#this is kinda me thinking out loud but also the difference between the sub and sun is ridiculous | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

igbylicious · 7 months ago

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‘OH TO BE BESTIES WITH HONGJOONG i know in my heart that he’s such a good friend’ honestly this is THE most self-indulgent parts of this entire self-indulgent fic; getting to snark around with bestie Hongjoong lol! when i decided i wanted to give reader an ‘outsider’ friend, it wasn’t even a question, it HAD to be him!!! ♡

‘eh, talking to myself a little bit here, and i don’t really have a point i’m trying to get to xD thank you for your attention pfff <3’ ahhhhh i enjoyed reading it, and i really truly appreciate that you’re giving thought to it! you spoke nothing but facts lol. friendships tend to dissolve easier bc of that casualness, it’s def an aspect of amatonormativity (which isn’t only linked to arophobia, but def has deep ties into it)

‘love that he’s totally fine giving San complete control of his body and trusts him to take good care of him.’ for ﾟ��*Reasons*☆ﾟ i am extremely chuffed that you enjoyed the mental image of Wooyoung trusting himself to the complete control of others ♡( ◡‿◡ )

‘This!!!! especially knowing the “reveal” that comes later that he’s had a kinda mid partner who didn’t make him feel secure in these things, it’s so nice to see this side of him :)) and of doms in general!’ ‘kinda mid partner’ made me snort-laugh out loud asdakjdas, but yes aftercare for doms!!! that was a thing i really wanted to put into the fic. this San is one of those doms for who ‘providing aftercare for his subs’ is also aftercare for him in and of itself, but he does need a lil extra nudge to know it was all good!!! (´ ε ` )♡ (and Wooyoung & reader are more than happy to give it to him hehe)

‘do you ever just have a minor epiphany when you read fanfic? yeah.’ ahhhh i love it when that happens!!! honoured it happened with my fic hehe (´▽`ʃ♡ƪ)

‘i don’t mean to make demands, im JUST saying, i’d really love to see woo come without being touched at some point, just to see how San would (affectionately) bully him about it.’

…

i can’t make promises, but uhhhhhhhh that is a tasty thought and i am eyeing one of the later chapters bc it might sortakindamaybe fit in there??? aGAIN NO PROMISES but thoughts ARE being THUNK

‘uh. the entire part where San fucks Reader :)) im. im normal. i promise.’ LOL i sure didn’t feel normal while writing it!

no but really i’m happy haha; back when i posted this, almost all the reader feedback for the previous two chapters had been centered around Wooyoung (rightfully! he worked hard for that attention!!!); so i hoped to give San a bit of extra spotlight in this one! it’s always tricky to balance moresomes, and some scenes just naturally lean into a spotlight for either of the guys, but i really do try to keep it ‘fair’ across the board, so to speak ♡

‘The little post-sex talk about safewords is so good :’)) i love these little insights into San and Wooyoung and how they work together, and about San’s past too, even if i’m just extrapolating.’ ahhhhhhhhhh :’3 haha yeah this was again one of those moments that i’d hoped would read a lil different after pt7 asdkjasdjk; the fact that reader used a safeword on San was lowkey HUGE between them, and San prob wouldn’t have improvised the edging punishment in pt6 if that hadn’t happened first haha

‘GOd i wish i were a fly on the wall in that situation.’ …this may become a “i think you’d wanna know this” post in the future bc yes i do have Thoughts on this asdjkasdjk; pt8 doesn’t explicitly address it, but there is kindof an indirect hint! (◡‿◡✿) and now i will stop being cheeky abt the next chapter and try to get on with actually writing it lol

TYSM ISAK AAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH (/▽＼*)｡o○♡

whichever way [woosan x reader] pt4

pairing: woosan x f reader

rating: 18+

genre: smut, fluff-ish, neighbours au, friends with benefits

ch. summary: Hongjoong checks up on how you're doing. San finally gets a proper feel of you without getting chomped by Wooyoung.

wc: 9.5k

ch. warnings: dom San, switch Wooyoung, sub reader, threesome, vaginal fingering / sex, light bondage, creampie, sloppy seconds, cumplay, copious amounts of drool, finger sucking, multiple orgasms, light overstimulation, dirty talk, light dumbification, praise kink (‘cumdump’ is used 1x as praise), condomless sex with IUD, mention of stomach bulge, pet names for reader (‘baby’ and ‘sweet/good girl’), use of ‘yellow’ safe word, aftercare

a/n: features a soft-bodied, aromantic reader who uses she/her pronouns.

additional warning: the opening scene touches on some of reader’s struggles with amatonormativity and (internalised) arophobia. i promise this is not a super angst-heavy story, but that part calls for a little head’s up, i think

masterlist. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13

“Are they nice?” a slightly distorted voice asks from the video call on your phone.

You snort at the screen, raising an eyebrow at Hongjoong’s critical face. His hair is a bright blue these days, but today he has hidden most of it underneath a fashionable white beret. “Joong, since when do you care if the people I fuck are nice?”

You’ve taken the day off to quietly lounge around the apartment, giving your body some time to rest. It’s nice and relaxing, and your memories of last night are a soothing balm for the soreness of your thighs — a soreness not only caused by Wooyoung’s bites; you have a damn muscle ache from riding his face.

(You have always felt strongly that sex should be exempt from such nonsense but alas, it is a cruel world.)

San will probably be over later; he offered to check in after work, to see if you need anything. You suspect it’s also for his own peace of mind, so you did not try too hard to dissuade him.

But that won’t be for another few hours, so for now it’s just you and Hongjoong; your long-time friend who, ever since he moved away for his dream job at a fashion house, is also your long-distance friend.

Hongjoong rolls his eyes. “I don’t care about ‘nice’ with your onetime hookups, no,” he says, “but it’s been a while since you had something more involved going on.”

“It’s been two times; I’d hardly call that ‘involved’,” you point out, but you know you’re just being contrary for the sake of being contrary. It is getting a bit involved.

Hongjoong knows it too. “Right…” he drawls lazily, resting his chin on his hand, “so you don’t already have a date set for the third round?”

“…”

“That’s what I thought. So. Are they nice, or did you end up with more assholes?”

“I resent the implication that I have bad taste.”

“Not bad taste, just bad judgement. The other asshole was pretty hot.”

“Wow,” you say flatly. “That makes me feel much better, thank you, Joong. Also no, they’re not assholes.”

Last night gave you enough proof of that, if you needed any more. San and Wooyoung had patiently heard out your awkward little ramble. You don’t exactly consider yourself closeted, yet the simple truth is that ‘coming out’ stays an ongoing experience.

But San and Wooyoung took it without fuss; thankfully ‘aromanticism’ was not a new term to them, and they accepted your need for boundaries. If the guys were disappointed by the lack of a romantic prospect, or put off by the suggestion they might want one, they hid it well.

San just listened with an intent expression, brow furrowed. He thanked you for telling them, but also confirmed that yes, they absolutely are open to this becoming a regular thing.

Wooyoung had just asked a straightforward question; “We can still be friends, right?”

And when you answered with an emphatic yes, his follow-up was equally straightforward.

“Alright, so we’ll be friends who fuck. Works for me.”

You had agreed on a few points right after that, and put a pin in a few others. No sleepovers, no kissing outside of sex — yes, yes cuddles afterwards are fine, yes, hugs are always good! — and when you hesitated at Wooyoung’s offer to make you and San dinner sometime, he just told you to think it over.

(In hindsight, you feel silly about that last one. You make plenty of food for your other friends; you like sharing a meal together! It’s not like Wooyoung suggested a romantic candlelight dinner. You’ll have to get back to him on that one.)

“Hey? You still there?” Hongjoong says, waving his hand. “Is the screen frozen or is that you?”

His voice snaps you out of your thoughts, and you blink to shake it off. “Sorry, yeah, that was me,” you say. “But seriously, you don’t have to worry about it. We talked the thing through, I don’t think I’ll be accused of keeping anyone on the hook this time around.”

(You’d think that “I’m not looking for something romantic” would have covered it with the other guy; but some people don’t take a hint even when it hits them over the head with a baguette.)

“So… you’ll be okay?” Hongjoong asks, the scepticism in his voice poorly hidden.

“God, what’s with all the fussing today! I’ve lived next to San for almost a year, I know he’s a nice guy. So is Wooyoung! And you know me; there’s no strings attached. No feelings to get hurt here.”

Hongjoong makes a face of distaste. “No, don’t pull that crap, alright? Don’t blow this shit off,” he says, shaking his head. “Yeah, I know you. So I know that ‘no feelings’ is bullshit. Just because you don’t do romance, doesn’t mean you don’t do any feelings at all. Your strings just happen to look a little different. Sure, you don’t want a lovey dovey boyfriend or two out of this; doesn’t mean you can’t get hurt by them.”

His annoyance lilts over into awkward self-consciousness at the end; Hongjoong knows damn well that you took it hard when he moved to the other side of the country.

(You didn’t resent him for it — how could you, when he was literally chasing his dream? — but it did leave a sting, and you do miss him. Videocalls are nice, but it’s just not the same.)

You wonder how much Hongjoong senses of the things that are hiding between the pieces of what you told him; he is right, you are already getting attached to San and Wooyoung, to their easy companionship and the growing friendship between you. It’d do you good to remember that you don’t know how long this arrangement will last.

Still, you are warmed by how Hongjoong is scolding you; a cornerstone in your friendship. It’s how he shows he cares.

“Okay, okay, you win. I won’t blow it off. But really, it will be fine, Joong,” you say, totally blowing it off. “They’re great, they’re fun, I’m having fun. We’re friends who fuck!” you go on, echoing Wooyoung’s description.

“And you claim you’re not a romantic,” Hongjoong deadpans, but he leaves it be for now. “So. The dick is good, then?”

You snort; now that’s more like the Hongjoong you know. “No idea actually,” you admit (but you’re pretty damn sure it will be.) “The tongue is incredible though.”

“What do you mean, ‘no idea’?!” he says, with a face of incredulous disbelief. “What the hell have you been doing? No, no actually don’t tell me. Keep the specifics to yourself.”

“You’re the one who asked!” you laugh, unsurprised at the way he’s backtracking. Hongjoong always bites off more than he can chew when it comes to the details of your sex life; nosy as fuck, but also appalled whenever you indulge his curiosity a little too much.

“It’s called being a supportive friend. You’re supposed to answer ‘yes, Joong, the dick is fantastic’ and move on,” Hongjoong says, pinching the bridge of his nose; like he is painstakingly explaining advanced mathematics to a toddler, already knowing the futility of his efforts. “Except you’re not getting any, I guess.”

You roll your eyes at him. “Alright, mister. ‘Yes, Joong, the dick will be fantastic’,” you parrot back. “Thank you for asking, my dear supportive friend.”

“See? That’s all you needed to do.”

Just like that, the conversation passes on to other things. Your call doesn’t end until much later, once you and Hongjoong are fully caught up with another’s lives. You’ve even started to plan a long-overdue visit in person; it’s been a while since you had the opportunity to menace Hongjoong with hugs.

You mosey around your apartment, starting up a chore or two and giving up immediately when your body complains too loudly. So you lounge on the couch for the day, and try not to think too much about how Hongjoong had scolded you about disregarding your feelings.

You’re moderately successful at this.

In general, you are perfectly satisfied with the relationships in your life. There is no feeling of ‘missing out’, no hole in your heart that you can’t fill with platonic or familial affection. No craving for ‘more’ than friendship and sex — but you are painfully aware that without a romantic commitment, you usually fall to the wayside in your friends’ list of priorities.

No matter how much you invest on your end, it’s never a given that their long-term plans will include you.

And that? To know that the people most precious to you don’t prioritise you as highly as you do them?

That part does hurt sometimes.

But all these thoughts are completely irrelevant to the situation at hand, or so you firmly remind yourself. It’s like you told Hongjoong, right? This thing with San and Wooyoung is just about having fun together. As long as you keep your expectations in check, you won’t have lied to Hongjoong about whether he needs to worry about you.

Thankfully, your concerns are a fading memory by the time San comes over to check up on you. You really don’t need help with anything, but he stays over to chat anyway.

At the start of everything, you did have some worries about disrupting your neighbourly bond with San — but if anything, you have grown more comfortable with each other. You’ve always been friendly enough, but you never crossed the threshold into actual ‘friends’. A polite, shy distance always held you back.

But now? The shyness has been thoroughly scrubbed off of you both.

So you enthusiastically tell him about your plans to meet up with Hongjoong, and he proudly tells you about his students’ progress. There is always a glow about San when he talks about ‘his’ kids, and you listen and watch fondly as he gives an energetic demonstration of the new kicking drills he’s been teaching them.

(He is adamant to teach you too; which you try to refuse at first, considering the state of your muscles. But there is no force in the world that can withstand the strength of San’s pout — so you make a brave effort. It’s absolutely worth the spike in soreness when San laughs with crescent eyes at your disastrous attempt.)

“Hey, about next weekend,” San starts, just when he is about to leave. His hand rests on the doorframe, and his cheery demeanour fades. He raises his eyebrow just slightly — a quiet intensity taking over. “You said you’ve dabbled with bondage before, right? Just curious, how do you feel about getting tied up this time around, instead of Wooyoung?”

Your chest jolts at the mention of Wooyoung tied up, plunging you back into memories of last night.

The leather handcuffs made a return for his punishment, looped around the slats of the headboard. It exposed Wooyoung’s chest for San to give him a taste of his own toothy medicine. Wooyoung had shuddered and gasped at every hard bite, whimpering while San used his skin as a canvas to paint with red marks and bruises. Tears and sweat had streamed down Wooyoung’s face as San stretched him with deft, practised fingers, milking his prostate until Wooyoung was completely dry and trembling, his torso covered with his own cum.

You also remember the dopey smile on Wooyoung’s face after he came down from the onslaught of his ‘punishment’, grinning tiredly when San undid his cuffs.

(Because no matter how San punishes him, you doubt any lessons are ever learned. Taming Wooyoung seems to be a hopeless endeavour.)

“Did I do well?” he’d asked eagerly, still a little drunk on pain and overstimulation.

“You did so good,” San had assured him, wiping his forehead to press a kiss there.

“Hm. You too,” Wooyoung had mumbled, not letting his exhaustion stop him from lavishing San with praise.

Praising San is part of his aftercare, you know now. Like a soft cushion for San to land on after a rough session. Confirmation that every degrading word spoken, every flash of pain inflicted, had been for the pleasure of his partner.

The trust between them is truly something special — and by asking you about bondage, San has indirectly asked you a second question, hidden deeper underneath; do you trust him as well? Enough to leave yourself completely in his and Wooyoung’s hands?

You know that San would back down and drop the subject without another word if you said no, and that seals the deal for you.

“Yes. Good. I feel good about that,” you say, with warm confidence.

He grins, his lips carrying that dangerous cocky edge that you’re getting real familiar with. “Great. We’ll properly talk it through later, alright? Then maybe we can have some fun with that.”

Of that, you have no doubt.

San’s lips are pursed in concentration, drawing them into an adorable little pout. He is clearly practised with the linen rope in his hands, but still takes the utmost care as he ties your wrists together. He makes a point of checking your comfort, and tests whether the knots slip and if the doubled ropes are tensioned evenly. There is a pair of safety shears on the nightstand.

You are gathered in Wooyoung’s arms, who sits against the headboard of the bed. While you watch San intently, Wooyoung is more interested in plying your neck with impatient kisses, his hands running restlessly across your bare body.

Wooyoung is dressed casual in a simple dark grey shirt, the material soft against your skin, while his trousers do nothing to hide the first hints of a growing bulge. San also opted for the casual look, wearing a tight black t-shirt and fitted jeans. The contrast with your own nakedness makes you fidgety, itching to pull at their clothes; but your incapacitated hands leave you with no choice but to wait.

“There,” San says, finally satisfied with his knots. “Now, what did I tell you?”

“Any tingling, pain, numbness; anything feels wrong, and I say the word. ‘Red’,” you obediently repeat back to him, trying not to get distracted by Wooyoung’s hands squeezing at your thighs.

“Or?” San presses.

“Or if I just want them off. If they don’t feel good anymore.”

You find that hard to imagine; the linen rope is softer than you expected, and already a fuzzy smile plays on your lips. It’s not your first time getting tied up, but the fact that you’re with San and Wooyoung breathes fresh excitement into the situation.

“Exactly. Good girl,” San praises, cupping your chin with a soft brush of his fingers. You melt into his gentle touch with a content moan, nuzzling into his palm.

The ropework is not excessively restrictive; your hands are tied in front of you, giving you some freedom of movement and putting minimal pressure on your joints — but San wanted to ‘start off easy’.

You whine a little when San pulls away, but he raises an eyebrow at you.

Just a small, simple gesture, barely a warning; yet you instinctively quiet down at the sight, already sinking into hazy surrender. Satisfied, San takes your bound arms and hooks them behind Wooyoung’s head.

“Wooyoung?” San says, who glances up from kissing your neck. “Have fun.”

Wooyoung’s grin spreads against your skin. “Oh, we will, won’t we?” he coos at you, his voice alive with anticipation. His hand trails further inward. “I’ll be so good to you, don’t you worry.”

You shudder when his fingers delve between your folds, and Wooyoung’s breath picks up as he slowly spreads the growing arousal around your clit. His teeth graze against your shoulder, red hair tickling your cheek, and you try to angle your hands to grasp at the strands. He moans eagerly when you find a grip, and his fingers pick up speed as they get soaked with your juices.

San has his hands on your knees to keep them apart, watching you with dark eyes. You burn under his gaze, your breath hitching when his eyes keep wandering from your face down to your cunt, his jaw clenching at the sight of Wooyoung toying with your clit.

“Gonna be so nice to you today,” Wooyoung groans against your neck. “Promised San that I’d behave with you tied up for us; get you all ready to take his cock. You’ll need it, Sannie is being sweet to you now but once he sinks into that tight pussy? Fuck, he’ll want to ruin you so bad, I just know it.”

He giggles when you whimper in response, dipping a finger inside your already slick entrance. San’s hold on your knees tightens.

“Yeah, you want San to ruin you, don’t you?” Wooyoung rasps, and laps up a bead of sweat on your neck with a thick swipe of his tongue. He is getting antsy, his voice tight with barely held back excitement.

“Then I’ll get you ready for him, baby. Stretch you out nice and proper so he can bury that thick cock inside you as hard and deep as he wants. Ahh, he will fuck you so well, you’ll be good to him too, won’t you? Gush all over him when you cum, just like you did on my face. I can still taste you when I close my eyes, fuck, aren’t I taking good care of you? Listen to that sound. Getting so wet…”

Wooyoung groans at the squelch of you, sliding in a second finger alongside the first. You pant at the intrusion, thighs flexing against San’s grip, your head spinning from the endless stream of filth spilling from Wooyoung’s lips.

“Don’t even need to put my mouth on you, just my fingers is enough to turn you into a mess,” Wooyoung babbles, leaving sharp nips on the places where your skin glistens with his saliva. “But you’d be dripping right now even without my fingers, wouldn’t you? Can’t wait to have this leaking pussy stuffed with cock, greedy thing that you are. So wound up at the thought of San fucking you dumb.”

“S-shit,” you stutter, clenching around Wooyoung’s fingers. San bites back a quiet groan and his eyes catch yours, full of sharp intent.

Wooyoung grins, his free hand squeezing at your breast. “Maybe I could take a turn after, hm? Fuck his cum deeper into your hole after he fills you up. Make sure you carry it around for days. You’d like that?”

A moan breaks on your tongue, your back arching into his touch. Wooyoung sighs happily, nibbling at your earlobe.

“Fuck, yeah I knew you’d like that,” he mumbles eagerly, curving his fingers inside you. You jolt when Wooyoung finds what he’s looking for; and he hones in immediately, massaging electricity into the spongy bundle of nerves. He groans as your hips cant into his touch, sparks flashing with every press of his fingertips.

“Can I, Sannie? Can I get a turn?” He almost stumbles over the words in his enthusiasm. “I’m being good, aren’t I?”

You whimper at how hungrily Wooyoung chases after praise rather than degradation, now that you are bound and left to his whims. So eager to know that he is taking proper care of you — and he is. Skilled fingers draw gaspy moans from you as he drives up the tight pressure in your abdomen, coiling rapidly.

(You had okay-ed it beforehand for Wooyoung to fuck you, of course, but your permission is not the only one he needs.)

San’s eyebrows quirk at Wooyoung’s question, teeth flashing as his lips pull into a crooked smile. He does not answer; instead he leans in closer. His presence is solid and imposing, and you bite down a swear when his hand joins Wooyoung’s between your thighs.

“In a sharing mood today, Woo?” San asks, grabbing Wooyoung’s chin in a firm hold. Down against your cunt, his index finger rubs slow circles around your swollen clit. “Let me have a feel this time?”

Wooyoung just whines, nodding his head. He is so pliant today — perhaps San’s punishment has done more to (temporarily) mellow Wooyoung out than you had given him credit for.

“Good boy,” San purrs, and pulls him into a kiss. His finger experimentally presses against Wooyoung’s two buried in your twitching hole, then slides in to find a home alongside them.

You let out a throttled moan as you clench around the added stretch, arms pulling against the rope. San makes a point of taking it slow, giving you time to adjust while Wooyoung continues to curl his fingers inside you, but he quickly picks up his pace as the slide gets easier. Your thighs are slick with arousal, their fingers drawing obscene noises from your cunt and your lips as they work in tandem to scissor you open. Your head falls against Wooyoung’s shoulder, gasping for breath and eyes starting to roll back.

Meanwhile San licks messily into Wooyoung’s mouth, jaws shifting as their tongues entangle. Wooyoung whimpers against San, rocking his hips into you; pushing his hard cock into your lower back. You try to match his rut, but Wooyoung and San’s finger-fucking makes any controlled movement on your part a near-impossibility. They never let up during all this; if anything, their fingers pick up speed, like the desperate urgency of their sloppy kiss floods over into you.

San detaches his lips from Wooyoung when he realises how close you are. He presses his free hand against your shaking knee to hold you open, his thumb drawing soothing circles into the skin as your vision starts to blur. Wooyoung nuzzles into the crook of your shoulder with a groan, his breath scorching. His free hand finds your clit, and the circles he draws are anything but soothing.

“Ahh, Woo is being good to you, isn’t he?” San murmurs, his lips ghosting across your jawline. You can only whine your agreement, trembling as you inch closer and closer to the brink. “Maybe he does deserve a turn,” San contemplates with a quiet moan, his mouth finding yours in a faded shadow of a kiss. “If you can still handle it, after I am done with you.”

San’s words spur Wooyoung on, his thumb pressing down harder.

“F-fuck,” you moan, toes curling as the world starts to tilt. “There, right there, W-Woo—”

His name ends in a strangled sob, your hips bucking into their hands as pleasure crashes down on you. Your legs try to clamp shut but San blocks one with his body, the other with his hand still on your knee. He slides his finger out of your twitching cunt while Wooyoung’s slow to a lazy crawl, easing you through your high.

San lifts his glistening finger up to get a taste, and groans lowly as he sucks indulgently at the slick. He releases it with a wet smack, licking his lips. “Hm, no wonder Wooyoung got so worked up over this pussy.”

“Told you,” Wooyoung mumbles between open-mouthed kisses on your shoulder, the pads of his fingers still slowly rubbing into that sensitive patch of nerves. He giggles when you start to squirm against him, and playfully bites at your incapacitated arm. His fingers pull out, leaving you unsatisfyingly empty.

“I think you’re ready, don’t you?” he grins, and reaches to carefully manoeuvre your hands back in front of you. His fingers leave a sticky patch of your own juices smeared on your forearm. “All stretched and sopping wet for Sannie’s cock. I’ll watch this time, let you have an audience for a change.”

You moan at the excited buzz in Wooyoung’s voice, but San gives him an unimpressed look.

“You’re not an audience, you’re a heckler,” he says, a pout on his lips that he seems unaware of. He pulls off his shirt in one smooth motion and throws it aside, muscles rippling.

Wooyoung laughs in surprise, his good mood inextinguishable. “Hey, don’t be like that!” he says, waving a hand at San. “It’s a special occasion today, I’m on my best behaviour!”

San just ignores him, continuing to take off his clothes. He shifts to sit back on his knees, legs spread — but instead of making quick work of his pants, San takes his time. Your breath hitches when he runs a slow hand up his inner thigh, the thick muscle wrapped snugly in his fitted jeans.

He oozes confidence, his face filled with complete focus. San bites his lip when he cups his bulge, squeezing it before moving on to undo the button and zipper. His hips tilt forward as he hooks his thumb under the waistband of his jeans and boxers, pulling them both down until he can wrap a hand around his leaking cock, giving it a few strokes just for good measure.

Entranced, you watch how San’s eyes flutter shut as he rocks into his palm. Your hips move on their own accord, pushing back into Wooyoung’s clothed cock.

He groans right beside your ear, gripping your waist tightly. “Careful there, baby,” Wooyoung says, breathy. “Or my best behaviour won’t last.”

San’s eyes flash open, and he grins at the needy look on your face, how you squirm in Wooyoung’s arms at the sight of him.

“You know, I was gonna take it easy on you tonight,” he says, releasing his cock to shuck off his pants and underwear. “Spoil you, take it nice and sweet…”

Your breath hitches as he grabs onto your hips, pulling you out of Wooyoung’s arms. San pushes down on your shoulder, guiding you to lay flat on your back. Heat envelops you as his body presses against yours, immediately giving a smooth roll of his hips, cock sliding through your wet folds. Your bound hands are trapped between your chest and his, and you can feel his heartbeat, pounding harder than his self-control would lead you to believe.

“But… Wooyoungie is right, isn’t he?” San takes your hands and raises them above your head. He leans in to brush his nose against yours, his breath falling hot on your lips. “You don’t want me to take it easy.”

You shake your head with a whine, trying to arch up into a kiss. Your arms strain against San’s iron hold on your wrist; there is no give at all.

San chuckles at your hungered response. “Yeah, I should have known better,” he says, his hips grinding a little firmer against yours. “That first night, I saw the way you watched me fuck Wooyoung. Three fingers inside you and it still wasn’t enough was it? Still needed more. Even then, you couldn’t wait for that greedy cunt to get split open on my cock.”

And yet he won’t push inside you, taunting with his slow thrusts. The underside of his cock drags against your clit in delicious friction, but you need more. “S-San, please—”

“See?” he says with a grin, and sucks a rough kiss into your neck. “So fucking hungry for it. Want me to fuck you just as hard as I fucked him, hm? Until you can’t do anything but lie there and take it. Stuffed so full with my cum there’s no room for even a single thought inside that pretty head of yours. Was Wooyoung right about that, too? Want to get fucked dumb?”

There is a teasing lilt to San’s voice; he asks it like you’re a little slow already — which you are. You moan shamelessly, wrapping a leg around his waist in an attempt to guide him inside. The effort is completely in vain.

“Gonna need you to tell me, baby,” San insists, nipping at your earlobe. “Do you want me to fuck you until you’re dumb on my cock?”

(You can’t tell whether he is taunting you again, or confirming that you are still on board with rougher treatment. Either way, his question drives a spike of heat in your already throbbing cunt.)

“Hngh, yes, yes—! P-please,” you hiccup, “please, San. F-fuck me dumb. Stuff me until I can’t think, can’t think of anything but your cock filling me up, f-fuck—”

San grunts a strained curse, unable to hide how much your begging riles him up. Finally, finally, he grabs his cock, flushed dark and leaking, and guides it inside you. The stretch is manageable after his and Wooyoung’s extensive prep, but your jaw still falls slack at how he opens you up, tortuously slow.

“S-San, mmmh, n-need more, please—”

He hushes you with a soft, shallow kiss, though a tense vein bulges in his neck. “Shh, be our good girl a little longer, okay? We’ll get there, I promise. Wanna make this good for you.”

“It-it’s good, feels so good,” you whimper, uselessly straining your hands against the rope and San’s hold. “I just—”

His dick twitches inside you, and San presses his mouth against yours more solidly, teasing your lips apart to soak up every shaky moan as he bottoms out. “I got you, baby,” he pants. “Gonna give it all to you. Wooyoung?”

“Yeah,” Wooyoung says, his voice strained. You glance up, and realise that somehow he has taken off his shirt without you noticing. His trousers are undone just enough to stroke himself through his underwear; there is a damp spot in the crotch.

Wooyoung shifts closer at San’s call. He half sits, half lays down with his legs folded up beside him, and leans over you to plant one hand firmly into the mattress; right underneath your bound wrists, blocking your movement. Wooyoung’s dick strains against his underwear right at your eye-level, and his grin widens when that is exactly where your eyes go.

“One at the time, baby,” he teases, giving himself a firm squeeze. “At least for today.”

You suck in a breath at the suggestion, sparks ricocheting in your stomach. Fuck. You’re not even sure yet how you’ll handle San’s rather substantial girth, once he starts fucking you in earnest, yet the idea of taking them both at once has you clamping around him. San groans lowly, the sound ending in a hoarse chuckle. “Ohh, she likes that, Woo.”

Wooyoung rolls his eyes. “Of course she does. Now, are you going to fuck her or not?”

(Thank god, someone is asking the important questions around here.)

“San…” you moan weakly. You are primed for him to use every ounce of his strength and fuck you until you see stars; the snug fit of his cock buried in your core is intoxicating, yet maddeningly frustrating without any friction. “Please, need you…”

His endless teasing and refusal to move is driving you up the wall; you’re aching to grab onto him, to claw at his back and twist your fingers in his hair to yank him into a kiss — but Wooyoung’s arm blocks your hands from touching San, and San has your hips pinned onto the bed. There is nothing you can do but surrender to his inclinations. He’ll fuck you when he decides to fuck you.

But Wooyoung’s lips curl up with mischief, a sharp glint in his eyes.

“Ah…” he says, like some deep, secret revelation has come to him. He looks down at you, using his free hand to brush along your jawline. ��Unless maybe our Sannie is worried that his cock alone won’t be enough for you anymore, now you’ve gotten a scent of more. Nothing but a double stuffing will do for our sweet, greedy girl.”

You sob in desperation, squirming against San’s hold. Already your thoughts are getting lost in a hazy fog, too addled and tongue-tied to object to Wooyoung’s taunt; so you completely miss how San’s jaw ticks at his boyfriend’s mocking jab. You only whine when San pulls out until just the tip teases at your entrance, and are entirely unprepared when he slams back in — then immediately thrusts again, hitting deep inside your gut.

The force rips a loud cry from your throat, your fingers clawing at Wooyoung’s arm as sudden pleasure floods your system. Your eyes roll back at the drag of San’s cock against your pulsing walls, a thin trail of saliva escaping the corner of your parted lips.

San grins smugly at your response, bucking into you like it costs no effort at all to fuck you to pieces. He raises an eyebrow at Wooyoung. “Worried?” he scorns, his hands digging into the soft meat of your sides to yank you up to meet his pelvis. “No, Wooyoung, not worried at all. Maybe you should be, having to follow up on me wrecking this sweet pussy.”

But Wooyoung barely seems to hear him, entranced by the sight of your sopping cunt stretching around San’s cock, squelching obscenely every time you suck in his thick length.

San quickly proves his confidence earned. You gasp for pitched breaths, moaning helplessly as the bed rattles with every sharp snap of his hips.

Because that, you soon realise, is the thing about getting fucked by Choi San; you can happily report to Hongjoong that the dick is fantastic — but it’s the hips that are life-ruining.

And San is unrelenting as he drives into you over and over again; balls slapping against your ass, his own breath becoming ragged. You try to move with him, but the attempt is futile as San jostles you around, his grip on your sides like iron. He is in complete control. Sweat drips down his temple, across his jaw to his chin, until it falls into the valley between your breasts to blend with the beads of your own sweat gathered there.

“How are you doing, baby?” he asks, almost condescending in the certainty of his answer.

But you can only answer in a pathetic mewl, writhing underneath him as he fucks a white heat of pleasure into your core.

San chuckles darkly. “What’s this? I barely got started and you’re already dumb on my cock? Fuck, but you are taking me so well. So fucking wet for me… You wanted my cock so bad? Now take it.”

His thumb slides inward, pressing against the weeping mess that is your pussy. Sweat and slick soaks into the sheets but San pays it no mind, only caring about drawing more depraved sounds from your slack mouth. He does it so easily, the combination of his thumb on your clit and those brutal slams of his hips overwhelming your inhibitions. The building pressure in your cunt sharpens, honing in on the apex of release.

Another especially hard thrust causes a fresh spill of drool past your lips, and Wooyoung catches it on his fingers. He grins as he examines the glistening shine, and for a moment you think Wooyoung is going to suck his fingers into his mouth — but instead he offers them to San, who hungrily accepts.

Without letting up on his fanatical pace, San’s eyes flutter shut as he moans around Wooyoung’s fingers. He bits his lip when Wooyoung slides out again, and then cups San’s cheek to spread saliva across his face. “Brat,” San pants with heavy-lidded eyes, though he does not look in the least upset.

“Yeah,” Wooyoung says with a grin, and leans in to peck San on his glossy cheek. “Now make her cum so I can watch, alright?”

“Woo…” San sighs an exasperated warning at Wooyoung’s brazen order, his rhythm slowing — and the loss of force threatens to take you away from the edge you were rushing towards, your orgasm receding out of reach.

“N-no, San—” you whimper desperately. “So close, s-so fucking close, please, wanna cum, let me cum, please—”

Wooyoung’s expression goes wicked at your pleading, delighted to have caught San between the choice of punishing him or pleasing you… or so he thinks.

Instead of showing any conflicted feelings, San just rolls his eyes and tsks, then leans down to smother your mouth in an aggressive kiss. This way, his hand is trapped between your stomach and his; but he can still press against your clit, the nub shifting underneath his thumb as he picks up his pace again, pistoning into you with reckless abandon.

And in this position? Wooyoung’s view of your face and cunt are almost completely blocked off.

“Sa-aan,” Wooyoung complaints, trying to pull San back up — but it’s like San doesn’t even notice Wooyoung, his tongue hungry as he sloppily kisses you. His spit freely spills into your mouth, dribbling past your lips when you gurgle out a wet moan.

Their petty behaviour over you just works you up further, and the orgasm that was almost denied you comes surging back all at once, violent and overwhelming as it rips through you.

San swallows up your loud cry like he does not want Wooyoung to even hear it, pressing a firm hand down on your hips to keep you in place when you convulse and clamp around him. He stops his brutal pounding, instead circling his pelvis as he stays deep inside you through your release. Wooyoung is still blocking your arms from moving, but your legs lock around San’s waist and he groans as you clench with every ripple of electricity.

His breath comes in harsh inhales, and San releases your mouth with a whine to bite at your shoulder, all his muscles tensing to gather every ounce of willpower not to cum right with you.

Your moans grow weaker as the strength slips away from your body, the aftermath of your intense orgasm leaving you boneless and exhausted. Wooyoung stares down at you, and an agitated excitement burns behind his blown eyes.

San relaxes when your body sags underneath him, sweetly lapping at the bite he left on your shoulder. “Such a good girl,” he purrs, dragging his nose up your neck to press a kiss on your jaw. “Doing so well for me. Are you alright to keep going, hm? Want to make Wooyoung wait a little longer with me? Give me a colour.” San’s voice changes a little at those last words; not lavishing you with praise or teasing Wooyoung anymore, but giving you an honest command.

(You hear Wooyoung make a noise at San’s comment, but he quiets at the call for colour.)

You take a deep, shaky breath to steady yourself. “Green,” you answer, meeting San’s intense gaze. “W-want you to cum inside me. I’m okay, j-just… let me hold you?”

San’s eyes go soft, and he motions for Wooyoung to let you move your arms.

Despite his earlier mood, Wooyoung obediently pulls his hand away. (Because you asked for it, not San, or so you suspect. He does give your wrist a light squeeze first, like he is loath to let go.)

San takes a moment to check the ropes, and helps you sling your bound arms around his neck when he’s satisfied with what he sees. Your fingers grasp at the sweaty dark hair at the nape, and immediately you feel more secure, more anchored, sighing when San leans in for a light kiss.

“There you go,” San murmurs against your lips, giving an experimental slow roll of his hips. “Is that better?”

You whimper at the slide of his cock against your fluttering walls — but frantically nod your head, worried San might take your noise as a negative. “Y-yes, so good. Feels so good.”

He lets out a strained chuckle at your enthusiasm, biting his lip as the speed of his thrusts pick up again. His previously deep and smooth rolls soon degrade to nothing but a frantic rut, focused on his own release. To fill you up exactly like you’d asked.

And although you are too wired to get yourself back to that edge this time around, San’s increasingly desperate and pitchy moans get you high nonetheless. His rhythm crumbles down further every time he buries himself in your cunt, his head dropping down against your shoulder, rough grunts falling on your heated skin.

“Got one more for me?” he asks, whines, and reaches for your clit again.

