#this is how they started fingers in his mouth Fridays

[vinnyvamppp]

Commit To The Bit

Note: No one requested this, but this wonderful idea was bounced between @0bticeo and I, so thank them if you enjoy this as well. Now, let's see what we're working with...

Synopsis: You didn’t mean for it to happen like this. It was supposed to be a dare—something stupid to loosen Mark up after another brutal week of being the galaxy’s most reluctant savior. Just a strip tease. Just a joke. But Mark Grayson commits. To everything. Now, he's challengeing you to survive it.

Warnings: Smut, Mutual Pining, Oral (Male and Female recivieing), Mark Is a Messy Cummer, Fingering, Anal Play (F recieving), Position Changes, Dirty Talk, Light Power Play, Dom/Sub Dynamics, First Time, Switch!Reader, Switch!Mark Grayson, Strip Tease, Game Night Turned...

Mark Grayson x Fem!Reader

WC: ... 2.9k (I'M SORRY I GOT EXCITED)

You hadn’t expected to become part of Mark Grayson’s orbit.

You weren’t a Guardian. You didn’t wear a cape, have laser vision, or scream through the sky with sonic speed. You didn’t even have a power unless you counted being chronically online, emotionally intelligent, and just competent enough not to die during a superhuman incident—mostly from luck.

But Mark had saved your life one too many times—not out of obligation, but with this ridiculous, righteous fury in his eyes, like it personally offended him that you were ever in danger. And after the last near-apocalypse (there’d been three that year—you were starting to rank them like earthquakes), you became… tethered.

Not officially. Not in a superhero-has-a-sidekick kind of way. You were more like a ghost in his civilian life—always nearby, always grounding. The one who read him his Seance Dog comics when his hands were still red and rattled from battle, the one who stayed up all night patching his busted hoodie and pretending the sound of his knuckles cracking didn’t bother you.

He was fraying, and you saw it. Everyone saw it, but no one could tell him to stop. Not his mom. Not Eve. Not the Guardians. So you said, “If you won’t rest, you’re going to play.” He squinted. “Like, fetch?” You pause, lips curling excitedly. “Like games. Like dares. Like something dumb and reckless that doesn’t involve space warlords or mind-controlling aliens.” You meant it as a joke. Yet, two weeks later, you were at his place on a Friday night, watching Mark lose at an increasingly feral round of “Truth or Dare Jenga” that had been invented solely to get him to relax.

He’s sitting cross-legged on the floor, hoodie sleeves shoved up to his elbows, hair soft and messy from where he’d run his hands through it a hundred times. He’s glowing. Not in a superhero way — in a boy-who’s-smiling-for-real way. That glow? That was rare.

There are wrappers everywhere. Empty soda cans. Heat radiates off of him in waves, because Mark Grayson runs hot, body temperature just a little too intense even at rest—like a sun flaring under skin.

“Alright,” you say, plucking a block from the Jenga tower. It slides out with a whisper. On the underside, scrawled in black marker: DARE: Lose a piece of clothing.

You grin. “Mark.” He narrows his eyes, shoulders slouching. “No way.”

“You lost, my dude.”

“I’m not taking my pants off.”

“No one said pants! Could be socks, could be your watch. Could be your hoodie.”

“Pfft. Lame.”

He leans back, too cocky and boyish. “What if I make it interesting?” You raise an eyebrow. “Interesting how?” Mark’s grin falters —just for a second, nervousness creeps in—and then he returns, crooked and reckless. “What if I… y’know.” He gestures vaguely. “Did a little striptease instead.” You stare in a stunned silence, mouth agape in what could only be described as an expression caught between a grin and disbelief. He stares back, then laughs too fast and far too loud. “I’m kidding.” “Are you?” You don’t know why you say it. Maybe it’s the soda-sugar buzz in your blood. Maybe it’s the way his cheeks flush, hot pink all the way to the tips of his ears. Or maybe —definitely— it’s the way your brain short-circuits when you imagine it. The slow reveal. That ridiculous, ripped body under all the nerdy-cute layers. You’ve seen him in action. Fighting, bleeding, and almost dying. But this? This would be intimate in a whole new way. He opens his mouth, maybe to deflect. Maybe to say “hell no.” But what comes out is, “Alright. Fine.” The lights are dim. Not dramatic—dim. Just lazy, golden, Friday-night-dim. A song buzzes from your speaker—some R&B tracks you’d been playing ironically earlier, and now it’s betraying you with slow, sensual bass. Mark stands and promptly freezes. “…Do I need a pole or something?” he mumbles. You cackle, leaning back against his bedframe. “Just your awkward ass and commitment.” He glares playfully, then closes his eyes for a second, like he’s mentally preparing for battle. The sweater comes off first—slow, theatrical, too much. It gets caught halfway over his head, and he swears—arms flailing as he almost knocks over the Jenga tower. You’re crying from laughter. Then he —somehow—recovers and hrugs out of the pullover like it owed him money. His t-shirt rides up as he moves, and you get a flash of abs. He notices your ever-drifting gaze and pauses.

Your lips curl into an absentminded smirk. Oh, he absolutely noticed.

Now he’s getting into it. A little hip roll and some wobbly attempt at body waves that makes you snort but also sends your brain into a blender. There’s a vein on his bicep that mocks you. His shirt rides up again, and he keeps it there. Teasing.

What the hell is happening? He peels it off—slower this time. Eyes locked on yours, breath shallow. Like, maybe this started as a joke, but now it’s something else. The tension is thick, and heavy like the altitudes changed.

You swallow thickly, “Are you…” Your voice cracks. “Are you actually good at this?” Mark drops the shirt and steps forward. Just once. Close enough that you have to tilt your head to meet his eyes. “I’m good at lots of things,” he says, low, quiet, like a quiet confession you’re certain you’ve heard in film many times over. Yet, it makes your blood run hot.

You break the tension with a joke. The moment stretches like heat-distorted glass—fragile, bending, on the verge of snapping. Mark stands above you, shirtless, flushed, breath light in his chest. His hands twitch at his sides like he doesn’t know what to do with them—touch you, maybe. Run them through his hair or hold on to something so he doesn’t fall. Because falling? That’s what this feels like.

You’re still sitting, half-curled on the floor with your knees up, looking at him. Really looking.

He isn’t chiseled perfection—not like those magazine-perfect, muscle-bound meatheads. He’s real. He’s boyish, golden brown skin glowing under the lamplight, jaw sharp when he clenches it like that. There’s a faint bruise across his ribs and a scattering of freckles over his shoulders that look like stars. You want to trace them like a constellation. He swallows hard. You do too, subconsciously mimicking.

“That’s your big striptease?” you say, voice wobbly with the high-wire tension. “You looked like a winded pelican trying to shimmy out of your shirt.”

Mark blinks before breaking into a disbelieving chortle. He doubles over a little, pressing a hand to his chest like it hurts to laugh that hard — and maybe it does. Maybe it’s the first real laugh he’s had in weeks. Maybe it’s too much to feel something this alive in a room that isn’t soaked in blood or guilt. “You’re such a dick,” he says through breathless chuckles. You grin. “But I’m right.” He rolls his eyes and drops beside you with a thump. His bare shoulder brushes yours. The skin-on-skin contact shoots straight down your spine like a live wire. Your body knows what your heart won’t say.

And Mark? He knows too. Because after the laughter fades, the silence left behind is thick. His smile lingers, but it’s softer now, much quieter. His thigh rests against yours, and he doesn’t move it. He shifts, just enough to look at you. And you know… You know without words that the game’s over, but something else has started.

“You really think I looked that bad?” he asks, mock hurt. “I think you surprised yourself more than me,” you reply, smiling to yourself. Mark tilts his head. His eyes — dark, warm, and wanting — scan your face. You watch his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows. His voice is lower now.

“I didn’t think I’d… get into it.”

There’s a pause. He looks down, hand flexing, resting against his knee. Close to yours, nearly grazing. “You know what’s messed up?” he murmurs. “I wanted you to look away. I thought I did. But then you didn’t. And now…” Your breath catches. “… Now I can’t stop thinking about the way you looked at me.”

You say nothing; your hand simply finds his. Just fingertips at first—a brush and a question. He answers with stillness and a held breath. Not rejection, nor resistance, but rather waiting for what happens next.

It's not what he says; it's how he says it. Mark Grayson isn’t cool. Not like the heroes in the comics, not like Omni-Man pretended to be. He’s awkward and earnest. He fumbles through jokes and runs into danger headfirst and leaves pieces of himself behind every time. But right now? He’s sitting beside you shirtless, vulnerable, and so, so willing. And you can’t stop looking.

You reach out. Not dramatically, just like gravity’s doing it for you. Your fingers trace the curve of his shoulder and drag lightly down his chest. Over smooth skin, tight muscle. You feel him tense — just a flicker — but he doesn’t pull away. His chest rises too fast, still shallow, like his heart doesn't know when to settle.

He leans in, words a faint whisper. “I’m not gonna be able to walk this off, am I?” He says quietly, like it’s funny — but it isn’t. His voice wavers at the edges, threaded with something rougher, excited, and anxious. Wanting. You hum, fingers dragging lower. “You were the one who committed to the bit.”

He huffs out a chuckle. “Yeah, and now I’m gonna commit a felony if you keep looking at me like that.” You glance up, his eyes already trained upon your face. Flickering between your mouth and your hand and back again. His lips are slightly parted, the flush creeping all the way down to his chest now. He's starving.

You drag your hand lower. His abs flex under your touch — instinct, almost defensive, like his body is reacting faster than his brain can control.

“Jesus,” he mutters. His eyes flutter shut for a second, then snap open.

“You’re not even doing anything.”

“Exactly.”

He makes a sound. It’s halfway between a groan and a laugh — embarrassed, aroused, and horrifically aware that he’s being undone with nothing but touch. But he doesn’t retreat. Instead, he leans toward you. Lips a breadth from yours. “I’m just saying,” he whispers, “if this ends in me blacking out from sheer thirst, I want it on record I was coerced.” “Oh?” you breathe.

“And what part of that was coercion?” His smile cracks crooked, and he gulps. “All of it. But I liked it.” Your hand drifts lower again, fingertips grazing just above his waistband. His abs contract hard, like they’re bracing for impact. Then, finally, finally, he moves. He reaches up, hand gentle on your jaw, and tilts your head just enough to look you full in the face. His thumb brushes the edge of your cheekbone.

And the look in his eyes? It says everything. And I want you. I want this. I want to give in. But also — I want you to want it too. So you lean in, not for a kiss. Not yet.

Your lips brush his ear, and you whisper: “Finish the striptease, Grayson.”

You say it, and something breaks inside him. Mark sits frozen for half a second, like his brain has short-circuited. And then—slowly and deliberately—he pushes himself to his feet.

He’s shirtless already, but his joggers hang low on his hips, slung there like temptation incarnate. His body is a map of intention—broad chest still rising fast with every breath, flushed all the way down to the waistband. And when he hooks his thumbs into the sides, his eyes flick up to meet yours. Still awkward. Still him. But there’s heat behind that shy smirk now. Perhaps a promise.

“Didn’t realize the bit was that good,” he murmurs.

“You’re stalling.”

“I’m building suspense.”

He kicks off his socks with an undignified grunt—definitely not sexy—and you snort. The laugh bubbles out of you before you can stop it, but it’s cut off fast when his fingers return to his waistband.

He doesn’t strip fast. He sinks into it. Rolls his hips just slightly, enough to tease. The joggers go low, and you swear you stop breathing. His thighs are carved like someone took Greek statue anatomy and gave it boyish charm. They’re strong and lean, and if you could, you’d trace the outlines with your tongue.

Underneath, he's wearing black boxer briefs that leave nothing to the imagination. The outline of him is thick, prominent, and barely contained. There’s a wet spot already forming where the fabric strains tight over his tip. And when his thumbs slip under the waistband of those, he actually hesitates. “Still time to back out,” he says, voice raspy, gaze flicking from your eyes to your mouth to the floor.

You shake your head. “Not a chance.” He exhales—shaky and disbelieving. Then drops them.

Mark stands there—naked and completely flushed. Every muscle in his body is tense, like he’s waiting for judgment.

You rise to your knees where you sit on the floor, eyes trailing over him, devouring. His cock is perfect—thick, flushed, curving slightly toward his belly, the tip already beading precum. He’s trimmed but not too neat. It's raw, real, and hard as hell.

You reach for him slowly. Fingers light over the base, then wrapping around him with a gentle squeeze that makes his hips jolt. He gasps. “Shit—okay.”

“I haven’t even started yet,” you say sweetly.

“Don’t—” His voice cracks. “Don’t say that unless you mean it.”

You do. You really do. You press a kiss to his hipbone, then another down the line of his thigh. Your tongue then traces a wet warmth between the divots of his femoral muscle, just until you slowly venture to his groin, his cock nudging your nose. His breath hitches. When you glance up, his eyes are molten—wide and starving.

“Lie back,” you murmur.

He obeys without question. Collapses onto the bed, back to the headboard, legs splayed open and already trembling. There’s a small patch of scars along his side from some long-healed fight, and your hand ghosts over them before sliding back to his cock.

You stroke him slowly. Grip twisting, thumb teasing the slit until his thighs shake. Fingertips gliding down its veins, thumb caressing his frenulum before you take him into your mouth without warning.

Mark screams—chokes on a curse as his hand fists in the sheets. His hips lift without meaning to, and you press him back with a hand to his belly. He’s heavy on your tongue, warm, velvety skin stretched over thick hardness, the kind of weight that commands attention. Each inch you take fills your mouth with heat, the head of his cock slick with the salt-sweet tang of pre. 

“Fuck— oh my god,” he gasps. “You’re—how the hell are you this good?” You hum around him, mouth full, tongue dragging along the underside of his shaft. You go slow. Cruel. Letting spit drip from your lips as you work him, glancing up through your lashes to watch him fall apart. He’s panting now, one hand pressed to his forehead like he’s trying to hang on to reality.

“Oh my fucking god,” he groans. “Your mouth—your mouth is—you’re gonna kill me.”

“You’re being dramatic,” you tease, pulling off with a soft pop. His cock twitches in your hand. “You haven’t even seen dramatic,” he pants. “Keep doing that and I’m gonna blow so hard I end up in orbit.”

You laugh, but it melts into a moan as he brushes your hair back, thumb dragging along your cheekbone, reverent.  “You’re unreal,” he whispers. “Seriously. Like… I used to imagine this, but I never thought—fuck.”

You go down again, this time deeper, bobbing your head with a slow, steady rhythm. Your hand strokes the base, twisting, teasing. Every time you swallow around him, his hips twitch, and his voice crumbles into wrecked little sounds. Just to hear more, you go deep—too deep—and your throat clenches around him; his body jolts. He jerks his hips back instinctively, one hand flying to your shoulder. “Shit, shit, I—fuck, are you okay?” he rasps, panic flashing in his eyes. But when you look up at him, spit-slick and needy, and go again? He groans, his head knocking back to the headboard. “Jesus Christ, don’t do that unless you’re trying to kill me.”

When you swirl your tongue around the tip and suck hard, his abs seize under your palm—sharp lines flexing in a desperate attempt to hold still. He doesn’t speak. Mark is too stubborn for that. But you feel it in the way his breath hitches, in the shudder that travels from his ribs to his thighs, in the stifled grunt he bites into the back of his wrist like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded.

His forearms are locked, veined, and trembling as he grips the sheets so tightly they threaten to tear. His legs shift restlessly, heels dragging across the mattress, trying to ground himself against pleasure that’s pulling him apart thread by thread. His whole body feels like it's teetering on a wire strung over fire—and your mouth is the heat below.

His scent fills your lungs—soap and sweat and something sharp with adrenaline. There’s heat radiating off his skin in waves, his inner thighs trembling beneath your palms. You swear you can feel his pulse against your lips, racing, thick, and desperate. He’s letting you do this. Letting you see him like this. And Mark Grayson? Doesn’t give that to just anyone. Just as you’re relishing in his squirming, his hands slide lower. Long arms reach out, wrapping around you. One arm across your back, anchoring. The other? It drifts. Your hips are raised—knees bent, ass up, pressed against his thigh. His fingers ghost over the curve of you—light, just exploring.

Then he spreads you gently. Thumb dragging down… and lower.

When his fingers stroke between your legs, you groan, his hands parting through the fabric of your shorts and panties.

“Wet already?” He breathes. “I didn’t even get to return the favor yet.” His words were nearly a whine.

You try to say something smart—snarky. But all that comes out is a gasp when two of his fingers slip in. He’s good at it—scissoring slowly, curling just right. The heel of his hand pressed against your clit with a maddening rhythm. “You’re so tight, baby,” he murmurs. “How are you this perfect?” Then you feel it. His other hand slides lower. Down your back, calloused fingers traveling between the fat of your ass—and you know what he’s doing.

His voice drops—filthy, sweet, dangerous. “Too much?” he whispers, fingertip circling gently, slick with spit. “Not even close.” He chuckles, channeling whatever confidence he might have left. “Good.” Because then he slips his thumb in—just barely—while still curling two fingers inside you deep. The pressure is blinding, intimate, and overwhelming.

Your moan cracks into a whimper, and he feels it—loves it. “Oh my god, look at you,” he groans. “You’re gonna make me fucking lose it.” You do. You ride his fingers like they’re the only thing keeping you tethered to earth, mouth hot around him as he starts to thrust gently into your lips, hips flexing— then you pull off with a pop, panting, eyes blown wide.

“Gonna come like this, Mark?” He grins, panting through trembling, weak breaths, “Only if I make you first.” His fingers go deeper. His thumb presses firmer, and you realize neither of you stands a chance.

He’s close—you know it. His cock twitches in your mouth, thighs tensing like coiled springs. He’s gasping now, mouth open, hips stuttering with each flick of your tongue, each twist of your wrist. “Fuck—I’m gonna—shit—I’m gonna come,” he gasps, voice cracking like a live wire.

But he doesn’t pull back. He grips the headboard with one hand, the other fisted in your hair, holding—not forcing, just anchoring. His body goes rigid, spine curving. “Oh—fuck, I—” His voice cracks in the middle of the moan as he comes hard, cock throbbing in your mouth. Hot, thick spurts spill onto your tongue, messy, uncontained. He curses again, hips twitching as the pleasure wrecks him, face flushed, jaw slack with disbelief, toes curling as his eyes are blown wide.

You swallow as much as you can, some dripping down your chin, and the look he gives you? Absolutely ruined. “I—I didn’t mean to—shit, I couldn’t—” He pants, voice dazed. “Don’t worry,” you murmur, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. “We’re not done.” Because while he’s still gasping, trying to catch his breath, your hips grind down into the bed, slick and aching. And he sees it, and being the stubborn man he is, snaps back into action.

He flips you before you can blink—grabs your thighs and pulls you onto the bed, mouth already between your legs before you can protest. Its ravenous. He slides down your body like it’s something sacred, nuzzling between your thighs with a soft groan like he’s relieved to be there. His big hands hook under your knees, pushing them wide until you’re spread open, dripping and flushed and glistening just for him.

“Oh my god,” he whispers—voice so raw with awe that it hurts. You nod, barely able to speak, but he’s not looking for words. He’s already licking his lips, fingers digging into your thighs as he lowers his face to you. The first lick is tentative. Experimental. A long, slow drag of his tongue from your opening to your clit, like he’s learning the map of you one swipe at a time. The groan he lets out after is devastating. Pure sugar coating tongue as he nudges that honey-woven pearl begging for his touch.

“You taste so good,” he mumbles into you, nose brushing your mound as he licks again, deeper, firmer this time, drinking from you like wine-filled gauntlet. “Jesus Christ, how are you real?”

His tongue works in messy circles—not perfectly skilled, not yet, but what he lacks in precision he makes up for with hunger. He eats you like he’s been fantasizing about this for months, and he has. You can feel the need in every flick, every groan, every desperate lap.

When his tongue finally finds your clit, your hips jerk. The sensation—hot, wet, pressure that’s just right—makes your back arch and a moan rip from your throat. Mark moans back, the vibration of it lighting you up like a fuse. “You like that?” he pants. “Tell me, baby. Tell me what you like.”

“Fuck, Mark—right there. Right there, just like that—” He nearly pauses, a muffled grunt settling in his throat, wrapping his arms under your thighs and dragging you closer until your pussy is pressed to his mouth. Held there, lips spread across his tongue.

You try to move, to buck up or pull away, but his grip is like iron. He keeps you right where he wants you, tongue flicking quick and firm over your clit while he moans like he’s the one being touched. “Fuck yes,” you gasp, one hand flying into his hair. “Just like that, holy shit—Mark, you’re so good, you’re so fucking good at this—”

He whimpers into your cunt like the praise feeds him. That smirk etching into your lips doesn’t miss him. “You gonna moan louder than me, Grayson? Or is this just you begging with your mouth full?” He breathes out a shaky moan into your cunt in response. His tongue dips lower again, licking into your entrance, then back up, sucking your clit between his lips, messy and hot and relentless.

You're grinding into his face now, shameless, and he takes it all. Lets you ride his mouth like he was made for it. He pants, chin soaked, lips swollen. “Come on, baby, I wanna feel it. Wanna taste all of it. Wanna make you scream.”

“Don’t stop now, don’t you dare fucking stop. I’m close—you look so pretty when you’re trying so hard.” Marks tongue gets sloppier, almost panting through the effort. He flattens his tongue and fucks you with it, then sucks your clit hard enough to send your mind reeling as you lurch forward, fingers bruising into your hips as he holds you down while you shatter. Your orgasm like fireworks against your nerves.

Every time he licks you, something coats his tongue that's so good it's obscene. That heady, sweet scent and everything he's ever fantasized about—has him rutting into the sheets without even thinking. Its humid, raw. His brain just shuts the fuck off the second your thighs tighten around his head.

You let out a guttural scream. His tongue works with a purpose, sloppy and greedy, groaning into your pussy like he’s starved. His fingers curl inside you again—those goddamn fingers, reaching that spot he’s already memorized. Calloused fingertips caressing the ridge of your walls, coated in cream with every drag.

“You came for me,” he murmurs between licks. “Now I get to return the favor. Gonna make you fall apart, baby. Please. Gonna make you beg. It's gonna feel so good.”

He doesn’t stop until your thighs shake. Until your nails leave crescents in his shoulders. Until you come so hard around his fingers, your voice breaks in a sob of pleasure, your body curling in on itself like it can’t hold that kind of sensation. A slight, sheepish smirk etches into his lips as he watches you tremble and gasp. You scream his name, thighs shaking, hips trying to escape the overstimulation—but he follows, licking you through it, sloppily, like he can’t stop tasting you.

He’s utterly lost. You gently pull his hair, raising his head to look at you. His face is flushed—slick ridden, eyes barely in focus, brows knitted upwards, and his tongue slowly traces the line of lips. His hips twitch against the mattress.

“Mmm, this is so much better than that magazine under your bed. Remember that one? With the brunette riding—” He choked at your words, daze fading into embarrassment as you guided him onto his back. His eyes and hands follow every shift, fingers twitching just a little too eagerly.

“Round two?” you tease, breathless. But before he can answer—a creak from the hallway. You both freeze. “… Was that—?”

“My mom,” Mark mouths silently, wide-eyed. You grin wickedly. “Bet you can’t stay quiet.” His jaw drops. “Are you kidding me right now?!” But you’re already lowering yourself onto him, the stretch making you groan as you sink all the way down until your thighs rest against his. His cock fills you perfectly, and the second he’s fully inside, you feel him twitch.

His hands clamp to your hips. He groans, quiet, and choked off. You rock once, he whimpers. “Stay quiet, Grayson.” He glares at you like he wants to fight it. But he doesn’t. Instead, he buries his face in your shoulder and lets you ride him. Slow at first, then faster. Deeper. His hips stutter up into yours, hands tight on your ass, flexing under you like he wants to take control, but he doesn’t.

Not yet. Not until you lean down and whisper, “Come for me again.”

Then he flips you. Pins you down. And fucks you so deep and hard the mattress creaks, your legs locked around his waist. Every thrust is an apology and a worship. He stays quiet with effort—sweat on his brow, biting his lip bloody—until you come again, groaning into the pillow. And when he finishes with a muffled moan into your neck, full body shaking, he’s whispering your name like it’s a prayer. A/N: Was this long as hell? Yes. Do I regret writing it? No. Let me know your opinion and suggestions, because.... my toes were curling while writing this. I'm not joking. (This was also based on how I'd believe Mark would use the dirty talk he's seen in porn, LMFAO.)

MasterList ོ༘₊⁺☀︎₊⁺⋆.˚

[astraljedi]

Dirty Dining (Joaquin Torres)

Dirty Roommate AU Series Summary: When Joaquin overhears you talking about a certain smut scene during your book club meeting, he makes it his mission to help you relive the fantasy.

Pairing: Joaquin Torres x Female Reader

Warnings: Explicit sexual content (18+), edging, oral sex (f receiving), light bondage (blindfolds, restraint), dom-sub dynamics, overstimulation, soft aftercare, Friends with Benefits, strong language. No tables or chairs were harmed in the process 😈.

Word Count: 3.5k

A/N: One person asked for a part 2 and that was enough for me to start working on it HAHAHA. Officially, here's part 2 of the Dirty Roommate AU Series. Enjoy! -

The last Friday of the month is always reserved for book club, and I love hosting the girls at my place. I'm rushing around the kitchen, grabbing cups, snack plates, and food while glancing at the clock every few seconds.

I always go over the top when it’s my turn. It’s the too much gene in me—and the need to make sure everyone has fun. I bend down to the lower cabinet and pull out a wooden board. The sweets charcuterie board is the last thing on my list before the girls arrive in less than thirty minutes.

Peanut butter cups scatter in one corner, mini marshmallows in another. I add cut strawberries, peanut butter, and both melted white and dark chocolate in a bowl to the center of the board.

I check the clock again. Twenty minutes left.

Suddenly, arms wrap around my waist, a warm chest presses against my back, and wet kisses land on my neck. I jump, nearly spilling the white chocolate across the counter.

“Joaquin! You can’t keep scaring me like this,” I groan, but I still lean into his warmth.

He chuckles against my neck, his breath hot against my skin. Goosebumps rise instantly. “You know I won’t stop,” he mumbles, feeling his smile as he kisses my shoulder.

“Aren’t you supposed to be at Benny’s?”

“His girlfriend flew in and surprised him. They kicked us out and I wasn’t about to cockblock my best friend.” He doesn’t pull away, just scans the counter. “Shit—you have book club tonight.”

I laugh. “I do. But it’s fine. Just make sure you wear your headphones. We get loud.”

“Oh, trust me. I know how loud you are,” he teases, his fingers slipping to unbutton my jeans. He slides his hand inside, and my breath catches; tossing the bag of sweets onto the counter.

“The girls are coming over in less than fifteen minutes,” I sigh, knuckles whitening as I grip the counter. Joaquin’s fingers circle my clit, my arousal coating them instantly.

“Plenty of time for me to play,” he says, slowly slipping a finger into me.

“Fuck,” I breathe, my hand flying to his forearm. He pumps his fingers in and out, achingly slow. The girls will be here any second. My hips move to meet him, trying to coax him to speed up.

He slips his hand under my tank top and palms my breast, pressing me tighter against the counter. And I feel his hard cock grind against my ass. He curls his fingers, hitting that sweet spot, and my moans echo through the kitchen.

“You feel how hard I am for you?” he whispers, biting the skin just below my ear. “I’ll have to fist myself to the thought of your moans—those cries when you chant my name as you come.”

“Shit, don’t stop.” I moan, clenching around him. The pressure building up as he quickens his pace.

“My girl loves it when I talk,” he says, voice rough and filthy. “Loves when I tell her how wet she is for me. How I know my cock could slide in and fill you right up.” He pulls his fingers from my core, grabs my waist, and turns me to face him. “I want to watch you come all over my tongue.”

Joaquin drops to his knees, yanking my shorts and underwear down in one motion. His nose brushes my clit, and I gasp, my hands flying to his hair. He slides two fingers into me as his tongue flicks and swirls against my clit, picking up where he left off. 

He drapes one of my legs over his shoulder and cups my ass, pulling me deeper into his mouth and hand. My skin burns as sweat sticks to my skin, overwhelmed from his fingers and tongue. When I look down, his dark eyes are already locked on me—and I shudder, the heat of my orgasm breaking through me. My walls tighten around his fingers as he sucks my clit hard; not letting me move even when it feels like too much.

“B-baby,” I stutter, chest heaving. My legs shake, my heart pounds in my ears as he licks me through my orgasm. He pulls his fingers out slowly, and I whine, my hands still tangled in his curls.

Joaquin groans as he slips his fingers into his mouth, tasting me. “Fuck,” he mutters, eyes fluttering shut as I scratch his scalp.

“Come here,” I say, voice rough.

He stands and I immediately pull him into a kiss, wrapping one leg around his waist. Our tongues tangle and I welcome my own taste, moaning. His hand grips the back of my head, and I whimper into his mouth as his cock grinds against my pulsing core.

The doorbell rings and I break the kiss, glancing at the clock. They’re five minutes early. “Shit—I’m sorry,” I mutter, slipping from his grip and pulling my underwear and linen shorts back on.

“I don’t care. I got what I wanted,” he says with a cocky grin, tugging me back by the elbow for one last kiss. “You can return the favor tonight.”

I smile against his lips. “Only if you help me clean.” The doorbell rings again, and I shove him toward the stairs. “Headphones, please.”

“I don’t think headphones are gonna do anything,” he calls out, laughing as he jogs upstairs.

I shake my head and exhale, trying to soothe my own beating heart and looking like I wasn’t getting oral from my roommate in the kitchen. I open the door and let the group of girls in for our meeting. 

“In real life, if a man like that stumbles into my life, I’m calling the cops,” Chelsea says, sipping her wine.

This month’s book was a mafia romance that had me blushing and gasping through every smutty scene. And finally, we could talk and go back to our favorite scenes. 

“For real! Like, ‘9-1-1, please help, the mafia boss is trying to seduce me with his knife and huge cock,’” Yolanda adds, and we all burst out laughing. “What was your favorite scene?” 

“The dining room scene!” I blurt out, maybe a little too excited. “The way he had her tied to his chair, spread wide with her ankles strapped to each leg and her hands behind her back? I put that on my sex list,” I admit, the wine already hitting me.

“What I would do to have a man pin me to a dining table and rail me mercilessly like Grant did to Lucy,” Chelsea groans. “I need a man. Period.”

I raise my nearly empty glass toward her. “Same here, babes.”

After the girls head out in their Ubers, I’m a little drunk and stumble into the living room to clean up what’s left of the meeting. Joaquin jogs down the stairs, curls still damp from his shower, and his gray sweats hanging low on his hips.

“Oh.” I giggle, maybe a little too giddy when he steps into the messy room. “It’s not fair you always look this hot.” I run my hands over his hard abs, my cold fingers meeting his warm skin.

“You’re drunk,” he laughs, gently pulling my hands off before they wander further south.

I look up at him and pout. “Just a little,” I admit, still giggling.

“How about we get you upstairs, yeah?” he says, wrapping an arm around my waist to steady me as we head up.

“I have to clean upppp,” I whine, dragging out the word.

“Don’t worry, baby. I got it.” Joaquin pushes open my bedroom door and guides me toward the bed.

“You know, before I joined the book club, I didn’t even have a sex list. But now? After reading all that filth? The list exists and it’s looooong.” I ramble as he kneels on the wooden floor, helping me kick off my slippers.

“You do?” he asks, an amused smile tugging at his lips as he lays me back on the bed.

“Oh yeah, buddy.” My head hits the pillow as he pulls the comforter over me. “I can forward it to you. Y’know, so you have ideas for your own list.”

“That sounds like a great idea,” he says softly, brushing a few strands of hair away from my face.

“Reading is fun. I like reading,” I mumble, eyes fluttering shut as sleep starts to pull me under.

“Good night, preciosa.” I feel the press of his lips on my temple just before everything slips into darkness.

A few weeks later

For weeks, I’ve been making it up to Joaquin for cleaning the living room after getting a little too drunk at the last book meeting I hosted at our place. I felt terrible, but he keeps reassuring me it’s fine—even when I tell him I’ll clean up the living room and kitchen after he hosts his usual Sunday Football with his friends.

But he really doesn’t care, always shrugging it off and not letting me make it up to him.

I slam the front door shut and toss my things into the small closet in the entryway. My shoulders feel heavy, the stress from work still clinging to me. The first thing I do is text Joaquin, letting him know I’m home and that we should order in for our usual movie night. Then, I strip off all my clothes and take a very hot shower that helps my muscles finally start to relax.

After a while, the water turns cold, and I turn it off. The soft fabric and fresh, clean scent of my towel comfort me as I wrap it around my body. I slip into my bedroom, the house quiet, the light from my room the only thing illuminating the space.

And I nearly scream—not expecting to see Joaquin sitting on the edge of my bed, dressed in a black button-down shirt, sleeves rolled up, and dark dress pants.

“Joaquin,” I gasp, my hand flying to my chest. “I told you to stop scaring me like this.”

He doesn’t speak at first. He just watches me—calm, composed. My eyes follow him  as he stands slowly. His gaze falls to my bare legs, then traces up to where I’m holding the towel to my chest.

Then he steps closer, and my gaze lands on his hand, a long red scarf dangling from his palm.

“You trust me?”

I swallow hard, my head already spinning. “I do,” I nod, not knowing what I’m agreeing to.

He still doesn’t touch me, but he steps behind me, gently covering my eyes with the soft fabric. The satin is cool and smooth against my skin, and the loss of sight instantly heightens everything else.

I notice his cologne—dark, masculine, intoxicating. It makes me whimper quietly, wanting to already smell like him for days. He ties the knot behind my head, snug but not too tight.

Joaquin’s hands skim my hips as he guides me, barefoot and blindfolded, down the quiet hallway. My stomach jumps with anticipation and curiosity about what he has planned. He helps me down the stairs—even though I know them by heart, it feels completely different without my sight. I breathe deeply and let myself trust him, let him take over.

We stop. My lips part to say something, but his fingers graze the edge of my towel.

“This needs to come off.”

His voice is raspy, mouth dry as he tugs the towel away. I shiver, suddenly exposed somewhere in the middle of the house.

I hear the scrape of a wooden chair against the floor, and my heart slams in my chest. We’re at the dining table in our kitchen—the one I forced him to build, even when he swore it wouldn’t fit. But it did.

He grabs my hand and helps me sit in the cold, harsh wooden chair. His hand rests on my knee, gliding down until he reaches my ankles, and I gasp as I feel the rough rope wrap around one.

“I overheard you telling your friends how this scene was your favorite,” he murmurs, finishing one ankle and moving to the other. He nudges them apart until they’re wide, until he’s satisfied.

He goes silent. Just the sound of the rope and my uneven breathing fill the room.

I turn my head, trying to track him. But I can’t feel him near. My nipples harden, already turned on by his minimal touch. The room feels colder now, the chill skating over my exposed skin. I try to keep my legs and lips from trembling—not from the cold, but from the sheer thrill.

“I read the book. Studied this scene,” he says. He grabs my hands roughly, pulling them behind my back and tying them with a softer material; another satin scarf. This one he ties tighter than the one over my eyes.

“If I slip my fingers down, will I find you soaking the chair?” His knuckles brush over my shoulder, down to my breast, but he avoids my nipple. I whimper and nod, skin already burning. The room feels smaller, stuffy, and intoxicating. 

I need more.

“This is for you. Only for you.” I hear his clothes rustle, and then his hand is back; on the inside of my thigh, gripping hard. My hands twitch behind the chair, my breathing hitches. I can’t see him, but I feel him. I smell him.

His touch is ghostlike—there, but distant.

“Joaquin,” I whisper, almost a pleading cry.

“You should see yourself right now,” he murmurs. “So perfect. Open wide and glistening for me.” His fingers barely graze my folds, and I choke on a moan. My hips chase his touch, but the bindings keep me still.

“Joaquin, fuck, please.”

He chuckles, like he’s enjoying watching me struggle. Enjoying my desperation. He grips my thighs, pulls them wider, and I welcome the ache of the stretch.

“I’m the one who decides when,” he growls, fingers digging into my skin; and then he’s gone.

I jump when I feel him behind me. My bound hands brush his pants. 

His hands land on my shoulders, then glide down my chest until they’re cupping my breasts. I gasp when his thumbs brush my nipples, then pinch. A sharp ache shoots straight to my core.

I try to close my legs, but the ropes hold me open. I’m desperate; everything’s more intense without sight. 

I feel everything.

His lips finally touch my skin. A soft kiss, followed by teeth grazing the same spot. And he laughs, low and cruel, watching me squirm. I feel him lean forward, his hand travels down and cups my core into his rough padded hands.

 I pant, my chest shifting forward.

“You have to be patient, baby. You’ll get to come.” 

I feel him shift again, fingers parting my folds, dragging through the wetness there. He huffs, a chuckle that’s proud. He rubs in slow, lazy circles—not even trying to get me there.

“Please,” I whimper breathlessly. My legs shake, the pleasure not enough to tip me over. But he ignores me, he keeps circling my clit slowly, taking his time. 

And I swear I could cry.

He removes his fingers, but then his tongue replaces them. He licks me slowly, thoroughly, takes my clit into his mouth and sucks. My body freezes and my lips part but no sound escapes.

He relentlessly keeps sucking and my whole body trembles, feeling the familiar tightness building in my lower stomach.

 “F-Fuck—”

Joaquin stops. He fucking stops and lets me gasping for air and my walls clenching at nothing. 

“N-no, please.” I’m already dizzy, panting.  

He dives back in, his tongue working fast, his fingers slide inside me and curls them just right, just how I like it. It feels so good, too good. The sound of him sucking, feeling how my core sucks him in and how his other hand stays tightly on my thigh for leverage is all too much and my orgasm claws at me, so close that all he has to do is go harder–

He stops again.

“Asshole!” I shout, trembling, tears soaking the scarf over my eyes. My ankles burn and my arms ache from being bound behind me. The sweat damps my hair, sticking to my face. 

He laughs, enjoying me suffer under his sweet torture. 

“This is what you wanted, baby. You wanted to beg. To be used.”

“Please, baby,” I choke out, twisting my wrists behind me. “Please, just let me come.” I whimper, feeling my face hot and flush. Thighs soaked and aching. 

His lips crush into mine, swallowing my desperation. His tongue brushes my bottom lip, and I open for him. His hand is strong and rough on my chin, keeping still as I let him devour. 

He pulls away and disappears again between my legs. His tongue finds my clit again and his fingers slip inside deep and relentlessly. The tight and hot coil inside me builds dangerously fast.

I bite my lip, trying to make it last longer, not wanting it to end so soon but Joaquin groans and the tremble sends me over the edge as his fingers curls inside me. I don’t moan, I cry out as the hot wave crashes over me. 

My whole body trembles as he keeps sucking, dragging it out until I’m breathless.

“Fuck, thank you—thank you,” I mumble as he pulls away.

God, I want to touch him.

He unties my ankles and pulls me up. My bare chest meets his, shirt long gone. Joaquin keeps me steady and I think he’s going to release the satin scarf holding my hands together, but he doesn't. 

He drags me to the table and bends me over it. My stomach hits the cold wood and my breast press flat on the hard surface. I position my ass up for him, an invitation for him

My hands remain tied behind me and he spreads my legs open with his knee, pinning me.

“You’re so good to me, letting me do this to you.”

I hear the metal of his belt, the leather sliding open.

“I’m the only one who gets to see you like this. Spread open just for me.”

I hear him spit in his hand and then palms his length behind me. I want to push back, feel him. But I’m held tight under his control. 

His hand lands on my ass and spreads my cheeks as he slides inside in one harsh thrust into my wetness. I scream, the stretch feeling too much, too perfect at this position. His cock fills me deep, my breath catching in my lungs as I try to move my hips to meet his.

“This pussy’s mine,” he growls. “Say it.”

“It’s yours,” I cry out. “Fuck—all of me is yours.”

His palm smacks my ass.

He fucks me fast, deep and relentlessly. He keeps a hand on my waist steady, but the other one grabs a fistful of my hair. He yanks my long locks back as his hips slam into mine. 

The whole room is filled with the sound of skin slapping, my loud moans and his grunts, fucking me raw. I come with no warning, squeezing my eyes shut as I come hard on his length.

My walls suck him in, my eyes rolling back into my head as he keeps slamming into me. My ears are rigging, my body feels limp and all I can do is scream his name.  

“Joaquin,” I chant, my voice hoarse. “God, please—fill me.”

“Fuck, baby.” His rhythm grows sloppy. “That’s my good girl, taking me so well.”

He groans my name, hips stuttering as he comes, spilling into me. He stays deep in me, his hands still on my hip and his chest lands on my back.

He presses a kiss on my shoulder, out of breath. “You did so good.”

Finally, he removes the satin scarf from my arms and eyes. He pulls out, slowly and I whimper softly. Feeling empty all of the sudden. 

I blink, adjusting to the light as Joaquin pulls me into his arms. I wrap my jelly legs around his waist and he takes me up to his bedroom.

He tries to set me down on his bed, but I hold him tighter.

“Not yet,” I whisper, already sleepy.

He doesn’t argue.

He slips into the bathroom, supporting me with one arm as he soaks a towel under the faucet. 

Finally, he lays me on the dark comforter on his bed.

He sits beside me, and I part my knees, letting him clean the mess between my legs. I lean my head against the headboard, thumb tracing the back of his hand that rests on my knee. 

I hum, content and already exhausted. He kisses my thigh—soft and sweet—then leaves me for a second to discard the towel in the bathroom. After, he joins me in bed and spoons me, keeping me close in his arms.

“You okay?” he asks, voice low and tender.

“I feel amazing and like I’m floating,” I chuckle, kissing his knuckles. “You?”

“I’m okay. Worried I took it too far.”

“No. No.” I turn to face him, cupping his face. “You were perfect. It was even better than I imagined.”

He pulls me closer, hand lazy on my waist, thumb brushing my back. “Now you’ve got one thing crossed off your sex list.”

“Thanks to you,” I chuckle, nuzzling into his neck before drifting asleep.

[thehypnone]

All That You Can Give

10,4k words • 15 chapters • Rain/Everyone • CWs in chapters where needed, tags that apply to all chapters: Anal Play, Butt Plugs, Cock Cages, Gaping, Object Insertion, Size Queen Rain

Rain is a HUGE (hehehe) size queen. The pack—and others—try his limits for two entire weeks. A.k.a. 10k words of Rain getting weird and big things fucked into his ass.

Notes: Big thank you to @jimothybarnes and @jesusbutbetterrr for helping me toss ideas and all that.

Two disclaimers: 1. Probably none of this is safe and shouldn't be done in real life. Keep in mind that to me this is just a bunch of demons having fun without a care in the world. 2. Some parts may seen like dubious consent or a lack of one when it comes to Rain not exactly knowing what is being done to him, but remember that this is a big pre-planned and pre-discussed scene with all the boundaries properly set and being respected.

Read below or on AO3.

Friday – Aether (Large dildo, anal fisting)

Aether can’t believe his ears at first; though he supposes he shouldn’t be surprised. After all, a ghoul having sex and/or masturbating in the middle of the day—and being obnoxiously loud about it—is not a rare find in the Den by any means. 

He really isn’t thinking when he grabs the handle of Rain’s door and pushes on it; he genuinely wasn’t expecting it to be unlocked, but maybe he should have known better. Rain rarely does anything of sort by accident.

That is why Aether is currently standing with his mouth slightly agape, staring at the water ghoul violently riding a massive dildo.

He’s naked on the floor, with a puddle of slick and lube around him, bouncing up and down all sweaty and blissed out. Rain doesn’t even notice the intrusion at first, too busy splitting himself open—it’s when he catches a glimpse of Aether in the mirror in front of him that the water ghoul squeezes his eyes shut, slams himself all the way down on his toy one more time and all but screams as he cums.

Aether is still frozen (or rather enamored) as he waits for Rain to come down from his high, though his cock is anything but; already rock hard.

“Enjoyed the show?” the water ghoul breathes out a minute later, clumsily propping himself up on his hands.

“Yeah, uh–I’m sorry, I–the door was, uh…” Aether starts babbling out an apology, but it fades into yet another wave of complete shock to wash over him when Rain stands up. His dildo stays suctioned to the floor as he slips off of it, finally revealing the true size of it. “Oh, my god.”

“Got myself a new toy,” Rain explains innocently, with a cute little smile on his face, “you like it?”

“Rain, that–that is the size of my whole fucking arm,” Aether mumbles, chuckling a little at the end as if in complete disbelief. He knew Rain was a size queen, of course he did, but THAT?

Meanwhile the water ghoul only looks between the arm in question and the toy, as if comparing.

“Yeah, close enough,” he giggles. Then, as if intending to doom Aether entirely, Rain unceremoniously bends over to pick the toy up; in the process showing off just how stretched open and ruined his asshole is. The quintessence ghoul can’t contain himself any longer.

