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lay-z · 1 month ago

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How your men experience their first Father’s Day after you’ve given birth to the twins.

The only ones who remember are Kyle and Johnny, because they’re still in contact with their families and actually care about their fathers—yet they’re oblivious to their own situation.

They’re all fathers now, all four. It’s been decided since they made you theirs three years ago.

Still, it’s surreal to them, the fact that they’re considered dads now, so they’re just as baffled as John and Simon when you suddenly go out of your way to make their day special despite your own exhaustion.

John, who’s usually the first one up while the rest of the house is either eerily silent or filled with a snoring concert given by three other men, saunters into the kitchen after finding your spot in the martial bed empty and the nursery, too.

His expression turns the slightest bit sour, not knowing where you and the babes have gone this early without telling anyone, though as soon as the smell of freshly brewed coffee and waffles hits his nostrils along with his favorite sounds reaches his ears—your gentle cooing and the adorable babbles of his babies—John Price is an absolute goner.

Your eyes light up with glee as soon as you see his reaction. “Good morning, papa,” you greet him, standing behind the two highchairs of your babies, their chubby cheeks and mouths covered in waffle crumbs and mushed strawberry pieces. “Sleep well?”

“I–” John’s chest feels terribly tight at the sight in front of him, how your eyes shine so brightly, and how his children smile their gummy smiles, babbling happily as soon as they notice him, too.

“Your chipmunks are saying Happy first Father’s Day, daddy!”

His throat clicks as he swallows hard trying to keep himself from tearing up. Words fail him as he stands there, love and gratitude blossoming fiercely in his chest and warming him up from the inside out until it burns in his fingertips and he can’t keep himself from approaching you and his babies, pulling you into a bear hug and kissing you slow and deep before smooching both his chipmunks’ chubby, sticky cheeks until they squeal.

While John has breakfast and watches over the twins, you go upstairs after hearing the toilet flush.

The ensuite bathroom door is cracked open; light spills into the bedroom, illuminating the silhouettes of Simon and Johnny still sleeping soundly in bed.

It’s not easy to sneak up on a Special Forces operator, but somehow you manage while Kyle is bending over the sink, rinsing out his mouth after brushing his teeth, and his soul nearly leaves his body as he jumps and barks a high-pitched yelp.

There’s some movement and rustling of bedsheets coming from behind, but your focus is on Kyle as you grin at him.

“Bloody Christ, baby,” he curses under his breath, clutching his beating heart. “Nearly gave me a heart attack.”

You chuckle, stepping up to him until your chests nearly touch. “Skittish, are we?”

Droplets of water drip off his chin, nostrils flaring as he glares at you for a few seconds—until his lips split into a bedazzling smile and his hazel eyes light up like fireworks in the night sky.

“Cheeky minx,” he chuckles whilst slinging an arm around your waist to pull you flush against his solid frame. “G’mornin’.”

You’re swift to reciprocate the embrace, wrapping your arms around his midriff before nuzzling against his sternum while warmth and the smell of sleep and comfort are still clinging to him.

“Good morning, baby.” You mumble into his shirt. “Happy Father’s Day. I already made a special breakfast for my sweet, sexy hubbies.”

But Kyle’s brain has already short-circuited as he realizes what day today is, and his fingers flex around your waist, needing to ground himself as his heart flutters rapidly in his chest, full of love and awe for the extraordinary little family he’s claimed for himself.

And he embraces you tighter, burying his nose into the crown of your hair with a sigh.

“Thank you, my love.”

When Kyle parts from you, though not without another lingering smooch to your lips after absolutely railing your mouth with his swift tongue, to go downstairs to see his precious babies, you pad into the still semi-dark bedroom instead, crawling onto the custom-built bed toward the source of gravelly snoring.

Simon must have snuck out while you were busy with Kyle, because now it’s only Johnny in bed, still splayed out on his stomach and with his head buried under his pillow.

“Johnny,” you croon against his neck before playfully biting into the delicious thickness of his nape, eliciting a soft hum that dissolves into a whine when his body begins to stir. “Wakey, wakey, Johnny.”

“Mhmmmpf–uuuck.” He burrows deeper under the pillow but pads his burly hand across the mattress uncoordinatedly, trying to snatch you up blindly. “Jus’ c’mere, hen.”

A shriek escapes you when he does manage to catch your wrist only to roll onto his side and pull you in with ease, murmuring into your hair: “Thought ye could escape me, hm?” He chuckles darkly. “Nae.” His voice is even more attractive like this, rough and rich, hot gun oil dripping over gravel. It causes your thighs to squeeze together, and your breath hitch when arousal pools into the gusset of your panties while his limbs coil around you like a bloody snake.

You tap out against his forearm that is now tucked under your chin. “I yield, J-Johnny!” He laughs again, a little louder when you bite into his arm, tugging on coarse body hairs.

“S’tha’ how ye alway gonna wake me up on ma special day, duckie?” he coos, tightening his hold as you try to squirm only to end up mewling pathetically—which you’re aware is already a dangerous sound to make around Johnny. “Gonna make me a da again, hm? Want me ta fuck ye while our boys are havin’ a cuppa?” You can’t bite your lip hard enough to keep in your moan as he grinds the swelling bulge inside his boxers against your rear. “Have ye waddle ‘round the house while ye carryin’ our babe again?”

Once you mew out a pathetic little ‘yes, daddy’, it’s over for you.

By the time you’re able to walk and somewhat presentable again, Johnny is whistling a merry tune under the shower while you clutch the stair-rail as you make your way downstairs once more.

John is reading the newspaper at the head of the kitchen table, still sipping on a coffee, Kyle is seated across from him, scrolling on his phone while nibbling on a buttered toast, and the twins are nowhere to be seen.

“Had fun, baby?” Kyle asks cheekily while you blink away the post-orgasm daze. “Where are our children?”

“Hm?” The newspaper crinkles when John peeks over the edge at you, the crunch of Kyle biting into his toast filling the tense silence before you gesture at the empty highchairs. “Our babies? They can barely walk, so I feel stupid to ask where did they go.”

“Ah,” Kyle chimes in, wiping crumbs from his mouth. “Simon,” he swallows thickly, “said he’ll put ‘em down f’nap time.”

“By himself?” you ask incredulously, brows furrowing. “They’re blessed with three daddies and–”

“Darlin’,” John cuts you off before you can go on a rant, and your lips shut as you meet his stern, steel blue gaze. “Simon needs a moment alone with them. Okay?”

Now that really shuts you up, and you nod after a moment, feeling utterly stupid for not even considering that today could mean even more to Simon than it does to your other husbands.

The kitchen becomes livelier when Johnny joins the bunch; mohawk still damp, rocking sweats and a muscle shirt along with a shit-eating grin. He places a wet peck on your cheek before cupping your jaw and turning your face for a proper kiss.

“Woah, woah, haven’t ya had enough yet, Tav?” Kyle complains, coming up behind you two while John watches in amusement. “Never,” Johnny retorts with a snort before grabbing Kyle by the back of his neck and crashing their mouth together in a bruising kiss—all while you can merely squeak at John for help, sandwiched between their bulky bodies.

When you manage to escape the usual kitchen chaos, you make your way upstairs, coming to a soft stop in front of the door to the nursery. As you press your ear to the wooden door, you can hear the low murmur of Simon’s voice, though you can’t quite make out what he’s saying.

The door creaks the slightest bit as you open it carefully to slip inside, and the sight that greets you nearly takes your breath away by the way your heart clenches so tightly.

Simon is standing by the twins' cribs with his back turned towards you, his massive frame barely illuminated by the soft glow of the teddy bear night lamp on the nearby commode.

He’s simply been talking to his babies.

Slowly, you approach him on socked feet, your steps nearly silent on the plush carpet except for the trademark crack of one of your knees. As soon as you’re close enough, you embrace him from behind and rest your cheek against his shoulder blade while he slowly starts melting against you.

“You deserve it just as much, Si,” you whisper, tightening your arms as best as you can. “Happy Father’s Day.”

And you can feel how he inhales sharply, how his body tenses for a few seconds, before he relaxes again. The click of his throat loud in the otherwise quiet room as he swallows thickly, cupping his larger hands over yours and intertwining your fingers.

“Thank–Thank you, lovie,” he sniffles quietly.

And you both end up watching your beautiful babies sleep peacefully.

I know it's too early, but Father's Day was last week here in Germany, so—Happy Father's Day! ❤️

#tf 141 x reader #call of duty #simon ghost riley #poly!141 x reader #john soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick #john price #simon riley x reader #johnny mactavish x reader #kyle garrick x reader #john price x reader #cod x reader #ghost x reader #soap x reader #gaz x reader #price x reader #cod #cod fluff #poly!141

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noirscript · 3 months ago

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Lavender and Powder

Pairing: Yandere!Farmer x City Girl!Reader Description: Isaiah, a farmer with a quiet intensity, becomes an unsettling presence in your life after a chance encounter. What starts as neighborly kindness spirals into a chilling tale of control and obsession, leaving you trapped in a nightmare you never saw coming. Warning/s: Yandere | Psychological Manipulation | Obsession | Emotional Coercion | Stalking | Non-consensual Confinement | Forced Domesticity | Dubious Consent | Threats | Intimidation | Mild Physical Violence | Implied Babytrapping Note: I tried to make the reader bratty in the drafts but it doesn't feel right T^T I don't know if the anon who requested this is still lurking here or not, but enjoy! Also, join the taglist by clicking this link! (My interview ended few minutes ago. My brain is toasted af. T^T)

Masterlist | Commission | Tip Jar | Dark Roast 50% off

You’d only been in town for five days, and already you were part of the scenery at Gracie’s Diner.

It wasn’t glamorous, but it was honest work. You didn’t mind the grease that clung to your skin, the clatter of dishes, or the sting in your legs after double shifts. What mattered was that you were earning your keep—paying your bills, fixing up the wreck of a farmhouse your mother left behind, and doing it all without help.

You weren’t here to be rescued.

“You sure you’re not overworking yourself, sweetheart?” Gracie asked as you refilled the sugar jars. She was a woman who wore her sarcasm and worry with the same ease as her eyeliner.

“I’m fine,” you said with a smile, rolling your sleeves up higher. “Gotta pay for a new water heater somehow. Thing practically screamed when I tried to shower this morning.”

“Thought your neighbor offered to help with all that?”

You stiffened.

You remembered him well. Isaiah. The farmer with shoulders like barn doors and calloused hands that looked like they could crush rock. He came to welcome you on your first day with a crate of eggs and a bashful smile. In return, you gave him a plate of spaghetti you made that night, more out of politeness than interest.

You hadn't realized the way his eyes lingered as you handed him that plate.

That in his mind, that gesture sealed a bond deeper than you’d ever intended.

“I told him I had it under control,” you said simply.

Gracie gave you a look. “I know you city girls are all about that independence. Just be careful. Some men ‘round here get ideas.”

You laughed softly. “I can take care of myself.”

⋅ ─ ✧ ─ ⋅

Your shifts were long. The tips were modest. And the farmhouse was stubborn in its disrepair. But you were managing.

Until your truck died.

You were halfway down the lonely road toward your house after closing the diner when the engine sputtered and gave out. No signal. No cars. Nothing but the humming of bugs and the distant rustle of trees.

You grabbed your backpack and kicked the tire, muttering curses.

Then headlights pierced the dark.

Isaiah pulled up beside you, leaned out the window with a smile that looked just a bit too pleased.

“Well, now. Looks like you need a hand.”

You blinked. “Yeah… my truck just—stopped. No warning. Can I get a lift home?”

“Of course,” he said smoothly. “Was just headin’ back from drinks with the boys.”

You got in.

The silence stretched as you talked. You were tired, but adrenaline kept you going. You talked about the renovations, your job at the diner, your plans to eventually turn the farmhouse into something self-sustaining. You didn’t notice the silence behind the wheel. Not really.

“I just think women shouldn’t have to rely on anyone,” you said, stretching. “It’s freeing, you know? To build something yourself.”

His hands clenched the steering wheel.

You didn't notice.

But he did.

⋅ ─ ✧ ─ ⋅

Three days later, the farmhouse was broken into.

You came home after your shift and found everything ransacked. Nothing stolen—just destruction. Dishes shattered. Curtains torn. Couch cushions ripped open like animals had clawed them apart. Your knees gave out. You screamed.

Isaiah arrived before the sheriff.

“Jesus,” he said, crouching beside you. “You alright? You’re shaking.”

“I—yeah—I think—” You gasped. “They didn’t take anything. Just trashed it.”

“No way you’re sleeping here tonight,” he said. “Door’s broken. You’re vulnerable.”

“I’ll go to a motel—”

“They’re all booked for the rodeo this week,” he interrupted gently. “Look, I’ve got a guest room. Just for a night or two.”

You didn’t want to. But your nerves were shot, and there was nowhere else to go.

“Just a night,” you agreed, voice hollow.

⋅ ─ ✧ ─ ⋅

Isaiah’s house was too perfect.

Pristine. Polished floors. Dishes stacked in neat rows. A faint floral scent lingered—lavender, maybe.

“Bathroom’s down the hall. Towels are clean. I’ll get the bed ready,” he said, walking away with your overnight bag like it already belonged there.

You spotted a mug on the counter with your name on it. Painted in soft pastel blue.

“You… had this?”

He smiled. “Felt right. Made it when I heard you took the old place.”

You tried to joke. “That’s… thoughtful.”

He smiled wider.

⋅ ─ ✧ ─ ⋅

You tried to offer him money the next morning, after breakfast. Scrambled eggs. Homemade biscuits. Too good.

“Don’t insult me,” he said quietly. “Just help out around the house, alright? You’re already doing so much.”

So you did. You swept. Cleaned. Cooked dinner once or twice. Anything to repay him for the roof over your head while you called contractors and scraped together the funds for repairs.

But the contractors never called back.

Your calls went unanswered.

The mechanic said your truck was totaled.

You didn’t realize someone else had made sure of that.

⋅ ─ ✧ ─ ⋅

It was a week later when you heard Isaiah on the phone.

The kettle had just started to scream when his voice reached you from down the hall, muffled but distinct. You weren’t trying to eavesdrop—not really—but something in his tone made your body freeze.

“…No, she hasn’t figured it out yet. Sweet thing still thinks this is charity.”

A low chuckle.

“I’ve been teaching her… slowly. She’s adjusting.”

A pause. His voice dropped lower.

“Not yet. But soon.”

You stood there for a second too long. Long enough for the kettle to whistle sharply, loud enough to cover the sound of the ceramic mug slipping from your hands and smashing against the floor.

The tea scalded your bare feet. You barely felt it.

Your breath hitched in your throat as his voice stopped mid-sentence. The sudden silence on his end was deafening.

You moved.

Bolted.

You didn’t think—just acted. Your legs carried you on instinct, slipping on the wet floor, catching yourself against the wall, fingers fumbling for balance. The hallway felt longer than usual. Your vision tunneled, the walls squeezing closer with every second.

You reached the back door.

Unlatched.

Unlocked.

Hope surged in your chest so violently it made you gasp.

You wrenched it open.

Cool air hit your face, the smell of soil and pine and freedom burning in your lungs. You were halfway out—one foot in the grass, fingers scraping the edge of the doorway—

And then a hand, large and brutal, slammed the door shut.

With you halfway through it.

You screamed.

The edge of the frame cracked against your ribs as Isaiah yanked you backward, one arm wrapping tight across your waist, lifting you as if you weighed nothing. You kicked, flailed, clawed at his skin, but he held you firm—an immovable wall of muscle and determination.

“I knew you’d run,” he muttered, breath hot against your ear. His voice had lost the syrupy sweetness he wore like a mask. Now it was raw, cracked, and furious. “Ungrateful little thing.”

He turned, carrying you effortlessly despite your thrashing.

“I’ve done everything for you. Gave you safety. Gave you warmth. A home.”

He slammed the door behind you both with his boot, the echo like a gunshot.

You fought harder.

“I was gonna ease you into it,” he snarled, dragging you past the kitchen. “Let you feel like you chose this. But you just had to snoop, didn’t you?”

He didn’t take you to the guest room.

He took you down the hall, past the door you’d never seen open. The one that was always locked.

He kicked it in.

And there it was.

The cradle. A handmade wooden crib, nestled in the center of a room painted in soft yellows and sage green. The mobile above it spun slowly, creaking on its hinges, casting distorted shadows across the walls.

Everything smelled like baby powder and lavender and something far too clean.

Your stomach turned.

“No—no, let me go—!”

“You’re mine,” Isaiah hissed, slamming the door shut behind you. He twisted the lock before pressing you against it, pinning you there with the full weight of his body. “You fed me that day. You smiled. You looked at me like I mattered. What the hell did you think that meant, huh?”

You shook your head, tears blurring your vision. “It was just dinner—it didn’t mean anything—”

“It meant everything,” he growled, gripping your chin so hard it ached. “It was a promise. A bond. You gave yourself to me when you fed me. You just didn’t know it yet.”

You whimpered as his hand dropped to your hip, then your wrist, guiding you toward the crib with terrifying tenderness.

“You’ll see. You don’t need that diner. You don’t need money or dreams or whatever garbage you believe in. You need me. You need this.”

He pressed your palm flat against the cradle’s wooden edge.

“You need to understand your place, wife.”

You sobbed, body trembling, but there was no more strength left to fight.

His voice dipped lower, reverent and sickeningly soft.

“…And maybe it’s time you give me what I’ve waited for.”

TBC.

Taglist: @hopingtoclearmedschool @violetvase @zanzie @neuvilletteswife4ever @yamekocatt @fandangoballs @mel-vaz @vind1cta @greatwitchsongsinger

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cbeargyu · 3 months ago

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affection ✧.* c.soobin

summary: you weren’t looking for love. just… something. a hand to hold, a moment of quiet, a heart that didn’t feel so heavy. but chasing affection in the wrong places had left you emptier each time — until you met him. soobin. kind, gentle, patient soobin. you pushed him away when he tried to reach the parts of you you didn’t want anyone to see. but he stayed. he saw the broken pieces and didn’t flinch. and somehow, just standing next to him felt like coming home.

pairing: nerd!soobin x fem!reader

tags: angst, hurt/comfort, unrequited love, slow burn, mutual pining, emotional vulnerability, past trauma, soft smut, comfort sex, college au, emotional intimacy, fluff with heavy angst, crying during sex, heartbreak, toxic ex (jaehyun).

warnings: sexual content (soft smut, explicit but tender), emotional vulnerability, references to emotional manipulation/past toxic relationship, crying during intimacy, self-worth issues, mentions of emotional trauma, angst-heavy scenes, mild cursing, reader has intimacy and trust issues, soobin is the softest human alive and will make you cry (18+ only, minors DNI).

notes: i’m so happy and grateful for all the love the beomgyu fic has received — it truly means a lot to me 🥺🖤 just a reminder: English isn’t my first language, so thank you for your patience! This is also my first time writing smut, so I hope you enjoy it and feel the love I put into every word.

soobin never planned to go to that party. he had a project due on monday, a group report no one else was helping with, and a whole list of unread notifications in his coding forum. parties weren’t his scene. they were loud, chaotic, full of meaningless chatter and fake small talk.

but his roommate, choi beomgyu begged him to go — “come on, hyung, the girls from visual communication are joining this time. you can't code your youth away.”

so, reluctantly, soobin showed up, neat as always — white button-down shirt, black slacks, and his usual black-rimmed glasses that he adjusted every few minutes out of habit. while his classmates shouted over music and downed shots of soju like water, he sat at the far end of the table, sipping a soda, quietly observing.

that’s when you walked in.

he saw you before you noticed him. you wore confidence like perfume — not overwhelming, but impossible to ignore. your black crop top hugged your body perfectly, a short skirt revealing just enough, and those heeled boots clicked against the floor like a beat only you could walk to. your hair fell just right. your eyes scanned the room like you already owned it.

and then they landed on him.

you tilted your head curiously. he looked different from the others — formal, stiff, awkwardly seated like he was out of place. but there was something about him... maybe it was the way his lips twitched nervously whenever someone made a joke, or how his fingers tapped rhythmically on his glass, like his brain was always working on something unspoken.

you slid into the empty seat across from him.