It is tempting, so fucking tempting to let San push you in and through the needling high of overstimulation, but you hiss as he makes contact and shake your head. “No, n-no. Yellow, yellow,” you slur out, the colour system still fresh in your mind from San’s earlier check. “C-can’t, hmnh—”

As much as you usually revel in the thrill of seeking out the furthest edges of your limits; there is no way in hell that you’ll have the stamina to keep going with Wooyoung if San makes you cum again right now.

San immediately pulls his hand back, switching gears as he simply grabs onto your waist again. “Happy just to be used by me, hm?” San hums against your ear, nipping at your lobe. “Asking for nothing except to get stuffed full. How lucky am I to have such a sweet, pretty cumdump.”

(Your stomach jolts with surprised pleasure; San has been encouraging you to share whatever preferences and fantasies you feel comfortable sharing, but you did not expect him to dip into this side of your praise kink tonight, with all his initial talk of slow and sweet. But obviously he is becoming more comfortable to improvise with you, and pull from his growing knowledge of your pleasure points.

Already you’ve come a long way from the San who refused to let Wooyoung eat you out — and you are still getting to know one another. That in itself is a feverishly exciting thought.)

“Yes, yes Sannie, please,” you babble, his affectionate degradation flaring hotly inside you. “Give it to me, please, fill me up— I want it, want it, want it—”

“Fuck, fuck, hang on, baby, fuck,” San says, cracks fracturing his voice and composure when you squeeze encouragingly around him. It only takes a few more rough, frantic bucks of his hips before he cums with a broken moan, painting your fluttering walls with ropes of hot, sticky seed.

You groan in satisfaction as San stills inside you, your bound fingers running through his hair best you can. He rocks into you a little longer with small, whiny noises, milking himself with your plush cunt until his arms tremble and his breath comes in tight moans.

“That’s it,” you murmur to him, “being so good to me, giving me everything.” You play with the sweaty strands of hair as he slowly recovers; which gives you a moment to recover as well. Your walls still twitch around San, overly sensitive, but the sharpest edge is wearing down.

Wooyoung’s hand joins yours in San’s hair, but there is a quiver to his fingers as he gently strokes his boyfriend’s head.

You glance up to Wooyoung, and see he has pushed down his trousers and underwear enough to expose his veiny, rock-hard dick. There is an angry flush to the leaking tip, and Wooyoung’s entire body looks like it’s pulled taut, ready to snap.

“Wooyoung…”

He swallows thickly at the call of his name, teeth digging into his bottom lip. He squeezes your hand, sensing the concern in your voice.

“I’m good,” Wooyoung strains. “H-hurts, but it’s good. I’m fucking good, baby. I-is it my turn now?” he ends on a whine.

San pulls out with a grunt, and you moan at the sudden emptiness as he slides off of you, onto the bed on the opposite side of Wooyoung. He is still catching his breath, sweat beading in his hairline. You give San a questioning look, but he just grins back. “Your call,” he says. “Is it his turn?”

Wooyoung restlessly pats at your hair, desperation shining in his eyes from unshed tears. But his expression is feverish, borderline feral; all that holds him back from pouncing you is a razor-thin wire of restraint tied to your consent.

You give it to him.

“Yeah, your turn,” you say, breathy, and bring your bound hands down to your cunt, smearing your fingers through the mixture of arousal and the slow dribble of San’s leaking seed. “You promised me, right? Was gonna make me feel San’s cum for days. Wanna feel you too…”

Wooyoung chokes back a whimper, his hips stuttering; and for a moment you think he is going to cum without his cock ever touching your waiting cunt.

But he manages to regain himself and, with ragged breaths, he kicks off his pants and underwear. Once his clothes are discarded, Wooyoung scrambles to lay down next to you. His touch is roughened by impatience, and you squeak in surprise when Wooyoung turns you onto your side, facing San, and hooks your leg back around him.

Before you get a chance to worry about more of San’s cum spilling out, Wooyoung’s cock pushes into your wet hole. He whines as he plugs you up, holding you close against him and teething at your neck. “Fuck, but this pussy is so fucking sweet,” he groans, shaky as he grinds against your ass. “Feels just as good as it tastes. Wanna make such a mess of you.”

“D-do it,” you challenge him, turning your head in an attempt to find his lips. “Mess me up, fuck, Wooyoungie…”

Wooyoung’s cock might not be as thick as San’s, but his length hits deliciously inside you, a toe-curling slide that is just what your raw and tender cunt needs right now. “Gonna fuck Sannie’s cum so deep you can taste him, promise,” Wooyoung babbles, sucking hungrily at your skin. “Aren’t I so much nicer than him? I am letting him watch.”

San scoffs. “Like that’s not for your own benefit,” he says, though his eyes are hard while he does watch how his own seed slowly leaks from your pussy between thrusts, dislodged by Wooyoung’s sloppy thrusts. “We all know how much putting on a show gets you off.”

Wooyoung ignores him, too caught up in the thrill of finally having some relief for his painfully neglected cock.

“Look at San,” he tells you, his mouth wet against your ear. “Look how fucked out he is from pumping your cunt full. Wanted to stay buried in this warm pussy for as long as he could, didn’t he?”

You moan when San’s gaze snaps up to meet your eyes; ‘fucked out’ barely covers it. He looks as ruined as you feel, lips plump from the force of his kisses and every inch of skin glistening with sweat, his broad chest rising with every breathless pull for air, punctuated by soft moans. His eyes are slightly unfocused but still he watches with quiet intensity, like he already can’t wait to bury himself into you all over again.

San takes your bound hands and lifts them up to his puffy lips. You expect a kiss — but teeth nip your skin instead, San’s hazy eyes dangerous as he bites at your knuckles, one by one.

You squirm at the gentle stings of pain, and Wooyoung lets out another drawn-out whine as you clench tighter around him. His hand shakily inches downward, but he grunts and yanks it back when he remembers your earlier limit. Desperately, you shake your head, arching into his touch.

“No, n-no, I—” you moan, wiggling your ass into him. Heat is coiling in your abdomen again, dizzying your tongue into slurred speech. “I, hngh, I can go again, please, please, mmmhh fuck, want you to touch me, Wooyoung, ahh—”

And Wooyoung — fucking menace that he is — even when balancing on the very brink himself; Wooyoung can’t resist being a little shit about it. “Touch you where, baby?” he pants, like he isn’t about to bust his load in your aching cunt. “Tell me where you need my fingers, then I’ll give it to you. Tell me exactly.”

With San holding onto your wrists, you can hardly force Wooyoung’s hands where you want them, so you have no choice but to give voice to your feverish desperation aloud. “P-pussy. Need you to touch my pussy.”

“That it? Nothing more… specific?” he asks with a salacious grin, running a single finger through your messy folds, cruelly bypassing the swollen nub that is begging for attention.

“Clit,” you sob, twisting against him. “Put your fingers on my clit and make me cu-uuhmm—!”

Wooyoung sighs in bliss, obediently rolling your clit between thumb and forefinger. They’re soon coated in an obscene slick, a mixture of San’s seed and your own smeared arousal. Your choked up whimpers can’t quite cover the wet noises of Wooyoung’s efforts, his fingers and cock making an even bigger mess of you. San watches silently how fluids drip from your thighs onto his already soaked sheets, something primal cutting through the exhaustion in his eyes.

Predictably, Wooyoung does not last long; especially now that you are clamping around his dick, your cunt instinctively trying to keep him embedded deep inside you. He burrows his face into your shoulder, biting down on the exact same spot that San had earlier.

You hiss at how it smarts, but the sound morphs into a pleased moan when Wooyoung cums hard. His hips jerk as he empties with generous spurts of hot whiteness, leaving you feeling so floaty and full, satisfied and swollen — you wonder if you’d feel the protrusion of Wooyoung’s cock and their combined seed, if your hands were free to press against your stomach.

But Wooyoung quickly pulls out with a pained whine, too sensitive to even simply stay inside you. Immediately his cum starts to drip out; except San is right there to gather his and Wooyoung’s seed on two fingers. He shoves them back inside you without delay, keeping you beautifully stuffed while Wooyoung frantically works your clit.

Wooyoung covers your cheek, jaw and ear with hard kisses, and whispers filthy encouragements as you begin to shake and tremble uncontrollably. San curls his fingers inside you, Wooyoung pinches sharply at your clit — and he grins against your cheek when you shatter apart with a wretched sob.

“That’s it,” he coos smugly as sparks sear through you like a shockwave. “Took it all so well, milking us for all we got. Been keeping San’s cum so nice and warm for us, making room for me too. Want a taste of what we stuffed you full with?”

You’re still trembling in Wooyoung’s hold, whimpering through the persistent spikes of pleasure while he continues to rub stubborn circles on your clit. The surges slowly grow weaker but they linger, and you are unable to do anything but make a sniffling noise that you hope gets your needs across.

San seems to pick up on it, sliding his fingers out your weeping hole. But before he lets you have that taste, his fingers smear across your lips, leaving a glossy stain. Wooyoung groans at the sight and can’t resist, sucking at your bottom lip to steal the mixture of fluids away from you. You whine in protest, though you do miss his mouth when he pulls away with a playful bite.

You can’t miss him for long; San nudges his fingers past your lips, presses them down on your tongue, and your eyes roll back as you finally taste Wooyoung, San and yourself. Hungrily you suckle at his fingers, letting out a small whimper when Wooyoung dips into your cunt and takes another swipe for himself.

San’s breath shallows as your tongue swirls around him, a light flush creeping up his cheeks. You wonder if he’s thinking about how your mouth would feel on his cock. You certainly are.

…That is for another time though, when you are not exhausted to the bone, fighting the urge to curl up and fall asleep on the spot. (Right now, it’s very hard to remember why you insisted on a ‘no sleepovers’ rule.)

San slips his fingers out when you and Wooyoung both quiet down, and turns his attention to your wrists. “Let’s get these off of you,” he says gently, tapping the rope.

San and Wooyoung help you to sit upright against the headboard, and this time Wooyoung is the one to get you some water while San begins to expertly loosen the knots.

“How are you feeling?” he asks, glancing up at you. His gaze is still intense, though now also soft.

“No numbness, tingling feeling or pain,” you say in a tired sigh, reciting back the points he told you to be aware of. “Well… no pain there,” you chuckle. “Think I’ll be sore in some places tomorrow. But I don’t mind that. Not at all.”

“Hm, good,” San hums, and directs his focus back to your restraints. Silence falls between you, not even broken when Wooyoung returns by your side and carefully raises the glass of water to your lips, assisting you with taking slow sips. The ropes come undone — but San does not let you go just yet, taking his time to gently massage your wrists for circulation.

You look down on San’s thumbs rubbing into your skin, your thoughts winding back over the course of the evening. Suddenly you feel oddly vulnerable; even with San’s careful touch, and Wooyoung sidling up next to you after he set the glass away, throwing an arm around your shoulder.

Wooyoung grins and pinches at San’s cheek, praising him for taking such good care of you. San’s lips spread into that sweet shy smile, his eyes shining warmly when he quickly glances to you and Wooyoung. It’s safe and comfortable around them, a happy fuzz coating your memories; yet you can’t help a pinch of self-consciousness as you think back on one particular moment of the evening.

“Did I do okay?” you ask, feeling silly even as the question slips past your lips.

San’s eyes widen slightly, his hands stilling, while Wooyoung’s arm tightens around you and he immediately turns his praises on you. Of course you did well, he assures you. What a fucking champ, taking it all like that. Their good girl. How lucky they are with you.

You bite your lip in a small smile as Wooyoung’s words hum sweetly through your veins, but San frowns in concern.

“Did something happen?” he asks, still gentle but a firmness layered underneath. “Something worrying you?”

“Well—” you say, already feeling awkward. “I said ‘yellow’…”

“As you should have,” San says, even firmer this time. “Are you feeling guilty about that?”

“A little,” you admit; the people-pleaser inside you is a bit ruffled by bluntly asserting a boundary. “I know I shouldn’t, but— but I kinda feel like I should apologise.”

San shakes his head and squeezes your hands tightly. “Don’t you dare. If anything, I should say thank you. For helping me to keep you safe and feeling good. That makes it feel good for me too.” He breaks out another smile, his dimples joining in. “I felt good today. I hope you did too.”

“He really means all that, you know,” Wooyoung chimes in. “About thanking you. Never met anyone who cares more about this stuff than San here.” He leans in, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial hush. “I swear, he almost nutted on the spot the first time I yellow-ed him.”

“You’re never gonna let that go, are you?” San says, rolling his eyes with a flustered flush burning across his face, and you relax with a giggle at their familiar bickering and warm reassurances. “I mean,” San mumbles sheepishly, “ideally you’d never have to use a safe word at all; but as convenient as it’d be in a situation like this, I can’t exactly read your mind—”

“Hey, hey,” Wooyoung cuts off San’s ramble with a laugh. “C’mon, you know I’m just teasing!” He grabs San’s chin to smack an exaggeratedly wet kiss on his cheek. “You’re the fucking best. Who needs a mind reader when we’re doing this together. You got our back, we got yours.”

San sighs in resignation, trapped by Wooyoung’s firm grip on his chin as Wooyoung makes a show of lavishing his face with loud, dramatic kisses — but you don’t miss the way his shoulders release tension, and his hands relax around yours.

You feel a bloom of warmth at the obvious fondness on display in front of you, and your guilt fades.

Finally Wooyoung lets San go free and cuddles up a little closer against you, while San presses up on the other side. Sandwiched between them, you blissfully surrender yourself to their attentive aftercare. And once you feel solid enough to move again, they both insist on escorting you the whole thirty paces from San’s bedroom to yours.

The gesture is excessive and unnecessary to the point of being silly. You burst with friendly affection for them.

#whiway

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mypoisonedvine · 3 years ago

Text

𝐟𝐚𝐯𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐜𝐮𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐫 || percy dolarhyde x reader

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 || the world's oldest profession attracts some of the West's oddest characters, and Percy is a strange bedfellow as much as he is a reliable regular. being a no-good, half-witted son-of-a-bitch, you really have no excuse for developing a bit of a crush on him while on the clock.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 || 5.1k

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 || smut (slightly dubious consent, overstimulation, unprotected sex, sex in the bath, and a clothed footjob lol), mild foot/stockings fetish, prostitution (reader works in a bathhouse), dom/sub dynamics (featuring switchy percy), angst, unrequited love (kinda?), percy is a dick (also known as: canon) but also he's just kinda emotionally constipated

A choked groan caught in Percy’s throat, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he watched you intently. “Sweetpea, c’mon— lemme touch ya, I’ll make you feel so good…”

You simply shook your head, continuing to rub the bulge in his trousers with your stocking-covered foot. “I bet you could get off like this,” you challenged with a smirk.

“No, baby, please,” he panted, “not like this— I can make a mess in my pants at home, let me get inside ya while I’m here, please—”

“Are you sure you can handle it?” you purred. “You’re pretty worked up and you’re still dressed— I’m still dressed. Should I take these stockings off?”

“N-no,” he choked, “those are nice… you can keep ‘em on, if you wan’...”

You smiled proudly, not surprised by that response at all; he clearly had a thing for the silk, and you kept catching his eyes wandering to where the socks ended at your upper thighs with a lacy hem. Your thin dress, fallen off your shoulder on one side to give him a good view of your tits, was perfect for the warm weather— even if it was so revealing that you’d be arrested for leaving the bathhouse without covering up more.

Percy was a regular, coming in three or four times a week to get his fix. It being a bathhouse and all, you figured these last few months since he started seeing you were the cleanest he’d ever been in his life. He still managed to dirty himself up quite a bit in between his visits, giving you plenty to do when you were scrubbing him down, washing his hair, rubbing his back and shoulders as he sighed and sank into the hot water.

Today was different. Before you even got him stripped down for his bath, you couldn’t stop yourself from teasing him. He was just so fun to pick on, watching that cocky attitude falter was terribly satisfying. You’d just gotten sick of his mocking, taunting demeanor and self-aggrandizing comments that never seemed to stop once you’d gotten him clean and he’d gotten you on all fours. “Who’s got you screamin’ so loud, baby? That’s right— nobody else fucks you this deep, I bet. I’m your favorite customer, huh? Always make this whore pussy come?” That sort of thing. It was hot, in its own way, but it could get annoying too. You just wanted to make sure he knew that you still had all the control, even if he liked to play the big tough cowboy who takes what he wants; you knew that under that ego, he was just a sweet little boy looking for attention. And he seemed to need your attention most.

“Baby,” he croaked when you pressed your heel up against his balls, making him shift in the chair. “Are we even gonna get in the bath before you make me come?”

“I haven’t decided yet,” you replied honestly. “I think if you ask me real nice, I’ll run it for you soon.”

“Fuck, dunno if I can wait that long,” he breathed, hips moving up to rub his cock against your foot— the curve of your sole seemed to fit with the shape of his cock, and he let his head fall back in a gasp. “Can’t I just fuck you now, and we can take a bath after? I’m gonna get you dirty anyways.”

You chuckled at that, because it was true— he liked to come inside, as deep as he could, and watch it slowly seep out of you over the course of the next half hour before you eventually kicked him out.

That goal was getting more and more distant as you kept stroking him with your foot— a little faster now. He was panting by this point, and you smiled at the sight of his suppressed desperation. He was getting close, and he could hardly stand it. "Wait," he pleaded, "sweetpea— stop, not like this…"

His words resisted, but his hips moved of their own accord and rubbed up against you. You could see the conflict on his face, his eyes shut tightly as his lack of self-control struggled against his greed for more. Percy was never one for delayed gratification…

"Please, please," he croaked, "just stop and we can get in the bath— baby, can't take much more'a this…"

"I know," you hummed.

"Don't you wanna feel good too?" he bargained. "I know you like how I fuck ya— ah, shit, m'so close, shit!"

"It's okay, baby, just come," you cooed encouragingly. He hissed in a breath through his teeth, whimpering slightly, and you grinned as you felt his cock pulse against the arch of your foot. "Mm, just like that…"

You could feel the wetness starting to soak through his pants and seep into your stocking, and you tickled his balls with your toes to make his moans get all high-pitched and whiny.

"Keep goin', honey," you purred.

Obviously, that was a bit redundant since he had no way to stop it; he bucked up against nothing as the stain on his pants grew and the bulge just under it flexed uncontrollably. His eyes were shut and his head tossed back, so thankfully he didn't see you bite your lip at the sight. The other girls didn't like Percy much, for his looks or attitude, so they always acted like you were a saint (or maybe a sinner being punished) for taking him on as a regular— but you thought he was pretty cute, especially like this, blushing and groaning and whimpering your name.

Finally, he seemed to finish up as he relaxed down into the chair with a long sigh. "Good boy," you winked, and he shivered slightly before blinking his eyes open and looking at you again.

"Fuck was that for?" he asked hoarsely, catching his breath.

"I think you are getting a little too proud of how easy you make me come," you explained. "Wanted to remind you that I'm still better at making you lose your cool."

"Well, no kidding," he hissed, "you sure know how to make your living, sweetpea. I never said otherwise. S'no reason to stop me from getting my money's worth outta you."

"Don't worry, baby, you're still gonna get your bath," you smiled, standing up. "I'll wash your clothes for you while the water's getting warm— just so you don't have to put back on your pants with jism in them."

"Hm, figure you should," he agreed, standing up and taking off his vest before he started unbuttoning his shirt, "since it's your fault anyways."

"Oh, please," you rolled your eyes, getting the big basin-stove turned on to heat up the bathwater, "with how excitable you are, bet it happens to ya all the time."

"Does not!" he defended, petulant as ever. "I never even did that to myself when I was a boy! I always had the foresight to find a rag or something to spill into."

“You can’t even spell ‘foresight’,” you rolled your eyes.

“F-O-R-S-I-T,” he announced confidently.

“I stand corrected,” you sighed, dipping your fingers in the water and feeling it was just about where you wanted it. “You’re so strong, Percy, would you lift this for me?”

“Sure thing, sweetpea,” he announced proudly, flexing his arms a bit before he picked up the bucket of hot water and poured it into the copper bathtub. He took his boots and pants off next, rather eagerly; the second he was naked, he was slipping into the water with a sigh and you were gathering his clothes to toss into the wicker hamper for washing.

“I’ll be back when these are washed and hung out to dry, alright?” you explained as he sank lower under the water’s surface.

“Don’t take too long,” he breathed, leaning back and relaxing in the warmth. Smiling to yourself, you carried the basket on your hip as you walked past the bed and slipped out the door back into the hallway.

It was louder out here, when you could hear other girls and clients, even the music downstairs was audible through the floor. This was a pretty classy place, all things considered— there wasn’t nearly the ruckus you’d find in a normal whorehouse or saloon, those places were dirty in every sense of the word. Not the bathhouse, though, this little oasis in the desert was about peace, cleanliness… and, of course, shameless prostitution, but it was still better than some other spots. It certainly wasn’t the cheapest, either, and for a higher price you and your fellow good-time girls were held to a much higher standard. You figured that was why a man like Percy, with more time and money than he knew what to do with, came out here: for a better product and a more luxurious experience.

Turning the corner in the hall, you stepped into one of the ‘backstage’ areas as they were often called— the places only employees of the bathhouse could go— where you found several women relaxing and talking with each other in between appointments, in various states of undress. The room was steamy and lit with just one window, old silk curtains draped along the walls, and you glanced longingly at a bottle of gin; you didn’t like to drink on the job, but you made a mental note to come back for a finger or two later.

“Whose clothes are those?” another girl— a friend of yours, Sadie— asked as you walked by, but someone else answered before you.

“Don’t you know?” Margaret (or “Marge,” depending on your familiarity) interjected. “She’s always got her regular at this time.”

“Oh,” Sadie rolled her eyes, knowing who your regular was, “poor thing— those clothes must be filthy.”

You dumped the contents of the hamper into a running sink, grimacing slightly as an immediate cloud of dirt and dust filled the water.

“Good Lord,” Sadie winced, “you’re sure that Dolarhyde boy isn’t a pig farmer?”

“No wonder he asked you to wash his clothes,” a newer girl called Belle, even though her real name was Phoebe, noticed.

“Oh, he didn’t ask me to,” you explained, “they just needed a wash after he made a mess in ‘em.”

A few of the girls in earshot giggled, and Marge scoffed. “He seems the type,” she mumbled.

You snatched a bar of soap off of the counter and rubbed it between the clothes, dirty water turning a cloudy-white color from the suds and the scent of lavender filling the air. “He won’t be mad when his clothes smell like flowers?” Belle wondered.

“Beats smelling like a fuckin’ stable,” you rolled your eyes.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Marge cooed condescendingly at Belle, “you don’t know much about Percy yet. He doesn’t get mad at her— doesn’t stay that way, at least. She’s got him wrapped around her finger.”

“Really?” Belle smiled, wistful as if she aspired to have a client like yours someday. You wished you could warn her— it’s all fun and games when a client has an affection for you, until you start getting affections of your own— but you kept washing silently and just listened.

“Mm, he’s comin’ by here more and more just to see her, won’t settle for anyone else,” Marge explained. “Well, maybe for a pretty young thing like you…”

You hated the twist in your heart when Marge said that, even though you didn’t really believe her. Percy wouldn’t go for a girl like Belle, he needed someone with your experience— yes, she was pretty, but you and Percy had built such a rapport and you knew just what he liked, he said so himself all the time. That couldn’t be replaced with just anything.

“More than half her salary is coming out of his pocket,” Marge continued as she nodded in your direction. “That’s the thing— Madam will tell you it’s all about getting as many customers as you can, but really, if you can get one or two real loyal regulars, you’re set.”

“Wow,” Belle sighed, taking in all of Marge’s sage advice; you started to wring out Percy’s clothes, relieved that the water was finally running clear. “So,” the young woman turned her attention to you, “how do you do it? How do you get a client to fall in love with you?”

“Woah there,” you stammered out, “he’s not in love with me. He’s just… comfortable with me, doesn’t wanna have to teach somebody new what he likes. He can be particular.”

“Is he the bossy type?” she asked.

The image of Percy just a few minutes ago, succumbing to the pleasure you forced upon him, begging for relief and release, flashed in your mind. “Uh,” you choked, “usually.”

“So what do I do, just try to be charming?” she pressed.

“Well, I suppose,” you shrugged, “and maybe ask them a lot about their lives and such— be a good listener. Pretend it’s all very interesting.”

“Anything else?”

Stroke his hair while he falls asleep in your lap. Avoid his personal questions because no one’s ever asked about you before and you don’t know what to say. Listen to him ramble about his dreams and fears and all the places he wants to take you. Let him kiss you sometimes because he asks so sweetly and you just can’t help yourself, even though you’re not supposed to.

“Don’t let them kiss you,” you heard yourself say, “ever. If you don’t follow the rules, they won’t either.”

“Good idea,” Belle agreed.

“Sadie, if you hang these out to dry for me, I’ll make your bed after your next session,” you offered as you held the wet clothes out to her.

“That’s a done deal,” she smirked as she took them from you and started to walk away.

“Somewhere nice and sunny, want ‘em dry by the time he’s done,” you explained, calling out after her. She nodded at you and left through the door to the outside, letting in a bright orange stream of sunlight on her way out.

Not one to leave Percy waiting too long, you returned to the hallway and passed by each door until you found your own— you had it painted with flowers, to help it stand out from all the others. You were already smiling as you turned the handle and stepped inside, seeing Percy in the tub across the room, who opened his eyes and gave you a relaxed smile.

“Hurry up,” he complained playfully, “I’m gettin’ lonely in here.”

You rolled your eyes a bit, but bent down anyways to lift your skirt and start rolling your stockings down your legs. You heard him hum quietly and knew he was watching you, so you made sure to let your thin dress slide off your shoulders nice and slow. Most of the customers here wanted to see the ladies in finer wear— maybe to know that their money was going to good use— but Percy always liked you in underwear, thin cotton slips and loose corsets, stuff that fit right in with the bathhouse aesthetic. It was a little ironic, but dressing this way for him made everything feel more intimate; yes, it’s silly, because how much more intimate can it get when you’re having sex with someone? But this was different. It made you feel like… well, you didn’t like to admit it, but it made you feel like a wife. It was a state of undress that only a husband would see his wife in, while she was getting ready or maybe after she’d come home on a hot day and just needed to breathe. You’d be in your slip and he’d lay in bed beside you, and sometimes you thought about what it would be like if he didn’t just call you “sweetpea,” but also “darling” and “honey” and “dear wife.” A man like Percy wasn’t looking for a wife, though, and you weren’t sure what use he would have for one… but every once in a while you let yourself play pretend in your head for a while.

“Don’t tease me,” he pleaded as you lowered your dress more and more, and finally you let it drop to the floor as he groaned a little. Bare to him and his hungry stare, you scampered across the room to hop in the tub with him; he didn’t make much room for you, happy to force you to entangle yourself with him so you could sink into the water.

“Lean back,” you cooed, watching him smile and lay his head back until the water soaked his hair just up to his face. He relaxed while you combed your fingers through his dusty-blonde locks, finding some soap nearby to lather into it.

“Oh, your fingers are so good,” he purred when you started to massage his scalp.

“Yeah? I get that a lot,” you joked. “Let’s let that soak for a while and I’ll wash your body, okay?”

“Alright,” he smirked, “my shoulders are real sore— make sure you get real deep, sweetpea…”

He groaned as you massaged more soap into his skin, digging your fingers into the muscle; you took a bit of your frustration out on him with how hard you rubbed, but he seemed to enjoy it if anything.

“Yeah, just like that,” he sighed, relaxing further into your arms. “You’re so good to me…”

You smiled a little to yourself, moving your soapy hands down to his chest to lather up some suds there. “You like this?” you asked softly.

He simply hummed to himself, and breathed through his teeth as you started to massage his arms. He was actually pretty muscular, lean and taut, tanned from the relentless frontier sun…

As your eyes trailed down his body, his toned abdomen and hips, they settled on his cock— still hard, which it tended to be for a while after he came, even if he was down for the count until his next session. You weren’t sure why, but you kept having all these great ideas to tease him today, and you couldn’t resist.

“You look real good, Percy,” you said, and he smiled wider.

“Yeah?”

That cocky look dropped right off of his face when your fingers slid down his body and wrapped around his cock— soapy and slick, he shuddered as your grip slid smoothly over his shaft and the ridge of his sensitive head. He looked up at you with a conflicted sort of stare as you smiled coyly down at him. “I’m good with my fingers, huh?” you recalled.

“B-baby, wait,” he whimpered.

“Wait for what?” you sighed, lifting yourself up and suddenly straddling him— he looked equal parts hopeful and terrified as he looked up at you. “I’ve been waitin’ for you for days, Percy, I need ya so bad— didn’t you say you were gonna make me feel good? Nobody’s as good as you, baby, you know that.”

He bit his lip at the praise, but even all those compliments couldn’t fully soothe his hesitation when you began to guide him to press right up to your opening. "Oh, fuck— sweetpea, hold on," he groaned, "I'm not quite recovered yet—"

"You're hard as a rock, that's good enough for me," you winked, sliding down onto his length as he gripped the sides of the tub hard enough to make you worry he'd dent the copper. You bit your lip, insides clenching involuntarily— he always filled you so well, but you tried not to show how much it affected you.

"Ah, shit!" he yelped, grabbing your hips as you started to bounce up and down, sloshing the water around you both. "Baby, what are you tryin' to do, kill me?"

"I'm just giving you what you were begging for before, you can take it," you dismissed, struggling slightly to keep track of what you were saying as you adjusted to the stretch. "You always act so proud, talk about how you can fuck me for hours… what happened to that?"

"What happened is you made me come in my pants," he hissed, "and hopped on my dick a few minutes later while I'm still sore! Fuck, sweetpea, it hurts…"

"Yeah? I think you like it though," you grinned, sighing as your own pleasure started to build. "It's not too much for you, is it?"

"Yes it is!" he whined, but you felt him starting to move his hips with yours— poor Percy, he just couldn't help himself. "Ahh, sweetie, you're gonna be the death of me, I swear…"

"Just tell me to stop, and I'll stop," you promised. "Just tell me to stop, honey— you're payin' after all, I'll do whatever you like. Do you want me to stop?"

He swallowed thickly, eyes trained on your tits as you rode him fast and recklessly— and finally, he shook his head. "N-no, fuck, don't stop," he groaned.

You laughed proudly, rocking your hips faster as he groaned. "Didn't think so," you cooed. "You like it too much, huh?"

He nodded and you giggled proudly, leaning down to grab the edge of the tub behind his head as you rode him faster.

Of course, that put your tits right in front of his face and, gasping and whining a bit, he slid his wet hands up your stomach to grope your chest. You moaned softly as he kneaded your flesh with calloused fingers, moving your hips slower and with more precision until he let his head fall back with a groan.

“S-sweetpea,” he choked, “fuck, I missed this…”

You smiled to yourself; it had been almost a week since his last session, and for him that was like a month without water. He suddenly wrapped his arms around you and pulled you down into him, rutting his hips up into you until you were forced to just go limp and take it. After all that bitching about not being able to go again so soon, he sure had gotten over it quickly…

Moaning louder, you pressed your face up to the side of his to keep yourself from slipping down into the water, and he held you even tighter until you worried he’d leave bruises in the shape of his fingertips. Just to make you whimper, he gave you one particularly rough thrust, as deep as he could go, before he turned to whisper in your ear.

“You better get your ass up and get in that damn bed, woman,” he growled— though you felt him smiling, too.

You sat up and carefully slid off of him, climbing out of the tub and starting to reach for a towel before he tutted disapprovingly and gave you a correctional slap on the bottom.

“Don’t you want me to dry you off first?” you said.

“You know what I want— get in that bed,” he insisted, but he didn’t give you a chance, grabbing you and pushing you down onto the mattress instantly; both of you were dripping wet still, and he purred as your bodies slid together while he got on top of you.

He smiled down at you, that proud glimmer in his eye, as he placed your legs up on his shoulders and leaned down over you; when he slipped inside again, the angle forced his cock so deep that your back had to arch and your mouth fell open into a low moan— he watched your face carefully as he pushed himself to the very end of you.

“That’s my girl,” he purred, “takin’ it so good— still tight as ever, sweetpea…”

Each rock of his hips made you moan louder than the last— all the other girls thought you put on a show for him, but right now, it was all real. He knew how to hit your spot just right, and he loved watching you fall apart under him.

“Y’like that, huh?” he taunted, and you nodded with a gasp. “Your favorite customer’s gonna make you come real hard, baby…”

Sure, he was mostly just being cocky, but he wasn’t wrong— about being your favorite customer or about making you come. You were closer than you should’ve been by now, but watching him make a mess of himself had you all worked up and then he got so aggressive… it was all very overwhelming. Thankfully, from the sound of his hissing breaths in through his teeth, he was pretty close, too. And he had even less of an excuse than you, having just come so recently! But then again, it had been almost a week since you’d last seen him… and neither of you had come since then.

He chuckled when he shifted his hips and you whimpered loudly. “Oh, is that the way you need it? C’mon and say so, then.”

“I— I need it,” you choked, “I need you to fuck me just like that.”

“Yeah?” he egged you on, your fists gripped the sheets beneath you as he moved faster and rougher. The pressure building inside you was sharp and tingly, almost too much to take, but it felt better and better as you gave into it.

“M’so close,” you gasped, “please don’t stop— ah!”

"Tell me whose you are," he grunted.

"Yours, Percy, all yours," you whined, digging your nails into the sheets so hard now that they were at risk of tearing.

"One more time," he groaned, "I'm gonna finish inside— say it one more time, baby—"

"I'm yours," you sobbed, finally feeling him push his hips against you as deep as possible and start to come. He tossed his head back with a whine, the flex of his cock against your walls in time with his heavy pant; as he reached the end of it (it seemed to go on for a while), he sighed and dropped his head down, wet hair hanging loosely around his face. You were about to ask if he enjoyed himself, but he suddenly kissed you— intense, yet relaxed, as he was still catching his breath. You hummed against his lips and kissed him back, lifting your hands to hold his face gently.

Feeling him smile, you laughed quietly when he pulled back and blinked down at you. Something about the way his cheeks were flushed— maybe from just the hot water, maybe from a little more— made his green eyes look even brighter, and you bit your lip.

“You know somethin’, sweetpea?” he breathed. “You look prettiest just after I filled you up.”

He pulled out of you and collapsed onto the bed beside you, staring up at the ceiling with that dazed, joyfully-exhausted look on his face. “You’ve told me that before,” you remembered.

“Well, I was right,” he chuckled breathlessly. “Damn, you wear me out… I didn’t think I could go again after you played footsie with my family jewels—”

You snorted at the euphemism, feeling him snuggle up to you and bury his face in the crook of your neck.

“Anybody else gonna see you today?" he asked in a mumble, smirking against your skin. "You better wash all a'me out, or you're gonna have customers complaining about their favorite whore bein' all used up…"

It wasn’t until he said that that you realized you’d been in your little fantasy again, pretending you were Mrs. Dolarhyde and not another soiled dove with bills on the dresser. You sighed and sat up on the edge of the bed, grabbing your robe from where it was draped over a lamp so you could slip it over your shoulders.

“Hey, my time’s not up yet, is it?” he pouted, reaching over to tickle your thigh with his fingertips. “You don’t have to wash up until I leave, right? Just lay here for a while, sweetpea—”

"Do you call me that to try to make me feel bad?" you interrupted, wishing instantly you could’ve just bit your tongue.

“Call you what, ‘sweetpea’?”

“No,” you sighed, turning to face him again as he propped himself up on one elbow. “You always say things like that after— call me a whore and all. You shouldn't be judging me, I might be a whore but you're still quite the loyal fuckin' customer—"

"Woah, hey now," he soothed, raising his hands defensively. "I'm not here to judge, I don't think bein' a whore is anything bad— I mean, shit, far as I see it you ladies are the heroes of the West. Where would good-for-nothing bastards like me be without you?"

"Then what do you say it like that for?" you frowned. "You get sweet on me, then you say something rude— and don't tell me you mean it as a compliment, because I can tell when you mean something as a compliment and when you're just trying to get me all confused…"

"Sweetpea," he breathed, reaching out and pulling you back down onto the bed, wrapping his arms around you. "It's not to confuse you. It's me that's confused. Sometimes…"

He sighed and started over, looking away as you blinked up at him expectantly.

"Sometimes, I forget what this is," he admitted with a little shrug, still not looking back at you.

"What is this?" you asked him earnestly, softly.

"It's… a business transaction," he decided. "It's a professional and her client. It's your job."

He looked at you, resting a hand on your waist, and your eyes stared up into his— a strange feeling swirled in your chest, something you remembered distantly as hope. "What else could it be?" you whispered.

He sighed heavily, lifting one hand to your face to brush your damp hair out of the way. "Nothin'," he answered, stroking your cheek with his thumb lightly. "You know that as good as I do. It couldn't be nothin' else but the way you make your money, and the way I spend mine."

You looked down with a little sigh, nodding. “Yeah,” you agreed, “I do know.”