He slams the door shut behind himself—flipping the lock—and pounces on the other. He grabs Rain by the hips and throws him onto the bed before leaning heavily against his back.

“Tell me I can,” Aether all but begs, panting into Rain’s ear, “tell me I can do whatever I want to you.”

“Yes,” the water ghoul moans, unaware of just what he’s agreeing to, but still being in all for it. The other hums in satisfaction, with a needy tone to it, and with no more preamble gathers his fingers together and shoves his hand right into Rain’s hole.

“Oh, fuck,” Rain gasps, getting all air punched out of him. He drops his head down onto the bed, pushes his hips out higher and revels in the feeling of getting his guts rearranged. Aether can’t tear his eyes away from where his wrist is disappearing in the water ghoul’s asshole; the way he can barely clench around him. 

He doesn’t intend on making Rain cum; he only wants to play with him, see what he can take and for how long—find out what fun he can have with him. 

“You alright?” he has half a mind to ask.

“Uh-huh,” Rain groans into the bed, “‘S good. Keep goin’.”

Aether pauses at that; keep going, Rain says. He didn’t intend to take it further than his hand, at least not now, but with this sweet encouragement…

The quintessence ghoul smirks curls his finger into a fist inside the other, earning himself a pleasured whine. Aether pulls back a little, until the bones of his wrist catch on Rain’s rim, then pushes back in. He pushes, and pushes, and pushes, listening as Rain’s moans get louder the more he’s being stretched, and the deeper he gets. It’s obscene.

His eyes widen as the water ghoul’s rim reaches the bottom of his elbow; he truly can’t believe Rain is letting him do that, and even more that he’s actually taking it. So well, too.

“Oh, I really can’t wait to see what else I can fit into you,” he whispers; both a threat, and a promise.

Rain has always had a thing for being objectified and used while getting stuffed full. His fantasies often revolve around not getting a say in what gets inserted into him; only being able to call red and tap out if he needs to (though he doubts he’d ever get even close to that). Despite all that, he could never really bring himself to ask for it—sure, he’d beg to get knotted all the time and to have the biggest toys, or multiple, used on him, but he never really explained his true desires to anyone.

Up until now; until Aether, who is not going to keep it a secret.

Monday – Omega (Hand job, objectification)

Rain has woken up to a message on his phone that left no room for interpretation: he was told to lube up his ass and meet Omega in his office.

The water ghoul wasted no time; he followed the instructions and made his way over to the infirmary—on only slightly shaky legs and with only slightly tented pants. When he reached Omega’s office he knocked on the door politely.

“Come in,” came the quintessence ghoul’s gravelly voice, so come in Rain did.

“Hi,” he muttered his awkward greeting.

“I talked with Aether yesterday,” Omega started, not looking up from the piece of paper he was writing on. His voice sent a shiver down Rain’s spine; or rather the implication that the quintessence ghoul was making.

“Oh…”

“He told me some really fun stuff, you know,” he finally looked up, “and brought me something, once I’ve shown interest.

“What did–oh.”

Rain’s face started to truly burn as Omega showed him his own cock cage and a butt plug—custom made just for him to be able to lock together and to his tail. When did Aether even steal them from his room?

“Did you do what I told you to?” Omega asked.

Rain nodded and that is how he has found himself in his current position; face down with probably a dozen pens sticking out of his ass.

A pen holder, Omega said. And here he is.

For the past…Lucifer knows how long, Rain has been kneeling on the floor just by Omega’s desk with his hips pushed all the way up. The quintessence ghoul started with one pen, then kept adding more every few minutes until Rain felt nothing but the stretch of his rim; his cock hanging heavily between his legs and leaking a steady stream of precum onto the floor.

At one point the water ghoul hears a pen being put down on Omega’s desk and expects it to be changed for one of those currently in him again, but that doesn’t happen. Instead, the quintessence ghoul sits back in his chair and leans down to take a look at the puddle of precum that’s formed between Rain’s legs. 

He hums in acknowledgement and starts pulling the pens out of the water ghoul’s ass one by one. He’s not empty for long, because the cold metal plug takes the space a moment later, startling him a little. Rain groans, feeling and hearing Omega fiddle with the top lock attached to the plug; the one meant for his tail. The second one is to be connected with the cage and the water ghoul silently prays that he doesn’t get it put on before he gets to have his last orgasm of the near future.

When he’s done locking the plug, Omega prompts Rain to stand up. He pats his thigh, “C’mere.”

Rain obliges, sitting down on the quintessence ghoul’s leg, with his own in the middle. Omega tuts and grabs one of Rain’s own thighs to pull it over his knee, so that he’s straddling him, instead of sitting sideways. It makes the plug push deeper inside him and rub on his prostate. Omega chuckles when he notices the wince on Rain’s face and another spurt of precum from his cock.

“Alright, I got you,” he mutters before wrapping his massive hand around Rain’s length. He moans at the touch, unable to keep himself from bucking up into it.

“Thank you,” he gasps, grinding back onto the plug and up into Omega’s fist. It takes no more than three strokes for the water ghoul to cum with a choked off shout; spilling over Omega’s knuckles.

He lets go of his dick almost immediately to wipe his hands and grab the chastity cage that has been waiting on his desk. Still lost in his high, Rain doesn’t even realize it’s about to be put on him.

Omega pulls his cock and balls through the base ring of the chastity cage. The water ghoul hisses at the coldness of it on his sensitive flesh when the other fastens it all together with a loud click. Then he pushes Rain to stand up, reaches between his legs for the second lock of the specially designed plug and clasps to the bottom of the cage, and he is fully trapped.

“For the next two weeks you are nothing more than a toy to be passed around, got it?” Omega rumbles as he leans down to pull the other's pants up. “Neither is the cage coming off, nor is the plug coming out during that time, only exception being playtime. Understood, Rain?”

The water ghoul nods, shaking a little where he stands.

“Good. Now off you go, I need to get back to work.”

So go Rain does, as there’s nothing else that can be done—Omega didn’t give him the keys to his contraption, and even if he did, Rain wouldn’t dare break the rules. He assumes the keys are going to be passed around just as he is.

Oh, he can not wait for this delicious torture.

Tuesday – Zephyr (Hole inspection, recording, humiliation)

Out of all the ghouls that Rain has expected to be handed the keys to his chastity next, it wasn’t Zephyr; though he knows he’s not going to complain when the air ghoul dangles them before his face, smirking.

“I heard there’s fun to be had with you,” they purr as they knock their cane against Rain’s calves, inviting him into their bedroom. The water ghoul doesn’t say anything—he doesn’t know what he could say, he’s just extremely horny and aching behind the bars of his cock cage.

Zephyr shuts the door behind them and guides Rain to sit on their bed. He doesn’t know what to do with himself, so he just sits there, with his hands folded in his lap. The air ghoul sits down next to him and pats the top of their thighs. “Lay down. C’mon, show me that pretty bubble butt.”

Rain whimpers through his teeth at their words as he obliges, lowering his pants and laying across Zephyr’s lap. His caged cock falls between their legs and the water ghoul wishes he were free to fuck Zephyr’s thighs and cum right there. 

Instead, he buries his face in their bedding as they carefully unlock the plug and ease it out of him. It’s been over thirteen hours since Omega has put it in; it feels strange to suddenly be empty.

“Pretty,” Zephyr mutters, hooking their fingers into Rain’s stretched rim and playing with it, inspecting him. He feels exposed to the core. “Now get on the floor and present for me.”

The water ghoul slides down from their lap and pathetically curls up on the ground before leaning forward and sticking his ass up. There’s nothing below him to support him, not even a carpet under his knees—he will be aching later.

“Good,” Zephyr praises simply and…nothing happens. But only for a short moment—Rain can hear the other doing something: a squeak of something rubbing against lacquered wood and then a pop.

The water ghoul knows it was Zephyr taking off the rubber ferrule of their cane when they put the rest of it in his asshole. Rain grunts as the tip bumps against his prostate, sending a shiver down his spine.

Zephyr doesn’t speak as they push their cane deeper and deeper, as if seeing just how much of it Rain can take. It’s driving him crazy—the feeling of getting prodded from the inside like this—but it’s not that which will ruin him.

No, it’s when the air ghoul starts to speak that Rain realizes just how fucked he is.

“You would love for people to just come up to you, bend you over and stick the first thing that comes to mind inside you, you dirty slut, wouldn’t you?” Zephyr rumbles.

Rain doesn’t reply.

Rain gets his guts punched by the cane in punishment.

“I asked you a question. Would you beg for it?”

“Yes…” he cries out; his face burning.

“What would you beg for?” the air ghoul asks and this time the other knows not to leave them without an answer.

“F–for everyone to…use me.”

Zephyr scoffs, “that’s vague.”

“I want–want everyone to use me,” his body is starting to shake, “and–put things into me like I’m–I’m…”

“Like you’re what?”

Rain all but sobs, “A junk drawer! Or a–a trash can.”

Zephyr laughs at how pathetic the ghoul at his feet is and it’s cruel and makes Rain feel like he’s truly burning into ash from embarrassment. There, he said it—he wants to be treated like an object that gets other objects put inside him for no purpose other than making him feel dirty and violated and stretched and ruined.

The water ghoul drops his head against the floor and gasps when Zephyr pulls their cane out of him, only to shove it back even further in.

“What do we say?”

“Thank you.”

Little does Rain know that the air ghoul is, in fact, recording the whole thing—very much including, if not highlighting, all the words they’ve just exchanged.

Later, the video is going to stealthily be sent to a sizable group chat (where currently, for the purposes of this prolonged scene, Rain is blocked).

An invitation.

Wednesday – Sunshine, Aurora (Spanking)

“Well? What is it?” Aurora coos, thrusting the…something deeper inside Rain. He’s supposed to guess, but fuck, it could be anything.

“A pen?”

Sunshine makes a noise supposed to mimic one an incorrect buzzer would make. “Wrong.”

The other ghoulette twists the object, making sure to rub it around Rain’s rim, and the feeling gives him an idea. “B–brush! Makeup brush!”

“Yes! Bravo,” Aurora giggles, while Sunshine claps. The brush gets pulled out of the water ghoul’s ass, but is quickly replaced with something else. “What is it now?”

Rain groans, trying to get the feel of it, but it’s very thin; thinner than the makeup brush. He knows what the girls want him to do and when Sunshine slaps him lightly on the back of his thigh to hurry him up.

With his face burning in shame—and much pleasure—Rain clenches, eliciting quiet moans at the sight from Sunshine and Aurora. Whatever’s inside him is thin and smooth, but widens a bit irregularly at the base. There’s something more to it brushing against his cheek, but only on one side, so…

“A heel? Like of a shoe?” he breathes out, pretty confident about his guess.

“It is!” Sunshine confirms; Rain sighs in relief. The heel gets pulled out and replaced with something new again.

“What’s that, Rainy?” Aurora asks. It’s thicker and not perfectly round, with quite a bit of texture on one side; and the water ghoul is pretty sure it’s covered. That would mean it’s something daily-use, because the condom definitely isn’t there for Rain’s sake.

He thinks and thinks and nothing comes to him and–

“Come on, that one’s easy,” Sunshine slaps him again; harder, this time, and right on his ass.

Rain moans as Aurora pushes it deeper in, giving him a feel of the length of the object—and pointedly rubbing it against his prostate in the process. The textured side is very specific and it finally clicks. “It’s a TV remote…I think?”

“Damn, he’s good,” the smaller ghoulette giggles.

“Yeah, he’s got that experience,” Sunshine agrees, taking over behind Rain and switching out the object inside him again. “Good luck with that one.”

Something gets pushed inside him and it’s not very wide, but it’s completely flat and a little pliable. He has no clue.

Whichever ghoulette is holding it, is pushing it deeper and deeper in without stopping or pulling it back at all—it must be really long. Rain can feel it folding inside and filling him.

It’s only the distinct sound of a creaking leather and a rattle of metal that sparks the idea.

“A belt,” he mumbles, “it gotta be a belt, right?”

“I’m honestly impressed,” Aurora says and the belt gets pulled out—it’s strange to feel it unravel and slip out like that. Rain shivers at it, and then all but jumps out of his skin when the next thing gets pressed against his hole.

“Fuck, that’s cold!” he whines, involuntarily clenching on the object. 

“Whoops,” Aurora giggles.

The water ghoul’s brain turns off for a second at the feeling, but soon enough he remembers what he’s supposed to do. He tries to focus and think about what could be so cold…glass, but it’s definitely not glass. Not plastic, either. It feels most like metal, so that’s his guess.

But a metal what?

What metal of such thickness could the girls get? It’s not in a condom so it must be something cleanable. It’s pretty smooth and straight, too, only at the end it’s…

“Is it a fucking crowbar?” The water ghoul doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

“Yeah!” 

Rain groans in disbelief,  “Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Nope,” Sunshine tuts, then pats him—gently this time—on the ass, “but you’ve scored five out of five points!”

“Congratulations to me…”

Thursday – Mountain (Suspension, gags)

Mountain is quite busy with all the plants around the Abbey this time of year—he barely has time for sleep, let alone entertaining horny sluts all day. Rain should’ve known and avoided the earth ghoul for that exact reason, because there’s nothing more dangerous than Mountain with too much power, and too little time.

Alas, he got snatched by the other at the earliest convenience; which surprised, scared, and excited him all at once.

“Thought you wouldn’t…take part in this,” Rain admits as the earth ghoul leads him into his main greenhouse with a gentle—at least for now—hand on the small of his back. “Thought you’re too busy.”

“I am busy,” Mountain rumbles, “but some opportunities just can’t be passed up on, can they?”

The water ghoul doesn’t answer as the glass door shuts behind them. Mountain walks on, leaving Rain by the entrance mildly confused.

“What are–” he’s about to ask, but something starts slithering up his leg, then, startling him. It’s a vine controlled by the earth ghoul; a couple more surround him. “Uh-oh.”

“I have actually found a perfect use for you,” Mountain laughs, watching his vines coil around the other’s limbs. Rain opens his mouth to say something again, but one of the plants suddenly stuffs his mouth like a gag—the water ghoul can do absolutely nothing as the vines wrap all around him and, once he is safely secured, lift him up and suspended him in the air in a curled face-up position. “You can keep me company and hold things for me while I work.”

Hold…things?

Content with Rain’s position, Mountain hums and makes the vines freeze, getting the water ghoul all but stuck up there in this embarrassing arrangement as he turns to fiddle with some tools and pots. For a few minutes Rain thinks this is just going to be it—that his torture was going to be not getting anything inside him (except for the plug already there, of course, but he’s gotten so used to it that it doesn’t count in his mind).

He is wrong.

Having apparently made up his mind about the water ghoul’s fate, Mountain goes up to him and unceremoniously pulls his pants down over the curve of his ass, just enough to gain access to his hole. 

“Oh, they really got you all locked up,” he laughs, making Rain go flush. He fishes out the keys to the plug from his pocket and eases it out of him once it’s unlocked, leaving the water ghoul completely empty for another few moments.

Some painfully long minutes pass as Rain waits for Mountain to finish contemplating something over his work bench. He turns back to him, once that’s done; the water ghoul can’t see anything due to his position, but soon enough he feels something dry and rough-surfaced being pushed into him.

He thinks it’s safe to assume it to be a wooden handle of some kind of a gardening tool. He’d moan if not for the vine shoved down his throat; instead he only gurgles on it pathetically.

Right, Mountain doesn’t have time to actually play with him, but using him to hold his tools close as he works is certainly convenient—and definitely entertaining as well.

So there Rain hangs, with gardening shears in his asshole.

Friday – Cowbell (St. Andrews Cross)

Cowbell is a strange fucking ghoul.

Whenever he gets someone down into his dungeon for sex they know they’re in for some weird shit. That’s not a flaw by any means—no, that is exactly what people go to him for and he truly enjoys his reputation as a freak; both sex wise and other.

Rain knew Cowbell would get in line to play with him as soon as he heard about the scene happening—and here they are, indeed.

“So I’m fifth, huh?” Cowbell asks, though it’s more of a rhetorical question. Still, Rain nods from where he’s tied to a St. Andrew’s cross upside down. All the blood pooled in his head makes him dizzy with the movement. “Yeah, so I was thinking what I could do to you that you never had before and that you’ll never get again.”

“Uhhuh,” Rain mumbles dumbly in acknowledgement.

“And I was thinking of some crazy stuff, right?” Cowbell sighs, “But then I realized I could put something into you that’s not really crazy, but just…I don’t know, but I finally got an idea and I’m pretty sure it’s fucking original.”

“Does it beat a crowbar?” Rain asks slowly, as if drugged; he feels like it. “Or shears?”

Cowbell laughs loudly, “Damn, they got you good! That’s some nice ones, really, I don’t know if I’m beating it.”

The ghoul gets up from the wooden chair he’s been sitting on and circles it, caressing the back of it. “But I’ll have my fun with ya regardless.”

Rain shudders as Cowbell grabs something and approaches. Surprisingly, he crouches in front of his first and smears something on the water ghoul’s naked chest; he’s too out of it to care and he’s enjoying it.

Only then does the other turn around to grab something else—two somethings—and get to the main event of their evening. “Alright, let’s see if you’re as good at this as the rumour has it.

With that, Cowbell slides the first item into Rain’s open asshole. It’s long and thick and settles in nicely, filling the water ghoul in that perfect way. He clenches on it and moans quietly.

“Oh, I think you’re even better,” the other hums. He pushes on the first item a little bit with something else, then, until the second object’s base pops into Rain’s ass. He’s full beyond measure and the fact that whatever he got put into and onto him is heavy makes it all infinitely better.

“Damn, aren’t you a sight like this?” Cowbell sighs when he steps back to admire Rain—or his artwork, rather. He dims the lights and grabs a camera.

But indeed Rain is; upside down on a cross with his cock caged, an inverted pentacle drawn in dark red on his chest, and a baphomet statue mounted on a candle sticking out of his ass to be perfectly displayed between his legs.

“Yeah, that will make a real nice poster to jerk off to. Will get us a fortune, too.”

Saturday – Copia (Semi-public)

Being one of the more responsible and level headed ghouls, Rain is often chosen by Papa to accompany him when he leaves the Abbey. The reasons range from important Clergy events to a quick grocery store run for Copia’s favorite snacks; that’s why the water ghoul isn’t surprised to receive another invitation.

What does surprise him, though, when he gets into the passenger seat, is the condom pulled over the gear shift knob of Copia’s personal car.

“You didn’t think I’d pass up the opportunity, did you?” The man winks at him and Rain curses all the confidence he’s gained over the last couple of years. Not really, of course—it only means more opportunities.

It should be Rain’s personal motto at this point, shouldn’t it?

“I actually do need to run some errands first, so buckle up,” Copia chuckles and starts the car. The water ghoul obliges, swallowing thickly as the man turns on some cheerful music, too, and drives away from the Abbey without a care for the condom under his hand as he switches the gears.

Rain actually forgets about it as well when they reach Copia’s destination — a grocery store — and get in to grab whatever the man needs. It takes a little while and the water ghoul has always had a thing for shopping like that, so he’s enjoying himself.

Once they’re done, they pack the groceries in the trunk and–

“Loosen the belt for me, will you?” that reminds Rain of the other part of this trip.

He unbuckles his belt obediently and remains still as Copia reaches down his pants right there in the parking lot to fiddle with his plug. He unlocks it and pulls it out between Rain’s cheeks just to quickly shove it in his pocket.

“There we go, we can drive back home now,” he mutters with a gentle, yet menacing smile and gestures for Rain to get back into the car. As soon as both doors shut, Copia throws another order at him, “Pants off.”

The water ghoul wiggles out of them as quickly as possible in the tight space of the passenger seat. Once they’re off he throws them into the back and looks at Copia for the next instruction. 

“Well? Hop on,” the man encourages, patting Rain’s thigh.

The water ghoul is slightly confused, though. “Don’t you need it to drive?”

“No, you silly ghoul,” Copia chuckles, “I can make it automatic.”

Right.

Rain nods and returns an awkward smile before clumsily throwing a leg over onto Copia’s side, though he’s got no idea how the man wants it to work.

“No, facing the dashboard,” he corrects him, “I want to watch your pretty ass bounce on it.”

“Fuck…” Rain lets out under his breath. There is no denying he finds it all incredibly hot. He turns around and leans forward onto the dashboard a little bit to try and sink down onto the gear knob as gracefully as possible. Which is not at all, but it feels good all the same as it pops into him.

Both Copia and the water ghoul groan as he fully sits on the knob and wiggles a little to adjust to its shape and size. 

“Ride it a little for me,” the man all but pleads. Rain obliges, lifting himself up and dropping down gently, then again, and again, making Copia pant with need as he watches.

“Don’t focus on me too much,” Rain, interrupting himself with a moan, “don’t wanna cause an accident.”

“That would be hard to explain to the police, eh?”

Sunday – Chain (Tenatcles)

There are more ghouls living at the Abbey than most are aware of. One of them in particular keeps to himself so much that some ghouls haven’t seen him for years—the exception for him are water ghouls as he spends most of his time in the lake.

It was River that caught Rain this morning and whispered into his ear that Chain wanted to meet him. He blushed deeply when he realized that the entire Abbey must know all about his sexual endeavours by now; if it reached even Chain, that means everyone knows. On the one hand he was painfully embarrassed, but on the other…well, it can only mean more opportunities, no?

With that in mind, Rain goes outside and down to the lake. When he gets close enough for the ghoul in the water to sense him, the surface of the lake starts to ripple and a moment after Chain pokes his head out.

“There you are,” he chirps, flashing his serrated, razor sharp teeth. “Come into the water, little one, let me have you.”

Rain’s stomach flips at that. He undresses, lets go of his glamor and dives in; one of his legs is immediately grabbed by something. The water ghoul looks around, trying to find Chain, but he’s nowhere to be seen.

The only thing that’s there is the meaty tentacle wrapped around his ankle and the other one that’s rising from the bottom of the lake—to do the same, presumably. Right, Chain is probably going to stay hidden and watch the tentacles he controls wreck Rain for him.

His plug and cage are still locked with no prospect of being removed anytime soon, which makes the water ghoul wonder—but not for long as he gets effectively distracted by more tentacles rising to meet him.

There are two around Rain’s legs now, one around his waist, another two around his arms and one more splayed across his neck and chest for good measure. He floats peacefully, awaiting Chain’s next move.

It comes from behind him; he can’t see the tentacle getting closer until its thin tip starts wiggling into him next to the plug already settled there. With his eyes squeezed against the overwhelming stretch, Rain doesn’t notice another few in front of him.

When the tip of the small tentacle in his ass drags over his prostate, the water ghoul’s lips fall open in a moan—Chain takes this opportunity to shove a thick one right into his mouth and down his throat, making Rain choke on it.

Tears gather in his eyes, but it makes no difference in the water.

Chain isn’t done yet—far from it. He makes another small tentacle brush against the tip of Rain’s cock where it’s exposed by the cage. Once it finds the opening, it wiggles into his urethra, making him scream silently.

There are four more tentacles, though. If Rain weren’t so fucked out he’d probably put the two and two together, but alas—he only does once both sets of his gills are stuffed, too.

Chain’s got every fuckable hole of his; Rain can’t say he’s complaining.

Each tentacle keeps moving, undulating, pressing further in and pulling back, and it’s driving Rain to the point of insanity.

He has to visit Chain more often.

Monday – Cirrus (Objectification, Piss)

Rain knew it was time for Cirrus to wreck him when he was invited to watch a movie with her one night. She said there would be drinks and that they would have loads of fun, which was a threat as clear as day.

They meet in the kitchen, prepare their drinks, and go to the commons. When Rain goes to sit next to her on the couch, though, Cirrus tuts, making him turn and look at her in confusion. She points to a puff in front of her, the one he’s assumed was going to be a leg rest for the ghoulette. Apparently not.

“Bend over that,” she orders. “You can have the drink, that’s why I gave you the straw.”

Right.

The water ghoul sets the drink before the puff and bends over it obediently. He’s not opposed in the slightest to watching the movie like that; he’s actually quite excited for it.

Once he’s in position he takes a sip of his drink; it’s really good. Cirrus leans over from the couch, then, and Rain—as he has for the past seven days—gets his pants pulled down and his plug unlocked and taken out.

He nearly jumps when the ghoulette presses something freezing cold against his asshole.

“Shhh,” she coos, pushing it in, “stay still or you’re gonna spill it.”

“It’s–fuck, really cold,” Rain whines.

Cirrus laughs, “I know, you saw me put ice cubes in it. I don’t like my alcohol warm.”

It’s her fucking drink.

“Now be a good cup holder and shut up, I’m starting the movie.”

The water ghoul groans as the words make heat bloom in his belly, contrasting with the cold glass in his hole. For a few moments he can’t focus on anything but that, even though the film is already playing—it’s only when he gets used to the temperature that he decides to try and figure out what they’re watching. He supposes he can get to his drink, too, if it’s there anyway.

Like that, an hour passes.

Rain’s drink is long gone and he realizes that it might’ve been a mistake to down it all when he feels how full his bladder has gotten.

“Cir, I need to pee,” he groans.

“Too bad,” she grumbles in a tone making it clear that she doesn’t want her enjoyment of the film to be risked, “the movie’s not done.”

Whining and wiggling his hips to try and relieve some of the pressure on his bladder, Rain realizes what the puff is covered in: an absorbent, leak-proof blanket meant for messy sex.

It was Cirrus’ plan all along to make him piss himself like this. That means she is not going to let him up and go to the bathroom anytime soon. And that, in turn, means that he can either call—pun unintended—yellow, or do what she wants of him.

Rain is not a quitter, so with a pained groan he lets go, soiling the protective blanket to a point where he doubts the puff under it is safe. Cirrus doesn’t comment on that, keeping her attention on the movie.

The water ghoul supposes that’s what he ought to do, too. It’s not done yet, after all.

Tuesday – Mist

When Mist showed up to join the fun, Rain went pale from the horny fear and all the blood rushing to his poor, caged dick. As always, his old teacher’s expression and intentions remain unguessable as she leads him through the Abbey’s corridors.

Finally, they reach the band wing and the rehearsal room. Yet another time Rain finds himself here for…not exactly musical reasons. He thinks he might just accidentally decondition his brain.

“Wait one second for me, alright?” Mist asks as she locks the door and turns to the storage; Rain can only nod a little dumbly. He reaches down to try to adjust his aching cock but there is just no way for him to be comfortable with that damn cage on. The plug he’s well used to, but the cage? That’s the real challenge of this scene.

A moment later the ghoulette emerges with a bass in hand—the older white Jazz he played in the early days of his time touring. With not many words, as usual, Mist rests the bass against one of the amps along the edge of the faux stage and turns back to stare at Rain like a true predator. He shivers.

“How do you want me?” he asks as she stalks up to and behind him.

“Bent over that amp,” Mist orders. The other shudders in excitement and obliges, shimmying his pants off as he goes and taking his spot next to the bass. 

Rain’s jaw quite literally drops when it hits him that no, the bass most likely isn’t there for decoration…Mist notices his realization and chuckles.

“C’mon, I know you always wanted to fuck it,” she teases with a wink, “I’ve seen the way you could barely resist the urge to grind against it when the adrenaline got high.”

Well, she is not wrong…

“Bet you didn’t think this is how it would happen, though, hm?”

Rain still isn’t sure what this means, but considering the circumstances he’s starting to get really worried for his ass. 

Mist gets closer and he hears the telltale jingle of the keys to his chastity. The ghoulette swiftly unlocks the plug and pulls it out of him—for the sake of his sanity Rain drops his head and closes his eyes then.

Then, he hears the click the steel strings always make against the frets when the bass is grabbed by the neck. Mist steps up behind him and her knees crack as she kneels beside him.

Just as the silence gets interrupted by a buzz of let go strings, Rain suddenly gets filled with the cold, smooth, lacquered horn of his old bass. He groans in pleasure and barely fights the urge to fuck himself back onto it.

“It’s a shame the headstock wouldn’t work,” Mist sighs as if lost deep in her own fantasy. “Maybe next time when it’s time for maintenance I can take off the pegs and try it.”

Rain moans both at the implication of her words—just the concept of it—and the bass stretching him and gliding against his prostate. It has no right feeling this good and he’s already thinking about getting some new glass toys for himself.

Mist, though, is still relentlessly trying to make the other lose his mind, “I wonder which fret we’d have to stop at.”

Wednesday – Cumulus (Semi-public, Rimming)

Rain really did think that Cumulus’ invitation to cook and bake with her on a peaceful evening was genuine and with no hidden intentions.

He couldn’t be more wrong, he realizes, as the ghoulette pushes yet another vegetable into him—a thick zucchini this time. Damn the earth ghoul magic for making them all so big.

“You know, I can never decide which vegetables I need for a dish,” Cumulus complains, “and how much. And then I end up with too much, courtesy of Mountain, and I hate seeing them go to waste. You know?”

“Uh-huh,” Rain agrees, nodding dumbly. He’s bent over the counter with his head nearly all the way in an open cabinet while the ghoulette sits on a barstool behind him and…well, has her fun with him.

It feels like ages as she fucks him; it’s already been ages. Cumulus started with a carrot, went through a banana and a cucumber, and now they’re here, on a fat fucking zucchini.

Finally, though, she pulls the vegetable out of the water ghoul and he breathes a sigh of relief when she speaks.

“Alright, that’s enough for now,” then comes the familiar weight of his plug, “we do have to actually make dinner. And dessert.”

Rain breathes out a sigh of relief, nodding at the ghoulette. She helps him pull his pants up, pats him on the ass and they get to cooking, as if nothing strange at all has just happened. It gives the water ghoul a bit of a whiplash. 

Cook—and then bake—they do, indeed, and it’s so much fun that Rain actually forgets about the scene altogether. It’s only when everything is finished and ready to put away, and the dishes cleaned, that Cumulus reminds him of it.

“C’mon, sweetie, bend over for me again,” she coos, pushing gently at the small of his back, “I want to taste your sweet little ass, can I?”

As if Rain could ever say no to getting his ass eaten by Cumulus, the demon queen of rimming. She can get anyone she wants to spread their legs for her.

So, for a second time today, the water ghoul leans over the counter and gets exposed—offering himself up for Cumulus to do whatever she wants with him. She forgoes the chair this time, simply standing behind him and planting her small hands on Rain’s cheeks to spread him.

“Oof, we did you good, all of us, didn’t we?” He can feel her breath on himself. “So stretched.”

“Please, Lussy…”

“Yes, yes, I know. One second, sweetie.”

With his face hidden in his arms, Rain can’t see what Cumulus is doing, but her hands are on his ass again in no time. Next, as promised, comes her devious tongue and the water ghoul moans loudly as she licks him.

“Fuck, you’re so good at this.”

“I know,” she giggles, but then pulls away entirely, eliciting a sad whine from Rain. She doesn’t comment on it.

Instead, she grabs something from the bowl of dirty cooking utensils next to her.

“Oh, this one could be fun!” she says once she makes her pick. Cumulus wastes no time in pushing it into his asshole; Rain moans. It’s round, but textured vertically all around and feeling hollow. It feels weird, like nothing he’s ever had inside him.

“What is it?”

“Inside you? Oh, it’s just the whisk, sweetie,” the air ghoulette provides, as if having a fucking whisk in his ass is nothing out of the ordinary. He definitely gets whiplash this time and Cumulus makes it even worse with her next words. “It has some whipped cream on it. Your ass is already perfect, but there’s no harm in making it sweeter, is it?”

Rain wants it both to end and last forever.

Thursday – Ivy (Objectification)

Ivy catches Rain in the rehearsal room, where the water ghoul is making a good use of his evening by practicing, enjoying himself. Little does he know that Ivy has the keys to his contraption in his pocket and very much intends to use them.

“Wanna help me with something?” the earth ghoul asks, leaning against the door.

“Sure, whaddya need?” Rain says sweetly as he puts his bass away before getting up.

“Oh, you know, I just wanted to play a little,” Ivy hums, climbing the stairs to the drumset, “but the stick bag isn’t here.”

That’s when it hits Rain; the fact that this isn’t innocent in the slightest. He should’ve known.

“Where do you want me?” he asks and follows the other up to the platform. Ivy smirks and points to the left of the chair.

“I’ll be right back,” the earth ghoul says and disappears, presumably to fetch some sticks. Rain clenches his jaw and gets on his hands and knees while the other is gone, not having any fight in him after those ten days. Eleven, technically.

It’s not that he’s not enjoying all of this anymore—of course, not, he is very much still enjoying it and he doesn’t want to stop it, but the exhaustion of the desperation is setting in. Besides, he’s going to end up being treated like an object anyway, so why pretend not to like it by struggling?

By the time Ivy returns, Rain is in position: ass up, presenting with his head resting gently on his hand. A pose well practiced.

The earth ghoul makes a pleased noise low in his throat at the sight and an even happier one when he sits on the chair behind the drums and pulls Rain’s pants down over the curve of his ass. 

“Nice,” Ivy mutters and gets to unlocking the plug and all that. The water ghoul comfortably zones out as he waits for the drumsticks to fill him. “Ready?”

“Mhm,” he hums; barely audible, and moans when Ivy thrusts the first stick into him. Rain closes his eyes and counts in his mind as the other adds more drumsticks one by one…though the water ghoul ends up losing count.

He gets startled a little when Ivy actually starts playing—after all that was a genuine intention of his—but the loud noise and vibrations actually lull Rain back into his zone after a while.

The next thing he knows is a sound standing out among the music; one of wood splitting. 

“Ah, damnit,” Ivy mumbles under his breath and Rain hears the clatter of the broken drumstick somewhere behind him. Then there’s a hand on his ass and the earth ghoul speaks to him, “You good down here?”

“Uh-huh,” he nods against the floor.

“Good. I broke a stick

“That’s not good,” Rain slurs.

“No, it’s not,” Ivy sighs, dragging a callused hand up the other’s ass down to the back of his thigh, and back up again, “but that’s what you’re here for, yeah?”

The earth ghoul pulls out one of the sticks crowded in Rain’s asshole.

“That’s what I’m here for.”

Friday – Aeon, Dewdrop

While Dewdrop is a good actor who can keep a straight face through everything, Aeon is like an open book. That talks to you, as well.

If it were Dewdrop alone that invited Rain to a game night, he would’ve believed it was going to be just a game night. But Aeon was there, too, and his behavior made the plan clear as day.

Game number one: spin the bottle. The first few spins and truth and dares were fun—designed for Rain to let his guard down. Only then did Dewdrop reveal some never heard before rules that forced the water ghoul to take a dare.

Oh, and what a dare it is.

Rain whines a little when the fire ghoul explains it to him, making the other scoff, “You’re dumber than I thought if you assumed this would be a fair game.”

“I didn’t…” the water ghoul says, “but I was hoping to see some of you two, too.”

“Hm, we’ll see about that. Now bend over the couch,” Dewdrop orders and Aeon helps Rain up—not at all intentionally putting his hand on his ass just where the plug sits inside him as he pushes him up. The water ghoul groans as the metal digs further into his insides. 

He hides his face in the pillows when Aeon gets to taking off his pants and unlocking the plug. It’s a routine by now; Rain’s almost comforted by the familiarity.

“Jeez, you’re fucking ruined,” the quintessence ghoul laughs when he pulls his plug out, making Rain groan and go flush—as always.

“Did you forget how much of a whore he is?” Dewdrop teases from his spot on the floor, shuffling some cards. “Put it in and come back here, we’ve got more games to play.”

Aeon doesn’t waste much more time after that and without a care in the world presses the beer bottle they have just been spinning against the stretched out rim of Rain’s asshole.

The water ghoul digs his claws into the couch and drops his head against its cushions when the other starts thrusting the cold and wide bottle into him inch by inch, and it doesn’t seem like he’s going to stop until–

“Aaand it’s in!” Aeon cheers when the entire bottle disappears inside Rain. He can barely think with the way it feels in him—pressing against all the good spots—but Dewdrop calls for them again, so he’s got no choice but to pull his pants up and waddle over, trying not to explode. He clumsily kneels on the cushion he’s been sitting on earlier.

“What are we playing now?” he asks; his voice shaky.

“Strip poker,” Dewdrop explains, starting to deal the cards, “with a fun twist at the end.”

“Oh, nice!” Aeon cheers, clueless to the way the fire ghoul just looked at him. Rain knows that stare; the twist at the end of the game is definitely for Aeon.

So here they start.

Dewdrop is good at poker; now it seems like he’s losing on purpose, but at the same time making Aeon fuck up, too. The goal is clear—to get them both undressed…but why? And why does Rain seem to be safe for now? It’s suspicious.

Each of them loses a few articles of clothing, but the real fight only starts when the fire ghoul’s pants come off.

That’s when the others notice a strap harness fastened around his hips and realize what the game is really about. Dewdrop winks at Aeon and it seems that he has finally started to connect the dots; a deep blush rises on his face.

The game continues and Rain watches in fascination as Dewdrop absolutely crushes the quintessence ghoul—satisfied with the state of his undress, he makes Aeon lose more of his clothing.

Finally, the game ends with him completely nude. Rain nearly forgets about the beer bottle shoved up his ass when Dewdrop pulls out a dildo from the pocket of his forgone pants and attaches it to the harness.

“Up on the couch, loser,” he smirks at Aeon. The expression on his face tells the water ghoul he was completely unaware that he was going to be a part of the game, too.

It seems Rain is going to enjoy this evening even more—he’s always enjoyed watching Dewdrop ruin people with his strap.

Saturday – Alpha (Shower enema, kind of a yellow safe word call, then back to green)

“I have to clean you first,” Alpha growls as he drags Rain into his bathroom, stripping him as they go. The water ghoul had no time to process what was happening once Alpha had snatched him, muttering something about wanting to fuck his wrecked hole.

In no time at all Rain gets shoved into the fire ghoul’s bathtub entirely naked, save for his chastity. Once he unlocks the plug, Alpha grunts in faux disgust as he pulls it out of the other and tosses it into the sink with a loud clatter.

Then, Rain can hear him hum as if in consideration for a few moments before something gets pressed against his asshole. He can’t quite get the feel of what it is, but it’s definitely square-ish with the corners barely rounded—it’s almost sharp at one point, as if…

With no warning, Alpha pushes on the object and makes it pop inside the water ghoul, eliciting a gasp. Rain’s so used up by now he can barely feel the stretch, but the thing is quite thick.

“What is it?” he dares to ask. The fire ghoul doesn’t reply right away; first, he does something that makes something wet squirt out from the object inside Rain.

He’s finally starting to connect the dots himself when Alpha gets to explaining. “You should’ve known I don’t fuck dirty sluts and everyone’s been in your ass these past two weeks. I told you I have to clean you first.”

“Can’t say I blame you,” Rain grunts as Alpha fucks the bottle of body wash in further before pulling it back and fully out, “but a simple enema would do the job.”

The fire ghoul scoffs, “And where’s the fun in that?”

Rain’s horns clank against the bottom of the tub when he drops his head, anxious about what might come next. First Alpha filled him with a body gel, so now the only logical thing to do is to follow up with water…the question is how, and how much of it.

The next thing the water ghoul can hear is the telltale sound of a shower head being detached from the wall; he moans realizing just what is about to be done to him.

He really loves being a hopeless slut.

Alpha pours some more of the body wash all over Rain’s cheeks and hole before spreading it around with his hand; the noise of it obscene already, though it’s not in itself of sexual nature.

What is of a very sexual nature, is Alpha forcing the shower head into the water ghoul’s asshole. He watches his rim stretch around its flattened shape until it pops fully in and nearly disappears. Nearly, because Rain is gaping so much that he can’t even close around the handle.

He groans and tries to wiggle his hips in an attempt to adjust to the strange shape inside him—easily the least phallic one he’s ever taken. It feels weird, but in the best possible way; Rain gets so distracted by it that he doesn’t realize Alpha turns the shower on.

“There we go,” he laughs as the water ghoul starts writhing in the tub—trying to escape the pressure building up inside him, but being unable to. It’s maddening.

“Fuuuuuuuck…” Rain moans, as he’s being filled more and more. “Oh, fuck.”

As he gets full, some water leaks out and into the tub, making the shaking ghoul slip and fall onto his back. It’s Alpha’s turn to gasp when he notices how distended Rain’s belly is; he can’t help but reach out and press on it, causing the other to cry out.

“Off, off, off, Alpha, enough, OFF!” Rain begs with tears streaming down his face and Alpha knows to take his plea seriously; he turns the shower off.

“Color?” he asks, grabbing the handle of the shower head sticking out of the water ghoul.

“Green…” Rain pants, “but no more of…that. Please.”

“Yeah, of course,” Alpha promises with his voice and touch suddenly all soft. He pets at the other’s bulging stomach and his legs in an honest attempt to comfort him. “Out?”

“Please,” the water ghoul whines.

Alpha nods, “Alright. Want me to take you to bed and fuck you vanilla for once?”

It makes Rain giggle a little despite his peculiar situation, “I’d like that.”

Sunday – Swiss (Bondage, Suspension, Subspace, Recording, Blow Job)

Swiss’ cruelty is one of a kind.

He prides himself in knowing all his partners’ buttons and just how to push them, and when. There’s not many things that bring him more happiness than getting to torture one of his packmates in that perfectly bittersweet way that’s going to truly wreck, and satisfy, them at the same time.

Swiss’ room—beside the ghouls’ sex dungeon—is the only one which has hooks for suspension installed on the ceiling. Bondage is one of the multi ghoul’s favorite kinds of kinky activities to indulge in; both as a giver and as a receiver.

It was easy to guess that ropes were going to be involved in whatever Swiss intends to do to Rain and, indeed, he orders the water ghoul to strip and sit under the hooks. He even gets both the plug and the cage out and off of him, and Rain can barely resist the urge to jerk himself off quickly right there and then.

He doesn’t.

What slightly confuses him, though, is that there is absolutely nothing around that he would imagine Swiss could put inside him…which is even more strange if he considers the fact that this is the last day of the scene; he expected some fireworks before it ends.

Knowing Swiss he will still get his fireworks alright, but the water ghoul just can’t help but wonder what’s going to happen.

“Are you gonna let me cum?” Rain has to ask. It’s been two weeks, for Satan’s sake, he might just explode if he has to wait any longer.

Swiss looks at him, and most likely wants to tease, but decides against it, “When I’m done playing with you, yeah. You’ve earned it.”

Even though he’s got a long way to go, relief already washes over Rain.

“Now,” the multi ghoul gets the rope, “sit there with your legs in front of you.”

He obliges and like this, Swiss starts tying him up.

He never speaks as he does; focusing entirely on the ropes and the knots, so as not to make any mistakes that could actually hurt his partner—the pain he inflicts always has to be precisely calculated.

He wraps Rain’s hips, first, bringing the ties down over his thighs and creating solid nets of knots that are surely meant to hold most of the water ghoul’s weight; when both legs are ready, Swiss pulls the remaining pieces of rope into two of the hooks on the ceiling, letting them just hang there for now.

Then, he moves onto Rain’s chest. He crosses his arms over his chest, ties his wrists together, and then creates another firm harness all around—ending it with two knots on either shoulder. The remaining rope from these two get hooked to the ceiling as well and connected to the other two already there.

“Ready?” Swiss asks, standing in front of Rain with all the rope gathered in his hand. The water ghoul nods and watches Swiss’ kind smile turn to a mischievous grin as he pulls on the rope and lifts Rain with it.

The pain of his entire body weight hanging only by these ties is addictive—he can feel each piece of rope and each knot digging into him in a way that will undoubtedly leave bruises all over him; perfect for Swiss to trace later.

“You alright? Not too painful anywhere?” the multi ghoul makes sure once Rain is fully suspended and the rope is secured.

“I’m good,” he sighs, painfully horny, but getting lulled into shallow subspace at the same time. The position in which he’s hanging is pretty simple: it’s as if he’s sitting on a couch with his legs extended, except in the air.

Swiss hums in acknowledgement before confusing Rain even more when he walks around the bed and starts pushing and pulling on it to move it away from its usual spot. It’s a few moments, which for the water ghoul—suspended in the air and subspace—feel like centuries, before Swiss is satisfied with the bed’s new position.

He walks over to his desk, then, and sets up a camera—Rain should have expected at least that, if nothing else.

“It started with a video, baby,” the multi ghoul winks at him, “it shall end with one, too.”

Rain groans and lets his head roll forwards against his chest, as more of his brain leaks out of his ears. Swiss stands between him and the camera and waves to it goofily before stepping to the side where the ties are secured to show off the water ghoul.

And move him.

The water ghoul gets snapped out of his peace when Swiss suddenly lowers him, causing him to sway around for a moment. Rain realizes there’s something below him, brushing up against his ass with every movement.