“hi,” you said, voice clear and sweet, but assertive. “soobin, right?”

his eyes widened slightly. “y-yeah. How’d you—?”

“you’re the only one not yelling,” you smirked. “kinda refreshing.”

he chuckled nervously, pushing his glasses up. “i guess i don’t blend in much.”

“that’s a good thing,” you replied without hesitation. “wanna drink?”

he hesitated, eyes flickering to the soju bottle you were holding.

“i don’t really drink.”

you leaned closer, a playful smile on your lips. “i won’t let you overdo it. promise.”

something about the way you said it — lighthearted, but sincere — made him nod.

you poured the drinks. one. two. light sips. soft laughter. his walls started to come down, little by little. you asked about his major. he asked about yours. you joked about how communication students always had to look flawless for presentations, and he admitted he didn’t even own hair gel.

then, the conversation shifted.

“so, uh,” soobin began, scratching the back of his neck, “i’ve been playing around with some indie game engines. just as a hobby. i’m trying to create this… interactive narrative? like a retro pixel art game with moral choice-based paths. i know it sounds kinda nerdy—”

“nerdy?” you interrupted. “that sounds sick. wait—so, like, the player’s decisions affect the storyline?”

his eyes lit up. you weren’t mocking him — you were interested.

He nodded, and as he talked, he got more animated. His voice rose with excitement as he described the branching paths, the artwork, the emotional arcs. he didn’t notice the way you shifted closer, your hand now resting on the table near his. he didn’t notice the way your thigh gently brushed his leg under the table.

“so... moral choices, huh?” you say, chin propped on your hand as you watch soobin’s eyes light up with every word he speaks. “like what? save the princess or let her die?”

he laughs, warm and unguarded. “kind of. but more... morally gray. like: help your friend cheat on an exam and risk your own grade, or tell the professor and lose the friendship.”

you raise a brow, intrigued. “damn. that’s... deep. and very specific. did that happen to you?”

he chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck. “no. maybe. it’s a hypothetical.”

“right,” you say with a smirk, reaching for the soju bottle to pour another round. “well, professor choi, i hope you gave your digital friend some slack.”

“i made two endings,” he replies, then pauses. “wait, professor?”

you shrug, tilting your glass toward his. “you talk like one. all serious and nerdy.”

“i’m not that serious,” he protests, smiling now, more relaxed.

you lean in slightly, voice soft. “you kind of are. but I like it.”

he’s silent for a moment, blinking.

then, in a softer voice, he asks, “what about you? i’ve been rambling this whole time. what’s your major again?”

“media production,” you say casually. “i make pretty things look important.”

he smiles. “sounds fun.”

you nod. “it is. lots of editing, lots of late nights. but i like telling stories.” you pause, your gaze dipping to his lips for the briefest second before locking eyes again. “even the fake ones.”

he laughs at that. “maybe you could help with the cinematics for my game.”

“only if you give me creative control over the main character’s love story.”

he raises a brow. “that’s... oddly specific.”

you wink. “everything’s a love story, soobin.”

he swallows, hard.

but he noticed when you suddenly leaned into him to hear better — the bar had gotten louder, the music thumping. your shoulder touched his. your chest grazed his arm. and for the first time in his life, choi soobin forgot how to breathe.

you didn’t pull away.

neither did he.

you both sip your soju, and for a moment, neither speaks. the table around you has gotten louder. someone yells out a drinking chant. you glance sideways, then lean in just a little more so he can hear you.

“you know,” you murmur near his ear, your breath warm against his skin, “your friend beomgyu is wasted.”

soobin follows your gaze. beomgyu’s halfway off his seat, swaying dramatically while trying to sing along to a girl group song.

he huffs a laugh. “he’s always like that. gets drunk off three shots and starts performing like he’s on music bank.”

you turn your face toward soobin’s, still whispering. your lips are inches from his ear. “at least he’s not in the bathroom with a sunbae.”

soobin blinks. “what?”

you grin. “my friends went with a few. they’ve been gone for a while.” you pause for dramatic effect. “you do know what happens when girls go to the bathroom with sunbaes, right?”

soobin’s entire face flushes.

“i—uh—i mean—maybe they’re just—talking?” he stammers.

you burst into soft laughter, brushing his knee with yours under the table. “you’re so pure, soobin.”

“i’m not!” he protests, but he’s still red, ears pink and glowing.

“oh, really?” you tease, tilting your head. “then why are you blushing so hard?”

he opens his mouth to say something, but no words come out. he looks away, adjusting his glasses, trying to hide the way his eyes keep drifting back to your lips — still glossed and shining from the soju.

you lean closer, your voice barely above a whisper now. “you’re cute when you’re flustered.”

soobin freezes.

you smile.

and he realizes something, right then and there: you're not just beautiful. you're dangerous.

the music booms louder. someone starts chanting for shots again. but for you and Soobin, the world has narrowed into one tiny space: the few inches between your face and his.

he’s looking at you like he’s not sure if this is real — like you might vanish if he blinks too long.

but you don’t.

instead, you stay close. too close. your perfume has wrapped around him like a spell, and your knee is still brushing against his. the room is hot, but it’s nothing compared to the burn beneath his skin.

“soobin,” you whisper again, teasing, your voice honeyed, “are you really as pure as you look?”

“i—” he starts, voice dry, but you cut him off.

you tilt your head and, without warning, you press your lips to his.

it’s soft.

just a taste.

he freezes for a second — surprised, breath caught — and then, like something deep inside him snaps, he kisses you back.

harder.

with need.

his hand finds your waist, gripping tight, pulling you closer with a quiet desperation. you gasp slightly against his mouth, not expecting the sudden boldness. but you love it. you lean in more, wrapping your fingers around the collar of his button-up shirt, tugging him toward you.

he tastes like soju and mint gum and something that’s just… soobin.

his other hand fumbles before settling on your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek. there’s something both unsure and intense in his touch — like he’s scared he’ll mess it up, but even more scared to stop.

you pull back just enough to breathe, your lips swollen and your eyes glazed with heat.

“not so pure now, huh?” you murmur, teasing again.

he looks at you like he doesn’t know whether to kiss you or confess something bigger — but he chooses the first, crashing his mouth back onto yours with a groan that rumbles from his chest.

when you shift closer, almost climbing onto his lap, he holds you with more force than you expected. his fingers dig into your hips as if anchoring himself, as if he doesn’t want to let go.

your hand slips beneath his shirt, palm brushing his stomach, and he exhales sharply against your mouth. his lips move to your jaw, then your neck, uncertain at first… until he hears your soft gasp.

“let’s go,” you whisper in his ear, breathless, the suggestion hanging hot in the space between you.

he stiffens. “to… my place?”

you smirk. “too far.”

your hand slips into his, firm and electric.

“my apartment’s closer.”

you don’t wait for him to agree.

you just lead him out — past the pulsing music, past beomgyu still singing in his drunken stupor, past your friends who are nowhere to be seen — and into the cool night air, where soobin’s heart beats so loud he’s sure you can hear it.

he doesn’t know what’s going to happen.

but he knows he’s not stopping you.

and that he wants this — you — more than anything he's ever wanted before.

your apartment was dimly lit — soft, warm, intimate. the moment the door clicked shut behind you, it was like the air changed. soobin stood there for a second, his eyes scanning your space like he’d just stepped into another realm. then you turned to him, a teasing smile curling at your lips, and tugged him gently by the hem of his shirt.

he followed like gravity.

the first kiss happened slowly — a hesitant brush of lips that turned into something deeper. desperate. heated. you tasted of soju and strawberry gloss, and he tasted like restraint finally snapping in half. his hands found your waist, clumsy at first, then firmer, as if he was trying to memorize the shape of you with his fingers.

clothes fell off in pieces — half-forgotten in the trail from the hallway to your bed.

soobin’s eyes never left yours, even when you pulled him over you, even when your nails raked softly down his back. he asked you quietly if this was okay. you answered with a kiss that made him groan against your mouth.

and when he finally moved inside you — shaky but tender — it wasn’t perfect.

it was better.

it was real. hot. messy. and achingly good.

you guided him, whispered to him, taught him what you liked — and he listened. god, he listened. every sound you made, every arch of your back, he responded like he was being graded on it.

and if he was, he passed with flying colors.

he was intuitive. curious. attentive.

no man had ever made you feel like that.

the climax hit you like a wave crashing too fast — unexpected and all-consuming. his name fell from your lips like a secret, like a confession. and when it was over, when you lay tangled together in the silence of your room, your heart was racing not just from the sex, but from him.

you should’ve felt satisfied.

instead, you felt… addicted.

the hum of the editing lab wrapped around you both like a low heartbeat. it was almost midnight, and the room had long emptied, save for the soft glow of the screen and the occasional sound of soobin typing, hesitant, as if even his fingers were overthinking.

you leaned back in your chair, eyes on the render but mind somewhere else — maybe still tangled in his sheets from last night.

“you okay?” he asked quietly, glancing sideways at you.

you nodded, absently. “just tired.”

"so..." he starts, voice low, not meeting your eyes. “last night. i didn’t mean to stay so long.”

you tilt your head, smirking. "you mean, you didn’t mean to keep me up 'til 3 am?"

his ears flush pink, but he chuckles. “well, you didn’t seem to mind.”

you lean in, your voice dropping an octave. “i didn’t.”

it was a half-truth.

you weren’t tired. you were numb.

not from exhaustion, but from the repetition — the cycle.

work. touch. release. silence.

he opened his mouth like he wanted to say something more, then stopped. instead, he scrolled through the code, pretending to focus, but his eyes kept drifting.

you noticed. of course you noticed.

you always did.

“you know,” you said, breaking the silence, “your animation loop still stutters at frame 27. i can help you clean it up later.”

he smiled — small, shy. “you don’t have to. I already owe you too much.”

you shrugged. “it’s your project, soobin. i’m just… happy to be part of it.”

another silence fell, but this one was heavier. His gaze lingered on you longer now. not the way he did when you were naked and under him. this was different. softer. wanting.

you hated that look.

so you stood up, stretching slightly, letting your shirt ride up just enough to tease.

“i should go,” you said.

he blinked, caught off guard. “already? it’s not that late—”

“you need rest,” you cut in, grabbing your bag. "big day tomorrow.”

he hesitated. “can i… can i come over?”

you turned to him slowly, a small smirk tugging at your lips.

“do you want to?”

his ears flushed. he looked down at his hands. “you know i do.”

you stepped closer, just enough to feel the warmth of his breath. “then say it.”

soobin looked up, meeting your eyes. there was something fragile in his expression — hope, maybe. longing.

but you didn’t let it bloom.

you leaned in, brushing your lips against his, soft and fleeting. a kiss with no promise.

no future.

“i’ll text you,” you whispered. “if i feel like it.”

then you turned and left, the door clicking softly behind you.

it was past 1:30 a.m. when you heard the soft knock at your door.

three short taps. hesitant. familiar.

you were in bed, hair loose, wearing nothing but an old oversized tee and underwear, your laptop glowing softly with a paused movie. for a second, you thought you were imagining it. but then it came again — one more knock. you got up slowly, half-annoyed, half-curious.

when you opened the door, there he was.

choi soobin. hoodie slightly damp from the drizzle outside. his glasses fogged up. eyes wide, like he didn’t plan on actually doing this until he did.

you leaned against the frame, arms crossed, eyebrows raised. “couldn’t sleep?”

he looked down, hands stuffed deep into his pockets.

“i couldn’t stop thinking about you,” he admitted quietly. “i didn’t want to wait for a text.”

your lips curled slightly. “bold tonight, aren’t you?”

he gave a nervous laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “can i come in?”

you stepped aside, not saying a word. he brushed past you, and you closed the door behind him with a click that sounded like permission.

as soon as he turned around, you pressed him against the wall, your hands sliding under his hoodie. he gasped softly, but his hands found your waist like instinct.

“i wasn’t sure you’d come,” you murmured against his jaw, lips ghosting over his skin.

“i told you i would if you asked,” he whispered, already breathless.

“i didn’t ask.”

“you didn’t have to.”

you kissed him then — no teasing, no buildup. just lips crashing, hungry, messy, desperate. he kissed you like he’d been starving for it, like he’d imagined this moment a hundred times, and now it was finally real. your fingers tangled in his hoodie, pulling it up, and he broke the kiss only to help you tug it off.

your hands roamed his chest, down to his abs — firm, warm. he wasn’t the scrawny nerd you first thought he’d be. He had strength, a body that surprised you. you tugged him down by the waistband of his sweats, eyes locked on his, voice a low whisper against his lips.

“sit back for me, soobin.”

he blinked, confused, aroused. “w–what?”

you pushed gently at his chest, guiding him to the edge of the bed. he obeyed without protest, legs parted, hands gripping the sheets.

“i want to taste you,” you said simply, dropping to your knees between his thighs.

his breath hitched. “y/n…”

you smiled up at him, slow and sinful. “relax.”

with one hand, you pulled his sweats and boxers down in a single motion, exposing him fully. He was already hard, flushed and twitching, and the sight of it made you ache.

“shit,” he whispered, covering his face with one hand. “i can’t believe this is happening.”

you leaned forward, pressing a kiss to his inner thigh, then up, up — teasing, warm, slow. he trembled under your mouth. when you finally took him in, inch by inch, his hand flew to your hair, not to push, just to hold. like he needed something to ground him.

“f–fuck, y/n—” his hips bucked slightly, but you pressed a hand to his stomach, holding him in place. your tongue swirled around him, dragging moans from his throat like music.

“you feel so good,” he groaned, head falling back. “i don’t think i’m gonna last…”

you pulled back just enough to say, “then don’t.”

then you took him deep again, your rhythm relentless, cheeks hollowing, eyes locked on his. watching him fall apart under your touch. his thighs tightened, his moans got louder, breath ragged.

“y/n— i’m— i’m gonna—”

you didn’t stop.

you stayed right there, even when his hips jerked, when he spilled into your mouth with a broken, helpless cry of your name. you swallowed, slow and deliberate, then licked your lips as you sat back on your knees, wiping the corner of your mouth with the back of your hand.

he looked down at you, completely wrecked.

“you’re gonna kill me,” he whispered, eyes still glazed.

you just smirked. “not yet.”

then you pulled him down to the bed, climbed on top, and whispered against his lips:

“soobin,” you whispered, voice low, sultry. “you gonna just stay there, or are you gonna fuck me like you mean it?”

his eyes widened, dark with desire. “i don’t wanna mess this up.”

you stepped closer, pressing his hand against the curve of your ass. “then don’t.”

That was all it took.

he grabbed your thighs and lifted you easily, like instinct, like he’d wanted to do this forever. you wrapped your legs around his waist, lips finding his again as he carried you, bumping into the walls, breathless laughter between kisses. when he laid you on the bed, his hands trembled — not from fear, but anticipation.

he knelt between your legs, pulling your panties down slowly. watching your expression. eyes flickering between your parted lips and the way you bit them.

“god, you’re beautiful,” he whispered. “i’ve never seen anything like you.”

you smirked, “then show me how much you like what you see.”

and he did.

his mouth, warm and eager, exploring your skin, your thighs, your core. It wasn’t perfect, but it was passionate. raw. messy. and so damn real. you moaned his name, fingers tangling in his hair, and when he finally slid inside you — slow, deep — he gasped like it was the first breath he’d taken in hours.

“so tight,” he groaned into your neck. “fuck—i... i love this..."

you rocked your hips against his, matching his rhythm, breath against his ear. “feel me, baby. you’re inside me now. nothing to overthink.”

his pace quickened, your bodies moving in sync, sweat slicking your skin. his name spilled from your lips, breathy and broken. he looked down at you, jaw clenched, fighting to last.

“i’m close,” he warned.

you cupped his face, kissed him deep. “then don’t hold back. cum for me.”

he did — with a soft, choked moan against your neck, his whole body trembling. and you followed soon after, your climax crashing into you like a wave, sharp and sweet and overwhelming.

you lay there for a moment, tangled in sheets and each other, chests rising and falling in sync.

but then, the moment passed.

you pulled away first.

no words. no promises. you grabbed his hoodie from the floor and tossed it to him.

“It’s late,” you said, voice flat now.

he nodded, quietly getting dressed, still catching his breath. “right. i’ll… see you tomorrow? for the project?”

you smiled faintly, eyes unreadable. “of course.”

and just like that, he left — around 3 a.m., hoodie half on, hair messy, heart heavier than he’d admit.

you lay back in bed, staring at the ceiling.

he was addictive.

but this wasn’t love.

just affection.

the next day, you were already in the media lab by noon, hair up in a clip, sipping an iced coffee like nothing happened. like you hadn’t spent half the night moaning his name into your sheets. you were scrolling through some reference animations when you heard the door creak.

he walked in — soobin, hoodie slightly rumpled, eyes darker than usual, laptop tucked under one arm like a shield.

“hey,” he said, voice low, careful.

you didn’t look up right away.

“hey,” you replied casually, then shot him a glance. “you look like you slept five minutes.”

“three,” he muttered, sitting beside you. “thanks to you.”

you smirked. “you're welcome.”

he chuckled under his breath, but the way his eyes lingered on your collarbone, on the way your fingers tapped against your straw — it wasn’t casual for him. not anymore.

“so… did you get a chance to work on that npc dialogue system?” you asked, flipping the screen toward him.

he blinked. took a second too long to switch gears. “yeah, uh—yeah. i built the first tree structure. i’ll show you.”

you leaned closer, shoulder to shoulder, like nothing. like you hadn’t had him inside you hours ago.

he shifted uncomfortably, adjusting his position, fingers suddenly awkward on the trackpad.