He planted a kiss on your forehead, and you settled into his arms as he held you close. “Can I stay longer today? I think I might fall asleep if you just let me hold you.”

“I have another appointment,” you mumbled into his chest.

“I’ll pay double,” he promised— it wasn’t an offer, he was telling you that he would stay and pay double afterwards, you knew because he was already sighing deeply and sinking into the pillow, moments from drifting off.

“Sleep tight, Percy,” you whispered as you laid your face on his shoulder— you wouldn’t fall asleep, but you could rest your eyes for a while… yeah, that’d be alright.

#percy dolarhyde x reader #percy dolarhyde #paul dano x reader #percy dolarhyde smut

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sunpopz · 3 years ago

Text

unavoidable

pairing: donghyuck x fem!reader word count: 5.8k contains: art school au, smut, a bit of sub!hyuck, fluff, mutual pining, oral (m receiving), fingering, kink discovery (exhibitionism), dumbification for like a split second, a little dry humping, protected sex, no pull out tho summary: after swearing to yourself you're done catching feelings for people; you meet someone who makes that incredibly difficult. you think you can avoid him... then you're assigned a final together. a/n: this is my first official fic on this blog! plz plz leave me feedback (whether it be an ask, a reply, reblog, or just a like, it's all VERY appreciated). let me know if i'm missing/need to get rid of any warnings!

“oh, he definitely likes you.”

you groaned in exaggerated frustration and let your body fall forward in your seat, forehead making contact with the cafeteria table. you heard yeri giggle across from you.

your freshman year of college started off strong. as strong as it could, anyway, with different members of your friend group convincing you to go with them to drink, party, or smoke every other week. you felt like you had a good healthy balance between productivity and fun. sometimes due dates came quicker than you thought, and you would pull an all-nighter to finish 2 day's worth of work in an hour, but you made it out alive in the end. even if you felt dead inside.

it was all working well until you met lee donghyuck.

donghyuck was loud and witty and gorgeous. he had a way of holding people’s attention, cracking jokes or making stupid comments that were only really funny because he was the one who said it. he started attending your shared cinematography class way too late into the semester, yet he was smart and creative as hell from the projects you’d seen him submit.

you, however, didn’t let yourself enjoy the experience of crushing on donghyuck because of the promise you made to yourself: no boys this year. dating in high school was a shitshow for you; too many empty promises and too much manipulation, and your grades slipped along with your sanity. it was exhausting, and you weren’t gonna sabotage your opening year of college by letting some guy cloud your thoughts. so you avoided donghyuck; tried not to make eye contact, tried not to check him out so much… tried not to look at him period. it all kinda failed.

yeri thought all of that was bullshit, of course, because “you literally had to write essays hours before your class started ‘cus you were with me and the guys getting high. you don’t really care about that, be real.”

so yeah, maybe you just emotionally closed yourself off. you still weren’t going to go out of your way to interact with donghyuck.

unfortunately, your professor decided the two of you would be perfect partners for a short film project so you had no choice.

he was the one who introduced himself first, all glowy skin and pretty smile and fluffy hair. the palm of his hand was soft but firm when you shook it. he smelled like whatever beachy bodywash he used and you tried not to drool at him while he shared his ideas with you in the last ten minutes of class. at that point you knew there was no saving you.

what really convinced you that you were done for was how quickly the two of you hit it off. a few meetups were all it took, your ideas bouncing off each other as you both enthusiastically got your creative juices flowing, and then you were friends. suddenly donghyuck was in every setting - the cafeteria, the hallways, the library - and as you became designated study buddies, his personality showed its depths.

he liked to poke fun at you over small things (your tone of voice when you tried to prove a point, the food you chose in the cafe, the music you liked, etc), but he was also caring. he’d ask if you needed help on any other subjects, carry art supplies for you, and offer to pay for your food.

you’d noticed about a week after meeting his close circle of friends that he didn’t do those things with them, though, and asked yeri, your closest friend, what she thought about that.

“yeah.. i’m sorry girl, but as someone who’s known hyuck for years, he’s literally an asshole like ninety-five percent of the time. this is honestly hilarious and i will be making fun of him for it.”

you lifted your head off the table with a heavy sigh and looked up to the busy cafeteria’s ceiling as if it’d give you some insight on what to do. “god, i’m so… we were doing fine! like i literally have a crush on him right now but the only thing that was keeping me sane was knowing he didn’t feel the same way.”

yeri continued to apply her makeup using a handheld mirror. she, luckily, didn’t have any classes after lunch for the day and was likely going to spend the rest of her friday with sooyoung. “he must be feeling something ‘cus even the teasing you described isn’t nearly as annoying as it usually is.”

“i mean, surely he’s not just a jerk.”

she gave you a look then huffed a laugh and shook her head. “sure, he can be sweet once every blue moon. he’s never fussed about driving us places, i’ll give him that. he just acts like a little brother to me.”

you practically felt the crush on him brewing into something bigger and more unbearable every time you talked about him. although he was really hot, you did genuinely like him as a person and you didn’t want to end up ruining what you had. “i really don’t know what to do. how am i supposed to control myself, now? just the way he talks sometimes makes me all.. you know.”

yeri pretended to gag. “please don’t talk about him like that near me,” satisfied with her face, she looked up from her mirror and not a second later something behind you caught her eye. “oh, speaking of the devil.”

“heyy girls,” donghyuck walked up to your booth with a very big camera and yeri smiled and nodded to him in greeting. he plopped down next to you and placed the camera right into your lap. your heart raced at how close he was. he pretended not to hear the squeak you let out. then, after noticing the pause, “you guys talking shit about me or something?”

“yes.” you and yeri said it in unison and you both laughed when he pretended to be offended. “what’s with the big heavy camera in my lap, hyuck?”

his excitement made itself known as he spoke. “renjun’s letting us borrow it since his final has him in the theatre. we were looking through the place earlier and found it with some other equipment so i kinda bribed him to let us use it.. it’s super cool.” he pulled out his phone to show some already-downloaded pictures and clips in his camera roll of what it’s capable of. you were honestly blown away.. it all looked straight from a movie.

yeri gave you an amused look. “you know.. you guys are both so geeky. i wonder why you didn’t become friends sooner.”

you knew from her tone and the way she pointedly looked at you what she was getting at with that statement. yeri was just as sweet and adorable as she was mischievous, and while that’s one of the things you liked about her, you couldn’t help the annoyance at her indirect jab at you. just as you were thinking of a response, donghyuck spoke. “you should come over later so we can test it out.”

your eyes widened. you’d never been to each other’s dorms, just meeting up in common - public study spots. and now that you knew he probably liked you back there was no way for the experience to be tension-free... on your part at least. yeri tried to muffle a laugh but it didn’t work.

studying with hyuck was already hard sometimes. he’d drink from a water bottle and watching his throat bob would be enough to make your mind fuzzy for longer than a moment. or his arm would brush against yours and butterflies would erupt all the way from your stomach to your chest. once, he decided to play a game of basketball with jeno before showing up, and you could swear being right across from his sweaty sun kissed body was going to drive you nuts. the idea of being alone with him in the comfort and privacy of his home was way more exciting than you wanted it to be.

you hoped you were playing off your shock well. “uh, sure. just text me the details after lunch?” your voice wavered regardless, and you cringed internally.

he nodded and walked off to grab something to eat, not without shoving your shoulder before he left for literally no reason. you could feel the smile on your face grow and bit your lip.

it was going to be an interesting day.

—

turns out donghyuck didn’t live in a dorm complex like most students, instead shared rent with mark, jeno, and jaemin in a cheap little house off campus. it made sense, the art school you all attended had so much to offer yet all the money they collected never really seemed to reach the dorm life. there wasn’t much space and the beds sucked, the cafeteria a ridiculous twenty-minute walk away from the buildings. it overall ended up cheaper and more convenient to split rent amongst four people and take turns driving to campus.

with that being said, the house was a mess, and you couldn’t wrap your head around it. it didn’t necessarily stink (although the air had a hint of the familiar warm scent of weed, the kind that settled into furniture and you can’t quite get rid of), but it was cluttered and almost disastrous looking. while they seemingly had the decency to throw out food, they must not have had the same decency to put away anything else; shoes, clothes, bottles, textbooks, art supplies.. so many art supplies - you wondered how they knew where anything was. the living room tv played some youtube playlist of r&b music videos with no one in the room and you fought the urge to search for the remote yourself.

donghyuck’s shared room however, was very tidy compared to the main area of the house, and you assumed the kitchen and living room was just everyone’s communal workspace. his belongings seemed organized (surprisingly, considering his spontaneous personality), and you felt more at ease. you ended up sitting together on a large fluffy rug that accessorized his floor.

the requirement of your short film was that it had to be a visual study of your partner, whether that be an interview or a short documentary, it just had to be visual. the two of you decided to do both in one, as well as contribute some drawn graphic art into the editing to make it a partially animated piece in the end. in another meet-up you’d already colorfully written letters on pieces of paper, moved them around, and taken pictures of them to create the animation. you just had to start recording each other.

you’d realized you kinda overdressed when you arrived and saw donghyuck in sweats and a hoodie. you needed to showcase your true selves in the video, and while it wasn’t necessarily uncommon for you to wear a denim miniskirt and lacy cropped cami, it was one of your better outfits saved for outings. you had on an unzipped large hoodie for the breeze outside, so hyuck didn’t notice your top right away, but you saw the way his eyes flicked to your legs repeatedly when he gave you a mini tour of the place.

he set his bulky cinema notebook between the two of you and started flipping through it, looking for the pages with notes from the most recent classes. printed pictures and taped-in polaroids made the thing look a mess, but it endeared you, the amount of passion and thought hyuck put into art and photography.

he noticed your fidgeting. “you want something to drink? we have like, tons of soda.”

you hummed a no and stood up. “i’ll just start setting up the camera.”

“whatever you say.”

so far your visit had been almost as tense as you thought it’d be, fewer words spoken between the two of you than usual, and the only thing making things easier was the distant music from the living room tv. his room smelled so much like him, the beachy bodywash suddenly warm and strong in your nose and you figured he had the same scent in cologne. all those moments where each other’s presence felt like fire igniting (lingering looks when passing by, hugs lasting a few seconds too long, not moving away when you accidentally touch hands, arms, legs), felt like they’d been leading up to this; you in donghyuck’s room freshly showered and pampered with excitement bubbling in you, it felt way too similar to a hook up.

you could feel donghyuck’s eyes burning into you while you moved around. “so,” you pulled apart the legs of the tripod, “i assume this is our backdrop?”

hyuck looked to the heavily decorated wall you gestured towards and nodded, his mind visibly elsewhere. it wasn’t quite the white backdrop you had in mind but you figured it added character with all the pictures of him and his friends along with album covers and stuff. it probably should’ve been used for his segment of the video only, but you weren’t really thinking about anything that deeply at this point. your attention was mainly on donghyuck and the way he looked, soft and comfortable yet still as intimidating as usual.

he helped you put the actual camera on the stand and angle it, then played with the settings as you stood in front of the wall. you noticed how his roommate’s side of the room (mark, he told you) was relatively less neat than donghyuck’s and wondered if he just tidied everything up because you were coming. an exaggerated dreamy sigh pulled you out of your thoughts. “this thing is so fucking nice. really wish i could keep it.”

you smiled. what would he even need a big ass production camera for in his day-to-day life? you realized hyuck wasn’t just looking at the camera but you through it, and pursed your lips to keep from smiling bigger out of sheepishness. “let me know when you start recording.”

“i started, like, thirty seconds ago.”

“oh.”

he finally stepped aside from the settings on the camera but stayed within reach to zoom in or move it a bit when he felt necessary. you pulled a chair over and he started asking you questions, ones written and not shown to you during study sessions to keep each other’s answers authentic. the air in the room changed from loosely awkward to playful as you answered the very random questions. hyuck laughed at your responses and initiated friendly banter from behind the camera.

“what would you do with a million dollars? like if i handed you a million dollars right now what’s the first thing you’d do?”

you snorted. “i’d assume it’s all fake.”

hyuck rolled his eyes. “okay. then say you went and got it checked and it was all real. what are you doing with it?”

“buying anything i want, obviously.”

he tsked and flipped his paper to the next set of questions. “you could’ve said something meaningful, like donate it or something. you’re evil.”

you made a face at him while he messed with the camera a bit. the house was significantly warmer than the air outside and you were starting to feel it, so you shook your jacket off and threw it over to donghyuck’s bed. you took the chance to fix yourself up a bit, running your hands through your hair and adjusting both your top and skirt, rubbing your lips together to keep the lip gloss pigmented. your legs felt stiff so decided you’d rather stand, pushing the chair into the desk you pulled it from and standing back into place. there was a moment of silence and you looked up at donghyuck, just to see him already looking back at you. his playful smile was gone.

“you look really hot right now. just saying.”

your stomach flipped and your heart skipped before you even fully processed what he said. you had almost forgot about the butterflies and the tension and yet, it was back like it never left.

something in your expression made him laugh, the airy sound reminding you to breathe.. and to respond. “oh..”

a moment passed.

“sorry if that was crossing a line-”

“i promise you i don’t mind,” you interrupted, hands raised. “i just don’t know how to take compliments sometimes, i think. thank you.” then after a beat, “you look hot, too. like, all the time.”

“yeah?”

“yeah.”

you felt breathless. since when did you forget to say thank you after someone complimented you? donghyuck’s voice sounded almost seductive all of the sudden, and you were ready to throw all caution to the wind. just the fact that he was standing there looking and listening to you, adjusting the camera to focus on you better, and felt the need to compliment you.. you realized his attention had never been undivided on you this way before.

you were about to speak again, but he beat you to it. “do you.. consider yourself a risk taker?”

it made you pause, momentarily forgetting that he was even interviewing you in the first place. a risk taker? a very normal question in contrast to the other things he asked, yet it hit home in a way. it felt almost ironic considering the internal battle you’d been fighting since he entered your life, all to save yourself from some imaginary heartache. you did this with other things in your life, too; emotionally closing yourself off to avoid negative emotions, and while it never got bad enough to cause huge miscommunication issues, you missed out on a lot of great feelings and experiences.

“ooh you’re thinking hard about this one. it must’ve been good,” hyuck teased, and you couldn’t help the big shy smile that erupted on your face. he just had a way with words.

“i don’t think i’m a risk taker,” you decided. when he just hummed in response and waited for you to continue, you figured your emotions must just be visible in your face or something. “...but i want to be. i want to take risks.”

“then why don’t you?”

“it’s scary sometimes,” you shrugged.

“don’t be scared, then.”

you genuinely laughed, and maybe it was the way his chest tightened at the sound, or the way your eyebrow curved in disbelief, but he felt something in him snap suddenly. he stepped over to you, grabbed your face, and kissed you in one seamless motion.

your heart soared, his lips soft and strong against yours, and you grabbed his forearms to anchor yourself. the kiss winded you; the shock of it wearing off and into a simmer in your gut. it all felt so warm - his body heat having melted into the fabric of his hoodie, his hands on your face - and you leaned in closer, running your hands from his arms to his back and up near his shoulder blades.

the feeling of your hands on him made him kiss you deeper, hotter, and you moaned. his brain short circuited at the sound and feeling, humming and kissing you even harder. the room temperature rose rapidly as the kiss went from sweet to desperate, hands grabbing and groping at and around each other until yours brushed the skin under his hoodie. he broke the kiss to pull you over to his bed, laying back on it and guiding you to straddle him with his hands on your hips. you felt yourself become wetter at the light manhandling.

now on top of him, you leaned down to kiss him again, curling your hands into his hair. it all felt so right, any doubts or worries you had beforehand completely forgot about as you felt donhyuck’s bulge grow stiffer against you, body euphoric and mind hazy with nothing but his warmth and his softness and his smell.

you pulled back to admire his face, a red flush beginning to form on his skin and a shiny plump to his lips. you impulsively traced a finger through the slit in his brow (something you’d wanted to do for a while) and he laughed lightly, “you’re a good fucking kisser.”

you hummed in response and slowly started to grind on him, watching his eyes flutter shut as his breath stuttered. seeing him like this after so much time imagining what he’d look like - under you, above you, between your legs - made you feel hot all over. it was almost surreal. you sped up and huffed a laugh when he grunted.

“guess i’m in control here?”

“shut up.”

he rolled his own hips up a few times to meet yours and you moaned louder than you meant to, dipping down to mouth at the side of his neck to hide your embarrassment. he wanted to laugh but ended up hissing loudly when you bit and sucked at it, dick twitching in his pants.

was this a good idea? you didn’t know nor care, everything feeling too good, and neither did donghyuck it seemed, his hands pushing your already ridden-up pleated skirt even further to grab each of your ass cheeks and push you closer into him. his hands squeezed and kneaded, and after noticing your breath hitching against his neck he slapped one side, and you keened. the sound went straight to his dick, and he lightly pushed you off of him. you gave him a confused look.

“need you.” he explained. his breathing was labored, mind and body focused on the feeling of your weight on top of him.

you shook your head. “can i suck you off first?”

you felt him twitch again before his head fell back on the pillows. “god, you can’t just say things like that. i’m already not gonna last long.”

“so is that a yes?”

he looked up at you and just studied your face for a second, then playfully flicked your forehead when you gave him puppy eyes. “no, i totally don’t want head from the sexy girl in my bed right now. why would i want that?”

rolling your eyes at his sarcasm, you bit your lip and started making your way down. hyuck helped you pull his hoodie off as you reached the seam of it. the t-shirt underneath rode up his chest in the process and you left a couple kisses on the smooth skin of his lower stomach. his abdomen tensed up.

“oh, you’re sensitive..” you whispered hotly against his skin and he took a moment to respond, just staring down at you, his brain moving like slush.

“‘m just ticklish.”

“right.”

when you finally pulled his dick out it was fully hard and a red-ish purple at the tip. feeling the warm weight of it in your hand and seeing the trimmed hair at the base made everything feel so real all of the sudden; the cute funny guy from cinematography now underneath you, pretty and responsive waiting for you to make him feel good. you hummed and kitten licked at the tip, eyes flicking up to lock with his. his face was now fully flushed, hair all messed up from your fingers and being rubbed against his pillow.

you licked a long, slow stripe from the base to the tip, then loosened your throat and sunk down on him. the relieved moan he let out was the greatest enabler, and you tried your best to take all of him in. when you were at your limit, you started lightly bobbing your head and used your hand for whatever didn’t fit when you began to speed up.

donghyuck was nearly panting at this point, staring blankly down at you with his mouth agape. before he got too comfortable with the pace, you lifted up and kitten licked his tip again. his dick twitched.

“you ticklish here, too?” you joked.

he didn’t even respond, too lost in his pleasure. you felt his dick twitch again and his eyes screwed shut, so you removed him from your mouth and waited.

some time passed with hyuck just breathing, calming himself down. he opened his eyes and looked visibly flustered when he saw your smile.

“i’m not usually this sensitive, i swear,” his voice came out hoarse. “i’ve just been wanting to.. like, i’ve thought about you for a while. if you know what i mean.”

your heart stuttered at the confession. donghyuck, probably the least shy person you knew, wasn’t even able to tell you straight-foward that he’d imagined fucking you. “it’s really okay. i think it’s cute.”

he pouted. “i don’t wanna be cute, though. i wanna be sexy.”

you laughed and dipped down to lick at the spot right under the head of his cock, eyes never leaving his. his mouth parted and you smiled. “i promise you’re just as sexy as you are cute.”

your underwear was definitely soaked now, so you decided not to waste anymore time, biting your lip and moving back up to straddle. hyuck reached down and into the pocket of his sweats and pulled out a condom.

you snatched it from him. “you just carry these on you?”

he sucked his teeth. “of course not, i was just hoping. didn’t wanna have to stop and grab it from my dresser.”

you tried to hide a smile and shook your head in mock disappointment. his hand grabbed your wrist after you teared at the packaging for a second.

there was concern clear on his face. “we don’t have to do this, by the way. we don’t have to do anything.”

“i want to, hyuck. i wouldn’t be doing this if i didn’t want to,” the unsure look on his face didn’t budge so you continued, “do you want to?”

“hell yeah,” he scoffed. “you just looked put off by the whole condom-in-my-pocket thing.”

“oh, it’s not a problem. i just think you’re lazy.”

after you put the rubber on him, you flattened your hand on his chest and tried to use the other to move your underwear to the side, but he lightly slapped your hand away to replace it with his own. a rush of pleasure ran through you as he rubbed your clit over the fabric, feeling his larger fingers on your most sensitive spot for the first time. apparently the moan you let out sounded funny because he laughed, but your brain didn’t catch up to anything before he breathed “how the fuck are you this wet?”, and suddenly you were extremely impatient.

“please hurry up,” you whined, and surprisingly he didn’t make a comment about you begging. he got to work instead, pushing your underwear over and inserting a finger into you, free hand grabbing the back of your head to pull you down and kiss you again. the feeling of your hot wet walls around his finger set him off, and he wrapped his arm around you, flipped you both over, and gently placed you down so he could thrust it in and out. once you pushed your hips up and mumbled some jibberish (something that sounded like a jumble of “more” and “too slow”), he added a second finger then sat back on his knees to really look at you.

he felt almost dizzy. your eyebrows were furrowed and your skin was flushed, body still clothed yet moving like a wave from your abdomen to your hips against his hand, pushing into the pleasure he was giving you. you huffed out whimpers with most breaths, chest rising and falling giving donghyuck the tempting view of the lacy fabric of your top against the flesh of your boobs. he pushed in a third finger and used his other hand to lift your top up, grabbing a boob over the cup of your bra and squeezed.

you bit your lip, body buzzing. “hyuck.”

“hmm?”

you could feel yourself whining again but you didn’t care. “please just. i need you inside me,” the familiar winding-up in the pit of your stomach was coming way too soon.

the words ‘i need you inside me’ rung in donghyuck’s head as he looked at your pretty little skirt that’d been pushed up, your underwear that had been moved to the side, and the way your pussy took his fingers. your body layed there on his bed in his room, halfway clothed and desperate. he let out a shaky sigh. “i’m not gonna last long.”

you grabbed his wrist. “i don’t care. i’m not gonna last either.”

“you get all whiney and needy when you’re horny,” he teased, his wet fingers exiting you and indenting into your hip as he grabbed you and lined himself up. “would’ve never thought you were ever ‘in charge’ of me.”

you both moaned loudly when he sunk in. his cock inside of you felt like a missing piece to a puzzle, and you tried to slow your breathing to relax your body. he waited a moment, twitching inside of you as he waited for you to adjust, then thrusted in and out slowly.

it was overwhelming to say the least, everything you felt inside and out was hot and the stretch was addicting. if this was what you’d been missing out on all this time, you hated yourself for it. you moaned again when he sped up, the cheap bedframe creaking below you.

hyuck furrowed his eyebrows in concentration. he breathed in deeply, closed his eyes, then exhaled a half-whispered “you smell so fucking good.” he let go of your hips and draped himself over you, placing his forearms on each side of your head and just watched your expressions. you breathed hot and quick in each other’s faces, whimpers mixing with moans.

you faintly heard the music from the living room tv get louder and louder, some bryson tiller song echoing off the walls, and your stomach dropped a little. someone had come home and heard you guys fucking right next door. the tightening feeling came back to the pit of your stomach fast and you tangled your hand into donghyuck’s hair, bringing him closer to rest your foreheads against each other and anchor yourself.

he moaned loud and clear, fucking into you faster and harder, eyes screwing shut. “r-renjun’s here.”

you panted. “fuck.”

“hnng. fuck,” he nodded against you, but it was obvious the nod was in agreement to something neither of you would say out loud.

turned on beyond belief, you rolled your hips up to meet his thrusts, your g-spot getting pistoned into as hyuck chased his own orgasm. he huffed out a desperate little whimper at the action, and you wrapped your legs around him, pushed him deeper into you, and pulled his hair as you felt yourself start to let go.

he really did try to speak, but the only warning you were given that he was about to cum was a quick rough inhale and a violent twitch inside you before you felt the warmth fill you. you swore you felt numb in your limbs as your own vision went blank. your highs lasted a few extra seconds of both of you stiff against each other before you sagged into the bed, satisfied.

donghyuck rolled off of you and the two of you just panted up into the air for a while. he eventually breathed out a “woah.” and sat up, walking out the room to get warm wet towels to clean up with.

he came back with a stupid big smile on his face, and when you looked at him questioningly he just snickered. “he’s pissed.”

he was wiping your inner thigh for you, for soothing purposes more than anything, when you finally spoke.

“i don’t want this to be a one time thing,” you stared hard at his ceiling as if it’d give you the right words to say. the high from arousal had worn off and you were left with that anxious uneasy feeling that kept you from doing this in the first place, but after experiencing what you just did, you didn’t want to just move on. “i’m not sure how you think of me..,” you sat up to look him in the face and he paused, giving you his full attention. “..but i really like you. and i don’t wanna screw anything up.”

the look on donghyuck’s face was nothing but puzzled. he stared at you, really stared at you, and you felt stupid. did he not like that way at all? you were ready to accept the rejection and move on as friends with benefits and a hurting heart until he cut your thoughts short.

“you really don’t know?”

you frowned. “don’t know what?”

his entire demeaner softened as he took in your genuine confusion. then he looked a little embarrassed. “i’ve been kinda obsessed with you since we met. i thought you knew ‘cus the guys make fun of me for how i act around you all time.. they always joke about telling you. in fact jaemin said he told you and i couldn’t tell if he was kidding. so when you kissed me back earlier i guess i just assumed that was like, a reciprocation.”

despite having caught on to his crush the literal day before, you were shocked. you didn’t even suspect that he was ‘obsessed’ with you, if anything you thought it was just a bit of attraction from spending time with you so often. you could feel your skin go hot.

“i didn’t even think you were into me at all until yesterday,” you swore, fidgeting with the hem of your skirt. “it really wasn’t that obvious.”

“even though i follow you around all the time?”

“huh? you follow me around? like, at school?”

he laughed in light disbelief. “yeah? i’m with you almost always outside of class. it’s pathetic.”

the butterflies came back to your stomach as the two of you talked about all the (very obvious) hints to your interest in each other, and when he kissed you again and asked you to be his girlfriend, you didn’t have to think twice before answering.

–

when you were being walked out by donghyuck, you were met with renjun sitting on the kitchen counter with a sketchbook in his lap and a paint set next to him. you guessed you were right about the communal workspace thing. he took out an airpod when he notice your presence and you smiled at him bashfully.

“is there anything you two would like to say to me?” he looked between the two of you pointedly, the edges of his lips curling up despite his efforts.

you and hyuck looked at each other then back to renjun. hyuck pursed his lips to stop himself from laughing.

“we’re dating now?” you tried, and renjun rolled his eyes.

“not even a sorry?”

“well, i’m not sorry, personally,” hyuck said, cocky smile stuck on his face. “this is payback for making me pay for dinner the other day.”

renjun scoffed. “that’s not even remotely the same!”

hyuck just grabbed your hand and continued to walk you out, and you turned to wince and mouth a ‘sorry’ to renjun.

you were definitely in for a ride with this man, and you had no doubts about it this time.

#hope this doesnt suck #haechan smut #haechan #donghyuck #donghyuck smut #haechan fic #haechan fluff #nct fics #nct smut #oneshot #haechan oneshot #haechan reader #yeri #nct #mark #renjun #donghyuck fluff

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duskholland · 4 years ago

Text

Crash Into You || Tom Holland Smut

ice hockey!tom x figure skater!reader — smut.

summary ↠ you can’t stand the ice hockey team. they’re loud, brutish, and incredibly annoying. it’s just inconvenient that you can’t seem to stop running into their star player, an irritatingly suave man called tom, nor deny the way your pulse quickens every time he’s around... word count ↠ 20.2k. warnings ↠ mild depictions of sport-related injury including blood and nose breakage, a lot of bad language, some jealousy, and nsfw smut material! extended smut warnings are beneath the cut, but this is 18+ !!! minors dni. a/n ↠ it’s funny because I tell myself I don’t like sport aus, yet this is somehow one of my favourite things that I’ve ever written...? the au is kinda ~obscure~ I guess, but it checked so many of my boxes whilst writing it, and I had a great time. it’s also the longest thing I’ve ever posted?! ahh !! I hope you’ll like dutchy, and give this a go even if you’re not really into hockey <3 —↠ there are so many different people that helped me out with this!!! in addition to all the wonderful anons that sent in ideas last month, I want to extend a huge thank you to @geminiparkers @tetralea @hollandharrison @honeyspidey @stixnstripesworld and @uglypastels for each helping out in some way, whether that be through brainstorming ideas, making incredible art, or teaching me about hockey and/or skating! <3<3 also—the biggest thank you ever to the lovely sammy @t-holland2080 for not disowning me after editing this for me and seeing my basic spelling errors lmfao. ily <3 hope you all enjoy !!

extra !! @uglypastels made two beautiful pieces of fanart for tom aka dutchy — you can view these here + here !!! @softholand also made an absolutely incredible moodboard based off the fic, and you can view that here :’) thank you to both of them for using their amazing artistic talents on this fic + making me literally like. the happiest writer on the planet :’)

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

extended smut warnings ↠ two sections of smut. this is a certified Horny Warmy™️ (thanks chlo for that category) so it’s very gentle, very wholesome. includes oral and fingering (fem-receiving) and protected MxF sex :’)

✧ *:･ﾟCrash Into You ･ﾟ:*✧

“Why are they always so noisy? How hard can it be to hit a bit of plastic?”

You laugh quietly, glancing at your friend, Yelena. She’s staring out across the rink, hands resting on the plastic barrier that lines the perimeter with irritation in her icy blue eyes. A warming blush tickles the apples of her cheeks, and it softens the expression of frustration that she wears so well.

“Seriously,” she adds. “Listen to them… It’s so… unpleasant.”

Your teeth catch your lower lip as you bring your gaze away from Yelena and instead onto the object of her anger: the hockey team.

Your eyes zip around the rink, watching as the players run through yet another drill. The team—Kingston Kites—, 20 in full, 7 currently on the ice, crash around the arena like a cyclone of a thousand moving calamitous parts. For the last few months, the practice rink at your sports centre has been closed, which has led to the pre-existing rivalry between the hockey team and your own team of figure skaters deepening. There have been arguments between your managers and theirs about which team gets priority over the exhibition rink. What’s emerged has been a bitter taste in the air. Simply put: the figure skating team dislikes the ice hockey team, and the feeling is mutual.

“I dunno,” you mutter. “I guess it means they’re working hard.”

The noises are rather distracting. You watch as the blurry figures, shrouded in the team colours of white, green, and orange, line up and take shot after shot at the small net on the ice. After each attempted shot on goal, the players have a tendency to release loud grunts and exclamations of exertion, and they echo around the empty arena. Whilst you agree with Yelena that the noises are irritating, a small part of you also admires their commitment.

“Perhaps.” Yelena steps back from the side and starts to stretch her arms. You do the same. There’s a fifteen-minute overlap in the scheduled slots on ice when the figure skating team uses half the rink to warm up as the hockey team uses the other to cool down. After the fifteen minutes play out, the Zamboni skims out the cuts in the rink, and the hockey team finally leaves you alone. It’s not ideal to share the rink, but every second you can spend practising helps. “I can’t stand them.”

You smile softly, slowly rotating your right arm as you warm up the muscles. “I know,” you agree. “You always complain about them.”

She scowls, eyes glistening with fierce irritation. “Because they’re annoying. So dramatic and messy.”

“Mmm, well, I don’t think they’re very fond of us either,” you respond. You bend over, slowly rubbing your fingers over the bandage you have wrapped around your right ankle. “Did you hear about Jenna and Lou in the gym last week?”

“No. What happened?”

You sit down on the cool floor of the arena, thankful for the many layers you’re wearing. As you slowly start to massage your ankle, you glance up at your friend.

“They got interrupted by a couple of the guys. Uh, Osterfield and Barrett? They wanted to do a weights competition or something.”

Yelena scoffs. “Losers.”

You smirk. “They won, though. Lou and Jen. Apparently, the guys stormed out. Couldn’t take getting beaten by a couple of skaters.”

Your friend cackles then offers you a hand up. You grunt as you stand and steady yourself, glancing down at your skates and checking the laces. A loud buzzer goes off, and you hear a few yells of disgruntlement come off the ice as the players realise it’s the end of their solo practice and the start of your turn on the rink too.

“Can’t wait to get out there,” Yelena murmurs, eyes sparkling. You nod in agreement and crack your knuckles in anticipation.

Together, you walk over to the small gate in the side of the rink, joining the line with the rest of your team. Ten of you make up the competitive figure skating team, and all of you wear varying articles of black, thermal clothing. You’re in a pair of leggings, a long-sleeved thermal shirt, and a loose burgundy t-shirt, drifting over the top. The cold doesn’t bother you as much as it used to, but that’s only through the years you’ve spent gliding around at sub-zero temperatures.

You sigh happily as you inhale a breath of the frozen air that hangs crispy above the rink. You step onto the ice, closing your eyes as you skate forwards, your body supported effortlessly by the skates you wear so well.

There’s a line of bright red cones set out across the middle of the ice, sectioning off the hockey players from the rest of you. You smile to yourself as you risk a glance across the rink and take stock of a few of the players, huddled together, grunting and exchanging low words of irritation. They look very funny, wearing various layers of thick padding and helmets—less formal than they’d be at a match, but still dressed up enough to mean business. You feel them staring at you, glaring and bemoaning the fact they have to share the rink, but you let it brush off you like water.

“Y/N! Show me your cannonball. Weren’t you working on it?” Yelena’s back, skimming to rest beside you, plaited blonde hair hanging in two bunches either side of her face. You nod, pushing off and checking the ice is clear ahead of you before skating into a space.

Nothing beats the rush of adrenaline that comes with skating. You think that you’re addicted to it now. The charge of the nervous build-up, followed by the relief of the payoff never gets old. Your fears of failure get swept away the moment you sink into the ultra-focused headspace of an athlete, and the buzz of reward you get every time you land a move perfectly trumps the blood, sweat and tears that such an unforgiving sport has taken from you. You wouldn’t be able to quit skating, even if you wanted to.

A cannonball sit spin is one of the hardest spins in your repertoire, and the element that has been giving you the most grief in your show routine. This season, you’re competing in the national circuit for solo ice dance. It’s not your first time taking on the competition—in fact, consistently over the last few years, you’ve been ranking higher each time you compete. Last year you finished third, and so this year, your eyes are fixed very firmly on the prize. You know securing first place in the competition will attract the Olympic scouts’ attention, and that’s your greatest dream.

Moving quickly, you skate in a brief semi-circle to build momentum before getting low, resting on one leg as you stretch the other out in front of you. Your hands curve around the ankle of your extended leg, and you use the energy to carry you into a spin, the fresh air wafting off the ice and cooling your cheeks. It carries out for a few seconds, then you have to concentrate as you exit the manoeuvre, brows creasing as you continue to turn. You end in a standing spin, arms held out as you slowly bring them back into your sides and end elegantly with a little bow.

Yelena claps, cheering from across the ice. “Fuck, Y/N, that looks perfect now,” she calls out. “Wouldn’t ever be able to tell that it was causing you trouble— oh, look out!”

Your eyes are only just beginning to widen in response to her concern when you feel a very strong figure slam into you, hurtling at top speed and taking you both down onto the ice. You don’t need to see anything beyond a flash of white, orange and green to know that it’s a fucking hockey player, and the ache of getting thrown to the hard ground is quickly overcome by the anger that replaces everything else.

“Oh, shit,” you hear a gruff voice say.

You groan as you try to sit up, opening your eyes just to see that the player is crumpled on top of you. Your chest feels heavy from where he’s laying sprawled over you, and you glance down to look at his face, a scowl holding tight over your features.

Despite the helmet and the visor sticking over the top of his face, you’re able to make out a few details of the man. He seems to be around your age, his skin pale but flushed warm from the cold and such a vigorous practice. The brown depths of his eyes swell with concern and guilt, pairing nicely with the regretful smile that pangs across his thin pink lips. You get a peek at his brown hair sticking out from beneath his helmet, and can’t quite stop your eyes from catching on the hard line of his impressive jaw.

“You idiot,” you mutter, shaking off the daze that comes with admiring such a handsome stranger. “Did you even look where you were going before deciding you were going to try and kill me?”

The man’s eyebrows shoot up, his expression of concern burning into irritation as he scowls at you.

“Fucking hell,” he replies. His accent twangs prominently, cool and unyielding. “It was an accident, darling.”

You grunt, rapidly scooting back across the ice the moment he’s clambered off you. He sits across from you, brushing at the pads on his knees as he stares at you remorsefully. You can’t tell if he’s pouting at you or the shards of ice messing up his knees.

“An accident is brushing into someone, not slamming them onto the ice,” you mutter. Bitterness sweeps into your voice. “Twat.”

“Alright, alright.” He throws his hands into the air and leans closer. “I’m sorry. Okay?”