When he’s unmoving again, the thing he’s suspended above is right there, just barely touching his asshole. His brain is too much of a mush by now to realize what is happening, but then–

“OH, fuck, oh my god,” Rain moans when Swiss drops him even lower, impaling him on his fucking bedpost. The sudden stretch and fullness makes his head spin and his ears ring—he can hear the multi ghoul laughing over it. He can do nothing but whimper as he hangs there stuffed.

“Yeah, I knew you’d like that,” Swiss chuckles, all but gloating. Rain is unable to reply, overwhelmed with all the different sensations his body is currently being subjected to.

Little does he know it’s not nearly all of it.

Swiss walks to the desk, grabs the camera off of it, and turns back to Rain. He’s saying something as he’s filming him from up close—his blissed out face, his painfully hard and nearly purple cock, and the rim of his ass stretched around the bedpost—but he can’t really register the words.

Floating in subspace, the water ghoul doesn’t realize Swiss’ next moves; he only gets somewhat snapped back to reality when a warm hand wraps around his cock. The heavy touch after two weeks of nothing at all makes Rain choke and his eyes to roll back into his head. He feels like he could blow from just one firm squeeze.

“Please…” he mutters, barely above a whisper.

“I know, I know,” Swiss sighs, “I’ll give it to you, just let me watch you for a bit longer.”

How could he refuse? The water ghoul’s head lolls further forward and he’s pretty sure he’s drooling down on his chest. Not only that; he’s surely made the bedpost entirely wet, too, as well as the rope around his leaking cock.

Rain has no way of knowing for how long Swiss watches him—it might be a minute, or an hour, but finally the multi ghoul deems it enough. At first Rain panics when the other’s hand leaves his dick and even though he’s barely present, he’s about to beg.

He doesn’t have to.

“One second, babygirl,” Swiss hums as he turns Rain 180 degrees, so that he’s facing the rest of the bed instead of the camera; leaving it the delicious view of his ass. The bedpost twisting inside the water ghoul—or rather him twisting on it—makes him gurgle on the spit that has collected in his mouth.

Swiss kneels on the bed between Rain’s legs and wastes no more time before taking his cock all the way down his throat, causing him to cry out in pleasure he’s been denied for so long. He starts literally crying from the gloriously overwhelming feeling; tears flowing down his face and mixing with drool on his chest.

The multi ghoul bobs his head once, twice, and when he buries his nose at the base of the other’s cock for the third time, Rain gets his fireworks.

He screams as he gets thrown head first into the most intense orgasm of, probably, his entire life—it lasts a good thirty seconds before the water ghoul blacks out.

“There we go, yeah,” he hears as he comes back online. He’s not suspended anymore; he’s laying in Swiss’ nest as he’s untying him. “You did so good, baby, so good.”

Rain is exhausted, all he can do is let out a little thrill of happiness at the praise. Swiss chuckles at that, “Yeah, you’re such a good slut, aren’t you? The best.”

He sighs and lets his eyelids slip shut, knowing the other will take good care of him. The best.

Taglist: @tired-cryptid-club @noahl-art @ashthewaterghoul @jazz-bazz @xxwhiskeyxx @hanalyrata @lilhoechlinsbae @karmicbias @workwithmeman @zaire-doodles-n @dewdrops-whammy-bar @ghoul-slime @sentientgolfball

[incorrect-stobotnik]

Stone: My hands are cold.

Robotnik, rolling his eyes: Here, hold my hand.

Stone: My lips are cold too.

Robotnik: *covers Stone's mouth with their hand*

[goaskangel]

olderboyfriend!nanami headcanons

cw : age gap, 30-40's with 18+ reader, posessive/slightly toxic nanami, spanking, ccuuummmmm

olderboyfriend!nanami who comes your way, very unexpectedly. you could question why his instincts leaned towards a young lady like you, when he himself carries a sophisticated attitude with ironed suits and framed glasses. 

you’re not complaining, though!

olderboyfriend!nanami who takes his time to get you to warm up to him, knows he’s intimidating to the average person with his stoic and reserved resting face. but he knows a girl like you just needs a little more time. 

olderboyfriend!nanami knows how to schedule and work around things. always managing to take you on dates every friday, even through his tight work schedule. a dinner, a fancy local restaurant, maybe a movie or bar if he’s feeling playful. 

olderboyfriend!nanami who takes appreciation in every gesture you do for him. his sweet baby who goes out of her way to bake him a sweet treat or pick up his favorites from his dearest bakery. 

olderboyfriend!nanami who doesn’t only love you but guides you. feeling stressed out about work or university? don’t even worry—nanami’s got you all figured out. whether you need help organizing your messy set-up and schedules, or if you just need someone to talk too. he’s just always so reasonable and gives the best advice while understanding and listening to every word you say.

olderboyfriend!nanami who drives you around anytime you need. gotta run some errands? kento’s right outside, wanna go shopping? hell, his card’s already in your hands. 

olderboyfriend!nanami who can’t help but keep a hand on you, either for his own comfort or your safety, but he is very protective. taking quick glances of your surroundings as you pick through a clothing rack at your favorite store, his hands never leaving your waist or shoulders. he’s got to ensure his girl’s safety is all! and to make sure no guy your age thinks they’ve got a chance.  this goes for anywhere. taking walks with his arm around you and driving around with his hand on your thigh. especially at bars or parties, he knows how guys your age are. they don’t care about your well being, can’t take care of you like he can. obviously you’d be with somebody who’s already got it all figured out!

olderboyfriend!nanami loves domestic moments with you. his only motive to keep going throughout the week is for friday nights into saturday mornings—when he’s got you nice and comfy in his bed, or when he stays the night at your place, which is when he silently plans to get you moved in with him. 

he likes to feel you under him, or the feeling of you rubbing your face into his chest when you’re about to fall asleep. he runs his fingers through your hair, soothing himself to sleep.

NSFW

olderboyfriend!nanami who, along with being overprotective with his actions, tells you in bed. his mature hands running over and over your body as he fucks himself into you. kissing your pretty face between thrusts, and speaks, 

“can’t imagine myself without you, god—you’re all mine, y’know that, pretty? nobody’s gonna feel you and love you like i do. nobody.”

olderboyfriend!nanami who enjoys ending and starting his day with burying his cock into your sweet cunt. keeping you tightly against him as you cockwarm him into the morning. some days you’ll wake up before him, admire how his usually tamed, blonde hair runs messily with sleep. you’ll notice the morning wood he’s got going and take it as your duty to wake you precious, older man with a sweet morning treat. 

just how thankful he gets when he’s woken by your hot, young mouth around his length. his darling suckling at his creamy tip for breakfast. 

olderboyfriend!nanami who loves watching you touch yourself. maybe he’s got you twirling around in lingerie you brought for him with his card. he’ll lay you down and watch as you moan and grind your hips restlessly with your smaller fingers rubbing at your clit. teasing you, he’ll keep his greedy eyes on the way your pussy leaks with every praise he adores you with, his own hand adjusting himself through sweatpants. 

olderboyfriend!nanami who can’t himself when it comes to your skin. with his possessiveness, he just wants to mark you in any way possible. kissing your lips long enough until your lips are plump with blood and pouting from how he keeps teasing you. leaving love bites on your neck, trailing to your breasts, licking them softly to show some type of poise. sucking hickeys onto your neck, barely low enough to hide them with the collar of your work shirt. 

his favorite—when you’re acting up. get a little too comfortable with him, say something you know you’ll regret and you’ll end up over his knee. smacking handprints into your perfect body, putting you back into your place, he just can’t get enough of it. 

another favorite would be pumping load after load into your tight pussy. too many to count, thick and heavy loads of cum filling you to the brim. you could almost forget his older age with the stamina he’s got of a young man. aaa, he’s perfect, you wouldn’t take him any other way!

comments, reblogs, likes are always apperciated !

masterlist

[thepencilnerd]

seeing double

pairing: jack abbot x f!reader x michael "robby" robinavitch summary: A night out with two of your closest colleagues turns into something you never expected—or did you? Between cocktails, dancing, and old tension, the line between friendship and something more finally blurs. warnings/content: nsfw | 18+ MDNI, porn with a whisper of plot, pining, threesome (m/f/m), p in v + oral sex (m&f receiving), jack and robby are both soft/pleasure doms, protective/possessive/jealous tendencies, praise kink, no condoms but IUD use, domestic fluff, banter wc: 10k a/n: wine drunk alone on a friday night + one very rare instance of dreaming = this monstrosity, excuse any mistakes, not religious but i will pray for forgiveness for i have sinned because jfc—

It started like any other post-shift outing: exhausted, half-delirious, desperate for something that didn't smell like ammonia.

Robby had slung his arm around your shoulders the second you walked out of the ER, pulling you toward Jack with a bright grin. "First round's on me. Hell, second round too if you both promise not to ditch me for charting."

Jack had just smirked, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets. "We'll see how intolerable you get after two shots."

It wasn't always like this—the three of you tangled together like gravity and inevitability. When you first joined day shift, it was Robby you bonded with. Quick jokes in the trauma bay, quiet coffee runs between codes, the kind of easy camaraderie that came from surviving the same battlefield night after night. His touches had started out friendly—a pat on your shoulder after a long shift, a gentle squeeze on the same shoulder when you nailed a tricky procedure—but over time, the air between you shifted.

Every glance lingered longer. Every touch sparked hotter.

Robby's hand on your lower back when you squeezed past him in the supply room, the way he’d always seem to find reasons to stand just a little too close, his thumb brushing yours when you handed him charts—it all built slowly, unbearably. You’d catch him staring sometimes, his round, dark-rimmed frames lingering a second too long on your mouth or the curve of your neck before he’d grin and deflect with a joke.

There was the night after a particularly brutal trauma when Robby had tugged you into a half-hug outside the ambulance bay, squeezing you so tightly you had to laugh. "You're a badass, you know that?" he'd said against your hair, voice rough. And for a second—just a second—he hadn't let go.

When you switched to night shift for extra trauma training, you met Jack. At first, he was just your attending—brilliant, relentless, intimidating. He kept a careful distance, crisp in his authority. But slowly, cracks showed.

One night, after a rough code, you’d slumped against the nurses’ station with blood-streaked gloves still on. Jack appeared beside you, two coffees in hand, sliding one toward you without a word. You’d blinked at him, fingers brushing his when you took it, and for a moment he didn't move.

"Thanks," you’d muttered, voice rough.

He’d just shrugged, but there was the ghost of a smirk on his lips. "You’re welcome, hotshot."

You caught him smirking more often after that—at your dry jokes, your quick comebacks—offering gruff praise when you pulled off a save. Once, when you fumbled a suturing kit in a rare moment of exhaustion, Jack crouched beside you and murmured low, "Hey, breathe. You've got this."

His hand brushed your back—brief, grounding, unbearably warm—and your heart stuttered so hard it was a wonder he didn’t hear it.

Jack was slower to open up. The late-night rooftop coffees, both of you leaning back against the ledge, city lights blinking below as you traded quiet stories about worst patients, favorite saves, tiny admissions about sleeplessness and fear. The stolen glances across the nurses' station, like magnets catching without meaning to.

There were nights the ER would blur around you—patients screaming, monitors wailing—and Jack's voice would cut through the noise, steady and sure: "You with me?" 

And you’d always nod. Always.

Once, you'd both reached for the same suture kit and your hands had collided, his fingers wrapping around yours instinctively. Neither of you pulled away immediately. His thumb brushed your knuckles before he let go, the moment stretched tight enough to snap like a stale rubberband.

By the time you'd rotated back onto a blended shift with Robby and Jack, you were caught in the pull of both of them. Two different kinds of push and pull. 

If working with the both of them had taught you anything, it was that Michael Robinavitch and Jack Abbot were combustible—two sparks waiting for a reason to ignite, especially when it came to you.

They both had a tendency to be overprotective, possessive, and if they were honest, being around each other's orbit didn't help. When you’d come in for night shift and bid Robby goodbye as he ended his day, Jack would eye the way you laughed with Robby, the way Robby’s hand lingered at your elbow or lower back. More than once, Jack had swooped in, pretending to need you for a case, cutting the conversation short with a clipped, "You ready, Dr. L/N?"

Robby noticed. His wide grin supersaturated with disbelief, like he knew exactly what Jack was doing, clapping him on the shoulder harder than necessary as he left.

Likewise, when you clocked out in the morning and Robby was coming in to start his shift, it was Jack’s turn to be on the receiving end. You’d be talking with Jack at the nurses' station—usually laughing softly, leaning in closer than strictly necessary—and Robby would stroll up, insert himself easily into the conversation, his arm bumping yours as he reached for a chart.

Jack would tense, jaw ticking, shooting Robby a look that practically screamed, "We'll talk about this later," even if the words never came.

And when it came to the new interns—the accident magnets they were—their protective instincts bordered on alien.

Santos once knocked over a cart dangerously close to you and before you could even flinch, Jack had caught the edge of it with lightning-fast reflexes, his body shielding yours. He turned to Santos after, shooting him a look so sharp it could’ve drawn blood—the kind of glare that promised slow, premeditated murder if she didn't start paying more attention. Santos paled visibly, stammering an apology that Jack didn't even acknowledge.

Another time, Whitaker had nearly swung a door into you during a code and Robby had yanked you back by your waist, muttering a sharp, "Watch it," without even looking. A few minutes later, Robby—with all the casual malice in the world—assigned Whitaker to shadow Myrna for the rest of his shift as punishment. The look on Whitaker's face had been priceless; the vindictive smirk on Robby's face afterward, even better.

Javadi once sent a gurney skidding wild around a corner and you barely sidestepped—only for both Jack and Robby to step in front of you at once. Both of them looked ready to grill Javadi, who froze like she'd been caught committing arson. Before either could open their mouths, you clicked your tongue at them in warning, stepping around them to calm the sleep-deprived child genius, "Are you okay, honey? Let's get you some coffee."

You shot Robby and Jack a narrow glare over your shoulder—a silent command to stand down—and, grudgingly, they obeyed. But not without Jack muttering something about "rookies" under his breath. You, for the most part, played innocent—but you weren’t completely blind. You saw the way they watched you, the way they bristled and circled, each trying not to cross some invisible line neither had the nerve to define.

Once, you’d even caught them at the end of the hallway near the staff lockers, deep in a heated whisper-yelling argument. You were too far away to hear it all, but you caught pieces as you slowed your steps.

"...not yours to stake out," Robby hissed, shoulders tense.

Jack’s jaw flexed. "Maybe I’m what she needs," he snapped, voice rough with something almost broken.

Robby stepped closer, the space between them charged. "You don't get to decide that."

You’d ducked away before they could notice you, heart pounding, pretending you hadn't heard a single thing. You hadn't known then—not really. But you'd be lying if you said you hadn't had an idea.

In the weeks that followed, you noticed the air between them eased—less tense, less brittle. They started joking again, nudged shoulders in passing, teased you in tandem during transitional shifts. It almost felt normal again. Almost. But underneath it, something still lingered—a crackling undercurrent that neither of them could quite hide. Not from each other. And certainly not from you.

Little did you know that tonight would be the night where things completely shifted.

The bar was loud and too warm, the floor sticky, the music a little too old to be considered vintage and a little too new to be classic. It didn’t matter. It was freedom.

Robby bought whiskey for himself, beer for Jack, and whatever alcohol-masked cocktail you pointed at on the menu.

"To surviving," Robby toasted, clinking glasses.

"To making it out without a lawsuit," Jack amended dryly.

You laughed, rolling your eyes, and drank deep.

It was easier than it should have been to relax. To let the haze of alcohol smooth the sharp edges of exhaustion. You grabbed Robby's hand and tugged him toward the makeshift dance floor, singing, "Come on, old man, dance with me!"

He hesitated, shaking his head and smiling to himself—then grinned and let you pull him. Robby spun you first instead, taking you by surprise, his laughter warm and easy against your ear. You laughed as he caught you against him again, both of you breathless and loose with happiness.

Jack leaned against the nearby wall, watching with that steady gaze of his, beer bottle dangling from his fingertips.

"C'mon, Jack," Robby called over the music. "Get your ass over here."

Jack held up a hand from where he leaned against the wall, a silent 'I'm good,' his mouth quirking in a reluctant smile. But you weren't having it. You weaved your way through the crowd toward him, leaning up on your toes to whisper something warm against his ear.

"Dance with me, Jack," you whispered through the noise, your voice low and warm, meant only for him. Jack stiffened for a second, breath catching, and when you pulled back, his eyes were dark, hungry. He pushed off the wall without another word and followed you to the floor, his beer forgotten.

Robby spun you again, and when you stumbled laughing into Jack, he caught you with hands that lingered a little too long on your waist. His palms were warm, steady, the faint smell of his cologne—clean soap and cedar—curling around you. Robby pressed back into your other side, the scent of whiskey and his usual lazy citrus aftershave filling your senses.

Their touches blended together—Jack’s firmer grip at your hips, Robby’s looser, teasing sways—and yet you could still tell exactly who was who. Jack's breath was slow and deliberate against your temple; Robby’s laughter rumbled against your back, a low vibration that soaked into your bones. For a moment, you were suspended between them, the music, the warmth, the want—utterly theirs.

You were on cloud nine, swaying to and fro like you were caught between the ocean and the moon—their touches the tide, pulling you back and forth, holding you steady.

Jack’s fingers flexed, and for a moment, the world tightened down to just the three of you—the heat, the gravity pulling you closer.

Robby pressed in behind you, his hands finding your hips, swaying you to the beat. Jack didn't step back. He stepped closer.

The music pulsed around you. Your head tipped back against Robby's shoulder, your eyes locking with Jack's.

Jack’s hand brushed your cheek, feather-light, like he was giving you the chance to pull away.

You didn’t.

Robby's breath ghosted your ear. "God, you’re beautiful."

Jack's thumb traced your jawline. "You drive us crazy, you know that?"

Your pulse thundered. Your body ached in ways that had nothing to do with fatigue.

You leaned in close, hovering near Jack's lips, but didn't kiss him—not yet. Jack froze, his hands tightening just slightly at your waist, pulling back just enough to make the boundary clear. You could see it written all over him—the hesitation, the unspoken rule he lived by: he wouldn't kiss you or anyone without explicit consent, either given or received.

You smiled softly, brushing your fingers lightly along his jaw. "I'm sober enough to give consent," you assured, breathless but certain.

Then you turned to Robby too, catching his eye as your fingers brushed his cheek, your voice low but sure. "To both of you." His fingers tangled with yours easily, his grin soft and a little stunned as he let you loop him into your orbit—exactly where he’d always wanted to be.

Facing Jack again, you saw relief flash across his face—followed almost immediately by want. Jack leaned in, close enough that you could feel the warmth of his breath fanning your lips, his nose brushing yours. He hovered there, still hesitant, giving you one last chance to pull away. When you didn't—when you leaned into him instead—he surrendered. His mouth claimed yours unapologetically, slow and aching, like he had all the time in the world and no intention of ever letting you go.

Robby kissed your neck at the same time, teeth scraping lightly against your pulse point, one hand splaying over your stomach, pulling you closer. His beard scraped roughly against your skin, a delicious, rasping contrast to Jack's lighter stubble as Jack’s mouth moved against yours—a difference you felt everywhere they touched you. Robby's touch was warmer, softer, always teasing; Jack's was firmer, anchoring, a bundle of hot coals beneath your skin. Different, but the same in the way they both made your nerves light up, made you feel like you were being pulled apart only to be put back together better, more whole, by the both of them.

You whimpered into Jack’s mouth, dizzy from the dual sensation, from the way they bracketed you, claimed you without a single word. Jack's hands shifted, strong and sure, spinning you gently—a slow, deliberate turn—until you faced Robby. For a moment, you stood suspended between them again, heartbeat thundering in your ears.

Robby met you with a grin that was all heat and mischief, and then he kissed you—hotter, deeper, needier. Jack's mouth found your pulse point, sucking and nipping, while Robby's tongue traced the seam of your lips, coaxing you open.

You gasped into Robby's mouth, hands fisting in the fabric of his shirt as Jack’s teeth grazed your throat, a low growl rumbling against your skin. Every nerve ending sparked, overwhelmed by the heat, the dizzying contrast, the way their hands and mouths knew your body like a song they'd always known by heart.

You couldn't tell how long the three of you had been standing there, tangled up, swaying in the sticky heat of the bar, the music thudding faintly around you. It could’ve been minutes or hours—time had stopped mattering somewhere between Jack’s lips and Robby’s hands.

Jack dipped his head, his breath skating warm against your ear, sending a fresh shiver down your spine.

"Do you want to get out of here, sweetheart?" he murmured, voice low and rough, a rasp of barely leashed need.

You nodded immediately, the word tumbling from your lips like a prayer. "Yes," you breathed—needy, desperate. The delicious ache between your legs had built to a throbbing pulse you couldn't ignore anymore, and feeling their firm bodies sandwiching yours, pressing into you from both sides, did absolutely nothing to help your self-control.

Robby chuckled, low and rough. "My place?"

"Fuck, yes—anywhere," you breathed, a laugh bubbling out of you, unable to stop the grin pulling at your lips. Jack grabbed your hand. Robby wrapped an arm around your waist.

Together, you stumbled out into the night—drunk on each other—laughing, touching, wanting.

Robby’s apartment wasn’t far—just a few blocks—and the fresh air hit your overheated skin like a balm.

The three of you walked fast, heads down, hands brushing and grabbing. Jack’s hand found the small of your back, steady and grounding. Robby kept an arm slung around your shoulders, pulling you close enough that you stumbled a few steps, giggling breathlessly against his chest.

The streets were mostly empty, just the faint hum of distant traffic and the sharp sound of your shoes hitting pavement. Every so often, Jack would glance over at you, his gaze dark, searing through the haze of streetlight. Robby would squeeze your side, lean in to murmur something low and wicked that made your cheeks burn and your thighs clench.

By the time you reached Robby’s building, you were buzzing with need, clinging to both of them without even thinking.

Jack opened the door for you, hand lingering low on your back. Robby herded you inside, already crowding close, already reaching for you like he couldn't wait a second longer.

The door slammed shut behind you with a thud, and before you could even blink, their hands were on you again—urgent, hungry, claiming.

It was dizzying, overwhelming, intoxicating.

But somewhere between Jack's mouth brushing your neck and Robby's fingers slipping under your shirt, clarity cracked through the haze. You shifted slightly, placing a hand on each of their chests, feeling their hearts hammering under your palms.

"Wait," you breathed.

Immediately, they froze—Jack pulling back just enough to meet your eyes, Robby's hands pausing where they'd met your hips.

You took a shaky breath, sobering a little more with every heartbeat. "I just… I need to ask… what's going on between us?" you said, voice rough with nerves. "I want this—I want both of you—but are you two okay with that? With… us?"

You glanced between them, heart hammering, terrified of the answer but needing it all the same.

Robby's grin softened into something gentler, thumb brushing the bare skin of your waist. "Been wanting this longer than I should probably admit."

Jack's hand found your jaw, thumb stroking your cheekbone, gaze burning into yours. After a moment, he exhaled slowly, seeming to gather himself. Then, with a gentle but firm touch, he guided you to sit on the couch behind you.

"Come here," he said softly. "Let's talk."

Robby, reading the mood immediately, peeled away toward the kitchen. "I'll make some tea," he said over his shoulder—giving you space, but also clearly knowing this conversation might take a minute, and that sobering up a little more wouldn't hurt any of you.

Jack sat down on your left, still close but not crowding, his thumb brushing lightly over your knee. "Talk to us, sweetheart," he murmured. "Whatever's in your head—we want to hear it."

You fiddled with the hem of your top, nervous energy humming under your skin. "I... how did we even get here?" you asked. "You, Robby—this thing between the three of us... Are you two really okay with it? With… sharing me? Sharing each other?"

Jack's lips twitched like he almost smiled but held it back, something more serious glinting in his eyes instead. Robby set down mugs on the table and dropped onto the arm of the couch on your right.

"Yeah," Robby said, voice softer now. "More than okay."

Jack reached up, thumb tracing the edge of your jaw. "Been a long time coming, if you ask me," he said quietly. "And if we weren’t good with it, sweetheart, you’d know already."

Robby leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, flashing you a crooked grin. "If it's any consolation," he said, voice teasing, "I liked you first."

You scoffed, the tension easing a little, even as your cheeks heated. Jack snorted under his breath, giving Robby a sideways look. "Congratulations. You had a head start and still fumbled it."

"Hey!" Robby protested. "Some of us play the long game."

You shook your head, warmth blooming in your chest, feeling the old familiar dynamic between them—sniping, nudging, teasing—but now all focused on you.

"So," you said, biting your lip. "Was that what you two were arguing about that day by the lockers? A few weeks ago?"

Jack sighed through his nose, and Robby grinned like he'd been caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

"Yeah," Robby admitted. "You caught the tail end of it."

Jack's hand slid down your arm, squeezing gently. "We were... figuring it out."

"Mostly... arguing over who was gonna make the first move," Robby added, winking.

You laughed, soft and breathless, the last of the nerves bleeding out of you. Robby bumped your shoulder gently with his, his eyes crinkling with affection.

"Old school here wanted to make some grand gesture," Jack said, jerking his thumb at Robby. "I was ready to just tackle you and confess."

Robby shook his head, tongue poking the inside of his cheek, the corner of his mouth twitching. "And you wonder why I didn't trust you to lead."

You let out a giggle you couldn't quite suppress, heart squeezing at how easy this felt—how they both looked at you like you were something precious. Jack shifted closer, his knee brushing yours, while Robby draped his arm casually across the back of the couch behind you.

"Whatever pace you want, sweetheart," Jack murmured. "Whatever you need. If you want this—us—we're in."

"We're not going anywhere," Robby affirmed. "Only if you want us too."

Cradling the warm mug between your hands, you smiled to yourself, giddy and a little dazed. Surrounded by them—their warmth, their steadiness, their absolute certainty—you felt a slow, overwhelming peace settle into your bones.

Never in your wildest dreams had you imagined either of them liking you—let alone, outside any professional context—but this? This was beyond anything you dared hope for. A dream you hadn't even let yourself dream.

Still, nerves prickled under your skin. Nerves hummed just beneath your skin. "I’m nervous," you admitted, voice soft but steady. "I’ve never done anything like this before. What if I’m not enough? What if I disappoint you? I don’t know if I’m built for relationships—let alone something this delicate. I’m scared I won’t be able to give each of you what you need."

Robby immediately set his mug down and reached for you, his hand settling warmly on your thigh, squeezing gently. "Hey," he said, voice low and sure. "You’re already enough. You, exactly as you are."

Jack leaned in too, his fingers brushing the back of your neck, grounding you with each slow stroke. "We’re not asking for perfect," he murmured. "We just want you."

Their certainty cracked something open inside you, something you hadn’t even realized you’d been holding shut—and slowly, steadily, the fear loosened its grip.

You set your mug down, heart hammering, and looked between them, searching their faces one more time. Robby gave you an encouraging tilt of his head; Jack’s hand never left your skin, tracing slow, grounding patterns.

You cleared your throat. "So how does..." you gestured vaguely between the three of you, "this work? Sharing me, I mean."

Robby chuckled. "Well, we'd figure it out together," he said easily. His fingers traced lazy circles over your knee, comforting, teasing. "It’s not about splitting you up or taking turns like it’s a damn schedule. It’s about both of us making sure you feel wanted. Taken care of. Every second."

As he spoke, Jack leaned in, lips brushing just below your ear, his stubble scraping lightly against your skin. Goosebumps bloomed across your skin. 

Robby's voice dropped, a smirk playing on his lips as he tilted his head toward Jack. "Though he’s better at explaining the rules."

Jack's hand cupped your jaw, tilting your face toward him. "No rules, not really," he murmured, mouth dragging along your neck. "Just tell us what you need. When you need it. And we—" he pressed a lingering kiss just below your jawline, "promise to give it to you."

You exhaled shakily, caught between the heat of Jack’s mouth and the warm weight of Robby's hand sliding higher along your thigh, the both of them slowly, steadily, setting you aflame.

Jack leaned in first—not demanding, not pushing, just giving you space to meet him halfway. You did, pressing your mouth to his, a sigh escaping against his lips. His kiss was slow at first, savoring, a promise.

When you broke apart, Robby was already there, catching your chin between his fingers and drawing you into him. His kiss was hotter, rougher, all pent-up hunger and laughter and want. You gasped softly into his mouth, fingers curling in his shirt.

Hands roamed—Jack’s warm and patient, stroking slow, steady paths along your inner thigh, while Robby’s fingers flirted shamelessly with the hem of your shirt, tugging it higher inch by inch. The pace between them built naturally—Jack’s touch grounding and possessive, Robby’s teasing and featherlight, like a promise he was aching to keep.

Jack’s hand slipped under the fabric of your top first, palm splaying flat over your bare stomach, the heat of him searing straight through you. Robby followed a breath later, fingers brushing just beneath your ribs, making you arch into them, helpless and wanting. Jack’s mouth was back on your neck, teeth scraping lightly against your pulse, while Robby pressed kisses along your jaw, slow and coaxing, both of them winding you tighter with every breath.

The duality of it—the steadiness of Jack’s hands anchoring you, the playful, maddening tease of Robby’s touch—left you trembling, gasping, caught between them, aching. They didn’t just touch you—they learned you, charting every gasp, every shiver, every breathless plea with reverent, greedy hands. And you gave yourself over to it completely, trusting them to catch you as you fell.

Jack's hand slid higher, fingertips brushing just beneath the band of your bra, while Robby nudged your shirt up over your ribs, planting slow, open-mouthed kisses along your exposed skin. They worked in tandem, peeling your shirt away with practiced ease, leaving you shivering and bare between them.

Jack kissed along your collarbone, featherlight, while Robby's hands coasted down your sides, making you arch and sigh into their touch. You felt dizzy with it, lost in the contrast—Jack's slow, claiming heat, Robby's teasing, daring warmth. Every nerve in your body sang for them, thrumming with the need to be touched, devoured, loved.

Jack's mouth returned to yours in a slow, bruising kiss while Robby leaned in, hands slipping beneath the band of your bra, rough thumbs brushing over your nipples. You gasped, the sensation sparking through you like lightning, hips shifting restlessly against the couch cushions.

Robby grinned against your shoulder, murmuring low against your skin, "Sensitive, huh?"

Jack chuckled into your mouth, his hands steadying your waist. "Good to know..."

You whimpered, nodding, surrendering completely to their slow, relentless worship—your body already unraveling under their hands and mouths, and they were just getting started.

"Too many clothes... off," you gasped breathlessly, tugging at the hem of your own top and glancing meaningfully between the two of them.

Robby grinned, wicked and eager. "Thought you'd never ask."

Jack hummed low in his throat, his hands already sliding up your sides, helping to peel the rest of your clothes away with deliberate slowness—as if unwrapping something precious they both intended to indulge in to the fullest extent.

They stripped you bare first, taking their time, every inch of skin revealed under their hungry, adoring gazes. After, you leaned back against the couch, heart hammering, feeling their eyes rake over you with something between adoration and possession. Then they undressed themselves—shirts pulled off in swift, unceremonious movements, revealing solid, muscular frames. Jack's arms flexed as he tossed his shirt aside, lean but powerful, while Robby's broader chest gleamed under the low light, his biceps straining deliciously as he shucked off his own layers.

You couldn't help it—you toyed with the hem of your underwear absentmindedly, admiring them, drinking them in. The dips of their hips, the strength built over years of unrelenting shifts and physical work. The noticeable bulges pressing against their briefs made your thighs squeeze together instinctively, seeking relief from the growing, delicious ache.

Both of them noticed. Jack prowled closer first, his eyes dark, focused, reverent, like he was already memorizing every inch of you. Robby followed, his grin dropping into something hungrier, need coiling thick between the three of you.

Jack knelt between your legs, his hands trailing slowly up your calves, your knees, coaxing them apart as Robby lowered himself onto the couch behind you, sliding you down lower, pulling your back flush against his chest. His arms bracketed you securely, anchoring you against the firm heat of his body, while you melted between him and Jack, breath catching at the feeling of being completely surrounded.

You felt their heat everywhere—Jack's breath fanning against your inner thighs, Robby's heartbeat hammering steady against your spine. Jack's hands were firm on your thighs, thumbs stroking slow, deliberate circles that made your skin prickle with anticipation. Behind you, Robby's hands roamed shamelessly, toying with your stomach, skimming higher to tease the sensitive peaks of your breasts, brushing and rolling your nipples until you gasped and arched into their touch, caught helplessly between them.

Jack glanced up at you through his lashes, a slow, devastating smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. "Let us take care of you."

Robby murmured into your ear, his lips brushing your temple. "Just lean back. Let us show you how good this can be."

You whimpered softly, head falling back against Robby's shoulder, fully surrendering to them. Jack's hands squeezed your thighs, steadying you, while Robby's fingers skimmed higher, teasing circles around your nipples until you were trembling with need.

Jack pressed a kiss to the inside of your knee, then another, working his way slowly, deliberately up your inner thigh, each one hotter, wetter, more possessive than the last. Robby kept you anchored, his free hand brushing your hair back from your face, murmuring low praise against your skin, grounding you even as you unraveled.

Every brush of Jack's stubble against your sensitive thighs sent shivers skating down your spine. You barely managed to pant out, "Please," before Jack's mouth hovered dangerously close to where you needed him most, the heat of his breath making you writhe against Robby's chest, desperate and burning and so beautifully undone.

Jack hooked his fingers into the waistband of your underwear, tugging it down with agonizing slowness. Once it was off, he balled the fabric in his hand for a moment—then tossed it up toward Robby without a word. Robby caught it without missing a beat. He lifted it to his face, inhaled deeply, and groaned low in his throat, the sound vibrating against your back. "Fuck, baby," he rasped, his grip tightening around your waist.

And then—finally—Jack's mouth found you. One slow, deliberate lick that made you cry out, made your whole body tense and shudder against Robby's.

Jack groaned into you, hands digging into your thighs like he could hold you open forever. He ate you out like a man possessed, like he'd been starved for the taste of you and was finally allowed to feast. Messy, desperate, utterly pussy-drunk. He mouthed and sucked and licked you like worship, dragging obscene sounds from your throat with every flick of his tongue. The wet, filthy sounds of it filled the room, each lap of his tongue driving you closer to the edge.

You were soaked—shamelessly, beautifully wet for him—and Jack reveled in it, letting out a low, wrecked groan every time you bucked against his mouth. His face was drenched in you, slick and shining under the dim lights, the evidence of your pleasure painting his jaw and chin as he worked you over with single-minded devotion. Robby pressed kisses along your temple, whispering praises into your ear, but it was Jack who owned you in that moment—Jack who wouldn't stop, couldn't stop until you shattered for him, drunk on nothing but the sound and taste and feel of you, desperate for everything you would give him.

Jack slid one thick finger inside you, curling it expertly, pulling another whimper from your throat. He didn't give you time to adjust before slipping in a second, stretching you so sweetly, working you open with slow, devastating precision. Robby's fingers trailed down your stomach, teasing lazy, featherlight patterns until they found your clit, circling it with just enough pressure to make your thighs jerk. Jack held your right thigh open with one firm hand, while Robby used his left leg to nudge your other knee wider, keeping you perfectly spread for them—completely, gloriously exposed. The contrast of their steady pressure, their control, only heightened the burning pleasure already coiling low in your belly. 

Overwhelming was an understatement to describe the state of your sensory cortex—Jack's tongue and fingers working deep inside you, Robby's slow, relentless pressure on your clit. You felt your soul begin to slip from your body, floating somewhere above, untethered by the sheer, unbearable pleasure. Everything was too much—the wet, filthy sound of Jack feasting on you, the breathy filth Robby was murmuring in your ear, the way they both knew exactly how to break you apart.

It hit you like a flashfire—white-hot and consuming—and you exploded with a choked cry, body arching helplessly between them as the orgasm ripped through you, shattering you into a thousand glittering pieces in their hands.

Jack didn't stop—not at first. He licked you through it, groaning into your core like a man possessed, savoring every trembling aftershock you gave him. Robby held you tighter, grounding you while your vision blurred and your body spasmed with the force of it.

You whimpered, boneless and wrecked, hips twitching as Jack finally eased off with a final kiss to your sensitive clit. When he pulled back, his face was a mess—slick with your release, shining under the dim lights, utterly wrecked and utterly in love with the taste of you.

He dragged the back of his hand across his mouth—completely unashamed—and smirked, voice rough and low. "You taste even better than I dreamed, sweetheart."

He lifted his hand—your essence webbed slick between his middle and ring fingers—and held it up toward Robby. Robby caught his wrist without hesitation, wrapped his lips around Jack's fingers, and sucked them clean, slow and deliberate. The sight—Robby moaning low around Jack’s fingers, Jack staring down at you like he wanted to devour you all over again—nearly made you die and ascend straight to heaven on the spot.

Robby licked his lips, eyes molten. His voice was low and rough when he finally spoke. "Which one of us do you want first?" 

You could barely breathe, still half-falling from your last orgasm. Your body was limp, floating, buzzing with overstimulation—but the way they looked at you—hungry, waiting—set a fresh ache rolling through your gut. 

You bit your lip, gaze flickering between them. Robby—broad and steady behind you, heat radiating from his bare chest now damp with sweat. Jack—still kneeling between your spread thighs, resting his head lightly against your thigh like it was a pillow, his face slick with you, shining under the dim lights. He stared up at you with a look so raw, so utterly reverent, it made your breath catch—like you were something holy, something he couldn't believe he was allowed to touch.

You opened your mouth to answer—but all that came out was a wrecked, breathy little giggle.

Jack chuckled, low and wrecked. "Yeah," he rasped, thumb brushing your thigh possessively. "We might've broken her a little."

Robby grinned wickedly against your shoulder, pressing a slow kiss to your neck. "We haven't even started yet, baby."

You found the strength to lift your head, heart still hammering against your ribs. Jack and Robby seemed to feel it too—the need to slow, just for a second, to gather you back into yourself.Jack kissed your thigh softly while Robby stroked lazy, grounding patterns along your ribs and stomach, whispering, "Breathe. We've got you."

Their touches soothed the wild, frantic buzz in your veins. You melted between them, savoring that brief, perfect moment of care—before the tension, the heat, the hunger started sparking again.

You leaned forward, pulling Jack up onto the couch, crashing your mouth against his in a heated, desperate kiss. You tasted yourself on his tongue, slick and filthy and devastating—and it only made you kiss him harder, grinding your hips against Robby in wordless, frantic need.

Robby groaned, feeling you start to move against him, and his hands slid possessively down your sides to anchor you. Jack pulled back just enough for you to gasp a shaky breath, eyes dark and blown wide, before you started moving, trading places—Robby got up with a low groan, adjusting himself slightly as he moved aside. You slid off Robby's lap, allowing Jack to fall back onto the couch cushions, legs spread, inviting. Kneeling between Jack’s thighs, your fingers fumbled at his waistband. He hissed softly when you freed him, the heavy, flushed weight of him slapping against his stomach.

Robby kneeled down behind you—his hands tracing down the delicate arch of your back, then slipping lower to spread you open. You shuddered as he leaned in, pressing a soft, teasing lick along your folds, tasting you again before standing up behind you, lining himself up.

Jack held his hand up toward Robby and paused for a beat, gaze searching yours. "Do you want us to use condoms?" he asked, voice quiet but serious.

You shook your head instantly, breathless but certain. "I want to feel you. Please, I need you like this..."

That was all the permission they needed.

Before he could push in, you turned your head slightly, your hands reaching back. You found Robby's cock in one hand and Jack's in the other, stroking them both slowly, deliberately, savoring the way each man shuddered under your touch. You gave yourself a moment to take in their differences: Robby was longer, while Jack was thicker. Robby had a dark, full bush of hair at his base, while Jack was trimmed short, neat but not bare. Both of them were perfect—different textures, different shapes—but each exactly the right length and girth to fulfill your every need. Your mouth watered just thinking about it, your thighs instinctively pressing together in anticipation.

Robby leaned down, kissed the curve of your shoulder, and then pointed toward Jack with a tilt of his chin, a silent handoff. "It's okay, baby," he murmured against your skin, voice thick with need. "We've got you."

With that, he gripped your hips, steadying you, and with one slow, devastating push, he slid inside—filling you completely, making your knees tremble.

"Fuck." You couldn't tell which one of you said it but all of you understood. 

Sandwiched between them, your mouth found Jack’s cock, wrapping your lips around him as Robby filled you from behind, and you thought—half-delirious—that heaven had nothing on this.

"I'm considering getting it taken out," you admitted to Samira one sluggish morning, slumped at the nurses' station after a brutal overnight shift. "I haven't had sex in forever. And honestly? After that disaster of a 'date' last month—if you can even call it that—I’m swearing off men altogether."

Samira snorted into her coffee. "Babe. It's an IUD, not a vow of celibacy. Just leave it. Who knows? One day you’ll trip and fall onto someone worthwhile."

You laughed weakly, swirling your pen between your fingers. "Yeah. The odds of my toys and I having a long, happy life together are becoming more and more likely."

Neither of you noticed Jack and Robby just around the corner of the nurses' station, both frozen in place, pretending to sift through charts as they listened intently—Jack’s jaw clenched tight, Robby’s fingers twitching like he wanted to strangle something. Robby cleared his throat a little too aggressively.

Samira sipped her coffee, then grinned over the rim of the mug. "Please. The perfect man could walk in, naked, with a six-pack and a stethoscope and you’d still roll your eyes."

You snorted. "Exactly. Unless he’s got magic hands and a brain with emotional intelligence to match, I’m not interested. And even then…" You shrugged. "Battery-powered and drama-free is winning right now."

Jack's pen snapped clean in two, the sharp crack making you and Samira both glance up. He didn't even flinch, just grabbed another pen—handed to him silently by Robby, like nothing had happened—and kept moving. You and Samira shared a puzzled look before continuing your conversation.

"I'm just saying," Samira continued breezily, unaware of the storm brewing behind the divider, "maybe keep it. Future you might thank you."

Jack’s voice floated in a second later—low, rough, a little too casual. "Keep it."

You blinked. "Uh… thanks for the unsolicited medical advice, Dr. Abbot?" you teased lightly.

Jack just shrugged, gaze unreadable. "Saw a teen pregnancy case come through last night," he said, voice low and rough.

Samira let out a soft exhale. "Shit."

You winced, the image settling heavy in your chest. "That’s awful."

Jack tipped his chin down. "Reminded me how fast things can change. Better to be protected. Even if you think you won’t need it."

You nodded slowly, assuming he meant it like any good physician would—just another reminder in a world of unpredictable chaos. At the time, you didn't know that when he said "keep it," he wasn’t thinking about some random case or an oath of ethics.

He was thinking about you, and Robby, and the secret, filthy hope that someday soon, it wouldn’t just be hypothetical anymore.

The thing about Jack and Robby was this—they both prided themselves on being brilliant doctors, but even more so on remembering the little things.

Especially when it came to you.

A particularly deep thrust snapped you out of your mind wandering. Robby set a brutal pace almost immediately, hips slamming into yours with deep, relentless thrusts that made your entire body jolt forward. You moaned around Jack's cock, drool slipping from the corners of your lips, your throat vibrating with every desperate, broken sound you made.

Jack hissed, his hand tangling in your hair, the vibrations from your moans sending sharp waves of pleasure up his spine. "Fuck, sweetheart," he groaned, head falling back against the couch. "You're perfect like this."

You could barely think, overwhelmed and soaked, the rhythm of Robby pounding into you from behind driving you forward with every thrust—until your lips slid further down Jack's length, gagging slightly as you fought to keep your composure.

"That's it," Robby growled, one hand gripping your hip hard enough to bruise, the other sliding up your spine. "Look at you… taking him so well while I wreck you."

Jack moaned low in his throat, eyes dark and glassy as he watched your mouth stretch around him. "Jesus Christ," he breathed, his voice rough and reverent. "You're gonna make me lose it."

Robby laughed softly behind you, breath hot against your shoulder as he drove into you with another sharp, delicious thrust. "She loves it. Don't you, baby?"

You could only let out a faint, muffled whimper, your mouth still stuffed full of Jack. Jack leaned forward, his hand curling into your hair and giving a firm tug at the roots—just enough to sting, just enough to make your eyes roll back with the delicious ache.

"He asked you a question, sweetheart..." he cooed, his voice dark silk in your ear.

He pulled you off his cock slowly, strings of spit still connecting your lips to him, a line trailing messily down your chin. You turned your head to look back at Robby, dazed and trembling, lips swollen, your chin slick, eyes red-rimmed and glassy with the threat of a tear, and a blissed-out, filthy smile curving your mouth.

"I love it," you managed, voice hoarse, breath catching between words. "I love everything you're doing to me. Please... don't stop."

Robby’s breath caught in his throat at the sight of you. His eyes darkened, hands tightening on your hips. "Fuck," he rasped, stunned and awed. "You’re gonna be the death of me."