“you okay?” you asked, feigning innocence.

he nodded, then… hesitated. “do you… always do that?”

your brows lifted. “do what?”

he stared at the screen. “act like it didn’t happen.”

you tilted your head, biting back a grin. “did you want a commemorative plaque or something?”

soobin flushed immediately, lips pressing into a line. “no. just—forget it.”

silence stretched for a moment. you let it.

because you were fine. it was what it was.

friends. collaborators. occasional bodies tangled in bedsheets.

no promises.

no future.

just affection when the night hit hard and the skin craved warmth.

you leaned in again, voice low and playful, barely above a whisper. “i like you better when you’re coding instead of catching feelings.”

that made him laugh — small and bitter, but still soobin.

“yeah,” he murmured, “me too.”

you sat side by side, going over the storyboard edits for soobin’s game. but his knee kept brushing against yours. your fingers kept finding excuses to linger near his. every time you spoke, he looked at your lips instead of your eyes.

a laugh. a brush of fingers when you reached for the same pen. the hum of your breathing syncing unconsciously as you leaned over his sketchpad, discussing the new character render.

but the tension was undeniable — thick, like summer air before a storm.

you shifted in your seat. soobin’s gaze followed the curve of your mouth when you smiled at something dumb he said. his knee bumped yours under the table — once, twice — and this time he didn’t move away.

your eyes locked.

he licked his lips.

you tilted your head.

“are you going to kiss me,” you whispered, “or just keep pretending you’re focused?”

soobin blinked, startled — but only for a second. his hand cupped the back of your neck, pulling you in with a hunger he rarely let slip. his mouth found yours in a kiss that was wet, desperate, a little uncoordinated, but still made your body heat like a fever.

you straddled him in the lab chair, fingers digging into his shoulders as his lips mapped your throat. he groaned quietly when your hips rolled against his. you loved how sensitive he was, how new it still felt to him.

his fingers fumbled at your waistband, and yours slipped under his hoodie, nails grazing the skin of his stomach.

and then—

his voice broke through the haze.

“i think i love you...”

time paused.

the kiss didn’t end — not completely. but you stilled in his arms, lips barely touching.

he looked up at you, chest heaving. there was no mask, no hesitation in his gaze — only raw, trembling honesty.

you swallowed hard.

“someone could see us,” you murmured, pulling back slightly. your hand pressed flat against his chest. “we shouldn’t… not here.”

he nodded slowly. “right. sorry.”

but you saw the flicker in his eyes.

he knew you weren’t talking about getting caught.

and you knew… he meant every word.

soobin picked at his food, eyes blank, fingers tapping against the side of his glass.

beomgyu dropped into the seat across from him with the energy of a man who hadn’t just bombed an engineering quiz. “yo, you look like someone stepped on your graphics card.”

before soobin could reply, minah slid in beside beomgyu, planting a kiss on his cheek. “hey, babe.”

soobin blinked. “you guys are dating?”

minah giggled. “it’s recent. we met at that party a few weeks back. y/n introduced us.”

beomgyu grinned. “she’s basically the campus matchmaker.”

soobin tried to smile.

minah looked at him with a knowing softness. “she said you two are close. working together?”

“yeah,” he said, voice low. “the game project.”

“she always puts her heart into everything,” minah said, stirring her coffee. “she’s one of the kindest people i know. genuinely warm. i’ve never seen her turn anyone away.”

beomgyu smirked. “you sure that’s all it is, soobin? that game project?”

Soobin froze, caught.

minah’s smile wavered. “can i… tell you something?”

his throat tightened. “yeah.”

minah took a breath. “she dated someone last year. jung jaehyun. from the film department.”

beomgyu’s eyebrows rose. “that asshole?”

minah nodded. “he cheated on her. more than once. manipulated her too — made her feel like everything was her fault. she loved him so much, and he treated her like she was disposable. it took her almost a year to recover. she still isn’t fully herself.”

soobin felt the blood drain from his face.

“she stopped believing in love,” minah whispered. “she’s terrified of it now. of letting someone in. that’s why she pushes people away when it gets too real.”

suddenly everything made sense.

the kiss that ended too soon.

the soft panic in your eyes when he said those words.

the coldness in your voice that didn’t match your trembling fingers.

you were afraid.

not of him — but of what he made you feel.

the soft hum of the bustling street outside the café filled your ears as you stepped out into the cool evening air. you hadn’t expected to see soobin again so soon after that moment in the lab — after everything.

but there he was, standing a few feet away on the sidewalk, looking lost in thought, as if he had been waiting for something… or someone. the moment you saw him, your heart did something unexpected. It skipped, then raced. the last few hours replayed in your mind like a movie — the confession, the words you couldn’t quite process, and the tension that clung between you two.

it felt as if the air around you was thick, but in a way that made it harder to breathe, harder to stay composed. you didn’t know what to expect. but you couldn’t walk away now. not after what had happened. you hesitated, then took a step toward him, the streets buzzing around you as you made your way through the crowd. and when he turned to face you, his eyes met yours, searching. they held something — hope, maybe.

but beneath that, a vulnerability, something you’d never seen in him before. “soobin,” you said softly, just to break the silence that seemed to hang in the air. his lips parted as he spoke your name, but before he could say anything else, he took a step closer.

“i didn’t expect to see you here,” he said with a small smile, his voice a little breathless. you stood there, unsure of what to say next. the weight of your emotions was too much to voice. you’d been trying to keep your distance, but everything you’d told him in the lab — everything that had been left unspoken, was still so fresh. "y/n," he began, his tone softer than before, as if he was carefully choosing his words. "i heard something earlier... from minah. about you and jaehyun."

you froze for a moment, your heart dropping to your stomach. you hadn’t expected this, not now, not after everything. the mention of jaehyun's name immediately brought a rush of old memories — the good and the painful.

soobin noticed your reaction, his expression filled with concern. he continued, his voice quiet but sincere. “she... she told me about your past with him. how he hurt you. how you’ve been carrying that pain for a long time.”

the words hit you like a cold wave, and you immediately felt the familiar wall go up inside you. the one you had built after jaehyun shattered your trust. you tried to keep your composure, but it was hard to suppress the hurt that resurfaced in an instant.

"i didn’t mean for anyone to know," you said softly, voice barely above a whisper.

soobin stepped closer, his gaze steady but filled with empathy. "y/n, i... i didn’t know. but hearing that from her, i just want you to know that i’m not like him. i’m not going to hurt you. i care about you."

it was like everything about him had a magnetic pull on you, drawing you in. but what was it? you wanted to understand it, but you weren’t sure you were ready for that yet. you had never really thought about falling for someone again — not after what jaehyun did to you. but soobin? he was different.

from the moment you met him, something in you had clicked. his presence, his voice, the way he made everything seem lighter. it had been almost a shift in your routine. the days had become brighter, the moments when you found him beside you felt full of a warmth you hadn’t realized you’d been craving. and, just like that, your feelings for him had grown, but slowly. subtly. almost like an invisible thread that tied you to him.

and now, standing here, you realized that in the short time you’d known him, everything had changed. your world had shifted, in the best way possible. you couldn’t even remember what life was like before him anymore. the routine of school, the small annoyances that once felt like mountains, they didn’t matter anymore when you were around him. soobin made everything feel like it could be okay, like things could be light again. he made you smile without trying, made you laugh just with the way he looked at you, or the way he spoke to you. and as your heart raced now, looking at him, you realized it had been him all along, ever since that first encounter.

he took a slow step toward you, his eyes full of something sincere. “i never expected to meet someone like you,” he said. “you… you’ve made things so much better. i wasn’t sure how to say this before, but now, i have to tell you. i’m really glad i met you.” your heart skipped a beat. the words, his honesty, made your chest tighten.

"i am too," you whispered. "but i’m just... scared. you know?" he paused, looking at you with understanding.

“scared of what?” he asked gently.

"scared that i’m not ready for this," you admitted, trying to keep your voice steady. "scared of... falling for someone again. what if i screw it up? what if i can’t do this? i don’t want to hurt you, soobin."

soobin stepped closer, so close that you could feel the heat radiating from him. his voice was barely above a whisper.

"y/n... i'm not going anywhere. i’m here for you. whatever this is… i’ll be here, for as long as you’ll have me." you felt like you were losing control of everything inside of you. his words, his sincerity, the feeling of being cared for in a way you hadn’t felt in so long, it made your heart ache in the best possible way.

you looked up at him, meeting his eyes, and for the first time, you felt a flicker of hope. but then the fear crept back in. the fear that maybe you weren’t ready to trust again, that maybe you weren’t worthy of someone’s love, especially not someone as kind as soobin.

"why does it have to be so hard?" you whispered, almost to yourself.

soobin squeezed your hand, his voice steady and calm. "because it’s worth it. if we give it a chance. if you give me a chance."

you didn’t know what to say. the vulnerability that you felt in this moment was overwhelming, but you also realized something. soobin wasn’t asking for perfection from you. he was asking for honesty, for a chance to show you that he wasn’t like jaehyun.

and despite all the fear, despite the scars left by the past, you wanted to believe him. you wanted to believe that maybe, just maybe, things could be different.

soobin and you walk into your apartment, the door clicking shut behind you like sealing a secret. neither of you speaks—there’s no need. the electricity between you crackles in the silence, heavy with all the things you’ve both wanted to say but instead chose to show.

soobin shrugs off his hoodie in one smooth motion, and underneath, the fitted polo clings to his arms, hugging every inch of muscle you’ve fantasized about. your eyes drag over him, slow and hungry, and he catches your gaze, a smirk twitching on his lips.

“come here,” he murmurs, voice thick with intent.

you don’t even make it to the bedroom before his hands are on your waist, his mouth crushing into yours with a hunger that steals the breath right out of you. you melt into him, fingers gripping the fabric over his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heart pounding like it wants to break free.

the kiss deepens, lips sliding, teeth nipping, tongues meeting with desperation. he backs you into the wall, grinding his hips into yours just enough to make you gasp. one of his hands travels under your shirt, grazing the soft skin of your waist, while the other cups your jaw to tilt your face and devour your mouth deeper. you moan into the kiss, your knees going weak, and he catches you like he was waiting for it.

“you feel so good,” he breathes into your neck, licking and sucking at the skin there, leaving you marked—claimed. “you drive me fucking insane.”

by the time you reach the bed, your shirt is gone, your bra unclasped, and soobin's hands are everywhere—greedy, but still careful. he kisses down your chest, slow and savoring, like he’s worshipping you with his mouth. then his fingers slip under the waistband of your panties, finding you already soaked.

“fuck,” he groans, voice rough, eyes hooded as he pulls them down. “look at you. so wet for me already. you want this?”

“god, yes,” you whisper, breath trembling.

he slides a finger inside you, slow at first—testing. then a second joins, curling just right, hitting that perfect spot that makes you whimper and arch into him. he watches you like you’re his favorite sin, completely mesmerized by how you fall apart under his touch.

your moans get louder, higher, your body trembling as he picks up the pace, his thumb circling your clit with expert pressure. he kisses your thigh, murmuring praises between each stroke—how beautiful you look, how tight and perfect you feel, how he could stay between your legs forever.

when your climax crashes into you, it’s sudden and overwhelming. Your walls clench around his fingers as you cry out, your hips jerking and your thighs trembling. he doesn’t stop until he’s milked every last spasm from your body, until you’re panting and spent and completely undone beneath him.

“shit… that was so hot,” he says, his voice low, lips brushing against your cheek as he slowly withdraws his fingers. you catch his gaze and, feeling bold, you take his hand and pull his glistening fingers into your mouth, sucking them clean while holding eye contact.

soobin lets out a broken sound—half-moan, half-growl—as he crashes his lips to yours again, desperate, messy. he pulls you into his lap, settling you on top of him, both of you half-naked and feverish with want.

your body is still humming, trembling in the aftershocks of your climax when soobin kisses you again—hungry, desperate, like he’s chasing something deeper. his hands don’t leave your body, fingers tracing over your hips, up your stomach, down between your thighs again.

you whimper when he strokes you, still sensitive, but the way he looks at you—so enamored, so lost in you—makes the overstimulation morph into pleasure all over again.

“you can take it,” he murmurs, pressing soft kisses along your jaw. “you’re so fucking perfect like this… i need to feel you again.”

he doesn’t wait for an answer. his fingers glide between your folds, spreading the wetness he’s already coaxed from you. he groans low, almost a growl, as he guides himself to your entrance, teasing you just enough to make you whine.

then he pushes in, slow but deep, stretching you inch by inch.

a gasp leaves your lips as he bottoms out, your body molding to fit him. he shudders against you, his arms wrapping around you tight like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he lets go.

“fuck—” his breath stutters. “you feel so good, baby… so fucking good.”

he starts moving, slow at first—rolling his hips in a steady rhythm, savoring the way your body clenches around him. His forehead rests against yours, and when you open your eyes, you find him staring at you like you’re something sacred.

that’s when his voice breaks.

“i love you,” he confesses, hands gripping your waist like a lifeline. “god, i love you so much it hurts.”

tears spill from his eyes, slipping down his cheeks before he can stop them. the rawness in his voice, the vulnerability in his touch—it makes your chest ache.

you don’t answer with words. instead, you hold his face, kissing his tears away, soothing him with soft whispers, with the warmth of your body moving in time with his.

then you shift, pushing gently on his shoulders, guiding him onto his back. he lets you take control, his lips parted in awe as you settle on top of him, sinking down onto him so slowly that he swears under his breath.

“fuck—” he gasps, head tipping back against the pillow.

you start moving, rolling your hips, riding him at your own pace, watching the way his brows knit together, how his hands grip your thighs, his lips falling open in pleasure. he looks wrecked beneath you, completely at your mercy.

“you’re such a good man, soobin,” you whisper, leaning down to press kisses along his damp cheeks. “you don’t have to hide from me. i see you… and i want you. just as you are.”

a broken sound leaves him—half-whimper, half-sob—as his hands slide up your back, pulling you closer. you keep moving, slow and deep, letting him feel everything.

his hips stutter under you, his breathing turning erratic.

“baby, i—” he cuts off with a strangled moan, his body tensing beneath you. “i can’t— i’m gonna—”

“cum with me” you whisper, kissing him deep as his release overtakes him.

soobin lets out a wrecked, breathless moan, his whole body shaking as he spills inside you. sis hands grip your waist, fingers digging into your skin as he rides out his high. his chest rises and falls in heavy gasps, eyes fluttering closed, overwhelmed and undone.

even as the tremors subside, the tears don’t stop. you brush them away with gentle fingers, pressing soft kisses over his damp cheeks, his forehead, his lips.

“you’re okay,” you murmur. “i’ve got you.”

he exhales shakily, arms wrapping around you as he pulls you against his chest, still buried inside you, still trembling. he doesn’t say anything, just holds you—like you’re his anchor, his salvation.

and you let him.

because even though you didn’t say it back, he knows.

he feels it in the way you kiss him. in the way you hold him. in the way you don’t let go.

and for now, that’s enough.

he stops, just for a second, forehead pressed to yours, his breath shaky and shallow.

“i love you,” he says, barely louder than a whisper, but it hits like thunder.

you freeze, just for a moment. your heart skips, your lips part—but you don’t say it back. not yet. instead, you kiss him. slow, deep, tender. you pour everything into that kiss—every spark, every silent yes, every beat of your heart screaming me too.

he exhales like it’s all he needed. you hold his face, thumbs brushing his cheekbones, and whisper, “you’re everything right now.”

he nods, tears brimming in his eyes.

and for the rest of the night, you show him. again and again, in every touch, every breath, every moan—you show him exactly what he means to you.

it’s more than just affection.

987 notes · View notes

leriexoxo · 19 days ago

Text

Missing Keycard

Seungmin x Tour Manager Reader

Tags: shy dom seungmin, one bed trope, sleep groping, nipple play, forbidden sex, power imbalance, choking, spanking, riding, oral, braless reader, touch starved reader, unprotected sex, aftercare

Word Count: 6k

Summary: You’re a tour manager for Stray Kids, just trying to survive another city. But when a drunk, keycard-less Seungmin knocks on your hotel door at 2AM, mistaking it for his own room, sleep is the last thing either of you get. What starts as an accident turns into tension that finally snaps — and Seungmin? He’s nothing like you expected.

This work contains mature themes, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!

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The Chicago stop was a blur of chaos.

A venue delay, a last-minute setlist change, a prop that went missing ten minutes before curtain—and somehow, you’d still managed to get everyone on stage, on time, and in one piece.

Barely.

By the time the show ended and the meet-and-greet cleared, you were running on fumes, your phone at 3% battery and your body running mostly on espresso and anger. You’d finalized hotel room keys, triple-checked the luggage manifest, made sure all the boys had post-show meals waiting.

And then—finally—freedom.

You could’ve joined them at the bar. Hell, Chan had even tugged your sleeve and offered you a shot before leaving the lobby with a slurred grin.

But your legs had already carried you into the elevator, eyes closing before the doors even shut.

All you wanted was a bed.

No bra. No briefs. No bullshit.

So you stripped the second your door clicked shut.

Your panties were soft and high-cut, practically invisible beneath the oversized T-shirt you’d planned to sleep in—until you peeled that off too and reached for the one thing lighter, cooler: a thin, cropped camisole you’d worn under your manager’s jacket earlier.

The fabric barely kissed the curve of your chest. No padding, no support, nothing to hide how worn-down and sensitive you felt.

But fuck it, you were on a private floor, not sharing a room with anyone. No one would see you.

You passed out across the bed in seconds, limbs loose, hair stuck to your cheek, one leg tangled in the sheet and the other kicked free.

You didn’t even register the first knock.

But the second—louder, clumsier—jerked you upright.

You blinked, dazed and crusty-eyed. The room was dark, the hallway light seeping in under the door like a spotlight.

Knock knock.

You groaned, grabbing a pillow to your chest and hauling yourself to your feet. You were half-asleep, brain fogged and skin warm from sleep, not thinking at all as you padded barefoot across the floor.

The camisole had ridden up.

Your panties clung high across your hips.

But none of that registered—not until you cracked the door open and saw him.

“Hyung?” Seungmin mumbled, brows furrowed, eyes red and shiny. “Is this your—wait.”

His voice dipped. His gaze dropped.

And then he froze.

“…Oh,” he said, small and stunned.

You blinked at him. “Seungmin?”

He didn’t answer.

Because his brain—tipsy as it was—had just realized two things in rapid succession:

1. This wasn’t Chan’s room.

2. You were very naked.

Not technically. But close enough.

Your bare thighs were on full display, the camisole barely grazing your belly button, your nipples visibly hard through the thin fabric. The hallway light behind him cast your silhouette against the room’s dark interior in dangerous clarity.

He swallowed.

You blinked, still not fully processing.

“Wait—why’re you here?”

“I—” he scratched his head, swaying slightly. “Lost my card. Everyone locked their doors. Thought this was—uh—Chan-hyung’s room. My bad. I’ll just—”

You stepped aside and yanked him inside.