You draw your lips into a tight-lipped frown and look away, ignoring him as you try to stand, only to end up wincing as pain shoots up your bad ankle. “Fuck,” you whisper, your irritation growing stronger as you try to rotate your foot and feel the pain thicken.

Opposite you, the man clambers to his feet, getting his bearings on his skates before begrudgingly sliding up you. Your eyes take in his figure, running the lines of his stocky form. It’s always hard to tell what the guys look like beneath the padding and the helmets, but he doesn’t look as tall as you’d expected when he was laying on top of you. He’s smaller than the rest of them, but you have a suspicion he can probably move remarkably fast. How else would he have been able to take you out so easily?

He offers you a gloved hand, staring at you through cold eyes. “C’mon,” he urges, when you do nothing but stare at his palm. “Let me help you up. It’s the least I can do.”

You eye him suspiciously, but you know you won’t be able to get up without some assistance. A brief glance at your team around you suggests they’re all watching your exchange, intrigued. So, you swallow your pride, grit your teeth, and slip your hand into his glove, digging your skates into the ice as he helps you back to your feet. A short hiss of pain falls through your lips as your ankle throbs. When your leg threatens to buckle, the man moves in closer and grabs at your waist.

“Woah!” he exclaims, holding you up. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” you mutter, trying to steady yourself, “no thanks to you.”

You hear him release an exasperated sigh, and he lets you shake yourself free, but his hand drifts down to pull at your arm and hold you back when you try to skate off.

“What do you want?” you snap, tension in your voice. Beneath the visor, you can make out the guilt dusting his face, but you’re too focused on your recurring injury to pay it much mind.

“I’m sorry,” he tries. “I am.”

You pull your arm free again, and you hear a few hoots drift over from the other side of the rink. The word Dutchy rises louder, and you watch his expression twitch with irritation.

“Whatever,” you reply. You skate backwards, moving away from him, only relaxing when you feel one of your friends link her arm with yours. “Just forget about it.”

The hockey player looks as though he wants to argue with you, but when you harden your glare, he seems to let it go. He shoots you a very tight-lipped smile, mouth puffing a little with air, and then he picks up the discarded hockey stick and skates back to the other side of the rink. Your eyes briefly flutter over the bright text of Holland before he disappears, being enveloped back into the fold of raucous players as you sink into your friend’s side.

“Are you okay?” she whispers, touch far gentler than his had been.

You grimace, looking down at your ankle. “Yeah,” you reply, frowning sourly. Your eyes lift up across the rink, and you let yourself scowl. “Just pissed off.”

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

Following the incident, and an incredibly bad skating practise, you find yourself reprimanded by your coach and put on bed rest for a few days so you can rest your ankle. It’s hard not to blame the distracted hockey player, but you know you probably had it coming. You’ve been walking the knife’s edge for several weeks with your injury, and as much as you hate to admit it, the time off is necessary.

The moment you’re allowed back on the ice, you’re there in a heartbeat. The training arena also operates as a commercial venue, and there are different slots available during the day for the general public to skate. After receiving the thumbs up from the team physiotherapist, you immediately turn up to one of the open slots available to the public, hoping to brush up on a few things before you rejoin your team in the morning.

For the first ten minutes of your practice, things go well. Your ankle is better for a few days off, and you’re able to sink back into your routine and get back to focusing on the gnarly parts that always throw you in a loop. It isn't too busy either, so there’s room to skate around and feel the air running over your face. It’s easy to get lost in it, your chest full of a lightness you’d spent the last few days bed-bound and dreaming of.

You take a break to drink some water after a while, leaning up against the barrier at the edge of the rink and bending over it to rummage through your bag. When you feel a presence behind you, you stand up, glancing back expecting to see a stranger, and feeling your eyes widen as instead, you recognise the man.

He looks very different without the shoulder pads and the rest of his ridiculous costume, but it’s him: Holland, the hockey player responsible for your skating ban. Still tall, and perched on hockey skates, but more relaxed. Like you, he’s wrapped up warmly, with a tight black thermal shirt curled around his arms, and another t-shirt resting over the top. His brown hair flies freely, bouncy and slightly curled, and his eyes are soft.

“Hi,” he says, biting at his thin lower lip. “Do you remember me?”

You frown as you skate to be in front of him, nodding slowly. “The guy that smashed me into the ice the other day?” you tease, voice cool. “Of course. How could I ever forget?”

You watch as his face darkens in shade, his eyes flickering down to your leg. “I’m, uh, Tom,” he leads with. “I saw you skating and I just wanted to see how you were doing… I haven’t seen you at practice in a few days, and I was, uh… sort of worried I’d seriously hurt you.”

Tom looks at you like he’s scared of you, and you have to bite back a smile as you wonder if you were too harsh on him the other day.

“Hmm.” You cross your arms over your chest and inspect him, gaze following how pronounced his biceps look, pushing up against his shirt. “Well, I was benched for a week.”

He curses softly, accented voice sounding out of place speaking such vulgarity.

“I’m sorry,” Tom says. He looks as though he means it, too. Shoulders sagged, eyes concerned, lower lip bitten red. “I promise, love, it wasn’t intentional. If I could go back in time and stop myself from behaving like such an inconsiderate twat, I would.”

You giggle slightly, unable to disguise the glee that comes with hearing him call himself a twat. You watch as his eyebrows arch up, confusion replacing his sincerity as he slowly crosses his arms over his chest. You’re still irritated by the situation, but you’re no longer incensed. It’s hard to harbour a grudge whilst he’s pouting so acutely.

“Well, Tom, I forgive you,” you say, voice lighter. He releases a deep breath, and you nod to affirm your point. “I’m Y/N, by the way.” Instinctively, you offer him a hand and find a shiver rolling down your back as his warm palm presses up against yours. Tom’s grip is firm and grounding, and his skin is a lot softer than you’d expected.

“Y/N is a nice name,” he says, voice perkier. His eyes seem more alive, and you don’t miss the way he takes in your form with an inquisitive gaze.

Your lips twist into a smirk. “I’ve already forgiven you, you can turn off the charm now.”

Tom shrugs, eyes glinting cheekily. “It’s not charm, darling,” he returns. “This is just who I am.” It seems to be true, too. He’s a lot bolder now the air between you has cleared, no longer looking like he wants to melt through the ice.

You snort loudly and feel your heart quicken when he smiles. “Well, Tom, what are you doing here?” You quirk an eyebrow. “Don’t you guys practice in the mornings?”

“Yeah,” Tom agrees. He breaks off as he looks over his shoulder and waves a hand at the near-deserted ice. “Coach said I need to work on my sprints, though, and it’s a lot easier to do that without the rest of the team hanging around.”

“Makes sense,” you say, deviously deciding you want to see how far you can push him. “You hockey guys are always so slow on the ice.”

Tom’s jaw drops, and you watch as he straightens up and stands a little taller. He meets the challenge directly, and you can’t deny it—it’s attractive. The way he squares his jaw, flares his nostrils and hardens his gaze is hot.

“Fuck you,” he says, voice light, “I’m definitely faster than you.”

You smirk. “As if,” you quip. You raise a hand, twirling a finger around in the lazy direction of the centre of the rink. “Show me what you’ve got. I might give you some pointers if I’m feeling nice.”

Tom releases a very loud laugh, the skin by his eyes crinkling into fine lines. “You’re hilarious, love,” he responds. “Like a figure skater is going to be able to teach me anything of importance.”

It’s your turn to laugh, and you cross your arms as you stand a little straighter. “That’s bold talk from someone who doesn’t look where he’s going,” you tease. You run a hand through your hair, eyeing him closely. “I could easily beat you in any skating-related activity, and I wouldn’t even break a sweat.”

Tom tilts his head to the side, seeming to feed into the idea of a challenge just as much as you. There’s something about him that fires you up the right way—a shared competitiveness that burns as brightly in you as it clearly does in him. It overpowers everything else, taking over, enticing you into letting go of any residual resentment and embracing the chance to beat him.

“How about we put your bragging to the test, darling?” he suggests, tongue tracing his lower lip. His eyes flutter around the curves of your mouth. “A few races, just to see who’s really better.”

You don’t hesitate to nod. “Sure, Tom,” you agree. “But don’t be too pissy when I beat you.”

There’s something endearingly irritating about how confident he is as he smirks at you and leans forward to briefly rest a hand on your shoulder. “Same to you, Y/N,” he responds. “I know it’s annoying to lose.”

You just shake your head, scoffing as you push away from him and move down to the end of the rink. He follows you, coming to a stop on his chunky skates beside you.

“First one to the other side wins,” you announce, reaching back to rest a hand on the barrier. You tilt your head and stare at him until he does the same. “Ready?”

“Mhmm.”

“3, 2, 1, go!”

It’s slightly ridiculous how badly you want to beat him, but there’s just something so infuriating about Tom. Your competitiveness burns in your chest, makes your blood boil and your hands clench into fists, and you find your eyes zeroing in on the opposite side of the rink as tunnel-vision encroaches. You block him and everything else out, your desire to win taking over as you swiftly launch across the ice, skates clipping the surface with metallic sounds as you sprint it. You don’t break—you don’t give up, slow down, or even turn back until you’re slamming into the barrier at the other side, turning around just in time to see Tom come in behind you, lagging about a second behind.

“Shit,” Tom mutters, grimacing.

You smirk. “Told you I’d beat you.”

Tom pulls a sour face, and it makes you giggle. “Best of three?” he offers. “C’mon, Y/N.” His elbow nudges against your side. “I’m still warming up.”

“Alright,” you agree. “But for the record, I still won.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Tom mutters, shooting you a sly smile. “Just you wait.”

You win best of three skating forwards, but Tom manages to snag a victory when it comes to speed skating backwards. You can’t take the smirk of triumph on his face, so you offer up a third competition, yearning to prove yourself.

“Can you do an axel?” you ask. Your eyes drift down to his heavy hockey skates. “Or are your boots too chunky and annoying?”

Tom’s face twitches with doubt, but he’s quick to smooth it away. “Fuck yeah,” he states boldly. “I can do anything you can do.” If he doubts the truth of his words, he doesn’t let it show. “Just, uh… Show me how you do it first.”

You have the suspicion he can’t remember what an axel is, so you decide to oblige him.

“Alright,” you agree, boosting away from him. His eyes follow you, and their presence on your figure brings a hidden smile to your face. “Watch this.”

You perform the trick easily. An axel is the simplest of all the jumps, and it gives you no bother to glide forwards, leap into the air, do a swift, neat turn, then land on your back foot gracefully. You could probably do it with your eyes closed.

“There!” you announce, smile on your face.

Tom gulps nervously.

“Easy,” he says, voice slightly quieter. You cross your arms and watch, incredibly amused, to see how far he’ll take his act before giving up. Tom skates forward, confident in his movements, eyes focused, eyebrows furrowed. He takes his time, failing to do anything beyond skating in a straight line before he suddenly, jerkily, attempts the trick.

Time moves in slow motion. It’s with a combination of glee and horror that you watch him fail spectacularly, doing a rotation of approximately 180 degrees before slipping on the return to the rink and landing flat on the ice, groaning loudly. The few of the people sharing the rink with you look around, concerned, and you’re quick to skate over to him, biting your lip guiltily.

“Well,” you say, stopping in front of him. Tom’s still on the ice, arms crossed, glaring angrily at his skates. “I admire you for trying.”

His attention shifts up to you, and his scowl intensifies. “Whatever,” he mumbles. There’s an element of amusement in his eyes, and he takes your hand when you extend it out towards him. Tom’s heavy, but he springs up easily, his fingers tangled in yours and jerking you a little closer. “That was way harder than it looked.”

You hum, and then gulp as he drops your hand. He’s near to you, breath crystallising into a cloud of icy fog in front of you. Your eyes glide over the spray of brown freckles on his face before skimming down the curved line of his nose until you can admire his mouth.

“Well, it is a sport,” you say, voice a little tight. You clear your throat, shaking yourself from your funk as you realise you’re just staring at his lips. “Just like… Like hockey is a sport. I know we make fun of it, but I doubt me or anyone else on the team could play like you guys do.”

Tom seems to enjoy the praise, standing with a little more confidence as you finish speaking. He nods, then brings two slender fingers up to nimbly scratch at his chin.

“Have you ever tried it?” he asks.

“Not properly.”

Tom smirks. “Well, we need to change that. Go down the end, I’ll grab a net.”

You don’t know how he manages to convince the supervisors of the free skate to let the two of you set up an attack zone in the end segment of the rink, but you don’t question it. The sight of Tom reappearing, haphazardly balancing a net, a hockey stick, and a puck in his arms makes you smile, and you briefly think about how easy it's been for your resentment to melt away. There’s something about him that’s incredibly warm, and you don’t dispute the realisation that he’d probably make a good friend.

“Right,” Tom announces. He’s set up the net and shown you how to hold the plastic stick. Now, both of you are staring at the puck, black and stark against the scratched white ice. “Just hit it.”

You glance up at him, sceptical. “Surely there’s more to it than that.”

He shakes his head. “Don’t know what I’m working with until I see you take a hit at it, darling.”

You nod. The stick feels unfamiliar between your hands, but you’re determined to make a better show of it than Tom when he tried to do the axel. After staring at the small open area of the net, you grit your teeth and hit it, watching with widening eyes as the puck soars wide out to the left.

Tom cackles.

“Well… That was an attempt,” he says. His grin doesn’t falter at all, even when you turn around to glare at him.

“Teach me, then,” you quip, scrunching up your nose playfully.

Tom hums, and you watch as he briefly skates away after the puck. You can’t stop yourself from staring at him as he bends over, the bottom of his shirt briefly riding up and exposing the printed band of his boxers. The words Calvin Klein burn into the back of your eyes, still lingering there as he turns and skates back to you. You blink rapidly, shame burning at your face as you try to look more like you’re focused, and less like you can’t stop your eyes from gravitating towards his figure.

He drops the puck back on the ice, just in front of your stick. “Your angle was wrong,” Tom says. “Show me your hands again.” When you do as instructed, he frowns and shakes his head. “No, it’s… It’s more like, your top hand higher, and the lower more angled… Uh… No, no, no. Can I just touch you?”

“Okay,” you squeak, standing a little straighter.

Tom skates forward, resting behind you. He doesn’t hesitate to carefully wrap his arms around you from behind, slender fingers curling over your hands and repositioning them on the stick. You feel like you’ve been electrified—eyes wide, skin responding to his touch. His breath, warm and minty, wafts across the side of your face, and you realise you’re holding your breath.

“Yeah...just like that,” he coos, voice a little softer. He squeezes your hands before letting them go. “Give it another go.”

You swallow back your nerves as you nod, waiting until Tom’s drifted back to hit the puck. You can’t stop yourself from smiling when it goes sailing into the back of the net, and Tom lets out a loud hoot.

“Fuck yeah!” he exclaims, laughing gleefully. “Look at that!”

You glance back at him, enjoying the expression of pride that finds his features. “Pretty good, right?” you say, playing it cool.

“Spectacular, darling.” Tom’s nodding, face alight. “Let’s step it up a notch.”

He brings you through a few drills, and you find yourself enjoying the game despite your early blunder. Before you know it, there’s the sound of a buzzer ringing, signalling that there are five minutes left of your session together. Tom rises to the challenge, announcing that he wants to end by watching you skate at the goal and shoot a point whilst moving. You fail at your first three attempts, unable to coordinate moving the stick, the puck and yourself without something going askew.

“Show me again,” you whine, growing conscious of the timer ticking down.

Tom skates closer, gliding easily with his hands behind his back. His thin lips wear his smirk well.

“Just visualise it, darling,” he says. “Believe in yourself, and you’ll do it.” He pauses, eyes skimming over you. “I believe in you.”

You nod. “Okay.”

“Follow my line in.”

Tom skates backwards, beckoning you forwards with outstretched hands and a smile like you’re a toddler he’s teaching to walk. He leads your attack, mapping out your path before shifting out of the way just in time for you to successfully skate and hit the puck into the back of the net. His expression clears into relief, but as you start to celebrate, it’s quick to fall flat. You watch, eyes widening, as Tom gets distracted by you and drifts backwards into the goal, skates getting tangled in the netting. You lunge forward to try and catch him, only to make the situation a thousand times worse as you crash into him, grabbing at his shirt just as he manages to steady himself.

It feels like a cruel trick of fate. A repetition of the past, just, instead of Tom tackling you to the ground, it’s you that manages to slam him back onto the ice. It’s more comfortable this time around, though. For you. Tom’s chest is a lot warmer and softer than the ice.

“Fuck,” Tom groans. His face twists into an aching expression, then his eyes slowly blink open. As you make contact with his brown orbs, you’re surprised to see amusement shift across them. “Oh, how the tables have turned.”

You snort, taking stock of how muscly his front feels. You’re sprawled out completely over him, face suspended above his, Tom’s palms holding your waist. It’s intimate, especially when he reaches up with one hand and pushes your hair from your face so he can peer at you better. You can’t stop your eyes from going straight to his lips.

“S-sorry,” you stammer, voice breathless. You admire the way his hair is spread out around his head, bold against the ice like a halo. “I don’t know what happened.”

“‘S okay.” Tom’s quieter too. His gaze circles quickly between your eyes and your mouth. There’s something cockier about him, and you know the way you’re clinging to the front of his shirt has something to do with it. “I think you fell for me. Again.”

He’s leaning in. You start to do it, too, even go as far as to let your eyes drift close. He gets so close that you can almost feel the warm outline of his lips, brushing against yours, but then there’s the loud noise of a buzzer vibrating through the air. As the sound dies, it serves to signal the end of such a tender moment, as well as the end of the session.

You startle and push off him as you shoot him an apologetic grin.

“Sorry,” you say. You’re shaking a little, but you hope he puts it down to shock. You manage to clamber up and offer him your hands.

Tom accepts your help, and he groans as you help him up.

“It’s fine, Y/N,” he says, pausing to shake out his legs and slide forward. He swings your palms through the air, squeezing at your fingers as he very gently twirls you beneath his arm, then moves in nearer. “Accidents happen. I’m not surprised you wanted to be on top of me.”

All you can do is laugh and hope Tom can’t tell how he makes the base thrumming of your heart pick up.

“As if,” you return. You glance down at your intertwined fingers and feel your heart pang. “A hockey player? I could never.”

Tom just smiles, then squeezes your hands before letting them slip from his grasp. “Yeah, yeah,” he murmurs. He nudges your shoulder then shifts away, off in the direction of the net. “You know there’s no one that could give you as good a time as me.” He’s joking—it’s obvious in the cadence of his voice, the smile on his face. But why does it feel so layered?

“Ha ha,” you respond, skating over to him. When you notice him struggling, you dart forward and grab the net, slinging it over a shoulder. You glance back, arching an eyebrow as you decide to test the water. “I have had fun, though,” you add. “With you.”

Tom tilts his head to the side, ruffling up his hair with a hand. His smile lights up his entire face.

“Me too.”

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

Almost a week passes, and though you don’t see Tom again, he’s certainly on your mind. You find yourself thinking about him all too much, considering he’s a hockey player, and it goes against the team ethos you’ve been surrounded by.

One day, after practice, you end up sitting on a bench outside the rink, waiting on Yelena as she finishes talking with one of your coaches. Bored and curious, you pull out your phone and decide to open Instagram. All around the arena are banners advertising the hockey team’s social media, and you find yourself drawn to the official account with a few easy taps. You start to scroll through the feed, eager eyes skimming over every face until you find the one you’re looking for.

It’s Tom, from last season, clutching the victory trophy in his hands as he’s held on his team’s shoulders. His face is animated, pulled wide in a large grin as he stares at the camera, the skin by his eyes pulled into smile lines. He’s tagged in it, so, curious, you click through and look at his profile. Unsurprisingly, it’s set to public, and you’re careful as you scroll down.

His photos are exactly what you’d expect—a collection of team photos, action shots, and gym selfies. Typical hockey player, but the longer you spend staring at one of his selfies, the cuter he seems to get. Trying to shake yourself out of the daze, you scroll back up, thumb absently wandering over to his Following list. Your eyes widen as you see your profile, at the very top of the accounts.

Tom follows you…?

Brows furrowing, you flip onto your own account, double-checking this new fact by typing out his username in your followers tab. He pops up, at the top, and you sit back, blinking.

Interesting.

After taking a brief moment to compose yourself, you go back to his profile and follow him. You start to flick through his story from the day. You get about halfway through when a shadow casts over your figure. You glance up, expecting to see Yelena, only to startle when it’s Tom.

“Hi,” he offers, raising a hand in greeting. You blink a few times in quick succession, glancing between your phone which shows a mirror selfie from him shirtless in the gym to where he’s now standing in front of you, burgundy hoodie on, flask in hand. You immediately turn your phone off.

“Oh, u-uh, hi,” you say, voice suddenly thick. He tilts his head to the side, an amused smile finding his lips as he sees you flustered. “What… What are you doing here?”

“I was in the gym,” he says, telling you information you already know. “Saw you down here on my way out, thought I’d say hi.” He rocks back on his feet, looking a little nervous. “I, uh… Keep thinking about last week. On the ice.”

“Oh?” Tom nods. He hesitates, and you realise he’s just awkwardly standing in front of you. “Wait,” you say, shuffling up the bench. “Sit.”

He perches on the wooden slats beside you, offering you his flask. “It’s hot chocolate,” he says, cheeks blushing slightly.

“After the gym?” you return, arching a brow.

Tom smiles. “Fuck yeah,” he says, pressing the flask into your hand. “It’s good, trust me. And, uh, I don’t have any germs or anything. I think.”

You snort, clicking the top open as you look at him over the brim. “Well, I wouldn’t mind catching anything from you,” you say, speaking before you have time to process the words.

Tom’s eyebrows soar up his forehead, a short chuckle leaving his lips as you hide your embarrassment behind the metal flask. The burn of revealing such a humiliating thought is quickly soothed away as you taste the deliciously sweet liquid.

“Well?” Tom coaxes, stretching an arm up as he scratches the back of his neck. His hoodie smells of fresh fabric conditioner. “Good, eh?”

Begrudgingly, you nod. “Yeah,” you say, shooting him a soft smile. Trying to move on the conversation, you return to what he’d said before sitting down. “Uh, what was that you said? About last week?”

Tom nods, seeming a little less apprehensive now to speak to you after your enthusiastic praise. “I was just thinking about how fun it was to skate around with you. It sort of made me regret not getting your number, darling.”

Your lips twitch slightly. “You can have my number if you want, Tom,” you say, speaking softly. His eyes are so pretty up close. “And I’d be down doing it again. I’m free every Wednesday afternoon.”

He nods his head, curls bouncing from the enthusiasm. You pass him back the flask, carefully angling your phone away from him as you unlock it, quickly exit from Instagram, then open up contacts. You watch him input his number, tongue between his lips as his brows furrow. He curses softly as he messes up the numbers and has to backspace a few times, and you have to focus hard on not letting your face betray how cute you find the whole interaction.

He’s cute.

“There you go,” Tom says, passing your phone back. He stands from the bench, tilting the flask towards you. “I’ve gotta go,” he adds. “Carpool. But, uh… See you tomorrow?”

You nod, biting back your smile. “Yeah,” you agree. “Sounds good.”

Before he leaves, Tom darts down to gently kiss your cheek, his lips lingering there for a moment before he springs back and walks away, waving as he goes. As his broad smile fades from sight, you find your hand drifting up, going to your cheek and touching the spot which tingles with the remnants of his kiss.

Swallowing back your nerves, you return your attention to your phone. You open your contact, clicking on Tom and opening up a text message. After a brief moment of contemplation, you decide to play it safe.

Y/N: hey x

A moment later, the notification changes from delivered to read, and the typing bubbles pop up. You shift on the bench, holding your breath.

Tom: hi xx

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

A few weeks pass, and it becomes a habit.

Despite already spending most of your days on the ice, you carve out another hour every Wednesday afternoon and dedicate it to Tom. Over time, he teaches you hockey, and you continue to give him pointers on his skating. After a while, you even manage to coach him through a jump. It’s easy with him. There are no expectations, no routines you need to nail. All you have to focus on when you’re with Tom is having fun—and also trying not to fall too deeply into the reserves of his deep brown eyes. Tom feels like a breath of fresh air—if the air also happens to be loaded full of charm, cheek, and wear an irresistible smile.

Halfway through the hockey league, you end up at the arena on a Saturday night, staying late with the rest of the figure skating team. Your competitive season begins in two weeks, so the team is in for outfit fittings, everyone split across the changing rooms at the arena. You’re competing solo this year, which grants you the rare position of having the freedom to design your dress—a privilege you’ve had a lot of fun with.

“It’s beautiful,” you gasp. “I can’t believe how nice it looks.”

You’re staring at a clothes mannequin, wearing the costume you’d spent hours conceptualising with the team’s designers. It’s a shade of red that perfectly compliments your skin, accented with silver and gold detailing in a beautiful pattern over the front. Gems glimmer and sparkle, and you can’t stop your eyes from tearing up as you look at an object of such beauty.

“Do you like it?” Standing beside the masterpiece, eyes nervous, is Jazzy, the lead costume designer. When you clasp your hands together and nod, she releases a deep sigh of relief. “Thank goodness,” she murmurs. “Let’s get you in it and start marking out the alterations.”

You feel a little bit like a doll, standing on a raised platform as you pull on your costume, but it’s worth the reward of seeing yourself in the dress. After slipping into it, you pull your hair back and pin it sloppily, so you’re able to admire the ensemble fully. You’re in tights, matched to your skin tone, and the tops of your thighs are covered by the red material. It floats down, and you run your fingertips over the hem of the velvety skirt as a smile finds your lips.

“Stunning,” Jazzy compliments. She passes you a tube of lipstick. “Try that one.”

You carefully smooth the shade over your lips, noting with enjoyment how the hue matches the bodice of the dress. As you stare at your reflection in the mirror, you release a breath. When you have your face painted and your hair done properly, you’ll look the part, and clinging to the image of what you’ll look like on competition days is enough to steady some of the nerves. Even if you mess up your routine, you’ll do it looking like you deserve to be there.

“I love it,” you say, releasing a breath. You reach up and pull your hair free, running a hand through it and ruffling it, so it sits normally. You do a small spin, smiling as the material drifts around the top of your legs. “You did an incredible job. Thank you so much.”

“Thank you for wearing it so well,” she returns, winking. “Let’s get a few more opinions.”

It isn’t long before the changing room is swarmed with the rest of your team, each one of them wearing garments in various stages of completion. The men are here too—four of them, combining with the five other women and yourself, bringing your team up to an even ten. Each season, your team puts forward various combinations of skaters for the duet, team, and solo events. You’re one of the only skaters competing solo this year—a decision your coach had made as she decided she wants no distractions for you as you try to reach Olympic level. The only other member of your team in a similar position is Tai, your lean, incredibly friendly male counterpart.

Tai saunters across the room, running a hand through his thick black hair. His outfit is deep purple and shimmery, and you wiggle your eyebrows as he does a little spin.

“Pretty sick, right?” he says, shaking a sleeve at you. “I look like Dionysus.”

“So cool,” you compliment. You do a small spin too, smiling widely. “What do you think?”

“Stunning,” Tai returns. He nods to affirm his point. “You’re going to kill it, Y/N. This is your year.”

You smile nervously. “I hope so,” you reply. You take a tight breath. “I really hope so.”

Before the conversation can continue, there’s the slamming of a door opening, followed by an approaching wall of noise—men, talking loudly, a few of them hollering. You raise an eyebrow towards Tai, who scowls.

“Saturday night,” he says. “The team are in the playoffs.”

“Wait, is it a home game?”

Tai nods. “Starts in twenty,” he says. His frown intensifies. “They’re so loud. Idiots.”

You watch from your position on the dressing podium as flashes of white, green and orange pass by the open door. It’s the hockey team, alongside their coaches and their managers. They walk determinedly in the direction of the hockey changing room where you presume they’re going for a pre-game pep talk. You can’t stop yourself from scanning the crowds, looking for Tom. When you fail to seek him out, you feel your heart pang sadly in your chest.

“Y/N?” Tai’s looking at you, amused. “Are you okay?”

You swallow, then nod. “Yeah,” you mutter. “Just tired.”

He hums, eyes wide and sympathetic. “Me too. It’s been a busy week, hasn’t it?”

It’s easy to agree. At this point in the season, with so few weeks to go before the competition begins, you’re at the rink every day.

“Absolutely.”

You stifle a yawn. Your eyes flutter back across the changing room, and you see your tired sentiments seem to be shared by the rest of the team. As they slowly start to leave the room, it grows quieter. Tai drifts away, lingering in the corner and talking with Jazzy and Yelena. It isn’t long until you’re the only four people remaining. You spend a few moments taking photos of your fit in the mirror, trying to get in all the angles so you can send them to your family and fuel their excitement about the season. Your actions are interrupted only when there’s a tender knock on the door, and you glance up towards the entrance to see a bulky, padded figure. Tom.

“Uh, hello? The hockey room is across the corridor,” Yelena says, crossing her arms over her chest.

Tom isn’t in his helmet, but he is perched tall on his skates. You’re able to watch as his face twitches with annoyance. He offers a tight smile to Yelena before glancing straight at you, raising a teasing brow.

Chest feeling tight, you step forward, padding quietly towards the door. Your friends are all looking at you, but you’re more preoccupied with Tom and the way his eyes seem to glint as they take you in your form. There’s a small swagger to your step as you watch him shift from leg to leg, his cheeks warm and red, eyes full of appreciation as they stick on the curves of your hips, chest, and then your lips. Your suit is tight, and it brings you enjoyment to watch him admire you. He clears his throat as you fall to a stop in front of him.

“Hey,” you say, voice quiet, perplexed. “What are you doing here? Don’t you have a game?”

Tom nods. “Yeah,” he says. His tone is darker, and it catches slightly. “I, uh… I wanted to see you.”

You bite your lip, standing a little straighter. “Oh.” You can’t stop yourself from smiling. “Well… Do you like it?” You toy with the hem of your skirt. “It’s my outfit for the competition circuit.”

“Give me a spin, darling.”

You oblige him, feeling slightly giddy as you do yet another rotation. You hear him hum, and when you fall to a stop in front of him again, you’re closer.

“Beautiful.” Tom rubs together his hands, slender fingers gloveless and unaffected by the imminent game. He rocks back on his skates, clicking his tongue as he looks a little apprehensive. “I, uh… I was thinking about what you said last week about never going to a hockey game before.” He pauses to dig through one of his deep pockets, pulling out a few pieces of paper. He offers them to you tentatively. “If you want, I have some spare tickets for tonight’s game. Pretty good seats. My family normally use them, but they’re busy tonight, so…?”

It’s with a mix of shock and gratitude that you nod your head immediately, reaching out to take the tickets. “I’d love to, Tom,” you murmur. “Thank you.”

He grins, face lighting up. “Perfect,” he returns. “Maybe you’ll be my lucky charm.”

Your teeth graze your lower lip, and you smile. “I hope so.”

Tom opens his mouth as if to say more, but then there’s a holler from further down the corridor.

“Dutchy! Five minutes! Hurry up!”

He grimaces, rolling his eyes. “Well, that’s me.”

“Dutchy?” you question.

Tom shrugs, then turns around and extends his thumb over his back to gesture at his jersey. “Holland,” he says. He turns back to look at you, grinning. “Just a nickname.”

You coo. “That’s cute.”

Tom licks his lip. “‘S not the only thing that’s cute.” You barely have time to respond before he’s leaning forward to quickly kiss your cheek. “Have fun!” he says, already on his way down the corridor.

“Good luck!” you return. You can almost feel the ghost of his touch, resting on your face so perfectly.

Tom turns, right at the end of the corridor, and he winks. You don’t realise how tightly you’re holding yourself until he disappears, and your lovestruck muscles unravel.

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

It’s hard to explain to Tai and Yelena the relationship you have with Tom, so you just give up after a while. They accompany you to the arena. You manage to change your dress for something more casual, deciding to keep the red lipstick on. Tom’s seats are at the end of the rink, positioned mid-way up the stands. They give you a clear view across the ice.

The atmosphere is electric. You’re surrounded by the home crowd, decked out in replica jerseys, printed scarves, and hats that have Kingston Kites printed all over them. It’s a sea of white, green, and orange, and you can’t stop yourself from slipping out during the first break to buy yourself a scarf—just to support the team, and Tom. The teasing you receive from your friends when you reappear is hard to ignore but mellows out when you procure a bag of Maltesers you’d also bought from the stand.

And Tom… Tom.

Tom’s incredible. You can’t keep your eyes off him. The silhouette of his padded figure feels like it’s burnt to your memory. When he’s on the ice, he’s magnificent, commanding the space well, grunting and spinning as he plays. When he’s waiting for his turn on the bench with his team, he’s focused and calm. His eyes are sharp and intense, glinting almost black beneath the harsh rink lighting as they follow the puck across the ice. You find yourself admiring everything about him—watching the way his cheeks are flushed a rosy red, his jawline sharp and fierce. He’s on fire, passion rolling off every part of him, and, quite honestly, it’s incredibly attractive.

Tom’s explained the basic rules of hockey to you a few times, but there’s a stark difference between him telling you, quietly, how line rotations work and actually seeing them in action on a scale like this. The players swap out every minute, only staying on the ice for a short burst of energy as they chase the puck around. Tom, holding the loose position of centre forward, goes wherever needed, carving up the ice like it’s his one task in life. You’re high in the stands, but even from so far, you’re able to see the determination and the passion burning in his eyes.

The game is brutal. By the time it reaches the third and final twenty-minute segment, the score is tied 2-2. You watch, on tenterhooks, as Tom jumps the barrier on the side of the rink, swapping in for one of the players and taking his spot on the ice.

He’s antsy, as are the rest of the team. You know it’s an important match, and if they want a chance at continuing to the next stage of the competition, they need the result to swing in their favour. Your eyes are wide, fingers curled into fists as you watch Tom cut up the ice. The helmet on his head protects his skull, but you can make out a few strands of dark brown hair sticking out, and you find yourself struck with the very prominent and aching thought that you’d quite like to play with it.

The puck ends up at your end of the rink, and the Kingston Kites take on a defensive strategy as their opponents try to put pressure on the goalie and get in another shot. You find your eyes trained directly on Tom and startle as you catch him looking up at you. Through panting breaths, his lips quirk into a brief, tight smile of recognition, but then it sours as his eyes slip beside you and look at Tai. Your friend is sitting to your right, his arm loosely wrapped around your shoulders, and you’re casually leaning into his side. It’s entirely platonic, but you don’t miss the way Tom’s eyebrows shoot up as his gaze hardens and his jaw sets with determination.

The whole interaction lasts less than a second, but as Tom refocuses on the game and hurtles after the puck, he seems more aggravated. You sit forward, gaining a sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach as you shrug off Tai and stare at Tom. Your eyes follow him as he goes in hard, trying to wrestle the puck out from beneath his opponent’s stick. It looks to be a bit of a mess, and you hear everyone in your section gasp as Tom roughly elbows the other guy. He goes spinning with a yelp, and the referee blows on the whistle, pausing the game. There are a few yells of ‘Dutchy’, coupled with disgruntled hollering from the people around you as they question the referee’s decision to pause.

“Fucking hell,” Yelena murmurs, leaning forward on her elbows and staring across the ice. “Your guy is crazy.”

You suck in a breath, watching as the referee points at the penalty box and Tom stomps towards it. You can almost see the frustrated steam pouring from his ears.

“He’s… passionate.” You bite your lip. Somehow, you feel responsible for his outburst.

“Shit,” Tai mutters. He too leans forward, until all three of you are sitting there, elbows on your knees, staring at the penalty box. “That’s kind of hot.”

Your throat feels dry as you watch Tom throw his stick on the ground of the penalty box. Given all the walls are made of plastic, you have an unobstructed view as he pulls off his helmet and tosses it on a seat too. He marches a few paces up and down, speaking angrily to himself, his expression one of pure irritation. When he finally sits down, he runs a gloved hand through his hair, pushing away the sweaty strands that stick so deliciously to the top of his flushed forehead. You watch, your breath light and shallow, as Tom jerks off the glove and shoves his fingers into his mouth, pulling out his mouthguard before picking up a bottle and squirting a long stream of water into his open mouth.

“Fuck,” you murmur, eyes transfixed. There’s a heat in the pit of your stomach, building as you take in the way Tom’s glowing with a mix of exertion and anger. The match is continuing back on the ice, but you can’t stop looking at the hot flush of his cheeks and the angry lines of his flexed brows and curved jaw. “It is.”

A minute passes, and Tom slowly seems to chill out. It’s only as the seconds fall down into the 30s that he finally seems to release his tension, fixing his mouthguard, and his glove before glancing up at the stands. You’re surprised when, again, he looks directly at you, his entire demeanour shifting when he sees the concern in your eyes. His features soften, lips losing their angry frown and mellowing into a warmer smile, and you watch as his gaze grows fonder.