Jack leaned in, brushing your hair away from your face with a surprisingly gentle hand, his other palm cradling your cheek. "You’re doing so well," he murmured, voice a smooth, deep rasp that curled low in your belly. "So fucking perfect like this. Look at you, taking him so well. Can you feel how much he loves being inside you?"

You whimpered, nodding as Jack’s fingers trailed down your jaw, tilting your chin up so he could look into your eyes. "That’s it," he whispered. 

Jack brushed your cheek with his knuckles, tugging you into a messy, open-mouthed kiss, his hips slowing just enough to keep you balanced right on the precipice. You moaned against him, the sound helpless, raw—your body trembling with need. Robby's smirk brushed your skin where he pressed kisses to your shoulder, still moving inside you with slow, devastating thrusts. He pulled out suddenly, making you whimper as the high you were balancing on ripped cruelly from your grasp. You barely had time to recover before Jack's hand wrapped around your throat, firm but careful, beckoning you to follow his lead.

"On the couch," he ordered, voice rough silk.

Dazed but obedient, you moved quickly, positioning yourself laterally across the couch and head perched on the raised armrest. Robby stood directly above your head, cock glistening and heavy, while Jack moved below you, one hand stroking your chest possessively before gripping your thighs.

You braced your elbows on the cushions, breath catching as Jack lined himself up. With one strong, devastating push, he filled you—thicker, stretching you even more, making your mouth fall open in a ragged moan. Robby guided your face toward him, his hand gentle on your cheek, his cock brushing your lips. You blinked up at him, wrecked, lips parted around a gasp as Jack pounded into you, driving you up with every punishing thrust. Robby watched you with hooded eyes, stroking himself lazily, the sight of you completely wrecked making his cock twitch in his hand.

"Come on, baby," he said softly, thumbing the center of your lip. "Open up for me."

"Look at you," Jack rasped. "You're fucking perfect. Made for us."

Both of them were drinking in the sight of you—your hair damp and stuck to your forehead, lips swollen and slick. Your moans were breathy and ragged, a near-constant stream of gasps and incorrigible cries. Robby's gaze was half-lidded, jaw tight. Jack’s hands gripped your hips like he never wanted to let go, his eyes devouring every inch of you like a man deprived of oxygen. The raw awe in their stares made your stomach twist with heat.

It was too much. The stretch of Jack's thick cock filling you, Robby's taste still lingering on your tongue. Surrounded by their heat, their sounds mixing with your own, the pressure finally crested. Your pleasure broke like a supernova, sharp and wild, tearing through you. You came again with a single, desperate cry, your entire body convulsing between them, walls fluttering and gripping Jack so tightly it dragged a guttural, broken groan from his throat.

That did it for Robby.

He thrust into your mouth with a sharp snap of his hips, then again, and again—desperate, ragged, chasing his own high. You could barely keep up, still shuddering from your orgasm as he fucked your throat, one hand braced on the back of the couch, the other in your hair.

"Jesus fuck—" he gasped, voice unraveling. "Just like that..."

With a final, wrecked moan, Robby came, hips stuttering. Hot release spilled across your tongue as he groaned through clenched teeth, fingers flexing in your hair as he slowly stilled, trembling with aftershocks.

You swallowed greedily, drinking him down without hesitation, eager for every drop. His taste sent another flicker of arousal through your spent frame. The hunger in your body didn’t fade—it only simmered lower, deeper, tethered to the way Robby was still trembling, cock pulsing with the last aftershocks of his release. His chest rose and fell with ragged breaths, cheeks flushed, a dazed but satisfied smile curling at the corners of his lips as he memorized you—every wrecked, glistening inch of you. Jack, still hard and deep inside you, kept his hands on your hips, his eyes fixed on your face like he was watching something holy.

Jack slowed his thrusts, then gestured silently for Robby to join him.

Robby leaned down and gave you a deep, claiming kiss, tasting himself on your tongue with a low groan before making his way down your body. Jack shifted, lifting you with surprising care, settling onto the couch with you pulled onto his lap—back to his chest. You were straddling him in reverse, legs spread open across the cushions.

"Just relax," Jack murmured against your shoulder, his lips brushing your skin. "Let us take care of you." 

Robby knelt down between your legs, his breath ghosting over your plump folds before his mouth latched on, tongue teasing and devouring in practiced rhythm. He licked long and deep, groaning into you, tasting both your slick and Jack's—heady, intoxicating. He held your knees wide open, anchoring you in place with firm hands, occasionally slipping one beneath your thighs to lift you slightly—helping Jack thrust up harder, deeper, driving his cock into you at an angle that made your vision blur.

Jack's hands returned to your breasts, massaging, kneading, rolling your nipples between his fingers until you whimpered. One hand slid up to your throat again, pressing just enough to make your breath catch, before traveling back down over your chest, across your belly.

If God was real, you had no doubt that this was the Biblical version of heaven. Jack filling you from behind, grinding up into your sweet spot with precision, while Robby sucked at your clit, tongue flicking and curling.

Robby pulled back for a moment with a breathless groan, his mouth slick, beard glistening, and eyes dark with awe. "So fucking beautiful," he whispered, pressing a kiss to your trembling inner thigh.

Jack's voice followed, low and wrecked against your ear.

"One more for us," he rasped. "Come for us again. Give it to us."

The word—us—shattered something inside you. The way he said it, raw and desperate, made your body clench again in anticipation, your breath hitching helplessly as the overwhelming pressure began to build all over again.

Your vision went white. The combined rhythm of Jack's thrusts and Robby's relentless mouth on your clit sent you spiraling. You shattered with a choked cry, body trembling uncontrollably, and everything dropped away for a second—blacking out from the intensity of it.

Jack groaned when he felt your walls clamp down hard around him, the aftershocks of your orgasm milking him with every flutter. He growled into your shoulder and buried himself deep, spilling into you with a rough, broken curse, clutching you tightly as he came, hips twitching with each wave of release.

You collapsed back against his chest, boneless and dazed, your heart pounding so hard you could feel it thrum through your fingertips. Jack wrapped an arm tightly around your waist, pressing lazy, reverent kisses to your shoulder as he caught his breath.

Robby made his way up the couch and slid in beside you, tucking your loose hair behind your ear before pressing a lingering kiss to your cheek. "You are an absolute vision," he murmured against your skin, voice low. Jack found your hand, intertwining your fingers, rubbing soothing circles into the knuckle of your index finger. The steady rhythm of his thumb was the only thing anchoring you to the now, holding you steady in the soft, humming aftermath.

They took their time with you after that—gentle hands roaming your skin, tender kisses mapping your body. Jack shifted you carefully off his lap, murmuring soft praises as he rubbed soothing circles over the places where his grip had been a little too rough, thumbs ghosting over faint red imprints along your hips and thighs. He pressed warm, apologetic kisses to your shoulder, to the curve of your neck, anywhere his hands had left their mark. Robby, meanwhile, grabbed a warm cloth and helped clean you up with quiet, focused tenderness, his fingers brushing your skin like you were made of glass, his lips pressing a soft kiss to the inside of your knee when he finished.

You smiled through the haze of bliss, wriggling free once you felt a little more solid. "Be right back," you muttered, voice scratchy and small.

You tried to stand—and immediately wobbled, your knees buckling.

Jack and Robby, splayed out lazily on the couch, reacted instantly. Their hands came up instinctively to support your back and arms, steadying you with a gentleness that made your chest ache. When you managed to stay upright, they let their hands linger a beat longer.

They watched you sway with twin smirks tugging at their lips, too spent to do much else but chuckle under their breath.

"Careful," Jack drawled, his voice rough but warm. "You look like you just got hit by a truck."

Robby grinned, resting his head against the back of the couch. "Hell of a good one, though."

You managed to wobble to the bathroom, limbs heavy and bliss-drunk, but halfway there, you turned around briefly—gave them both a playful glare, narrowing your eyes, and held up a finger in mock warning.

The living room echoed with bellied laughter, eyes bright despite the exhaustion, the sound warm and full of affection.

By the time you returned from the bathroom, your body felt like a jar of honey under summer sun, the post-sex haze still curling like smoke under your skin. You flopped gracelessly back onto the couch, a sigh of contentment escaping your lips. Jack and Robby had disappeared briefly into the bathroom themselves. You heard the sound of running water, a few low murmurs exchanged, and then footsteps returning.

When they stepped back into the room, you were curled into the couch cushions, fast asleep, a soft smile curving your lips—blissed out and peaceful. Jack stopped in his tracks, heart thudding at the sight. Robby stilled beside him, eyes soft.

"Out like a light," Robby said quietly, but fondly.

Jack nodded. "Yeah. She earned it."

With a quiet grunt, Robby bent and scooped you up gently, cradling you against his chest. You stirred slightly, your arms looping behind his neck, head nuzzling into his collarbone. Jack padded behind, turning off the lights as they went.

The bedroom was dim and quiet. Robby laid you down carefully, brushing the hair from your face as Jack pulled the covers up over you. You shifted sleepily, instinctively reaching for them.

They climbed in on either side of you—Robby wrapping an arm around your waist, Jack curling close behind. Sandwiched between them, you let out a little contented hum as Jack pressed a kiss to the back of your neck, and Robby to your shoulder.

And in that soft, sleepy silence, you drifted off again—safe, wrapped in warmth, held by the two men who had finally let themselves love you, together.

—

Morning came slowly, the golden haze of sunlight warming the sheets. You stirred first, blinking your eyes open and stretching slightly—only to wince at the delicious soreness that radiated from places you hadn’t known could be sore. You smiled into your pillow as flashes from the night before flared back into focus: the heat of their bodies, the sound of their voices, the way your name had spilled from their mouths.

You tip-toed to the bathroom first, brushing your teeth with the spare toothbrush Robby kept under the sink and washing your face. The cool water anchored you back in your body. When you looked up, the mirror offered you a sight to behold—patches of hickeys forming on your neck, some darker than others, scattered like constellations across your collarbone and throat. Something flashed in your core, a low ache waking up with a pulse of memory. Your smile curled with equal parts embarrassment and pride.

Voices drifted from the kitchen. You pulled on a random shirt hung on the edge of the laundry hamper and padded toward the sound, feet silent on the hardwood.

Jack and Robby stood by the stove—well, more accurately, bickered at the stove. Robby held a spatula mid-air while Jack pointed at something on the counter.

"You can’t add garlic to pancakes," Jack muttered, exasperated.

Robby rolled his eyes. "I wasn’t adding it to the pancakes. I was sautéing it for the eggs—Jesus, keep your scrubs on."

Jack gestured broadly with a mixing bowl. "They’re in the same pan, Robby. They’re going to taste like garlic pancakes."

You leaned against the doorway, grinning as you watched them. Both of them were shirtless, wearing sweatpants. His curls were still mussed from sleep, and Robby wore his sweats low on his hips. They looked like a married couple arguing over brunch logistics—and you loved it more than you could say.

"You need to flip that now or it's going to burn," Jack warned, eyeing the skillet like it had personally offended him.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Robby shot back, jabbing at the eggs with the spatula, "Did you suddenly become head chef? You're not even on omelette duty."

Jack crossed his arms and tipped his chin up. "I was until you hijacked the burner and tried to infuse everything with garlic."

"As someone who survived off of expired MREs and basically drinks hot sauce as your only condiment, you are the last person who should be judging my culinary decisions."

You couldn’t hold back your amused scoff. You cleared your throat loudly.

They both froze and turned like synchronized swimmers. Two sets of eyes locked onto you—Jack’s going slightly wide, Robby’s mouth parting like he was about to offer an excuse.

"Morning," you said, deadpan, then broke into a smile.

Their expressions melted, sheepish grins appearing in tandem.

Jack stepped forward first, slipping a hand around your waist and leaning in to press a gentle kiss to your cheek. It was soft, warm, lingering just long enough to make your chest flutter.

Robby started to move toward you too, clearly intending to follow suit, but Jack smirked and turned slightly. "Can’t let the eggs burn, can we?"

Robby glared at him but stayed put, grumbling under his breath as he gave the eggs a stir.

With a quiet laugh, you stepped over to him and tiptoed to press a kiss to his cheek. "Good morning, chef."

His grumble softened into a low chuckle, his eyes crinkling with warmth as he leaned into your kiss.

Behind you, Jack busied himself at the counter. "Coffee?"

You nodded. "Please. God, yes."

He smiled without turning around, already reaching for a mug. The air was thick with the scent of breakfast, coffee, and something much softer—something like home.

He handed you the cup a moment later, and your fingers brushed as you took it. Jack gave you a smile that was still sleep-soft and just a little shy, like he couldn't quite believe this was real.

Robby passed you a plate stacked high with eggs and a slightly lopsided pancake, and kissed your temple as you sat down. "Hope you’re hungry. I tried." Jack pinched his side lightly at the remark, smirking. Robby swatted his hand away with a glare, but he was smiling too.

"It looks delicious," you murmured, cheeks warm.

You ate shoulder to shoulder, trading quiet smiles and bites off each other's plates, content in the hush of morning. Jack poured more coffee without being asked. Robby reached over occasionally to tuck your hair behind your ear. It was nothing—and everything.

When the meal was done, you sat in the warmth of it all, sipping slowly from your mug.

Jack stretched behind you, his voice low. "We should do this again."

You looked up at him. "Breakfast?"

He smiled. "All of it."

Robby leaned back in his chair and reached for your hand. "Yeah. Us."

And for once, the thought didn’t scare you. It settled in your chest like something inevitable. Like something already yours. "I'd like that... very much..."

Jack kissed your temple again, his lips lingering a second longer, and Robby gave your hand a small squeeze. No fanfare. No big declarations. Just warmth, safety, and quiet promises in the soft morning light.

Robby nudged your plate closer. "You want the last pancake?"

You shook your head with a sleepy grin. "Only if we split it."

Jack rolled his eyes fondly and reached for a fork. "God help us, we’ve become that couple."

"Correction," Robby said, stealing a bite anyway. "That throuple."

You laughed, heart full to the brim. And as they bickered softly over syrup and coffee refills, you leaned back in your chair, wrapped in the calm after the storm—content, adored, and exactly where you belonged.

[hoshigray]

˙⋆✮ FIRST PERSON SQUIRTER.ᐣ.ᐟ ✮⋆˙ | jjk men

꩜ᯅ꩜ choso, nanami, gojo, geto, sukuna & toji × how they deal with a squirter!?

contents: JJK men x afab/fem! reader - explicit content; minors DNI - size differences (true form! kuna) - kissing/making out - thigh-riding - [anal] fingering (f! receiving) - oral (f! + m! receiving) - sqůirtǐng (ofc) - facesitting - Daddy kink - 69 + doggy style + full nelson positions - overstimulation - clitoral play (grinding + swiping + pinching) - praising - cervix fucking - pet names (angel, baby, cutiepie, good girl, little thing, etc.) - degradation + humiliation - mention of blood and drool/spit.

word count: 5.3k

a. note: goin on a trip next week, so i leave y'all with this until the next one ☆ enjoy !!

ᯓ꩜ Chōsō Kamo

You giggled. “You ready, baby?”

He smiles back. “Bring it on, sweetheart.”

Having a partner willing to try new things with you is undoubtedly a blessing. Wouldn’t you want to try anything and everything with your partner—learning new things and sharing experiences with the person you love and cherish the most in this globe? 

It adds to your trust in one another – an exchange enhances the companionship…even if it’s in the bedroom!

“Okay, Choso, get ready.”

Your boyfriend nods from below you, watching from between your thighs as you descend your lower half where his face is, and the two of you moan once the lips of your labia land on his awaiting tongue.

This was all your idea, by the way: you’re the one who pulled on Choso’s shirt as you two watched the television from his bed, his caramel eyes drifting to you after grabbing his attention. It was difficult to ask at first, stumbling with your words as this embarrassing request isn’t something you make regularly. Once you got your words out, it wasn’t surprising to see your boyfriend a little flustered as you were. 

However, that didn’t stop him from accepting it – albeit bashfully – confidently, igniting a colossal quirk of happiness to affect the glow of his bedroom. So, here you two are, putting this new experience to the test. 

“Mmmm, oh God,” you purr with chewed lips, fighting the urge to swing your hips as Choso mouths you. 

Choso has his hips on your waist to keep you steady as he does his work, using his lips and tongue to please you in this new position. His tongue swims around your inner labia, the folds coated with your wetness mixed with his saliva. You exhale through your nostrils, your thighs sluggishly move to have your man attend to the surface, and you mewl at the flick of your clitoris. Oh shiiit…!

Having you on top of him like this was not something the brunet expected, thinking this would be a lazy day to hang out with his cute companion on this slow Friday. However, to have easy access to taste your fluids within his vicinity in this erotic position...he’s starting to like it a little too much. 

“Ohhh, my God, Choso,” you shrill with a gasp. “You’re so good…Feel so good.”

“Yeah, baby?” He questions below your waist, poking your clit with his tongue. “You like riding my face?” 

He can’t see it, but you nod impetuously. “Yessss! Yees—Shhaaah! Fuck, your tongue…!” You lick your lips and bite as you bring your waist lower, his nose bumping on your clit. “More, give me moreee…!”

“Heh, sure thing,” he titters at your enthusiasm as his hands curl to your buttocks, bringing you further down to his level. You whimper as he sucks on your vulva with purpose, lapping his tongue around to tease your entrance before he pushes it in. Here is where Choso changes the atmosphere, fucking you with his tongue and collecting more of your essence to drink. All you can do is wail and swing your hips faster, and your boyfriend quickly catches the rhythm. Shit, tastes so good…!

“Uhhgg, feels so fucking good—Mmmaa!” Holy hell, this was too much! There’s so much going on underneath you outside your control, only having the command of your waist to influence. Your thighs jiggle as you resort to bouncing on your boyfriend’s face, and your hands ball on the comforter the two of you lay on. 

Choso’s tongue goes frantic, wiggling the wet muscle around your insides and pulling you in to sink more into your overwhelming taste and smell. The more you bounce on his face, the more his nose hits your clitoris, your bud sending shocks up to your head to enlighten the exhilaration! Faster and faster you go, the same for the tongue lapping all over your vulva and sucking on you purposely. 

“Choso..!! Cho—shiiiit—Chosooo!!” You cry out with trenched brows and closed eyes, electric shocks spiraling all over your body with all the growing pressure. 

Your body then gives in, and you let your essence out of your system. Your fluids shower all over Choso’s face as you come on his tongue; your boyfriend is not swayed by the liquid hitting his face, just focused on slurping your wetness covering your cunt. Quivers force your thighs to jolt, jerking your whole frame as you let the waves of your orgasm hit until everything relaxes.

And when it does, you sigh heavily and lift your ass. Choso watches the sight before him, his spit blended with your come all within your inner thighs. The heat from his face spreads to his ears — oh, he hopes he doesn’t get addicted to this.

“Oh my God, Choso,” your boyfriend snaps to your call. “Your face, it’s all wet!”

“Hm? Oh!” It takes a second to realize that he is utterly drenched with your satisfaction, scoffing with a smile. “Guess we both got a bit too excited.”

You chuckle as you leave to grab a hand towel from his bathroom. “I’m sorry about that!”

“It’s okay,” Choso takes off his shirt, which was damp on his collar, and accepts the towel you give him. “As long as you’re feeling good up there, I don’t mind drowning a bit for you, sweetie.”

You shake your head with a smile. “You’re not funny.”

ᯓ꩜ Nanami Kento

Nothing puts the cherry on top of a hard day at work for Nanami than coming home and being pulled into your arms.

“Nnnmm, Kento, you feel so good…”

…And loving on him more affectionately.

You practically dragged your man into the living room, peppering him with smooches in your glee that he had returned home safe and sound, and he chortles as you beckon him to sit on the couch with you. The two of you winding down while watching the television, Nanami relaxing with a nice cold beer and taking off his necktie and blazer.

However, he’s unaware of you glimpsing through your peripheral, looking intently, sliding his tie off his collar and unbuttoning his shirt. You notice the sneak of his exposed collarbone, drifting your gaze to something else only for it to land on his pants. Lips flatten at the sight of his thighs; his hand patting on it makes you stare longer than intended, swallowing thickly to quench a dry throat. 

He was taking a swig of his beer, watching the motion of his Adam’s apple with intent. Your fingers fiddling with the bottom of your sundress can’t jurisdiction your thoughts anymore, wanton desires stacking up and soon to fall like dominoes. 

And when it does fall, you silently stand and walk in front of Nanami, the blonde noticing you come around to obstruct his view of the TV. “My love?” You don’t answer. “Something’s wrong?” No words yet…but you lift your dress, mocha eyes pinpointing to the cute design of your cotton thong. “Sweetheart…” you move to sit again, but not back on the couch—nope—instead, his pant-clad thigh, straddling the firm muscles, and your arms come around to cup his cheeks.

“Kento,” you finally speak, whispering for only his words to pick up. “I missed you.”

If there was one thing that could pull Nanami’s heartstrings, it was you – his pretty wife. So, when you express your love for him, of course, he has to reciprocate tenfold.

“Ooooo, yesss, Ken…please, go faster…Mmmph.”

You stay atop Nanami’s thigh, grinding your labia on his pants to the point that a damp spot is prominent in the tan color. The blonde doesn’t seem to mind, though, as he’s the one who slid your thong for his fore and middle finger to swipe on your clitoris. The touch is pleasant, fueling your waist to keep moving. With your back to his chest, he kisses you passionately from behind. Your sweet tongue meets his, influenced by the taste of alcohol, a strange combination that surprisingly gets the kiss steamier. 

Nanami chews on your bottom lip, having you whimper so sublimely that shivers crawl his spine, sucking on your tongue as your hips go faster. Jesus Christ, the friction from grinding on the material of his pants feels so good, nestling in between your folds nicely and faintly bumping on your clit. However, that is for your husband’s fingers, tweaking the bud you perk to your tippy toes. Hahhh, so good!

“Mmmm, shit,” the golden-haired man curses under his breath before taking your lips into his again. “Come here, angel.” He slams his lips to yours, and you don’t plan to leave his taste as you throw your head back. One arm lifts your legs by the knees, the free hand having more access for him to stick his middle finger into your wetness.

You moan into his mouth, allowing your husband to please you with his fingers rubbing your inner texture. It starts slow until he adds the ring finger, dialing the pace for his fingertips to scratch onto places you could never reach. A hand finds his hair, his neat locks now getting disheveled because of you. 

“Puhaah, ohhh, shit!” You shrill with puffy lips while Nanami kisses your cheek and chin, all the while his digits are brushing up on the upper wall of your vagina — you almost lose balance. “I’m close…!”

The magic words let Nanami know to keep doing what he’s doing, sucking the skin of your neck while shoving his fingers until his very knuckles. The clamp of your walls is sensational, addicting to the point that he doesn’t want to get his digits out yet — not until your high comes to an end.

And that doesn’t sound impossible; you scream as if you don’t have neighbors between your apartment, a watery liquid ejecting out of your glands and showering all around. Sprinkles of your clear juices hit the palm of Nanami’s hand and thigh, adding more stains to his pants to worry about.

 Your heaving body slowly relaxes as your orgasm rattles your bones, Nanami laying more pecs on your beautiful skin as he permits your quaking legs to touch the floor again. Yet, you jerk when your toes feel something wet, snapping out of your daze and realizing what a show you made.

“O-Oh, my—“ you try to stand, but Nanami’s quick to catch you as your body is still under the shocks of your crescendo. “Ugh, I’m sorry, Kento, I messed up your work clothes.”

“No worries, I need to do laundry tomorrow anyway.” The blonde chuckles to your ear and kisses you again, massaging your waist. 

“In that case…would you mind if I dirty your clothes some more?” Your butt presses up on the tent of his groin — which has been getting firmer and firmer once the man stuffed his fingers in you. “I’m sure you’d get some fun out of it.”

He raises a sandy brow with a smile. “Would I, or would you, since you’re the one who came onto me?”

“…A bit of both.” You both share a laugh as Nanami carries you bridally to the bedroom.

“Then I don’t mind at all.”

ᯓ꩜ Gojō Satoru

“Mmmm, can never get over this view~.”

“Can you stop commenting about it?!”

“Whaaat? I can’t say I admire my cutie’s beautiful ass in front of me?”

“You’re so annoying…” you grumble as you sigh and begin to lick the tip of his cock.

It’s been a while since you and Gojo had a good 69 session. He is busy being the strongest sorcerer of the modern era and being a full-time teacher, and you go through your day-to-day life swarmed up with work and routine. Lack of time to spend together is an onerous task to execute outside of sleeping and snoring in your shared bed.

But alas, when you two are finally resting and enjoying each other’s company this weekend, it’s a no-brainer that you two will end up skin-to-skin action sometime today. 

You straddled atop Gojo, your ass facing him while his lower half was to your front, your hand stroking his length cock, following the curve up to the pink tippy top. The sight of precum starting to pool and spill over down your fingertips makes your cheeks hot, and the heat between your legs causes a twitch.

Gojo, however, grins before he kisses your labia, welcoming his tongue that invades the space between your folds. You moan as you stuff your mouth with his cockhead, treating him with peppered licks and sucks as you keep jerking him off. Fucking hell, his dick is just so lengthy, hitting the back of your throat with ease that you have to remind yourself to relax to not gag.

Lazy licks are dawned on your wet chasm, lapping from the clit up to the other end. He notices the subtle quakes of your thighs as he tongues you down and has him chuckle as he pushes his face into your frame more, his hands curling to cup your ass so he can fondle the flesh.

You mumble on his dick after he flicks your clit. “Mmmph…! Hmmmm…” Sucking on his shaft, you bob your head up and down to get accustomed to the limb. Climbing back up to the tip where you suck on it roughly with hallowed cheeks after drizzling it with saliva. 

“Oh shiiit,” the white-haired man’s head hits the headboard of his bed, moaning at the attention you’re giving his cock. “So good at this, angel,” he coos as his hands curl to the front to massage and lightly pat your asscheeks like drums. “Missed this.”

“Mmmm, mmmahh…!” The tip leaves your lips, and you’re quick to keep stroking him as you lick around his crown. “Fuck, so big…”

“Well, thank you, baby,” he knows you’re probably rolling your eyes at that comment, chortling to himself. “Means a lot hearing that from someone who keeps winking at me over here.”

“Pfft, you’re so gross,” you top his cockhead to the flat of your tongue, blowing on it to make your tall partner shiver under you. “So full of yourself.”

“Mmmm, maybe so,” you whine as Gojo blows and sucks on your inner labia. “But you can’t blame me for that, right?”

“What…ever,” your feet come around and pulls his face back to your ass. “Just shut up and use that tongue—since you’re so confident.”

“Heh, so pushy.” But the thing is, Gojo is confident – narcissistically so. You saying that only probed him to flip a switch, and you’re unfortunately on the receiving end of his wrath. 

Gojo’s tongue goes erratic, swishing around your vulva as if you can’t keep up with one lap after the other. Your waist goes to lift your ass away — fat chance, as his hands return behind your butt to keep you on him the entire time. The vibrations of his humorful laugh are felt in the very nerves of your folds.

You whimper aloud, the hand jerking his cock, straying off its rhythm as your body submits to the pleasure going around your lower half. He inserts his tongue into your opening, fucking your slit with pushes and pulls. He sucks your wetness with his mouth, and the hands placed on your ass grip on the flesh that has you standing on your very palms.

“—Khhh..! W-Wait, Satoruu, stop!” You cry, but the tall man only smacks your ass mischievously, having you clamping on his tongue without your conscience. “I-I said waaait!!” No signs of waiting as he stuffs his face further between your thighs; noises of him slurping your vulva sound so wrong!

Oh, my fucking God! Your legs tremble, a sign that you’re trying everything you can to alleviate. However, Gojo’s grip on you doesn’t make it an easy battle, latching onto you with vigor. No, wait, wait, stop i—“Ahaa—ahhhnn!!”

It’s no use; the fluid you release slips past your control, spraying out of the urethra and showering all over your thighs and Gojo’s lower jaw and neck. Your body yields, losing balance and slumping your whole body on top of your boyfriend as you come on his tongue and drizzle all around the space of your lower half. Shocks and quivers travel up your spine to your head to pound, leaving Gojo to keep lapping and swishing on your wet slit in victory. 

“Mmmm, aahhhshit, so good…!” He blinks with hooded eyes as he licks his lips and spits on your vagina to lick slowly. “Taste so good…”

“Hahhh, ahhh, I..I told you to,” you stand on your elbows and look behind. “To…wait, dummy!”

“You told me to shut and use my tongue!” He backfires, not relenting even after sending your half-lidded glare. You groan and turn back to suck on his pink tip in defeat. “Fuck, love it when you’re all wet like this…and lucky me for being in the splash zone as you—Oww!”

You smack on his nuts. “You’re so annoying!”

ᯓ꩜ Getō Suguru

“Suguruuu…! Don’t do th–Ahhht!”

“Ahhhh, you sound so cute, baby.”

Geto plows you from behind, watching you grip the armrest of the couch as your butt is propped up and your face buried to hide yourself…Quite a futile attempt, if he says so himself, but adorable nonetheless. 

Fucking in the living room wasn’t part of the daily routine today, yet here you two are. His hands grab hold of your waist as he conceals his girthy cock inside your tight cunt, stuffing every inch of him till the very hilt meets the lips of your outer lips. 

Your breath is shaky as Geto’s hips move to and fro, sighing at the sensation of your tensed walls around him. You always felt way too fucking good, biting his lip to fight the urge to let his waist fly and piston himself right into you. And he enjoys the way you act as he teases you, the position giving him ideas on how to torment you idly. 

Like now, as he skims a thumb around your asshole. The action of having you contract on him even more. “Nnnn! Nnooooh, don’t play with my ass…!”

“You sure? It’s been winking at me for a minute.” He chimes with a sly smile, licking his finger and switching his thumb to lather your hole with his saliva. Holy shit, the way you’re twitching around him is driving him nuts, as he hasn’t even put anything in yet. 

“Do-Don’t say it like that!” You peer over your shoulder with furrowed brows, meeting the purple eyes that catch you. His hips go excruciatingly slow, your vagina feeling like a void as he pulls for absence before fulling you back as he pushes. “It’s em…barrassin—Ghhhh!”

He pushes the thumb inside while you’re distracted, and both your holes pucker in haste. “Awww, don’t be like that, my love,” his mellow voice doesn’t match the crudeness of his actions, throwing unpredictable snaps of his hips to throw you off. “Nothing about your body is embarrassing….God, your ass looks so sexy from the back—“

Another twitch of your slit—God, you’re too fucking cute. “What are you—Don’t say stuff like that…!” Your flustered reaction didn’t make it any better as Geto pushed his thumb inside until the dent and knuckle, wiggling it inside and pushing and pulling to toy with your rear. Your teeth clench onto the couch pillow while he increases the cadence of his ruts. “Mmmmm, ohmyGod…Suguu, please—“

“Hmm, you want me to stop?” He asks and observes for a cue to stop what he’s doing. You don’t say anything, though, just your hips swaying. It makes Geto scoff, “I get the feeling you don’t want me to; look at you moving your hips on your own, pumpkin. Your body’s so honest for me.”

“Haaahh, you’re soo…mean, Sugu…”

“Only when I know it makes you feel good,” he moves his bangs out for a bit. “Which is why,” then Geto slithers that same hand down to where your chasm is linked to his wet cock, and his fingers go erratically fast on your clit. “I wanna tease this a bit, too.”

Eyes widen as you shriek at the touch, moaning aloud once he removes his thumb from your ass to keep your butt onto him as he jackhammers his cock into you. Your frame is propelled with every push, the pokes on of your cervix knock you out like the wind, and the hard rubs on your clit have you seeing stars.

“—Ohhooo, oh–hoooo!! Sug’ruuu, waaiitt!!” It’s useless; he doesn’t stop, and more hits to your womb have you wailing uncontrollably. The fingers on your clit don’t let you rest, having you unable to speak a proper sentence and resort to letting your boyfriend pound into you. A few more pinches have your legs jerking, and you can’t help but let the wave smash onto you.

As your orgasm claims over your body, you squirt out, liquids falling onto the couch beneath you, point blank. Your eyes are sewn shut as your slit flutters on Geto’s penis, your substance leaking out of your glans and dirtying your thighs and legs. Oh God, no!!

Geto hisses at the feeling of you spasming on him, tilting his head to see what you’ve done. “Oh my, would’ya look at that~.”

“Shooop, don’t loook…!!” A hand moves to the side to “try” and stop him, but he catches it with his palm, intertwining his fingers with yours. “Don’t look at iiiit…”

“But you did so well!” Geto kisses your hand. “Maybe I should play with your ass more—“

“Suguru, stop!”

“Kidding~,” he was not.

ᯓ꩜ Ryōmen Sukuna

Sukuna relishes the feeling of you like this — your back to his front, your legs held up by his solid upper arms while the lower hands hold your buttocks, and your holes accommodating to his two girthy cocks — like the good pet you are. 

He entirely suspends you, your entire frame contorted for your arms to grip the futon sheets below. Sweat and warmth are exchanged by bare skin, the glow of the candles highlights the unioned figures within Sukuna’s quarters, and your anus and vagina are full of nothing but the two cocks stretching you and rubbing your insides.

Sukuna bucks his hips with might, and his every push makes you dizzy. Toes curl as your ass is pulled up and down to meet his hefty balls, his dicks venturing further to torture your insides with satisfaction. Your vision gets a bit hazy as the heat gets to your head, and your head begins to pound.

“What’s wrong, little thing,” your lips flatten to hinder the moan wanting to escape as he speaks behind you, feeling his breath brush the hairs of your back. “You’re silent this time around.”

“Haaaah, my Lord…” The tongue of his stomach licks your lower back with a lazy kiss. “Y-You’re…too biiig.”

He hits you with a sudden rut and purrs at the clench of your entrances. “You say that, yet your lewd body seems to accustom pretty well.” Another hit of his hips causes the tips of his cock to brush up against your sweet spots effortlessly, and you finally unclench your lips to let a wail escape. “Your body only good for taking cocks like a real good whore, huh?”

“I’m so—Mmmph…! S-Shooo fuuuull…” 

“No, you’re not,” he snickers as his lower left-hand sneaks around to cusp your clitoris, your precious pearl engulfed by the sheer thickness of his digits. “Not until I fill you with my seed like a sow in heat.”

The salmon-haired man picks up the pace to drill his cocks, churning your vagina and rear like toys. Your cries fly out quickly at the point, puffy lips losing ground to stay locked. Hands balled into fists as you’re threatened by the sheer mass of Sukuna, unable to fight out of this—forced to submit to him and his persistence.

Your slit and butt are so busy with his cocks, the length of your vagina grazing your G-spot by its underside, the walls fluttering involuntarily around him. The dick inside your butt feels so utterly good; the size of him is never something you can get fully habituated to. And the hand on your clit doesn’t stop playing with it, roughly pushing and grinding on it to the point of babbling and choking on spit. 

“—Hnnngh, fuck. So tight,” Sukuna licks your back and nibbles on your skin, teasing to tear your skin to taste just a hint of blood. “Feel so good…”

“Ahahhh, I caaan’t…!” Your eyes begin to water as you shut them close, lack of vision enhancing the sense of touch where it has your nerves overly stimulated. Everything is happening all at once, and you can sense the climb once the tip hits your womb. “I can’t do iiit! You’re gonna break meee!!”

“Keheh, wouldn’t be the first time.” It’s probably for the best because you can’t see the smug-ass grin on his oddly comely face. More kisses are placed on your back. “Shut up and take it, dove,” he commands you, not leaving you any room to retaliate as his thrusts increase without warning. 

Your mouth is agape, and your cries are unwillingly bouncing around the shoji-paneled walls. A bit of spit comes down your lips, your hands only finding Sukuna’s waist for your nails to dig into. The grumble of his stomach traversing to your core to rumble with the vibrations. Oh, God, noo!! You can feel it – the worse of the worse. Just when you thought your humiliation wasn’t enough at this moment, it was about to skyrocket in three…two…one.

Feverish ruts to your ass, have the reins slip out of your hold, all the restraint in your body withering with every harsh push and pull. Your head pounds like crazy, nothing but a blur can be seen in your eyes, and the clear substance expels out of your urethra, leaving out of your system along with your dignity. 

And Sukuna doesn’t have to see it to believe it, grinning from ear to ear as he playfully smacks on your vulva to create more of a mess. The watered-down liquid sprayed out to his thighs and the futon sheets and sticking to your inner thighs and sliding down the crack of your ass. Tiny pinches to your clit help you jerk out more to ruin yourself, your body losing strength entirely and letting the cursed man keep you in your distorted position. 

“Hmph, what a bad little toy,” he criticizes you like always, the tears beckoning to leave your watery eyes. “Look at you causing a mess on my bedding; who told you to do that?”

“I’m sorry, Lord Sukuna,” your expression borderline fucked out, yet the embarrassment keeps you humble. “Forgive me…my Lord.”

Sukuna slaps onto your clit with his palm; you pucker onto his girths immediately. “You dare ask for forgiveness after the fact—I should just throw you out in the cold with these wet sheets you’ve caused.”

“N-Nooo! I’m so sorry!!” Fuck, he loves it when you plead, so desperate for his word, his submissive and breakable dove. “Pleaseee, fill me up with your seed, and I will clean it up…! I-I won’t do it again…”

“Says who?” He finally lets your legs go briefly before he spreads them over with his lower arms. His upper hands find your chest to grope. “You’ve stained my sheets with your essence; you aren’t sleeping anywhere else tonight except here with me in this exact puddle you made for yourself, you dirty pet. Am I clear?”

His final words have your skin crawl as he nibbles on your nape, and you nod.

“Good.”

ᯓ꩜ Fushiguro Tōji

“Gahhh!! Ahhhhh!!”

“Yeah, baby, that’s it; keep clenchin’.”

Toji’s fingers are stuffed inside you, stretching your poor hole with pushes and pulls that take your breath away with ease—quite literally as your arms come around his neck to keep him close.

His bedroom is filled with nothing but you: your shorts and panties decorating his bedroom floor, the smell of your lotion on your now-sweaty skin intoxicating his senses, and your damp towel laid underneath you as you lie on your back.

Toji sits right beside you, near as you keep him from leaving. Not that he planned to — of course not. When he has his ring and middle finger shoved inside your vagina and grazing your inner skin with a mediocre pace, there’s no way the older man would want to stop now. Fuck, he loved how tight your cunt was, so snug to the touch and tender to his fingertips. It drove him crazy, just like you always make him. He can never get tired of you, honestly. 

“Hahhhh, Tojiii, ahhaaa…” Your whimpers get louder and louder by the second, and your back jerks to the blunt of his fingertips, poking deep inside your chasm. “Gooohh, ohhhshit…!”

“Yeah, sweetie?” His forehead touches yours, skin-on-skin increasing intimacy. “Ya like it when I fuck you wit’ my fingers, huh?” You answer with a whine as he slows his digits down, teasing the walls of your entrance while pressing on your clit with his thumb. He scoffs, “So nice and tight fr’ me, huh…”

“Ahhhh..! Bu–But I just…finished taking a showerrr!!” You wail with pleading hooded eyes that are instantly locked with intense viridian ones. “You’re making me—mmm!—dirty again…!”

He raises a brow. “That doesn’t mean anythin’ to me,” more push to your clitoris causes your body to jolt closer to Toji, and he sneers. “Getting all ready and clean fr’ me, what a good girl…all the more fun fr’ Daddy to make ya all dirty and cryin’ all over again.”

A hand grips his shoulder, exposed by his black wife-beater. “Pleasee, Daddy, it’s too—Aghahh!” He sneaks his fingers back inside knuckle-deep; the deep chuckle you hear from him causes your ears to melt. 

“C’mon, mama, I know you have it in ya,” he coos with a kiss to your forehead that has you dissolve under his scarred lips. “Wring my fingers up, make a mess fr’ me.”

Another kiss to your forehead makes you whine, the gentle atmosphere only lasting for mere seconds before the pace of his hand returns to a rhythm that has you screaming instantly. Jesus Christ, those thick fingers are no joke, the stretch enough to overwhelm your senses, along with how deep they reach inside. 

Every push to your cunt has you breathless, and every dig is knuckles-deep and too fast to catch up with one after the other. “Ohoooo, D-Daddyyy, n-nooo!” Yet there’s no point in begging now—once Toji is deadset on something, it’s challenging to swade him off. Especially when it comes to you, his little sweet thing… “I’m gonna—ohfuuck!—I’m so clooose…!”

Your words only egg Toji on to keep fingering you as much as he can, ravaging your delicate insides with his hand alone. He purchases his face to your neck, sighing deeply at the alluring whiff of your lotion. He licks your skin before a kiss, and the pace between your legs becomes unforgivingly faster.

Eyes roll up to the ceiling as your body shuts down without your knowledge, completely taken aback by the climax that clenches around the thickness of Toji’s fingers. Also, the water liquid is excreting projectively from the continuous knock-kneed-worthy pleasure. You let loose with a howl, your back arching with every subtle buck of your hips. 

Toji looks down with a salacious grin, taking in the sight of you spraying all over his bed. The towel is doing nothing but getting damper because of you, and he can only chortle at the sight and, lowkey, thank his intuition for wearing a wife-beater so you can coat his forearm. Dazed with euphoria, your body slumps down to the sheets, sweaty and sticky from the excretions and panting heavily. So much for a shower, huh?

Toji whistles and courses his free hand atop your head while besmearing your vulva with your juices. “Good girl, mama, good fuckin’ girl.”

© HOSHIGRAY2024 ✮ reblogs and comments are appreciated wholeheartedly ⊹ header art by hyocorou + dividers by @cafekitsune.

[thinkinonsense]

Sit Still｡𖦹°‧

—gif credit: not mine!! i can't remember where i found it but if i can find it again or the owner comments, ill add their username <3

logan howlett x fem!reader

cw: cockwarming (sorta?), innocence kink, p in v, logan attempts to teach reader how to ride.

a/n: apologies for this being so short but chapter two of bewitched should be out friday or saturday! also i'll be responding to some requests soon too in case i spam lmao

"a-are you sure 'bout this, lo?"

your timid voice echos around the bedroom, capturing logan's attention again. he's been dreaming for months of this sight in front of him; you sitting pretty in his lap, only wearing a pink lacy bra and a pair of matching panties.

"you want me to make you feel good, right sweetheart?"

a small sigh escapes you as you attempt to grind onto him again. logan places his large hands on your waist to stop you from wiggling around. he knows you can't help it, you're still new to this after all.

it started a month ago when you and logan were left alone together in the mansion. everyone was on a field trip a couple hours away. you were recovering from a cold and logan simply didn't want to chaperone. instead, he offered to stay back with you.

late one evening, he came in to check on you and ask if there was anything you needed. that's when you asked him the question that nearly killed him, 'will you take my virginity?' you didn't see a problem with it. the two of you weren't strangers, you trusted logan, and he obviously has experience since he's much older than you.

ever since that night, you two have been going at it like rabbits. tonight, logan promised to help you get used to being on top. more importantly, training you to take him from this angle.

"c'mon, baby..." he coos with one hand on your hip and the other holding a cigar to his lips. "do it just like i told ya'."

swiftly, logan removes the rest of the material between the two of you before resting back against the mattress. anxiously, you line him up to your entrance and slowly sink down until you're sat fully on his lap again.

"nice 'n slow for me, sweetheart. that's it, stay still..." logan hums, lost in your tight, wet heat. he can hear every little noise coming from your lips. "atta girl."

it's a struggle to take all of him at once. you can feel him deep in your gut, nudging that sweet spot inside of you. logan can tell that your nerves are still tangled in knots, practically strangling his cock.

"lo, i c-can't do it." you huff, upset at yourself. "too full to move."

"poor fuckin' baby." logan teases with faux sympathy. "how 'bout we try something else for now?"

too caught up with the soft grind of his hips, you nod your head mindlessly to his proposal. logan brings his thumb to his lips, replacing the cigar which is now back on the nightstand. he sits up, making you whimper as he does so. you lean forward to capture his lips with your own, whispering how badly you needed him to just fuck you himself. instead, logan's got something else in mind.

"ah!" you gasp as he starts to rub your button with the wet pad of thumb. "f-fuck, right there..."

the soft rocking of your hips makes your toes curl and fingers pull at his little kitten tuffs. logan's mouth moves south to your chest. one nipple in his mouth then the other until both are swollen and kiss bitten. vibrations pour from his mouth as he groans at the tight squeezing of your cunt around his girth.

"ah-ah." he tsks, hand coming up to grip your jaw, pinching your cheeks together gently. "what did i say 'bout staying still?"

"s-sorry, lo.." you whimper voice muffled by your squished pouty lips.

despite having incredible stamina, logan was ready to release just from looking at your pretty face. he never been this close to cumming so soon but feeling you tense around him and wiggle in his lap made his head spin. all of this movement from only his thumb drawing circles.