Hard.

His shoulder hit your chest and your hand scrambled to slam the door shut before anyone saw. Your heart pounded.

“Are you insane? What if someone took a picture of you?!”

“I’m sorry!” he whispered, voice strangled. “I didn’t—fuck, I really thought—”

You turned to him, panting slightly from the adrenaline, your blanket long forgotten on the bed.

Only then did you realize.

You looked down.

Oh. Shit.

Full tits. Bare thighs. Tight panties.

Seungmin was right there—eyes wide, frozen like a deer in headlights, clearly trying to keep his gaze anywhere but on your body.

Too late. He’d seen.

And now he was actively malfunctioning.

“I—I didn’t mean to knock on yours,” he stammered. “I thought it was Hyung’s. I swear. You just—you opened and I saw and I—”

You covered your face with both hands.

He was still talking, tipsy and spiraling.

“—and I was gonna leave but then you pulled me in and now I’m here and you’re—you’re dressed like that—”

“Stop talking, Seungmin.”

Silence.

His mouth snapped shut.

You peeked between your fingers.

He looked like he wanted to evaporate.

Which might’ve been cute—if you weren’t acutely aware that your nipples were still hard and your underwear left nothing to the imagination.

You dropped your hands with a sigh and crossed your arms under your chest, trying to ignore how that only pushed them up more.

“Okay,” you said, exhaling shakily. “You lost your card.”

He nodded quickly. “Yes.”

“No one else answered.”

“Correct.”

“And now you’re in my room.”

He nodded again, slower this time.

Your heart was still thumping. His eyes flicked up to yours—then away again. Every few seconds they betrayed him, dropping back down, catching on your thighs, your waist, your chest before he forced them back up again.

His ears were flushed red.

He was trying so hard not to look—and failing.

You didn’t know what possessed you to say it. Maybe it was exhaustion. Or curiosity. Or the way his bottom lip was caught between his teeth, swaying slightly, hands tucked behind his back like a schoolboy caught in the wrong classroom.

You sighed, one hand dragging down your face, the other cradling the pillow against your chest again.

“Well,” you muttered. “You smell like you lost a drinking game.”

“I probably did,” he said, voice rough but quiet.

“Bathroom’s through there,” you said, gesturing vaguely to the door near the dresser. “Freshen up. We’ll figure out the room situation in the morning.”

Seungmin blinked at you, dazed.

“You’re letting me stay?”

“Well that’s a given,” you said. “I’m not about to throw a drunk idol into the hallway at 2AM. God knows what sasaeng would love that headline.”

He made a soft, embarrassed noise in the back of his throat and practically scrambled toward the bathroom. You heard the door click shut behind him, followed by the water running.

Alone again, you exhaled sharply and looked down at yourself.

The camisole still clung to your chest, the fabric wrinkled from sleep. Your panties had shifted during your rush to the door, one hip strap riding higher than the other. The damage was already done—he’d seen you, fully—and suddenly, modesty felt stupid.

You weren’t thinking like a professional anymore. You were thinking like a tired woman who just wanted sleep and had, quite unfortunately, let a very drunk, very awkward, very cute Seungmin into her room.

Not ideal.

You crossed to the bed and slipped under the duvet, this time tugging it up to your neck like a shield, every inch of your body burrowing into the mattress. You didn’t even glance back when you heard the bathroom door open.

The room was small—modest compared to the suite-style ones booked for the boys—and there wasn’t much in the way of extra space. One armchair sat in the corner, low-backed and thin, its tiny matching ottoman clearly not meant for sleeping.

You could hear him hovering.

Fidgeting.

Shifting on his feet like he was trying to make himself disappear.

You kept your face to the wall.

More shuffling. A pause. Then a tiny sigh.

You rolled your eyes, still not turning.

“The bed’s big enough for two.”

Silence.

Then—

“…Are you sure?”

“I legally cannot let you sleep on the cold floor, Seungmin.”

“…Fair.”

The mattress dipped a few moments later. You felt the careful weight of him as he climbed in—slow, hesitant, like the bed might collapse under the guilt of it. He stayed close to the edge, not even rustling the duvet as he pulled it over his legs.

Neither of you said anything for a while.

You could feel the silence settle in like warmth, like tension slipping between your shoulder blades. He smelled cleaner now—soap and mouthwash, the lingering sharpness of whatever cheap vodka the boys had probably downed earlier. But mostly soap.

He didn’t move.

You didn’t either.

Eventually, his voice came, hushed in the dark.

“…Thank you.”

You mumbled something in return, barely audible.

Another pause. Then, quieter—

“I didn’t mean to see. Before. I wasn’t trying to.”

You sighed.

“I know.”

“I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“I’m fine,” you said, and you were surprised to realize you meant it.

Maybe because he wasn’t leering. Maybe because he was clearly still rattled. Maybe because your back was to him and your body had long since relaxed again.

But you were tired. He was tired.

And despite everything, the room felt soft again.

Safe.

You closed your eyes and whispered into the pillow.

“Goodnight, Seungmin.”

He swallowed, voice low and raw behind you.

“…Goodnight.”

And then—finally—stillness.

But neither of you slept just yet.

Because under the sheets, just inches away, your heart was beating too loud.

And Seungmin, with his flushed ears and twitchy fingers, was still trying not to picture what he’d already seen.

⸻

The room had gone colder.

At some point, maybe around 4AM, the air conditioning kicked into overdrive, and the soft hum of it stirred you from sleep.

You shifted under the duvet with a lazy frown, your body instinctively chasing warmth. And then—

You felt it.

Not the chill of the room, but the heat of someone behind you.

A slow, calm breath ghosted over the back of your neck. Warm, steady.

Then the arm.

An arm wrapped around your waist. A hand splayed low, fingers spread wide and firm across your stomach, half tucked beneath the hem of your camisole.

Your breath hitched—eyes fluttering open as your senses slowly caught up to what was happening.

Seungmin.

He was pressed flush against your back now, close in a way that neither of you had planned. Your ass rested snugly against his hips, your legs curved toward your chest in a soft tuck, his body following the shape of yours like he’d been molded to it in sleep.

The realization hit like a slow, hot wave:

Somewhere between drifting off and now, you’d gravitated toward each other. Maybe it had started with a brush of knees. A shared pillow. Maybe he’d pulled you in. Maybe you had backed into him without thinking.

But now?

Now, you were wrapped in him.

And he was touching you.

That hand—broad and warm—shifted slightly, fingers flexing in his sleep. His knuckles grazed higher up your stomach, a slow, unconscious movement that felt more like a caress than a twitch.

Your skin prickled.

Your breath stuttered again.

And that was before you felt the subtle, unmistakable pressure against your ass.

He was hard. Not fully, not completely, but enough that the bulge was there—thick and lazy, tucked against the dip of your curves like it belonged there.

You froze.

Every nerve in your body suddenly wide awake.

It was still innocent enough. He was asleep. Dreaming. He wasn’t doing anything on purpose. But the heat that licked up your spine didn’t care about intentions. It cared about the weight of him behind you, the way his fingertips had curled slightly, like they liked the skin they’d found.

Your thighs pressed tighter.

Seungmin murmured something in his sleep. A sound low in his chest. And then—

His hips shifted.

Just a fraction. But enough.

He pressed into you.

Your lips parted, breath shaky, heart slamming against your ribs as his hips settled again, snug against the curve of your ass like he’d wanted to be closer. Like his sleeping body knew what it wanted, even if his mind hadn’t caught up.

You stayed still, not daring to move. Not even blinking.

His fingers on your stomach moved again. Slow. Dragging higher. The edge of his pinky grazed the underside of your breast, just barely. Not a grab. Not a grope. Just enough to send a thrill zipping through your chest.

You swallowed.

Carefully, silently, you reached down and clutched the duvet a little tighter.

But you didn’t move away.

And neither did he.

You stayed frozen.

Not because you were scared. Not because you didn’t want it. But because the smallest twitch of movement might’ve broken the spell—and right now, with his hands on you, his body warming your back, and his breath soft and steady against your neck… you didn’t want it to stop.

Even if he didn’t mean it.

Even if he wasn’t fully awake.

Even if this wasn’t supposed to happen.

Your body didn’t care about reason. Your body cared about the ache that had been living under your skin for too long. The way your thighs clenched when his fingertips brushed just under the curve of your breast again. The way your stomach fluttered when he pulled you closer, unconsciously grinding that hardening length against the softness of your ass.

A soft sound slipped from his throat—barely a hum, muffled into your hair.

Then his hand moved again.

Slow. Searching. Sliding downward over your stomach, like he was touching something delicate in his dream—fingertips gliding beneath the hem of your camisole, callused pads grazing skin that hadn’t been touched in months.

You held your breath. Every muscle tensed, every inch of you begging for more and terrified of it all at once.

Then the other hand found your hip.

It gripped you there—fingers digging into the flesh, like he was holding on. Like he needed to.

Your eyes fluttered shut.

His hips shifted again. His hard cock pressed tighter against your ass, no longer just a ghost of a touch but a full, heavy presence—throbbing through the fabric of his sweats, thick and real and there.

A soft gasp caught in your throat.

And then—God—his hands started moving.

The one on your stomach caressed upward, grazing the underside of your breast again with just the backs of his fingers. Not a grope. Not rough. But reverent. Careful. A sleeping man worshiping a dream he didn’t know was real.

The other stayed firm on your hip, squeezing lightly, rhythmically, as if guiding himself into the curve of your ass with slow, sleepy rolls of his hips.

You bit your lip so hard it almost hurt.

Because your body… it betrayed you.

Your nipples hardened, tight and sensitive beneath the thin fabric of your cami. Your thighs pressed together, desperate, seeking friction. And heat pulsed low in your stomach—building with every moan that slipped from his lips. Tiny, broken little things. Like he didn’t even realize he was making them.

You’d never heard Seungmin make those kinds of sounds before.

And you weren’t even sure he was fully awake.

Your breath shook. Your hand fisted into the duvet. You didn’t move, not an inch—but God, you felt everything. And you wanted more.

You wanted to press back into him.

You wanted his hands higher. Lower.

You wanted—

“…Hnn…”

A little whimper escaped him—almost helpless.

And then—his fingers twitched again.

Dragged higher.

This time brushing—accidentally, devastatingly—over your nipple.

But then didn’t mean to move.

Not really.

Not in a way you could blame on sleep.

But the ache had settled too deep now, thick and warm in your belly, and the feel of his hands on your skin—soft and curious and a little desperate—was unraveling your last thread of willpower.

So you gave in.

Just a little.

A slow, subtle push of your hips back into him—just enough for your ass to press tighter into the hard length straining behind his sweats. Your breath caught in your throat, chest tightening as the hand on your stomach twitched in response… and then slid up.

His palm cupped your breast.

Full, warm, heavy in his hand.

You gasped—a soft, broken little sigh—because the pad of his thumb grazed your nipple again through your top, and it was too much, too sensitive, too good. Your back arched into it instinctively, the quietest sound escaping your lips, and you felt him—

Stilling.

Breathing.

Then freezing.

Seungmin’s body went stiff behind you.

Like a man pulled straight out of a dream and dropped into a nightmare.

His hand stopped moving. His hips locked. His breath caught like he’d choked on it—and then dragged in sharp and tight, like he couldn’t even remember how to breathe anymore.

“…fuck.”

The word was barely audible. Choked. Wrecked. He jerked his hand away from your breast like he’d been burned, stumbling backward out of the bed in a tangle of limbs and blankets, his body trembling with confusion and guilt and raw panic.

He stood there beside the bed in nothing but a loose tee and sweats, hair messy, eyes wide, lips parted, and face pale in the blue light bleeding through the hotel curtains.

“I—I didn’t—I thought—” he stammered, hands raised like he’d accidentally committed a crime.

“I was dreaming,” he said, voice hoarse. “I didn’t know—fuck, I didn’t know it was you—”

You sat up slowly, duvet still pulled tight to your chest, your body flushed and your heart hammering so hard you thought it might burst through your ribs.

“I’m sorry,” Seungmin said, breathless, eyes darting everywhere but your face. “Shit, I touched you, I—God, I’m so sorry.”

He backed away, visibly shaking. “I swear I wasn’t—fuck, I didn’t mean to—”

You should’ve said something. Anything.

But you were still reeling—body buzzing, skin on fire, the ghost of his touch still etched into your chest.

And for a moment, neither of you moved.

Until he did—

You didn’t mean to stop him. Didn’t plan it.

Didn’t think it through.

But the second he took a step back—panic all over his face, like he was ready to disappear and pretend this never happened—your voice came out, small and raw, right before you could even breathe it back.

“…Seungmin.”

He froze.

Turned slowly. Eyes wide. Chest heaving.

You just looked at him—bare shoulders rising and falling beneath the duvet, hair tousled from sleep, lips parted, heart thudding behind your ribs like it wanted to escape.

“I…” you started, the words thick in your throat. “It’s okay.”

His brows furrowed. “What?”

“I didn’t stop you,” you said softly, eyes searching his. “Maybe… I didn’t want to.”

The room went silent.

And Seungmin—sweet, shy, brilliant Seungmin—stood there like the air had been punched from his lungs.

“You—” He blinked hard, swallowing, jaw clenched like it was the only thing keeping him grounded. “You didn’t want me to stop?”

“I should have,” you said, honestly. “But I didn’t.”

You sat up a little, the duvet sliding down with the motion—revealing the thin strap of your camisole slipping off your shoulder, and just the barest peek of soft skin beneath it. The hem had already ridden up, underboob visible, your thighs spread slightly beneath the covers, body warm and flushed and so real in the low light.

Seungmin’s breath hitched.

You caught the way his eyes flicked down—just for a second—before he snapped them away, fists clenched at his sides, every muscle in his lean body tense.

“I’m your tour manager,” you whispered, more to yourself than him. “If I hadn’t been so tired, I could’ve sorted your room. I should’ve gone to the reception or called someone. I should’ve helped you.”

You looked down at your lap, voice quieter now. “Instead, you walked into my room. I was basically naked. And I let you into my bed.”

Seungmin stayed quiet. Still trembling. Still hard. You could see it—his sweats doing nothing to hide the thick, straining outline pressing forward. He wasn’t even drunk anymore. Just dazed. Wrecked. Fighting something inside him that was so clearly losing.

“And I didn’t stop you,” you finished, eyes lifting to meet his again. “Even when I should have. I let it happen. So…”

You took a breath.

“…you don’t have to go.”

His eyes locked onto yours.

And fuck, the look in them—like every wall he’d carefully built was cracking, like he was fighting to be good, to be professional, but his body was screaming something else entirely. Something raw. Something needy.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he said hoarsely.

“Like what?”

“Like you want me.”

The duvet slipped lower when you shifted—bare thighs now visible. And Seungmin’s gaze flicked downward again. Just for a second. Just long enough to see how your cami clung to the swell of your chest, how it had ridden so high your round underboobs were visible, soft and tempting and so close.

You tilted your head, slow. Careful. Still quiet.

“…What if I do?”

That was it.

That was the moment.

Because Seungmin’s lips parted—eyes flicking back to yours, mouth pink and breath shallow, his cock visibly throbbing behind his sweats. The hunger was there now. He wasn’t just hard—he was wrecked by the sight of you, sprawled out like a dream he hadn’t meant to touch, and couldn’t resist anymore.

You were still his tour manager.

Still the professional. Still the one with authority.

But in that moment, with your hair a mess and your thighs spread and your lips barely parted in invitation—God, you looked so soft. So warm. So fucking beautiful it hurt.

And he had such a crush on you. Always had.

Maybe now he didn’t want to pretend otherwise.

Seungmin didn’t move at first. He just stood there, staring—like he couldn’t believe what was in front of him. You, almost bare-chested and flushed, thighs pressed tight beneath you, nipples peaked and your chest rising with every slow breath. His eyes dropped to your breasts, and he swore under his breath, the tension in his throat thick enough to choke on.

When you didn’t move to cover yourself, he dragged his gaze back up to yours.

Like he was waiting for the world to stop him.

Like he was seconds away from burning.

You didn’t say anything. Just held his stare and reached for his hand, curling your fingers around his and guiding it to your face—pressing his palm to your cheek.

That’s when he cracked.

His hand tightened. His jaw flexed. And then he moved—fast and quiet, crawling onto the bed over you with one knee on either side, not touching you yet, just looking down like he still couldn’t believe it was real.

“Tell me this isn’t a dream,” he said hoarsely, voice thick. “Please.”

You didn’t answer. You didn’t have to.

Because your body did—arching subtly, thighs parting slightly beneath him in silent invitation.

He bent down, mouth finding the slope of your neck like he’d been aching for it for years. You gasped, head tipping back, the heat of his breath dragging over your collarbone. Then his hands—those long, trembling fingers—finally reached your breasts. He cupped them like they were something sacred, thumbs brushing over your nipples in slow, reverent circles.

“God,” he whispered against your skin. “You feel…”

He didn’t finish the sentence. Didn’t have to.

His tongue found your nipple and you gasped, back arching under him. He was breathing harder now, grinding against your thigh through his sweatpants, restraint unraveling one touch at a time. His lips moved from one breast to the other, mouth open, hot and wet, tongue lapping and sucking until your thighs started to tremble beneath him.

“You don’t know what you’re doing to me,” he said against your skin, voice guttural.

You looked up at him, wrecked already, pupils blown wide. “Then show me.”

Something in his expression darkened.

And just like that, he sat back, pulled the duvet the rest of the way down, and let his eyes roam over every inch of you. His chest heaved once. Twice.

Then he dragged your panties down your legs, slow, savoring it, watching the fabric slide off your body like it was the last thing tethering you to decency.

He swore under his breath again.

You shifted, but he stopped you with a firm hand on your hip.

“Don’t move.”

He stripped his sweatpants in one motion, cock heavy and flushed and hard as it slapped against his stomach. You couldn’t look away. Couldn’t breathe. He was beautiful, yes, but there was something feral now in his silence—something hungry and barely restrained.

You reached for him, and he let you. Let you wrap your fingers around him, let you guide him down to your mouth.

But just as you leaned in, he caught your wrist.

His voice dropped an octave.

“You do that and I’m not going to last.”

Your smirk faltered.

“You think I care?”

And before he could stop you again, you leaned down and took him into your mouth—hot, slow, tongue dragging along the underside as your lips slid down inch by inch. He let out a strangled sound, fists curling in the sheets on either side of him, chest rising fast.

“Shit—don’t stop—fuck—”

You didn’t. You moaned around him, letting the vibrations buzz through his cock. Your fingers curled at the base, your pace teasing at first, and then faster—your lips slick, jaw flexing as you swallowed him deeper.

He groaned, head falling back, hair sticking to his forehead.

“Fucking hell—how are you—” He choked, hips twitching. “You’re gonna make me—”

You pulled off with a gasp, a line of spit catching on your lip as you looked up at him, flushed and ruined.