Yelena hits at your knee immediately. “He’s in love with you,” she announces, certainty in her voice.

You can’t stop looking at Tom, not even when he breaks contact with a wink and shoves his helmet back on.

“Shut up,” you murmur. “He’s not. We’re just friends.”

Tai cackles. “Fuck off,” he says. “Yelena’s right. Friends don’t look at each other like that.”

You sit up, glaring at him. “Like what?”

He smirks. “Like you want to jump each other.”

It’s hard to dispute that one, so instead, you just cross your arms over your chest and stare back at the ice. “You’re wrong, but okay.”

Yelena nudges your side. “There’s only one way to find out.”

“Hmm?”

“Stay behind after the match and ask him.”

You swallow nervously, briefly looking at her. “But what if you’re wrong?”

“I’m not,” she promises. “But… If I am, I’ll let you style my hair for the rest of the season.”

Your eyes light up, and the way that Yelena smirks, you can tell she knows the offer is too good to refuse.

“Fine,” you agree. Your eyes shift back to Tom, watching as he vaults back over the barrier and joins his team. Apparently they’ve forgiven him for the penalty, as he’s welcomed back with firm pats on the back, and you can see his blinding smile from across the rink. “I’ll do it.”

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

The Kingston Kites win the match, and the arena is quick to empty. You part ways with your friends as they head home and you end up wandering the changing rooms as you try to hype yourself up. There’s a text from Tom waiting on your phone, simply asking how you’d liked the game, so you respond and tell him that you’d much rather go over it in person. After agreeing to meet him outside his locker room, it’s just a waiting game.

You reapply your lipstick and mess around with your hair to kill the time. It’s a little eerie being alone in the skating changing rooms, and as time passes, you hear fewer people hovering around the arena as the players slowly leave the building. It’s hard not to get stuck in your head as you think about your plan to confess your feelings, so you end up pacing in the long corridor that winds between the skating changing rooms and the hockey locker room.

The corridor is bright white and decorated with various sporting memorabilia. Autographed jerseys, shining medals, and printed photographs hang framed on the walls. On your side of the corridor, you catch glimpses of yourself, wearing a tracksuit and hugging your friends, showing off your medals, mid-action on the ice… It makes you proud to see that your team has placed you so frequently in the collage, and you feel a swell of bittersweet gratitude in your chest as you look at snapshots of competitions gone by.

On the other side of the corridor is a similar spread for the hockey team. You stroke at your chin as you examine this season’s photos, skimming your eyes over the group shot and trying to spot the people that you know. When you see Tom, dead centre, grinning widely, it makes you smile.

“—I’m just saying, Dutch, something was going on with you tonight. It can’t happen again. We can’t have you losing focus at this stage in the competition.”

The sound of a gruff voice drifting up the corridor makes you startle, and you glance down to see two figures emerging from the locker room—Tom, and one of his coaches. Tom has traded his gear for a pair of blue jeans and a loose black hoodie, and you watch as he nods and looks at his coach with wide-eyed respect.

“Of course, Spike,” he responds, voice clear, open. “It won’t.”

You watch as Spike sighs, then gives Tom a hearty pat on the shoulder. “Good lad.” He walks back, then makes the okay sign with his fingers. “Your final goal was phenomenal, though. More of that next game, and less time in the penalty box. Got it?”

“Yes, coach.”

“Good. See you tomorrow.”

Tom grunts and the two separate. You watch as he tugs on the front strings of his backpack before turning, his face lighting up as he spots you, leaning against the wall. He quickly strides towards you, footsteps echoing against the cold passage.

“Hey,” Tom calls out, voice bouncing down the hall.

There’s an uncontrollable smile on your face as you stand up and walk to meet him halfway. Tom instinctively wraps you in a hug, lips catching on your cheek when he pulls away.

“Hi,” you reply, voice shy. Tom smells of shower gel and mint, his curls a little damp and darker than usual. “Congrats on the win.”

Tom smirks, nodding as he crosses his arms over his chest. “Thanks, love. Did you enjoy it?”

You release a short laugh. If enjoyment equates to found it incredibly erotic, then, of course, the answer is,

“Yes. Loved it.” You tilt your head to the side, eyes narrowing. “Did you get in trouble for the penalty box?”

He winces, grimacing at you with his teeth glinting. “A bit,” he admits. “Doesn’t matter though, ‘cos I scored a goal after. I just need to, um… Not do it again.”

The air between you is thicker, and you find yourself swallowing as you note the way Tom’s looking at you, eyes hungry.

“What happened?” You say, testing the waters tentatively. “You seemed fine, and then you got… Fired up.”

Tom swallows. “I… Just got tetchy.” He clears his throat. “Who, uh… Who were you at the match with?”

You smirk, realising that your hypothesis was right. “My friends. Yelena and Tai. They’re on the team with me.”

“Friends?” Tom confirms, expression perking up.

“Yeah. Friends.”

He steps closer. “Did they like the game?” he asks.

“Yeah. They thought you were hot.”

Tom chuckles, briefly glancing at the floor before drawing his eyes back to you. They linger on your lips, and your breath hitches as he tentatively, testingly reaches out and places his hands on your hips. When you sink into it, he grows bolder, pulling you closer until your faces are near. You love the way his hands feel as they rest on your waist.

“Did you?”

“Hmm?”

“Did you think I was hot?”

It’s hard to concentrate when Tom’s standing so close to you, looking at you with his eyes so intense, but somehow you manage to wrap your arms around his neck and nod. “Yeah,” you admit. You toy with his curls, giving them a short tug when he groans enjoyably. “I always think you’re hot.”

Tom wears his smirk so well that it’s almost infuriating.

“Do you want to know a secret?” he asks, fingers softly caressing your sides. When you squeak out a noise of affirmation, Tom lets his nose brush up against yours. He swallows deeply, nervousness mixing with his teasing. “I think you’re stunning, too. All the time, but especially tonight, when you were sitting up there, wearing a team scarf and watching me play.”

“Oh,” you murmur. It’s hard to maintain eye contact with him when there’s so much going on in the depths of his gaze that it dizzies you. “Thank you.” Growing a little bolder, you let your fingers glide up, tangling in the ends of his hair. “It was fun watching you play. You’re really talented, Tom.”

His nose is still cold against yours, and you let your eyes fall shut as he slowly traces patterns over your sides.

“Thanks, darling.”

Instinctively, and embarrassingly, you feel a shiver roll down your spine as the pet name falls from his lips. Usually, you’d be able to play it off from the cold, or like you’re stretching a muscle, but he’s holding you so close that you’re sure he felt it.

“Tom,” you say, voice hushed. You feel safe in his arms, you feel loved in his arms, but your skin is still crawling with built-up desire. There’s an ache in your chest that burns brighter with each second he lingers so close, but yet remains so far. “Do you want to…”

“What, sweetheart?”

Again, your breath catches. You hear Tom release a small chuckle, and then, after a final moment, his lips fill in the small gap between you both. You sink into it immediately, heart rejoicing as his lips, warm and slightly chapped, explore your own.

It’s a little fumbly, and it takes a few moments for you to learn the slopes of his face so intimately, but once you’ve both readjusted and altered your positions, it’s quick to heat up. Tom’s fingers grip your waist tighter, mouth pressing to yours with more hunger as you wind your fingers into his hair and sigh. Between gasped breaths and soft sounds of enjoyment, you feel him slip his tongue along your lower lip, and so you open your mouth a little wider.

You end up against the cool brick wall, making out like you’re both teenagers again. The exhilarating butterflies twirling in your stomach match the memories, too. You moan softly as Tom pulls away from your mouth, his attention shifting to your neck. As you tilt your head to the side and open up your throat to him, you whimper as you feel his lips drag over your exposed skin. He nibbles and suckles until he finds the sensitive part that makes you cry out.

“Fuck,” you whimper. You tug on his air-dried curls, coaxing him back up to your lips so you can enjoy the feeling of his mouth on yours. Tom sighs, and you can feel him smiling into it.

There are noises, coming from further down the hall, and when they increase in volume, Tom reluctantly pulls back from your mouth. He links your hands together and swings them through the air, looking up to meet your eyes. His face is cute, lips puffy and red, eyes dancing with hope.

“D’you want to—”

“Oi, Dutchy!”

You jump as a holler comes from down the hall, echoing off the vast brick walls. Tom’s expression shifts, his lips pursing as he glances down the corridor. He turns away from you to yell back.

“What?”

You think it’s Osterfield, one of Tom’s friends. He too is dressed casually, standing tall with his arms crossed and a smirk on his face.

“We’re going out! Don’s got us the VIP section down at the Grove. C’mon!”

Tom looks torn, a ripe line carved out between his brows. He glances back at you, biting his lower lip.

“Go,” you urge, smiling softly. “Celebrate with your team.”

He frowns slightly. “Come with us?” he asks.

You shake your head. “No, it should just be you guys.” As much as you like Tom, you can’t think of anything worse than going on a night out with the entire loud, boisterous hockey team. You smile encouragingly when you see the turmoil in his eyes. “You deserve it.”

“Are you sure? Because I can stay here, and we can—”

You lean up, moving your hands back down to his shoulders as you kiss him very softly. “Go,” you urge, whispering against his thin lips.

Tom leans into you, keeping your lips pressed until you can feel him smiling into it. He begrudgingly steps back. “Thank you,” he says, “for coming to the game. And being so lovely.” His lips quirk a little taller. “And for letting me kiss you.”

“Well, it didn’t take much convincing.” You cross your arms over your chest and lean back against the wall, your figure feeling colder without Tom’s touch. His eyes run the lines of your face, gaze warm and comforting.

“Have a nice night,” he says. There’s still hesitation on his face, so you step forward and kiss his cheek before gently pushing his shoulder.

“You too” you respond. Tom finally walks away, but only after shooting you a wink.

You lean back against the wall, pulling out your phone and staring at the blank screen as you discreetly keep your focus on Tom. When he reaches the end of the corridor, Osterfield thumps him on the back and murmurs something unintelligible which earns him a shove into the doorway as the two friends leave together. Tom glances back just before disappearing, and you smile at him as he waves his hand playfully.

Once alone, you release a tight sigh of contentment. You deflate, sagging against the wall as you feel your heart beating faster in your chest. Absently, one of your hands drifts up, fingertips resting on the outline of your lips. Your mouth is still warm from Tom’s kisses, and your heart feels a little softer, too.

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

You don’t see him for a while, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t constantly on your mind. At some point, Tom adds you to his private Instagram story, and it feels like a gentle confirmation that he feels the same way as you. You stay in constant contact, and he starts to send you more memes and silly texts each evening. The smile on your lips barely fades, and every time your phone lights up with a new text from him, you get excited.

Unfortunately, the high doesn’t last forever. All too soon, it’s a week before your first competition, and the good feeling finally goes away. As extended practices cut into your life, you’re left frazzled and stressed, trying to balance your team’s expectations against your own personal competitiveness. It doesn’t help that your ankle is giving you grief again.

“No, no, no. You’re better than this, Y/N! Stop cutting the spin too early. You have to extend it into the end of the beat!”

It’s a Thursday morning, and you’re exhausted. The bags beneath your eyes hang heavy, and every manoeuvre you try to execute just seems to leave you worse than before. You’re cold on the ice, and your bones are chilled from fatigue and stress. Everything aches, and try as you might, you can’t land the final ten seconds of your routine. Your coach has forced you to go over it again and again, minutes blurring to hours as your frustration festers.

“It’s not working,” you call back, reaching up to tug on your hair. Your coach is leaning against the rink barrier, resting on her elbows as she watches you, pursed lips.

“Do it again,” she encourages. “Faster!”

You grit your teeth, skating back into the centre of the ice. The music starts again, and you run through the entire final section, nailing the parts that you know. Yet, as you reach the big finish, you falter. You end up flat on the ice, frustrated tears burning your eyes as your ankle throbs. As the track cuts out again, you hear your coach’s loud sigh, carrying across the ice.

“Pack it in. We’ll continue tomorrow.”

You grimace as you climb back to your feet, wincing slightly.

“I can do it again,” you call back, swallowing down the lump in your throat. You want to. You have to.

Your coach shakes her head, lips set in a firm line. “You can’t,” she responds. “You’re worn out and making mistakes. Your injury won’t sustain you.” She pauses to shake her head. “This isn’t what any of us want, Y/N, but you need to rest.”

Your fingernails dig into your palms as you grit your teeth. “But—”

“No. Go home.” Your coach pushes off from the barrier, shaking her head. When you fail to move, she turns back, arching a brow. “Go.”

A string of irritated cuss words falls quietly from your lips as you reluctantly skate from the centre of the rink. Your fingers go to your cheeks, wiping away the cool tears that fall from frustration. It’s a private session, but a few of your team are hanging around. Their sympathetic smiles and gentle arm pats make you bristle, and you’re silently seething as you stomp over to one of the benches and throw yourself onto it, groaning.

You lie down and stare at the ceiling for a while, trying to focus on your breathing. It’s just one bad training session. You’ve landed the end section of your routine plenty of times before. It’s just a bad day.

…But it’s also a bad day, one week before the first rounds of competitions, where a performance like the one you just gave would have you finishing in last place, your Olympic dreams crumbling to pieces.

You close your eyes, clenching your hands into fists as you stretch out over the bench. Your teammates know to give you space, so you aren’t sure why you feel a shadow falling across your face. You ignore it for a few moments, putting it down to someone unknown peering at you fleetingly, but when it persists, you pry an angry eye open.

“What— Tom?”

For the second time, you find yourself surprised by his presence. Tom is standing beside your bench, swallowed by a deep green hoodie with a blue denim jacket pulled over the top of it. In his hands are a stack of papers and his eyes are full of concern.

“Hi,” Tom says quietly, looking a little embarrassed. His cheeks are dusted light pink. You wonder how long he’s been staring at you for. “Are you okay? I, uh… I saw the end of your training.”

You feel rigid and breakable as his eyes pool with warmth, his gaze like tender sunbeams. When he steps closer and presses a gentle hand to your shoulder, your stress bubbles over. As you bring your knees to your chest, you press the side of your face into them, blinking up at him as a few tears skate down your cheeks.

“Hey, hey, hey,” he murmurs, cooing softly. “Don’t cry, darling.”

Tom gently coaxes you up the bench and sits behind you, throwing a leg either side of the wood to straddle it. You let him pull you back into him, his arms feeling warm and strong as he hugs you tightly from behind. He burrows his face into your neck, warm hands going up to cup your cheeks as his fingertips carefully flick your tears away.

“I’m not sad,” you murmur, swallowing back another wave of tears. “I’m just annoyed.”

“I know.” Tom pauses, and you take a moment to breathe in the scent of fresh laundry. “It’s the most frustrating thing in the world when you can’t get something right. But if you work yourself into the ground, you won’t ever be able to do it.”

“But- but what if I want to work myself into the ground,” you mutter, causing him to chuckle.

“Then you’d be silly.” Tom kisses your cheek, his lips warm and light. “And you’re not silly. You’re the strongest athlete that I know, Y/N. You just need to let other people look after you. Let… Let me look after you.”

Your breath hitches and slowly, you pull your face away from your knees. You stretch your legs out in front of you and turn to look at Tom, curiosity in your gaze as you think about how close he’s holding you, and how passionately he’s speaking to you.

“Thank you,” you say, voice quiet. A shy smile curls across your lips.

Tom hums. His hands fall down to your shoulders, and he gently squeezes your arms. “Go have a shower,” he says. “You’ll feel better, and then I’ll look after you some more.”

You reach out, fingers twirling around the strings of his hoodie. “You’re too nice to me,” you murmur, shyly ducking away from his gaze. “How are you so perfect?”

He laughs, the sound so ripe and joyful that it brings warmth back to your chest.

“I’m not,” Tom disputes. “I just care about you.”

You hum, and before you can lose your cool, you lean in and softly kiss him. Tom’s still for a moment, but then he pushes closer, gently and delicately kissing you back. His hands swoop down to hold your waist, lightly stroking over your sides. When you pull away a few moments later, you feel steadier.

“Hmm,” you say, mind running slow, ensnared by the glimmers of warmth in his eyes. “I like kissing you.”

Tom chuckles, nose brushing yours. “I like kissing you too.”

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

It turns out that Tom’s right—you do feel better after having a shower. As you find yourself in the deserted skating changing rooms, the sight of your troubles being swirled away down the plughole releases a large part of your stress. The hot water coaxes your good mood back, and it continues, even when you have to wrap up your ankle again.

By the time Tom reappears, knocking gently on the changing room door before entering, you feel better. You’ve changed clothes, washed your hair, cleansed yourself of all the bad energy that had clogged you up. You feel like you again.

“I got this for you,” Tom announces. He holds a disposable cup in his hand and presents it to you with a grin. “Hot chocolate, for m’lady.”

You roll your eyes as you accept it, looking up at him with gratitude warming your chest. “Thanks, Tom.”

He glances down, eyes taking in your form. You’re again stretched out on a bench, one of your legs bent at the knee, the other laying out in front of you. A few bandages hang around, and Tom looks at them curiously.

“How’s your ankle?” he asks, chewing on his lower lip as he stares at your fluffy sock.

“It’s okay,” you reply. “I braced it. Should be alright as long as I take it easy.”

Tom nods, then very slowly walks to the end of the bench. He runs his index finger down the bottom of your leg, his touch light but warm. You’re in a skirt, your legs bare and exposed, and as you take in the mischievous glint in his eye, you wonder what he has in mind.

“Y/N,” Tom starts, voice gentle. His fingertips play around with the top of your sock as he looks up at you from beneath his lashes. “Can I kiss it better?”

You’re breathing a little lighter as you look at him. “Yeah,” you agree. “Go ahead.”

Tom kneels on the floor, settling beside the bench with ease. With gentle fingers, he rolls down the top of your sock, just far enough so he’s able to leave a very soft kiss to your tender skin. He doesn’t linger there too long, his eyes fixed to your face, but his lips don’t leave you, either. Very carefully, taking his time, Tom starts to drop kisses to your skin. He gradually works his way further up your leg, dusting warm, open-mouthed kisses from your ankle to your shin, then your knee.

You shift on the bench as Tom starts to come higher, one of your hands drifting down to rest in his curls. You put the disposable cup on the floor as you watch him. There’s a heat slowly building in the pit of your stomach, and with each meeting of your flesh and Tom’s mouth, it grows more pronounced. It isn’t long before you’re parting your legs, his lips pausing at the bottom of your thigh as he changes from light kisses to deeper, needier sucks. A short whimper travels from your mouth, wobbling into the air as his lips draw the blood to the surface of your skin.

“You’re so pretty,” Tom murmurs, looking up at you from the ground. His eyes are wide, darkened with lust. He splays his hand along your neglected thigh, rubbing gentle circles to the skin. You whimper when he drops his tongue to lap over one of the marks he’s pulled to the surface of your skin. “Do you want me to go any higher?” His voice is raspy.

The space between your legs is throbbing, and immediately you nod. “The, uh, the door,” you murmur, voice shaking. Tom presses a final kiss to your inner thigh before standing up. He winks at you before jogging to the changing room door, easily flicking the lock, then coming back towards you. “Are you, um… Are you sure you don’t mind?”

Tom grins. He sinks down to his knees beside your head, his hands tugging the bottom of your legs. You sit up on the edge of the bench and turn as your thighs open over his shoulders. Tom kneels between them, his bed of brown curls complementing your skin tone nicely. He presses a kiss to your neglected leg before his hands carefully skim up to play with the hem of your skirt.

“I wouldn’t mind one bit,” he replies, his voice a little darker. He tilts his head as he meets your gaze, smirking softly. “I’d really like to. Do you want to know a secret, darling?” Tom’s fingers slide up, his index and his middle making contact with the front of your panties. As he traces delicately over the front of your core, small arcs of pleasure roll out from your centre. The way his lips twitch taller makes you wonder if he can feel the way your cunt seems to throb.

“Yeah,” you respond, voice light. A whimper passes through your lips as Tom applies a little more pressure to your covered clit, your hips gyrating down to meet his fingertips in response.

He pulls back, only to push your skirt out of the way, tutting quietly when you mewl.

“Been wondering what you’d taste like for ages, love,” he coos. He uses his grip on your thighs to pull you closer, and you moan when he buries his head between your legs. Your panties are still on, but that doesn't stop Tom from nosing up against your slit, hot breath fanning out across your warmth. When he draws his tongue over the front of your panties, you release a breathless whine. “Bet it tastes as pretty as you are.”

You reach down and bury your hand back into his curls, pulling Tom closer as he ghosts his tongue over the front of your panties. He’s lapping lightly up your slit, the pleasure muted but still there, and your eyes fall shut as the muscles in your thighs tense.

“Fuck, Tom,” you whine, feeling your cunt pulse. “Take them off. I need more.”

His nimble fingers are quick to follow your instructions, and as soon as your hips are falling back to the bench, his mouth is on you. You cry out as you finally feel him, the pleasure direct and far greater than you’d expected. Tom devours you, using both of his thumbs to press your lips apart as his tongue travels all over your heat. He spends a while focusing on your clit, the tip of his tongue firm and unrelenting, but when you start to whine a little louder, he teases you by drawing away. He flattens his tongue and licks a few broad strokes up your centre, moaning against you until you’re fisting at his hair and shaking.

“Fuck,” you whine, voice barely there. “Feels so good.”

Tom’s complete attention is on you and your eyes roll back when he teases your entrance with his mouth. One of his thumbs rolls up to toy with your clit as he pushes his tongue into you, your walls throbbing as he explores you. You push him deeper, obscenities mixing with slurred acclamations of his name, and it’s as though you can feel your pulse hammering in your head.

“Knew it. Tastes like fucking heaven,” Tom murmurs, pulling away from your entrance to shoot you a smirking smile. He brings two fingers to your pussy and teases you there, his eyebrows shooting up his forehead when you moan and rut down against them, taking agency and fulfilling your desires. “Shit, baby. You’re so wet.” He fucks your heat, eyes moving off your face and fixing on the mess between your legs as he coos. “I can feel you clenching around my fingers. Does that feel good?”

“Yeah,” you whine. When Tom drops his head and wraps his lips back around your clit, you cry out. “Getting so close,” you say, words tangling together as your chest heaves. You feel so hot, your body trembling as your edge hangs in sight. “Keep going, f-fuck, Tom. You’re so good.”

He adds a third finger to your heat, and your jaw slackens. Tom changes the angle of his digits a few times before curling them just right, and he continues to stroke up against your g-spot as you cry out. You stammer out a few words of warning, and he moans in response. The vibrations of the sound coupled with the way his tongue is applying the perfect amount of warm, sloppy pressure to your clit push you over the edge. As you peak, you fall back onto your elbows, tightening your grip on his hair as your pussy throbs, taking wave after wave of pleasure as it rocks across you and smothers you.

Tom doesn’t stop until you’ve ridden it out completely and you’re sensitive. With a push at his hair, you coax him away, still trying to gather yourself as your throat feels dry. The expression of cocky fulfilment hanging from his lips makes you shiver, and you almost moan again as you take in the sight of his chin, glistening with your arousal.

“How was that?” he asks, cleaning his chin with the back of his hand. Tom carefully stands up, still looking at you as he leans back and picks up a box of tissues from one of the benches. He passes a few to you then leans back against one of the lockers, looking at you admiringly with his arms crossed.

“Really good,” you manage, voice still a little hoarse. You clear your throat and ignore his chuckle as you take care of the mess between your legs with a tissue. Your eyes soften when you look back to him. “Thank you.”

Tom just nods, taking the used tissues and binning them before making a quick stop by a sink to wash his hands. When he strolls back over, he stands in front of you and cups your cheeks in his palms. You stare up at him, smiling as he meets your eyes.

“Glad I could make you feel nice,” he says, voice soft. He leans down to press a gentle kiss to your forehead. “Now… If you have time, I want to take you home. Run you a nice bath, make you some lunch. Make sure you’re looking after yourself.”

You feel your face warm as you listen to his musings, and find yourself biting the inside of your cheek. “You’d want to do all that for me?”

Tom nods. His hands run over your face, fingertips gently caressing your cheekbones. It’s as if he’s examining you, trying to ensure that you’re okay, that you’re safe, that you’re happy. It makes your heart soar.

“‘Course, darling. I care about you a lot.”

You tilt your head to the side so you can kiss the inside of his palm. “Okay,” you agree. You stand up, wincing slightly as your ankle disagrees with taking your weight. Tom’s hands move down to hold your waist, steadying you. “Thanks.”

“No problem.”

You start to walk, only to look back at him and glare jokingly. “Can’t believe you ruined my underwear,” you say. “Feels fucking freezing without them on.”

Tom arches a brow, picking up his bag and slinging it over his back before catching up to you. “Um, I think technically it was you who ruined your underwear.”

You scrunch up the tip of your nose, only for your scowl to melt when he kisses it. When you reach the door, you undo the lock and open it, letting Tom through before following him out into the corridor.

“Whatever,” you reply, sinking into his side. His hand is warm in yours, your fingers tangled together nicely. “Worth it.”

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

It’s noisy in the arena.

With the final match of the season underway and the league title up for grabs, the atmosphere is electric. The stands are packed, frenzied by the presence of the large broadcasting cameras that stream the match live to thousands online. Sitting in the home section, the noise seems louder than it would be elsewhere in the arena. Everyone around you is as invested in the result as you are, and as the energy rises and falls, you feel connected to the mass of strangers around you. You know that they share the ache in your fingers built from the tight clenching of your knuckles into fists, and the strain of your eyes as you spend too long staring at the bright white ice.

The score is 4-4. The players from both teams have been giving some of the most convincing performances of their careers. It’s been close all match.

You hadn’t been sure that you’d be able to make the game, your own days filled with the later stages of your competition, but you’re glad you managed to swing it. Tom needs you.

He’s skating well. He’d assisted one of the team’s goals, and managed to subvert several other shots on goal attempted by his rivals. Tom looks as handsome as ever, face flushed, eyes focused, figure bulked wide with protective padding, but you know he’s nervous. He’s looking up at you more than usual, his teeth gritted together, and his jaw tensed. It’s clear just how much the title means to him.

It’s been a few weeks since Tom came and picked you up after your meltdown at practice, and since then, your feelings for him have escalated. You think it must be a form of torture to watch someone you care about so much getting pushed around, and injured, and hurt on the ice, knowing you can’t do anything but sit and watch it play out in front of you. Every time he gets slammed up against one of the plastic wall barriers, you wince, almost feeling the pain yourself, and despite him always brushing it off and getting on with the game, you worry for him.

“Fucking hell. That looks like it hurts.”

Beside you is Harry, one of Tom’s brothers. You’d met him before the match when Tom had thrust a ticket at you and told you that he’d wrestled it off one of his other brothers. Your guilt had been assuaged when you’d been told that Paddy finds the finals too stressful to sit through. Harry’s been entertaining you all evening, acting as a buffer between you and his parents, who make you feel nervous being so close to.

“Shit,” you agree. You wince as Tom gets barged into and goes spiralling across the ice, only stopping when one of his teammates catches him. “This is actually brutal.”

Harry makes a low humming noise. He turns to glance at you, then he hesitantly reaches down to pat your knee.

“He’ll be fine, though, Y/N,” he says, speaking a little awkwardly. “It’s uh… just part of the job. He’s used to it. I’ve lost count of how many times he’s broken his nose.”

You hum as you think about the wonky lines of Tom’s face. “True,” you agree. You pull your team scarf further around your figure, snuggling into it in search of relief. “Just isn’t nice to see him hurt.”

Harry makes a humming sound of agreement and releases your leg with a final pat. The game continues, and before you know it, they’re into the last third. As the clock ticks down from 20 minutes, things are tense. Tom blurs with the rest of the team, and your eyes skim around all the figures, moving and spinning across the ice like it’s choreographed. There’s something quite beautiful about how they’re able to execute formations and manoeuvres amidst such chaos.

Your eyes stick to the back of Tom’s jersey, screaming Holland in bright orange. He’s closing in on an opponent, trying to steal the puck with gritted teeth. The air leaves your lungs as the scene plays out in slow motion, your eyes widening to the size of gold coins as you watch the larger man smack the puck with ferocity, attempting a shot on goal before Tom manages to steal it. Instead of the puck flying near the goal, the angle flicks it to the side, and the entire section around you gasps as it soars through the air and collides with Tom’s face. His eyes are fine, given the visor on his helmet, but his nose is exposed, and it bears the brunt.

Your heart stills for a moment, the volume of the arena fading out completely as you see Tom go down, clutching at his nose as a trail of blood drips over the ice. There’s the sound of a whistle, and you only start to breathe again when you see one of Tom’s teammates haul him from the rink. His blood freezes to the ice, leaving a trail of dark marks staining the ground behind him.

“Fuck, fuck,” you find yourself saying, finally tearing your eyes away from Tom to stare at Harry. Tom’s brother is wincing. “What do we do?”

Harry shrugs, grimacing. You look back to the ice to where Tom’s being dragged on his skates back to the team bench. You can see him smiling, but it's indisputable that he’s in pain. You can see it in his eyes, and the way his blood mixes with the salty blend of aching tears. “Can’t really do anything,” he says. “Told you his nose gets it.” Harry pauses for a moment, then gently elbows your side. “You could go down, though. They’ll probably do a quick fix in the tunnel. I doubt he’ll want to be benched for the rest of the match.”

You nod stiffly, but find yourself hesitating. “Are you, uh, sure that he’d want that? It wouldn’t be annoying?” When Harry turns to raise an eyebrow, you chuckle nervously. “I don’t want to knock him out of the zone, y’know?”

Harry’s eyes fill with understanding, but you think you can still detect a layer of teasing to it. “My brother is actually obsessed with you,” he says. “He watches compilation videos from your competitions every single bloody night. Even if you broke his heart, I doubt he’d ever be able to find you annoying. So…” Harry pokes your shoulder. “Get down there, alright?”

You shoot him a smile, unable to pretend that his words don’t warm your heart.

The game is still paused, yet you hurry down the aisle, stepping over trays of discarded nachos and half-filled plastic pints of beer as you utter words of apology to the disgruntled fans. Moving quickly, you dodge up and enter one of the back stairwells, flashing your team ID at security. The arena is a complex system of back corridors and passages, but you know them inside out.

You reach the long corridor that connects the changing rooms to the ice, and you see Tom standing in the middle of it. He’s surrounded by people—doctors, his coach, a few reserve players. Out in the arena, you hear the game pick up, but back here, time is standing still.

“Stay still,” one of the medics says. Tom grumbles something before yelling out a light curse word. The closer you walk, the more you see. Tom’s holding a bunch of stained tissues to the bottom of his nose as the medic quickly bandages his bridge. It’s not advised for him to go back on the ice with a broken nose—but you also know that with ten minutes left on the clock, the patchy fix-it job probably won’t cause permanent damage. You quite like Tom’s wonky nose, anyway.

“He’s such a twat,” Tom grumbles, wincing again. “Did he get benched?”

“Yeah. Penalty.”

“Good.” Tom folds his arms over his chest. When the medic pulls away to dig through his bag of bandages, Tom glances up the corridor. His eyes widen as he sees you, and you watch him do a double-take. When you raise a hand in greeting, his face softens. “Y/N?”

“Hi,” you call out, stepping closer. “Is it okay I’m here? I, um… I was worried.”

He nods, only to receive a scolding from the medic. Smiling sheepishly, Tom beckons you closer. He offers you a hand, gloveless and cold, and you hurry forward to take it.

“‘Course,” he murmurs. Now close, you’re able to see the flecks of dried blood on his face. “It’s not as bad as it looks,” he says, speaking softly as if he knows how frazzled you feel. “Happens all the fucking time.”

“Mmm. Harry said so.”

Tom raises an eyebrow. “Oh, really? How is he? Looking after you?”

You chuckle. “He’s funny,” you say. You roll your thumb over the back of Tom’s knuckles as he winces again, the medic pushing his ice pack out of the way so he can dab a wet tissue at Tom’s nostrils. You realise that his nose has stopped bleeding.

“Funnier than me?”

“Never.” You squeeze Tom’s hand. “You’re doing well out there.”

“Thanks, darling.” Tom glances away from you, looking back at the medic as he finally steps away to gather his stuff. “Can I-?”

“Yes,” the medic confirms. “Just don’t touch anyone. The second you’re done, come find me and I’ll fix you properly.”

Tom nods, then bites back a noise of pain. “Thanks, Doc,” he murmurs. Tom looks back to you, dropping his voice as you’re left alone with him. “I, uh, I gotta go,” he says, tilting his shoulder back in the direction of the ice.

“Okay.” You shoot him a soft smile and squeeze his hand before stepping back. “Good luck, Tom. Smash it.”

He pouts slightly, a wedge forming between his brows. “Kiss?”

“Kiss?” you repeat, snorting softly. When Tom nods sadly, you step nearer and press your hands to his shoulders. You lean up and capture his lips in a warm kiss, smiling into it as his palms paw at your waist. For a very brief moment, you get lost in it, overcome by the round lines of his chapped mouth and the heat of his hands, but you force yourself to step back. You can feel how badly he wants to be out on the ice. “Good luck, handsome,” you say, whispering against his lips. You step back and cross your arms, smiling widely as he blushes. “You’ve got this.”

Tom gives you a final nod, eyes alight. “See ya in ten!” he says, before turning on his skates. You stay watching him until he reaches the end of the corridor, and the smile is still on his face as he turns back to grin at you. The arena goes wild as he reappears, and you find yourself biting your lips as you try to control the butterflies in your stomach.

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

Tom lives about twenty minutes from the arena, and you find yourself waiting on his front step. With your knees pulled to your chin, the chill of a March evening cools your face. You don’t feel the cold much—instead, you’re distracted by the images of the team winning, playing on loop in your mind.

It’s a blur. A snapshot collection of Tom scoring the tie-breaking goal, the sight of the crowd going wild as the final buzzer sounded, the spray of champagne foam sticking to the ice. You’d hung around afterwards, receiving a very messy kiss from Tom who was vibrating from excitement. After a round of celebratory photos, Tom had been hunted down by the medics, and he’d pulled you aside briefly to ask you to meet him here.

You sigh as you stretch your legs out in front of you, looking down at the laces of your shoes and how they contrast the dark cement paving stones. Tom shares his house with Harrison and Harry. You’ve been here a few times, and it feels odd to be here without him.

“Y/N!”

You startle as you look up, so distracted by the loops of your laces that you’d failed to see Tom. He finishes clambering out of a large car, and you think you catch a glimpse of Harry in the front before it goes speeding away from the pavement. Tom approaches, his nose bruised but free of bandages, a wide smirk on his face as he picks up into a light jog. When he reaches you, he sweeps you to your feet, taking your hands firmly and kissing you before you have a chance to say a word. You shiver as he reaches up to cup your cheeks, craving the body heat, sinking into him and the scent of his fresh shampoo.

“You’re shivering,” Tom murmurs, pulling back to stare at you. His eyes widen as guilt shadows his features. “Fuck, how long have you been waiting for me?” He steps back to dig through his pocket, tongue settling between his lips as he hums.

“Ten minutes,” you estimate. When his eyes widen, you shrug bashfully. “Hasn’t been that bad. Next door’s cat came and said hi.”

Tom scowls as he steps past you, driving his key into the front door with ease. “Little ratty thing, isn’t it?” he mutters. He opens the door with a flourish, then steps aside to invite you in. When you walk across the threshold, Tom winds his arms around you from behind, pressing his chin to your shoulder before tilting his lips so he can kiss your cheek. His warm breath fans out across your face. “I’ll warm you up, darling. I’ll make you feel better.”

Ten minutes later, you’re in his bed. Despite his promise of warming you up, you seem to be losing more and more clothes. What had started out as a celebratory kiss has ended in you straddling him, grinding over Tom’s crotch as he gasps into your mouth and grabs at your waist.

You like being on top. It gives you better access to Tom—to the sight of his face constricting with pleasure every time you grind a little harder, and to the sound of his small moans. There’s a shadow along his nose and lining the swell of his cheeks from the break in his nose, and if he wasn’t so tender, you’d try to kiss it better. Instead, you decide to make him feel better in a different way. He’s calmer now than he’d been at the arena when he hadn’t been able to keep his hands off you or his lips away from your neck, but the longer you spend making out with him, the more eager he gets. There’s a dark spark in his eyes that matches the fervour in his grip.

“God,” he murmurs to your lips. “You’re such a beautiful girl.”

A hot flush travels through your body, and you shy your face into his neck. You distract him with kisses, dragging your lips over the firm flesh of his warm skin.

“Can I mark you?” you whisper, dragging your lips up to his ear. Tom moans loudly as you move your teeth over his earlobe and bite lightly.

“Fuck yeah,” he murmurs, rolling his hips up against you. You’ve ditched your jeans, and so has he, but where you’re still draped in a shirt, Tom’s chest is bare and exposed. You run your hand over his arm and feel his muscles there as you kiss up the side of his neck. Deep marks follow in the wake of your lips, but they aren’t nearly as pretty as the sound of Tom’s moans. “Fuck, darling. Shit. Feels so good.”