"christ..." he grunts in your ear, moving faster now and with more pressure. "you're tryin' a kill me, sweetheart."

all logan gets in response is incoherent babbles of 'don't stop' and 'please, please, please'. he knows you are close when you claw at his back and start to bounce on him little by little, just enough to make you see stars. it all feels too much yet not enough at the same time. logan's circles start to get sloppy as he approaches his high too.

"l-logan!" you squeal, heavy eyes trying to focus on his face. "wanna feel you..."

in a rush, logan picks up the pace, torturing your button with his thumb. a loud moan falls from your lips, trying to wiggle out of logan's grip as your orgasm washes over you with intense euphoria. logan growls in your neck from your tight fucking grip on his cock, pumping his load inside of your walls. some of it spilling out of you and drenching the sheets.

the two of you catch your breath in silence for a moment. your nails scratch his scalp softly while logan pulls you down to kiss him. after a second, you move back, smiling down at him in a way that makes him harden again.

"thought you were gonna show me how to ride?" you tease.

logan shoots you a cocky eyebrow raise before leaning back again, one hand on your hip and the other returning to his cigar on the night stand.

"alright, baby..." he chuckles, re-lighting the cigar and paying little attention to the roll of your hips. "let me see what you got."

[f1fantasys]

MONACO BABY

Summary - Lando fucks you without a condom for the first time. This could really be read as two fics combined from my poll (Before the race weekend, lando said he’d fuck you without a condom if he wins AND He fucks a baby into you when you celebrate later that night.) Let me know if you'd prefer a whole separate one though, or if i should write a part two basically confirming you got pregnant from all the nasty you did. Let me knowwww

Warnings - heavy smut. blowjob. m! and f! receiving. oral sex. fingering. penetrative sex. cowgirl. unprotected sex. spit play. cum play. use of the words slut and whore.

3.5K+

It was Friday - free practice day, and you noticed that Lando had woken up this morning feeling optimistic about the weekend - a feeling you'd wanted to see him feel since Australia.

A little bit of a back story? You were a Sky content creator, and had been dating Lando for a little over 6 months now, so still pretty new, although it really felt like he was your end game. You knew he was. Your relationship was still private, not yet out in the open though there had been speculation, but you'd both tried to keep it as secret as possible, enjoying your own bubble. Lando's win in Australia was the perfect way to start the season, but it all fell short when the next races up until now were less than fruit full. So to see Lando full of hope today, you were secretly thanking the gods above. He had been harsh on himself up until now. Too harsh.

Call it wanting to rile him up with more adrenaline, whatever it was, this is how you wound up in the position you found yourselves in right now -

Lando had just come out the shower, a towel hanging low on his hips as you sat up in bed and silently watched him do his hair care routine. His dark eyes found yours in the mirror. 'Like something you see?' he asked, sly smirk on his face.

You felt your cheeks heat up immediately, clearing your throat as you rolled your eyes. He turned to face you now, dropping his towel in a swift motion, all his glory out for you to see. His cock sprang free, slapping against his stomach as it bounced a few, throbbing as he took himself in his hands and pumped himself while walking towards you.

'You know all you have to do is ask baby, I'm all yours, yeah?' he said teasingly, grabbing he back of your head, harsh but not harsh enough to hurt you, to make you look up at his face instead of his dick that was now level with your eyes.

'Fuck off' you teased back, unable to hide your smile as you finally brought your hands up to wrap around him. He was pulsing, the thick vein at the side protruding deliciously s you stood up and pushed Lando to sit on the edge of the bed. 'Need to taste you, please' you begged, though you knew he was putty in your hands now.

All Lando could do was groan at the sight in front of him - you, naked, on your knees, tongue darting out to lick the sticky pre-cum off his tip. He jerked forward at that, his hands instinctively coming up to hold your hair out of your face as you finally took him in and sucked.

'Oh fuck me,' he panted, 'that mouth of yours' he mumbled breathlessly as your worked your way on him, bobbing your head up and down repeatedly while his hold on your hair tightened wit each passing second.

You squeezed your thighs together at the mere thought of what you were doing, half not believing you were sucking THE Lando Norris' dick, even though you'd done so about a thousand times by now.

'That's it baby, fuck, you're so good at this' he cooed, taking control of fucking himself in and out of your mouth as your moves started faltering, his hips jerking forward with each thrust, making you gag, tears at the corners of your eyes, and obscene noises filling up the otherwise quiet room.

You tugged and pulled at his balls, sucking as hard as you when you felt him get sloppier by the second, impending orgasm threatening to overcome him any minute now. When you pulled back for air, a string of your spit still had you connected to Lando, and he couldn't help but lean down to you for a dirty, messy kiss, both your tongues battling each others', before he pulled back and was quick to shove his dick back in your mouth.

'Shit I'm so close baby, where do you want it?' he asked, though he knew the answer, you were always ready to taste him, and so when you didn't reply, it wasn't even a few seconds until his whole body was shuddering, hips bucking forward as he spilled his seed down your throat, while you pulled back for air again as he sprayed your face white with his cum, both your chests heaving with the rush.

You sat there breathless, while Lando looked down at you, another sight for sore eyes with just how messed up you were, with his mess on you body, cum dropping down from your face onto your boobs and down your stomach.

He gently let his fingers spread his cum around your face, eventually bringing them to your mouth for you to take in, suckling softly and groaning at the taste of him once more.

He had a look on his face, one you knew all to well, one that only ended with trouble.

'I know that look Lan, what are you thinking?' you pressed, nervous for his answer because you knew whatever he'd say would make you clench your thighs together.

He smiled then, a full blown Lando Norris smile with all his teeth showing, your favourite smile, barely for a second though, because his gaze was quick to turn dark again as he traced his thumb across your bottom lip.

'Thinkin' about how I'm gonna win the race on Sunday..then fuck you with no condom on...need you feel you raw baby' he said, voice hoarse but so casual as it rolled off his tongue with such ease.

You stared up at him, mouth agape as your brain short circuited the second the words left his lips. 'What?' you whispered in shock.

He smiled again - 'You heard me. Need to feel you raw' he said, grabbing a few tissues off the bedside table and wiping your face, helping you up and back onto the bed.

Your mind was spiralling. This is a whole new ball game in your relationship and your body felt alive with butterflies squirming their way in your stomach, anticipation building up and the weekend hadn't even started.

No words left your mouth as Lando pushed you to lie back before straddling you, fiddling with a condom wrapper before rolling it onto his girth which was already hard again, and ramming int you, dirty words of his plan being whispered into your ear.

2 days later, and your man actually fucking won the Monaco Grand Prix.

Let's take it back a few - your relationship had basically been soft launched by the media wen you were caught with Lando's family all weekend. You wished it'd have come out on your own terms, but f1 media played no games, so the multiple views of you on tv had your name, 'Y/N, Lando Norris' Girlfriend' as your tag.

You watched on as Lando climbed out of his car, tens of people pushing their way past you in hopes of getting close to the driver as he hugged his mum and dad, and when his eyes locked with yours, he reached out for your hand, his thumb ever so gently rubbed circles while his god damn beautiful face sent you a wink and a kiss, sending you into a frenzy of tingles. Your heart clenched for a second as the look he'd just given you was reserved only for you, and now the whole world would see it.

Fast forward the podium , the team photo, the prince's ball, and partying at the club - you both stumbled back into his apartment, very tipsy, but not drunk enough because you both wanted to remember the whole evening and celebrations.

You tiptoed through the hallway as quietly as possible, not wanted to wake Adam and Cisca, though Lando was proving that to be impossible with the way his body was glued to yours, lips tracing every inch of your skin as he tickled your neck with stubble, all while leaving a trail of your clothes behind, though it was mostly his - yours was literally just your dress since you hadn't worn any underwear.

As soon as you reached his room, he slammed the door shut, pushed up up against it, and attacked your lips with his own. It was messy, hungry, tongues and teeth clashing as your hands gripped harshly at his hair. He swallowed your moans when his hands roamed down to your glistening cunt, fingers sliding through your folds, pinching at your swollen clit.

'Hmm, Lando, please. I need you.' yu mumbled when his lips moved down to your neck, biting down at your sweet spot as he plunged two fingers through your hole with no warning. You gasped as your back arched off the door, biting down on your bottom lip.

Whatever he was doing felt good, but not good enough, even when he added a third finger and repeatedly hit against your G-spot. You needed more, you needed his dick.

You found your voice again, between he whimpering and panting, grabbing rough at his hair again to make him look up at you.

'You said you-'

'I know what I said.' Lando cut you off. 'But I'm gonna make you cum at least twice before I so much as get near fucking you love' he said, voice raspy, then brining his mouth down to your peaked nipples.

You knew once he had his mind to something there was no going back, so you decided to let him use you how he pleased. His tongue rounded your left nipple, hot against you skin before he b it down harshly, eliciting a gasp from you as his fingered continued their torture on your cunt.

Lando soon added another finger, the stretch sore but welcomed as you felt yourself nearing you high, biting down on his shoulder, and all it took was one pinch of your clit before you were shuddering in his arms, body limb and cum gushing out of you uncontrollably, as he worked you through it, mumbling to himself something about how hot you were when you squirted like this.

He kissed you again, picking you up with his hands under your ass as you kissed him back, slow and deep, the opposite of the desperation there was a few minutes ago.

He placed you on the bed and you were quick to get on your knees, working on ripping his boxers off quickly to see him spring free, aching hard. You wrapped your hand around and started pumping when Lando quickly pushed you off him.

'Someone's eager' he said, sending you a wink before pushing you to lay flat. 'But I need to taste you first' he said, spreading your legs open with his sticky fingers, groaning at the state of you.

You still had cum messing your pussy, he was quick to lean down an lick a hot strip through your folds, tongue lapping at you harshly while you grabbed onto his hair, tugging at it as lewd moans left your mouth.

'Fuck baby, please, god yes, feels so good Lan' you managed to say between breaths, a heat already building up in your stomach as he started thrusting his tongue in and out of your hole. 'Gonna cum' you warned, not caring how quick were took to reach the high, goosebumps raising on your entire body as he ate you out like a starved man.

Lando nipped at your clit then, the sensation coursing through our body, sending your orgasm down with a thrill as you shook uncontrollably underneath him, his tongue not slowing one bit as he groaned at the sweet taste of you.

You looked down to see his mouth and chin dripping with spit and cum as he smiled sheepishly, leaning up to kiss you for the millionth time today.

'Please. I need you' you finally begged between nips and licks at his lips, not knowing how much longer you could wait without exploding with desperation for his cock.

Finally, he sat up on his knees, eyes shamelessly checking out your body.

'No condom yeah? he asked slowly, gaging your reaction as he spat down onto himself and pumped a few times.

You nodded your head, sure no words would leave your mouth.

'Gonna let me cum inside you?' he asked, testing the waters once more.

You nodded again.

'Words, baby. Need to hear you say it?' he pressed, his thumb softly rubbing circles on your inner thigh.

'Please, fuck me. God I need you an your cum Lando' you said breathlessly, anticipation really budling up.

That was all Lando needed to hear. He hovered over you again, balancing on his elbow as one hand cupped your face, while the other slid his dick through the folds a few times, gathering your slick, until he lined his dick up at your entrance.

His eyes were glued to yours as he slid inside of you when one, quick thrust, bottoming out immediately.

You both gasped at the same time, your back arching off the bed as your breaths mingled, foreheads against one another.

He felt so much bigger without the condom, the lack of barrier letting you feel his heat in such a tantalizing way as he stretched you out dumb.

Lando's breath faltered when he felt how tightly your walls clenched around him, cunt throbbing around his girth with a warmth he'd never expected to have felt. 'Y/N,' he paned, cold breath on your skin. 'So fuckin' tight.'

'Need a second' you said as he nodded in agreement, your body always needing a minute to adjust to his size, so he kissed you filthy again, tongue lapping against tongue until you started squirming underneath him, craving more friction.

'Gonna let me fuck you?' he asked, slowly sliding out and then ramming back into you with force again.

You let out another gasp followed by a pornographic moan when he repeated that action, his hands quickly coming up to cover your mouth.

'Have to be quiet unless you want everyone to hear me fuck you' he said, voice raspy, burying his head in the crook of your neck as you wrapped your legs around his waist as tightly as you could. At this point you didn't care if anyone heard you - all you could concentrate on was the feeling of him thrusting in and out of you.

You dragged your nails up and down his back, scratching at his skin, a sheet of sweat starting to cover both your bodies.

This new, raw connection between you both was a series of different motions. Lando's pace was quick, relentless, then all of a sudden he'd slow down to deep, sensual thrusts, before picking up pace again.

He was whispering dirty nothings into your ear as you continued moaning and gasping his name as his every word and movement.

'Fuck, hearing you say my name like that, drives me fucking insane'

'Could stay buried inside of you raw like this forever'

'Look at you, you love when I fuck you like this yeah?'

'Tight little cunt is all mine, my slut yeah??'

'Or better - such a whore after your boyfriend wins a race'

It was no surprise that your orgasm ripped through your body with no warning, crashing through you as your mind blanked out and you saw stars, dirty grunts filling up the room together with skin against skin slaps as Lando didn't slow his movements one bit.

Lando for one, knew he was a goner the second he felt your juices spewl all of his cock, and when he looked down to see the mess, he let out his own series of filthy moans.

'Baby fuck, look at the fucking mess you've made. Can cum just from looking at it' he groaned as you wrapped your legs tighter around him.

'Lan too much, I can't' you cooed, the stretch really starting in sting now.

He slowed his movements, but didn't stop, voice edgy as he spoke. 'You really want me to stop before you've let me cum in you? Huh? Before I've fucked a baby into you?'

Your chest heaved, choking on your spit as you took in his words, and suddenly your whole body was pumped with adrenaline. You didn't answer him verbally - no. Instead you mustered all the energy you could to push Lando off you to lay back, so you could straddle his hips, taking him dripping dick in your hands and lining him up with your cunt as you sank down on him in one hard thrust.

'Look at you, all eager for my cum' he teased, hands finding your hips and helping you set a vast, sloppy pace, while his eyes stuck to your bruised boobs, bouncing up and down as you rode him.

'Feel's so fucking good Lan' you whimpered, feeling his cock hit your G-spot over and over again, one hand on your own stomach as you felt his bulge everyone he thrust up into you.

With no warning, you came again, quivering above Lando as his movements were becoming sloppier, your moans getting so loud that he hand to bring a hand to cover your mouth again, before he pulled out and pushed you back again.

He stood at the end of the bed, pulling your body to the edge and spreading your legs further apart, before leaning down to spit directly on your cunt, and finally rammed into you, with intent this time, clearly chasing his own high, with his dirty words returning.

'Feel that baby? That's my cock, getting ready to cum inside you'

'Ready to fill you up yeah?'

'Not gonna stop until your dripping with me'

'Gonna lick my cum that's gonna drip out of your cunt'

Once again, his words threw you off. You could swear you've never cum so hard before, your body going like jelly, all you could hear was Lando's muffled voice, until a feeling unlike any other hit you at once.

His body was jerking forward into yours, cock twitching uncontrollably between your walls as he trembled above you, cum shooting out his tip and through your body, filling you up complete while pornographic grunts and moans left his mouth, swear words flying out like there was no tomorrow as he released all that he was holding in.

Lando's mind went blank as his muscles tensed, hands gripping your hips tighter while his own hips bucked forward, the raw moment causing him to make eye contact with you as he was sent over the edge, filling you up so perfectly while the things leaving his mouth were anything but.

Finally, he let his weight fall on top of you, both of you so out of breaths, bodies shivering at the cool air hitting your sweat-clad bodies, his face buried in your neck while your arms wrapped around him and pulled him close.

'Fuck' he panted, as his hips involuntarily spasmed forward again, cock with twitching against your walls as you slowly but surely felt him softening inside you.

'Lan...' you breathed, turning your head a bit to make him look up at you.

You both took in each others states - both fucked out, foreheads glistening with sweat and cheeks a deep red colour, breaths hot against one another.

'I know baby' he said, lips against yours, softest of kisses while your hands ran through his damp hair.

'You okay? Sorry if that was too much..' he said softly, bringing a hand up to your own face, thumb tracing your lips.

You couldn't help but chuckle at the stark contrast of what was happening a few minutes ago compared to now.

'I'm more than fucking okay. God, can we do this all the time? You really know how to fuck a girl' you said, almost whispering the last part.

He smiled. 'Just have a whore as my partner' he whispered back, before shutting his eyes when you gasped and smacked his shoulder playfully.

'I'm joking, I'm joking. I have the most amazing woman, who takes me so fucking well, is all' he said, leaning down to kiss you, hard.

Eventually after a dew minutes of slow, deep kissing, Lando pulled out, the both of you groaning at the loss of contact when he slipped his dick out.

He helped your wobbly body onto your feet, and you didn't miss how his eyes were glued to your pussy. You looked down at yourself, breath hitching when you saw how a mix of your fluids when slowing sleeking its way out your cunt and down your thighs, and in turn this made you look at Lando's dick, glistening.

'I-fuck.' you started but Lando was quick to cut you off with an 'Uh huh' while he lowered himself to the ground.

He let his fingers spread the cum on your thighs around, before every so gently leaning forward and licking a strip up your folds, making you hiss at his hot tongue on your most sensitive parts, scooping up as much of the sticky juice as he could, before he was standing tall again leaning down let it drip from his mouth into yours before he was kissing you sloppy again, making a mess of your face.

You moaned into his mouth - mind going at a thousand miles an hour - normally b y now you'd want to clean, freshly showered or at least wiped down, especially with just how nasty the pair of you had been tonight - but at the same time - the smell of sex in the room, the sensation of Lando literally dripping out of you - you wanted to stay like this for as long as possible.

Lando must have felt the same because he didn't guide you to the bathroom, instead brining you to lie down next to him, cuddling you as close as possible as he turned the bedside lamp off. And his last words of the night already had your core tingling in want for him.

'Rest up baby, gonna take you raw in the morning again.' he whispered, before leaving a kiss on your cheek and pulling you closer when he heard your gasp and felt a shiver run up your body.

[eufezco]

BRING YOUR BUCKY TO SCHOOL DAY 𓂃 𓈒 ❀

congressman!dad!bucky x teacher!mom!reader

synopsis – bucky shows up for family friday day for your daughter.

fluff

she was ecstatic.

you could see how her tiny legs swung eagerly from the edge of the chair as she kicked back and forth. her hair was pulled into two pigtails that bounced with every excited shift in her chair. she kept looking at the door, eyes wide, for the moment she'd been waiting for all week.

today was her day to bring her dad to class, and saying she loved her dad was an understatement. she adored bucky.

you tried to keep the lesson moving, but the other kids were also whispering and giggling, feeding off her energy.

outside the classroom, bucky stood, adjusting the cuffs of his suit. he'd fought hydra operatives, aliens, and androids, he'd stood in congress facing the most ruthless critiques, but none of that had made him sweat like this. he was trained to face enemies, not five-year-olds in circle time. today wasn't about politics or missions, it was about being a good dad, the kind who shows up on time, brings the juice boxes, and knows the names of at least three cartoon characters.

—alright, everyone! —you announced, clapping your hands once to pull the kids' attention back to you. —it's time for family friday! —she sat up straighter than you'd ever seen her, eyes moving fast from the door to you and back to the door. —whose parent is coming today?

a chorus of voices answered all at one, —rebecca's!

—can i please go get him? please? pleasepleaseplease?

you laughed, —of course, go ahead.

and she was out of her seat like a rocket, pigtails bouncing, sneakers squeaking across the classroom as she threw the door open and there he was, just where he said he'd be. bucky's eyes met hers and everything felt lighter, the tight lines around his mouth eased, his lips curved into a smile.

she threw her arms around his waist. the kids inside the classroom leaned across their desks, trying to catch a glimpse of the man they'd heard so much about. bucky gently placed one of his hands in the back of her head, steadying himself more than her.

—hey, little one.

—guys? why don't you come in with all of us? —you asked.

—come on, —rebecca murmured. she grabbed his metal hand without hesitation and led him inside the classroom with all the confidence in the world. it didn't occur to her, not even for a second, that bucky might be nervous because to her, he was the bravest person alive.

as they walked in together, the class went silent except for some surprised gasp and quiet murmur. they both stood in the front of the classroom. your daughter's small hand still gripped his metal fingers. you watched them as bucky said good morning to the class and the kids responded with a chorus of greetings. you and bucky shared a quick look and you showed him a soft smile that you hoped it'd let him know how proud you were of him.

—thank you, mr. barnes, for being here with us today.

—thank you for having me.

the exchange was so formal it felt funny, like you were both playing roles. —okay, rebecca, —you said, the smile still on your lips. you had to remind professional but they were so cute together. your daughter looked at you and let go bucky's hand to approach her desk. she grabbed the piece of paper she'd been writing all week. she hurried back to bucky's side, —why don't you introduce your dad to us?

she nodded and looked up at bucky, her eyes sparkling with pride. then her eyes focused on her uneven handwriting on the paper. bucky watched her with a curious tilt of his head, eyebrows raised. he didn't know there would be a paper, something she'd made just for him. you didn't tell him about it, even though you'd watched her all week in class draft and redraft the paper, brows furrowed in that serious way she got that was just like his.

—this is my dad, —she started, voice weak at first thanks to the mix of nervous and excitement. —his name is james, but everyone calls him bucky, and he's a 108 years old.

a few of the kids exchanged wide-eyed glances, unsure if they'd heard that correctly. bucky gave a subtle glance in your direction and you couldn't help but let out a chuckle.

—he works in congress. he helps making laws and he has to wear a suit. this suit, —she pointed at bucky's clothes, making sure everyone saw him clearly. the suit was deep blue, the american flag pinned on the lapel. he was so handsome, especially today, with that sparkle in his eyes that only came when he looked at his little girl. —he's also a superhero like my uncle sam and he has fought a lot of bad people with him.

the kids recognized the name sam because if your daughter didn't brag about who his favorite uncle was at least twice a week, it meant she was probably home sick. bucky let out a quiet laugh and shook his head. he always felt like the word superhero was too big for him, like it belonged to the people who hadn't made the mistakes he had. but coming from her, it felt right-sized, even some quiet earned.

—but a long time ago he used to be a soldier and he had to wear this, —she reached under her t shirt, pulling out his dog tags. they dangled from the chain, too long for her tiny frame and almost reached her belly button as she held them up for everyone to see.

—my favorite memory with him is when this summer we traveled with mom to wakanda. i got to see shuri and she showed me a lot of cool things. wakanda is so beautiful, i like it there, —she cleared her throat. she sounded a little robotic reading, trying hard to read each word exactly as she wrote it, which only made her cuter. —i like when he's home. i like when he plays with me and alpine. i like when his hair is long because i can make him pigtails like mine, —she pointed at her own pigtails. the kids in the classroom giggled and so you did.

—i think he's the bravest dad and the funniest and the best one, and he's also my favorite superhero, —she put down the paper when she finished and everyone in the class started clapping for her, even bucky who was trying to hold it together and had to swallow the lump in his throat.

bucky knelt down and she quickly wrapped her arms around his neck. —you did amazing, bug, thank you, —he whispered. her arms tightened around him.

—it was great, rebecca, thank you, —you said, trying to hide that you've got a little emotional too. —so now, —you clapped, getting everyone's attention. —who has a question for rebecca's dad?

a dozen small hands raised, waving in the air with urgency. some kids even half-stood in their chairs, calling you ms. barnes! ms. barnes! bucky tried not to smile, it felt strange and right at the same time.

—is your dad a robot, 'becca?

your daughter blinked, caught of guard. —he's not a robot, he's my dad, —she looked at you confused. a robot? you smiled to ease her nerves. you knew why the kid was asking, kids notice everything.

—why do you think mr. barnes is a robot?

the kid pointed at bucky's left hand and your daughter's eyes followed his finger. —that's his arm, —she said plainly, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. it was so normal to her that she forgot to mention it on her paper, it was like saying he had brown hair.

—it's metal, —bucky finally spoke, his voice gentle, raising his left arm so the class could get a good look. he slowly opened and closed his fingers, the soft, mechanical sound leaving the kids speechless. —made by really smart people. they built it after i lost my real arm so i could still do everything i used to do.

—and it's so strong and cool, and he can still do everything, like throw me really high in the air and catch me, and also this! —rebecca looked at bucky and he extended his metal arm straight out in front of him, wrist locked. rebecca jumped and wrapped her hands around his forearm, legs swinging beneath her like a tiny acrobat.

a chorus of whoa and giggles filled the room. they asked him a lot of question about his arm: can it break a door? (only if the door really deserves it) can you use it to open pickle jars? (yes) does it hurt, mr. barnes? (not anymore) can it fall off?

—it's not like legos! it's part of him! can your arm fall off? —you daughter said, defensively.

—okay, you can sit now rebecca, thank you, —you jumped gently in before it turned into a debate. she looked at her dad one last time before moving to her desk, —next respectful question for mr. barnes? not about his arm, please, —some kids lowered their hands. —what about if we ask him about his job? —a hand in the back shot up. —yes?

—do you have to do homework in congress?

bucky chuckled, then gave a kid a serious nod. —oh yeah. lots of homework. i have to read really long reports, like this long, —he held his hands apart. —sometimes more. and then i have to write notes and be ready to talk about them in front of a bunch of people.

you bit your lip, fighting the urge to laugh. he did not read a single one of those reports. you shot him a quick, teasing look and he just smiled back at you, as if to say, don't spoil my fun.

—do you live in the white house?

rebecca looked from her sit right, then left, eyebrows raised like she was trying to figure out if the question was a joke. —no! he lives in our house. with me and mom and alpine.

bucky pressed his lips together and nodded, —she's right.

you watched as the questions kept coming, one after another, each more curious than the last. no other dad or mom who had attended to friday family had ever received so many questions. the kids were absolutely fascinated by bucky. and he was handling perfectly, laughing with them, answering to every question kindly, never rushing, making sure each child got their turn, even one of your shyest kids asked him if he could shook his metal hand. bucky looked at you for a quiet okay, then rolled up his sleeve just a little, offering his hand to the kid.

he was doing great and your daughter seemed to know it. she sat up a bit taller, legs still swinging from her chair. while bucky was talking, you caught her sneaking glances at her classmates like saying, see? that's my dad. and the look of pride in rebecca's face as she looked at him calmed every nerve in bucky's body. of course, rebecca didn't know about this but last night, after he tucked her in bed, bucky came into your room, worried about today. what if rebecca realized he wasn't as cool as the other dads? what if she ended up embarrassed by him?

you managed to reassure him enough to get him to sleep but nothing you said compared to the reassurance he felt now, because as he stood there in front of the classroom, surrounded by eager little faces, rebecca's blue eyes, like his, were shining. she wasn't just smiling. she was beaming, like bucky was the best part of her world.

and in the middle of this precious moment, you couldn't help but notice the couple of seats empty at the back of the class.

some parents decided not to bring theirs kids to school that day. when you sent that email to them, announcing that rebecca's dad was next in line for family friday, the last thing you expected was to called into the principal's office the next morning, where you found a handful of moms and dad already seated. are you sure that's appropiate? with his past? some of us are uncomfortable. we don't want our children near him.

you sat through the meeting, jaw tight. be careful, that's my husband you're talking about. you said to one of the moms who was getting to comfortable talking about bucky, tossing around words like unstable and dangerous. you explained that he was pardoned, publicly and legally, so there was no reason to question him. and you said enough, there was no reason you needed to list the therapy appointments, the years of community word, the fact that he woke up every morning wondering if today would be the day everyone finally saw him for who he is, not who he was, all of that for people like them.

and the principal had to side with you. there was no reason for him to stay out of family friday and even though bucky didn't know why those kids weren't here today, and if he asked you wouldn't tell him the truth, you couldn't help but feel bad for him. because he showed up here today just as a dad, doing what be knew best, being there for his daughter.

he stayed during the break and the kids wasted no time. a small group, leaded by rebecca, rushed to him. come on, mr. barnes, we'll show you the reading corner. bucky looked slightly overwhelmed but the smile never left his lips. you moved with them, pointing out little projects hanging on the wall and bucky nodding, paying attention. when the kids huddled up in a corner, discussing which drawings he absolutely had to see first, bucky reached out, his arm slid around your waist as he pulled you closed and you let yourself lean into him.

—you're doing great, —you whispered.

about the drawings, he had already found the one he was most interested in. stuck to the wall, it was almost everything green with colorful flowers and a big lake so he guessed it was meant to be wakanda. in the center were three figures one with your name, next to you it was written me ('becca) and dad (bucky). alpine was there too, a little white cat in the corner, she didn't travel to wakanda but that didn't matter to rebecca, she needed to be included in the drawing.

he pressed a kiss to your temple. you looked at the clock on the wall, —okay, guys, mr. barnes needs to leave now, —you could hear a collective complain, —let's give him a big thank you for coming today.

a chorus of thank you, mr. barnes rang out from the kids, some of them waving excitedly, others wanted one last fist bump from bucky as they called his name, even one, the quietest of your kids, moved toward him and he pressed a golden sticker star onto the vibranium of bucky's hand. —thank you, buddy, —the kid hurried to his place.

rebecca ran to his dad and bucky was quick to catch her in a hug.

—can you stay a bit longer?

—i wish i could, bug, —he pulled back enough to see her face, brushing some dark brown locks like his out of her eyes. —i have to go back to work, but thank you for sharing your class with me, i had so much fun, —rebecca's face scrunched in disappointment, only focusing on the fact that bucky needed to leave. —i'll see you later at home.

—before dinner?

he nodded and she threw her arms around his neck again, tighter this time, hiding her face in the curve of his shoulder. when she finally loosened her grip, bucky gently set her back down on the floor. you walked with him to the door, some kids calling his name one last time. he let out the biggest breath when the door of the class closed behind you, like he'd been holding it in the whole time.

—how was i? i think she was happy, wasn't she? she seemed happy.

you nodded, smiling. —you were amazing, buck, —you tucked in the lapels of his suit jacket, running your thumb over his u.s. flag pin.

—i kept thinking i'd say the wrong thing or that i'd embarrass her.

you shook your head as he spoke. —you didn't. you were patient and funny. she kept looking at you like you hung the moon, —bucky rubbed the back of his neck, you asked, —did you hear what she wrote about you?

bucky's heart shrunk remembering it, her daughter's tiny voice reading out, all proud, and let's said, a bit cocky, like she already knew her dad was the best one. —i want that paper. i'm gonna frame it and put it up in my office.

you laughed and tugged at the lapels of his suit jacket, pulling him down to you and pressed a kiss to his lips. he hummed into it, like he'd been craving that exact moment since he slipped out of bed in the early morning. once you pulled back, he placed another quick kiss to your lips.

—i'll see you at home. i cannot wait, i want to hear everything she said about me again, every word.

you playfully slapped his chest, —do not let it get to your head, mr. barnes.

—too late for that, ms. barnes.

[writesick-lover]

Hiiii,,

Could you write something for bob? Anything. I really enjoyed ‘cry baby’ if that helps.

All the best

A/n: Hiii! I was waiting for the moment when I finally get the kick to write to Bob and this was it! I actually got a bunch of ideas, but in the end I settled for this! Hope it was worth the wait - I do plan to share other tropes for Bob as well... maybe in a Cry baby universe? ;) But for now, ENJOY!

That’s my wife

Robert 'Bob' Floyd x fem!reader

⤞ My masterlist ⤝

═══════☆♡☆═══════

It was crowded in Hard Deck, as it was every Friday night. Bob usually didn't mind, always staying close to his group by the pool, but today was different. All of a sudden, he felt annoyed by the pushing bodies, making it hard for him to see the entrance of the bar. Because today was not an ordinary night at the pub. Something special was happening for Robert Floyd, thanks to special someone about to make an appearance.

And just as he thought about her, he manifested her presence into the bar.

Bob would recognize his wife anywhere. Even in a totally packed Hard Deck, where he probably wouldn't be able to find his own mother. She made her way through those sweaty bodies, her  'excuse me's and 'thank you's flowing through his ears like a melody.

Bob started to look for a place to put his beer to for the time, ready to meet the girl of his dreams at the bar just like they agreed to. When he finally found a small space under the window, he heard a loud whistle. His head snapped.

"And who is this pretty lady," Hangman's voice made the whole company turn as he gazed towards the bar. "Ha, Hangman," Rooster joined him at the staring contest, nudging his ribs. "You can bet, she wouldn't go for a guy like you," he grinned, seeing Jack's shocked face. "A guy like me?" He repeated. "Then what are you? A trashcan?" He retorted, wiping the smile from Rooster's lips in a second.

Bob gulped. He followed the direction in which the two were looking.

His body froze on the spot, trying to figure out what to do. They were eyeing her. She was beautiful, as always. It was these moments, when Bob couldn't comprehend his own luck. His right hand traveled to his left, subconsciously playing with the ring on his finger. Well, shit.

"You're just worried she wouldn't go for a trashcan like you," Hangman provoked and everyone could only watch with a small smile how quickly Bradshaw took the bait. "We'll see about that," and with that, he was on his way to the center of the room, Jake Seresin right at his heels.

Bob was too stunned to do anything. Something in him started to burn, eating him from the inside, pinching every corner of his heart. But he just kept on twisting the golden ring, not noticing the questioning look Phoenix gave him. Her face twisted in surprise at first, connecting the dots pretty quick despite the silence from her best friend. But then she was right beside Bob, nudging his shoulder a little.

"Don't worry," she whispered. "She's got the same ring on her finger," Bob only managed to nod. Natasha's face brightened. "Congrats," she gave him a smile and Bob shared the enthusiasm with a small lift of the corners of his mouth. "Yeah," he said, finally picking up the courage to take a step forward. "I told her about you, although I wish this wasn't the way they meet for the first time," Natasha caught his arm in his motion.

"Hold on," she said, nodding towards the three at the bar. "I wanna see this,"

"Hey there," Rooster went all out. His huge frame surely made an entrance for him, but an additional smile and a confident greet couldn't hurt. And beside that, chicks are digging his deep voice.

Before you even got to turn around, another man was standing beside him, his smile brighter as ever. You eyed them both, with Hangman pushing Rooster to the side and stepping forward. "Is he annoying you? I can take care of him for you," Hangman cooed, not noticing your slight lean backwards, away from the two peacocks in front of you. It took you a while to recognize them, but after a few seconds, it was unmistakable who these two were. You knew them from a photo of the whole group Bob was showing you after he got back from his mission. You weren't sure if you were supposed to laugh or cry. Who would have thought you would meet like this?

☆ ☆ ☆

"That's Hangman" Bob pointed at a handsome pilot with a smile that shined with bright white teeth. "Avoid him at all cost," he looked at you, his eyes completely serious, which only made you burst into a fit of laughter. "I'm serious," he said, the corners of his mouth tugged upwards. "I can see that," you breathed, your hands travelling to his back and rubbing it reassuringly. "But noted," your kiss tickled Bob's cheek, spreading a tint of pink across his face.

"And this is?" you pointed to a tall man with a stache, his big arm hugging your husband around the shoulders. "Oh, that's Rooster," Bob's eyes softened. "And this is Nat, right?" you exclaimed, pointing at the woman hugged by Rooster from the other side. "Yeah, that's her," you two shared a smile as you watched Bob slide his fingers across the photo. "I can't wait to meet them," you said softly into the warm morning and Bob couldn't help but smile sweetly. "They mean a lot to me," he whispered back, gulping. "I know," you turned his face towards you before pecking his lips, both of you falling into a calm silence of comfort with each other.

☆ ☆ ☆

You slightley stretched upwards, trying to look past the men's broad shoulders that bumped to each other, trying to push the other out of the way. Your husband was nowhere to be seen and although you were quite enthusiastic to meet his crew, enthusiasim was pretty far from what you were feeling now. You watched the two glaring at each other and you bit back a smile. If only they knew.

"Can I buy you a drink?" Rooster pushed forward, making Hangman stumble back. "Get in line, chicken," Hangman grabbed his shoulder, forcing himself next to you instead of Rooster. "Boys, I hate to say this-" you began, your fingers falling on the ring on your left hand.

"Come on, sweetheart, let me get you something," before you could finish, you were blinded by Jake's perfect set of teeth, the photo from Bob apparently doing it injustice. "Guys-" you tried to speak up, but to no avail. "Penny, one more on me," Jake called to the woman behind the bar, who only nodded, preoccuppied with other customers. You sighed.

"Don't listen to him," Rooster touched your right hand gently, making you look at him. Ah, missed. The two completely ignored the shiny stone on your ring finger glistening in the dimmed lights of Hard Deck. You decided to let them go in this one, forcing on a straight face as they bickered with each other.

"They are all over her. Maybe I should-" Bob watched the bar, an anxiety creeping into his voice. Phoenix looked closer, noticing the crease forming between his eyebrows and the way he narrowed his eyes. His hands, unbeknownst to him, closed into fists. He was ready to shoot.

"Bob?" she grabbed him by his shoulder, grounding him. He looked at her, his brown eyes a little lost. "I've got your back," she tightened her squeez and that was all Bob needed. It was time to get his wife.

"And why shouldn't she listen to me? She obviously likes what she sees," Jake retorted, nudging you with a flirty smile. "Cause you're a casanova, Bagman," Rooster fought back. "You wouldn't smell love even if it was right under your nose," you had to pause at those words, yanking your hand from Rooster. This was going too far. Bradley looked at you in surprise, to which Hangman bursted out laughing. "You too, so it seems," he got out through heavy breaths, leaning on the bar for support. "Nice one sweetheart,"

"Speaking of love, gentlemen," a woman's voice came from behind the two competing mountains of men. They both turned to the lieutenant who grined at them. If she didn't have ears, she would be smiling all around. "Nat," you sighed in relief, recognising her immediately. "In the flesh," she grinned at you. "It's so nice finally meeting you," she said, Jake and Bradley exchanging confused looks. "Bob told me so much about you," you ignored the two, clinging to a conversation with Natasha like a tick. "Bob?!" the loud yell of both aviators brought you back to the reality. "Are you Bob's sister or some-"

"Yeah, no, I didn't have you for the types to go after married women," Nat giggled, cutting off Hangman as the two completely paled. They slowly turned towards you, their eyes falling on your left hand resting on the counter. A silence fell on the Hard Deck.

"Whose-" Rooster was the first to recover. "Mine," a bright smile blossomed on your face as you saw Bob walk from behind Natasha. "Sorry, looks like I got here first," he grinned as well before stepping in front of you. "Penny?" he called out, but he didn't have to say anything else.

That night, Hard Deck was filled with the dreading sound of a bell and if Rooster and Hangman could become more pale than they already were, they probably did. "Guys," Bob turned sround, his hand automatically traveling to your lower back. "This," he looked at you, his eyes twingkling in the warm light.

"Oh no," Hangman groaned, rubbing a hand through his face.

"Oh shit" Rooster let out.

"This is my wife,"

Your face brightened hearing the words as cheers errupted from around you - everyone ecstatic they will get a free round. And there was a lot of them. "Nice one, Bobby," Coyote and the rest joined the group, not even trying to hide their smiles. They mirrored Bob's contagious smile, the warm atmosphere spreading to everyone around. Well, to almost everyone.

"How do you want to pay?" Penny stopped by amidst pouring shots, smirking at Hangman and Rooster, both still in shock, grilled in their own embarrassment. "We-" the two looked at each other pleadingly for help from the other. "Shit," both said at the same time. "Well, lads," Payback and Fanboy patted their shoulders. "It was nice to know you," they pushed them lightly towards the door leading to the empty beach.

"I'm gonna kill you, Bagman," Rooster glared at his friend, Jake only laughing slightly. "Can you believe it? Our little Bobby found himself a wife! And I went after her!" he laughed at himself. "Yeah, cause you're a fucking idiot!" Roosters last words disappeared into the night, drowned in the laughter and chatter of the people around.

"Well, that was something," you giggled, looking back at the two men, now having it out with each other, their feet sinking in the cold sand. "You're okay? I'm sorry I didn't come sooner," Bob started to apologize but you knew how to shut him up.

"I'm okay. Better even, now that you're here," you pulled back. "And here I was, thinking that they wouldn't like me," you joked, making Bob snort as others joined you.

"Congrats, man," Fanboy hugged Bob around the shoulders, giving him a tight squeeze. "You seem like a lot of fun," Coyote laughed, pointing at you. "I sure am. If only they listened," everyone followed your motion to the entrance, "they could have had some fun too,"

Everyone laughed as you looked at your ring one more time. "But honestly, Bob, where did you find her? She's hot! Do you have siblings?" Payback had to chime in, other boys only agreeing with his statement and awaiting your answer. You only shook your head, earning a few groans from the group. "No wonder she got those two out of their minds," Natasha smirked.

"Yeah," Robert's eyes fell to the floor, suddenly feeling overwhelmed from the compliments. A sheepish smile spread on his face.

That's my wife

═══════☆♡☆═══════

Let me know how you liked this story with a like, comment and repost!

Who should be next from the Dagger squad?

If you liked this story, you might like -> Cry-baby

[dreamersparacosm]

𐙚₊˚⊹ flustered!jk and cheeky!reader 𐙚₊˚⊹

warnings ; jk losing his marbles, reader is a menace to society, oral (male recieving), car/public sex, jk is big af, he’s also a head pusher oop

prompt ; in which he takes you up on your offer.

part one!

Jungkook has had better days.

He’s had better weeks, actually. Ones where his brain wasn’t halting every neuron firing each time someone said your name. Ones where he could focus on normal things, like work and video games and whatever ramen packet was closest to expiration, without flashing back to you in his car, looking like a problem and sounding like a promise.

God.

It’s been exactly six days, and you’re still living rent-free in his head like you own the place, feet up on the furniture, eating snacks in his subconscious like it’s a sleepover. It’s not even sexy anymore, it’s embarrassing. He’s replayed that moment so many times it’s starting to feel like trauma. His brain shortens it into TikTok-length flashbacks like some deranged highlight reel.

And now it’s Friday night again. Another weekend. Another group outing. And he knows you’ll be there, laughing too loud, leaning too close to other guys, dressed like sin in some crop top. He thinks he’s doing himself a massive favor by telling the boys he’s too tired to go out, that he’s better off staying home so not to ruin the mood. Yet, somehow he knows his peace will be disturbed.

Despite all of his better judgment, despite the five pep talks he’s given himself today, despite Googling “how to stop thinking about someone you can’t bone for moral reasons,” he’s caving.

All because you’re texting him again. One simple message.

You: can you give me a ride home :( <3

That’s it. That’s his villain origin story.

He shouldn’t say yes. He should say you can Uber. He should say he’s busy. He should say he’s out of town, in a coma, legally dead. But instead, he just texts back.

Jungkook : on my way.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

You slide into the passenger seat like you own it. Like you belong there. (Which you do — the man broke traffic laws to get to you.)

Your top, if it can even be called that, is doing absolutely no work. It’s sheer, shimmery, strapless, and defies the laws of physics and fabric. Your skin is warm from the bar, and you smell like perfume and trouble and something fruity with a hint of Casamigos. You’re tipsy, giggly, legs crossed like a Bond girl, and your hand lands on his shoulder like it’s nothing.

“Hi, driver,” you sing-song, smiling at him as if you don’t know exactly what you’re doing. “Miss me?”

He almost drives into a parked car.

You click your seatbelt with a soft snap and stretch, lifting your arms over your head in a way that should be illegal. Your shirt rides up an inch. His sanity drops ten.

“Where to?” he asks, voice already tight.

“Wherever you wanna take me,” you hum, then glance sideways at him. “As long as there’s room for me to get on my knees.”

He actually chokes. Like physically this time. Coughs. Slams a hand against the wheel. Regains composure only to lose it again.

You grin like the Cheshire Cat.

He starts driving, but barely. His eyes are glued to the road with soldier-like discipline, hands clenched at ten and two, just like last time. Except this time he’s thinking about your mouth. And your legs. And that last damn thing you said.

Every five seconds you keep touching him. A hand on his thigh, fingers tracing his bicep. At one point you lean forward to grab a sip of his water bottle from the cupholder and your boobs brush his arm and he lets out a sound like a dying animal.

He’s going to hell. You’re sending him there personally.

“You’re quiet,” you pout, turning to face him. “Are you nervous again, Jungkookie?”

“Don’t call me that,” he mutters, adjusting the air-conditioning and absolutely not touching anything else.

“Why not?” you ask, tilting your head. “You don’t like it when I’m cute?”

“You’re never just cute,” he snaps, then freezes, realizes what he just said.

Your grin stretches slow and dangerous. “Oh?”

He exhales hard through his nose. His fingers twitch. That’s enough. Fucking enough.

He pulls over. Hard turn, sharp brake, slams the car into park like he’s punishing it. The air goes silent except for the faint hum of the engine and both of your breathing.

“You want to keep playing this game?” he asks, voice low and rough. “Fine. But you better be ready to lose.”

You blink, startled by the shift. “What..”