Seungmin reached for you in a blur.

His hand wrapped around the back of your neck, dragging you up until your lips crashed into his. He kissed you like he wanted to memorize you, like he wanted to devour you—and as he pushed you back against the mattress, the last trace of hesitation fell away from him.

“This shouldn’t be happening,” he murmured against your mouth. “But I’m not stopping.”

And then he pressed the head of his cock against your soaked entrance, dragging it slow, teasing, watching your body react—watching your legs fall wider, your breath hitch.

“Is this what you want?” he asked, voice low and ruined. “Say it.”

“Yes, I want it.”

His cock nudged at your entrance—thick, hot, pulsing. You whimpered just from the feel of it pressing against you. Seungmin’s eyes locked on yours, blown wide, hair damp, jaw clenched so tight it ticked beneath his flushed skin.

“I want to fuck you so bad,” he murmured, voice wrecked. “But if I move right now, I’m gonna come.”

You bit your lip, your hips already rocking forward the slightest bit, aching for him.

“Please do it,” you whispered. “Slow. I want to feel every inch.”

He groaned like he was in pain and slid in—just the tip.

Then deeper.

And deeper.

You cried out when he bottomed out inside you, your walls stretching to take him, fluttering from the fullness. His head dropped to your shoulder as he trembled above you, trying so fucking hard to stay still.

“Fuck—” he rasped, breath hot on your neck. “You’re—Jesus, you’re tight. Warm. You feel so—fuck—I can’t—”

His hips rocked once, slow, thick drag of cock that pulled a breathless moan from your throat. He kissed your collarbone, hands gripping your thighs, keeping your legs spread wide for him as he started fucking you in slow, careful thrusts.

Each one sent shocks through your spine—steady, deep, possessive. He groaned every time he sank back in, voice rough with disbelief, hips shuddering as he fought not to lose it.

“You have no idea,” he whispered, “how long I’ve thought about this.”

“You’re not what I expected,” you breathed, already gasping as he set a slow rhythm, grinding in circles that had your toes curling. “You’re so—”

You didn’t finish the sentence.

Just moaned, softly, “Oh Baby…”

The effect was instant.

Seungmin froze mid-thrust.

His eyes met yours—dark, blown wide, almost dangerous.

“Say that again,” he said, low, like a growl from deep in his chest.

You blinked up at him, surprised, breathless. “…Baby.”

He snapped.

His mouth was on yours, desperate, tongue tasting every sound you made. Then he grabbed your hips and started fucking you with rougher, sharper thrusts—still deep, but now filled with urgency.

“You feel that?” he panted, hips snapping forward again. “That’s mine. You understand?”

You whimpered, clinging to him, head rolling back as he fucked you like he was trying to brand you.

“God, you’re so good,” he moaned, voice cracking. “Can’t believe you’re letting me do this. Can’t believe I’m inside you like this.”

You barely heard him—you were too busy writhing, body twitching under him, orgasm crawling up your spine like wildfire.

But you wanted more. You wanted to see him break.

You pushed at his chest, flipping him over and straddling him in one breathless motion. He let you, watching you like he was starved, lips parted as you lined him back up and sank down on him, slow and tight and trembling.

“Oh, fuck,” he gasped, gripping the sheets. “You’re gonna kill me.”

You started riding him, steady at first—hips rolling, eyes locked on his, both of you completely lost in the sight of your bodies moving together.

But when you leaned forward, whispering “You like this?” into his ear—

—he moved.

Fast.

One hand grabbed your throat, not choking, just holding—just owning. His other arm locked around your waist, and suddenly he was fucking up into you, lifting you off the bed with every brutal, delicious thrust.

“Is this what you wanted?” he growled. “Wanted to ride me, make me lose my fucking mind?”

You gasped, fingers flying to his wrist, not to stop him—just to feel him. His cock hit deeper like this, angled right against your sweet spot, and your thighs started to tremble from the sheer power of his pace.

You couldn’t answer. Couldn’t breathe.

“Look at me.”

You did—and his face. God, his face. Eyes locked on yours like he was watching you fall apart just for him.

“I’m gonna come,” he warned, voice hoarse. “You’re gonna take it. All of it.”

Your orgasm was still crashing through your body when Seungmin moved again.

Without warning, he flipped you onto your stomach, strong hands manhandling you like you weighed nothing. You gasped into the sheets, dizzy from the sudden shift—but the moment your cheek hit the pillow, you felt him behind you again, kneeling between your thighs, gripping your hips like he was about to lose himself.

“Fucking perfect,” he growled, voice low and wrecked as he stared at the arch of your back, your ass up high, your cunt slick and pulsing from how hard you’d just come. “You look like this and expect me to hold back?”

You whined into the sheets, pressing your hips up for him—begging without words.

He lined up.

And slammed into you.

You screamed.

It wasn’t pain—it was bliss. He was fucking deeper than before, harder, snapping his hips against your ass so roughly you could hear the wet slap echo in the room. You clawed the sheets. Your voice was a broken string of moans and gasps.

Every time he drove in, your ass bounced back against him, the sting of skin on skin turning into pure heat.

Then—smack.

His hand landed hard on your ass.

You cried out, back arching like a bow.

“Oh my god—Seungmin—!”

He did it again. And again. Spanked you until the skin burned and the sounds were too filthy to be real, and he was groaning behind you like a man possessed.

“I’ve dreamt of this,” he gasped, watching the jiggle of your ass as he fucked you. “Touching you. Being inside you. You have no idea what you’re doing to me.”

His hand slid forward, fingers pinching one of your nipples, twisting it, tugging until you choked on a sob.

“Please—please—” you begged, not even sure what you were asking for anymore.

He leaned over your back, his breath hot on your ear. “Begging already?”

You were shaking. Crying out for more. The sound of skin on skin filled the room, wet and wild, and his rhythm got even more brutal—like he was trying to ruin you for anyone else.

“You want me to break you?” he whispered, thrusting deep and hard enough to push you forward.

“Yes—Seungmin—please—”

He pulled out suddenly and flipped you again, your body pliant and trembling as he pushed your knees up and apart, exposing you completely. He hovered over you, eyes wild, jaw slack, body covered in a sheen of sweat.

“You’re mine right now,” he said, voice trembling from restraint, “and I’m gonna make sure you never forget it.”

Then he sank back into you and started pounding again—deep, rough, so good you couldn’t breathe. Your breasts bounced with every thrust, and Seungmin’s hands were everywhere—gripping your thighs, tweaking your nipples, palming your throat just enough to make your head spin.

“Say it,” he growled, eyes locked on yours. “Say I’m the only one who’s ever made you feel like this.”

“You are—fuck—you are—” you cried, losing yourself completely as another orgasm tore through you, clenching so tight around him that he finally let go.

He groaned—loud, raw—head thrown back as he spilled inside you, hips still moving like he couldn’t stop. Like he didn’t want to.

Even as he came, he kept fucking you.

Slow now. Deep. Letting it ride out as long as possible.

His voice cracked when he said, “I don’t think I’ll be able to stop.”

And honestly? You didn’t want him to.

⸻

The room was quiet now, save for the hum of the air conditioning and the sound of your shaky breathing. Your body was limp beneath him, boneless, skin slick with sweat and heat and everything he’d just poured into you. He was still inside, still twitching a little, as if even his cock didn’t want to leave your warmth.

But then Seungmin exhaled—shaky and slow—and pulled out of you with a soft hiss. He moved so carefully, hands trembling a bit as he reached for the discarded duvet to cover your body, his eyes wide and stunned, his lips parted like he couldn’t quite believe what had just happened.

You watched him sit back on his heels, hair sticking to his forehead, cheeks flushed, lashes low. The confidence—the filth—the devastating way he just fucked you… it was gone.

Now he looked shy.

Almost embarrassed.

“…Did I hurt you?” he asked quietly, reaching for the tissues from the nightstand. His voice was soft again—barely a whisper. “I didn’t mean to be that rough. I just— I kind of lost it.”

You smiled, dazed and aching but full of warmth, watching as he carefully cleaned you up. He was so gentle, even shaking a little, his thumb brushing your inner thigh like he didn’t know if he had the right.

You pushed yourself up slightly and cupped his jaw. “Seungmin.”

His eyes flicked up to yours.

“I’m fine. Better than fine.” You leaned in and kissed him—slow and deep, tasting the way his breath hitched in surprise. “You don’t have to be so scared. I wanted it. All of it.”

He let out a sigh, the kind that sounded more like relief than anything else.

When you broke the kiss, he hesitated, then bent to grab the shirt he’d worn earlier that night from the edge of the bed. “Here,” he murmured, helping you slip it over your head. It was soft and warm, and it smelled like him—clean laundry and sweat and the tiniest hint of cologne. He smoothed the hem over your hips gently, reverently, then looked up at you with those sweet, wrecked eyes.

“…I’ll shut up now.”

You laughed softly and dragged him into the bed beside you. He climbed in, curling behind you like it was the most natural thing in the world, pulling you into his chest, holding you so tight it was almost like he didn’t trust himself to let go.

And for a few minutes, it was just quiet. Breathing. His nose buried in your hair. Your fingers lightly tracing the lines of his knuckles where they rested over your stomach.

Then you whispered, “No one has to know, right?”

He stiffened slightly. “Right.”

“But…” you tilted your head back, meeting his eyes, “I wouldn’t mind if it wasn’t just a one-time thing.”

Seungmin blinked. His voice cracked when he said, “You mean that?”

You nodded, smiling softly. “There’s no going back to pretending we’re just coworkers. Not after this.”

His arms tightened around you.

“Good,” he murmured, lips brushing your shoulder. “Because I don’t think I could look at you like that again. I want this. You. As much as you’ll let me have.”

And then he kissed your neck—so softly, so sweet—and whispered, “I’m yours if you want me.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Authors note: The way Seungmin has been creeping up on me and wrecking me these days???? Then that cute abs reveal? Safe to say he’s stuck in my head and Ive been thinking about this scenario for a VERY long time🥹

Also, we’re almost at 2k guys! 😭😭😭😭 you guys are the best fr!

Taglist: @tsunderelino @innieandsungielover @inlovewithstraykids @reignessance @jeonismm @sttnficrecs @herejusttemporary @krssliu @kenia4 @miilquetoast @thackery-blinks @leeminho-hall @suga-is-bae @butterflydemons @inejghafawifesblog @malunar28replies @minchanlimbo @mal-lunar-28 @breakmeofftbr @itvenorica124 @slut4junho @deepblueocean97 @thequibbie @yaorzu-blog @imagine-all-the-imagines @just-bria @mischievousleeknow @ifyxu @melanctton @thelostprincessofasgard @binniebb @sillylittlecat1 @darkwitchoferie @m-325 @headfirstfortoro @imseungminsgf @ihrtlix @vernorica123 @hwangjoanna @swordswallower2000 @niki007 @yxna-bliss @firelordtsuki @justwonder113 @mbioooo0000 @sammhisphere @nebugalaxy @cutecucumberkimberly @chancloud8 @sunflwerstar @shxdowofdarkness @aeyla @annyeongffs @beppybeesnuggets @iamwritteninyourstars @crisle19 @stxysakura @ocean-glacierblue

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txrully · 7 months ago

Text

I'M SO STUPID IN LOVE!

·˚ ༘ ꒱ summary lovey-dovey things they'd do for you!

·˚ ༘ ꒱ characters isagi yoichi , bachira meguru , itoshi rin , nagi seishiro , mikage reo , chigiri hyoma , hiori yo , shidou ryusei , itoshi sae , michael kaiser , alexis ness .

·˚ ༘ ꒱ warning lowercase intended

·˚ ༘ ꒱ song inspo stupid in love - max ( ft. huh yunjin of lsrfm )

·˚ ༘ ꒱ isagi yoichi

you know how isagi’s brain is basically soccer, soccer, soccer? well, this man rewires his ENTIRE system for you. suddenly, every time he scores a goal, he dedicates it to you. like, mid-celebration he’s shouting your name in front of thousands of people. embarrassing? a lil. cute? definitely.

he’s also the type to leave you notes everywhere. you’ll open your locker, and boom: "i hope your day is as perfect as your smile. also, pls drink water. - yoichi 🩵"

or you’ll find random sticky notes around the house with stuff like: "you're cuter than my dog. and that’s saying a lot." ( i hc he's a dog person, fight me 🫠 )

"yoichi, did you seriously compare me to your dog again?"

"is that bad?? you’re both my top priorities!"

·˚ ༘ ꒱ bachira meguru

bachira is a walking ball of chaos, and it only gets worse when he’s in love. he makes you weird handmade crafts—like a necklace with your initials carved into a random rock he found because “the vibes were immaculate.”

he’s also the king of grand gestures. once, he showed up outside your window in the middle of the night blasting your favorite song from a boombox. and no, he didn’t think it through—he got yelled at by your neighbors, but he swears it was worth it.

"meguru, why is there a rock with my name on it?"

"because i love you. duh."

"…you couldn’t just buy a necklace??"

"where’s the FUN in that?? D:< "

·˚ ༘ ꒱ itoshi rin

soft tsundere energy incoming. rin doesn’t say much, but when he’s in love, he SHOWS it. like, he’ll memorize your coffee order, your favorite book, and the exact way you like your hoodie sleeves rolled up. you swear he’s psychic, but he’s just that attentive.

he also sends you texts at random times:

"don’t forget your umbrella. it’s going to rain."

"i noticed you like this song. added it to my playlist."

you’re 99% sure his search history is “how to take care of someone without being obvious.”

"rin, did you... did you learn how to make my favorite food?"

"shut up and eat it."

"you’re so sweet it’s disgusting."

"i said shut up."

·˚ ༘ ꒱ nagi seishiro

nagi’s love language? pure, lazy dedication. he may not seem like the romantic type, but trust me—he will move mountains for you... as long as it doesn’t require getting up too much.

once, he spent HOURS figuring out how to build you a playlist of all your favorite songs, complete with a cover photo of you two. he even labeled it: "for my player 2 🕹️"

"sei, this playlist is amazing!"

"mm, yeah, it was exhausting. now can we nap?"

"you literally just sat there and clicked buttons."

"exactly. so tiring.."

·˚ ༘ ꒱ mikage reo

reo goes all out for you—no budget, no limits, no second thoughts. one time, you mentioned how pretty cherry blossoms are, and the next thing you know, he’s flying you to a festival in japan. casually might i add.

but the sweetest part? he remembers the little things. your favorite snack? stocked in his pantry. your favorite flower? delivered to your doorstep every friday. he spoils you rotten but somehow makes it feel like the most natural thing in the world.

"reo, this is too much—"

"no, it’s not. nothing’s too much for you."

"you’re literally insane."

"only for you, babe."

·˚ ༘ ꒱ chigiri hyoma

chigiri is the definition of 💌romantic aesthetic💌. he writes you poetry and leaves it in random places, like your bag or your coat pocket. sometimes, you don’t even notice until hours later.

he also takes you on dreamy dates—picnics in scenic fields, long bike rides at sunset, and slow dances in your living room when it’s raining outside. everything he does feels like it’s straight out of a romance movie.

"hyoma, did you just quote a shakespeare sonnet to me?"

"maybe."

"oh my god, you’re so dramatic."

"and yet you’re still here."

·˚ ༘ ꒱ hiori yo

hiori is the sweetest, softest boy in love. he keeps a journal where he writes down all the little things you do that make him happy. once, you caught him scribbling, and he turned BRIGHT red.

he’s also the king of quiet acts of service. your phone’s always fully charged, your favorite snacks magically appear in your bag, and you never have to ask for help because he’s already two steps ahead.

"yo, were you writing about me again?"

"no... maybe. okay, yes."

"you’re adorable."

"please don’t look."

·˚ ༘ ꒱ shidou ryusei

oh boy. shidou is CHAOTIC in love. this man would probably fight a wild animal to impress you. he’s all about making you laugh, even if it means doing the dumbest stunts imaginable.

one time, he literally climbed a tree to get you a flower. it wasn’t even a nice flower. but hey, it’s the thought that counts.

"ryu, you’re bleeding. what did you do??"

"got you this flower. cool, huh?"

"you FELL OUT OF A TREE FOR THIS??"

"worth it."

·˚ ༘ ꒱ itoshi sae

sae is the definition of quiet but deadly romantic. he doesn’t show his feelings often, but when he does? damn. like, he’ll casually fly in from another country just to spend the weekend with you because “it’s no big deal.”

he also sends you fancy gifts out of nowhere. but if you call him out, he’ll play it cool like it’s nothing.

"sae, did you just buy me an entire designer collection?"

"it’s just clothes."

"just clothes?? this cost more than my rent!"

"and you look better than rent."

·˚ ༘ ꒱ michael kaiser

kaiser loves showing off, especially when it comes to you. he’ll buy out a billboard just to plaster your picture on it with the words "the love of my life 🩵."

but he’s also surprisingly sweet. like, he’ll carry your bag, fix your hair when it’s windy, or randomly pull you into a dance in the middle of the street just because he can.

"michael, did you seriously put my face on a billboard??"

"obviously. everyone needs to know you’re mine."

"you’re ridiculous."

"ridiculously in love with you, yes."

·˚ ༘ ꒱ alexis ness

ness is a total softie. he writes you little love letters and leaves them in your mailbox, signed with his initials like he’s a secret admirer. you obviously know it’s him, but you let him think he’s being sneaky.

he’s also BIG on cuddles. whenever he sees you, it’s like he can’t function until he gets a hug.

"ness, you know i know it’s you, right?"

"…you’re supposed to pretend you don’t!"

"why?"

"because it’s romantic!"

do not copy/translate/plagiarize/repost my works in any way. ( i will find you 😶‍🌫️ )

likes + reblogs appreciated ‹𝟹

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ilikeevilblondes · 3 months ago

Text

Team Effort

18+ MDNI!

Summary: Your roommate, Joel, is normally not a nuisance, but one evening, he barges into your room because his laptop broke and he needs to borrow yours for unspecified reasons. Of course, what he didn’t know was that you were already using it for the same thing. You manage to reach a compromise by sharing your screen and fulfilling your respective needs alongside one another. As you do.

TL;DR: Roomies who watch porn together, jack off together. And jack off each other.

W.C: ~4.2k

Warnings: roommate!joel x reader, mutual masturbation, porn imagery, age gap (10 ish years??), fingering, blowjobs, sixty-nine, healthy dose of praise, this is really horny icl (no outbreak au!)

Note: no clue how my brain cooks up this shit, not even ovulating so i have no excuse. @whaddupbaby

Living in Austin, Texas, wasn’t cheap.

Of course, you were very well-acquainted with this fact as you happened to be a young woman with a less-than-generous salary. A salary that wouldn’t have allowed you to live comfortably by your lonesome if it weren’t for your roommate.

Enter Joel Miller.

Joel was a mild-mannered guy. A creature of routine. He’d get up at the crack of fucking dawn to enjoy a nice cup of coffee—black, always black—before work, and come home just before seven o’ clock to sit with you for dinner.