Tom lasts about a minute more before growling and pushing you from his neck. His eyes glint and a shrill squeal leaves your lips as he picks you up and presses you down onto the mattress. As your back sinks into the bed, the slats creak. Tom cages you in with a forearm either side of your head, one of his hands drifting into the ends of your hair as he very lightly rests his nose against yours.

“Hi,” he says.

“Hi.” Your smile twists a little darker as Tom rolls his hips against yours and you feel his cock straining against his boxers. You reach up to play with his hair, tugging on the strands when Tom moans. His curls are fresh and fluffy, air-dried after the shower and silky smooth to touch. You’ve been together a few times since he ate you out in the changing rooms, and though you’re yet to go all the way, you’ve picked up on a few of his preferences. “Are you okay?”

He isn’t doing much, just staring at you, lips parted. His eyes skitter across the shapes of your face before linking up with your own, and you feel your heart clench in your chest as Tom shifts his hand to cup your cheek.

“Just thinking,” he murmurs. He’s speaking quietly, voice gentle as if he’s being fragile with you. “I, um… I want to ask you something?”

You tilt your head to the side. “Right now?” you ask. To prove your point, you snake a hand down between your bodies and apply pressure to his member with the flat of your palm. Tom groans, eyelashes fluttering out across the top of his cheeks. It seems to take him a lot of self-control to nod, and you feel his hips quiver as he holds himself back from grinding into your hand.

“Yeah.” Tom takes a moment to pause. “We’ve been hanging out for a while, Y/N, and I really like you. I think that you’re so talented. And beautiful. Shit, you’re really beautiful.” He chuckles, his nerves showing on his face. “I can’t imagine being with anyone else. I wouldn’t ever want to be with anyone else. So, darling… Do you want to be my girlfriend?” He pulls back to peer at you, teeth clenched, eyes wide.

A smile breaks out across your face.

“I’d love to be your girlfriend, Tom,” you whisper. You lean up to kiss him just as he leans down, and you gasp as you accidentally hit Tom’s nose with yours. He groans, pulling up and dramatically falling onto his back as his limbs splay out. “Shit,” you giggle, sitting up and crawling closer. Tom’s pouting, tenderly poking at the edge of his nostril as he grimaces. “Sorry, baby.”

Tom melts, pulling you back on top of him. “Call me baby again and you can do anything you want to me,” he mutters. A small blush finds his face as he comprehends his words, and you end up smiling softly as you settle over his thighs. One of his large hands curls between your legs and you whimper as he teases you over your panties for a few moments. When he finally dips his fingers beneath the silky material, you find yourself whimpering.

“Feels good,” you moan, pressing your hands to Tom’s chest as he rolls two fingers around your slit. You get antsy and grind down against his touch, wriggling up his legs until his fingertips nudge against your hole.

His hair is spread out against the white sheets of the bed, face screwed into an expression of concentration as he curves his digits into your heat. You whimper, tossing your head back as he works you open with ease, brushing up against your g-spot and stimulating it until you’re gasping. As heat slowly begins to take over your body, you reach down to the hem of your shirt and pull it off. Next to go is your bra, and you guide Tom’s other hand to the curve of your breasts as you ride down on his hand.

“Look so pretty up there,” he murmurs, biting at his lip. “Like an angel, or a princess.” Tom skims his thumb over your nipple, smirking as you whine. “My princess.”

You gnaw on your lip for a moment before sitting up, letting Tom’s fingers slip out from you. You reach down and hook your thumbs beneath the material of his boxers, and Tom seems to get the hint.

“I need you,” you say, speaking quickly. You have to roll away to kick off your pants, and by the time you’re ready, Tom’s sitting up again. He slides up to sit against the headboard, fiddling with a condom and sheathing himself before you can spend too long admiring his length.

“C’mere then, lovie,” Tom coaxes. He pumps his cock in his fist a few times before hitting at his thighs, beckoning you forward. His lips kiss your forehead as you straddle him. Blindly, you reach down to cover his hand in yours, and together, you guide his tip to your entrance. Your slit is hot and pulsing, your body worked up from the teasing and the anticipation. “Are you sure you want this?” he asks, voice softer.

You shoot him a teasing look. “Yes,” you emphasise. You bite your lip as you slowly lower yourself onto him, gasping softly. “Been thinking about this for so long, Tom.”

Tom grasps your lower lip between his teeth, sucking on it harshly before flicking it up and stealing your mouth in a deep kiss. You moan as you settle there, in his lap, your walls stretched around him completely. You can feel everything—the curves of his cock, the press of his tip against your velvety walls, the feeling of his skin on yours. You love it.

It’s quick to become hot and intense. Tom’s hands on your waist, your fingers tangled in his hair. The stretch burns to enjoyment before long, and then you’re just lost in it. You feel so bare to him, beyond the fact that your naked bodies are intertwined so closely, like he’s able to see straight through you. For someone who spends so much of his life fighting aggressively, Tom is remarkably soft. His hips are firm, and his thrusts unrelenting, but his lips on your face are warm, and the words of heated affirmation he whispers into your ear make you melt.

“So tight, princess,” Tom moans, grasping at your waist. He kisses you, groaning into your mouth as you continue to ride him. You alternate your movements, swapping between deep bounces and swirling your hips in broad circles so that you get to feel every delicious line, bump and curve of him. “God. Feels like fucking heaven.”

“I know,” you manage, voice hoarse. You’re not embarrassed by the way there are wet sounds of arousal filling the air—it only seems to spur Tom on as he squeezes at your waist.

Things blur quickly. You can tell that he’s wound up from the stress of the game, and his hand is shaking when he reaches up to cup the top of your heat. You’re quick to match his arousal, feeling your own climax jerking closer as Tom brings his thumb down to your clit. You’re aroused, and your slit is wet, so it’s seamless as he toys with the bud.

His name falls from your lips like a prayer, the syllables blurring as your eyelids drop closed. It’s hard to tell where your body ends and his begins, but you like it. Tom wraps his other arm around your hip and holds you close, touching his lips to yours as he finally spills.

“You’re so perfect,” he moans, his eyes screwing shut. “Shit, Y/N—”

The action of him throbbing against your walls pushes you over the edge too, and you’re panting into him as warm shivers spread over your entire figure. You’re full of a golden buzz as you stop moving, stilling with his cock still pressed inside you. Tom’s lips come down over the top of your head, following in a line from your forehead down your nose before going to your lips. When he finds your mouth, both of you are smiling.

“Wish we could do that forever,” he murmurs. “Felt amazing, darling. You’re amazing.” There’s a rosy flush to his cheeks, and he looks at you like he’s won the greatest prize of the night. “Stay?”

“Overnight?”

“Yeah. Right here.” Tom reaches out to hit the mattress. “I’ll cuddle you,” he promises. “Make you tea. Bring you breakfast.” He smirks. “Make love to you all night.”

You roll your eyes.

“Okay, boyfriend,” you agree.

Tom raises a brow as if he likes the sound of that, then seals the deal with a softer kiss.

“Perfect.” His hands skim up to cup your breasts, and he pecks your lips a final time. “Girlfriend.”

*:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧ *:·ﾟ✧*:·ﾟ✧

There’s an hour to go before you skate in the biggest competition of your life. You’re at the largest arena in London, killing time on one of the practice rinks as you try to forget that you’re so close to delivering your final routine of the season. This routine will decide if you come out on top or not and reveal whether you’ve managed to impress the Olympic talent scouts.

You feel a blend of two very fine emotions—confidence and nervousness. You’re prepared, you’re in control, and you’re ready, but that doesn’t make the prospect of going out there any less daunting. Adrenaline soothes the nerves, and distraction is your best friend.

Tom’s sitting on one of the benches, flitting between watching you and messing around on his phone. You’ve learnt that he’s the only person you like to be around before a competition, and in the month you’ve been officially together, he’s become your rock. He seems to get you—understands the way your brain spins when you’re stressed like this, knows when to step near and when to leave you alone. As if sensing your thoughts lie with him, he glances up from his phone.

The month off from competitions has been kind to Tom. He’d had a cracking set of bruises following his broken nose, but they’re healed now, and his skin carries the golden glow of a champion. After mouthing a few words to him from across the ice, you watch him sit up straighter and put his shoes to the bench. Tom had brought his skates to the arena, despite not being the one competing, because he knows, just as you, that sometimes the best way to relax before a competition is to mess around and distract yourself. Sitting beside him is a very large banner, hand-painted, that wears the words, Go Y/N!. He’d made it with the rest of his team, and you’d almost cried when he’d unrolled it and given it to you, grinning with pride like a small child showing off his art project.

You do a few spins as you wait for him, the small practice arena blurring. A few other people are hanging around—mainly your friends, and a few coaches, but none of them pay attention to you. You go so fast that you miss whatever it is Tom scoops up from the bench and then proceeds to hold behind his back, keeping it out of your sight as he skates towards you. A frown finds your lips as you drift nearer, squinting your eyes.

“What’s that?” you ask, trying to make out the object.

Tom juts out his lower lip, eyes dancing teasingly. “Not gonna say hello, darling? That’s a bit rude, don’t you think?”

You shoot him a poisonous look but sigh when he just smirks in response.

“Hello,” you say. You skate forward, planting your hands on both of his cheeks and drawing him in close. Tom’s lips are warmer than yours, and you savour their firm press. When you pull back, you cross your arms over your chest. “What is it?”

“Close your eyes first.”

“Why?”

“Because I said so.”

Begrudgingly, you shut your eyes. You hear the rustling of plastic, and then smell the scent of fresh flowers. Tom presses a bouquet into your hands, and your lips twist up at the corners.

“You can open them now.”

It’s a bunch of roses, dark red and delicate. You trail a thumb over their petals, breath caught in the back of your throat. Your boyfriend continues to speak as he watches you.

“You said that no one had ever bought you flowers before,” he explains, voice steady. “I was going to save them for afterwards when you win, but I know you’ll end up being given about a thousand when they all see how talented they are, so I wanted to get in first.”

You look up at him, tears blurring your waterline.

“They’re beautiful, Tom,” you whisper. His confidence in you, and the support he shows you, every single day, means everything to you. He means everything to you. “I love them. I…” You look up, meeting his eyes as you finally speak the words that you’ve felt so strongly but kept tucked away in your heart for fear of rejection. You aren’t scared anymore. “I love you.”

Tom’s eyes widen, his lips briefly parting. There’s a heart-stopping moment when he betrays nothing, but then life twitches across his face. He relaxes, sinking forward to touch your waist as he pulls you closer and brings his lips to yours.

“I love you too, darling,” he says. He’s able to press his nose against yours now, and you feel his cold tip press to your face as you shift the bouquet into one hand and curl the other around his back. “I feel like the luckiest man in the world.”

You smile against him. “It was lucky, wasn’t it? That out of all the people on the rink that day, it was me you managed to crash into.”

Tom chuckles. “Felt less like luck at the time,” he admits. “I thought you were going to kill me.”

You smirk. “I was pretty mad. Can you blame me, though?”

“Nope.” Tom kisses the tip of your nose. “Worth it, anyway.” He surprises you by skating back, plucking the bouquet from your hand with ease before spinning you beneath his arm, cooing as the hem of your dress flutters in the air. “Did I ever tell you how much I love your outfit?” he adds. “You look like a princess.”

Your cheeks hurt, and when you stop spinning, you turn to face him.

“I feel like a princess,” you admit, accepting the flowers for the second time. “Does that make you my prince charming?”

Tom nods, smiling. “It’d be an honour.”

The air between you stills, and all that’s left is love.

“I’m nervous,” you admit, glancing down. “What if I fuck this up? What if I fall over? Or- or what if I don’t land a jump? What if my ankle can’t take it?” You gnaw on your lip. “Then it’ll all be over.”

Tom soothes you with a hand on your cheek. “You won’t fuck it up,” he says, voice confident. “You’re incredible, Y/N. You know the routine, and you know yourself. You’re ready for this.” He tilts his head to the side, eyes glinting warmly. “You’re going to go out there, smash it, then you’ll come back, and we’ll celebrate. Alright?”

You look down at the roses, then back to your boyfriend’s face, and you know that you believe him.

“Okay,” you agree. You bite your lip before darting up to kiss his cheek. “Love you, Tom.”

His eyes are full of adoration. “That’s my girl,” he murmurs. “I love you too.”

Tom presses his forehead to yours, and you relax there. With your fingers grasping the flowers and his hands caressing your waist, you let him support you. You let him kiss you, and hold you, and love you.

(And, later on, you let him hold your shiny gold medal, too.)

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

i hope you guys liked dutchy as much i liked writing him :’)) this has taken almost a month! if there’s any interest, maybe we could do a hockey!tom blurb night soon...? idk ! i’d be down. let me know if you’d be too <3 thanks so much for reading!!!! please let me know what ya think!

mlist and taglist can be found through the link in my bio!

#tom holland x reader #tom holland fic #tom holland smut #tom holland x reader smut #tom holland x reader fluff #tom holland fluff #hockey!tomfic #tblr....please let me in the tags...? please?

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yn-dreamlife · 3 years ago

Text

Mr. Confident

Warnings: Simping over tama, smut under the cut, daddy kink (eventually), dom/sub dynamic, he calls reader bunny, dumbmification mentioned, breeding kink, degradation (kinda)

Description: Tamakis secret confident/dominant side (you will pry this from my cold dead fucking hands)

Tamaki Amajiki was a shy guy, there was no doubt about that in everyone's mind. Well, everyone except you. You could see it, the glint in his eye when he took charge of a situation which were few and far between.

You saw it when he had to take charge and hold back three villains on his own during the mission to save Eri.

You saw it when he had to take charge during a situation with panicked civilians, when he would take charge and while yelling orders he would still be able to calm them down with his natural demeanor.

You saw it when he got recognized by a child, albeit it was much smaller than but it was there, he knew at that moment he wasn't the shy student but he was the brave pro-hero.

Now Tamaki being shy was NOT a bad thing, you found it cute and endearing. And so did everyone else, it is what allowed him to be so loved by the people.

While Mirio and Nejire were both loved for their bubby personalities he was different out of the big three. He was loved because even tho he could be 'Mr. Confidnet' as his friends would call him, he could still be soft-spoken and full of stutters.

You wouldn't change him, honestly, you wouldn't. But there was one other time you saw that glint in his eyes, and that was with you.

When you would look up at him his larger stature causing him to also have look down at you. it flickered whenever you would say "yes sir," in a teasing manner. It happened really whenever you came around, you noticed it his friends noticed it and so did he.

He enjoyed the feeling of confidence that washed over him when it came to you. Of course, he still blushed and stuttered and he never acted on what his confident mind wanted him to because in his mind you fell for shy him you wouldn't want 'Mr. confident'.

He was wrong in that regard, you see while you may be a hero and you may be an independent woman, you were also a naturally submissive person.

You remember the first time you really saw his confident and dominating side in your relationship. Not that he was ever the submissive mainly because you were too submissive to ever dom him.

But the first time it happened was when it was just the two of you. You on top of him riding him in bliss loving how he made you feel. And you didn't mean for it to slip, honestly.

there were other times you wanted to bring it up, on many occasions in fact but you never did because it never felt like the right time. But you two had been together for two years, you were out of high school and into the hero world.

And after being with him so long your submission was already his, there was no doubt in your mind. You always tried hard to hold it back till you two talked about it but this time it slipped.

"P-please sir!" His body tensed but you didn't stop as you saw the glint coming more to life in his eyes. "Please l-let me c-cum." you moaned out as you continued to ride him. The words that rang over and over in your mind, the begs that you never let out began to slip.

A surge went through him when the words fully processed in his head and before you could blink you were underneath him, your ass in the air. Tamaki didn't like to be on top often acting like he was too shy to pound into your tight heat like he wanted. He was just so worried you wouldn’t like that, but he did have a suspicion you would and those words just seemed to confirm it for him.

you whimpered as you felt empty and you were so close to your high, but it was cut off by a loud moan as he slammed back into you.

"Do you want to c-cum for me b-bunny?" He said lowly in your ear as he continued to move rapidly inside you. You nodded quickly but he tsked at you, "Now now I know my g-girl can use her words cant she? Be a good girl and tell me." He purred into your ear as he bit at your ear and neck his hips no longer moving.

"Please, sir! Please I need to cum so bad let me cum for you!" He relished in the way you begged for him, his confidence only growing.

"Go on bunny, cum for me." He said as he began to pound into you once again. He reached his arm down so his hand could find your clit and he rubbed it as he continued. "Show me how good I make you feel."

As he felt you come undone around him he wasn't far behind his thrust gradually becoming sloppy. But your begging pushed him over.

The words poured out of your mouth on their own accord as ecstasy washed through you. “Yes please fill me with your cum! Want your cum deep in me, breed me please sir!”

That seemed to be the final push for him and his mouth poured absolute filth into your ear as he came deep inside you.

“Gonna fill your tight little pussy bunny. You feel me stuffing your greedy little hole? This is what you wanted, isn’t it? Want me to make you my own personal breeding toy?” And all you could do was moan and blissfully take it.

After that day you two sat down and had a proper talk about it. Deciding your hard and fast limits and negotiating others, setting safe-words and signals as well as establishing roles. And surprisingly Tamaki was less blushy and stuttery than you.

“Alright, bunny let me ask you, what do you want from me?” His voice was soft yet steady as he looked at you. You forced yourself to hold his gaze.

“I-I want you to-to take care of me. I want to serve you and make you feel good and I....” you trailed off.

“And you? Go on bunny, being so good for me already~” he cooed to you softly.

“Want you to make all the thoughts go away when they’re too much.” You mumbled softly get loud enough for him to hear.

“And how can I do that baby?” He whispered as he cupped your cheek.

“By uh.... well y-you know by-“ you broke finally the heat in your cheeks becoming too much as you covered your face with your shaking hands and rapidly shaking your head.

He eventually coaxed it out of you albeit, in a somewhat roundabout answer he found out you like the idea of dumbification, you want him to fuck you stupid whenever it gets to be too much.

The thought made his clock twitch but he decided that would be for another day so he allowed you two more time to talk about what you needed to.

And now a month later the time has come. He could see it, the jitteriness in your form. The agitation and the snappy attitude, you were never a brat for him every time you tried all he had to do was whisper something along the lines of

“I thought you were my good girl?” Or “don’t you want to make me happy, bunny?” And you were once again his obedient little thing.

You two had yet to delve into anything too hardcore, the most being rougher sex and dirty talk mentioning breeding. He had yet to cum in you more than once whenever he did. Nor did he act on the idea of degradation or dumbmification.

Although the idea of you becoming nothing but a babbling little cocksleve for him to use always made him rock hard. So when you came home and slammed the door and promptly threw yourself into his lap he knew what he needed to do. He wanted to see if you would ask first though so he waited.

“Hey, bunny.” He whispered softly running a hand up and down your back and running his nose along your hairline. This was the first time you two could see each other for more than just a fleeting kiss. Thanks to hero work you two had been busy.

You said nothing but have a low grunt in response along with a deep sigh. “Long few days at work?” You nodded. “Wanna talk about it?” You shook your head.

He held you for a bit and he could feel you grow restless. Your body shifting above him just barely stopping when his hands met your hips. “Bunny?” He whispered and you still said nothing. “If you want something use your words.” He could practically feel your body just melt at his dominating tone.

“N-need you sir.” You finally mellowed.

“You already have me right here silly.” You groaned knowing he was teasing you. Knowing he wanted you to say it. He felt your cheeks heat up as you hid your face deeper in his neck.

When he still didn’t give you what you wanted when you tried to roll your hips only to be met with his hands holding you still he heard your needy voice right near his ear.

“Please, sir. Please use me for your pleasure and don’t let me think about anything but you. Jus’ wanna make you feel good. I just want to be your little toy~”

His breath hitched, of course, he was expecting it but to hear you begging for him like that sent a wave of excitement through him.

"You want me to use you?" He whispered his teeth grazing against your earlobe as you shivered at the feeling of his warm breath.

"Yes"

"Yes, what?" He asked moving to grab your jaw, squeezing your cheeks together to form a pout on your lips. "Go one bunny, yes what?"

"Yes, daddy!" You finally squeaked and this time you had caught him off guard. No one moved, and no one spoke. You had half the mind to get up and run from the embarrassment but the second you made to do so you were being flipped onto your back only to have a blown-eyed Tamaki on top of you.

"T-tama?" you whispered.

He chuckled the sound low and deep sending a vibration through you where your chests were connected. "That's not my name anymore bunny."

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notanotherreidgirl · 3 years ago

Note

What about a recount of sub!Spence having all his first times with reader (kiss, groping, handjob etc etc) and then FINALLY they're going to do the big one and Spence is so excited but also so nervous and you're reassuring him and it's the first you're doing anything that requires a condom so you offer to put it on for him. But Spence is so worked up and just cums as you roll down the condom.

This has been in my thoughts for longer than I'd like to admit

well damn, anon. i'm gonna be thinking of this way more than I'd be comfortable admitting to as well.

there is a bit of buildup in this one so sit tight

Warnings: kissing, handjob, premature ejaculation, blowjob (kinda, just a little bit), oral sex (female receiving - only mentioned), size kink

Spencer clutched the bouquet of flowers to his chest as he crossed the street to your place. He felt a little silly bringing flowers especially considering what you guys were planning to do but they reminded him of your first date. The two of you had passed a florist and you pointed out your favorites so he pulled you in and bought them for you right on the spot.

At the end of the night he dropped you back to your apartment and stood there for a moment, desperately wanting to kiss you but he didn’t know where to begin. Should I ask for permission? Would that kill the mood? Would you even want to kiss me? What if you didn’t kiss me back? What if I ruin things?

But then you just leaned in and captured his lips with yours as if it were the simplest thing in the world. He brought the flowers to his face and remembered how the bouquet had crinkled between the two of you that night, the sweet floral scent wafting up and sealing that perfect moment.

Shakily he knocked at your door and it swung open immediately. You ushered him in with a peck on the cheek, hurriedly bringing him into the warmth of your apartment. The first time he had been here he couldn’t help but commit your place to memory, trying hard not to profile you despite his desire to learn everything about you. It was so cozy, so warm, so inviting - he never wanted to leave.

You jolted him back to the present by taking the flowers and telling him to take a seat on the couch while you put them in water. He sat down and memories of you stroking his cock in this very spot flooded his mind. It was the first time someone other than himself had touched him in this way. You had taken him in your hand so carefully, praising him profusely as you glided your hand up his shaft and swiped your thumb across the tip on each pass. He recalled how deeply embarrassed he was at how quickly he had come but you had simply guided his hand underneath your pants to feel your wetness.

“See what you do to me, baby?” you had whispered and he experienced yet another first that night, tasting the sweetness between your legs. For the past few weeks, that was all the two of you had done but last night when he called to let you know his case was wrapping up you alluded to doing something more the next time you were together.

Needless to say, Spencer had been overwhelmed with nerves for the last 24 hours. He had to redo all his paperwork because he kept making silly mistakes, he spent nearly 45 minutes fixing his hair, he read 83 scientific articles pertaining to sexual gratification. As if you could sense his worry, you settled in next to him and took his hands in yours. “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want”

He intertwined his fingers with yours, engulfing your hand in his. The first time you had held hands was at a horror film festival, you had grabbed onto him at a jump scare and didn't let go for the rest of the movie. “No, Y/N. It’s not that. I’m not - I don’t have the most experience and-” he sighed, looking down at his shoes. “I don’t want to disappoint you”

“Spencer, look at me” you tugged at your interlocked hands until he met your eyes. “You could never ever disappoint me. You understand?”

He nodded. You could tell he wasn’t convinced but it would do. “Good, now kiss me”

That he could do. Your lips met softly at first but the kiss quickly deepened and you smiled into his mouth at how eager he was. When you felt the tension in his arms start to loosen, you pulled away and guided him towards the bedroom. He followed your lead, undressing between kisses and murmured words of praise until you were finally toying with the waistband of his underwear. You looked up at him for consent and he blushed, giving you a nod. It wasn’t like you hadn’t seen him before but it was different this time.

You sucked in a breath when you pulled his waistband down. “You’re so pretty, Spence. My pretty boy”

His cock involuntarily twitched at the praise and he stifled a whimper. You moved over him, straddling him low over his thighs and bringing his cock to rest on your stomach, the tip just past your belly button. His eyes widened when he saw how far up he reached, how deep inside you he would be. You stroked him lightly, spreading his precum and relishing in the symphony of whines and soft, little moans erupting from his lips. “You’re doing so good, Spence. You like that?”

He nodded vigorously and you smiled. “There are condoms on the nightstand”

He grabbed one and fumbled a bit with the wrapper, his nerves getting the best of him. “You need some help with that?”

“Y-yes, please.” You tore it open and positioned it at the tip, starting to roll it down. He threw his head back against the pillows as soon as he felt the latex encase him, biting down on his lip but it was no use. When you got halfway he let out an involuntary shudder and a loud whine and you felt his warm cum underneath the condom, seeping out and pooling onto his stomach.

“That’s so fucking hot” your voice was different, low and hoarse with lust. You quickly removed the condom and changed positions, pushing yourself down and nestling between his legs. Spencer didn’t have any time to process his embarrassment, much less stammer out an apology, before you were licking a stripe up the underside of his cock. “Let me clean you up and then we’ll try again”

Blurb Masterlist

#blurbs #thank you thank you <3 #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x reader smut

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bokuroskitten · 4 years ago

Note

your piece about oral fixation was just 🤤 so now im super curious as to what kinda of gags you think the haikyuu captains + iwa would use on their partners.

oh anon, truly I'm grateful for this one. Because as a rope bunny, I think about it constantly. I didn't do every single haikyuu captain, just ones I feel I know the best. Enjoy the filth. ❦

ℌℭ❦

〈what kind of gags would the haikyuu captains (Bokuto, Terushima, Ushijima, Oikawa, Daichi, Kuroo, Kita) + Iwa enjoy using on their partner.

⋆genre: 18+ NSFW (Minors DNI)

⋆warnings: BDSM themes (use of bondage and gags), dom/sub dynamics (daddy & master title used), oral (female receiving), spit, degradation & dumbification

Bokuto couldn’t be bothered with gags. He likes to hear you falling apart on his cock, the whimpers, the cries, the begging. It’s all music to Bokuto’s ears. Although if you do want to be gagged Bokuto just uses his thick fingers down your throat or slaps his palm across your lips. Both methods effectively render you silent and he still gets the joy of feeling your moans vibrating along his skin.

“You’re so fucking loud, Birdy. The whole neighbourhood is gonna know you’re a desperate little cock whore. Isn’t that right baby Bird?” Bokuto’s voice was nothing but a growl up against your ear, his heavy balls still slapping ruthlessly against your ass as he plunged himself faster into your tight cunt. He went in at the perfect angel this time, his cock head pressing to that sweet spot that would have you screaming. Before the sound could slip out Bokuto pushed three fingers into your mouth, grinning as he watched drool bubble between his knuckles, your cries getting muffled into his skin.

“Yeaaa, suck away baby and take what’s given to you.”

⋆⋆⋆

Terushima is a horny one, typically just wants to get the job done quickly and easily, so he likes to use what’s around. This typically means he’s using his tie. He usually wears one to his job, or sometimes finds himself keeping a spare in his back pocket when you’re being extra annoying. He always ties a knot in the middle first, pressing it between your teeth before knotting the material behind your head. It’s effective enough to keep you muffled but simple enough that he can still see your lips tremble, watch drool darken the fabric and dribble down your chin.

“Careful princess, you want the boys to know I’m stuffing you full of cock?” He spoke through a wicked grin, his lips pressed to your pulse as his hands held your hips in a death grip. The subtle slap of your ass into his pelvis kept him on beat, along with the muffled cries you let out into his tie. One of his hands slithered up your bent form, making sure to squeeze one of your breasts on the way up before taking hold of your jaw. His long fingers brushed over your chin, the drool already gathering there making him pick up his pace. He pressed the knot he made in his tie further between your teeth, making you whimper a plea that had him chuckling.

“Messy fuckin thing, by the time I fill you up there’s gonna be a mess on your face and between your thighs.”

⋆⋆⋆

Ushijima is a simple man with simple desires. Despite that, he actually enjoys using a gag on you because it gives him even more power over you than you already give him. He typically won’t use one unless other BDSM elements are in play (his favourite is ropes because he likes to make intricate patterns over your skin) but his favourite type to use is a deep throat gag. In every sense of the word, Ushi is big and wants to make sure your tight little throat is ready to be used when he wants it to use it. There’s a couple of different sizes he uses that he has you build up with, but each one comes with a reward when you’re able to swallow it down without gagging.

Although his face was usually calm during sessions today was an exception as he worked the length of the gag between your lips. “Baby, tap out if you need to—“ But you just furrowed your brows at him, fists tightening in determination which were currently bound above your head. It was a sign for him to keep going, so he did. He pushed the slick silicon between your lips until the hilt rested against your lips. He didn’t do up the leather strap just yet, waited to see if you’d gag or choke with such a big size being shoved down your throat. But there you were, sitting pretty with tears riming your lashes, the gag pressing snuggly down on your tongue. Ushijima hummed out, pleased with such progress as he was slow to buckle up the leather strap. He pressed kisses along your jaw, a small smile creeping its way onto his lips.

“I’m so proud of you, little one.”

⋆⋆⋆

Oikawa will only use ring gags because it keeps your mouth wide open and ready to use whenever he feels he needs it. Plus it allows for him to still be able to hear you when you moan and cry for him. He also loves the mess you make with a ring gag, helpless to the drool and bubbling spit that falls from your chin. Sometimes as a form of punishment he’ll leave you between his thighs, arms bound and a ring gag held snuggly between your lips. He’ll stroke his cock lazily while watching tv, only grabbing a fist full of your hair to shove that sloppy mouth of yours onto his cock when he feels the need.

The whines you let out are ignored completely by Oikawa, a little huff leaving his lips as his eyes slowly slip from the screen down to between his legs. There you sat, eyes wide and mascara streak marks down your cheeks. Your body was already trembling, sitting on your hunches for whenever Oikawa decided to take hold of your hair once more. He could see the way your tongue tried to pick up some of the drool that fell from the ring, only making matters worse as a new little stream of spit fell off your chin to continue to dampen your tank top. Oikawa just couldn’t help himself, and in one swift motion, his hips were pressing his cock back between the ring, burying deep within your throat that had it constricting. He hissed softly before a small flutter of laughter escaped him.

“Fuck, at least this fucking throat is good for something. Maybe I should keep this ring on all the time so you’ll always be ready for my dick? You like the sound of that baby?” He was only met by muffled whines and gags as he bobbed your head along this length.

⋆⋆⋆

Daichi hates when you talk back to him, it makes him so tense because all he does is treat you like his perfect little princess. So when you do get mouthy he has no problem getting you worked up whenever you are. He’ll tease, whisper into your ear about how naughty your being, grab handfuls of your ass until you make a mess of your panties. He’ll then shove the filthy material between your lips. Not only will get to humiliate you then, but he’ll also get to punish you properly without having to hear a single peep from you.

“You think good little girls talk back to their daddy’s like you do? No. They listen, and they behave. Since you wanna use such a filthy mouth I’ll keep it filthy for you.” Your previous cries were brought down to muffles as Daichi forced your damp panties between your lips. Balled up and soaked from your precious arousal you can’t even help but let your eyes flutter, the taste of your own desire making your cheeks burn bright pink. Daichi has to scoff, fingers pressing into your cheeks as giving your jaw a little shake. “Taste that? That’s your filthy little cum stains. Imagine staining your own panties from a few promises of punishment?” His cock was heavy as he quickly freed it from his boxers, making you Yelp softly as it slapped down against your already soaked slit. He rubbed it along you a few moments, pressing into your cheeks harder to keep your panties in place.

“Maybe if I just fuck you stupid, you’ll stop talking altogether?”

⋆⋆⋆

Kuroo likes to keep with the classics, and there’s nothing more classic than a ball gag. He started off with wiffleball first, wanting you to feel nothing but comfortable before he moved on to solid silicon, balls that would leave your jaw aching after sessions. He loved the way you looked, sitting on your knees for him on the bed with a bright red ball gag wedged in your mouth, already covered in spit. He would the type to put on you whenever you felt like it just so he could coo about how pretty you looked. He also took many many pictures of your mouth stuffed, keeping a secret folder just for it.

“Stay still kitten,” Kuroo mumbled close to your ear, pressing a couple playful kisses to your lobe as he secured the black leather behind your head. He slipped two fingers into the band, making sure it was loose enough to pull off if needed but tighten to hold. Once he was pleased he pulled away, the most satisfying groan leaving his lips as yours were stretched around the bright red. “Perfect, my perfect fucking kitten...” he spoke, his thumb pressing along the ball as you blinked up at him with wide, needy eyes. Your hands stay still on your lap exactly where he instructed them, a little whine coming out muffled only when Kuroo pulled away from you fully. He rose a brow at that, the flash of disappointment in his gaze enough to have you resting back down on your hunches.

“Ah, I said stay still, Kitty. I’ll play with you soon I promise. But Daddy needs a few pictures of his beautiful baby before we can get started. So keep sitting pretty for me.”

⋆⋆⋆

Kita only uses any form of BDSM with you because you’re interested in it. When you brought it up to him he was very much unaware but did as much research as possible. He decides to start off with a bite gag because, unlike ball gags, it allows for more relaxation of the jaw, as well as causes less mess in terms of drool. Plus he’s always enjoyed watching you bite down on the sheets when you're feeling a lot of pleasure, so the bite gag allows for him to watch your teeth sink on so perfectly into the rubber.

Kita’s thrusts slowed almost too much for you, your pussy desperately fluttering around his length to bring back that friction. You wanted to beg him to keep going, pick the pace back up but all you could do was let out muffled cries, press your teeth further into the bite forced between your lips. Kita watched it all, the way your face twisted up with need, the way your back arched, the way your hips jutted forwards in hopes to feel more of him. He just let out a soft little groan, planting a firm palm on your hip to keep you in place as he continued his slow, dragged out thrusts into your throbbing cunt.

“Just a little longer like this, kay Darlin? I love seeing you bite into that gag, we’re gonna have to use it more often.”

⋆⋆⋆

Iwaizumi was used to using his hand, slapping it over your lips when he found you were getting too loud. But he never knew what to do with all your squirming. Cuffs were too simple and ropes just weren’t his vibe, but when he discovered bondage tape it was a whole other ball game. Not only was it perfect because it only stuck to itself, resulting in safer play, but it was very much effective in shutting you up when he needed you quiet. His favourite part is watching you flinch when he rips a piece away from the roll, the way you shiver in anticipation as he hovers the piece over your lips. It only when you're about to whine at him that he presses it against your lips, a grin curling on his lips.

“Fuck Princess, you’re tighter than usual? Excited?” Iwaizumi murmured, his grin growing as he watched your eyes roll up in pleasure. He brought a large palm up to your cheek, bringing your blurry vision back to his own. His thrusts slowed, allowing his thick cock to drag along that throbbing spot within you. That had your back arching, muffled little pleas melting into the tape that was held firm over your lips. Iwaizumi sighed softly, his thumb rubbing over the tape to feel out the outline of your pretty lips. The action had you nuzzling into his palm, another string of muffled nonsense trying to escape the tape and failing miserably.

“I know you’re begging me to move faster under here... but remember princess, Master makes the rules. So let’s keep you quiet and I’m gonna fuck you nice and slow.”

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euphoricsunflowers · 3 years ago

Text

calling you daddy — monsta x

scenario: they ask about your kinks and you ask them to call you daddy

a/n: this is written with a fem reader in mind but is not strictly fem reader as no pronouns or anything is mentioned.

a/n: was this a request? nope tbh this was written for myself bc i’m sick and tired of seeing people call these men daddy so uh pls enjoy

word count: 2k

content: sub!monsta x, dom!reader, daddy kink obviously ajshdhs, minhyuk is kinda bratty? kinda??, lots of teasing and begging, mentions of consent and stuff

—

son hyunwoo/shownu:

he falls silent. he doesn’t know what to say in the slightest. he worries that he might hurt your feelings or say something out of line, but it just stuns him, “you don’t have to do it if you’re uncomfortable with that, bear. your consent is just as important,” you say.

but see that’s half of what’s stunning him. he’s not exactly uncomfortable with that. shownu’s nature is pleasing you, he doesn’t mind filling any role or position for you, this was just a little more intense than that.

“you know what? just forget we had this conversation. i don’t want you to feel pressured, and it’s not a big deal, okay?” you say.

but the idea lingers in his head whether or not you want it to. as the days go by, his mind wanders, and while it may not exactly be what he’d be into, he’s not against doing it for you.

as you manhandle him a little bit, he says it softly, “ah, daddy-,” it’s even more embarrassing than he imagined, and his cheeks and ears are flushed and hot, but when he says it, softly under his breath, just whispering it out to test the waters, he sees your shock and then your small little smirk.