“You think I haven’t been thinking about it?” he interrupts. “You think I don’t know exactly what you’ve been doing every time you get in this car looking like that?”

His gaze drops to your mouth, then lower. It makes your skin erupt in heat.

“You have been nervous,” You whisper, a little breathless.

“I’ve been trying not to crash the car,” he says sharply. “Because all I do is imagine what would happen if I just pulled over. And now I have.”

Your heart’s going feral in your chest. Your thighs press together. You stare at him, stunned into silence for once in your life.

“Well,” you finally murmur, licking your lips. “Better make sure my seatbelt is on.”

He leans closer, eyes glued to yours.

“Yeah,” he says. “You’re gonna need it.”

Ay, ay captain. You do double-check to make sure your seatbelt is on.

Mostly because Jungkook is staring at you like a man on the edge and if this goes where you think it’s going, you’d like your insurance to cover it.

He hasn’t moved yet. Just sitting there, parked in the dark near some empty lot, one hand still on the steering wheel like it’s his emotional support item. He licks his lips, exhales deeply within his chest. And you can see the exact moment he loses the fight with himself.

His hand drops from the wheel. “Okay.”

You blink. “Okay?”

“I’m…” he clears his throat. “I’m saying okay.”

..Okay what? Okay you can shut up now? Okay let’s never speak of this again? Okay go ahead and ruin my life with your mouth?

You lean in slightly, your voice low and wicked. “You want me to suck you off, Jungkook?”

He nods slowly . You swear he passes away in real time when you unclick your seatbelt.

“Wait,” he says suddenly, palms up like he’s calling a timeout. “Hold on. Are we… this is really happening?”

You smile all mischievously. “Unless you want me to stop?”

He stares at you, mouth slightly open. “No! I mean… yes. I mean, wait. Don’t stop. Please don’t stop. Just— God, I sound like a virgin.”

“You kinda do,” you whisper, sliding closer to the drivers seat.

“I’m not, by the way,” he says quickly, then winces. “Not that it matters. I mean, it does. But not like that. I’ve just never.. not in a car—”

You press your finger gently to his lips. “Jungkook?”

“Hmm?”

“Shut the fuck up.”

And then your hand slides up his thigh.

Somewhere, above the clouds, there is a higher power that has been praying on his come-up, he swears.

He makes a noise. An animal dying in the zoo kind of noise. His head thunks lightly against the headrest and he closes his eyes like he’s making peace with God.

Jungkook is already half hard and you haven’t even done anything yet. You watch his chest rise and fall like he’s sprinted a mile, and you swear you can see the moment his brain physically leaves his body.

“You’re so tense,” you murmur, fingers brushing higher. “Told you.”

“I’m trying so hard not to die right now,” he says, voice ragged.

You giggle, leaning over the console to kiss his jaw, slow and deliberate. “Poor baby.”

He swallows like it’s painful. “You know exactly what you’re doing.”

“I do.”

“And I hate it.”

“No, you don’t,” You smile against his skin.

His hands hover awkwardly, like he doesn’t know what to do with them; should he touch you? Is that allowed? Is this a trap? Will he be smited? You reach over and gently guide one of his hands to the back of your neck.

“There,” you whisper. “See? Not so hard.”

He mutters under his breath, “Speak for yourself.”

You burst out laughing, and he groans, closing his eyes tightly.

“I’m sorry,” he says, half-laughing, half-dying. “I’m trying to be smooth. But you.. God, you’re just—”

“I’m what?”

He looks at you, eyes wild. “You’re.. you. You know? Just.. every guy in our friend group wants to fuck you. ”

“Is that a compliment?” You bat your lashes at him.

“It is. It is a huge compliment. Please continue.”

He should be arrested. No, seriously. Somebody should call the police. He should be handcuffed and tossed directly into horny jail because there is no way what you’re doing right now is allowed under the laws of God or man.

Your hand is still on his thigh, lingering dangerously close to his button. Your mouth — your actual, real-life mouth — is somewhere in the vicinity of his zipper. And Jungkook is trying so hard to play it cool but his brain is firing blank slides like a broken projector.

He grips the seat. The wheel. Himself. The back of your neck like you told him to.

You’re too calm. Too confident. Like you’ve done this before. Like you know exactly what kind of damage you’re about to inflict on his very mortal soul (which is rude, honestly.)

You drag the zipper down slow. Partly for dramatic effect. Mostly because your hands are suddenly shaky (not that you’d ever admit that out loud.)

You’ve been teasing him for far too long, riding the high of his nervous little stares and fumbling responses like it’s your favorite roller coaster. And up until now? You were untouchable, confident, the seductress in the passenger seat of his car.

You drag his jeans down, take a look at his black Calvin Klein boxers that you’re a little surprised he owns. You finally get your hand past the waistband of his underwear, tugging them down painfully slow.

You pause.

Gulp.

Because, um. That’s a lot.

Not in a humble, oh he’s hard kind of way. No. You mean that is a full-blown situation. A legitimate problem. Something you should’ve been briefed on ahead of time with a PowerPoint and maybe a warning label.

You glance up at him.

He’s already flushed and pink-lipped, panting like he just ran laps. Doesn’t even realize you’ve frozen mid-mission. Poor guy probably thinks you’re being seductive. He’s looking down at you with the dazed trust of a man who has no idea you’ve just had a spiritual crisis.

The driver’s console presses up against your boobs a little more as you wiggle closer to him, taking his length in your hand. It’s big. He’s big. Why is he not more smug about this? Why is he always so shy when he’s walking around with a whole weapon under there?

You feel a full-on identity shift coming. Like you might start paying for his gas. Or offering to make him soup. Like this might change the entire dynamic, and you’re suddenly the one nervously blinking up at him.

You look back down at his cock in your hand, observing the way every vein curves, the way his pink tip is wet with precum. It’s curved slightly, and is thick enough that you’re starting to question if it’ll even fit in your mouth.

Your fingertips give him one long stroke and he shudders, which makes your stomach flip. Okay, this is fine. You’re strong. You do Pilates. You’ve read Harry Styles fanfiction.

You steady yourself, take a breath, and blink again. One last internal scream for good measure. Then you smile up at him, all soft lips and fake confidence, and whisper, “You’re lucky I like a challenge.”

You watch the words hit him like a punch to the gut. His whole body tightens; shoulders, thighs, jaw, everything. He stares down at you like you just offered him his first taste of oxygen after being underwater for weeks.

He reaches out, slow but sure, and gathers your hair into a makeshift ponytail with one trembling hand. His fingers flex at the base of your neck, and the move is so unexpectedly possessive that it sends heat curling low in your stomach.

His other hand drops to his thigh, clenched in a fist. His breathing’s all wrong, shallow and desperate. He bites his lip ring so hard you swear it might split skin, and when he speaks, his voice is hoarse.

“Then take your time,” he says. “I’m not going anywhere.”

You don’t say anything to that. You just lower your mouth and give him one single, kitten-soft lick from the base of his cock to tip, your eyes locked on his the entire time. No pressure, no rhythm. Just a soft, teasing taste. His skin is slightly salty with a tinge of sweetness, also some familiar soap you’ve smelled on him before.

His hips jerk violently, a sharp moan escaping his mouth before he can even try to swallow it. His grip in your hair tightens like a reflex with a choked, “F-fuck—”

You inhale once, deep and steady, and then slide your mouth over him in one slow, devastating stroke, past your lips and over your tongue. Until your nose brushes against his pubic bone and your throat stretches to accommodate every inch.

Jungkook lets out a deep, desperate groan that vibrates from somewhere low in his chest liike he wasn’t ready. Like he thought he knew what this would be and now he’s realizing, Oh no. Oh no, no, no, I was wrong. I’m in danger.

You don’t really give him time to recover. You set a rhythm until the obscene sound of gagging fills up the car, mingling with his panting and the slick noises of your mouth.

His hips jerk like they want to move but don’t dare. He’s panting your name between gasps, muttering nonsense, sentences with no real structure. “Oh my fuck — so good, I can’t —“

You hollow your cheeks just slightly. The effect is instant and he lets out this helpless whimper, one hand gripping the headrest behind him like he’s trying not to ascend, other one knotted in your hair.

You come up for air for one brief second, spit stringing between your lips and his cock, and before he can even look at you, you’re going right back down even faster this time.

His voice pitches. “Wait, wait, slow down, I’m—”

You don’t. Because you like the way his voice sounds right now, shaky and too high, like you’ve rewired every synapse in his body. You like how big he is, how heavy in your mouth. You also like the fact that he’s so obviously been thinking about this for as long as you have.

Your mascara’s already smudging, eyes glassy, cheeks streaked with tears, spit pooling at the corners of your mouth.

He’s still unraveling above you and every single moan you wring out of him feels like a prize. His hand is fisted in your hair still, this time tighter, bolder, and he’s using it to push your head down even further.

Your throat’s raw, your lungs are burning, your jaw aches and none of it matters. Because you’ve got both hands working the rest of him, twisting and stroking whatever your mouth can’t reach, and every time you swirl your tongue over his tip, he lets out a new sound that makes you wetter.

“Don’t stop. Don’t stop. Please don’t stop, fuck,” He begs.

And you don’t. Of course you don’t. Because you’re evil. Beautiful and focused and slightly too good at this, and now he’s seconds from becoming a cautionary tale on Reddit.

You hum around him, the vibrations dizzying his brain. “I’m gonna crash the car without even moving it if you do that again, I swear,” He moans out.

Okay. So. You’re currently giving a blowjob in the front seat of Jungkook’s sad little car, and he’s moaning like it’s the rapture.

Cool, cool, cool.

You didn’t plan this, exactly. You were just trying to be hot and flirty and maybe mess with his head a little and now here you are.

His breaths are so shaky you think he’ll need an inhaler. He’s whispering please like you’ve got divine powers, which, honestly, right now? You do.

You pop your mouth off his cock for one second, glance up, and whisper, “You still breathing, Jungkookie?”

He looks down at you like he’s in love.

Another tear slips down your cheek from the sheer force of how you’re swallowing his cock whole. You used to doodle his name in your diary. Now you’re deepthroating him in a car like it’s your full-time job. What is wrong with you (Everything. And you don’t care.)

You used to wonder what he was like underneath all that quiet nervousness. Well. Now you know. He’s like this. Loud, sweaty, so responsive, and squirming under your touch like he’s never felt anything like this in his life.

“Fuck, fuck, oh my god, you’re — shit, you’re perfect,” he gasps, eyes wide, voice cracking on every other word. “I can’t, baby, you’re gonna make me — fuck — cum.”

Baby? That’s new. That, you can work with.

You moan around him just to be cruel, and the reaction is instant: his thighs jerk, his head falls back, and he wails, hips twitching like his body’s trying to chase the high before it’s even hit. “I’m so fucking close, shit.”

You’re faring no better. You’re crying and choking and gagging and soaked between the legs and still going because the way he sounds when he falls apart? It’s addicting.

You circle your tongue once more around his tip, drag your hand faster up the base, and glance up through your wet lashes, eyes locking with his just long enough to see the moment he snaps. “Baby, I’m gonna cum, yesyesyesyes.”

His whole body seizes, abs tightening, lips parted around a strangled moan. He doesn’t even say your name, just gasps it, offers it up like a sacrifice. Warm and overwhelming, spilling past your tongue in slow pulses, you swallow his entire load. It doesn’t taste bad at all, it’s salty and warm and oddly satisfying. Tastes a little like success.

You sit up, all dainty and slow, like you didn’t just dismantle a grown man in a semi-legal parking lot. You stretch like you’re easing out of a yoga pose, then swipe your fingers across your bottom lip to wipe away the last trace of his cum. You look like you just got out of a Sephora, not off his cock.

Poor Jungkook is catatonic.He’s melted into the seat, completely slack, one hand limp against the window and the other cradling his own thigh like he needs emotional support. His chest is rising like he just ran a marathon and lost by a landslide. His dark hair is messily strewn over his eyes.

Because you’re heartless and delightful, you twist toward him and ask all cutesy: “Sooo… how long do you think it’ll take to get to my place from here?”

His head lolls in your direction. “What?”

You blink innocently. “You are still driving me home, right?”

“I-I can’t even feel my legs.”

“Not my problem,” you sing, clicking your seatbelt on again. “You said months ago I could ask you for a ride whenever, remember? That’s a verbal contract.”

He’s staring at you like you just kicked a puppy and then kissed it on the nose. “You’re… evil.”

You grin. “Flattered.”

He groans, dragging a hand down his face. “I can’t believe I let you do that.”

“You didn’t let me,” you hum. “I begged you until you cracked.”

He groans again, louder this time. The sound vibrates through the car pathetically. His head drops against the steering wheel with a dull thud and stays there.

You glance out the windshield,“Anyway, if you take the expressway, I think we can make it to mine in like… fifteen minutes?”

“You’re insane,” He tuts against the steering wheel.

“True. But I’m also your ride-or-die now, apparently.”

He lifts his head with effort. Looks at you with the wide, shellshocked eyes of a man who knows he’ll never recover from this.

You smile at him sweetly, reaching over to squeeze his thigh again. He flinches at the comtact.

You bite your lip. “Still sensitive?”

“Don’t touch me,” he pleads, voice high and fragile.

You giggle like the monster you are. “Alright, alright,” you say, settling back in your seat as any law-abiding citizen. “Let’s go. Home sweet home.”

He starts the car with shaking hands. And as he pulls back onto the road, vision blurry, soul permanently altered he swears to himself he will never respond to your texts past midnight again.

(But he will.)

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

note ; ok…. so this is no longer a blurb, i fear. i feel like this needs a title now but i also have no desire bc then it’ll be a thing. and i cannot have it be a thing bc i have 2039339 wip’s. but also them. jk spiraling over this blowjob, the friend group going crazy over it.. why is it giving toxic situationship with you not ready to commit and him being a mess? literally remove the pen from my hand. anyways this is all your guys’ fault (and also mine bc this is inspired by how my ex from 4 years ago and i started dating)

masterlist + request

[fleuryuns]

presenting a fic by @FLEURYUNS

um... who is this?

IN WHICH after being dared to prank call one of the hottest sophomores on campus pretending to be a woman he met at a party, you're unexpectedly roped into the life of lee heeseung as you're forced to keep up the role.

PAIRING     ⟡     player!heeseung x fem!reader

UNIVERSE     ⨯     college/uni au

WARNINGS     ⟡     fake dating au, but was it ever really fake?, prank calls, hot boy!heeseung except he’s actually a loser, one (1) suggestive scene, cursing, smidge of angst, jay’s highkey an asshole, depictions of smoking, depictions of drinking and doing drugs

WORD COUNT     ⨯     16.7k

AUTHOR'S NOTE     . . .     inspired by the one and only, francesca stugot

Contrary to popular belief, Truth or Dare doesn't stop being fun after middle school. If anything, with higher stakes and getting rid of the PG-13 limitations, the game only becomes more intense as you get older.

Or so that was how you explained it to your friends in hopes to convince them to play a few rounds instead of studying for your midterms. But hey, it worked.

You laugh and clap your hands as you watch Yunjin complete her dare. She's surprisingly good at juggling, if you ignore the two failed attempts splattered on the floor. Why did Ryujin have to suggest using eggs of all things is beyond you.

"Okay, okay!" Yunjin catches the last few eggs. "I'm done, my hands are covered in yolk. Ew!"

The other girls echo her cries as she runs off to the bathroom to clean it off.

"It's Y/N's turn!" Ryujin calls out. You playfully glare at her from your side, pretending as if you haven't been impatiently waiting for your turn since the last round.

You hear Yunjin agree from afar. She asks you the impending question: "Truth or Dare?"

"Dare."

"Ooh, I've got a good one~" Her sing-songy tone is never a good sign, but you're too giddy to care, even with the girls ooh-ing and ahh-ing at their own recognition of it.

When she finally comes back, her hands free from eggshells and yolk, all eyes are on her. She looks from side to side for dramatic effect. Yunjin leans in. So does everyone else. She opens her mouth as if she'll start to speak, but nothing comes out before she closes it again with a teasing smile. Everyone groans.

"Out with it!" You say, throwing your arms up for emphasis.

She laughs. "I dare you to prank call Lee Heeseung acting as if you're some girl he met at the party last Friday."

Your face drops.

The girls cheer.

"Oh my god!" You hear Yizhuo yell. "You're a genius!"

"I didn't even go, though," you protest.

Yunjin shrugs. "Makes it even better." Just as you're about to rebut, she raises a finger and interrupts. "Ah! And don't say you don't have his number 'cause I know you used to send him the notes when he missed class last semester." She holds up your phone tauntingly, and you can't help but wonder when she took it away from the speaker, where it was paired to your playlist.

Curse her and her impeccable memory.

"Urgh, fine!" You give in, extending your hand for your phone.

As you type away your passcode and scroll to find the phone app, you reluctantly punch in his name (simply saved as "Lee Heeseung (SNU)" — nothing crazy!) The girls giggle to themselves about the heartthrob since high school.

Everyone and their mother knows about Heeseung. Almost everyone and their mother has been with Heeseung. Yourself excluded, obviously. And, unfortunately for them, excluding most of the girls here, too.

Yizhuo had the grace to spend a night with him and “came back a woman”. (Her words.)

Now, she's scooting closer to you, leaning her ear near the phone you're bringing to your ear.

It rings. Ring!

Once. Ring!

Twice.

"What if he doesn't—"

"Hello," a groggy tone questions from the other side of the line.

The girls all fail to cover their squeals.

Heeseung makes a confused noise. "Um... Who is this?"

"Uh...." Your eyes widen. You didn't really think this far ahead, hoping deep down that he wouldn't pick up at all. Eyeing Yunjin, screaming "Help Me!" with your expression. "This is... Hana..."

"Hana?"

"Kang. Kang Hana," you clarified. "We met at the, uh, party last Friday. At Jay's."

There's a moment of silence through the phone. Then some shuffling noises from his side. You sit patiently waiting for his reaction.

"Kang Hana," he repeats slowly. You hum to him.

"Yeah, we had a good time together, didn't we?"

He pauses. "I guess? Can you remind me?"

You begin to tell a tale about your encounter, barely keeping track of the details, letting your imagination run wild, stopping to listen to Heeseung hum in hesitant confusion.

Kang Hana arrived last out of all guests, immediately running to the kitchen for her first drink of the night. Then, she found herself swaying to the music on the living room dance floor, where she met Lee Heeseung. He had his arms placed respectfully on her hips, letting her guide his moves. He whispered that they should get out of there. She agreed.

They spent an hour or two engaging in conversation about anything and everything on the front patio, ignoring the smokers around the corner.

Hana not only arrived late, but also had to leave early. And so, she left Heeseung stranded, left to drink his grief away in hopes of forgetting all about her.

Yizhuo leans a little too far, enjoying the story too much, her head knocking over your hand, making you both tip to the side. You let out a squeal into the phone.

"Woah!" Heeseung yelps, pulling his phone away from his ear. Or you suppose, hearing his voice fade a little in the distance. With the phone away from him, it's able to pick up on the surrounding sounds better, and you realize he isn't alone either.

"Who is it?" You hear from the phone. The voice sounds familiar and you can almost make it out. Must either be Sunghoon or Jay, his best friends, you assume.

Heeseung doesn't miss a beat before responding, "Y/N."

Your heart does a flip. Yunjin's eyes widen. Ryujin chokes on the juice box she'd been sipping on. Yizhuo is still lying on the floor, only her mouth is significantly more agape.

"You knew it was me?"

He chuckled. "Obviously," he says matter of factly. Heat rises to your cheeks. "Took me a second, I'm a little tipsy, haha."

"Oh." Your eyes dart to the girls again. "Am I interrupting?"

"You're never a bother, babe."

Babe? "Huh," you let out unintentionally.

The girls furrow their brows one by one. Although they probably can't hear every word, they can clearly hear the weird turn this conversation has taken.

"Are you with the girls?"

You shake your head in confusion. "Um, yeah, I am." You're still trying to figure out what he meant by the pet name.

"I don't want to keep you if you're having fun." The smile on his face is clear as day in his flirty tone. "Text me later though, okay?"

"Okay?" Slowly, you pull the phone down and end the call. The second it hits your lap, it buzzes again.

Ping! New message!

이희승 (SNU) Kang Hana? 23:04

"What was that about?" Ryujin asks.

You don't respond yet. Focusing on the typing bubbles at the bottom of yours and Heeseung's no-longer-blank messenger.

이희승 (SNU) ik you weren't at Jay's last week 23:04

ME and i know you don't call random people 'babe' ?? 23:05 

이희승 (SNU) can i call you later? 23:05

ME i wasn't lying when i said i'm with my friends 23:05

ME tomorrow? 23:06

이희승 (SNU) let's meet up at the café on campus 23:07

"Hello, hello, Earth to Y/N?" Your head snaps up as you click off your phone. Yunjin waves her hand dramatically across your face to catch your attention. Ironically, it works. "You're still in there? Or did Hana take over?”

You blink up at her, then offer a small smile. “Sorry, that was weird,” you laugh. They all look at you expectantly, as if waiting for you to explain or give more details, but you’re not sure what to give them. “Alright, who’s next?”

You manage to drift the topic away from Heeseung and Kang Hana’s encounter. Yizhuo nearly fails her own dare, but succeeds in getting the neighbours number. After Ryujin answers her Truth (”If you had to kiss any of the girls in this room, who would it be?” “Well, I already have, but I’d say Y/N.”), you all decide to call it a night.

Ryujin and Yizhuo head out together; their rooms in the same dorm-building across the road. Meanwhile Yunjin begs to stay the night, opting to sleep on the floor because she can’t be bothered to pay for a cab ride to her apartment off campus.

Your thoughts keep coming back to Heeseung calling you babe, for some reason. Rubbing at your cheeks to snap yourself out of it, you sigh when you realize that it doesn’t do anything to help the blush that spreads further up your cheekbones to the tips of your ears the more you think about him.

Monday mornings have a bad reputation, and you completely understand why.

The sunlight creeps through a slip in your curtains and shines right in your eyes as you startle awake from a dream starring your party-animal alias and the campus heartthrob. Checking the time, you groan as the bright numbers ‘06:27’ glare back at you.

Your promise to a rendez-vous last night pushes you up and out of bed. You carefully side-step to not wake Yunjin, who’s still sprawled out on the floor.

You grab yourself some cereal and a cold glass of orange juice to fuel yourself before hopping into the shower. When you get out, it’s 6:44, a minute before your alarm rings loudly. You’re convinced everyone on this floor can hear it, but luckily you haven't gotten any complaints thus far.

Yunjin stirs finally. “Dude…”

“Wakey wakey, Sunshine,” you tell her, standing above her with a cheesy smile. “I have cereal and oatmeal.”

She rubs at her eyes, still laced with tiredness. “I’ll just grab something at the café after classes. I should get going, anyway.”

It doesn't take long for Yunjin to get dressed and leave the room promptly. She’s spent so many nights at your dorm that you took the time to clear up some space in the drawer for her stuff so she doesn’t need to rush out before even the sun’s awake.

When you’re left alone in your room, you pull out your phone again, the screen already opening into the chat room you visited last night.

ME what time do your classes end? just wanna know when i should get to the café 06:59

You wait. And wait. And wait some more for his response. You notice he hasn't even been online since you sent your message and decide to give him some more time.

Although he definitely has classes today, you assume, he might not be as much of an early riser like yourself.

In the meantime, you busy yourself with getting ready for your own classes. You pack your bag with all its supplies, checking your phone every so often, hoping to see it light up with a notification.

Ping!

All you can think is, “Finally,” but unfortunately when you pick it up, the notification reads: @jenaissante has made a new post!

“What am I doing?” you ask yourself out loud.

Since when do you sit and stare at your phone in hopes that some guy is going to answer you? How embarrassing.

You shake it off, grab your bag, and head out to your first class.

Walking down the comfortably silent hallways of your dorm building makes you think that out of everyone, you might be the only one awake. However, you stand corrected as you’re greeted with a door almost slamming you in the face.

Coincidentally, as the owner of said door says, “I’m so sorry!” and you respond, “It’s okay! I’m okay!” your phone buzzes in your pocket.

Nearly making your bag topple out of your hands as you reach for it, your shoulders relax when you see who the message is from:

이희승 (SNU) i hate mondays 07:33

You bid your goodbyes to the door-slammer.

ME good morning to you too 07:33 

이희승 (SNU) 😑😑 07:34

이희승 (SNU) i don’t have classes today. when do yours end? 07:34

ME no classes and yet you're awake so early? i'm impressed lee heeseung 07:36

ME i have my 8AM that ends at 10, then a three hour gap until my next class 07:36

이희승 (SNU) oof three hours 07:36

ME i’m on campus so it's not too bad tbh 07:37

이희승 (SNU) 10 o’clock it is? 07:39

ME sounds good 07:40

You shut off your phone and look up to realize you've made it to the building.

You find it weird how easily you’re already getting distracted by Heeseung, even though you’ve barely interacted, much less talked in person since last semester when you shared a class.

Even then, neither of you ran in the same groups, so your conversations were very limited to assignments and bad-talking the professor.

Of course, you’ve heard a lot about him, but none of it ever involved you. At most Yizhuo was being very descriptive about her night with him, though even then—especially then—you didn't pay it or him much attention.

Deciding to push him out of your mind entirely, you pull out your laptop and set up your notes, waiting for the professor to arrive and start class.

After two long hours, you’re dismissed from class. You tell your professor goodbye and head for the door, but come to a stop when you see a familiar figure leaning against the glass on the other side. Taking quicker steps to come around, you meet face to face with Lee Heeseung.

“Hi,” he says calmly.

“What are you doing here?”

His smile falters. “I came to pick you up.”

Your eyes dart to both sides of the hallway, as if waiting for Yunjin or someone to pop out. “How did you know this is where my class is?”

For the first time in your life, you watch Heeseung lose his cool composure. He stumbles over his words before clarifying, “I asked around.”

You try not to think too hard on it, eyeing him suspiciously before humming. His shoulders relax and he claps his hands together before pivoting toward the stairwell.

“Shall we?” He turns to you, extending his arms as if he’s some royal guard leading the crown princess into a carriage.

“Yes, we shall.” You play along because what the heck. And his smile is worth it.

The two of you make your way down to the café just across campus, not really talking on your way there, but staying close. It’s not as if some sort of secret operation is going down, so neither of you make a move to act like you don't know each other.

Come to think of it, you really don't know what's the purpose of all the theatrics. He even opens the door for you when you get there. Has he always been a gentleman?

From what you’ve heard, Heeseung is a player through and through. Typical, textbook heartthrob who makes people fall for him, toys around with that idea, and then leaves them to pick themselves up. Or, he’ll spend one magical night with a random hookup he meets at one of the million parties his rich friends throw every weekend, only to leave them in the dirt in the morning.

(Literally. Stories went around about this one girl he hooked up with outside. She woke up in Sunghoon’s backyard with only her bra and panties on. Or so you’ve heard.)

He leads you to the counter where the barista takes your order quickly. Just as you're about to reach into your bag for your wallet, Heeseung waves his hand in front of you. “Don’t worry about it,” he says before taking out his card and paying before you can reply.

“Thanks.” You try to come up with something better, but run short. “I’ll pay next time,” you say before you can stop yourself.

“Next time,” he says with an unreadable tone.

You want to reply, but nothing comes out. Instead, your eyes drift back to the barista. You watch him prepare your drinks and you silently pray that he goes faster so you can move on.

Luckily, he listens. “Alright, one iced caffe latte with vanilla syrup, and one dark chocolate mocha for the couple.” The man makes a dramatic turn with the drinks, adding a theatrical wave of his hand to you two.

“Oh, we’re not—”

“Thank you,” Heeseung replies with a smile. He takes a hold of both drinks and motions for you to lead him to a table.

And so you do.

“So,” he says as he sits down. “Kang Hana—” A wink. Your drink is suddenly very interesting. “—I have a proposal for you.”

“Proposal,” you question, raising your cup along with your brow. You take a sip and set it back down. “Go on.”

He takes his own sip. For a moment, you watch him appreciate the taste. He closes his eyes for a fraction of a second in satisfaction, traces of the drink left on his lips. It takes everything in you not to reach over and wipe it yourself. So, you hand him a napkin.

He thanks you before proceeding. “Okay, fine, it's more of an ask rather than a proposal because you won’t technically—” He adds air quotes. “—be gaining anything out of this.”

Now you’re very curious. You let him speak.

“There’s this girl…” he starts. His eyes drift away to the other tables, almost trying to deduce if anyone would want to eavesdrop and spread gossip of what he says next. “I really like her.”

Oh god. You’ve heard this before. Usually it only happens by boy best friends, but basically complete strangers work too, you guess. You prepare yourself.

“And, I just don’t know how to tell her—”

“Listen, Heeseung,” you cut him off. “We barely know each other. I don’t think you’re really thinking this through. How can you even trust your feelings when you barely know me?”

He blinks at you. “What?”

Your heart drops. “You’re not confessing to me.”

Heeseung lets out a short breathy laugh. He awkwardly scratches the back of his neck and answers. “No… Not exactly.”

“Oh my god, this is so embarrassing.” You let your head drop into the palms of your hands, but when you feel his hand on your arm, you snap your head up.

He rapidly retracts his hand of reassurance and lets it float above your arm for a second. “No, no, that’s okay. Don’t be embarrassed,” he assures you, only with his hand now in his lap. “I’m actually a little embarrassed about what I’m trying to ask you—If you’re up for it!”

“Can’t be more embarrassing than I feel right now,” you reply between small sips of your drink.

“Can we date? Wait, this isn't a confession, I meant like can we fake date? Like date, but not actually date. Not that that would be an awful thing to do! I just like this girl and…” His eyes are comically large as he rambles the same reformulated question. The embarrassment slips away as you watch his cheeks redden. “If you’re comfortable,” he finishes more quietly.

You take a moment, both to see if he’s really done, but also to consider your options. “Why?”

“Right.” He nods. “So, as I was saying… There’s this girl I like, and I want to get closer to her and ask her out, but we’ve talked before and she hates that I’m—” More air quotes. “—A player.”

You raise your brow at his words. “Put down the air quotes, then we’ll be on the same page.”

He rolls his eyes imperturbably. “You know what I mean…”

“How would fake dating help you start actually dating? Sounds counterproductive ‘cause doesn't that just make you unavailable?”

“I want to prove to her that I’m more than just—” He waves his arms around to search for the word. “—more than just some guy that goes from girl to girl as if nothing.”

You nod. “But… Isn’t this, kinda, lying? Since you haven't actually been in a long term relationship.”

“I mean, yeah, if you think about it like that.” He takes a sip of his drink, and when his lips part from the straw, you notice he bite it as he drank. You shake your head. “I’m just showing her that I’m capable of being in a long term relationship. I’m a serious guy looking for something serious.”

The snort you let out is entirely accidental. He looks faux-offended as he wipes off the drops of your drink that fell out of your cup. “Sorry,” you say, also wiping your arm. “You’re a serious guy. For sure, for sure.”

“I am,” he protests. “I take things very seriously. Like this rendez-vous. I’m normally still in bed at this time.”

This catches your attention. “Wait, why did you get up so early though? We didn't have a set time ready, you could've slept in.”

He shrugs timidly. “I knew you mostly take morning classes, so I wanted to be up when you were…” His sentence goes quieter by the end of it, with no help from him reaching for another sip of his drink, which is practically empty at this point, so the tension in the air only grows thicker with the ear-piercing sounds of him drinking air through a straw.

“Oh,” you say slowly. “I stand corrected.”

He nods.

You bite your lip out of habit. “So, shouldn't we discuss the, like, rules to this… Scheme?”

“Wait, you’re gonna do it?” He seems genuinely surprised. And cutely excited.

“Yeah,” you shrug, trying to act nonchalant. “What’s there to lose, I guess. But—” You raise a hand. “We need to figure out these ground rules and I need to get something out of this.”

He agrees easily. And you settle on asking him to put in a good word to one of his friends, Jay, who happens to be the son of the man who owns one of the most respected law firms in the country—you want in on it.

“So, you’re going to be a lawyer?”

Heat rises to your cheeks bashfully. “Yeah, it’s always been my passion.”

Heeseung’s eyes widen in astonishment. “Does that mean I should be more careful with how we set this up? Should we sign a contract to make it official?”

You laugh. “Do you have a printer? We could write one up if you want.”

He plays along with the joke, which eventually leads to him opening his notes app and writing down the rules you settle on together:

You cannot tell ANYONE that this is a set-up. If [REDACTED] finds out it’s a lie, how is Heeseung supposed to find love 💔

Stick to the same story: We met last semester and have been keeping it lowkey. We got together during the break.

Hang out in public at least twice a week. (Heeseung will make plans to make sure his crush will see them.)

Hand holding is a must while out together.

No kissing. Not on the cheek, and not on the lips.

Y/N has to attend all some do you want to make a good impression or not FINE all of Jay’s parties. 

Fake relationship must last AT LEAST two months. Further discussion of whether or not the (FAKE) relationship continues will take place then.

“Now…”

“What’s wrong?”

You watch Heeseung look from right to left, reaching down into his pockets for something, but he comes up with nothing. “How are you going to sign it?”

As unexpected as it is, you have to laugh. “Here, let me,” you respond between laughs, reaching out for his phone, which he hands you swiftly.

At the bottom of the page, you add:

I, Y/N L/N, accept these terms and conditions.

“Your turn.”

And he does the same with his own name.

I, Lee Heeseung, accept these terms and conditions.

“Perfect, so it’s settled.” He claps unceremoniously. “Here’s to the start of Kang Hana and Lee Heeseung’s fake relationship.”

He raises his cup toward you, and you get the memo to clink! your own against his. It’s silly considering they’re plastic cups that make nothing but a wsh! sound when bumped together, but the sentiment is there.

You spend a few more minutes sitting together in silence as you finish your drink.

You’re not sure why Heeseung hasn't left yet. Your business together is done for now, and he’s long finished with his own drink. You decide, however, that you’re glad he stayed.

As you’re stuck in thought, you don't notice that you're staring. You don't see the sly smile that creeps on his lips. And you certainly don't realize Yunjin is watching this scene go down from behind the window.

The front door’s bell snaps you out of your trance, when you finally feel the eye contact you're making with Heeseung. You pull your eyes away shyly, sipping on your drink until it bottoms out.

Unbeknownst to you, Yunjin makes her over to you and Heeseung with a confused expression painted over her features.

“Y/N,” she says. Your eyes widen at your friend leaning over the table to look at the two of you. “What’s going on here?” She teasingly points between you and Heeseung, wiggling her eyebrows all-knowingly.

Suddenly, you forget all your words.

Luckily, Heeseung smoothly takes the lead, already playing his role. “We’re on a date.”

This takes Yunjin by surprise, if her gasp paired with widened eyes says anything. “A date?”

“Yeah,” he says, drawing out the syllable. He looks at you with telling eyes, as if asking if you want to add on. You slightly shake your head only for him to see. “We were actually just finishing up. Right?”

Your cue. “Right, yeah.” You clear your throat awkwardly.

Yunjin raises her hands defensively. “Well, I don’t want to interrupt any more than I already have… So, you two have fun….” She leans over to whisper into your ear. Heeseung raises a brow from his side, but turns away to pretend he isn’t listening to it. “You’ll have to tell me all about this later.”

She bids you goodbye and makes her way to the counter, making no effort in acting as if she’s not staring at your table, watching your every move, as if to assess the situation.

Your hand comes up to the side of your face to subtly cover your mouth from her prying eyes. “We should really get out of here.”

Heeseung nods. “Slowly, we don’t want her to think anything.”

“Is it really so important to keep it from my best friend, though?”

“Yes!” Heeseung says in a whisper-yell. He smiles over to Yunjin who’s blissfully unaware of his outburst, probably thinking the two of you are joking around. Turning back to you, his voice lowers. “We can’t let anyone know the truth, not right now.”

You wonder what you’re getting yourself into now that it’s in play.

He ends up walking you back to your dorm, making his way into the building and all the way to your floor, walking you to your door, even after you insist he doesn’t have to. “What kind of boyfriend would I be if I didn’t make sure you got back safely?”

“Fake-boyfriend,” you point out.

He nods. “Fake.”

While opening the door, you have a weird urge to ask if he wants to stay for a little. You brush off the feeling and turn back to him. “See you…” You stray, not really sure when you’ll see each other.

“Tomorrow,” he finishes. “For our first official date. Fake date.”

You nod your head, and that’s it. He walks backward into the hall, waving to you, before he turns to watch where he’s going. You only wave back when his back is turned.

Too caught up in whatever the hell you’ve agreed on, you spend the rest of the day burying yourself in studies. Midterms are around the corner, so may as well get some work done now. You also can’t bear to spend another minute with Heeseung’s stupidly pretty face, and smile, and everything stuck in your head.

Throughout the afternoon, then into the evening, your phone buzzes over and over again. You don’t even bother checking in fear that it’s Heeseung.

When you head off to bed, you quickly scroll away from your notifications and open Yunjin’s chat, where you see she’s been spamming you pretty much until you passed out. You note the time and feel the relief wash over you as you realize she must already be asleep by now. You start typing away.

ME i’ll tell you everything tmrw 01:47

ME meet me at the quad in the morning 01:47

As opposed to Monday mornings, Tuesdays have a different, much more optimistic air. It’s as if everyone’s realized that maybe this week won’t be so bad, so might as well put on a smile before heading to classes.

You don’t have early classes today, so you head down to the quad as promised, a knot forming in your stomach on your way.

There’s nothing you hate more than keeping things from your friends, especially Yunjin. Trust is something you really value in your friendship, as you’re both very open with each other, this feels like breaking it, even though it isn’t necessarily a bad lie to tell.

Taking a deep breath, you convince yourself that it’s for a good cause and she’ll understand once you tell her the truth.

You’re surprised not only by the fact that Yunjin is already sitting at one of the tables, wide awake and ready to hear your tale, but also the fact that she is with company: Yizhuo and Ryujin, respectively.

“Well, well, well,” she says with jokingly menacing crossed arms. She adds to the character a dubious expression. “What do we have here? Lee Heeseung’s girlfriend?”

Yizhuo laughs. “Are you serious? When were you going to tell us?”

From the other side of the table, Ryujin adds on. “Yeah, this seems like a pretty big deal!”

You sit down next to Ryujin, facing Yunjin’s excitedly curious eyes. She leans over the table and grabs your hands. “Tell. Us. Everything,” she enunciates every word for emphasis.

“Um,” you start oh-so confidently. You think back to the contract you “signed” and the storyline you decided with Heeseung. “I’ve been, kinda, seeing Heeseung since October—”

“October!?” Yizhuo yells. “Why’ve you been keeping this from us?!”

“We wanted to keep it lowkey before we decided if we were really serious about this.” The lies slip off your tongue easily, but they leave a bitter aftertaste. “I was talking with him about telling you guys, at least, right when Yunjin walked in on us.”

Ryujin raises a brow. “Walked in on you? Were you…?”

You slap her arm playfully. “Nothing like that, nothing like that! I meant at the café yesterday.”

“We’ve never even seen you two together… How lowkey were you keeping it?”

Yunjin looks at you expectantly. You avoid direct eye contact, afraid she’d be able to see the truth through your eyes. “We text a lot and facetime pretty much every night,” you explain, hoping it’s convincing. “And he’d sometimes come over, but we always made sure none of you would find out.” You make sure to slip in an apology at the end of the statement.

Yizhuo’s the one to wave her arm and deny your apology. “Girl, you got yourself a man, how could we be mad at you?” Her eyes widen in realization. “The prank call, oh my God!”

“Yeah, that took some explaining… But he thought Kang Hana was pretty funny.”

“Speak of the devil,” Yunjin teases, nodding her head behind you.

You turn around and lo and behold is Lee Heeseung himself, followed by Park Sunghoon and Park Jay. If this were a 90s romcom scene, their walk would be in slowmo, the camera would pan to girls and boys fanning themselves as they walk by, some would be fainting in their path. Sunghoon would have to step over someone’s unconscious body, Jay would pick a rose from the bush and hand it to one of his followers and they would blush until their whole face is as red as a tomato.

Instead, they’re walking at a regular pace, but you notice the way seems to run through their hair perfectly. That’s what you get when you’re jaw-droppingly attractive, you think. And then you furrow your brows at your thoughts.

When the boys get closer, Heeseung smiles. “Hi, you.”

“Hi,” you say in return. Your heart beats faster.

“So,” Jay, the one on his left, says. “You’re Y/N.”

You nod. “Nice to meet you—”

“Y’know, it’s funny ‘cause Heeseung never mentioned you?” The question throws you off, more than the smile he has plastered on his face. “Keeping it hidden from us like we’re Dispatch, or something.”

Heeseung places his hand on Jay’s shoulder, taking the lead. He sends you a reassuring look before speaking. “It was my idea, mostly,” he explains. “Let’s not take it out on my girl.”

My girl. You smile shyly.

Addressing your friends, Heeseung smiles politely. “It’s nice to meet you all.”

“You too,” Ryujin says.

“You better be treating her right,” Yunjin says teasingly, but with a touch of seriousness, if you know her right.

Heeseung raises his arms defensively. “She’s the one to decide on that front.”

You laugh. He’s really good at this. “Don’t worry guys, he’s been good to me.”

The two of you share a moment in silence, just watching each other. Heeseung’s the first to break it, not necessarily looking away, but ending your silent conversation. “I take it you dressed for our date, right?”

You blink at him in confusion. “Where are we going?”

“So you really didn't see my text?” He pouts. You’re almost convinced he means it. Wow, I’m going to have to step up my game.

“Sorry, I was really busy studying, I shut off my phone for the day after you left.”

He tuts at you jokingly. “Well, I guess it’ll have to be a surprise.” He extends his arm and offers you his hand. Automatically, you take a hold of it, letting him pull you up in the process. Heeseung turns to your friends and smiles politely. “Again, it was nice to officially meet you all, I’ve heard so much. And—” Facing his friends, he says: “I’ll text you later.”

Then, you’re off, holding hands as he leads you to the parking lot.

The car ride isn’t too long, luckily. You find yourself anticipating what Heeseung has planned, only for you to crush that anticipation when you remember what this is all for.

Her, not you.

Although, you still don’t know who she is.

“Will you ever tell me who this girl is?” you ask as he takes another turn, arriving in a parking lot. Finally in view, you realize you’re at Plus One Games as you watch the big, bold glowing sign. “The arcade?”

“She works here,” he says, promptly ignoring your first question. He pops the keys out of the ignition and turns to you. “Are you ready?”

You hum and the two of you make your way to the comically large front doors. He holds it open, and you thank him as you walk past him, staring in awe at the decor.

Plus One Games is known for its grandeur in the gaming world. You didn’t grow up in these areas, but you’ve heard all about it. It’s expensive and you wonder how Heeseung is able to afford it—He must really like this girl.

The lobby is decorated like a gameboard, the stands where the employees greet the customers resembling game pieces, meanwhile there are signs pointing in every direction to where you may want to go, which look like signs straight out of a Super Mario Bros game.

Unbeknownst to you, you begin to wander while you’re looking at the set-up of the entrance, entranced by the level and precision of the design. Heeseung notices, however, and grabs ahold of your hand, spinning you on your heels and leading you to the cloakroom.

“Can’t let you get lost,” he teases, his head nodding to your hand in his which he raises to eye level.

You flush in your spot, unable to get yourself to pull your hand away.

After depositing your coats and changing into the shoes the staff hand the two of you by the door, you’re quick to let Heeseung guide you through the games and stations. He clearly has a map set up in his mind by the way he easily glides through the place, your hand still tightly in his hold.

He brings the both of you to the bumper cars first, wearing a cheeky grin as he handsomely gestures for you to step into the rink before him. To play along, you bow gratefully like an heiress guided by her guard. He laughs, placing a hand by your lower back to help direct you.

How could someone forget how fun bumper cars are? Because now you’re reminded of the joys of ramming your rubber-ringed play car into the people around you. Luckily, it’s not too crowded, so you have plenty of room to strategically avoid Heeseung’s attempts to knock you over, only to turn around and get him instead.

You’re full of laughter, and so is he. In fact, his face is completely red and you can only assume that yours is a similar shade.

Your laughter doesn’t even die down when the dispiriting buzzer sounds in the mini-arena, prompting the cars to stop in their place and the employee to safely instruct you and the other customers on how to get out.

“So, where to next?” Your smile transcends into your words, but you don’t care enough to be self-conscious about it.

Heeseung pretends to be in deep thought, plastering a dramatic pout of curiosity. “Where to… Where to…” he repeats. He lifts a finger in the air in perfect timing with the music blaring through the speakers above. You laugh at the movement. “Let’s try to win some prizes, hm?”

You assume this is probably some kind of way for him to say that the girl he likes is working the counter. Either way, you agree.

“Ice ball,” he suggests.

“I’ll have you know—” You flick your hair behind your shoulder for character. “—I’m kind of a pro at this.”