Your entire friendship and housing situation was coincidentally built on a chance Craigslist ad looking for a non-axe-murdering roommate that was posted in sheer desperation that you fatefully responded to in similarly sheer desperation.

Despite being a decade and some change older than you—and despite the two of you being polar opposites in nearly every way—you got on surprisingly well. He was gruff and guarded, a habitual pessimist, while you were easy-going and irrepressibly sanguine. He was the rain-heavy cloud that dimmed the crystal-blue sky; you were the sun that oft broke through his storm. Strangely enough, you complemented each other—like mismatched puzzle pieces that somehow still fit, edges worn down just enough by time and circumstance to click into place.

It had been nearly eight months of your arrangement, or, as you had joked to him a week before, nearly a full gestational term of pregnancy.

“Your mind works in strange ways, you know that, sweetheart?” He had shaken his head through a small, easy laugh.

And, in those eight months, you had not experienced any major conflict, insofar as typical roommate dynamics went, or anything to upset the carefully-built foundations of your living arrangement.

That was, until, one night.

You sighed in frustration as you stared blankly at the screen of your laptop.

The sketchy porn site you frequently employed had crashed amid your approaching climax, which, at the frozen sight of the actress’s faux gape of pleasure and her scene partner’s terrible handling of her clit, quickly withered away into a feeling of unsatisfying incompletion.

“Fucking perfect,” You scoffed, bringing your hand out from under your panties.

As far as porn videos went, the one you had carelessly chosen was not very good, anyway. You caught your mind wandering several times in between the five fake orgasms the starring actress seemingly experienced.

Maybe porn by itself wasn’t enough for you anymore, these days.

So, you splayed yourself over your bed to reach down toward the bottom-most drawer of your nightstand where you kept the vibrator you used only in dire times of need. Like tonight.

But, just as you brought it under the covers and switched the thing on to the lowest setting, a knock came at your door.

Your eyes went wide as you hurried to turn your vibrator off and slam your laptop shut.

“J-Joel?” You called out, praying he hadn’t heard the faint hum under your bed sheets.

His slightly muffled voice came through: “Yeah, sorry, sweetheart, got a favour to ask.”

You gulped. “Come in.”

Tentatively, the door to your room creaked open, and your roommate poked his salt-and-pepper head through. One of his hands was still wrapped around the doorknob, ready to shut the door if you had indicated such was necessary in light of his impromptu visit.

“Hope I’m not interruptin’ you, darl’,” Joel said sheepishly.

Yes, he was.

“Not at all.” You forced a small smile, shoving your vibrator further down your bed from under the covers. “What’s up, Joel?”

“Well, ah,” Joel clicked his tongue and stepped forward, leaning on your doorframe. “My computer broke. Spilled lo—water. Water all over it.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. Real shame. Um, but, I was wonderin’ if I could borrow yours…?” He crossed his arms, his brows knitted.

“Mine?” You glanced at the device sitting atop your sheets.

“Just for an hour or two. Promise it won’t be too long.”

Your eyes flickered over to the digital clock on your nightstand. It was nearly eleven pm. You were vaguely aware that his job as a contractor was demanding, but surely, this was way after hours.

“You still doing work this late?”

“Somethin’ like that.” He cleared his throat, looking away.

“I mean…” You sighed, mulling it over internally. Well, it wasn’t like you were getting very far with fucking yourself before he had barged in. “Sure. Sure, you can borrow it, let me just—”

And right when you lifted the sleek lid of your laptop, the damn thing chose that exact moment to stabilise your connection.

“Oh, right there—right there! Feels so goooood!” Came the exaggerated, musical timbre of the actress’s voice, accompanied, of course, by obscenely wet slaps.

You instantly slammed it shut.

Expletives of every kind circulated in your internal monologue. Including, but not limited to; fucking shit, piss, balls, goddamn motherfucker.

Your eyes were wide.

Joel’s eyes went wider.

The two of you were locked in a deeply uncomfortable staring contest. And the longer your eyes met, the more heat you felt creeping up your neck.

Your roommate had just heard your porn. Your roommate had just heard your porn. Joel had just heard your porn.

Don’t say anything stupid. Do not say anything stupid.

“That was my porn.”

God fucking damnit.

Joel let out a strangled sound, something between a choked laugh and a dry cough.

“...I figured.” He cleared his throat, pink dusting his cheeks.

“Sorry,” You whispered.

“Don’t be, darl’,” Joel sighed. “‘S, uh, perfectly normal.”

God, this was awkward.

“I wasn’t… I wasn’t, like, touching myself.” And now you were explaining yourself. Great. “Well, I was—but, um, the thing froze, and I got antsy, so I got the vibrator from—”

Joel’s eyebrows shot up.

You decidedly cut yourself off. Maybe your possession of a sextoy was not necessary information to bestow upon your older roommate.

The look on his face—a little pale, mouth slightly hanging open—confirmed your hunch that you had just irreparably overshared.

He was shocked. Maybe a little more than shocked.

Sweet baby Jesus, what if he got a heart attack from your words?

What if he died where he stood and you had to explain to his family that you had caused his heart failure—death by TMI?

No, Joel was too young to get heart attacks … right?

“Please don’t have a heart attack.” You whispered, pleadingly.

“I’m not—” Joel exhaled and rubbed his hand down his face. “I’m not having a heart attack.”

“Tell your family not to sue.” You breathed.

“I’m not having a heart attack.”

“Okay. Good.”

Joel squeezed his eyes shut, sharply inhaled, and began to pivot towards the hallway. “Look, I’m sorry for intrudin’, I’ll leave you … to it. We don’t gotta mention this ever again.”

Was he intruding, though?

Suddenly, as if a lightbulb had flickered to life above your head in true cartoon fashion, an idea sparked in your mind.

“Wait!”

Shit. Was this even a good idea?

Joel stilled and slowly craned his head toward you, unsure if he had heard your protest or if it was purely imagination.

“Um. You don’t have to leave.”

Too late. You were following through.

“I don’t?” Joel furrowed his brows.

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but you weren’t going to work on my laptop, were you?” You bit the inside of your cheek.

“I—”

“I know you didn’t spill ‘water’ on it, because, well … you hesitated, firstly. And secondly, the communal lotion bottle from the half-bath went missing two days ago.”

In the pregnant silence that rose from your Sherlock Holmes-esque declaration, you were left to wonder who the hell was running your mouth because it sure wasn’t you.

“Fine, no. I was not goin’ to work on your laptop. Happy?”

“What if… what if I were to make a proposal?”

Joel arched a brow, then dryly responded, “I ain’t too keen on having a second wife just yet.”

“Not that kind of proposal.” You shifted in your seat on your bed. “We could help each other out.”

“Help each other out?” He parotted, pursing his lips.

“Yeah. I mean, we can, y’know, share the laptop.”

Joel scoffed. “Sweetheart, are you suggestin’ we…” He trailed off, gesturing vaguely with his hands. “...together?”

“I am. I mean, what’s the harm in that?”

“Besides the obvious? I can give you about a dozen reasons.”

“Look, you wanna jerk off—”

Joel visibly cringed at your indelicate phrasing. Bluntness was always your default, to his dismay.

“—so do I. But I wasn’t getting very far on my own.” You glanced at your folded laptop, then back to meet Joel’s gaze. “And don’t tell me that a girl beside you wouldn’t help you out.”

He opened his mouth, presumably to deny your suspicion, but closed it shortly afterward.

Joel would be a big fat liar if he’d said the thought of such a thing didn’t already leave him half-hard in his sweatpants—which you noticed. Of course, you noticed. Those damn grey sweatpants never left anything to the imagination. Even on normal days, when he waltzed around at home in them, you were always treated to the sight of his generous bulge.

The thought brought warmth to your face.

You continued, somewhat casually, “this’ll be no-strings-attached. I won’t ask to meet your parents after, or make you go ring-shopping. This is purely transactional.”

Joel let out a heavy sigh. “And this won’t make it weird between us?”

“No.” You hoped, at least.

And that was how you found yourself sitting beside your roommate—practically shoulder-to-shoulder—on a Friday evening on your floral-patterned queen bed, staring at the home page of pornhub.com.

Your finger scrolled idly on the trackpad of your laptop, watching as thumbnails and their respective titles cruised by.

Lame. Overdone. Gross.

Jeez, when did they stop making good shit? You were one ‘gangbang’ away from dragging Joel’s ass to an adult video store and choosing from a more refined selection.

“Indecisive, are we?” Joel grunted from beside you, sending you a sideways glance.

“You choose, then.” You relented, tilting the device toward him.

“Gladly.”

In less than a minute, Joel had settled on the aptly-titled flick, ‘Babysitter Gets Fucked By Big Cock’. Coincidentally, the male actor shared several features with Joel, as did the female actress with you.

Or maybe that was on purpose.

In any case, you kept your mouth shut.

The video began with a horribly cliché scenario: the supposed ‘dad’ walking in on the ‘babysitter’ getting stuck in the washing machine.

But, with the way her barely-covered ass was sticking in the air, you had to admit, you were intrigued.

Joel definitely was, seeing as how his large hand began palming himself through his sweatpants beside you, his dark eyes intently focused on the screen in front of him.

You were unable to look anywhere but the sight of him pressing down and rubbing his clothed bulge. Unable to hear anything except his breathing—now slow and strained. Unable to do more than gawk at him at his most undone.

Fuck, you could swear there was even a patch of precum staining—

With incredible resolve, you directed your focus back on the video.

The girl was on her knees now, coaxing the dad’s erection from his slacks and taking it in her mouth. He was, of course, muttering praises befitting the situation and appealing to your praise kink worse nature.

Your fingers slipped beneath the waistband of your sleep shorts, finding your underwear drenched with arousal. It was very possibly caused not by the provocative scene playing out before you, but by the man currently working his clothed hard-on to your left.

Soon, you began lazily sliding along your entrance, feeling your whole body shiver as you swiped up to your clit, then back down again. And, just as the girl on your screen had begun deepthroating her employer, you sunk a finger in.

Which, evidently, wasn’t enough to appease the coil in your stomach, so you added another.

Still not enough.

You huffed frustratedly.

“You … you, uh, alright there, sweetheart?” Joel shot you a quick sideways look, his gaze dipping down to the improper sight of your hand stuffed inside your shorts.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine. Just not…” You sighed, shaking your head. “Can I take off my clothes?”

Joel blinked at you, his hand frozen.

“I mean, I certainly won’t object to that.” His voice was low and dripping with something dangerously hot and raspy.

Lifting your hips, you were able to shimmy your shorts off, leaving you in your soaking panties.

“Fuck,” Joel exhaled breathlessly from beside you, unaware the word had even left his lips.

Out of the corner of your eyes, you spotted him watching you instead of the the babysitter going to town on the dad’s cock.

Because, fuck, you were gorgeous.

Joel watched you slowly reveal your puffy folds; slick and shining and fluttering ever so slightly. And, whether he knew it or not, his hand started palming himself again, almost desperately, as little breathy noises escaped his throat.

Heat raced to your cheeks, but you donned a false mask of indifference and fully pushed your underwear to the side to allow you unobscured access to resume your ministrations.

You rubbed a few fingers down your seam, arousal collecting on your skin and easing your motions.

Beside you, Joel had relinquished his attention back to the porn on your laptop, but—to your absolute delight—had pulled himself out of his sweatpants.

And fuck, your suspicions were confirmed.

He was big. And tanned. And glistening with pearls of precum dribbling down his frustrated, flushed head, down his long, thick length.

With his eyes still glued to your screen, he began lazily pumping himself with his left hand. Once, twice, thrice…

Your cunt pulsed.

Seeing no other reason to delay your pleasure, you slipped two fingers inside your weeping mound, crooking them at a relaxed rhythm.

“Mm,” You sighed under your breath.

Joel’s unoccupied hand—which you had only noticed was lying right next to your leg—twitched against your thigh.

You added a third finger, but to your displeasure, you were still left unsatisfied. You let out another huff of annoyance.

And then Joel's hand slowly skated up to the top of your thigh, resting on your heated skin.

Your breath caught in your throat. “Joel…?”

“‘S okay, sweetheart. Let me.”

And he glided his hand down your inner thigh, goosebumps rising in his wake. He stopped in front of your soaked entrance, his palm lightly brushing against the back of your hand.

“Move your hand, baby.” He sighed.

So you did. With a lewd squelch, your fingers slid free from the grip of your aching mound.

Joel hummed, eyes darkening even more, “attagirl,”

He ran his hand slowly down your seam, humming at the feeling of your slick arousal, momentarily finding your clit, before sliding back down.

“Mm, you’re dripping, baby. This all for me?”

Then, one of his thick fingers pressed inside, tentatively dragging down your walls.

You gasped, which Joel evidently took as an invitation to insert a second finger to accompany the first.

Your vibrator was long forgotten under the covers of your bed when he added a third impossibly big finger, stretching you out deliciously.

And then, ever so slowly, he began crooking his fingers—each flex sending white-hot pleasure to pool in your gut.

Once, twice, a third time—

“Joel!” You gasped, your hand coming up to clutch at his wrist.

In a moment of vulnerability, your eyes met. His half-lidded, cloudy stare was quickly overrun with realisation.

“Shit,” He stilled inside you. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have—” He started withdrawing his hand, but your grip remained determined around his wrist.

“Don’t.” You pleaded, your voice barely above a whisper. “Don’t stop.”

You saw how his eyes lost focus. How tiny creases formed in between his eyebrows. How the reasonable part of him fought an uphill battle to retain at least a modicum of his morality.

Evidently, that part of him lost.

Joel crooked his fingers languidly, lagging behind the pace set by his other hand, which was still slowly pumping his eager cock. But, every curve of his fingers was able to reach places you thought unreachable by anything other than a dick.

All things considered, you were glad to be proved wrong and even more glad to be proved wrong by your roommate, specifically.

Because he sure knew what he was doing.

“Joel,” Your back arched slightly off your headboard.

“That feel good, sweetheart?” He hummed lowly next to you. He continued, his voice absolutely wrecked, “fuck, y’feel so … tight.”

A glance at your laptop informed you that the babysitter was now letting the dad throat-fuck her, gagging prettily as his length drove in and out of her mouth.

Not a bad idea.

You slowly leaned over Joel’s right arm—you know, the one knuckles deep, finger-fucking you—to plant sloppy, open-mouthed kisses down his length, tasting his precum-tanged skin.

A choked noise slipped from his throat.

“Oh, baby–”

Your hand wrapped around his, pushing his grip to his base to allow ample room to praise his big fucking cock.

After planting a wet kiss to his tip, you took his head in your mouth and swirled your tongue around it like a lollipop. And, goddamn, it could’ve been, because his taste was addicting.

“That’s it,” Joel exhaled. “Oh fuck, that’s it, baby.”

With that bit of encouragement, you folded forward even more to take the rest of him in your mouth, not satisfied until his head hit the back of your throat. All while his fingers continued fucking into you, because he hadn’t stopped for a even second. If anything, he sped up.

The hand not fingering you shot up to grasp your hair, guiding you gently on and off his cock. And you happily let him, moaning around his length, flattening your tongue against the underside, and sucking.

“Yeah, there we go. That’s my good girl,” Joel’s voice was breathless. “Takin’ my cock so well, hm?”

Your cunt fluttered around his ceaseless fingers.

Joel Miller had a filthy fucking mouth. Fact noted. Memory stored. Future wet dream material created.

And then he pulled you off him. His dark, wild, ruined eyes catching yours.

“I don’t want you to stop,” Joel admitted, panting slightly. “But … shit, I need to taste you.”

You felt your lips tug upward. “Yeah?”

“Please, baby.” An almost pained look crossed his features.

“Well, I don’t have to stop.” You breathed, a certain two-digit number promising a solution to your dilemma. “We can … we can multitask.”

“Can we, now?” Joel shook his head, smiling slightly. “Fuck are you waitin’ for, then? C’mere.”

Taking care not to hit your laptop, you swung your legs over to straddle Joel’s torso, your back facing his chest, giving him a good view of your ass.

“Mmm, look at you.” Joel sighed from behind you, caressing the globes of your ass with his calloused hands. “Fuckin’ hell,” He muttered to himself.

“You gonna pick your jaw off the floor anytime soon, Miller?” You mused, bending slowly to take his cock in your hands, trailing unhurried kisses up to his head.

“Cocky now, are we?” Joel chuckled.

Without warning, Joel pulled your thighs toward him with surprising ease, sending you to lay flat on your stomach on top of him.

“Joel!”

He ignored you, and instead, pressed a messy kiss to your dripping cunt.

Even more caught off guard, “Joel!”

You felt him smile against you. And then, holding you to him with an iron grip on your hips, he slowly licked up to your bud, circling it with his tongue.

Jolts of electricity sparked through you with every second that passed of Joel’s mouth connecting to your pussy. Devouring, sucking, humming into your seam like it was a five-star meal.

And to him, it was.

“Sweetest fuckin’ thing I’ve ever tasted.” Joel groaned into your cunt, short of breath.

His tongue laved downward, finding your wet seam. Then, with a salaciously wet noise, delved inside. Your moans of pleasure graduated into outright screams from the sensation of him pushing his tongue completely through your opening and into your tight, warm, drenched walls.

You were so distracted by the sensation of Joel keenly eating you out that you had almost forgotten about your end of the bargain.

In front of you, Joel’s rock-hard cock had bounced to his stomach—still leaking trails of precum and still impossibly hard.

Delicately, you took him in your hands, pumping him once or twice as you brought him to your lips.

Without wasting another second, you sunk your mouth, licking over his head and probing against his slit. You lapped at his cock desperately, intent on bringing him closer to his release. You were undoubtedly very far ahead of him in that respect, owing to how well and desperately Joel was licking into your cunt.

“Shit,” Joel pulled away ever so slightly. “Slowly, baby, I ain’t goin’ anywhere.”

You released him with a wet pop, then turned your head over your shoulder to meet his gaze.

His hair was slightly dishevelled, his eyes were blown out with desire, and the lower half of his face was very evidently slick with your arousal.

Fuck, he was a sight for sore eyes.

“Joel, if I come soon, there’s a very good chance I’ll be too fucked-out to make you finish. And believe me, I want you to finish in my mouth.”

He inhaled sharply.

“Then, by all means, baby. Do what you gotta do.”

Back down you went, sliding your mouth further down his shaft until his head reached the back of your throat. Then, you began a rapid pace of bobbing up and down on his cock, moaning around it as you did so, filling your room with the most obscene, wet sounds. Even more obscene than the fucking porno playing on your laptop.

Behind you, Joel resumed pressing messy, open-mouthed kisses on your cunt. His tongue flicked inside you as he did and dragged down the roof of your channel, coaxing you to rut your hips against his face and feel his scruff against your inner thighs.