“now that i know what it sounds like to hear you say that, and what that does to me,” you say, sneaking your hands under his shirt and letting them wander, playing with his chest a bit, “i don’t think it’s a good idea to say that if you wanna make it out of this bedroom spotless and in one piece.”

he blushes even more, a little shy and hesitant, but he likes having this kind of effect on you, so that may not be the last time he says it. besides, who says he cares if he makes it out in one piece? and spotless? his neck and chest and thighs were too clean anyway.

lee hoseok/wonho:

it was in the middle of you riding him, his wrists bound above his head with a rope that made his skin look so pretty against it. he’s already cum once, but you’re not stopping until you do, and he’s trying to keep himself together. your hands roughly playing with his chest is overstimulating and he’s overwhelmed. he pleads for mercy aimlessly, almost thoughtlessly.

but then, “if you’re gonna beg, call me daddy,” you murmur. he’s not even sure he hears you right when you say it. he looks at you with wide eyes, and he assumed he did because of the way you act. he knows he could stop you at any time because you’re very clear on consent and it’s not like this was completely out of left field considering how you’re already always in charge in the bedroom. he was just stunned.

and while he’s a little bit stunned, he also won’t deny that it is a little bit hot.

so he does, “please, daddy, it’s so much- i- i can’t handle it.”

he sees your smile, with just a drop of sadism behind the curl of your lip, “just a little more, baby, i’m close. you make daddy feel so good,” he gets so excited by the praise that he attempts to stick it out, forever still the man that just wants to make you happy and please you.

he forgets about himself and his own body for a moment when he feels your body tense up around him and you hold onto his chest as you orgasm, using him to get the most out of it before you slow down to a halt.

your heavy breathes and sweet nothings whispered in his ear are heavenly.

lee minhyuk:

“really? you’re into that? i honestly thought it would be the other way around.”

taken aback, you ask, “really? what gave you that impression?”

“idk, you don’t have this aura of dominance, so i didn’t really assume that was your thing.”

“is that- is that okay with you?”

he gets closer, teasing in the way he wants to make you shy, “you seem pretty bashful for someone who just asked to be called daddy in the bedroom.”

“minhyuk-,”

he rolls his eyes, obviously trying to get a rise out of you, “come on, i don’t even know if you have it in you.”

and something about his careless, taunting tone sets something off inside you, like he was challenging you. but it’s a challenge you take on when you approach him. your touch is softer, lighter than he imagined. he thought you would be lit aflame with a need to prove yourself to him. but you lean in to press a kiss on his neck and your wandering hands settle on his hips.

you’re gentle with him initially, yet he melts a little bit when one hand tightens and another begins to unbutton his shirt, giving your mouth access to his chest.

you push him onto the couch, straddling him and using a hand to hold both of his arms above his head, when you pull back, he looks dazed and needy, all those teasing smirks having faded off his features, “why are you so affected? i thought i didn’t even have it in me,” you say with a smirk this time.

he breathes heavily, “y/n- please-”

“oh please, that’s not my name anymore, min.”

yoo kihyun:

“you want me to what?!” his voice is randomly high pitched, loud, almost like he’s nervous or scared.

despite that anxious feeling you’re feeling too, you try to stay calm, “i understand if you’re uncomfortable by it, but you asked about my kinks, kihyun.”

“yeah i know- i just- i wasn’t expecting that- really? you’re not messing with me? that’s really what you want?” he looks exasperated.

“yes. i really want you to call me daddy.”

he goes silent, trying to comprehend in his head what the hell was going on and what he was going to do and why the more he thinks about it, the less vehemently against it he becomes. and he had spent the entire relationship making it clear that he cared about what you wanted (because he does) and it’s not like… he hates the idea of it, but it’s just so out there to him that he can’t even fathom or imagine it.

he asks for a few days just to think about it, and though the awkwardness lingers in the air, by the fourth day, it seems like you had mostly forgotten about it or at least it didn’t seem to be on your mind. he spends those days really thinking, trying to imagine what it would be like, why you would even want that.

but the next time you’re together alone, your hands and lips are on him and he experimentally says it, “daddy, please.”

the whiny, begging voice, coupled with the word, leave you stunned. you pull back with wide eyes, and he felt so embarrassed and shameful with your eyes on him like that, but then you pulled him back into you and kissed him with a certain kind of feverish desperation that made his knees weak.

chae hyungwon:

his reaction is oddly pretty calm. he asked about what you were into, and you told him. maybe he was expect something a little different, but to be honest, he knew you liked to be in control, and he usually just went along with it. he didn’t mind it especially because you always made sure you both felt good and that was all that matters. that and he kinda likes being told what to do.

so it doesn’t exactly surprise him, especially when you add, “but only in a sexual context! i don’t need you to say it all the time.”

“good because there’s no way in hell i’m calling you daddy in front of my friends,” he can see the thoughts behind your eyes wanting to take up that challenge, but he decides to ignore it, “as far as they’re concerned, i’m daddy.”

“sure, wonnie. sure,” you say dismissively, before looking back at him, “are you actually okay with it though? i know it’s… weird.”

“it wasn’t what i was expecting, but if that’s what you want, then i’ll do it.”

and as soon as you’ve got him under you, with kisses and marks trailing down his neck and chest, leaving him helplessly turned on and horny, he says it so naturally, you wonder if he even thought to do it. but whether or not he’s doing this solely for you, or because he might have found it a little hot, is between him and himself, “ahh, daddy, please- be gentle with me- i have a photoshoot in the morning- oh my god that feels so good please daddy don’t stop-”

lee jooheon:

he likes the idea of it when you mention it, he just gets kinda shy, “do you- do you really want me to call you that?”

you come closer, holding his hand and rubbing your thumb against it in a comforting manner, “yeah, i really like the idea of it. if you’re not completely against it, i’d be really happy if we could try it.”

“it’s not… the worst thing you could have told me you were into,” he laughs as your hand starts to massage his thigh instead, “we can try it. i'll tell you if we need to stop, but i think it’ll be okay.”

“good, i’m glad you’re reacting this way, honey,” you murmur as you kiss him, and he smiles, which, even if it makes the kiss a little awkward, is really cute, “sweetheart,” you whisper as you pull away, “can you say it? i just wanna hear you say it.”

your hands wander his skin nervously, he can tell you’re worried about him being uncomfortable, “ahh, d-daddy, please touch me more,” he whines, and he’s never been more compelling before, but somehow the use of that word really makes you want to give in and give him anything he wants, “please touch me.”

your hand falls a little lower upon his request, and he groans lightly, pulling you a little closer, “you’re perfect, baby, so pretty.”

“ahh, please,” he huffs, clearly growing shy with the praise, but it’s obvious he really likes it, so you touch him more and whisper sweet words into his ear with a kiss, “oh- oh my- daddy- please i-”

“you’re so cute, sweetie pie, especially when you’re feeling good, you look so pretty and content. it’s my favorite sight,” you say adoringly, looking at him with the biggest heart eyes.

“wow, i didn’t expect to like this this much but-“ he whispers, “-i kinda love it.”

im changkyun/i.m:

he doesn’t react much when you say it, making you wonder if he was uncomfortable or not into it, but in any case, you assume it’s going to be forgotten in a few days and there would be nothing to worry about.

until he’s trying to get you to play with him and you’re trying to work. he can’t deny that he gets horny easily and you’re right there! he tries to tease in an way he can think possible, but to no avail. you’re still just sitting there, typing away on your laptop.

“just another thirty minutes, and then im all yours, baby,” you murmur to him, and he pouts subconsciously out of frustration.

he gets an idea, and i’m sure you know what it is.

“alright, you’re busy and i respect that. i guess i’ll just leave you be and go play by myself, daddy,” he giggles when you look over at him for the first time in this encounter and then he walks away.

as he sits on the bed in your bedroom, he awaits the sound of your footsteps, knowing he’s won. the door opens, and you walk in too casually, enough to make him suspicious, until he’s pulled onto your lap with your lips on his shoulder. your hands sneak under his hoodie, and his hands brace himself on your shoulders for stability, “ah- y/n-”

“baby, i did not set aside my work that’s due tomorrow morning to come fuck your brains out just for you to call me that,” he shivers, so incredibly turned on, “try again.”

—

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#subidolnet #sub idol #sub!idol #sub!kpop #dom reader #dom!reader #monsta x #sub!monsta x #sub monsta x #sub!monsta x smut #monsta x smut #sub!shownu #sub!wonho #sub!minhyuk #sub!kihyun #sub!hyungwon #sub!jooheon #sub!changkyun

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goldentsum · 4 years ago

Text

━ submissives and overstimulation

CHARACTERS: bakugou katsuki, todoroki shouto, midoriya izuku, and kirishima eijirou

GENRE: smut

TAGS: overstimulation (male receiving), slight bdsm, oral, penetration, pegging, submissive males

AUTHOR’S NOTE: my first bnha fic please-! i missed bnha so i rewatched a couple of eps of s4 and i got an idea-- a sinful one anyway-

━ bakugou ♡

surprisingly submissive. you both know he can throw you off him if he wants to but bakugou lives for the dominance that oozes out of you.

a kinky piece of shit

in the moment, he has absolutely no filter and is a fucking brat about it, hips jerking and moans loud as fuck that after you two finish, his voice is all scratchy and raw.

but when you two are finished, he will get all embarrassed and angry if you comment about it like he wasn’t the one humping you like a dog.

overstimulating katsuki is always so fun!

bakugou growls whenever you two do something sexual but after a bit, it slowly turns into broken whimpers and you take pride on that.

his voice is just so fucking heavenly, his dick heavy in your mouth, and he taste absolutely delicious.

one of the reasons you love giving him head is his cum. his cum just taste so amazing. there’s a hint of sweetness to it that gets you hooked and keeps you wanting more.

so when it’s the 3rd time he came in your mouth, his voice is all raspy and raw and his body jerking nonstop but did you stop? nope.

he’s too fun to tease to stop~

“f-fuck, (y/n)! don’t... s-stop--!” bakugou gasping through his 3rd orgasm for the night, body all sweaty and sensitive, as he felt you swirling your tongue around his dick’s sensitive head.

you let of his cock for a moment, a lewd pop echoing in the room along with bakugou’s heavy pants. you smirked up at him, your hand encasing around his spent cock and rubbed him softly. it gained you a broken groan and a full on shudder, hips not knowing whether to lean away from your touch or thrust into your hand.

“do you really want to stop, katsuki?” you asked, taking the reddening head of his dick into your mouth and licking around it gently but even that was too much for bakugou

“j-just-- let me breathe a second... geez, woman--” he groaned out and sighed in relief when he felt you stop though you didn’t remove him from your mouth. bakugou closed his eyes, breathing heavily and trying to calm his rapid heart. but then he felt a harsh suck making his eyes snap open in surprise and sensitivity and looked down at you with wide blown red eyes.

“s-shit” his eyes rolled back to his head when you started taking more of him, your pace getting faster with each moment.

guess he just has to cum again, not that he’s really complaining.

━ todoroki ♡

todoroki is a brat. thank you for coming to my tedtalk. but seriously though, he really is. he likes getting on your nerves and testing you and your patience as he tries out different things to get you to punish him. oomf--

he likes seeing you angry and getting punishments. his favorite is over-stimulation and orgasm denial, either is fine but over-stimulation has a special place in his heart~

he is a masochist. periodt.

you don’t really like hurting him or call him degrading names cus you just wanna love him and kiss every inch of his body but shouto has different plans from you.

and as time pass, you kinda got used to it but never really full on be dominant and sadistic on him.

so when you snapped one day, it lowkey scared him but damn, the punishment was amazing. 100000/10 todoroki will repeat again.

ngl though, shouto loves your aftercare more than any kinky shit you two tried. even if his masochistic side just wants you to leave him aching and covered with cum and sweat as he feels so worthless like a used sex doll, your aftercare was everything.

it grew on you too, seeing him all bruised up and messy with cum and all sort of fluids raised a sick obsession in you.

just imagining the big powerful pro-hero tied up in your bed and letting you do anything to him was making you horny.

bratty masochist! todoroki is one hell of a ride. literally.

ragged breaths escaped you as you stared down at the male beneath you. todoroki moaning at the pleasure, his hips trying to match yours but it was a little difficult with all the restrains you have on him. the burning ache on his wrists and arms being tied to the bedpost for who knows how long as the build up for his 4th orgasm made him dizzy.

you bounced on his lap, feeling his large cock twitching inside you as it threatened to fill you up once again with his thick cum. over the haze of pleasure, you continued to watch your boyfriend get lost in the pleasure with his mouth open as a thin line of spit trailed down to his chin.

growling when you felt him cum again as you ride him through his 4th orgasm, letting your hands fall down to his bruised chest and scratched him, leaving angry red lines on his marked up torso.

todoroki groaned at the pain, hips frantically thrusting up to you and letting the overwhelming pleasure flood his entire body. broken moans and curses escaped the man when your thrust didn’t faltered even after his orgasm.

“if you think we’re finish here then you’re absolutely wrong, you fucking whore. we’re only gonna stop if you make me cum, got that. you’re nothing more than a useless fuck toy.” you spat out, gripping his chin to make him look at you. todoroki’s half-lidded and fucked out eyes stared at you, letting out moans in between words.

“yes-... u-use me more, m-mistress--”

━ midoriya ♡

this boy is one whiny mofo-- goodluck

midoriya may seem innocent but do not be fooled, he’s a sinful one. he may act all cute and stuff like that but when you two are alone, he will jump your bones like it’s no one’s business.

he completely trusts you so you two try all sorts of kinks even if the other is unsure. it’s not gonna hurt to try.

one kink he never knew he’ll have is pegging and you’re damn good at it. midoriya just can’t believe how well you just swirl your hips around making the dildo hit every spot in his walls that makes him see stars.

he’s really not afraid to be vocal and try all sort of things so sex is verryyy interesting.

everytime you fuck midoriya into oblivion with a strap on, expect him to cum multiple times until he can’t anymore. he’s super sensitive too so yeah.

midoriya cries when he’s sensitive but goddamn he looks so pretty like that.

tears spilling down his freckled cheeks, his lips swollen, and his muscles contracting from the immense pleasure you keep giving him.

he’s a greedy man though, even if he came multiple times he still gets soooo needy. loving the pain over-stimulation comes with.

you love seeing the number one hero putty in your hands~

sounds of skin slapping and midoriya’s loud moans filled the room, your tiring hips started to get slower making the man beneath you whine at the decreasing pleasure. you clicked your tongue at that, stopping completely and leaned closer to midoriya, your chest pressed against his strong back while he heave heavy breaths.

“s-sweets.. please m-move” he whined, grinding his ass to your strap-on and arched his back as he tried to get you to continue while he leaned against the pillow next to his head. his cock hanging between his thick thighs, cum spilling down his skin and to the blankets beneath him. he was still hard like he just didn’t cum 3 times already.

you bit the broken skin on his neck as midoriya moaned at your sharp teeth sinking into his skin and arched his back even more, grasping the blankets.

“good boys should take what they are given. no asking for more or less.” you said, hands moving to his chest as you thumb his nipples making him jerk his hips back and a hoarse moan escaping him.

you started to move your hips again while one of your hands went to his thick cock, pumping him with the same pace as your thrusts, and midoriya’s eyes rolled back to his head, loud broken moans escaping him.

you leaned away and pushed his head against the pillows, muffling his screams as you quicken your thrust. the strap-on hitting his prostate head on.

“let’s see how many times you can cum before you pass out, izu~”

━ kirishima ♡

red riot is a switch but leaning more into the dom side but this sweet boy loves getting praises and lives to please you. he will do everything in his power to make you satisfied and know that you are contented.

even when subbing, there’s still a hint of dominance to him. but! if you overstimulate him, his mind just melts and all thoughts and rationality flies out the window.

his reactions are also so fucking yummy~ teeth gritting together, sharp inhales, eyebrows furrowed in concentration and pleasure, eyes rolling to the back of his head, and hands gripping the covers of your bed as his quirk threatening to activate and just tear through the cloth.

i said it once and i’ll say it again, kirishima lives for praises.

so please praise him.

he’s also soooo sensitive. because when he was a teenage, he barely touched himself with how hectic UA was but when he finally had time and you came along, his libido just skyrocketed!

at first, he cums way to early but do not fret, kiri will never never leave you unsatisfied.

his oral techniques are top tier. you can’t change my mind.

kirishima also is pretty quiet with just loud grunts and groans but when he already came multiple times, he really goes feral.

he keeps on chasing the pleasure even though it probably hurts with all the sensitivity he’s feeling.

his moans are broken and it only gets louder at that point.

“baby girl, ahh- fuck--! you feel so good-” kirishima groans out, mouth open and showing those sharp teeth of his that you oddly had some weird fixation with. you looked at his lips, it was red and tender, as his teeth peaked out. you rolled your hips when you heard his small whine as your hand went to his mouth. shoving two fingers in his mouth, playing with his tongue that eagerly met your fingers.

feeling his cock twitch inside you, you smirked down at the fucked out expression the man was giving you. you pressed down to his throat making him gag but his thrust never faltered and only quicken at your action.

“you look so fucking amazing, eijirou~”

at your praise, his hips jerked and a loud moan followed it, a bit muffled by your fingers. riding him, you moaned at the pleasure he gave you as kirishima’s thick cock nudged your g-spot.

the red-haired male groaned loudly around your fingers when he felt you clench around him, your velvety walls tight and warm as you rip an unexpected orgasm from him.

hips jerking wildly when he suddenly came, pleasure coursing through his veins. a pathetic whimper escaping him when you continued to ride him. the sensitivity brought tears to his eyes but he didn’t stop you, body jerking when pain and pleasure hit him.

“i wanna see you cum again, ei~”

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stay-midnight · 3 years ago

Text

SKZ, Smut Headcannons

They/Them pronouns are used but here reader has a dick.

Read this at your own discretion — this is the most explicit thing I probably have ever wrote so please. Read. At. Your. Own. Discretion.

This contains: All Members’ kinks, what aftercare with them is like, their positions in bed (Dom/Sub and Top/Bottom) and more - This is more of a switch reader ig.

Note: Top or Bottom meaning the one who gives or receives, it’s usually only used on same-sex relationship unless pegging (The act of a woman penetrating a man with a toy or a strap-on.) is involved while Dom or Sub is used by the power dynamics in bed, meaning who takes the lead and who submits, this is why we have Subtops/Dombottoms.

a/n: This is me just passing time, also I was bored okay- also, this is my view on them so don’t @ me 😭. And oh yes, very classic idea. But i haven’t seen one for M. Readers tho mostly gender neutral and fem. readers.

~ All gif credits goes to their owners <3

Bang Chan

Switch leaning bottom, okay with topping but prefers to be on the receiving end. Soft Sub with Soft Dom Tendencies from time to time.

So like, I know almost or all of you see Chan as a Hard Dom/Top but hear me out—

Chan already takes care of 7 kids so he really just prefers to be taken care of in bed.

He doesn’t mind if you wanna go rough or soft on him, though he prefers you to be soft when he’s tired or after work.

He is barely a brat to be honest since he’s too tired so it’s very rarely you could put him in his place but from time to time he does like you being rough with him.

During more kinky nights though, well you have a plethora of toys to use on him~

He is a soft dom though during the times where you are extremely tired and just prefer to get led on so he’ll do just that.

He is pretty vanilla honestly, his kinks aren’t that wide or extreme.

Chan is very whiny and noisy in bed, whenever you are rough with him expect him to not listen to anything you say because he’d like to get what he wants. He would like it if you talk to him dirty though and praise him.

When you praise Chan, he’d be a good for you especially if you call him pretty or a good pup.

Kinks he likes that I can see are: Edging and Overstimulation (Receiving), Blowjobs (Giving or Receiving) and during more rough/kinky nights, he has a collar kink since he wants to wear it and for you to call him "puppy".

This one time you both had sex and he wore those wolf ears since he wanted to try. He looked cute and when you praised him. He lost control and went on all fours — him begging you to just destroy his ass.

His biggest no no is anything that gives you or him too much pain, spanking is okay but not too hard.

One thing that he wants to try with you is barebacking (unprotected sex) since you both always use protection for safety. He wants to feel your cock inside him with no barrier in between, he also want to feel you fill him up.

Aftercare with him is soft, even though he was the one who subbed for you he will check on you immediately with questions like: “Are you okay?” or something of the same.

He wants to ensure that you don’t have a domdrop.

So yeah, overall: Chan is a subby puppy that will still take care of you even if he’s the one to be limping the next day. That’s how much Channie loves you~

Lee Minho

Prefers to Top, but will bottom if you really really want it. Dom with Hard Dom tendencies, rarely subs but isn’t opposed to it.

Ah yes, Lino is a dom — what a suprise- (note the sarcasm pls-)

Minho just prefers to dominate/top you in bed, he wants you to whine and beg for him. He stares you down with those scary eyes of his.

Minho is an amazing brat tamer and he does not take kindly to them, so beware if you brat out. He will punish you, maybe even edge you till you finally become a babbling mess for him.

He also likes to tie you up and tease you, oh, dare I say that he wouldn't mind touching you in public, he would grab your ass a lot too and would squeeze your bulge if he sees you having one.

He isn’t much of a sub since he really just wants to fuck you senseless, ehem. I don’t make the rules— Would let you dom, if he sees you that way but still it would be fun for him to break a dom.

When with Minho though, passionate nights are rare due to him already being deep inside you fucking you into the bed roughly when he’s needy which is like every day— Mans has a high sex drive.

Though during those passionate nights expect Minho to be extra caring and soft to you cus' he wants you to feel loved through his pleasure.

His Biggest Kinks though are: Degradation and Petnames (Giving) Pain Play is also there (Giving) and he of course, likes teasing and hearing you beg for him. The petname he calls you is bunny and he degrades you a lot but if you don’t like being degraded he is okay with praising you instead.

He mostly calls you his cockslut or his cumdump (only if you agree on taking it raw) if not then he won’t call you any of these.

His biggest no no is anything with bodily fluids that isn't cum or spit. He hates getting dirty and he hates dirtying you too much, he is like a cat that’s why.

One thing that Minho wants to try with you is threesome, he wants to asks if you're down for it or not. If he sees you get angry though, he would deeply apologize and say that you were enough for him. But if you agree, Minho would either fetch Jisung to help dom you or Chan so you could help him dom him.

Aftercare with Minho is loving, he takes care of you and make sure you escape your headspace properly if you have one and he will praise you a lot like, “You did good for me, sweet bunny..”

Overall: Minho is a hard dom that extremely loves you and is thankful that you trust him enough during your heated sessions.

Seo Changbin

Switch, okay with topping or bottoming. Switch again, okay with domming or subbing. He likes to dom when he’s more energetic and likes to sub when he has those days that he just wanna lay down and let you do all the work.

Most of y’all see him as hard dom/top but I see him more of a switch. He has this cute side that I think is more submissive than you think.

Binnie wants to be taken care of softly. He doesn’t really like the rough treatment and prefers if you be soft with him if he is subbing/bottoming. He likes the petname "Bun" or "Bunny"

When you both had sex for the first time you expected him to be rough with you but he wasn't. He was soft and careful with you making sure you felt more pleasure than pain. He also prepped you as much as possible because he thought your moans was you feeling pain—

As scary as he may look he’s a softie, opting for more gentle sessions that rough ones. Sure there are some days were he prefers to just lift you up with his strong muscles and rail you against a wall but he mostly prefers the passionate nights.

Changbin when he subs likes to get tied up because he likes the feeling of constriction. He doesn't really tie you up much but from time to time he pins your arms as he fucks you.

He kinda doesn't know what to do with you when your bratty, he asked one of his members once and said member choked at the question. He gives you some slaps to your ass but that’s how far he got— So don’t be bratty with him, cuz he’ll be a confused bun.

Changbin usually bites his lips when he bottoms since he doesn't like letting out his sweet noises that is until you reassured him that it was okay and oh did he get loud, you were afraid that the neighbors heard him moaning out your name.

Changbin also has vanilla kinks since he treats sex as a way to feel connected to you. His sex drive is low actually, sex once a week is okay and he doesn’t masturbate much.

His biggest kink is Pet Play, call him bunny as you fuck into him or as he fucks into you. Either way, he’ll melt into a puddle.

He also likes to some Nipple Play, he likes you touching his pecs and kneading or teasing it. He also sucks on your nipple when he’s on top of you.

His Biggest no no is Sex Toys during a session, he is okay with you using it outside it as a way to pleasure yourself but he prefers giving you pleasure himself without the use of any objects.

One thing he’d really like to try though is Cum Play and Pec Fucking he wants you to fuck his pecs and cum on it his chest, smearing your own cum at his pecs. He also wants you to kiss him with his cum on your mouth.

Aftercare with Changbin is a very thorough clean up and check up session, he makes sure to make the bed comfy and clean to sleep on. If he topped he’d like to clean his cum of you, if he bottomed he cleans it himself but wouldn't mind if you wanted to clean it yourself.

Overall, Changbin is scary but really just a softie inside. He opts to care for you a lot since he doesn't like seeing you get hurt!

Hwang Hyunjin

Prefers to top because he likes to feel you around him, Hyunjin is a lazy dom honestly. He just lays down and watch you ride his cock — if he doesn't like the speed, he slaps your ass or that one time he decided to slap your dick.

I know most of y’all see him as a switch with a sub preference but I beg to differ— He is a dom in disguise :s

When Hyunjin wants sex he just grabs you away from where you guys get caught and lead you to a bedroom where fun times could happen.

He always like to see you on your knees, staring up at him. He also likes to see you choke on his cock too, because even he knows he has a big one. He likes it when things get messy as he tug on your hair while you were sucking him off.

He likes seeing your tears whenever he hits the back of your throat because he thinks you look ethereal when your crying — especially when you stare up at him when you have tears flowing down your cheeks.

Sometimes he calls you his "fucktoy" or his "cocksleeve" because it turns him on tenfolds especially when you obediently nod and agree to him.

Hyunjin also likes to suck you off especially if it's a way to tease you, he is very skilled at it apparently. He doesn't want you to come inside his mouth though, if you do then expect some sort of punishment.

He doesn't have a preferred nickname, but if you call him "daddy" he wouldn't be opposed to it — because he knows those titles hold power over you.

Hyunjin also likes to make out randomly. One time, one of the members caught both of you clearly getting it on the couch and his tongue basically shoved down your mouth. He likes it messy really. The member who say both of you was scarred though.

His sex drive isn’t that high but if you wanna fuck every day his down for it but if not it could be atleast 3-2 times a week.

He doesn't really like bottoming much, but one time he teased you by spreading himself and showing you his pretty pink hole. But in the end he still fucked you.

Even though he’s a lazy dom, he still always manage to turn you dumb just from the sheer size of his manhood. He also keeps a lot of toys around so expect to have a vibrator to be on your dick when you’re riding him. If you keep stopping or halting though he’ll change positions so he could fuck you hard instead.

His biggest kink is Blowjobs (Receiving or Giving) because he likes you to choke on his dick or he likes to just suck your cock. Bondage (Giving), he likes tying you up and seeing you all pretty and bare just for him. He even bought some nipple clamps and cockrings just so he could use them on you.

Hyunjin also takes pictures of you when he ties you up (with your consent of course) so that he could jerk off to them when he’s on tour or just away from you in general.

Hyunjin’s biggest no no is anything to do with piercing your skin — knives and needles, etc. He doesn't want to make you feel extreme pain because he wants to give you pleasure not pain. He spanks you sometimes but not to hard.

One thing that Hyunjin wants is to see you wearing a lingerie because he thinks that you’d look pretty wearing them. He would drool a bit seeing you so sexy like that.

Aftercare with Hyunjin is soft as fuck, he would baby you and won’t allow you to do anything. He treats you like a prince and makes sure you’re the most comfy after doing the deed.

Overall, Hyunjin is lazy in bed but he can snap and he will not hesitate to give you the rough treatment — Doesn’t matter how tired he is, he will destroy that ass.

Han Jisung

Pure Switch, can top or bottom — can also dom or sub. But it depends on his mood, if in a mood where he’s a bit angry or if you were being bratty — he’d punish you for it and if he’s angry, he’d opt for angry sex wherein he’d fuck you against the bedroom wall or just fuck you on the bed roughly and in doggy style.

“The birthday twins are switches y’all.” - Me quoting because I see so many bottom Jisung or Felix.

If he’s feeling a bit tired or he’s more soft, he’d rather let you do all the work. Softly, just laying down — letting out moans and whines as you fucked him.

He isn’t much of a brat when he’s feeling subby because he’s eager to please you in any way he can. He can still be bratty though, so expect some heat back. If you punish him though, he’d be quite giggly afterwards.

When domming, he likes being quick and rough — wanting to just hear your pleas for more, he also likes messing with your body — he squeezes your nipples or squeezes your cock — he does anything he can too make you writhe underneath him.

He also likes using toys — you guys have a collection of cock rings, different sizes of vibrators and dildos, ropes and handcuffs, a gag, blindfolds and buttplugs. Buttplugs are his favourites, you’ll see why later-.

Jisung has lots of fun power bottoming especially this one time that he stuck the largest vibrator you both had into you and placed it on a high setting. He rode you with a grin as tears fell from your face, before he wiped them with his fingers and kissed you to ease down the stretch and constant vibrations.

His biggest kinks is filling you up with his seed or getting filled up by your cum, he likes the feeling of being filled and wearing a buttplug to keep it in. He very much likes to fill you up to the brim and keeping you plugged up. It gives him the sense that you belong to him.

He also enjoys tying you up, so that he could ride you teasingly or fuck into you relentlessly, Jisung also likes to tease you in public — So expect some ass groping or thigh groping.

His biggest no no is Weapon Play — either with a gun or a knife because it’s too dangerous for him. He hates playing with these because things could go wrong and he wouldn't want both of you to end up in the ER.

One thing, I think that he would think about a lot is threesomes — he would ask if you were opposed to it or not cuz if not then expect Minho to show up on both of your doorstep one night.

Aftercare with Jisung is 80% cuddles and affection, 19% talking/praising and 1% actual cleaning, because he would be too lazy to get up after sex. He would just lay both of you down and praise you for either fucking him well or you being a good boy for him.

Overall, Jisung is a switch with a rough dom and a obedient sub tendencies. He will take care of you well and hopefully you do the same to him~

Lee Felix

Pure Switch can top or bottom — or dom and sub. But unlike Jisung, it depends on his partner not his mood. If you’re a sub/bottom, he’ll happily dom/top you and vice versa.

B-day Twins switches supremacy and y’all can't tell me otherwise 🤨

When you’re a switch, he’ll have sex with you depending on what position, you want — Felix always wants to make sure you, his partner gets the best fuck of their life. Wanna feel him clenching around you? He’ll happily bottom for you. Want his cock deep inside you? He can make it happen too.

When subbing, Felix is an obedient sub — ready to always please you, he never becomes bratty since all he wants is to make you feel good. He would follow your every instruction clearly. Felix is also amazing at blowjobs and has learned to minimize his gagreflex so you can fuck into his mouth without worrying of hurting him too much.

When domming, Felix is a dom based on how you like it — if you want him soft or a hard dom, he can be both. When you like him soft, he gives you praises and makes sure that your legs aren't wobbly the next day. When you like him hard — then he fucks you hard, grips your hair as he’s ramming into you. Loving your moans, whines and grunts of pleasure because it reminds him that he is making you feel good.

He always complains how small his hands is because he can't finger you properly.

He always likes to try out new kinks with you. You both tried kitten play, so coming home to a Felix with cat ears and tail buttplug was shocking and a huge turn on at the same time. He also wanted to try out a collar and leash with you, so as he rails into you he could pull the leash and pull you back on his cock. Both of you agreed to try more of those from time to time.

He has a unusually high sex drive, it isn’t Minho level high but it was high enough that you could fuck twice in one day. He asks you to fuck in a funny way too, “Babe, wanna fuck?”

His biggest kink is marking (giving or receiving) he likes leaving a lot of marks on you. So usually after sex. Yours or his body is full of bruises and bite marks — since when he goes to hard on you he sinks his teeth down on different parts of your body. He also begs you to mark him when your on top.

He also likes rimming, he is very whiny when you fuck him with his tongue. He always likes to feel your wet muscle against backside. He also likes eating you out, he spreads your legs sometimes too much that you have to say it out then he goes like “Oh shit, sorry.” then resumes to eating you out.

His biggest no no is Degradation, he doesn't like calling you names like that even when he is being a hard dom, he prefers to praise you dirtily like, “You look so fucking good speared on my cock, pup.”

One thing that Felix would try with you is Choking. He wants you to choke him while have sex or for him to choke you but he needs proper guidance for that cus he doesn't wanna accidentally kill you during the session.

Aftercare with Felix is full of him cheering you up with jokes cuz he doesn't wanna let you experience dom drop or sub drop. He will also tell you pick-up lines teasingly to make you smile and laugh.

Overall, Felix is a simp for their partner therefore would also be what his partner prefers him to be on bed, whether a top or a bottom, a dom or a sub. Felix has the ability to adjust!

Kim Seungmin

Top, he doesn’t like bottoming but willing to power bottom, very rare though. Dom, don’t even try to make him submit — he’ll put you back in your place for even thinking about it. He has hard dom tendencies but soft dom on more sensual nights.

Yes, I know that most of you see Seungmin as a sub (Whoever you are come fite me fr /j)

Seungmin doesn’t like to be topped nor does he liked to be dommed, try it and you’ll get a punishment. He’d make sure you’re limping for days to come.

Seungmin is a sadist, he likes punishing you and he gets off on you struggling or crying. He wouldn’t hesitate to get on top of you and just fuck you senseless to just see your pretty tears.

Oh, Seungmin hates brats so don’t even try. You’ll be either getting harsh spanking or on your knees — making you choke on his dick. He would edge you until you become a babbling mess. So beware brats, this puppy would immediately make work of you.

He also likes humiliating you, especially when someone points out that he’s the bottom/sub in the relationship. He would argue with that person calmly before he grabs you and show you on your knees for them.

He doesn’t have a high sex drive but if you really want him too, he could go atleast once everyday.

Seungmin likes to cockwarm you, it is especially common during cuddling sessions where he would just spread your cheeks or pull down your pants for him to just insert himself inside you.

He also like a bit of somnophilia but you guys have to talk that over and he needs your clear consent for it but expect to be woken up with him thrusting shallowly inside you if you agree.

On more softer nights, either him or you is tired then he is more caring — giving you praises and giving you soft touches. He would opt for cockwarming when extremely tired or just slow sex.

His biggest kinks are: Punishments and Dacryphilia, he likes punishing you — he doesn’t like brats but he likes giving you punishments from time to time. He likes making you cry because he thinks you’re pretty when you cry but from pleasure and slight pain of course.

He also likes placing a collar on you, but if you’re not into that he wouldn’t mind it.

His biggest no no is Blood Play, he likes marking you up but he wouldn't like to cut your skin and he doesn’t like making you bleed.

One thing that he’d like to try with you is gagging you with his used boxers. Idk, he just finds the sight of it, very hot. He’d be even more willing to make sure that hole of yours is gaping for days.

Aftercare with Seungmin is him checking up on you fully, making sure he didn’t hurt you too much and he’d place some cream on any bruises he made. He wants to make your mental state after sex is intact. And afterwards you’d have some cuddles while cockwarming (if you want), whispering words like “You’re so good for me, love.”

Overall, Seungmin is dom that doesn't like being told what to do, he’d always asks if he was treating you too roughly and he’ll tone it down a bit.

Yang Jeongin

Soft Top and Soft Dom, he doesn't like to bottom because he prefers to take care of you especially since he always get babied by his hyungs.

Dominant Jeongin Supremacy, if you think he is a sub (come fight me 😭 /j)

He always babies you in bed even if you’re older than him, he calls you sweet petnames like "bubs", "baby", and "sweetheart". Things like those.

He used to be very confused on what to do during sex, so he just does things that make you let out noises — like pinching your thighs, slapping your ass lightly, jerking you off slowly and kneading your chest.

Now though, he’s much more experienced and takes time teasing, and getting you riled up. He always slowly strip himself off his clothes because he knows you whine at him being slow.

He always kiss every part of you —from your jawline, to your cock even down to your entrance — his lips had touched every single nook and cranny of your body.

He also is a bit possessive of you sometimes, especially when one of his hyungs is a bit too touchy — he sometimes gets close to you and grabs your chin to kiss you possessively, glaring at his said hyung while lip locked. — he isn't shy when it comes to what’s his. Said member didn't appreciate the upfront make up session though-

Jeongin always praises during sex, “Such a good boy for me...”, “You take me so well, baby..” are just few examples, he also says “I love you.” to you during the session.

He isn't much of a hard dom to you, the hardest he got was where he fucked you and left you after he came — leaving you to jerk yourself off sadly, to cum. He felt bad after doing that so he came back a bit later to fuck you again and this time he allowed you to cum. This happened when you were being bratty.