He raises his brow. “Oh, are you?”

Instead of responding, you grab the keycard and swipe it across the gamepad, watching as the game’s sign lights up as it starts up. Balls roll out from the dispenser and you grab your first one. You pretend to give it a kiss before rolling it up.

It does not go on.

Heeseung laughs.

You clear your throat and try again. The second does not go in.

Nor does the third. Or the fourth.

“Maybe I should try,” Heeseung proposes playfully.

“Fine,” you grumble, though not seriously. You go on to say he has no shot, the game is rigged and—

His first try goes in.

And his second. Then his third.

The game rings “Winner! Winner!” and tickets begin pouring out of the gamepad.

Heeseung ends up beating you in every game you play, always winning a ridiculous amount of tickets or a silly prize that comes with it. Pinball, mini-basketball, Spin-It-To-Win-It, you name it. He even beats the claw machine which is famously rigged in these kinds of places. You suggested it just to see Heeseung lose, yet here he is flaunting his little stuffed turtle he pulled out of it.

He waves the turtle in your face and you swat it away from you. “Aw, c’mon, Y/N, you don’t want Mr. Turtle?”

“You named him Mr. Turtle,” you deadpan.

He smiles cheekily. “It’s a fitting name.” He then takes your hand by the wrist, flipping it over so your open palm faces upward. Gently, Heeseung places Mr. Turtle into your hand, closing your fingers around it. “Here, you can have him.”

As much as you want to keep up your stingy role of a sore loser and throw it back at him, you shyly thank Heeseung for the gesture and place Mr. Turtle comfortably against your bag, so he can look out into the world without you needing to worry about him falling off because he’s safely attached to the strap.

After a match of laser tag—which you end up winning with Heeseung because you were against another couple—a couple of PEOPLE!—and then racing up to the top of the rock climbing wall, you grab a couple slices of pizza together and call it a day.

The pizza is greasy and frankly a little gross, you’re convinced it’s leftovers from yesterday, but it’s just what you need.

Heeseung comes back to the table with two bottles of pop. “Which one?” He raises both for you to see your options. You point to the red one, probably some off-brand strawberry or raspberry flavoured soda, and he passes it to you.

Chugging down the mystery drink, you find yourself content with the day's events.

When you get to the car, Heeseung holds the door open for you once again. You thank him quietly, getting in at the same time. You force your head down to stop yourself from watching as he makes his way around to his side.

It’s silent for a moment as he turns on the ignition and pulls out of the parking spot. The way he places his hand against the back of your seat, his arm in full view, makes your heart stutter. You take a second to compose yourself.

“So.” You look up at Heeseung with telling eyes and a teasing smile. “Did you see her?”

His mouth opens in a mute ‘ah,’ but he shakes his head, keeping his gaze on the road ahead. “I guess she wasn’t working today.”

And honestly, you can’t even be mad about it because it went so well. You tell yourself this is just a stepping stone in the fake relationship. Might as well enjoy it while it lasts.

He drives you back to campus and follows you all the way to the building before you tell him he doesn’t need to come up with you. Although he tries to push it, it’s hard to ignore how tired he is from the way he drawls.

As you walk back into your dorm, you’re greeted with your phone buzzing to infinity with messages from the girls’ group chat. You laugh at their bickering as they wait for your updates and you almost opt to stay silent to see how far it goes.

The following days go on similarly. Between hanging out with your friends, attending classes and studying for midterms, you’re going out on dates with Heeseung. Fake dates, but you soon learn he’s a really good actor.

Then you update the girls on the happenings of the date, steadily avoiding the parts hinting at your deal.

Your first date following the arcade is at the library. At first, you don’t see how Heeseung would consider this a date, until he shows up at your dorm with roses and chocolates. “Bring these with you,” he says. “She should be studying there for another hour, or two if she’s really into it.”

You abstain from commenting on the fact that if she’s “really into it,” is he even sure she’ll notice either of you, because you’re in need for a good study session with a friend, and as much as you love your friends, they have a hard time focusing when you’re all together.

It’s nice. Heeseung is as hard of a worker as you remember from the previous semester. Every now and then, you’ll look up and find his eyebrows furrowed at the paper in front of him, so you ask to help him out if you can. He does the same to you, you realize. As you look down at your notes, biting your lip at the same phrase you’ve been staring at for a while now, Heeseung taps the table right in front of your book with his pencil. “Need any help?”

You only remember once he brings you back to your dorm that you never asked about the girl. You’re not even sure if she was there since he didn’t say anything.

Yizhuo is offended that you find your girls-only study sessions unhelpful. Ryujin playfully slaps her shoulder.

For another date, he takes you to the movies.

“And this is helpful… how exactly?”

He shrugs and raises a hand to sheepishly scratch the back of his neck. “I may have told her I wanted to see the movie. And then I may have panicked buying them in front of her, I don’t want to risk her seeing me bring someone else when I said I’d bring you.”

“This could’ve been your chance to invite her to the movies!”

“And make her think I’m a cheater?” He shakes his head twice. “Besides, this is what we’re fake dating for. You and I can still go as fake-boyfriend and fake-girlfriend, if you don’t mind.”

Of course you don’t mind.

The movie is okay. It’s not really your style, nor is it Heeseung’s, if his distasteful grimace as he’s walking out of the cinema says anything.

“You didn’t like it,” you tease with fake concern.

He looks like a deer caught in headlights. “No,” he defends. He even raises his hands to wave them around as he searches the air for an explanation. “It was—You know—When they—Right?”

You laugh and place your hand on his shoulder. “I’m kidding. I didn’t really like it either.”

Heeseung places his own hand on top of yours and you feel your heart stutter. In a panicked moment, you try to rip your hand away, but it gets caught in his shirt, so you have to awkwardly pull it out from underneath.

Yunjin asks you about the movie itself, and you can’t seem to remember much about it besides Heeseung’s face at the end of it.

One of your favourite—fake—dates with Heeseung is when he takes you rollerblading. (You never ask how this is related to the girl he’s trying to impress. What? You’ve always wanted to go rollerblading.)

You both invite your friend groups and get to see them bond, which is both weird and endearing.

Yunjin holding onto Sunghoon and Ryujin’s hands for dear life as they’re the only two that are decent at roller skating and she’s on the verge of face planting whenever she steps on the rink on her own.

On the other hand, Yizhuo and Jay are equally bad. Yizhuo has horrible coordination and Jay… just can’t move. He can’t even take a step forward, just waves his arms around as if he’s swimming and it’ll somehow propel him. So, Yizhuo just keeps magnetically crashing into him, causing them both to fall down and need to recalibrate themselves from the boards.

Heeseung is a champion at it, as anyone would’ve expected. Though, he falls back to follow your pace, which is slow, but not agonizingly so, or so you hope.

You haven’t had the chance to go rollerblading in a while, and you end up tripping up over your own feet. Luckily, Heeseung is still there by your side to hold you so you don’t fall.

“Thanks,” you say to him, harshly gripping onto his arm to make sure you don’t.

At the end of the night, when your friends have already called it in, catching an uber or taking their own cars back, you and Heeseung stay a little while longer.

You’re sitting by the bleachers on the outside of the rink, Heeseung still freely skating on his own. He’s skating much faster, now, you notice. And he’s doing it with a big smile on his face which you can’t help but mirror when you’re watching him.

Later on, you notice he wears the same, but more subtle smile when he’s with you in the car, laughing and chatting while music blares from the speakers and the windows are rolled all the way down.

After a few weeks of date after date, midterms come up.

You and Heeseung made an agreement not to go out during this time. It gives the both of you time to recharge and focus on studying. It’d be useless to go out anyway, since his girl would probably be doing the same, you think but avoid saying.

When you make the modifications to your arrangement, you assume this means less frequent texting or calls, but those stay the same. Heeseung texts you good morning and is the last to say good night before you fall asleep, just as he’s been doing the past few weeks. You come to think that you’ve become really good friends over this time together.

You also assumed this would give you a break from acting like a couple, but Heeseung once again has other plans.

One afternoon when you don’t have classes, someone knocks at your door.

Normally, if someone’s at the door without texting you beforehand, it means it’s just another one of those door-to-door students campaigning for whatever new project they’ve come up with. Or, occasionally, it’s your next-door neighbour who’s going to warn you about being loud while working on their next project, whatever it is they’re doing.

This time, however, you’re met with a bouquet of flowers and an otherwise empty hallway. The bouquet comes with a note, that reads:

Good luck on your midterms! My two-lips will be ready to reward you once they’re over… (Sorry, Sunghoon told me to write a pun.) (Fuck why’d I write it in pen? There aren’t even tulips in this bouquet???) (This is from Heeseung BTW)

You laugh at the extra scribbles and smudged half-written words on the rest of the paper.

And it’s like magic, the way his words encourage you to keep studying, keep working harder. You pass your midterms with flying colours.

Heeseung invites you to the café on campus to celebrate, and said you needed to discuss something. When you arrive, your chocolate mocha is already sitting in front of him, on the opposite side of the booth.

He smiles when he sees you come up. “Hey.”

“Hey,” you say back. “So, what did you want to tell me?”

“Well, first—” He raises his cup. “To passing midterms!”

You clink yours to his, smiling. “To passing midterms!” You both take a sip of your drinks before setting them down and looking at each other intently.

“So,” he says firmly. “I still haven’t given you your end of the deal.”

That’s right. You agreed on this whole shenanigan as long as he gives you an in on the Park family business. If you’re truly willing to become a lawyer, getting Jay to give you a good word to his father would mean a lot of doors opening, some that you’d never open otherwise.

It’s funny that something so big and important to you slipped your mind over these past few weeks.

Then you remember how you’ve discussed this would be happening. “There’s a party?”

Heeseung nods into his drink, getting a bit of foam on his upper lip. You almost lean over the table to wipe it off yourself, but instead you hand him a napkin, avoiding his eyes as you laugh nervously. “Thank you,” he whispers. Once the napkin’s down, he returns to business. “Tomorrow night at Jay’s actually. His dad won’t be there, unfortunately for you and fortunately for, like, everyone else attending.”

You nod. “So, this’ll be our first big event as a, albeit fake, couple?” Nerves begin to feed in your stomach and suddenly you’re not so thirsty. Your hands naturally start fidgeting with your cup.

The last time you went to one of the campus parties was the first week in the new year, last semester. You remember it all too well, meaning not at all. You’ve never been the best at calculating your tolerance, but that time you really went overboard.

For one, it’s embarrassing, but you also don’t want to do anything with Heeseung.

“Yeah,” Heeseung agrees nonchalantly, but he leans lower in concern, looking to meet your eyes. “But it’ll be okay, just like any of our other dates. Fake dates. Just pretend that you’re the infamous Kang Hana.” Then he adds: “But don’t be late this time.”

There he goes, making you laugh so easily.

Over the next few minutes, you agree that Heeseung will pick you up and drive the both of you to Jay’s not too early, but not too late. Jay isn’t big on wanting his friends to help him set-up, so he’s fine with whenever they decide to show up.

And when you do, you’re struck by awe, your mouth hanging agape at the… everything.

You’ve known Jay was rich, but you never considered he’d be this rich.

The black front gates leading up to a long driveway. The pillared entrance archway. The enormous garden wrapping around the household. The fountain. The white walls which are interrupted by full length windows looking into the modernly decorated mansion.

Jay stands by the door holding a blunt. Wispy smoke draws circles in the air as he exhales. “Look who it is,” he says with open arms, tossing the rest of his joint to the ground.

The boys dab each other up and Jay nods his head at you as a greeting. A chill passes through your body. You hug your body tighter underneath your jacket.

Heeseung places his hand comfortingly on your waist, pulling you closer to him so he can whisper in your ear. “If you want to leave, just say the word.” And when you shake your head, he leans in again. “Are you ready, Kang Hana?”

You decide that you are.

The party is nothing remarkable.

As promised, Heeseung makes sure to give you a chance to talk with Jay and perhaps get an ‘in’ on his father’s company. It seems to go well enough, although Jay mostly just agrees with what you’re saying, trying to move on from the topic of his dad and law.

But other than that, it’s just like any of the other parties that you’ve been to with your friends.

Music. People making out in every corner. Loud music. Couples dragging each other upstairs not-so-secretly. Decent food, despite Heeseung telling you about Jay’s personal chefs being top tier. And did you mention agonizingly loud music?

You still manage to have some fun with your fake-date, though.

The one thing that really stands out is the fact that most girls are keeping their respectful distance from Heeseung.

Usually, he would be surrounded by a dozen, at least. A couple hanging off his arms, some standing behind him, others even kneeling in front of him. They create an entourage around him like he’s some king they worship, and yet today you don’t even see a speck of that lifestyle.

It dawns on you that word really did get around about you and Heeseung.

You even lean in to tell him this much. “Your girl definitely knows,” you tell him. “Is she here?”

Heeseung looks around almost half-interestedly in the others, turning back to you with a smile. “No, I don’t think so,” he says, but he doesn’t sound too bummed out. Maybe it’s the drinks. “Do you want another drink?”

Only later on do you realize you really haven’t learned your lesson on your tolerance.

After your probably fifty-something-eth song on the dance floor, Heeseung calls it quits, having drank just as much, but clearly being able to hold himself together better.

He bids goodbye to his friends, letting you wave at them in your drunken state and gets you in the car to drive you back.

You stumble into Heeseung’s arms as you make your way out of the elevator on your floor. “Oops,” you laugh.

He makes a nervous sound before adjusting his arms to hold you properly with his hand holding onto your waist. “We’re almost there, Y/N,” he whispers, gently tugging you forward on your wobbling legs.

However, he freezes in his tracks when he’s met with your friends waiting by your door.

“Oh,” Yunjin says. “We thought—”

“God, we thought she died or something, she wasn’t answering our texts,” Yizhuo interrupts. “Are you guys gonna…”

“No, no,” Heeseung answers quickly, waving his free hand. “I was just making sure she made it safely back to her dorm.”

You cheer out of the blue, just glad to be there.

Heeseung reaches into your jacket pocket for your keys, the jingling sound making you laugh some more. He tosses the keys to Ryujin. “Here,” he says. “I’ll just bring her to bed—Uh! Not like that, I meant, like, make sure she sleeps.”

Yunjin shakes her head reassuringly. “Here, let me take her. We’ll take care of her, if you don’t mind.”

He doesn’t respond for a second, turning to look at you. The drunk-flush on your cheeks makes your eyes pop, he notices. Unknowingly, a soft smile creeps up on his lips. “Sure, sure,” he eventually says.

When he’s out of sight down the hall, the girls tug you into the room. They bring you to bed, helping you kick off your shoes and take off your jacket, but not bothering changing your clothes—who knows what kind of a struggle that would be.

The process proceeds in a comfortable silence, but not for you. You’re itching to speak, say anything. Something about the drinks in your system makes you feel chatty, so you say the first thing on your mind. “Heeseung’s so pretty.”

“I hope you think so,” Ryujin jokes. “He’s your boyfriend.”

You laugh, turning over to face away from the girls. “No he’s not.”

“Yes, he is,” Yunjin reassures, trying her best to get the blanket over your body to properly tuck you in, but you keep rolling away from her touch.

Watching you shake your head back and forth, Yizhuo curiously pushes. “What do you mean he’s not your boyfriend?”

“It’s just, like, a scheme,” you whisper the last word mischievously, wearing a cunning smile and waving your hands mysteriously. Laughing to yourself, it takes you a moment to notice your friends’ confused expressions when you look over at them again. “What?” You look up at them with a dazed smile.

“So… You and Heeseung,” Yunjin starts with furrowed brows, trying to assess the situation. “You’re not even dating?”

“Nope!” you say with a laugh, enunciating the ‘p’ with a pop of your lips.

From behind you, Yizhuo lets out a sigh of relief.

This time, Yunjin frowns at her. “What’s that about?”

“Sorry, sorry,” she says hurriedly. “It’s just that if Y/N and Heeseung were actually dating, the whole reveal would’ve been really awkward.”

“What reveal,” you ask.

She pulls her lips in, suppressing a laugh, before waving her hands and starting to confess. “So, remember how I said I slept with Heeseung at a party last semester?” Memories of her flaunting her newfound womanhood and maturity swarm your mind. You nod, yeah, I remember. “Well—” She tilts her head  guiltily. “I lied.”

You blink slowly at her. Once, and twice, before shaking your head out of pure confusion. “Wait, what? Why would you lie about that?”

Yizhuo looks over at Ryujin and Yunjin as if they’ll help her. From the less than expressive faces, you can tell they already knew. She scratches the base of her neck awkwardly. “I don’t know, I guess for status, or whatever.”

This sobers you up instantly. “Status? Like sleeping with Heeseung’s some kind of badge you get to wear around?”

She laughs nervously. “Well, no. But like, I don’t know, Y/N, I was just fucking around. I told you guys that when I was, like, really high.”

“Doesn’t excuse the fact that you’re treating him like some kind of object?” You’re always one to try to see the best in a person, in a situation, but you really can’t find it in yourself to defend Yizhuo right now. “He’s not just some fuckboy, Ning, he’s sweet, and kind, and cares about the little things, and—”

“So, you do like him?”

You sputter confusedly. “What are you even talking about?”

She stares at you dumbfoundedly. “You like him. You’re, you’re defending him,” she explains matter of factly. “Do you know how many girls he’s hurt ‘cause of his little hobby of hooking up and leaving them in the dust?”

“That has nothing to do with what we’re talking about. Admit it, Ning, you fucked up.”

She raises her arms defensively. “Fine! Maybe I did! But so did he. Multiple times with so many people. It’s weird that you’re on his side with this.” Sighing, she rolls her eyes. “Fine, I’m sorry for what I lied about when I wasn’t right in the fucking head, if that’s what you want to hear.”

You truly don’t know what’s gotten into her, but you also can’t be asked to bother caring. “Real mature,” you deadpan, realizing that that in itself is immature, too. “Get out of my room.”

She doesn’t even say anything to you. Just rolls her eyes again, mutters under her breath and tells the other girls they can come over to her place if they want. Yizhuo leaves with her jacket over her shoulder, not looking back.

“Go after her, it’s fine,” you tell Ryujin and Yunjin.

“Y/N—”

“Just go.”

They file out of the room in a hurry, and only when the door shuts do you let your tears of frustration fall. You slide down to the floor and cry into the palms of your hands with your knees up to your chest.

You’ve never had a fight like this with your friends. Sure, you’ve argued every now and then about stupid things, but something that left your chest heaving? All of this over a boy?

Your hands shake as you reach for your phone, your finger gliding past the group chat and your private messages with the girls—tempted to call them again, but you refuse—rushed to find the contact you've gotten so familiar with.

The line rings a few times, before you hear the click!.

“Y/N? Is everything okay?” His voice is laced in concern, which warms your heart. And when you tell him you want to see him, he doesn't ask questions and simply tells you: “I’m on my way.”

Heeseung gets to your dorm surprisingly fast.

Then he reveals that he never left the parking lot, not specifying why, and you’re blushing all over. You avoid eye contact, but he reads it as you avoiding the topic.

He tells you as much that you don’t need to go into detail if you don't want to, simply promising to be here. “It’s been a long night, you should rest.”

You lay down in bed, lifting the covers as an invitation.

He lays down next to you. “Is this okay?” And all you can do is nod.

Your curtains are ajar, you notice, watching the way the moonlight traces Heeseung’s features. His eyes shine in the dark, but yours drift down to his glistening lips.

He lightly bites his lower lip as he holds a strong gaze on your face, studying.

Just when you think he’s about to lean in and close his eyes, Heeseung surprises you with a whisper. “I think we should go to sleep.”

Disappointment runs through your body, but you agree nonetheless.

Your dreams are plagued by the shadow of a touch and big brown eyes.

The following morning, the first thing you think is, “I slept next to Hee—Ow, my head hurts really bad?!”

You groan as you push the blankets on the side, when you notice the other half of the bed is empty. The sight of it makes you frown, but then you hear rustling the bathroom and you let out a sigh of relief.

“You’re up?” Heeseung peers his head around the corner of the bathroom. His hair drips onto the flooring and evaporated hot water trails behind him. “I hope you don't mind. I took a shower.”

Not finding the words, you wave it off. Shaking your head proves to be a bad idea because you’re left clenching in your fists from the pain.

Heeseung frowns. “Headache?” When you nod, he points to your side table. “I left a glass of water—I hope you don't mind I took it from your filter—and an ibuprofen—which I took from your cabinet, I really hope you don’t mind.”

“It’s okay, Heeseung,” you tell him quietly, wearing a pained, but genuine smile. “I really appreciate it, thank you.”

He smiles shyly before returning to the bathroom. And then it dawns on you that he might not have been wearing clothes during your exchange. Your face flushes, again.

When he leaves the bathroom, it’s your turn to freshen up. You try not to think about it too much.

“What should we have for breakfast?” he asks casually, sitting by your desk and is still working hard at drying his hair.

Your eyes are stuck on Heeseung’s movements. The way he fiddles with the towel to dry his hair, his face scrunching as he swipes rapidly. You smile in silent laughter at his cute expression, but you don't say anything about it.

“I’m really craving a croissant.”

That’s how you find yourself, hands inching away from Heeseung’s as you walk, making your way down to the café.

He tells you to find your regular table, assuring you that he’ll order. There’s no point in protesting, plus your headache still hasn't completely dissipated, so you willingly agree.

It only takes a few minutes for him to come back with a caffe latte and a dark chocolate mocha as per usual, as well as two croissants in paper bags.

“How’d you know I wanted a dark chocolate croissant,” you ask, peering into its bag. It’s glorious, you note, taking it out, careful not to spill the freshly drizzled still-hot chocolate.

Heeseung shrugs. “You’re always ordering the dark chocolate mocha, so I figured you'd like it on your croissant, too. It’s good right?”

You nod and hum into your food as a response, too enthralled by the taste and Heeseung’s attention to detail.

Your outing together goes well, as they always have.

He doesn't bring up your tear-stained cheeks from last night or the sudden call, to which you’re glad. The conversation is light, but natural. Every now and then, he makes you laugh and forget all about last night's events—almost all of them. Lingering at the back of your mind is the moonlight across his face, his soft lips and the feeling that you imagined when looking at them; the feeling of them pressing against your own.

Heeseung insists on walking you back to your dorm, again. You’ve learned by now that it's useless to argue with him, as stubborn as he is. “It’s on my way,” he lies. “Really, it's for me, mostly.”

That second statement is less of a lie, you can tell.

“After you,” he says, gesturing toward the elevator.

You lean against the elevator wall, closing your eyes. “I’m so tired,” you say with a muffled voice.

After pressing the button to your dorm with no hesitation, Heeseung’s eyes darken with a serious air. “Are you sure you're okay?” He’s not really asking about right now, more so about everything that happened last night. Everything he doesn't know about.

You’re afraid of admitting to him that you drunkenly spilled the truth to all of your friends, and caused a fight because of it. Not to mention he was the center of it.

Internally, you decide not to tell him about Yizhuo’s damage. That’s something between her and him, and you're not going to push it onto either of them.

“You can trust me—” Then, he reassures. “Only if you're comfortable.”

You are. So, you start to put together how you’ll tell him in your head, but your thoughts are interrupted by a loud—

THUD!

“What was—”

THUD! THUD!

And then, you’re falling.

Shit. We’re           falling.

Your brain stops working, completely freezing in your spot, the noise of the elevator screeching against its reins echoing in your head. Your heart pounds against your chest.

“On the ground!" a distant voice yells. Heeseung.

Right. That’s smart.

You follow his movements and lie down next to him, spread eagle. Your arms are practically on top of each other.

Heeseung grips onto your shoulder, shaking it. “We’ll be okay,” he says, though you're not sure if it's to you or himself. His eyes stay open widely, bloodshot. 

Suddenly, the elevator stops in its movements. The unexpected stop makes your chest bounce, but altogether, you're okay. You’re okay. “Is anyone in there?” The voice is muffled from behind the closed doors, but you think you recognize it as one of the janitors from the building.

Hurriedly, Heeseung rushes to the door. “Yes, yes, we’re in here!”

“Stay there—Er, I mean, stay still—Or, just don't worry we’ll get you out of there. Soon.” The ending of his sentence doesn't bring much reassurance, but from your spot still on the floor, you force yourself to believe his words.

Heeseung doesn't seem convinced either, but he lets out a sigh and extends his hand to help you up. You take his offer and try your best to ignore the fire his touch alights in your stomach. “I guess we have some time.”

“I guess we do,” you say with an awkward laugh.

He doesn't say anything in response, giving you the chance to lead the conversation. If you wanted to completely ignore the subject at hand, you don't think he'd mind. This gives you the confidence to do the complete opposite.

You take a deep breath before sputtering, “I told my friends about our deal. Drunkenly, so like totally an accident, but I did and now they know and—”

“Oh,” is all that comes out of his mouth at first. You worriedly lift your eyes to meet his, though now they're glued to the ceiling, with his back leaning against the wall. “That's—That’s okay. What harm could they cause? Unless you're telling me they're planning on going around campus exposing us… But that's not your fault.”

This time, you say “Oh,” standing in silence and staring at Heeseung’s favourite spot on the ceiling, too. The panel twitches from above, and you can imagine the elevator crashing has something to do with it. “I also got into a huge fight with them, or maybe not all of them, but it was, it was bad. We've never fought like that.”

“What was the fight about?”

You, you want to say. How Yizhuo did something stupid and it somehow turned into being about your complicated feelings for him. But you can’t tell him all of it, that’d be too much for such a tight space.

Shrugging while trying to look unconcerned, you decide to confess a half-truth. For some reason, you can’t get yourself to lie to him. “They think our plan is a bad idea because you’d be supposedly ‘using me,’ as if I like you, or something…”

He’s silent, at first. Heeseung considers what you’ve said, neither comforting nor arguing against you for it.

“Do you?”

You turn to him. “Do I what?”

“Like me,” he answers. “Do you like me?”

“I…” you start lamely. Your eyes avoid his, but they always seem to find their way back to his gaze, your face flushing underneath it. “I can’t answer that.”

And neither does he.

Instead, he turns so his body is completely facing yours, coming much closer than he was before. You tilt your head toward his where your breaths fan against each other. Your eyes make the mistake of drifting down to his lips again, and you instantly lose all composure.

You lean in first, but he’s quick to follow your lead, placing his hands onto your waist, while yours find their way to the base of his neck.

The kiss is delicate, but sparks fly all around. Your stomach does a flip when you feel his tongue tracing your bottom lip, but you don’t deny him access for long. 

Heeseung’s hands trail down your torso to your hips, where they inch backward to pull you closer into him. You follow his movements until he’s pushed against the wall with you tightly pressed against him. He flexes his arms around your body and flips you so your back is against the wall instead, with him hovering above you.

His knee is drawn between your legs pressing against your core, eliciting a moan, but it doesn’t go further than that. Soon enough, your movements are slowing down, though your heart is still racing in your chest.

When you separate, your mouth hangs open. “Heeseung…” you whisper, but before you can say anything more, the doors slide open.

“Are you okay?” The janitor that you predicted would be there is standing by the buttons, holding a handy-man suitcase for the electrician kneeling in front of the panel. “Anyone get hurt?”

You brush off any dust from your back, adjusting your shirt and hair to be more presentable. Also to erase the memory of whatever just happened. Did we really…? “No. No, we’re okay. Thank you.”

“Yes, we’re… okay,” Heeseung adds quietly.

You don’t even wait for Heeseung, rushing toward the staircase on the other side to get to your floor. For a moment, you hear his footsteps behind you, but once you’re up halfway, you realize he’s given up and you let out a sigh of relief.

You don’t really want to face him now, not after what just happened.

Luckily for you, you don’t need to face him for a long time afterward.

You stare at his latest text (”assignments are pretty crazy atm let’s reschedule our next fake dates”), trying not to focus on your heart tightening at his word choice, and quickly reply:

ME sounds good! see u :) 10:11

The week goes by slowly and quietly.

With Heeseung mostly M.I.A besides the occasional short-worded answers to your texts and you actively avoiding running into your friends, you’ve had a lot more time for yourself and you notice how much you hate it.

So, you pluck up the courage to text the ghosted group chat, asking the girls to meet together at the café. You all need to talk, whether any of you like it or not.

Though, the reason you even have the motivation to do this at all is because you know the girls have been making an effort to talk. Although not in the group chat, your messages have been spammed daily with apologies and questions about your daily life, to keep it casual. You also received a note during the class you share with Ryujin which read simply: “Love ya xx”

You smiled at it before crumpling it and stuffing it into your bag—What? You were trying to make a statement.

Now there’s no need for theatrical note crumpling, with the three girls surrounding you at your regular booth. Yours and Heeseung’s, you mean. It’s the comfiest there, you convince yourself when making the natural choice to sit there.

The space is filled with awkward silence as you sip on your mocha, feeling even more stuffy when the girls don’t make a move to drink their own orders. You’ve had enough of this. “Guys… Let’s talk, or something. We’re still friends.”

“I’m sorry,” Yizhuo says out of the blue. “Seriously. That was really messed up and I shouldn’t have said it. And I shouldn’t have reacted the way I did, you had every right to be mad.”

You smile softly. “Thank you,” is all you say, taking her hands in yours and squeezing them. You lean your head against her shoulder and the two of you stay like that for a while.

“You really like Heeseung, don’t you?”

Your head shoots up at Yunjin’s sudden question. You stumble over your words, trying to suppress the blush from spreading up to the tips of your ears, but you feel the heat anyway. “No, no, I—I don’t. No.” You shake your head for emphasis, but Yizhuo looks at you with telling eyes.

“Sure, I believe you,” she says, completely meaning the opposite.

“I just—” you start, not really knowing how you feel. “Our whole set-up, it’s—it’s fake. He doesn’t feel the same. I don't even know why he kissed me—”

“He kissed you?!”

Before you have the chance to respond, your phone buzzes, drawing your attention thankfully away from your accidental reveal. It’s Heeseung. Great.

희승♡ there’s a party at sunghoon's, you wanna come? 14:23

ME when is it? 14:23 

희승♡ tonight @ 10 14:23

You look back up at the girls to find them staring at you with knowing smiles. It’s not hard for them to notice who you’re texting, or the way your eyes glint at the messenger.

“So,” you tell them. Yizhuo and Ryujin lean in, while Yunjin raises a curious brow. “Who wants to go to a party?”

Sunghoon’s house isn’t as grand, but it’s just as prepared for a party as Jay’s. Music blares into the driveway as you, Heeseung and the girls make your way to the door. Nobody is standing by it with a blunt, but the wide-open entrance is welcome enough.

“You guys go in,” you tell the girls, making a sign for them to not protest. They don’t, understanding your unspoken signal and heading inside. You turn back to Heeseung who looks more nervous than he’s known to be nonchalant. “Hey…”

“Hey,” he says back.

“It’s been a while.”

He hums, looking off to the cars spilling out into the street, nodding at nothing. “I’m sorry, I was, uh, busy,” he clarifies.

A chill passes between you, but you’re not so sure if it’s the wind or the awkward air. Either way, you’re happy to have brought a jacket to bury your hands in.

“You made up with your friends,” Heeseung notes suddenly.

“Yeah, we talked earlier.” He’s not going to bring up the kiss, you conclude, and neither are you. Maybe you can go on and forget it happened altogether. “We sorted it all out.”

Heeseung gives you a genuine, albeit small, smile. “That’s good.”

Scenes from the elevator rush through your mind. His hands around your waist, his lips against yours. The way it all felt, how consumed you were of him. How good it was. You blink it away and gesture to the door. “Should we…”

“Let’s go,” he says, then adds, “Kang Hana.”

You laugh. Okay, you think, we’re okay.

And with Heeseung by your side, the night is one to remember.

With the music ringing loudly throughout the house, after a few light drinks, you and Heeseung spend your time dancing with your hands on each other, rhythmically guiding each other to the melody. You almost forget there are other people in the room at all, closing your eyes and only thinking of the man holding you in his arms.

When the fourth or fifth song ends, you separate, only for him to run his hand down your arm to grab your hand on his own. He leads you to one of the rec rooms.

“There she is!” Yunjin’s drunken voice makes you giggle, the buzz getting to you, too.

“Hi, hi,” you tell her and the others.

Yizhuo is busy steadying her aim, holding onto a ping pong ball just past her nose with one closed eye, to greet you, but Ryujin waves sleepily from her place. She’s leaning against someone you recognize from one of her study groups. They nod to you, too.

“Hey,” Heeseung whispers, leaning into your ear.

You giggle at the feeling of his words against your skin. “Hey, back.”

“I’m gonna go get another drink, you want one?”

You nod eagerly, letting your fingers fiddle with his even as he begins to walk away. When he’s gone, your hands linger in the air for a moment more, missing the warmth of his hold.

Suddenly, the warmth comes back, though it’s different.

Turning around, you’re faced with Jay. “Can we talk?” he asks.

Wordlessly, you nod and let him guide you through the crowd of people to a more secluded area.

“What’s up?” You try to steady your voice, but it comes out higher pitched and perky out of instinct, still feeling the adrenaline of the buzz.

“Heeseung told me you wanted an ‘in’ at my dad’s firm?”

Your eyes light up. “Yes, yes I do!”

He chuckles at your excitement. “Well… I can give you his details so you can get into contact with him. I’m also technically not supposed to tell you this, but—” You lean in expectantly. “—they're picking out students for a co-op over the summer. Maybe I could put in a good word, slide your application at the top of the pile…”

“You can do that? Seriously!?”

“I can’t guarantee it’ll be with my father himself.” He raises his arms in defense. “But I can definitely get you some connections on the inside.”

Your hands come up to your mouth, holding it from going agape in honour. “Thank you, oh my God, thank you,” you repeat for good measure. “I can’t thank you enough.”

“Don’t worry about it.” The air shifts as he moves closer to you. Jay’s hand lands on the wall not far off from your head. He leans in, his breath tickling your skin, making your cheeks flush. “Maybe you could thank me by letting me take you out?”

For a moment, you’re frozen in your spot. How are you meant to react? Heeseung’s best friend hitting on you? What would happen if he saw? Wait, does it even matter? You’re not actually dating. Right?

But the elevator…

“Hey,” a familiar voice sounds from behind you. Heeseung steps forward, the lights of the party illuminating his features dimly. His face wears an uncharacteristic anger in his furrowed brows and hardened jaw. “Back off.”

Jay simply laughs, retracting his hand. “Why do you care,” he taunts.

You try to keep your composure. Jay hasn't been the nicest out of the group, but you never expected him to sound so mean.

You watch as Heeseung refuses to reply, not wanting to push Jay even more as he’s clearly too buzzed to have a coherent conversation. He tries to grab onto his arms and lead him away, but Jay’s quick to push them off.

“You don’t even like the girl,” Jay slurs.

Heeseung gets closer to him, grabbing his arm and talking into his face to make sure he listens. “You’re drunk, Jay, back off.”

Jay isn’t having it. He tosses his head back in a laugh. “Don’t tell me you actually fell for her?” he asks in a venomous tone. Your stomach churns as you watch their interaction. A smirk grows across his lips. “You owe me.”

“Fuck off.”

“What?” You weren’t going to step in, already feeling shaken up enough from tonight’s events. But Jay’s words ring in your mind. “What does he mean you owe him? What, what is he saying?”

Heeseung’s eyes lock with yours, pity and sadness ghosting his expression. “Y/N, I can explain—”

“We made a bet,” Jay cuts in. He shrugs Heeseung’s hands off of his shoulders. “He had to get any girl on campus to fall for him, leave her in the dust and watch her crawl back.” He turns to Heeseung with a mocking pout, his steps wobbling. He’s really drunk. “Doesn’t matter that she won’t come crawling back, ‘cause you’re too soft to leave her.”

“What’s your problem,” Heeseung shuts. “Are you jealous? That’s fucking low, even for you.”

You can’t even see him properly, your vision blurred in tears. Your breath catches in your throat as you want to say something to interrupt, come between. But you can’t even stand being by Heeseung right now. “A bet? This was all a bet?”

He turns to you quickly. “Y/N, please, let me explain.”

You shake your head, tears running down your cheek, surely ruining your mascara. “I have to go.”

Maybe it would make sense if you let him explain. Maybe he could somehow salvage the situation, but you can’t hear it. Not right now. Not after everything you’ve felt for him, everything you still feel for him despite the ache in your chest.

From behind you, Heeseung calls your name. “Wait, please!” You ignore him and run out of the house.

Your body shakes. “Should’ve brought a sweater..” you mumble bitterly. Then you remember that you did, but you left it inside. You also realize that you left all of your friends behind without a word. “And my phone,” you groan. You could easily turn back around and get them, but you’re already halfway down the road, you can even see your building in the distance.

It’s too humiliating to go back now, anyway.

How could I be so stupid? you think to yourself. Lee Heeseung, going out with you out of his own free will? Stupid. Impossible. Just a dumb fantasy. 

It starts to rain. You curse at the sky.

When you finally make it to your dorm, stumbling up the steps because of course the elevator still hasn’t been fixed, you go straight to bed without washing up. You’re too tired for this. And, you realize, you drank too much to care.

You try to fall asleep. You really do.

But your head keeps replaying Jay and Heeseung’s conversation. The way Heeseung lips parted when Jay revealed it all. The way he looked at you, begging for you to listen to him. It’s all stuck in your head and in fear of it following you into your dreams, your body refuses to fall asleep to ignore everything.

Just as you’re about to take your pillow and scream into it, you’re interrupted by the buzzing of your phone.

희승♡ i’m right outside your door 02:23

희승♡ you have every right to slam the door in my face 02:23

희승♡ or not open it at all 02:24

Staring at the messages, you bit your lip in consideration of your options.

You could, A. Not get up. Keep the door closed and never speak to Lee Heeseung ever again. Or, B. Get up, open the door and see what he has to say to explain himself. You’re liking the former, but your feet move on their own toward the entrance.

You lift yourself up to peer through the peephole. Heeseung is standing there, fidgeting anxiously in his stance. He looks from right to left a couple times, down to his phone, back up, and closes his eyes. After a deep breath, you watch him begin to walk backward, slowly.

Something snaps in you. You open the door.

His eyes widen at the sight of you. You’re probably still a mess, eyes red from crying paired with tear-stained cheeks and running mascara. You don’t even want to begin to picture the state of your hair. Yet, he looks at you in awe. “Hi,” he whispers.

“Hi,” you whisper back.

Wordlessly, you step back to motion for him to come in.

Heeseung follows you onto the couch, where you sit down to look past the TV in front of you and stare at a blank space on the wall. You feel his eyes on you.

“I’m sorry,” he then says.

You don’t reply.

“I don’t expect you to forgive me,” he starts again. “But can I tell you everything from the start? I need you to know what really happened. Then, you can go on to hate me.”

I don’t hate you, you want to say. You don’t speak, nodding for him to go on.

Ironically, considering he was drunk out of his mind, Heeseung remembers the moment he got your call.

He and the boys were hanging at Sunghoon’s, originally just planning on playing video games and getting high, but then Sunghoon mentioned his dad’s stash. “Whiskey and lemonade, anyone? Rum and coke? Dirty Shirley? If you’re feeling creative,”

Who was Heeseung to deny?

And so, soon enough, they were drunk enough to forget the weight on their shoulders and act more carefreely. This is when Jay decided to come up with a brilliant idea.

“So we all know Heeseung’s a whore—”

“Hey,” he interrupted. “I haven’t gotten some in, like, four months.”

Jay laughed, taking another swig of his drink. He grimaced as the liquid burned down his throat. “You’ve basically fucked half of the campus, but it’s always one night and that’s it.” Heeseung nodded, not sure where he was going with this. “Bet you can’t get someone to fall in love, or some shit.”

He couldn’t help but raise a brow challengingly. “What? You think someone wouldn’t fall for me if I gave them flowers and took them out?”

“Have you ever even actually dated?”

The answer was yes. Technically. If you count middle school relationships. Otherwise, fine, he’ll admit to himself that he hasn’t ever dated anyone seriously. That’s just ‘cause he hasn’t found anyone he’s really interested that he knows would be into him, too.

Of course, there was you. You were the first person he ever fell head over heels for. Heeseung didn’t even know he was capable of falling so hard, but he did.

Though you would never like him back. You’ve already confirmed it.

So, Heeseung clapped his hands determinedly. “You wanna bet on it?”

But before Jay could answer, his phone rang.

The contact felt familiar—Note Giver—but his mind couldn’t register. “Hello,” he said confusedly.

Some commotion on the other side took him by surprise.

“Um… Who is this?” Sunghoon looked at him curiously, wondering what could’ve interrupted their moment.

The girl, he presumed, on the other side hesitated for a moment. There was more noise before she said: “This is… Hana…”

“Hana?”

“Kang. Kang Hana,” the girl clarified. Y/N. He finally realized it was you. “We met at the, uh, party last Friday. At Jay’s.”

Heeseung considered your words, wondering where you were going with this. At the same time, he accidentally spilled his drink. “Shit,” he whispered away from his phone. Sunghoon tossed him a towel with a big smile on his face. When the mess was mostly cleaned, Heeseung brought the phone back to his ear, cleaning the rest of it with his other hand. “Kang Hana.”

“Yeah, we had a good time together, didn’t we?”

He paused. “I guess,” he said slowly. He wanted to have a little fun with this, listen to your voice a little longer. “Can you remind me?”

You began to tell the tale about your supposed encounter, spinning the story into something that genuinely impressed Heeseung. Every now and then, he hummed, trying to suppress a laugh at your creativity. He doesn’t even want to know why this was happening.

“I’m so sorry, I left you in the dirt and—” Your voice was cut off by a squeal, shocking him.

“Woah!” he yelped, pulling the phone away once again. Jay couldn’t hold his laugh at Heeseung’s reaction.

“Who is it,” he asked.

Heeseung didn’t miss a beat before responding without really thinking. “Y/N.”

He practically hears your heart drop. “You knew it was me?”

“Obviously,” he replied with a chuckle. “Took me a second, I’m a little tipsy, haha.” He didn’t want to throw you off by admitting he was more than buzzed, so he told a white lie. As long as he was coherent enough to have a conversation, he thought it was fine.

“Oh, am I interrupting?”

“You’re never a bother, babe.”

Why did I say that? Maybe he’s more drunk than he thought. It just slipped past his lips, he doesn’t know why. Were his fantasies meshing with reality that he couldn’t help himself? Heeseung tries not to watch Jay’s face morph into something mischievous.

“Huh,” you said, which made Heeseung cringe.

Jay mouthed something in his direction. He tried to read it, but it must've been something along the lines of “Her. She’s the girl.”

Heeseung knew what he meant and mentally hurled the empty chair to his right at him. Back to the phone conversation, he tried to change the subject. “Are you with the girls?”

You told him you were, and he took this as an opening.

As much as he wanted to keep talking with you, since it’s been so long, he needed to get away from this conversation to recover from the embarrassing slip-up. “I don’t want to keep you if you’re having fun. Text me later though, okay?” God, when does he stop talking?

You confusedly told him “Okay?” before you cut the call.

He was already typing a message to apologize to you for his behaviour, but Jay was already telling him to play along with it some more. The bet was on and he decided that you were going to be the girl.

Heeseung felt a knot form in his stomach.

“I should’ve just come clean when we met at the café, but I didn’t. I’m sorry.” He ends his retelling at that, you fill in the rest with your mind.

You’re not sure what to say. You have so many questions and comments spiralling in your mind, where do you even start? “There was never a girl?”

“No… Just you.”

Stuttering, you just have to ask. “Why me?”

“Jay told me to go for you, said it would be a challenge. I was stupid enough to go along with it. I can’t tell you how sorry I am, I wanted to tell you the truth, but I… I really like you, Y/N, I didn’t think you’d want to be with me if you knew the truth.”

“You called me babe.” Is all you say.

“What?”

“On call. The first time. You called me babe. I thought that was you playing your role.”

Heeseung lets out a shaky sigh that sounds more like a breathy laugh. “I was drunk,” he explains. “And I…” You look at him expectantly. “I’ve liked you since we met, and I guess it slipped up ‘cause I wasn’t thinking clearly.”

This shocks you. You blink up at him. “Since we met?”

“Well, pretty much.” He rubs the base of his neck awkwardly. “Obviously you’re really pretty, but it was more than that. You were always the first in class. You only answered the professor when no one else would, even though you definitely always knew the answer. You’re so well spoken, too.” You blush at his words. You never realized he had been so observant. You never thought anyone would notice so much about you.

However, you shake your head. “But you never said anything?” This truly astounds you. The everknown Lee Heeseung never made a move to even at least try to be with you. You can’t even know if you would’ve said no to him because well… he’s him. If you knew him the way you know him now, you know you would’ve said yes in a heartbeat.

“Remember what I told you about the girl I liked?” You nod. “You’re her.”