Seeing as how you were recklessly tumbling toward a mind-melting orgasm, you decided the best course of action was to double-down and suck the man’s dick dry as much as possible.

Your mouth lifted on and off his length in a frenzy, all while your hands gripped his base. Joel groaned into your weeping cunt as you did so, and began uncontrollably driving his hips up into you.

A garbled, broken moan vaguely resembling his name was muffled by the weight of his length in your mouth.

If your mouth wasn’t otherwise occupied, you were very sure that if your neighbours were unfamiliar of his name, they would have been very sure of it by now.

Joel uttered something incoherent and barely lifted his face from your entrance.

“If I’d known you took my cock this well, I would’ve fucked you sooner.” He sighed, kissing up your seam and humming against your sensitive skin. You felt the warmth of his breath blow onto you. “Fuck, why didn’t we do this sooner?”

Clearly, it was a rhetorical question because Joel didn’t wait for an answer and, instead, dove right back into worshipping your sex with his tongue.

And he was relentless in his pursuit. Lap after lap came with him barely breaking for air.

The familiar warmth that had been pooling in your gut now threatened to hurl your climax at you at any second.

As if reading your mind, Joel purred, “can feel you getting tighter, baby. You gonna come for me?”

His tongue fucked into you harder as his grip on your hips trapped you against him, causing a shattered moan to escape your throat with his cock still in your mouth.

And you came.

Holy fuck, you came.

You gushed around his face, your legs clamping down around his head, but Joel didn’t falter in the slightest, swallowing your release and continuing to eat you out like a man starved.

Very soon, Joel followed.

Following a few erratic jerks of his hips, hot spurts of his come sprayed inside your mouth and you all but happily lapped up his seed, tasting rope after rope of its salty tang down your throat.

Certain he had rode out the extent of his high, you slowly lifted yourself off him, panting deeply.

“Fuck, baby,” Joel said breathlessly.

He took you by your waist and practically manhandled you like a ragdoll to face him properly before smashing his mouth against yours, tasting each other’s release on your tongues.

“Definitely should’ve done this sooner,” He mumbled against your lips.

You sighed into his mouth in agreement, and your hands came to hold either side of his face as you lazily moved your lips against his.

The two of you were so consumed by the bliss that came with the post-orgasm haze, you barely noticed that the porn video Joel had initially selected was long gone and another had automatically replaced it.

“OHHH!”

An almost theatrical, high-pitched moan from your laptop caught your attention.

Both of you turned to find your screen displaying a girl on all-fours eagerly letting some guy’s dick ram repeatedly into her at a brutal pace from behind.

“Harder, daddy, harder!” She mewled.

Joel let out a quick huff of air, then sheepishly met your eyes. “You, uh, wanna try that next?”

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #smut #joel miller x y/n #joel miller x you #pedrohub #the last of us #freaky #joel miller x female reader #pedro pascal

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notarmedandnotdangerous · 2 months ago

Text

+18 mdni! watch your mouth; a fic where bucky's your boss, and you're his secretary. he ends up getting himself into a lot of trouble with you.

cw: dom!mean!m!reader, sub!bucky, bucky has a degrading kink, masturbation, shitty contact names, possessive!reader, use of 'sir', and 'slut', begging, use of toys (vibrating plug), use of a blindfold, edging, degrading kink

word count: >3k

[1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9.1] [9.2]

a/n: this is freaky but it gets worse by the next few chapters trust me.

-------------------------------------------------------

it was supposed to be a standard morning meeting. bucky’s mornings were usually smooth. coffee, briefing, you. you were his secretary, sharp, efficient, and unshakably composed. you were always ten steps ahead. nothing ruffled you, not the board, not his clients, and definitely not him.

until this morning.

you were mid-presentation, there was clean delivery, and perfect pacing, when your voice caught, just once. it was barely even a stutter. bucky, who was seated at the head of the conference table, had somehow managed to catch it.

“might need a reboot there, don’t you think?”

a couple quiet chuckles sounded, but you kept your composure, though something in your eyes went cold. you wrapped up the presentation without another hitch, before ending the meeting with yet another satisfied client.

“you okay, man?” bucky stood, sipping his coffee. “didn’t think you glitched like that.”

“close the door.” you spoke, not looking away from your tablet.

“what?” he blinked at you.

“i said, close the door.” your tone was so calm, it didn’t even register as a command at first.

bucky’s body responded before his brain even caught up. the door clicked shut. you finally set your tablet down, and walked towards him slowly.

“you think it’s funny? mocking the way i speak, in front of people? while i’m representing you?”

“it was a joke,” he said quickly, backing away from you. “come on, don’t be like that.”

“like what?” you spoke, and he swore your voice dropped an octave. “sensitive?”

bucky’s mouth opened, then closed again, seemingly at a loss for words.

“you might be my boss,” you continued, crossing your arms over your chest. “but you don’t run me. not like that. not in front of people. not ever.”

he gulped, audibly, at your words.

“and if you think you can humiliate me without consequences,” you leaned in. “you’ve clearly forgotten who keeps your world from falling apart, mr. barnes.”

his breath caught, at that moment. he should feel cornered. but instead, he was.. turned on, inexplicably, shamelessly hard.

you noticed, of course you did.

“that do it for you, huh?” you chuckled.

“shit.” he swore under his breath.

“you get off on being put in your place?” you stepped closer towards him now.

bucky gave the smallest, slightest nod, just obvious enough for you to notice.

“then you’re going to sit there, and do exactly what i say.”

“yes.”

“on your knees.”

bucky hesitated.

“i said, get on your knees, barnes.” you spoke, dropping the honorifics now.

he obeyed, slowly but surely getting on his knees.

“i don’t want to hear you speak, unless i ask you something. nod if you understand.”

he nodded.

“you don’t get to tease without consequences. you will earn your forgiveness, inch by inch.”

his breath hitched at that, and you stepped back.

“if you’re lucky, i might just forgive you.”

his eyes lit up.

“might.” you huffed. “and don’t you dare get yourself off to this. you don’t get to cum today.”

for the first time in his life, submitting felt better than being in charge.

bucky barely made it though the rest of the workday. his legs were shaky, his mind a mess. he couldn’t focus during calls or meetings, couldn’t remember basic numbers in reports. every thought of his looped back to you, the sound of the door shutting, the feeling of carpet beneath his knees, that voice, low and sharp:

‘on your knees.’

by the time he stumbled into his apartment, he was hard again, still. he dropped his briefcase on the floor, kicked his shoes off, and collapsed onto his couch. his tie was half undone, shirt wrinkled from hours of sitting with a painfully, insistent erection.

he didn’t mean to touch himself. he just.. let his fingers drift.

‘you don’t get to cum today.’

bucky cursed under his breath as his hand brushed over his clothed cock. he tried to ignore the guilt rising in his chest. you weren’t here, you wouldn’t know. he needed this, needed relief. the second he pulled his cock out, the memories flooded back. the view of you standing tall, towering over him. then, he started to stroke himself.

‘you get off on being put in your place?’

“fuck,” his grip tightened, and his eyes squeezed shut, picturing the view of you when he was on his knees. he thought about being dragged into the supply closet while the both of you were at work, bent over his own desk, your belt around his wrist as you railed him. he was so close now, pathetically gasping for air.

“fuck, uugh, oh god- aah..” he came, hard, his hips bucked off the couch. then, the guilt- no, shame, hit. his heart pounded while his cock twitched, and your last words echoed in his head, louder this time.

‘you don’t get to cum today.’

bucky sat in silence, panting. he had disobeyed you, and part of him hoped, prayed that you’d find out. because, if you were dangerous when you were mad, he couldn’t even imagine how you’d be like if you were disappointed, in him.

---

the next morning,

it had started with a confession, sort of.

you noticed first, bucky was twitchier than usual. extra attentive, overly obedient, weirdly perfect. when it was time for your break, you cornered him.

“you’ve been jerking off without asking, haven’t you?”

he freezes, visibly.

“barnes.”

“once..” he swallows.

“when?”

“y-yesterday.. i couldn’t sleep. i just-”

“and you didn’t ask.” you cut him off.

“no.”

you were quiet for a beat, too quiet.

“go to your office, and kneel.”

bucky obeyed, without a word. the moment he kneels, you walked in behind him, closing the door with that soft click. the same one that led him into all this shit in the first place.

“i gave you rules, and you followed them for a while. i was starting to think that i was being too mean to you.” you spoke, stepping behind him, and running a finger down the back of his neck. “but then you decided you could take pleasure without my permission.”

he shudders.

“you think you’re too good now? did i not give you enough?”

“no- sir, i swear, you give me everything. i just- i was desperate, couldn’t stop thinking about you..”

“you don’t get to think of me when you break my rules, barnes.”

he went silent.

“since you want to cum so bad, i’ll give you a chance.” you dragged his office chair so that you could sit in front of him. “you’re going to get yourself off right here. on my shoe.”

the humiliation hit bucky like a freight train, and he hesitated.

“go on.”

he straddled your foot, grinding slowly at first, letting the pressure build as his cheeks burned with embarrassment. your shoe was firm beneath him, unmoving.

“look at you, pathetic, desperate. you don’t get to cum, not until i say.”

“f-fuck..” he moaned softly, rutting harder now. he could feel the friction through his pants, the embarrassment only heightening his pleasure.

“feel that, barnes? you’re so hard, you’re drooling through your pants, just from my shoe.”

the words made everything worse. he whimpered, grinding down with desperate rhythm. he chased that friction, shame building in his gut and spreading all throughout his skin.

your shoe didn’t move, you made no effort to assist him, just watched.

“wanted to act like a desperate slut, now you get to cum like one.”

“i-i.. mmh..” he gasped, almost there, but he froze, stopping immediately. he remembered. he wasn’t allowed.

“good, you’re learning. keep going, slower.”

bucky obeyed with a broken sound, dragging his hips in a slower rhythm. your shoe was now ruined, slick with pre-cum that had soaked through the fabric of his slacks. he was shaking now, sweat beading at his temples, while his breath caught in broken little gasps. his thighs, and hips ached, but he didn’t dare to stop, didn’t dare to speak. he just kept grinding, like you told him to.

“you want to cum?”

his head jerked up, his pupils were blown wide as he nodded frantically.

you slapped him, just hard enough to make him snap out of his trance.

“words, barnes.” you tugged on his tie as you spoke, pulling him forwards slightly.

“yes, ugh- mmh, please.. please, let me-”

“beg properly. tell me what you’re doing.”

his face flushed, and he took a second to compose himself, before he spoke.

“i.. i’m getting myself off on your s-shoe.” he spoke, breathily. “i broke your rules, now i- fuck, i’m grinding l-like a slut.. just to cum.”

“good boy, cum for me.”

bucky cried out, his hips jerking wildly as he came in his pants. he clung onto your knee for balance. he didn’t stop moving though, he couldn’t stop himself from grinding through it. the slick mess spread further over your shoe as he rutted through the aftershocks. he pressed his forehead to your knee, before looking up at you with blown pupils. he kissed your knee gently, as if he was trying to thank you.

“that’s the last time you forget the rules.” you spoke, leaning down to lift his chin with two fingers. “isn’t it?”

“y-yes, yes sir.”

“remember this the next time you try to cum without permission.” you finally moved, sliding your shoe back, and leaving the room.

he sat there for a long moment, his breath slowing. his mind was fogged with shame, but somewhere under that haze, pride coiled in his gut. he thought he had finally pleased you, for once.

---

later that night,

bucky couldn’t sleep. he laid on his back, naked and spent. sheets twisted around his legs. he had been jerking off since the moment he got home, he couldn’t stop himself, not when it came to you. he stared at the ceiling, as if it would pardon him for his sins.

it didn’t, though. he broke the rule. you had told him, clearly, what the boundary was:

‘that’s the last time you forget the rules.’

your voice echoed in his mind.

he had disobeyed, like some needy teenager who couldn’t help himself. it was pathetic, really. hesitantly, he reached for his phone. he opened up your messages. the both of you had saved each other’s contacts with silly, quirky names. he started typing something, before deleting it. this went on and on for at least 10 minutes, before he took a deep breath, and finally mustered up the courage to send it.

boss man:

‘i’m sorry’.

minutes passed, and there was no response.

boss man:

‘i couldn’t stop thinking about what happened earlier.’

‘couldn’t stop thinking about you.’

‘i tried to wait. i swear i did.’

still no response. bucky felt himself grow impatient.

boss man:

‘let me make it up to you.’

‘please?’

then, after what felt like a century to him, you responded.

mr. ‘schedules a lot’:

‘you touched yourself?’

boss man:

‘yes.’

mr. ‘schedules a lot’:

‘did you ask permission?’

boss man:

‘no.’

mr. ‘schedules a lot’:

‘then you’ll be punished.’

boss man:

‘please.’

no answer.

bucky’s heart pounded again. he waited five minutes. then ten.

mr. ‘schedules a lot’:

‘i expect to see you on my doorstep in 20 minutes.’

‘move.’

immediately, he sped to your house. by the time he reached your home, it was close to midnight. he hesitated before ringing the door bell. the door opened without a word. you stood there in a black t-shirt and grey sweats, it was casual, but still commanding as hell.

“strip.”

bucky obeyed instantly, kicking his clothes off the moment he entered your home. he was left bare now, under your gaze.

you said nothing, just turned and walked towards the living room.

he followed, on instinct, like a dog.

the living room was dim, lit only by a floor lamp in the corner.

“hands on the couch.”

he obeyed, bending forward slightly. he heard you open the drawer, but he didn’t dare to look. there was the sound of something slick being squeezed out. then, your hand was between his thighs. and with that, you pressed the slicked plug inside.

he gasped, a soft, broken sound, as he flinched. it slid in smoothly, and once it was in place, you praised him, making him whimper.

you let him turn around, and there was a pillow in the center of the carpet. bucky dropped to his knees without being told.

you took your time, first pacing, letting the silence stew. the longer he waited, the more the anticipation ate at him. he squirmed, shifting his weight. you sat down on the couch, spreading your legs enticingly, and draping one arm lazily across your lap.

“hands behind your back.” you finally broke the silence.

he obeyed immediately.

“i told you not to cum.” you leaned forward, close enough to caress his face. you slid your fingers through his hair, gently at first, before tugging roughly, forcing his chin up.

“i know,” he whispered. “i’m sorry-”

“you knew you weren’t allowed, but you did it anyway. why?”

he was silent now, feeling ashamed of himself.

“tell me what you want.”

“want.. i want you to use me,” he spoke softly, afraid to make another mistake. “to let me make it up to you.”

“pathetic.” you replied flatly.

bucky’s face flushed, but he didn’t look away. he didn’t dare to.

“say please.”

“please.”

“louder.”

“please, sir.”

“that’s better.”

you pressed your foot onto his clothed cock, and he bit his lip in an attempt to stay silent.

“you don’t get to beg for forgiveness,” you spoke, still pressing onto him. “you’re going to have to earn it.”

“yes, s-sir.” he nodded quickly.

you pulled your foot away from him, making him sigh out. you reached to the coffee table next to you, pulling something from its drawer, a blindfold.

“tonight, you don’t get to see me. you don’t get to touch. you don’t even get to know what i’m doing.” you spoke, tying the blindfold tightly around his eyes.

then the teasing began. bucky knelt motionless on the cushion in your living room, naked, trembling, and blindfolded. he was so hard he could barely breathe. his fingers twitched against his thighs where they rested.

he couldn’t tell where you were in the room. his senses were heightened, he was extra sensitive now. all he could hear was the slight ruffle of fabric, the occasional click of something being set down on the coffee table, and the quiet, calm rhythm of your breathing.

then finally, after what felt like an eternity, you broke the silence.

“you like sneaking around my back, mr. barnes?” you stuck to the honorifics on purpose, just to tease him, to remind him that even though he had a higher position than you in the office, you were still in control of him.

he visibly flinched when you spoke.

“you like thinking i won’t find out when you break the rules?”

he shook his head.

“words.”

“no, sir.”

“but you did break them.”

“yes, sir.” he swallowed hard. he knew he was fucked.

“then tonight, you’re going to show me just how sorry you are.”

there was a pause. then, the soft buzz came alive inside him.

bucky inhaled sharply as he felt the plug vibrate suddenly, low and steady. it wasn’t enough to make him cum, but enough to make his hips buck slightly.

“ah- fuck.” he hissed.

“ah ah,” you spoke, “position.”

he forced himself upright again, breath shaky.

the plug buzzed again, stronger this time. he let out a noise before he could stop it. the sensation was unbearable, too much, yet not enough.

“you’ll sit like this while i read. you won’t move, you won’t speak, you won’t touch.” you spoke, settling back down on the couch. “if you so much as twitch, we’ll start over.”

“y-yes, sir.” his voice cracked.

---

15 minutes later,

minutes had passed, bucky wasn’t sure anymore.

the buzzing varied, sometimes low, and slow, then turning off entirely, then a sudden strong jolt that made his hips jump. every time he moved, you clicked your tongue disapprovingly at him. every time he whimpered, you paused your reading, glaring down at him until he corrected himself.

he was hyper-aware of his surroundings now, considering how he wasn’t allowed to see. he could hear the pages of your book turn, could smell the cologne on you. his body ached with the effort of holding back. he kept holding his position, still obeyed, just for you. because if he didn’t, he’d lose all the progress he had made.

an hour later,

finally, the toy stopped. there was an uneasy silence.

bucky’s muscles shook from tension. he was soaked in sweat, his heart pounded as his mind tore at the seams.

then, he could hear the sound of your book being shut, and he almost moaned from the sheer anticipation he was feeling.

“not bad,” you murmured. “better than i expected.”

he shivered, not daring to speak.

“you want to cum?”

“yes, sir.” he gasped, voice light and breathy. “please, m-may i?”

“then you’ll spend the next night like this too.” your hand slid down his chest, light, and slow. “and the one after.”

bucky’s breath hitched. he wanted to bargain with you, but he knew better than to piss you off again.

“but tonight, you sleep here, on the floor.”

he whimpered.

“i want you to think about what it means to belong to someone, mr. barnes.”

you kissed the side of his throat, right below his jaw, then pulled the blindfold off, before stepping away to your room.

[2]

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x male reader #x male reader #bucky barnes smut #james buchanan barnes #bottom bucky barnes #sub bucky barnes #top male reader #dom male reader #buckfics

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ozzgin · 8 months ago

Note

OZZ OMG OMG OMG THAT YANDERE PRISON THING OMG OMG OMG

*jitters with excitement*

I NEED MORE AHHHHH IT TICKLED MY BRAIN THE RIGHT AND WRONG WAY AT THE SAME TIME

Like if you're nice they'll just become your dogs and if you're not nice they'll give you a very rough foursome I'm down for either OMG OMG OMG help I have problems

To quote Markiplier: "I'm not a masochist, this is about power"

*drops dead*

*instantly revives*

Ahem, I saw you mention you might come up with small plots, so I'll do the logical thing to try to inspire you:

- clueless darling ask the leaders about their gangs and whatnot. Like nonchalantly. Because they're too nice darling thought it's no big deal lol

- darling subconsciously avoid blonde man (even tho he is my favourite hahah) after seeing him beat up the guy

- darling got drunk (somehow in a prison) and either gets horny (and try to let it out under the blankets forgetting they got roommates)or innocently touchy hugging all three of them and poking their unique features, sitting in their laps and so on. Or better yet, touches/approaches other inmates in front of the roommates...

content: gender neutral reader, alcohol consumption, NSFW below the cut!