Jeongin is pretty vanilla when it comes to kinks, but I guess sometimes he has some wild fantasies. He has a normal sex drive, he always calls you when he needs it.

His biggest kinks are: Praises (Giving) and Foreplay. He likes to give you praises because in his eyes, you’re always his good boy. He likes foreplay because he likes to takes things slow and sensual, he likes to tease you a lot too.

Another thing he likes is marking you. He especially likes it when another one of the members see it on your neck, seeing their reaction gives him great amusement.

His biggest no no’s are threesomes, foursomes and anything to do with sharing you. Jeongin doesn't like it one bit, if you even think about a threesome — expect him to teach you a lesson.

One thing, he’d like to try is rimming. He wants to eat you out a lot especially since he is fascinated with your ass. He squeezes it alot too and now he wants to fuck you with his tongue.

Aftercare with Jeongin is a fun one, after a short break after sex, he’d get on top of you and starts to tickle you not caring about the cum on your stomach or his cum inside you (if you agree on taking it raw)

Overall, Jeongin is a soft dom that makes sure you feel the most pleasure he can give, he also likes to praise you and makes you feel appreciated and special to him.

#kpop x male reader #stray kids x male reader #skz smut #dom stray kids #dom!skz #kpop imagines #stray kids imagines #x male reader #gay #lgbtq #skz #kpop x reader #stray kids x reader #stray kids headcanons #kpop headcanons #switch!reader #kpop smut #switch stray kids #mlm fic

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jackrrabbit · 4 years ago

Text

Spoiled Rotten /// Overhaul x f!Reader (18+)

Request: What if Overhaul fucks spoiled rich reader because her dad owes the yakuza money and in exchange Kai takes the daughter as a form of payment using her as his personal stress doll whenever and wherever he wants making her into his perfect little doll

A/N: While I was writing this my roommate asked if I was okay bc cause I kept stopping to fan myself and blush lmaooooo god I’m such a brat. I did change the concept up a bit, hope that’s fine!

This is dedicated not only to the OG requester but also to everyone who read the excerpt I posted a while back and told me they couldn’t wait to see the finished product!! Love you guys ❤️

Tags/warnings: threats, dubcon/coercion, dom/sub, brat taming, degradation, exhibitionism, restraints, mentions of forced prostitution, verbal & physical harassment, kidnapping, kinda breath play?, long

The first thing you notice when you come to are voices. Multiple people talking to each other, speech overlapping in patterns you can’t make out. They’re quiet—not whispering for your sake, but quiet because you’re still half knocked-out and you can barely hear.

The second thing you notice is the pounding in your head and the lingering smell of something sweet spread over your nose and mouth.

The third thing you notice is the fact that when you try to blink your eyes open, your lashes brush against something soft and dark. You’re blindfolded…and gagged, and your hands feel like they’re cuffed behind your back. From what you can sense around you, it seems like you’re hunched in a kneeling position with your cheek flattened against the floor and your bare feet tucked under your backside.

At least you’re still in your nightgown. You can feel the frilly silk of it, a useless barrier between your skin and the cool air, and it reminds you of how you got here in the first place.

A loud noise in the night. Your father’s voice pleading. A heavy thump. The door to your bedroom banging open and a strange man holding you down to your bed…lifting a sweet-smelling rag to your mouth…telling you to “take a deeeeep breath, princess.”

“Hey, I think she’s waking up.”

An invisible hand fists itself in your hair and you whine in pain as your upper body is lifted off the floor. Once you’re properly upright, you hear squeaking, shoes against concrete, and the heat and breath and presence of someone behind you. Something rustles at the back of your head—you’re too scared to move so you stay still—and then the blindfold is being lifted off your face.

Once it’s gone, you have to blink for a moment even despite the low light of the dingy room where you’ve…apparently…been kidnapped. By the freaking yakuza. And for some reason, they’re all wearing bird-beak masks.

You close your eyes, almost wishing they hadn’t taken the blindfold off. You’d prefer to live in blissful ignorance of how decidedly unclean the floor is. How dare they let your face touch it? What happened to honor among thieves?

“Do you know why you’re here?”

Against your will, your eyes flick up to the speaker. He’s the only one sitting, and somehow that gives him a position of power among the others. The leader?

Unsettling golden eyes rest on yours, and you realize he’s waiting for your answer, so you slowly move your head from side to side.

“Didn’t know about daddy’s bad habits, huh?” This time the person speaking is behind you, the one who untied your blindfold, a thin man with lank, greasy blond hair. He’s the one who drugged me, you remember in a surge of panic, and you try to stand up away from him only for him to step on the chain that connects your handcuffs, jerking you back and pinning you—painfully—to the floor.

“Careful, Setsuno. I told you not to leave marks. Let her talk.”

“Got it, boss.” The blond—Setsuno—fumbles at the back of your head and then he’s pulling the gag out of your mouth.

You open and close your mouth a few times to stretch out the stiff muscles. “Oh. My. God. Was that polyester you just took out of my mouth? Do you have any idea how bad synthetics are for sensitive skin? I’m totally going to break out.”

A hush falls over the little room. You could hear a pin drop.

“…Are you complaining about the quality of the fabric we gagged you with?” the leader asks after a second.

“You may be yakuza, but you don’t have to act like savages,” you reply primly, aligning your knees together and sending a proud look off to the side.

“Ohh…little princess deserves better, does she?” Setsuno coos. He edges closer to rub his cheek against yours and laughs when you cringe away from him. “Boss, you shoulda seen her bedroom. All pink and frilly, looked like royalty lived there. Bet they treat you like a real princess at home, huh? No wonder your daddy’s in debt.”

“Daddy isn’t—“

“Your father…took out loans from my gang. My men came last night to collect,” the leader says, drumming his fingers over the armrest of his chair impatiently.

He’s wearing plastic gloves. Why is he wearing plastic gloves? Immediately your mind is spinning, imagining all the different gruesome possibilities of what they’re going to do to you. “That’s ridiculous. My daddy doesn’t need to borrow money—“

“Clearly he does, because it looks like he pissed it all away on his daughter.” The leader’s eyes are cold enough to make you shiver—although maybe that’s just the icy temperature of the floor soaking through your nightgown.

“He had a couple payments overdue, so we stopped by to ask nicely for him to pay up,” Setsuno says, resting his chin on your shoulder. “Didn’t find too many valuables in your house, but then we got our hands on a real treasure.”

“Don’t touch me—“

“You don’t seem to understand the position you’re in,” the leader says. “When I made my contract with your father, he understood that obligations like these are inherited. Since he can’t pay his debt, you’re going to be working it off in his place.”

Working it off? You swallow. Somehow you don’t think he’s talking about your little part-time job as a receptionist at your daddy’s company. “You can’t make me do that.”

“I’m not sure you’re getting the gist, princess,” Setsuno hums. “What we’re gonna do is we’re gonna put you in a room, and then men are gonna give us money, and then we’ll let those men fuck you. All that money’s gonna go toward paying what your daddy borrowed. Sound good?”

For the first time since you can remember, you’re shocked speechless. They’re going to…what? But you’re a quick thinker, and instead of letting these filthy, awful gangters boss you around, you raise your chin haughtily to look directly into the leader’s eyes. “I don’t think so. If Daddy’s the one who got himself in debt, you can make him whore himself out to pay it back. You can’t hold me responsible for something he’s done.”

Another brief silence, and then you hear a whistle echo out from the corner of the room (and you try not to look toward it, reminding yourself that this can only get worse if they know how scared you are). “She’s got a mouth on her, Overhaul,” someone says.

Overhaul. So the leader’s name is Overhaul. How ridiculous; it sounds like a villain’s name.

“Aww, princess,” Setsuno says, and once again his voice is too close for your comfort. “Little spoiled princess doesn’t know how to shut her mouth and suck it up when things don’t go her way? Well…you’ll learn.”

You don’t want to know what he’s talking about, although if you thought about it for more than a second it’d be obvious. You suck in a harsh breath and the cool, damp air stings against your dry throat. “You can’t just make me—“

“Ohh, I think we can. See, if your daddy’s been spending all of the Shie Hassaikai’s money on his precious daughter, don’t you think you owe a little too? Like, this dress—“ you jump as Setsuno’s hand tugs on the thin, floaty silk— “was bought with Overhaul’s money, so it belongs to him, right?”

You keep quiet, not wanting to prompt him to go further, but when his hands stroke up over your waist to grope your breasts in full view of everyone else in the room, you don’t really have to guess.

“And, y’know, your daddy’s been keeping you nice and healthy with Overhaul’s cash, making sure you grow up into such a pretty girl…” Setsuno’s voice is a purr in your ear as his hands squeeze your tits almost lovingly, then pinch your nipples through the fabric. “So hey—if you think about it, this tight little body…belongs to Overhaul too. Isn’t that right, sir?”

You squirm in place as best you can but with the metal cuffs digging into your wrists, there’s nothing you can do to get away from his touch. You’re desperate enough to shoot a terrified glance up at the leader—surely there are rules about treating an innocent girl like this, even for the yakuza—but he looks as unmoved as before. “Get her out of my sight. We’ll give her a rest for the next few days, and then…”

“No!” you yelp, too panicked to keep up the pretense of confidence. “I won’t, I can’t do that, please don’t make me—“

“Shhh. You’ll get used to it, princess. And if you don’t…” Setsuno’s hand combs though your hair and then trails down your neck, tracing the path of your spine between your shoulder blades. “…well, you won’t really have much of a choice, will you?”

And then he’s tugging on your cuffed hands, pulling you to a standing position, but you wriggle away from him and do everything you can to stay planted on the ground so they can’t take you away from here, away from the only man who is capable of stopping this. Overhaul. “Please! I’m— I can work it off another way! I’ll be useful— I’ll—“

Overhaul leans forward a fraction in his chair, and you wonder if you’ve caught his interest. “What, exactly? How do you think you can be useful to me?”

You bite your lip and wrack your brains, not knowing whether the question is rhetorical. What skills do you have that would be valuable to them? Suddenly all the knowledge you’ve gained in your short life seems so meaningless. You’re a decent receptionist (well, decent is a stretch), but if Overhaul wanted someone to answer calls for him you’re pretty sure he would’ve asked.

Why did you spend your life learning such impractical skills? The four-year weekend course you took on horseback riding jumps to mind and you want to hit your head against the wall. Why didn’t you ask your father to sponsor a class in something that would actually matter in the long run? And what would even be useful to these people? Accounting? Bookkeeping? Extortion?

There’s nothing valuable you can offer. You’ve wasted your life, and now you’re going to pay for it. Seriously, the only thing you’re actually good at is keeping your boyfriends (or, rather, the men you cycle through once a month) happy until the novelty wears off and you get bored and move on to the next lovesick target—

—wait. Keeping your boyfriends happy. That’s a skill, isn’t it?

Once, a little bit after you turned eighteen, you’d had a rather illicit conversation with one of your more sexually adventurous friends about being a sugar baby. Your friend had just secured a very generous benefactor, and you’d been so intrigued by all the designer purses and vacations to Cabo that you’d almost considered trying it for yourself. She’d even helped you set up a profile on Seeking Arrangements that listed your physical features and interests, but you’d blanched when it came time to post photos.

“But why do men even like this?” you'd asked your friend after your picture-less profile received its dozenth unsolicited offer. “Rich, successful guys shouldn’t have so much trouble finding girlfriends that they have to resort to paying for sex.”

“It’s a power trip,” she’d replied. “Most men never get the chance to have a woman who’s willing to do and be whatever he wants, whenever he wants it. You’re his ideal girlfriend, his therapist, his wife, and his stress relief all in one.”

At the time, you’d decided against it, deleting your profile and telling your friend you’d rather just keep taking advantage of your real father doting on you than have to fake orgasms for rich men in their 50��s. But back then, you’d had a choice; now that you’ve been kidnapped by a gang who wants you to get fucked by a bevy of strangers to pay off a debt you’ve never even heard of, you no longer have the privilege of a way out. Or, at least, the options are a lot less appealing than before.

You tilt your head back to Overhaul, eyeing him for the first time with real scrutiny instead of prideful disgust. Judging from what you can see of his face under the ornate bird mask (and again, what is with the freaking bird masks?), he’s fairly young, mid-twenties at the oldest. Short, sort of wavy dark hair (you’ve always had a thing for dark hair), a trim suit and tie, and those eyes. Like he can read your mind just looking at you.

He’s…handsome enough, you have to admit to yourself. But it’s not just that. There’s something pristine about him, something untouchable that commands discipline. He’s clean. You and him are probably the only clean things in this hovel of a room.

“Well? I’m waiting,” Overhaul says.

And now that you’ve got the idea in your head, it’s almost too embarrassing to meet his gaze. But you can do this; you have to do this. At least it’ll be your choice, and—you’re hoping—it’ll be better than the alternative.

“I could be yours,” you tell him, taking pride in the fact that your voice isn’t breaking.

His eyes narrow and you think god, his eyelashes are long. It’s not fair. Men never appreciate having long eyelashes. What is he thinking? Is he going to kill you for even suggesting it? But it’s too late now…you have to dig yourself a little deeper if you don’t want to go through with their original plan for debt fulfillment.

You force your muscles to relax, knowing this’ll be impossible to pull off if you’re tense and biting down on the words like they’re going to choke you. If you’re going to make him believe it, you have to make yourself believe it too. “You… This job must be hard. Even for a—a powerful man like you, it has to be stressful, right? Always looking out for the interests of the gang instead of your own…needs.”

Overhaul doesn’t move, but you’re so focused on him it would be impossible for you to miss the way a single muscle in his neck flexes. You’ve hit a nerve.

You take a cautious step toward him, trying to channel the sexually-liberated vixen you consider yourself when you’re not in your nightgown surrounded by men who could murder you with their bare hands and not miss a minute of sleep. “You’re always giving, aren’t you? Looking toward the future of the gang? Doesn’t it get frustrating when—when a pretty thing is in front of you and you don’t even get…a little taste of her?”

Oh god, you can feel the humiliated heat rushing to your cheeks. How can you be saying this? You’ve played the role of seductress plenty of times before, but never in such a risky situation. You just have to keep moving toward him and hope it feels authentic enough to convince him.

“You’ve worked hard. And…like he said, my—my body belongs to you.” Now you’re close enough to Overhaul and he hasn’t stopped you, so you lower yourself onto the floor, knees bumping softly into the cold surface. Kneeling between his legs.

Overhaul stares down at you, gaze as sharp and cold as before—and you’re sick with anxiety, so scared you can feel your hairs raising up on end—but if he wanted you to stop, he would have said something, right? So you shuffle a little closer and nuzzle your cheek over the inside of his clothed thigh like a kitten, then raise your head up to him to give him your best bedroom look, the one that says, I want you. I need you. No one but you. The look no man has ever been able to resist.

“…You deserve something to yourself, sir,” you murmur.

There’s a collective intake of breath as every person in the room simultaneously realizes what you’re offering. Overhaul’s expression doesn’t change, but once again, a tendon jumps out white under the skin of his throat and there’s a creak of latex on leather as his grip on the arm of the chair tightens.

“Damn,” Setsuno says under his breath from behind you. Someone whistles. You’re pretty sure you hear the word ‘slut’ being tossed around, but there’s reverence behind it.

“And what makes you think you’re so valuable?” Overhaul asks.

You close your eyes to ground yourself for a second. He’s interested, you know that much. You’ve never really had to convince someone to want you, but there’s a first time for everything. Besides, you only have to look at him for a second to know he does want you, which isn’t a surprise. Who wouldn’t?

“I’ll do anything you want, be anything you want,” you tell him, echoing your conversation with your friend back then. “Take out your anger on me if that’s what you’re into. When you’re tired of me, you can consider my debt paid and let me go.”

“And?” he prompts.

‘And’? And what? You’re offering yourself to him, your body and your mind—what more can he possibly ask from you? You cast your thoughts around, wondering what else you have to give him. “And…and I’ll do it willingly. You, um—you look like a man who appreciates obedience.”

And that’s it. Your last shred of pride is gone. Not only are you offering yourself up to a man to use as his personal stress doll, you’re saying you’ll be compliant every step of the way. Knowing yourself, you’re pretty sure that’s impossible, but you just need to make him believe it long enough for you to find a way out of here. You can pretend to enjoy getting fucked by a gangster a few times. You’ll live.

But you’re naive. And with the stream of thoughts pushing through your head, you never really consider one thing, one essential thing: how you look pleading up at him in that pale pink nightdress—soft, pure, immaculate against the filth of the underworld, the only clean body that Overhaul’s seen in a long time.

And you’re right. He is a man who appreciates obedience.

“Willingly…so you’d be willing to prove it.”

Your head jerks up and down in response. Yes! He’s taking the bait, now I just have to get him alone and—

“Then demonstrate.”

When a moment passes and you don’t move, Overhaul tips his head to the side, gaze still locked on you, and gestures vaguely at his lap. You blink and then shy back, shrinking under the hungry gazes of the onlookers. “You can’t mean—in front of them?”

“And here I thought you were going to be obedient.” There’s no mercy, no amusement in his voice. No hint of humanity.

So he’s serious. He wants you to give him a blowjob in front of—how many? one, two three, four—four other men!? Your first instinct is to jump back away from him and your next is to slap him for even suggesting it; you can actually hear the jingle of your cuffs as you attempt to raise your hand. You’ve gotten a little kinky before—blindfolds, vibrators, maybe a hand tied to the bedpost with a Hermès scarf once or twice, but this is a whole different level. And the way they’re all looking at you…like they’re itching to see you brought down. How absolutely disgusting.

But Overhaul’s waiting for your answer, and you know full well that you’re not going to deny him.

“O-Of course.” You lean forward over the seat of the chair so your face is just inches from his lap. “Um. My hands...?”

They’re still cuffed behind you, but it seems like they’re going to stay that way when Overhaul gives a curt shake of his head. “Use your mouth.”

Once again, you’re stunned into silence. How are you supposed to—? Without your hands? It doesn’t even seem like he’s going to undo his pants for you. It’s like he wants to humiliate you…oh, wait. As soon as the thought crosses your mind, it’s clear that’s exactly what he’s trying to do.

You give him another doe-eyed glance, bidding him to at least undo his belt, but he remains unmoved. Bastard.

After aiming another glare at him (because as obedient as you’re attempting to be, you’ve never been good at concealing your emotions) you lean deeper in and take the stiff leather of his belt between your teeth, gently easing it out of the buckle and trying to ignore the mixture of earthy and metallic tastes it leaves on your tongue. It takes a few tries, but eventually you’ve got the tail of the belt out of the buckle and you pull your head back to guide the metal down until the belt is hanging open from its loops.

A rush of accomplishment surges through you when you get it open, and then you want to slap yourself. Accomplishment? From doing this with your mouth like an animal—like a dog? You can hear laughter and mocking encouragement from the men watching, but you steel yourself and dip back in to get Overhaul’s pants undone. The button is tricky, especially with your face nudging into the hard muscle of his abdomen through his shirt, but somehow you manage to tug the fabric slit over the button and then—delicately, delicately—clamp the zipper between your teeth and peel it downward.

“Oh, she’s good,” someone says from the background. Setsuno. You look up warily, but Overhaul’s eyes haven’t moved from you.

Now that you’ve got his pants open, you’re face to face (literally) with what you’re going to have to deal with. The outline of his cock is bulging the fabric of his boxers outward, and he’s not even half erect. You snatch a look back up at him—and damn it, you have to stop doing that, because every time you look into those golden eyes and that stupid bird mask you feel like a lamb looking at a bird of prey right before it snatches you from your safe little lamb-house in the meadow and—fuck, you just have to get on with it.

So you dip down and mouth over him through the fabric, spreading the flat of your tongue over the length of his thick cock. Your mouth feels like you’ve been eating cotton (probably because they drugged you earlier) but you force yourself to salivate, letting drool spill over your tongue and dampen his boxers. When you duck and spread your lips down on the place you can feel the tip stretching out, you know the friction must feel good, because despite the lack of even so much of a deep breath from the man above you, his cock is getting harder.

You nudge your mouth over the tent between Overhaul’s legs again, letting the heat of your breath wash over him—but when he doesn’t do anything, you pull back and blink up at his face. Does he expect you to get him off through his underwear? You could, but most of your moves depend on skin-to-skin contact. There’s no way you can get his cock out with your mouth like you undid his pants, so…what? “Are—are you going to take it out?”

Overhaul brings a gloved hand to his face to rub absently at one of the straps on his mask. “…Beg,” he tells you.

Your mouth drops open and you reel back from his lap like he asked you to lick the dirt off the floor. What!? He can’t seriously expect you to—to beg him to put his dick in your mouth when you’re clearly disgusted at the whole situation. When he doesn’t give any indication of retracting the statement, you can’t help the mocking sneer that forms over your face. “Please, sir,” you spit, and a deaf man could hear the spite in your voice.

Now, that gets a reaction. Overhaul’s eyes flash and you take a certain degree of pride back at the anger you’ve clearly inspired in him. But it’s extinguished as soon as you see it, and then he’s reaching down to cup your chin, tilting your head back and rubbing his thumb over your lower lip.

“I think you can do better than that, princess,” he says, and you can hear your own mocking tone reflected back in his voice. “Unless you’d like me to give my men a turn?”

This, more than anything, scares you. He must be able to feel the way your spine goes stiff, adrenaline rushing, your fight-or-flight instinct kicking in at the prospect of what he’s threatening.

“Each of them, one by one. Between the four of them, I think they could cure that smart mouth…although they might just break you in the process,” he continues, and then his thumb is pressing into your lip, into your mouth, and you loosen your jaw to let him in. You can taste the rubbery latex of his gloves and the other men mutter agreement, encouraging their leader to turn you over to them, and you want to cry.

But you hold the tears back. “Please, sir! Please, please may I s-suck your cock sir? Please!” Your voice is more terrified than obedient, but that’s probably what he’s into anyway. When he doesn’t say anything, you babble on, unwilling to let yourself get gangbanged by a group of men who could probably wreck your pussy in a single round. “Please, please, Mr.—Mr. Overhaul, um, boss? M-Master?”

“Sir will do just fine,” Overhaul says, apparently satisfied, and he pulls his hand away from your face to free his cock from his boxers.

You let out a hot sigh of relief and angle yourself back toward his lap so you can zero in on his cock (and, hopefully, do a little to block out how sickeningly degrading all of this is: how easy it is for him to threaten you; how he has all the power and you have none; how the men around you are goading you, taunting you and calling you things that should get their mouths washed out with soap). You can focus on this, and this, at least, you’re good at. You’ve always been good with your mouth.

It’s a nice dick, too, you have to admit to yourself as you stare at it. Perfect length, girth, and a thick, cut head that you know just by looking that you’re going to have to stretch your jaw to get around. All his hair is neatly trimmed and groomed, and he even smells good, clean and fresh like soap. You’ve never been in front of a dick that didn’t smell like day-old ball sweat, so this is a first. It’s got a nice upward curve, too, and there’s a bead of pearly precum oozing out of the tip. The kind of cock that’s made for penetrative orgasms—

No. Fuck. You cannot be thinking this. You cannot allow yourself to lust after a gang leader who thinks of you as little more than an interactive sex doll. A tingle of blood rushes to your cheeks as you feel wetness pool in your panties and you adjust your stance, shuffling your thighs apart under the pretense of getting closer and hoping Overhaul doesn’t notice.

If he notices, he does the merciful thing and keeps quiet (which makes you think he has no idea you’re feeling the way you’re feeling, because he’s probably never chosen to do the merciful thing in his life). He does, however, shift one of his knees farther apart to accommodate you as you crawl close enough to him to get your head all the way between his legs.

So now you’re staring up at that unfairly pretty cock and wondering how the fuck this is supposed to start, but—best just get on with it. Pretend it’s not him, pretend it’s…no, wait, pretend it is him, it is Overhaul, the same bastard who’s looking down at you like you’re trash, except pretend you’re in control. Because no matter how many orders he gives, once you’ve got his cock in his mouth he’ll have to be the weak one. Right?

Lightly, slowly, you trace the tip of your tongue in a wet path up the underside of his cock, sliding up from the hilt to caress every bulging vein with all the delicacy and accuracy of a surgeon. When you reach the tip, you flatten your tongue to curve it around that bulbous head and then slip it off, the suction providing a wet smacking sound as your skin leaves his.

The breath of his barely-heavier exhale ruffles your hair and you relish the knowledge that he’s getting impatient. Yes. The bastard can wait.

You kiss the tip of his cock, barely moving your lips around the slit, only enough to let your tongue flick out against the precum and gather the bitter liquid up in your mouth. And then—right when he’s getting annoyed, when you can tell by the tension in his body that he’s five seconds away from shoving your head down to fuck your face—you duck closer, relax your throat, and swallow.

Like a fucking python. Or so you’ve been told.

The exhale that escapes him isn’t light this time. You can almost hear the barest hint of a groan under his breath, but you’re more focused on holding down your gag reflex as you let that heavy cock hit the back of your throat. Once he’s all the way down (or at least as far as you can get him), you rock yourself back an inch and then take him deeper, forcing yourself to hold still so he can feel the walls of your throat convulse around him, sucking him in, dry-gagging on the mass that’s filling you up.

“Fuuuuck,” you hear someone whine, and it’s not even Overhaul. It’s one of the men watching, and you feel a perverse mixture of hatred and arrogance rise up in you.

Overhaul’s cock is too big for you to properly moan around it, but you give it a go anyway so he can feel the vibration of your voice through his skin. You’re rewarded with a tangible twitch with it sitting on your tongue, and—oh—your mouth is watering out of where you’re clenching down on him at the back of your throat.

Spittle slips out over your lower lip and onto your chin, but you ignore it in favor of jerking your head up and down in fractional strokes, trying your absolute best to get yourself down to his base but knowing that he probably doesn’t give a shit anyway, not with how good your throat feels around what you’re capable of stuffing in.

What were you saying about ‘valuable’, sir? you think, and then you pull your head off his cock, so slow it’s almost cruel, sucking your cheeks in and hollowing out so those wet walls are rubbing up on every millimeter of his skin. When you reach the tip, you savor it, letting your tongue do the dirty work and looking up at him through your lash extensions before you release him with a nasty wet pop.

“Holy fuck, can I have her next?” one of the other men says, but you and Overhaul are too focused on each other to even look and see who’s talking.

His gaze is trained firmly down at you, and—no way, damn it—he looks bored, like he could be waiting in line at the DMV instead of getting sucked off by you, a girl who’s been complimented by every man she’s ever been with (including her first) on her bj technique. You know he’s feeling it—he can fake calm, but he can’t fake the way his cock’s throbbing under your tongue as you lick up the shaft. Still, now that you’ve got it in your head that Overhaul’s not going to make a sound, all you can think about is forcing him to moan. Let him look weak in front of all his little lackeys.

With renewed vigor, you lap up the length of Overhaul’s cock in sloppy dabs, leaving strings of saliva dripping off your mouth and his cock only to slurp them up, audibly, wiggling your tongue over the tip when you reach it. And that, that gets him, because you feel more than see the buck of his hips into your face as he hisses out a curse.

And—oh dear, maybe you shouldn’t have done that—because the next thing you feel is Overhaul looming forward over you, hand gripping the back of your head, and is he going to force you down? You hate that—so you take the initiative, tilting forward to take him into your mouth again, head bobbing up and down so quickly that your hair is falling all over your face, but it’s okay, because he’s got you, he’s got you, got his hands combed through your hair holding it out of your face, pulling so lightly it barely even hurts, but it does hurt, and he’s guiding you up and down on his cock and it’s hitting the back of your throat every time, and—and it hurts.

You really shouldn’t have done that.

“Take it deeper,” Overhaul instructs, almost encouraging, although you’re not given the option to pull off because he’s holding you down, pushing you firmly toward the base of his cock. You sputter around it, gagging, and you’re almost fucking choking, and he won’t let you up.

God, you’re not—not breathing, you can feel your throat choking down on him—“breathe through your nose,” he says, and this man, this villain has no idea what he’s fucking talking about, because you’re trying, eyes stinging and then you can feel tears down your cheeks. You try to squirm back on your knees, but somehow the combined force of every muscle in your body is outmatched by his single hand on the back of your head—and—and—you squeeze your eyes shut, relax, open your throat as much as you can and—

Overhaul forces your mouth down to the hilt.

Fuck, is he going to keep you there? You can’t, you can’t—if you could move, you’d be shaking your head and begging him to let you stop and as it is you’re whimpering around his cock. Your throat is making gagging noises and you’re crying, actually crying, actually fucking crying on a man’s dick. So this is what it feels like to be used?

“Good.” There’s something lower and darker in Overhaul’s voice, a husky undertone from the growl he’s trying to suppress. “Hold still…remember, you asked for this.”

You did. You asked for it. Begged for it. Pleaded.

“Want me to forgive your father’s debt…? You’re going to have to earn it.” He pulls out an inch just to ram himself back in. You make a weak attempt to move your tongue around his shaft and you can feel the shudder all the way through him, his cock twitching where it’s locked in your throat. “Mm…good girl. Just a little—little longer—“

His fingers are tightening in your hair, curling around the strands and tugging instead of just applying pressure to your head. He’s close, you think, and then you struggle back, not wanting him to cum down your throat, what if you choke on it? Like, really choke? You don’t want it, don’t want his cum in your stomach, but then he sighs and tells you again that you’re a good girl, and ohfuckohfuck you must be so scared you’re desperate for praise because you feel heat rush into your cheeks and your cunt when he says it and you try to move your tongue like you did earlier and his hips jerk forward and—he cums. In your mouth.

It’s salty, you think. The next thing you think is that you want to gag, because you’ve never had cum in your mouth before. For all your sexual experimentation, you’ve never let a man cum down your throat like this, always telling them it shoot it on your tits or whatever because you are not a person who should have semen in her mouth, much less ingest it.

But right now, with Overhaul lazily dragging your head up and down for a last couple pumps on his softening dick, your choice isn’t spit or swallow. It’s swallow or choke.

Hot. Thick. The texture is slimy, so viscous you can feel it going down your throat in strings. Part of you wants to throw up. It’s repulsive. Filthy. You hate this.

Part of you has to shift your position again so you don’t have to feel your own wetness slicking up the insides of your thighs.

How. Is. This. Possible. You may have just had to swallow your pride (and not just that), but what about your dignity? You’re a good person…okay, well, even if you’re not a ‘good person’ per se, you don’t hurt anyone with your selfishness. You don’t deserve to be kept as a pet by a sadistic bastard who gets off on watching you almost pass out on his cock, and you certainly don’t deserve the humiliation of finding that you’re turned on by it.

And yet. Here you are. Still held securely in place until Overhaul slides you off him. As soon as your mouth is free you suck in a dizzyingly deep breath, but even that is too much for your battered throat and the breath turns into a cough; you instinctively fold down away from Overhaul so the mixed saliva and cum you’re hacking out spatters in cloudy white flecks across the floor instead of on his clothing.

“Stop that,” Overhaul scolds, hauling you back up by your hair and forcing your mouth closed with a hand on your jaw. “If you make a mess, you’ll be cleaning it up.”

Considering what he just made you do to him, there’s no doubt in your mind that he’s implying you’ll have to lick it off the floor. You clench your jaw, holding back the convulsions of your throat as best you can, and hope he doesn’t press the issue.

Now that you’ve got your coughing under control, you can start to sense things that you had been tuning out before: the men hooting and wolf-whistling and applauding your performance, the traitorously persistent throb of your clit pulsing under your panties, and Overhaul’s hand releasing your chin to pet down your neck. “Now. What do you say when someone gives you a meal?”

Just you wait, bastard. I’m going to tie you to your bed and set fire to it. But you’ve got the sense that that answer won’t go over well, so you take a deep breath and look up at him again, meeting those piercing gold eyes with your own. “Thank you, sir,” you say in a soft whisper because it’s all your abused throat can manage.

“That’s right.” His hands feel colder than the concrete under your legs as he spreads his hand down your neck, only to toy with one of the lacy pink straps of your nightdress. “Stand up.”

You stand shakily, too cowed to even consider stepping back from him. Without warning (much less permission), Overhaul lifts the hem of your stupidly short dress up past your thighs, exposing your panties and lower belly to view.

“Hold this in your mouth,” he says, and after only a few seconds of hesitation you open up and bite down on the fabric so you’re effectively holding up the skirt for him. Overhaul skims gloved hands down the sides of your hips and comes to a rest when he reaches your panties—and why did you have to wear these today? Shiny red satin in the front; the back is just flowers worked in crimson lace. You know exactly how good you look in these panties, and judging by the things Overhaul’s men are saying, they’re more than appreciative of the view.

But Overhaul ignores them in favor of hooking his fingers under the elastic and pulling the panties down until they’re resting stretched between your upper thighs. You don’t have to see them to know there’s a string of slick connecting the lips of your cunt to the fabric, betraying in full technicolor detail how turned on you’ve gotten just from sucking him off. He gazes down at your pussy and then up to you as if waiting for you to admit it, but you stay silent.

“Well, well. What a nicely-trained slut I’ve found myself.” He gracelessly pulls the panties the rest of the way down your legs and lets them fall to the ground. “Do you always get this wet when you let your boyfriends fuck that smart mouth?”

It takes you a second to comprehend that he’s expecting an answer. “N-No, sir,” you reply, voice muffled by the fabric you’re still holding between your teeth.

“I suppose I can’t leave you like this, not after you took me so nicely.”

Does he mean he’s going to get you off? No freaking way. You drop the hem of your dress, let it flutter down over your thighs, try to scramble back, but his hand on your waist keeps you from moving. “I— It’s okay, I don’t need—“

“No, I think you do. I think I’m going to reward my pet for a job well done.” He leans back, eyeing you without sympathy. “I’d have you touch yourself, but—“

The mere possibility that he might remove the handcuffs has you straining against them again, and the sound of metal against metal rings out from behind you.

“—but, I think it’s best to keep the cuffs on for a few days…until you’ve settled down.”

Days? He can’t leave you in chains for days, helpless and powerless, so easy to take advantage of. “You can’t,” you whimper, and even though you mean for it to be a decisive statement, with your throat ravaged and hoarse it’s downright pathetic. Overhaul doesn’t even bother reprimanding you for talking back.

“My men have been patient,” he muses, and an enthusiastic wave of agreement wells up from the others. “Any of them would be happy to do it.”

You may have been through a lot in the past hour alone, but there is no way you’re going to let those rowdy criminals have their way with you. You send a nervous glance around the room and as predicted, not a single one of them looks like they have the slightest shred of control over themselves.

None of them…except Overhaul.

Still eased back in his chair, he looks just as relaxed and unaffected as he did when he was explaining your father’s debts to you. But there’s something flickering in his eyes, something he isn’t going to say to you, isn’t going to say out loud. A challenge.

Maybe, once again, he’s waiting for you to ask for it yourself. And if it’s a choice between him and one of the grimy ruffians who’ve been looking at you like dogs look at meat, you know what you’d prefer. Well—really, you’d prefer option C: none of the above (your current state might be uncomfortable, but you’re not so wanton that you’d rather cum in front of strangers than keep your legs together). Unfortunately, you’re starting to come to terms with the fact that ‘no’ is no longer an option.

Overhaul’s stare flicks from you to an unseen figure behind you, and you can tell he’s about to summon one of them over so you force yourself to move, lurching forward and climbing into his lap to straddle one of his thighs with all the grace you’re capable of. You feel the stir in the air when he inhales sharply, surprised, and his masked face is so close to your neck that you wonder if he can smell the lotion you put on before you went to bed last night.

It’s one of your favorite scents: vanilla, lilac, orange blossoms. You bought it because it smelled pure.

“Please, sir, I don’t want them,” you breathe next to his ear, injecting every ounce of sexual frustration you’re feeling into the needy tones of your voice. “I’m yours. I belong to you, just you. No one else—please, sir…Overhaul.”

He’s quiet for a long, tense moment, and you think he’s going to hit you, or maybe even kill you for your disobedience. Push you off his lap at least. But just when you’re teetering on the edge of jumping back from him and begging for forgiveness for talking out of turn, you feel it—a low rumble of laughter from deep in his chest.

Big, cold hands wrap around the sides of your ribcage under your breasts and his fingernails dig into you through the layers of latex and fabric. He tilts forward, forcing you to arch away and all you can think about is how horribly weak you are compared to him. Are you trembling? Will he be angry if you feels how afraid you are?

“You know, I guess I’ll keep you after all,” he hums, stroking his fingers through your hair and down your neck. “How does that sound, princess? I think you’d like that very much, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes, sir.” The response comes all too easily, even if the words taste bitter in your mouth. You’ve never said the word ‘sir’ so much in your life…but as he repositions you on his lap and slides a single hand up the inside of your thigh under your dress, you bite your lip and decide to hold back your protest.

If you’re going to have to learn manners, you’d better do it sooner rather than later. Something tells you Overhaul’s not going to accept any less than your best behavior if you want to pay off your debt.

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