You furrow your brows. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Last semester, I went to one of the campus parties and you were there. You were drunk out of your mind,” he laughs. Oh, God, he remembers, too? “At first I was just admiring this new side of you. So carefree and so unapologetically you.” His eyes glint at the memory. You can almost see it replaying in your head. Almost because you truly can’t remember much of that night. “And then you ran off to the bathroom at some point ‘cause you got sick. I followed you to make sure you were alright, but you pushed me away.

“You told me to fuck off ‘cause you didn’t want to sleep with me. You called me a player and said you didn’t want to get roped up in that, or something. I think you insulted me some more, but your words were kind of all mashed together.” You flush. “I left you alone, but made sure to get your friends to check on you. And, I don’t know, I kind of lost interest in hooking up with random people after that.”

Your eyebrows raise, impressed. “You quit cold turkey?” He nods. “For me?”

He nods again.

“Wow… You really like me?”

“Y/N, I think I’m in love with you.”

You find yourself teetering on the edge of disbelief and joy, uncertain about how to respond to this unexpected revelation. Heeseung looks at you with such tenderness that you’ve never had directed toward you, to which your heart flutters with warmth.

His eyes shift from adoration to concern as you sit there in shock for a moment. “I know you probably don’t like me back, but—” he starts, but you don’t let him finish.

Driven by a surge of emotions, you lean in, pressing your lips against his.

As you kiss him this time, there’s a greater sense of assurance. Your first kiss carried an air of uncertainty, with both of you unsure about each other’s feelings. The way you felt when pulling away left your stomach in knots, thoughts of insecurities and worries running through your mind.

You let go of your hesitation, now, focusing solely on this moment. The way your lips connect to his, the way he smiles into the kiss and the way you pull away to look at him with telling eyes.

“I love you, Kang Hana,” Heeseung tells you.

You reply with a laughing smile. “I love you, too, Lee Heeseung.”

A ringing phone blares in your ear early in the morning. You groan, eyelids barely awake since even the sun hasn't come up yet. “Hello,” you mumble into the receiver. “Um… Who is this?”

You recognize the chuckle from the other side. Suddenly, you’re much more awake. “I’m sorry, Love, did I wake you?”

“No! No—” you scramble but are cut off by a yawn. Heeseung laughs softly again. “Yes, you did, but that's okay. Why're you calling so early? How are you even up?”

“I couldn't sleep.” Then, he adds more teasingly. “Not without you.”

You can practically hear the wink he sends.

“I wanted to watch the sunrise, and then I thought that maybe you’d want to watch it with me?” He says it like a question, as if he's not sure. You shake your head even though you know he can't see it. “Maybe I should've thought this through…”

A giggle escapes your lips without warning. “It’s fine, Heeseung. How about you come over and we’ll watch it by my window? Unless you have a spot?”

He hums assuredly. “No, no, I was just gonna watch it from mine, too. I’m actually, uh, already inside your building.”

He’s so ridiculous. You laugh to yourself before telling him to come up—You unlock the door, only for him to appear right on the other side as you do it.

“Hi,” you tell him with a bright smile despite your tired eyes.

“Hi,” he replies quietly.

You’re lucky your window is facing the east, with little to nothing blocking your view from the clear bluish-orange morning sky, aside from some trees, but they only add to the landscape. The sunrise is beautiful, but you conclude that Heeseung is much more beautiful, especially with the way his eyes reflect the sun rays that hit through your window.

For a moment, you shut your eyes to appreciate the heat of the rays. “Beautiful,” Heeseung murmurs.

And when you open your eyes, you realize he’s looking at you.

[alinathinkstoomuch]

Filthier Flat-Pack Thoughts

18+ MDNI pairing: aaron hotchner x reader summary: your boss rejects you the first time but what happens when he's the one in charge? (part 2 of Filthy Flat-Pack Thoughts, but can be read as a standalone) warnings: baso porn w/o plot, hotch has a filthy mouth, reader and hotch both have a thing for mirrors... p in v sex, fingering, idk man i got carried away, enjoy xx (not proof read, dont come for me) word count: 5.6k ✧ masterlist

You had taken the coward’s way out when Monday came. But really, what else were you supposed to do after throwing yourself at your boss and getting let down?

So, instead of facing the consequences of your actions – or worse, facing him – you sent Hotch a text claiming you weren’t feeling well and asked if you could use your PTO for the day.

He didn’t respond. Not directly, at least. But just before the usual morning briefing, Garcia had texted you.

Feel better soon, sunshine!!!

Accompanied by enough emojis to make your head spin. Which meant he must have told them. Which meant that it was fine. And yet, the thought of him seeing your message, reading it, and choosing not to reply left a pit in your stomach that you weren’t ready to unpack.

You just needed one more day.

One more day to shake off the mortification, to stop replaying every humiliating second of Friday night in your head, to convince yourself that come Tuesday, you would walk into work and pretend none of it ever happened.

You didn’t want the day to go to waste so you tried to be productive, throwing yourself into the thing that would keep your hands and mind occupied - finally unpacking.

And you had mostly succeeded.

Most of your boxes were empty, your things finally finding a place in your new home, and after an embarrassing amount of time, you had even managed to put together your bedside table. But despite the distraction, despite the minor victory of assembling furniture without Hotch’s help, the second you sat down, exhaustion settling deep into your bones, it was still there.

That awful, gnawing awareness that sooner or later you were going to have to face him.

You decided that a hot shower might help wash away the lingering shame clinging to your skin. You turned the water up almost too hot, as you stood under the shower head, hands pressed against the cool tiles.

It was fine.

You just needed to stop overthinking it. Hotch wasn’t cruel. He had let you down gently. He had done the right thing. So why did your stomach still twist at the memory of it?

By the time you stepped out, your body felt warm, relaxed - your mind, less so. You pulled on one of your softer, more delicate chemises – a small indulgence in comfort you desperate needed. Then, with a sigh, you settled onto the couch, grabbing your phone and tapping through your contacts.

Garcia picked up on the second ring.

“Ah, my fallen soldier! How are we holding up?”

You groaned, shifting on the couch, tucking your legs beneath you. “I’m fine, Pen. Just taking a day to recover.”

“As you should, my dear. Self-care is critical after a weekend of… whatever happened that has you hiding away.”

You rolled your eyes, stretching out against the cushions. “Moving, Penelope. Moving has be hiding away. It is truly an exhausting process.”

Garcia hummed, evidently not convinced by your little white lie. “Well, boss man seems exhausted too. Or just very tense and broody. I can’t tell anymore, his scowls are all starting to blend together. Did he maybe pull a muscle helping you with your furniture or something?”

Your stomach dropped.

“Penelope -” you started, only to be cut off by a knock at your door.

You froze.

“Okay, who have you sent to my door this time?” you muttered, pushing yourself up from the sofa.

“Excuse me? I’ll have you know I’m not the mastermind behind all surprise visitors.”

You didn’t believe her for a second.

Still, you pulled on your robe, tugging it over your chemise as you made your way to the door. The fabric felt softer than usual, almost fragile, like it wasn’t quite enough of a barrier between you and what was waiting on the other side.

Balancing your phone between your ear and shoulder, you tied a loose knot at your waist, fingers fidgeting with the belt as Garcia sighed dramatically on the other end.

“Well? Who is it? Spill.”

Your hand hesitated over the lock, a second of hesitation turning into two, three, before you finally turned the knob and pulled the door open.

Your stomach plummeted.

Because there he was.

Aaron Hotchner.

Standing on your doorstep – again. Looking every bit like the man you had spent the last two days trying to avoid, trying to forget, trying not to replay in your head on a never-ending loop.

“Let me call you back, Garcia,” you murmured absentmindedly, already pulling the phone away from your ear, hanging up before she could even think to respond.

Because right now, the last thing you needed was an audience.

You barely registered the sound of the line disconnecting, too focused on the man standing in front of you. Hotch didn’t speak right away, didn’t explain why he was here, didn’t offer you anything to ease the knot forming in your stomach.

He just watched you, which was almost worse.

You had been bracing yourself for tomorrow, telling yourself that by then, the weight of everything would have settled just enough for you to fake your way through the awkwardness, to act like Friday night had never happened.

But here he was. Now. And the fragile plan you’d built to protect yourself had just gone up in flames.

“Can we sit?”

His voice was softer than you expected. Softer than you were ready for.

You pressed your lips together, shifting on your feet, your fingers tightening around the knot of your robe, grounding yourself in the feel of the fabric, something real to hold onto.

A moment passed before you finally stepped aside, nodding slightly.

"Yeah."

Your lips pressed together as you shifted your weight from one foot to the other, your fingers tightening around the knot of your robe.

He moved toward the couch, and you should have followed.

But you didn’t.

Instead, you lingered near the doorway, arms crossing over your chest, putting space between you. An invisible barrier, as if it could protect you from whatever was about to come next Hotch noticed, of course he did. His gaze flicked over you, reading every tiny shift in your posture, every hesitation, every instinct to put distance between you.

And still, he didn’t push. Not until he settled on the couch, elbows resting on his knees, his eyes never leaving yours.

"Sit, angel."

It was the way he said it – so soft, so steady – that you almost weren’t sure you’d heard him right. You sighed, resigned to the fact that there was no avoiding this conversation and lowered yourself onto the couch, leaving enough space between you.

A brief pause stretched between you. He was studying you, assessing you, trying to read you. And you suddenly felt so exposed despite the layers of fabric now separating you from him.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his tone feeling dangerously close to concern.

You let out a small, dry laugh, shaking your head. “You came all this way to ask me that?”

“Did you take today off because of what happened Friday?” he countered your question with another, leaning forward.

You expected the question, but hearing it out loud – acknowledging it – made you ache all over again. You dropped your gaze, fingers toying with the edge of your robe, avoiding his eyes like that somehow could make this easier. “I just… needed a day.”

Hotch nodded like he understood, like he had already known the answer before you even said it. His expression softened, and when he spoke again, it was even gentler than before.

“I never wanted to hurt you.”

“You didn’t,” you said quickly, too quickly.

Hotch didn’t look convinced, your name falling from his lips.

“I mean it,” you continued, making yourself sound certain. Trying to convince yourself as much as him. “You were kind, Hotch. You let me down in the nicest way possible. I appreciate that.”

“But –”

“I just needed today to clear my head,” you cut him off. “To remind myself that you were right.”

His brows furrowed. “Right?”

You let out a quiet, humourless laugh, dropping your eyes to your lap again. "That Friday night wasn't... real," you murmured, more to yourself than him. "It was stress and exhaustion and maybe a little too much wine. I let it get the best of me. It was a mistake."

The silence that followed was too long. Your fingers curled into the fabric of your robe, waiting for him to agree, to tell you that yes, it was a mistake, that it shouldn’t have happened, that you were right.

“Is that what you think?”

You looked up, brows pinching in confusion. “I mean…” You faltered, searching his face but it gave nothing away. “It was a mistake, wasn’t it?”

Hotch let out a breath, his fingers pressing into his thigh. “It wouldn’t have been right,” he said finally.

Maybe that should have been enough of an answer, maybe you should have left it alone. But you didn’t. Because something about the way he said it, the way his voice dipped slightly, made your stomach tighten, made the words slip out before you could stop them.

“That’s not the same as saying you didn’t want it.”

The moment they left your lips, you wished you could take them back.

His jaw clenched, his muscle ticking once.

And just as you started to convince yourself you had imagined this whole exchange, just as you prepared to backpedal, to fill the silence with some half-hearted attempt at smoothing things over, the most beautifully damning words falling from this mouth -

“I did want it.”

The air left your lungs in a sharp, breathless rush and you felt the room tilt.

“Then…why –”

“Because you deserved better than that.”

His words were firm, absolute, wrapped in the same conviction he carried into every case, every impossible decision.

“Hotch –”

“You’d been drinking,” he continued. “You’d had a long week and I know how quickly having too many things lined up at once overwhelms you.”

That sentence alone was enough to unravel you because he really did know you. He knew how your mind worked, knew how pressure built inside you until it spilled over.

“And I would have spent the entire next day wondering if I’d just taken advantage of you.”

Your throat tightened at the quiet honesty in his words, at the careful way he measured them, as if he had thought about this. As if it had sat with him just as much as it had with you.

And fuck, you didn't know what to do with that.

“You wouldn’t have. I didn’t need to be drunk to know that I want –” you hesitated, “–wanted you.”

He looked up at you, like he was weighing every single word you’d just spoken, turning them over in his mind like pebbles, making sure he heard you right.

“And what do you want now?” he asked lowly.

He was giving you the choice. No leading words. No hidden meaning. Just a simple, open-ended question.

Your stomach twisted, nerves and something warmer curling in your chest, in your belly, in the space between your ribs.

"You," you admitted, barely above a breath. "I still want you."

He nodded slowly. “Then take me to your bedroom.”

You blinked, unsure if you’d even heard him right, but the look on his face told you that you had. A sharp pulse of awareness ran through you, so strong it made your fingers clench into the fabric of your robe. You weren't sure you'd even be stable on your feet after hearing those words from his mouth, but you were sure as hell going to try.

Before you could move, he stood first. Your eyes followed the movement, unable to look away as he shrugged off his jacket, the rustle of fabric filling the space between you. Then came the cufflinks – carefully removed, set aside-before he rolled up his sleeves, revealing the strong lines of his forearms, the flex of muscle, the way his veins shifted beneath his skin.

And then, he reached for you. His hand open, waiting. Your gaze flickered up to his, searching, but all you found was patience and certainty.

“Only if you’re sure.”

Your fingers tightened around his.

You were sure. So damn sure.

You rose to your feet, and the moment you did, his other hand moved to undo the knot of your robe. His fingers worked it loose, the tie slipping free with ease, his breath coming just a fraction heavier as the fabric parted, revealing the delicate, pale pink lace beneath.

His tongue darted out, wetting his lips as his eyes dragged over you, taking you in inch by inch, slow and deliberate, like he wanted to memorize every detail.

And then he nodded toward the hallway. “After you.”

You turned, leading him down the hall, toward the first door on the right.

The soft glow from your bedside lamp spilled into the room, casting warm shadows against the walls. You silently thanked your past self for leaving it on –it was just enough light to see him, to see this, without feeling too exposed.

Pushing the door open, you stepped inside, moving toward the end of the bed. You didn't speak, didn't need to. You just waited, for his next instructions, for his next move.

Hotch's eyes swept over the room, taking everything in. It was still bare, not yet lived in, not yet filled with you –a work in progress, much like the two of you.

But then his gaze snagged on something. The full length mirror that rested against the wall, directly opposite your bed. You saw the moment he noticed it—the slight shift in his stance, the way his lips twitched, like he was already picturing something.

And then he moved.

Came to stand behind you, his hands finding your shoulders, warm and sure, guiding you just slightly until you were perfectly centered in front of it.

“That’s a very pretty mirror.”

Your eyes tracked every movement through the reflection, mouth parting, but for once you had no words. Then his lips brushed against your hair, barely there, but the heat of it lingered, seeping into your skin, into your bones, branding itself in a way you knew you wouldn’t be able to shake.

“Did you put it there so you could watch while you touched yourself?”

A slow, molten heat curled through you, pooling deep in your belly, spreading down between your thighs. Your legs tensed on instinct, pressing together as his fingers traced over the bare skin of your arms, feather-light, teasing, making you ache.

“Hm, sweet angel?”

You nodded meekly, biting down on your lip to supress the moan threatening to escape – one he had earned with nothing more than words.

“Did you do it after I left?”

Your sharp inhale gave you away, your body betraying you before you could even think of forming a response. Your back arched into him, fingers twitching as he intertwined them with his own, lips grazing the slope of your shoulder.

The mirror didn’t lie. You looked ruined already and he had barely touched you.

“Come on,” he murmured. “Use that pretty mouth before I find something else to do with it.”

That didn’t sound like the worst idea in the world.

Your throat bobbed as you swallowed. “Aaron, please.”

A slow, satisfied hum rumbled against your back as his hands finally moved higher, fingers ghosting over your nipples.

“Did you start from here?”

You felt dizzy. So dizzy that if you weren’t leaning into him, if he wasn’t holding you up, you were sure you would’ve collapsed. His right hand drifted lower, tracing the outside of your thigh while his left gripped you tighter, his palm kneading into your flesh.

“Or did you start with your thighs?”

You could feel his smirk against you skin, could see it in his reflection – the way his dark eyes met yours in the mirror, the way his lips curled at the edges as his fingers edged higher, inching toward the heat between your legs.

The fabric of your slip bunched up in his fist, silk riding up your thighs, baring you to him, exposing your lace panties.

Hotch exhaled slowly, watching the way the delicate material clung to your body.

“Show me, pretty girl.” His fingers flexed against your thigh, his grip firmer now. “I want to see what I missed out on.”

You looked at him through the mirror, eyes wide, lips parted in a soft pout because he couldn’t possibly be asking you to do this. Could he?

“Don’t make me ask again.”

Your thighs instinctively pressed together again, only to be met with his hand keeping them apart. A breathless sound escaped you, your body betraying you yet again, and his smirk deepened.

You knew what he wanted. And so, with shaky fingers, you moved your hand. His grip loosened slightly, giving you just enough space for your fingers to brush over the lace at the apex of your thighs.

“Atta girl.” His lips skimmed the curve of your jaw. “Show me. Show me how you thought of me.”

Your lashes fluttered, breath catching as your fingers dipped beneath the lace. Maybe it was a good thing it was your own touch and not his, because if he felt how wet you were, if he had proof of just how much you wanted him, it would only feed into his smugness.

And you weren’t sure you could survive that.

Hotch hummed in satisfaction, his right hand trailing up, covering yours, guiding it, controlling it as you started rubbing slow circles over your clit. His touch wasn’t hurried. Wasn’t forceful. It was intentional, like he wanted you to feel every second of this – feel what it was like to have his hand over yours, dictating the rhythm, deciding exactly how much pleasure you were allowed to take.

“Did you say my name?” he asked, voice rough. “Did you pretend it was me?”

Your lips parted, a desperate, needy noise slipping past them, your body trembling as he watched.

“Look at yourself.”

You forced your heavy eyes open, meeting your own reflection and you barely recognised yourself. Your body was trembling against his, your slip bunched at your waist, panties pushed aside, thighs twitching as you fought for air.

“What do you see, angel?”

Your breath hitched, your fingers faltering as his words wrapped around you, sinking deep into your stomach.

“I see a pretty girl who falls apart the second I tell her to.”

Your entire body shook. A fresh whimper broke free, your knees threatening to give out as his left hand tightened at your waist, keeping you upright, keeping you his.

“Please, Aaron –” Your voice was wrecked, desperate. “I don’t think I can keep going.”

His exhale was slow, like he was savouring the sound of you breaking. “Oh, sweetheart. Do you want me to take over?”

You nodded feverishly, too fast, your entire body screaming for relief. “P-please. I need you to.”

His grip on your wrist loosened enough for you to pull your hand away as he replaced it with his own. And then – God help you – his fingers moved.

A slow, deliberate drag through your slick folds, teasing, testing, until he found exactly what he was looking for. His touch was immediate and so much better than your own. A broken moan slipped past your lips, your head falling back onto his shoulder as your thighs quivered, struggling to hold yourself up.

“That’s it,” he whispered, voice rich with satisfaction, like he had known this would happen. “So much better when I do it for you, isn’t it?”

Your only response was a chocked sob, your hands grasping at his forearm, nails digging in, pleading.

You felt him smile against your skin. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

His pace quickened, precise and devastating, and you pressed into him – your body instinctively seeking more, needing all of him. And that’s when you felt it. The undeniable proof of what the sight of you like this had done to him. The thick, hard press of his arousal against the curve of your ass, straining against his slacks.

A fresh wave of heat rolled through you, a cry slipping past your lips before you could stop it.

Hotch groaned – actually groaned – his hips pressing forward, just enough to let you feel him.

“You feel that? That’s what you do to me, angel.”

Your breath hiccupped, tears burning at the corners of your eyes, your thighs clamping around his wrist, body trembling on the edge of something catastrophic.

“Aaron –”

“Be a good girl for me, hm? Come for me.”

And you did.

Your body tensed, your back arched, and then you shattered, a strangled sob escaping your lips as he worked you through it, whispering low, filthy praises into your ear, his grip never faltering.

Your body slumped against his, boneless, spent, your breathing uneven as you struggled to come back down. And when your hazy eyes flickered up to meet his in the mirror, the sight made your stomach flip all over again. 

“How was that, angel?”

He knew you would never be able to touch yourself again without thinking of this. Knew he had achieved exactly what he wanted.

“Really good,” you breathed, head lolling back against his shoulder, your body still trembling from the aftershocks.

His lips curled into a knowing smile before pressing a gentle kiss to your temple. “Good, honey. But I’m going to need you to take everything off and get on all fours.”

Your stomach tensed.

Fuck.

He was trying to kill you.

His hands finally released you, giving you space to move, but not before he watched.

Waited.

Your fingers were unsteady as they found the hem of your slip, lifting it slowly, peeling away the last barrier between you. The silk slipped over your head, landing somewhere on the floor, followed by your underwear.

The air hit your bare skin, goosebumps trailing in its wake but it wasn’t the cold that made you shiver. It was him and the way he looked at you. You turned toward the bed, moving to crawl onto the mattress when his voice stopped you.

“Not the bed.”

You bit your lip as you turned back to face him, your pulse skittering in your throat. He was still fully dressed, still so composed when you were the exact opposite. His gaze dragged down your body at an achingly slow pace, taking his time, allowing himself to drink you in – every inch of you, every part he hadn’t gotten to see a few nights ago.

“The floor, angel. Right in front of the mirror.”

Your body burned as you complied, knees wobbling as you lowered yourself onto the floor. You positioned yourself exactly where he wanted, your palms pressing into the cool surface, your back arching slightly – offering yourself to him.

And the second you settled, the second you caught his gaze in the mirror you saw it. The way his eyes devoured you. The way his gaze landed between your thighs, locking onto your bare, glistening pussy, and the way his lips curled.

That bastard smirked.

Smirked at the mess between your legs, at what he had done to you.

You watched as he lowered himself behind you, his broad frame closing in, the warmth of his presence wrapping around you like a second skin. A sharp inhale tore through you as you felt the press of his thumb collecting the wetness from your folds, spreading it, claiming it.

And just as you started to adjust to the feeling, just as your body tried to catch up – his thumb was gone, replaced with his middle and ring finger, teasing at your entrance, then slowly, slowly pushing inside.

A sound left you, something between a gasp and a whimper, something utterly helpless, so desperate it made your skin burn.

He chuckled.

“You can use my fingers, honey. But you’re going to have to do the work.”

Your eyes snapped open, meeting his through the mirror.

He wasn’t kidding. His fingers stayed inside you, buried deep but he wasn’t moving them. Your walls clenched around him instinctively, desperate for friction, for more but he stayed still.

“Go on,” he said, his other hand pressing down on the small of your back, encouraging you. “Make yourself feel good.”

Your palms flattened against the hard surface beneath you, bracing yourself as you moved – tentative at first, a slow, testing roll of your hips as you slid down onto his fingers. The stretch had you sucking in a sharp breath, your lips parting around a whispered curse.

And he watched. His eyes never left you, locked onto your reflection in the mirror, tracking the way you rocked against his hands, the way your thighs trembled as you found your rhythm, the way you used him exactly the way he wanted you to.

But still it wasn’t enough. You needed more. You needed all of him, buried deep inside you, stretching you open in ways his fingers never could. But he wasn’t offering that, so you took what you could get. You bucked your hips harder, forcing more friction, forcing the stretch, chasing what you knew only he could give you.

A sharp cry slipped from your lips. “Fuck, Aar –”

“I know, baby.” His fingers twitched inside you, pressing just enough to make you gasp, just enough to remind you he was still in control “I know.”

And then, just as quickly, they were gone.

A desperate whimper spilled from your lips at the sudden loss, your body clenching around nothing, the emptiness leaving a sharp pang of need that made your head spin. And yet, before panic could settle in, before you could beg for him, you heard it.

The click of his belt buckle.

Your head moved up to meet his eyes in the mirror just in time to see him work the leather through the loops before letting it drop to the floor with a thud. He never broke contact as he reached for the button of his slacks, undoing it before the soft sound of his zipper filled the room.

He took his time.

Watched you squirm, watched the way your thighs could do nothing but press together.

His slacks slipped down, bunching at his feet, and then, finally, his boxers. Your pulse pounded against your ribs as he exposed himself, the tip of his cock already slick with precum, showing you just how much he wanted this – wanted you.

Once his shirt was discarded, he lowered himself back down, hands finding your waist, fingers pressing into your skin with just the right amount of pressure to remind you who you belonged to. Your back arched, your body responding before your mind could catch up, offering yourself to him in every way you knew he wanted.

You felt the hard, warm press of his cock against the back of your thigh, the slickness of it smearing against your skin, though you weren’t sure if it was from him or from you.

It didn’t matter because the next thing he was doing was dragging himself against your aching, soaked pussy. A sharp gasp tore from your lips as the thick length of him slid through your folds just enough to have you clenching around nothing.

He did it again, slow and deliberate, letting you feel him, letting the weight of his cock glide through your wetness, coating himself in it, using your own arousal to make you squirm.

"Jesus," he exhaled, his grip on your hips tightening, fingertips pressing into your skin like he was barely holding on. "So fucking wet for me, angel. You need it that bad, huh?”

The desperation in your body was humiliating, but you didn’t care. Not when he was teasing you like this, not when the heat between your legs pulsed and throbbed with every slow glide of his cock, not when he was so close to giving you what you wanted but still holding back.

“So bad, please,” you begged, pushing back against him, arching your spine, doing anything to get him where you needed. Every inch of you was trembling, every muscle coiled tight, your body nothing but pure, raw need.

He hummed, rolling his hips just enough for his tip to nudge against your entrance.

“Okay, sweet girl, okay.” His voice was gentle as he gave in. “But I need you to watch.”

His hand trailed up your spine before threading into your hair, gripping just firmly enough to tilt your head up, forcing your eyes to meet his in the mirror.

“Take a deep breath for me.”

And just as you sucked in that breath, he thrust inside you, the sudden, overwhelming stretch stealing the air from your lungs. Your fingers dug into the floor, nails scraping against the hard surface as your body jolted forward from the sheer force of it. The sensation was too much, not enough, everything all at once. Your head spun, struggling to process the way he filled you, how impossibly deep he was, how your body clenched around him, trying to adjust, trying to take him.

A ragged curse tore from his lips, his grip on your waist tightening, fingers pressing so hard into your skin that you knew you’d feel it long after this moment had passed.

His pace was slow – tortuous if you had to use one word to describe it. You watched him in in the mirror, the way his head tipped back, brows furrowed in restraint, chest rising and falling as he bottomed out inside you, taking a second to breathe before pulling back, leaving just the tip inside—before slamming back in.

A wet, filthy sound filled the room, followed by a broken sob from your lips as your body struggled to keep up with the intensity of it. The way he moved, the way he owned every inch of you, the way he was ruining you.

You didn’t know what you were begging for when his name slipped past your lips, raw and desperate. You just knew you needed it. More of him. Deeper. Harder. Just more.

"You're gonna come for me," he growled, his breath hot against your skin. "Gonna make a mess all over my cock while I fuck you through it, yeah?"

You nodded mindlessly, over and over again. “Y-yeah. Y-Yes.”

His hand slipped between your thighs, finding you clit once more, pressing down with just the right amount of pressure, unravelling you inch by inch. Your body was already trembling, barely holding on, every muscle tensed.  

And he knew it. Of course, he knew it.

He could feel it, the way you clenched around him, the way your breath caught, the way you pushed back against him like you were chasing something you were already seconds away from losing yourself to.

“Fuck, baby, your gripping me so tight.”

Your body reacted to the words, your head dropping forward, your hands curling into fists against the floor as another wave of pleasure crashed through you.

"That's it, angel," he coaxed, his fingers moving faster, his thrusts hitting deeper. "Let me have it."

You came again, your body shuddering, incoherent mumbles falling from you lips as the orgasm swallowed you whole. But it still wasn’t enough for him. If anything, feeling you fall apart only spurred him on, made him rougher, hungrier, his grip bruising as he held you there, as he used your body to chase his own release.

His movements turned sloppy, his breath uneven, each thrust deep and desperate, dragging out his pleasure just a little longer. And then – his body tensed, his hands tightening on your hips as a sharp groan ripped from his throat, your name spilling from his lips as he buried himself inside you, coming hard, filling you completely.

His hips rocked into you a few more times, slower now, savouring every last second, his breath warm against your skin, ragged and uneven as he rode out the final waves of his release.

Then, his forehead dropped to your shoulder, his lips grazing your skin. “You okay?” he whispered.

You let out a breathless, satisfied hum. “More than okay.”

His hands slid to your hips and with careful movements, he rolled you onto your back, pulling out slowly before settling you against the floor. The loss of him sent a shiver through you, but you barely had time to dwell on it before his body hovered over yours.

You stretched beneath him, your fingers trailing up his arm, tracing the muscles still tensed from holding himself back. A lazy smirk tugged at your lips as you teased, "Who knew Aaron Hotchner had such a filthy mouth?"

“Consider it payback for not wearing a bra.”

You let out a laugh. “Well if that’s payback, I might just have to start wearing short skits with no underwear at the office.”

“Is that so?”

You grinned, stretching your arms above your head in an indulgent, satisfied way. “Mm-hm. I mean, if this is how you handle insubordination, I’d say I have a pretty strong case for pushing the dress code.”

His laugh was quiet, but it vibrated through you, something warm and rare and entirely for you. His weight shifted slightly as he reached for you, one hand trailing along your side, stopping just below your breast.

“Angel,” he murmured, dipping his head closer, brushing against your jaw before dragging down your neck. “You do that and it’ll be your last day in the office.”

“You’d fire me?”

He shook his head, his teeth grazing the delicate skin of your neck before soothing the spot with his tongue. “Never, honey. You just wouldn’t be able to walk for a week.”

dividers by cafekitsune

[rafeys-angel13]

“you’re burning up”

summary: rafe is home for a bit after being away for a month. you’re determined to spend time with him and do fun things together but the flu stops you from doing so. rafe looks after you.

warnings: none

writers notes: took me 40 mins to write this, i’m getting quicker yall watch out! ＼(￣▽￣)／

military!rafe x bunny!reader

rafe had been away for a month straight, you missed him like hell and he missed you too. he was coming back on friday for two weeks and you were so excited.

until you woke up on the friday morning and threw up. of course this had to happen today, your body’s shaking and you’re sweating. next minute you’re freezing. this is horrible.

rafe walks through the front door to be met by you waiting for him on the bottom step of your stairs right in front of the doorway, you had managed to painfully haul yourself out of bed 2 minutes ago for him coming home. he smiles widely when he sees you and his shoulders visibly relax.

“hey, princess…” he walks over as you stand up and he picks you up, hugging you tightly to his chest. he kisses your neck a few times and then pulls back, looking at you. his eyes furrow when he sees how pale you look and your dark circles.

“you feeling okay, bunny?” he tilts his head and you nod, looking up at him with those wide, innocent eyes he loves so much.

“mhm” you hum and he furrows his eyebrows.

“you don’t look too good, buns…” he feels your forehead and seems taken aback.

“you’re burning up” he sighs and walks to the kitchen, setting you on the counter.

“i promise it’s not even that bad, like i can walk and stuff and im only a little hot.” you quickly defend and he smiles softly at you with gentle eyes, pushing your hair out of your face.

“how long have you been sick?” he kisses your forehead as his hand rests on the top of your head to hold your hair back, he looks over your face with narrow eyes.

“since this morning… but it’s not that bad. i swear.” you smile slightly, not even believing your own words.

“you’re still sick. off to bed. go on… i’ll be up in a minute…” he kisses your head and pats your cheek, helping you down off the counter and watches you slowly make your way upstairs.

you walk upstairs and lay down in bed, turning on the tv show you had been watching. you start sweating and get a little overwhelmed so you take your hoodie and sweatpants off so you’re topless and just in some underwear, you tie your hair up in a bun, struggling as your arms are achy. not the sexiest you’ve ever looked but you really don’t care at the moment.

rafe comes back up holding a few things in one hand and a mug of tea in the other, you immediately smell the familiar scent of the lemon tea you drink often. you tilt your head to see what’s in the other hand and he sets the tea down on the table next to your bed.

“what else you got?” you mumble. eyes drifting from his hands to his face.

“just a few tablets that might help and a rectal thermometer” he smirks and sits on the side of the bed. you chuckle and he smiles. you shake your head.

“you’re most definitely not sticking that up my ass today… not in the mood.” you raise your eyebrows slightly as he chuckles.

“no ma’am, i’m just messin’ it’s a normal thermometer” he holds it out.

“hilarious” you mumble sarcastically and open your mouth, he sets the thermometer in your mouth then you shut it. eyes moving back to the tv.

a few moments later, the thermometer beeps and he takes it out, his eyes widening at the reading and he scoffs in disbelief.

“no way… says you’re 118 degrees” he frowns. “damn baby… you’re not leaving this bed anytime soon.” he shakes his head and wags his finger for dramatic effect.

“no fair, i wanna spent time with you, baby” you wine and grab his arm.

“i will spend time with you, baby girl… just- in bed.” he smiles and kisses your forehead.

you sigh and sink into the mound of pillows you’ve been clinging to all morning.

“i’m gonna go take a shower than i’ll be right back with you and we can cuddle all day.” he smiles, squeezing your thigh then getting up, heading to the bathroom.

“leave the door open…” you call out hoarsely.

“yes ma’am” he nods and opens the door all the way, undressing then getting into the shower.

you watch the tv as you wait for him to finish showering. he always takes long showers when he gets back home after being away. you find it cute, it’s like his version of your everything showers you take.

he gets out and puts a pair of boxers on before getting into bed with you. you feel the heat of his body and pull away.

“what was that for? i thought you missed me, bunny…” he pouts dramatically and drops his head on the pillow.

“you’re too warm… can you like… get the fan or something…?” you mumble, frowning as you try to piece together a simple sentence, which is proving very difficult at the moment.

“course…” he gets up and grabs the fan that was stored in the closet. he sets it up on rotation and then gets back into bed, pulling you into him.

“thanks…” you mumble and melt into his firm embrace, he rubs up and down your back.

“why you got your boobies out?” he chuckles and you roll your eyes.

“i got too hot… don’t laugh at me. you have your boobies out too…” you smile slightly and giggle.

“true…” he hums and starts to lightly scratch your bare back.

you’re quickly soothed to sleep by his soft touch and he is soon to follow. content that you’re safe and happy, the exhaustion catches up and he’s knocked out in no time.

-

[k-hotchoisan]

sticky web

<yunho x fem!reader>

when the Spiderman movie night with Yunho has its sticky complications because you're in a spider suit for him.

warnings: smut, pwp, suit fetish (kinda), reader is in a skin-tight venom suit, blow jobs, getting your lil suit dirty, unprotected sex, Spiderman movies and chill, Yunho fucking you through the suit, breeding kink

w/c: 2K

a/n: i'm posting this to appease my lovely readers (y'all) while I work thru your wonderful requests and my shitty writer's block )-: pls take this peace offering! <3 you know i love you guys sm 🩷 (also if you're wondering, spidey isn't my fav superhero but Dr Oct is one of my fav villains!!)

“You're really gonna get him fucked up when he sees you in this”, your friend teases, zipping your body con suit up. “His own girlfriend? Dressing up in a venom suit?”  

You roll your eyes playfully. “It's a reminder that I'll be his little Symbiote.” 

You look over to the mirror, feeling slightly subconscious at how much the suit is just hugging your curves despite how impressively breathable it was. And the reminder that you weren't wearing it out, at least for now, comforted you, mostly because, well, you weren't really wearing anything underneath this body hugging attire.

You had invited Yunho over for a Spiderman movie marathon to spend the Friday night, and the way his eyes lit up when you did? It's the cutest thing ever. You did your best to boost the ambiance too–dying the popcorn with red and blue sugar dyes, making spider web and spider-shaped cookies alongside some crystal candy that fit the theme for that extra crunch.

The doorbell rings, and you jump immediately to answer it when your phone reflects the text of Yunho mentioning that he's reached. 

Unfortunately, you did severely underestimate the effect it had on Yunho, because the moment you opened the door, Yunho definitely got distracted, evident by the reddening of his ears when his gaze rests on your cute little costume. 

You did tell Yunho to come in costume too, and he definitely did–in a red and blue spiderman patterned hoodie and red shorts. 

“What? Don't you like my costume?” You poke for an answer, giving Yunho a full spin, missing the way Yunho swallowing hard, trying not to eye fuck you. 

“You're… definitely dressed for the part”, Yunho manages out, his slender fingers covering his lips and nose, hoping you don't realise that he's growing as red as his hoodie.

He watches the material hugging your body tug and fit you just right, pulling at just the right places corresponding to your movements, and his feels his fingers twitch. 

Yunho turns away, his attention on the assortment of food presented on the table. 

“Red and blue popcorn?” He questions with a raised eyebrow as he settles onto the couch.

“It's just sugar dye”, you assure, sliding next to him, picking up a kernel, pressing it against his lips, your other hand mimicking the same action but to your own lips. Yunho smiles as he chews, the sweetness spreading all over his taste buds. 

“What should we watch first? Should we start all the way from the first Spiderman movie?” You suggest flickering through all the Spiderman movies back to the first. Yunho nods in agreement, stuffing his mouth with a couple more colourful popcorn. Pressing play, you absentmindedly huddle yourself against your partner, not that he minded, and Yunho lets his hands curl around your waist. 

Yunho is engrossed in the first thirty minutes of the movie, periodically munching on the snacks as the flick plays. 

You're leaning lazily against his arm, letting Yunho feed you from time to time, mostly because you didn't want to get your costume dirty. 

He blinks, wondering if he saw wrongly–your nipples poking through the fabric.

You're not wearing a bra underneath or anything?

Yunho shakes the thought off, trying to focus on the movie. Unfortunately his peripherals can't help but betray him, ever so slightly always trailing back to you. 

You look up at him from below, and point to the popcorn. 

“Yu, I want one more”, you request. Of course your boyfriend would feed you another one. When his fingers linger a little too long on your lips, you realise that his eyes aren't on the screen. 

He's staring at you. 

“Someone’s distracted”, you point out with a smirk.

You straddle his lap. 

The movie is paused.

Yunho’s hands are running up your body, and even though it's separated by a layer of fabric, his touches give you goosebumps.

“I can't concentrate when you're looking like this”, he mutters to your lips, and you feel his palm grab a handful of your ass. 

“Then concentrate on this”, you redirect, pulling him into a dizzy kiss–one that's just filled with moans and teasing. The both of you taste sweet, thanks to the popcorn.

 You're rubbing against his erection while he dry fucks you, and you're both not lasting long. 

You climb off him and sink to face his thick erection. Soft sighs as vibrations through the fabric of his shorts make Yunho shiver too. You palm his little problem, and hearing him groan while spreading his legs open is enough to make you clench your thighs. 

Pulling his shorts down, your heartbeat accelerates at his fucking length–precum trickling down his bare cock, veins so thick and prominent.

Your tongue travels up his thick length, and your mind almost go dumb when you feel Yunho’s fingers tug against your scalp. You look up at him through your lashes, visually savouring the way he's getting undone with your lips around his cock, in his favourite costume. Yunho wants you to just choke you on his dick, maybe get his cum dripping down your tits on the tight fabric. 

He only grows bigger in your mouth at the perverted thought and the way your eyes are slowly watering from his dick reaching to the back of your throat? He's not lasting long.

“Shit, that feels so fucking good”, Yunho groans, throwing his head back, pushing your head deeper, enjoying the sick sounds of you choking. Your mind is flooded with how good Yunho feels and fills your mouth, and it’s making you soak through your costume. 

Yunho groans with every squeeze your throat gives him, pushing himself to hit the back of your throat.

“Gonna cum in your tight pretty mouth. You're gonna swallow it all, yeah?”

You nod quickly, trying to keep up the pace of him fucking your mouth. With a strained groan, his cock pulses in your mouth, warm cum seeping through, and it makes your mind so dizzy. 

“Open”, he instructs, and you do, letting some of cum sleep past the corner of your lips and down your throat, then down onto your tits. 

Yunho is getting harder.

Yunho grabs you and throws you over his shoulder, leaving you surprised, and he marches into your bedroom, then drops you onto your bed. 

“Yunho-” you squeal when you feel his fingers press against the soaked fabric hiding your pussy. 

“It's in the way, don't you think?” He asks rhetorically, eyeing the way the damp patch grows bigger when he massages it against your sticky folds, making you bite your lip. Of course you're not wearing any fucking underwear. Yunho should have realised. 

Unfortunately, Yunho doesn't have the patience to take his sweet time to look for the zipper, so he does the more sensible thing–ripping a fucking hole at where your pussy is. 

You blink in shock.

Shit, he really ripped a fucking hole down there. 

You furrow your eyebrows. 

“Yunho! This wasn't cheap!” You pout, closing your legs in protest with much futile effort, considering his arms are keeping them open.

He looks at you with indifference. “Then I'll get you a new one. Promise.”

Yunho grabs your thighs and drags you closer to him. His cum on his dick dribbles onto the suit, and Yunho smears it further, sliding his cock down, pressing it up against your creamy and puffy folds, with almost little to no friction. 

“I was thinking of how far I can ruin this suit anyway.”

He swears he's fucking blessed–his gorgeous partner making such an adorable movie date night of his favourite character, dressing up for the occasion, and letting him fuck her dumb in this cute spider suit? He couldn't ask for more.

Your eyes slowly roll back when you feel Yunho’s cock push into your warm pussy, filling you up almost instantly. You hiss softly at the pressure, feeling your tight walls trying to accommodate him. 

“So warm. Oh, fuck,” Yunho groans, already losing himself in your heat. He’s gotten a little more sensitive but he's gonna make it last as much as he can.

There's something so perverted that Yunho enjoys so much–fucking you fully clothed like this. He realises it gets him off so fast. He watches hungrily–the way your tits bounce under the suit when he thrusts deep into you, and how it's as if he's fucking you through the thin suit. His fingers trail up to your tits, and his thumb brushes against your bare nipples that harden under the fabric, throwing you into an additional layer of pleasure.

“Have I told you that you look fucking delicious in this? The Symbiote suits you so well.” 

It's hard to formulate an answer when your boyfriend is fucking your brains out like this, but you know he doesn't mind the silence and the broken moans–it’s your answer.

A couple more heavy thrusts into you, the wet sounds accompanying your sobs before he instructs you to turn around for him.

You go on fours, and Yunho wastes little time to pin your head down onto the mattress by your neck before he fits in wet dick right into you again.

His free hand wanders across your ass, then he gives it a tight slap, making you squeal and tighten on him.

You're clawing the sheets, the pleasure filling you up and you can't concentrate on anything else other than Yunho’s cock filling in and out of you, hitting your sweet spots over and over again. You've surely soiled the costume to hell, but honestly, at least Yunho was making full use of it. 

“So good”, you mutter, your pussy clamping down on the feeling of Yunho stretching you out with his fingers pressing the sides of your throat. You swear you were drooling.

“Is it?” Another heavy thrust. 

Oh shit, you're not sure how much more you could handle. And it seems that Yunho is in a similar situation–his thrusts are getting heavier and sloppier. His mind is in the gutter now, especially when he's forced to watch your pussy leak sticky cream down your folds and stain your inner thighs, mixed with his cum. 

“Cumming-” you cry, your legs shaking. “So good. Can't think-”

“Make a mess for me, babe”, Yunho chuckles, his palm stroking your ass, grabbing a handful before he fucks himself deep once more.

Your mind melts with your orgasm hitting you in waves, your pussy convulsing uncontrollably on his dick, your moans forming a melody for his ears, and it pushes him far enough to make a mess in you, thick and warm cum filling you up that you’re forced to take. You hear him curse and groan behind you, and you drop your hips onto the bed, his cock popping out of you, completely covered in a glisten of cum, some still seeping out from his cock head.

He tugs your ruined folds open, watching his thick cum leak out of your spent hole, dripping onto your thighs, soaked up by the suit. Yunho takes in the sight of you panting, with probably more than half of the suit soiled with fluids, and your pussy, other than your face, both uncovered and in a complete mess. 

Fuck, he just might get hard again. 

“Yunho, this isn't a good idea–fuck”, you whimper, completely losing yourself to him once more. 

Yunho had washed you up a little after that, and he wouldn't let you take off the suit, at least, not yet. You thought finally, maybe you and him could actually watch a Spiderman movie or two, but when Yunho pulled you onto his lap, you knew that plan was out of the window considering that he got hard again, and had you seated right on his cock. None of you are focusing on the movies. 

“Don't be mad at me, babe. I'm just making sure that I make full use of this movie night you're giving me”.

Another thrust into your spent pussy once more, and your thoughts leave your head. 

He's certain of having you fucked and filled with his sticky web by the end of the first movie, that's for sure.

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