumbles against your skin, slowly kissing his way from one nipple to the other, before taking it in his mouth and repeating the swirling action you so liked.

“Mhmm,” you whine as he carefully brushes his teeth against your sensitive skin. He doesn’t bite but just teases you enough for goosebumps to rise on your skin, the cool air meeting the wet kisses over your chest adding to your shivers. His hands cup the weight of your breasts, his mouth swapping between your nipples periodically just to tease you, hardness rubbing against your inner thigh. You squirm, trying to shift so Sam’s bulge would press where you need it to. He growls, slamming his hips to yours and harshly rutting against you. Your head tips back and you moan, much to his private delight.

“You want me, don’t you? Tell me you want me not Sebastian,” he hisses, biting his way over the swell of your breast and up to your neck.

“What–? What does Sebas–,”

“Just say it, tell me you want me,” he demands. Your mind is hazy with arousal, but even so, you know something is incredibly odd with this ask. At your silence, he ruts against you once more, spurring you into action.

“I want you, I want you, only you…” you whine, wriggling against him softly. Full of pride, he bites down on your neck, sucking a harsh mark into your skin. Another squeak leaves you, surprised by this, he doesn’t usually mark you, it defeats the purpose of hooking up in secret, but before you can protest, he’s tugging down your leggings and rubbing his fingers through your slick folds, melting all of your thoughts away until you’re left with only his touch against you. Your hips chase his fingers as he playfully withdraws them, enjoying watching how needy you are. He isn’t usually so teasing, but his ego needs stroking right now, as does something else. He sucks his fingers clean with a groan and drops them back down to resume rubbing. The sensation has you whining and squirming and he enjoys it whole-heartedly, guiding your hand to his bulge as he dips his fingers inside of you, stretching you open. Ever generous, you immediately begin to stroke him through his jeans, even despite being a little distracted. It’s a fumble for you to undo his jeans when your eyes are glued to where his fingers are disappearing inside of you, but eventually, you manage. He snatches your hand before you can try to dip it in his boxers.

“No, I want to fuck you,” he growls, making you moan, looking up at him starry-eyed. You want it too, but words escape as his fingers drive as deep as they can go into you before quickly withdrawing completely. The empty feeling makes you whine, but you don’t have to worry for long. He sucks his fingers clean again, making sure he doesn’t miss a drop and then strips himself down to the buff, kicking off his jeans. He always enjoys the way you admire his body, but today it feels especially favourable. He admires you in turn, dripping wet and perfectly sexy, the perfect body laid out in front of him, belonging to the perfect person. Something regrettable threatens to slip out of his mouth, so he bites his lip and settles right between your legs, placing his heavy cock against you, and gently tapping your clit with it a few times. You whine and wriggle, giving him your best wide-eyed plea, he loves it when you get like this. Out of a hint of misplaced lingering spite, he grinds his cock between your folds a few times, not yet pressing inside like you want, getting the both of you wetter and wetter. It would be torture for him too if it wasn’t for the look on your face. “Pretty perfect girl…” he hums as you whimper for him. You’re too aroused to notice the seriousness of those words, he usually only calls you hot or sexy.

Finally, at long last, he grabs the base of his cock and angles himself so he can push inside of you. He buries himself to the hilt immediately, revelling in the choked-out gasp that leaves your lips. He takes a grip on your hips and, after a few gentle thrusts to assess if you can take it, he begins pounding into you. Your eyes roll back and you shout out in pleasure and he feels much the same way. His eyes roll a little and he growls, holding you down as his hips slam into yours over and over. You’re so tight and warm and perfect. He pants, staring down at you, flushed and blissed out, your tits bouncing with each ruthless thrust. You take him so well, you look so beautiful, even now. He leans down to kiss you, your noses bumping as he bullies his cock into you, tongues making a sloppy mess together. You’re so perfect, nothing has ever felt this good, he refuses the idea that someone else might take this from him. With a loud grunt, his pace increases impossibly more, forcing loud wanton moans from your throat with each movement.

“You’re mine,” he pants, a hand coming up to grip your chin, forcing you to meet his eyes. “You’re mine, say it,”

“I’m yours,” your fucked-out mind doesn’t understand the gravity of what he’s saying, merely obeying orders so your orgasm isn’t stolen from you. Your words make him groan and lift your legs, thrusting into you at a new angle. You cry out in pleasure.

“You’re mine, say it, say my name,” he growls.

“Sam…” you whine, unable to form a coherent thought.

“That’s it, my perfect girl, I–” he cuts himself off, stuttering and twitching deep within you. “Ah–, I’m close, please…” he ruts himself against you a few more times, the pleasure completely clouding his brain. “I- I love you,” he grunts against your lips.

“Sam…!” you sob and it sends him over the edge, his thrusts slowly significantly as he shoots ropes of his cum deep inside of you.

“Fuck, I love you,” he chokes as he cums. “I love you so much…” he collapses on top of you but gives a few more weak thrusts into you as he feels your fingers frantically rubbing at your clit, helping you fall over that edge. He hisses when you do, feeling you squeeze down around his oversensitive cock, but he can’t bring himself to pull out. He lies there on top of you, one arm sliding behind your back to keep you pressed to him. His eyes fall shut and he takes a deep breath, completely satisfied.

“You love me?” your weak voice squeaks from beneath him and he suddenly realises what he’s said, what he said throughout what you just did. He could probably pass it off as a weird kink, or just getting lost in the moment, but as he looks down at your flushed confused face, he can’t lie.

“Y-yeah I uh… I guess I do,” he grins sheepishly, back to his old self now he got the insecure anger out of his system.

“And you… thought something was going on with me and Sebastian? That’s why you were being so odd?” you sluggishly piece the pieces together, struggling to think in your pleasured haze, but unable to ignore it. He nods. “Well, nothing is going on, I promise you, we’ve been talking more because I’m trying to get him to ask Abi out,” you chuckle tiredly. “Why would I want him when I have you?”

“My thoughts exactly,” Sam jokes, but is incredibly relieved to hear it. “And… the whole ‘me loving you’ thing, how do you feel about that?” he asks, gently wiping some sweat from your brow.

“Well… I guess I love you too,”

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

xoxoxo

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