Inmates are creative. They will always find a way around the rules, and this time it happened to be a rather clumsy attempt at brewing alcohol. Had this been discovered by a guard, whoever concocted the beverage would've landed in detention.

Instead, it was you who found it, innocently assuming someone must've forgotten their water behind. You gulped down the clear liquid, thirsty after you walk, then promptly grimaced at its unexpected bitterness.

Safe to say you're now quite drunk.

That in itself would already be troublesome enough, but another thing is endangering yours and everyone else's peace: you're in a particularly flirty mood.

"What the hell are you doing?"

The officer's smile drops instantly, and he turns towards the deep voice. One of your criminal roommates glares at the sight with hollow eyes. You were clinging to the officer's arm, a dumb grin plastered on your face. The man in uniform quickly shoves you aside, his features pale and drained.

"It wasn't me who started it," he pleads.

You're quickly picked up by your bunkie, who is still staring at the guard. He won't be leaving this prison alive, that's for sure. Now, however, his priorities lie somewhere else.

The hallway spins as you're being carried away, and you shamelessly cling to your ride, feeling and groping the muscles and tracing along his tattooed skin.

"My God, at least wait until we're back to our cell," he groans with flushed cheeks.

The blonde one is trying to play it cool. Come, now, you're obviously out of it. He needs to be mature and tuck you in, or something along the line.

Easier said than done, especially with a raging boner. You're quick to notice it, and you certainly don't hesitate to point it out, making lewd gestures with your hands as some sort of offer.

"Are you sure you won't regret it tomorrow?"

"Hey now, I'm drunk, not unconscious," you bark between hiccups.

He may have interrogated you further, but the thought of your pretty little mouth struggling to take him in is too much to bear. He's essentially drooling by the time he pats his knee for you to come over.

The pierced one drops you on your bed with a flat expression. Annoyance? A closer look at his pursed lips, and one can tell he's really just struggling to maintain his composure.

"Please, I really need to-"

You hold him back by the arm and bat your eyelashes. In return, he clicks his tongue. Is this some sort of test from above? His beloved Darling is essentially begging to be fingered. Yet, he shouldn't be taking advantage of your state. He shouldn't...

Too late. You gasp at his rough fingers making their way in.

"Alright, don't be too loud," he concludes with a faint smirk.

The masked one gently places you on your bed, then plants himself before you with crossed arms.

"Nonsense. You're drunk."

"I mean it", you repeat yourself.

He does his best to look imposing. Truth be told, his knees weakened from the moment "fuck me" slipped out of your mouth. He gladly would, but he has morals. Well, when it comes to you, anyways.

Your pout seems to suggest this would be a long standoff. He sighs, then pushes you back onto the mattress.

"How about this? I'll take care of it," he explains quietly, his cloth hovering above your groin. "I'll be awaiting your offer again once you're sober."

For now, his tongue will have to do.

[Yandere Prison] | [More Yandere Stories]

#yandere prison #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x darling #yandere imagines #yandere headcanons #yandere oc

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81pastrys · 1 month ago

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Opposites Attract

Summary— Oscar isn’t the talkative type but he knows his way around gestures and actions. Until he finds out she doubts her worth as his partner.

Warnings— self-hatred..? ; self-doubting ; loving Oscar ; overthinking!reader ; sensitive!reader

A/N— here’s the mind-blowing Oscar fluff 🩷

Oscar One Shots

Request— hi can you make an oscar fic where reader and oscar had always had this dynamic between them where reader's more of the outgoing, yapping but sweet personality and oscar is more on the reserved quiet side, never talks more then 2 sentences, it had worked out that way and she never noticed his silence until one day one of her friends point it out, and she looks back and notices it and since then whenever they spent time together she notices it too, like it "seems" on the outside that oscar's not paying any attention like being on his phone, or being preoccupied with smth like driving, making sure her order's perfect, and reader misunderstands and wonders if she's being "too much" and gets sad about it, ps reader is a bit sensitive; TYSMMM I LOVE YOUR WORKS SO MUCHHH 💖💖💖

The man of only a few words was somehow dating the girl with all the words. How? Don’t ask them, it just worked out that way. She would talk and talk and talk, while Oscar would just sit, nod, listen in. Nothing ever really needed his input, she was just rambling most of the time. The dynamic duo, one talks while the other listens. Yeah they had their moments of sweet cuddles and PDA but nothing too out of the ordinary. Oscar was more present in the actions while she was more present in the talking. It just worked- clicked even.

“Why is Oscar so quiet all the time?” Her friend mentioned at lunch one day. “You’re always talking and if he does talk it’s like a sentence.” She gave her friend a confused smile.

“He just listens, I mean, I’m usually just talking about my day or things to do.” She shrugged it off. What she didn’t say was that it was getting in her head.

Why doesn’t he talk?

Is he uninterested?

“Just seems odd, you can talk for hours and he can barely speak a sentence.” Her friend should really catch the hint and shut her mouth. She diverts her friend’s attention to something else, to ease her mind of the overthinking.

After that she pays more attention. Oscar really doesn’t talk much. He does for medias but he’s being paid to do that and it’s all car and mechanics anyway, not conversation. Not to mention, when they’re together he’s mindlessly scrolling on his phone or looking towards their surroundings. Sometimes he catches her eye but not as often as she believes is right— like he isn’t even interested.

What she does notice is her favorite flowers perched in a beautifully blown, glass vase on her office desk, or her favorite meal prepped in the fridge for lunch. Oscar also makes a point on live television that he’s happily taken.

The confusion wracks her brain for weeks. No, he doesn’t engage much in conversation but he listens. How else would he know she liked peonies and blown glass from Italy specifically? No, he doesn’t seem all that attentive but she feels loved around him.

The idea that she’s just too much to handle runs across her mind. It sends her into a spiral and she ends up in the corner of their shared room crying in a ball. That’s how Oscar finds her. All she hears is a click of the door and a bit of rustling before the door creaks loudly and a sliver of light shines in. “My love, are you in here?” He asked, quiet, reserved. Uninterested.

His confusion is pushed aside, maybe he thought she went out for a walk. He walks into their bathroom, the light now showing her curled up form to him. She looks towards it and sees he was facing her from the doorway. He didn’t even go in the bathroom.

“Come here doll, tell me what’s wrong.” He said. Not a question or negotiation, no, a command. He walks closer and she uncurls from her ball to stand. Hesitantly she inches closer. “What’s got you so upset, hm?” Soft, caring, interested.

She sobs pathetically into his chest when they finally connect. Oscar just holds her. His hand rubbing soothingly over her back and the other massaging her scalp, something she said calms her down— months ago. That makes her sob harder, he remembered. He listened.

They swayed, rocked side to side. His head resting on top of hers, something else she had mentioned— however long ago— calms her. She took a shaky breath and backed away from his chest, which was now soaked from her tears.

He moved her hair sticking to her face to the side, behind her ears. “Am I too much?” She asked, small, shaky, uncertain. Oscar searched her face for any hints of the fact that she must be joking.

“What?” He asked, genuine confusion across his face. “Never. You are never too much baby, who said that?” He knew she could go down media rabbit holes of hatred and hated that people spoke badly about her— but that’s media for you.

“Me.” That hurt Oscar even more than if she got it from some stupid journalist. He took a deep breath and held her face in his hands, reassuring her needs.

“You will never be too much for me.” He said quiet, only for her to hear. “Why do you say that baby?” She pouted, not sadly, but happily. She wasn’t too much for him— she just got into her own head.

“I talk so much and I want expensive flowers and you never look like you’re listening and then you get me such beautiful things and I’m just not the kind of person you.. you should be with.” She rambled and Oscar listened to every word, decoded them even.

“You are the only person I want to be with.” He started off with, firm, reassuring, true. “I get you expensive flowers to make up for the time we lose apart, I listen when you talk because your voice is heavenly, and I get you beautiful things because you deserve them.” She hugged him again, this time tighter with more passion and a sense of feeling loved. “I love you, for you. Please don’t hate yourself for being you, and please don’t stop being you.”

A broken ‘okay’ came from her lips and Oscar soothed her. Letting her emotions take over and the tears flow. He wants her to know he cares and that it’s okay to need an emotional break from thinking.

“You should talk to me when you feel this way doll, I don’t like when you let yourself spiral.” He whispered. Before she could even think about apologizing, Oscar shushed her. “Don’t apologize my love, just let me hold you.” And so she did, she let him hold her until it all passed.

Now all the sweet gestures of flowers or gifts came with little notes.

‘I made your favorite for lunch, I love you doll.’ In her lunchboxes.

‘I missed you and these reminded me how lucky I am to have you’ with a sweet trinket or jewelry or candies.

‘These flowers are an apology for being gone so long for the triple header, I love and miss you.’

Not only did they never discuss it, but they both understood that it helped and reassured her mind. She was lucky to have him and he was so lucky to have her.

She thought it was all crashing down when he started slacking on the notes or gestures. They were in the Netherlands for the grand prix and he planned a flower field date. She loved it so much, but the nagging ‘he’s going to break up with me’ lingered in her head. Until she turned swiftly with a self-made bouquet and he was on one knee.

More boyfriend Oscar 🫶🏻

@il0vereadingstuff @angelluv16 @justaf1girl @pandabiiissh @itznotsophia @kallanfiona

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desturns · 2 months ago

Text

──── favorite position. m.s.

part one

warnings. some grinding, tickling session, major pussy behavior

a/n. bye i decided to make a pt two to this randomly, but this might just be a little series with only three parts sooo... this is fun!!

୨ৎ

matt didn't attempt to move once. after you had fallen back to sleep and somehow melted into him even more than before, it was like he died and went to heaven about fifty times. how else would he have been so lucky to have this angel sleeping right in his lap, practically straddling him as your head rested on his shoulder? it was everything he'd dreamed of and more.

of course, his brothers weren't very angelic when it came to their teasing.

“i’m just sayin’, kid, maybe it's time to actually do something instead of sittin’ back like a bitch—”

“chris, hey! he's not a bitch… he's a pussy, there's a difference.”

“oh, wow, thanks for the help, nick,” matt sarcastically replied as he simply rolled his eyes, no longer focusing on the game as they all just talked. he noticed you wiggled slightly, but didn't think much of it.

“just the truth, bro. only pussies have their crush—” “—not my crush—” “—sleep on their laps without making a move. y’know, not while they're asleep, but y'had the opportunity to do something when she woke up.”

“she was tired and was gonna get off me, me asking her to stay was me making my move.”

“damn, matty, your moves are weak then.”

“shut up, chris.”

“i’m just sayin’, matt. when the opportunity presents itself, y'can't be a pussy and back out. get her, dude.”

again, he felt you move against him and at first, he wasn't going to question it. maybe you were just having an intense dream or you were stirring around on his lap to get more comfortable. that seemed obvious, right? but it wasn't until he felt your hips roll against his thigh that matt thought to himself, okay, a little strange, but whatever.

and then it happened again. and then once more. now being both incredibly confused and slightly curious, he pulled his head back enough to look at your face, and it was no surprise when he saw you were still soundly asleep. both your eyes were closed and for a second, you looked like the perfect essence of peacefulness.

and then it happened again, this time a bit more firmly, and your eyebrows furrowed ever so slightly, followed by the smallest whine. matt was positive if he was still entertaining chris and nick, he wouldn't have even been able to hear it.

oh.

so you were having an intense dream

it all clicked right there for matt. his eyes widened a bit and his body tensed up, and he could practically feel the blood rushing to his dick. in his defense, nothing could've prepared him for this. here you were, the girl he's been secretly pining after for months, having a wet dream right on top of him, your body subconsciously grinding against him for some relief. yeah, he knew getting hard at the scene was probably extremely wrong and disrespectful in many ways, but he just couldn't help it.

he could no longer hear chris or nick teasing him about his poor flirting skills or even pay attention to the trio on the screen about to kill him because before he knew it, you were rocking your hips again. he bit his bottom lip in order to suppress a groan as his brain was currently racking up ways to get out of this situation. at least before you woke up and it got really awkward.

“matt, hello? y'there?” in that moment, he didn't really want to be.

“y-yeah, um, i’m here, uh,” he stumbled over his words for a second, his hand leaving his controller and moving to your hip, softly holding it so he could get the courage to stop you and toss you onto his bed. okay, maybe not toss, but to stop you definitely. “actually guys, um, i-i’m gonna get off, ‘kay?”

“kid, we’re in the middle of a game right now, are you serious?”

“yes, chris, ’m serious.” was all matt responded with before leaving the discord call, his hand still firmly on your hip as you occasionally rocked your hips, his other working fast to exit out of everything on his pc.

the dim light from the monitor plus the sound of your shorts rubbing against his sweats was starting to become a bit too much for him. matt wasn't dumb, any longer and his dick would be rock hard and then that'll definitely be awkward if you woke up. so, with much restraint and strength and now holding onto both of your hips, he stiffed your movements, bringing you to a stop. he couldn't just get up, he wasn't that strong. plus, matt was a bit nervous he'd drop you before he could even reach the bed despite it being a foot away.

he could feel your body trying to protest the halt, your hands around his waist tightening slightly, more little whines escaping your mouth and matt honestly wanted to die right then and there. of course, the first time he gets you like this, you're not even conscious of it, and there was no way he'd take advantage of you. not like this.

he was going to do it the right way.

suddenly, your body stopped and matt could feel you tense up.

now, to say you were horribly mortified was an understatement. when matt stopped you in real time, it was like your dream came crashing down. the mysterious faceless man in it stopped his ministrations and you were so incredibly pent up, so pent up that your body refused to find solace in sleep any longer. it didn't take an idiot to figure out what the hell happened, especially when you woke up with soaked panties sticking to your folds and matt's hands on your hips. did you…? no. surely not. right? no, there's no way.

but it was hard to deny when you could now feel matt's dick through his sweats and suddenly, you were shooting your head up from his shoulder, no longer tired. “oh my god, matt! i am so– i'm sorry!” you were speaking with a raspy voice, both from the ridiculous amount of exhaustion and humiliation you just experienced.

he quickly shook his head, trying to hide his flustered expression while also finding the strength to take his hands off you. it’ll come eventually, he was sure. “no, no, i-i mean, it happens, right? you're cool, it’s fine!”

“i can't believe i did that, matty, i am so sorry!” you shrieked again and hid your face in your hands, shaking your head at yourself. you were sure your cheeks were now tomato red and, with the way his hands were on your hips, it was getting worse.

matt stared at you as you tried to shield yourself from his gaze, trying to save yourself from the embarrassment. he thought it was downright adorable, the way you got all flushed and shy. he knew it was for good reason, and he so badly wanted to tell you that it truly was okay, that he didn't even mind. but something held him back and instead of making a move, or charm you into having him ease that ache of yours, he chose the safest route.

and maybe he just wanted to see you smile again.

he took one last moment to look at you perched on his lap, all self-conscious now and guarded up before slowly moving his hands from your hips to your sides. you were confused when you felt his hands move, but before you could even question it, his fingers were tickling the most sensitive part he knew would get to you. your hands immediately moved from your face, moving to try and grab him to stop as laughs and giggles left your lips.

your predicament of getting yourself off on his thigh was momentarily forgotten, now focused on getting him to stop making you squirm in a new way.

“s-st-stop, m-matt!” was all you could express as you flailed on top of him, your face burning itself in his shoulder.

there it was. he could see your lips stretched wide across your face, your smile making him forget about his own arousal as he continued to make you laugh. “not until you promise to stop actin’ embarrassed about it,” he chuckled, the teasing tone in his voice making your stomach flip.

“i-it-it's an emb-barassing thing!” you tried to defend yourself through the forced involuntary giggles that were escaping you. as he tickled you, you slowly but gently began to fall off his lap and onto the floor, but that didn't stop him.

“it is, but it's normal!” he rolled his eyes, his hands now moving under your arms and to the back of your neck. god, who needed grinding and sex when just the sight of you rolling around in laughter was enough to get him off then and there. “y/n, babe, i promise— i don't care. i’d just prefer that next time, you're conscious for it.”

his words made your brain freeze. ‘babe’. ‘if next time, you were conscious for it’. next time? he wanted there to be a next time? you tapped his arm twice, the silent but serious “enough” signal the two of you created and he took the hint almost immediately, his hands leaving your body in an instant as he looked down at you.

you were on your back on the floor, all flushed, chest heaving and your hair sprawled out beneath you. you looked gorgeous. and matt was glad he didn't follow any of his brothers advice. and as you looked up at him, you didn't know what to say. thankfully, matt didn't waste time before continuing, his voice now a bit unsure and hesitant as he realized what the hell he just said.

“i mean, y’know, if y’want to. i wouldn't want to make things weird between us or ruin things or make you, um–y’know what? forget i said anything, actually–do y’need some pajamas or anything, wanna go in the living room—”

“matt,” you cut him off once you caught your own breath, a small smile now on your face. “stop worrying. next time, i’ll definitely be conscious for it.”

it was if you took your fist and physically hit his stomach. he thought he was being too straight forward, but knowing that you were agreeing, that you seemed into it... it was doing things for him.

as you got up from the floor and moved to the living room, as matt's brain caught up with the intense beating of his heart and as he ignored the countless texts from chris asking “what the hell was going on up there”—there was a silent understanding.

and that was good enough for matt.

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cxrrodedcoffin · 1 year ago

Text

Dead of Night - Spencer Reid

Likes are always appreciated but reblogs and feedback keep artists going!

Summary: Spencer stumbles upon a secret dark fantasy of reader’s and does everything he can to be the one to fulfill it.

Word Count: 3.1k

A/N: This is the first time I’ve ever written anything with themes like this so feedback is definitely appreciated. Not proofread cuz this is long and I’m tired ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ I fully understand if the themes included in this are not for some of my regular readers and I encourage you to scroll if you’re not comfortable with any of the following warnings.

TW: perv!spencer, dom!spencer, mask kink, knife play, blood, dubcon, kind of cnc but it’s emphasized repeatedly that reader initiates and is in control of what is taking place, unprotected sex, penetration, creampie, degradation (slut), pet names (doll, angel) religious imagery, gun mention, std testing mention, fem + afab reader, soulmate talk

Rating: R, 18+

——

You knew it was wrong, you’d seen just how easily Penelope was able to track someone down through their “anonymous” profile on websites just like this one, but your desires got the better of you, and you just had to try.

Your profile was nondescript, your age, a vague physical description of yourself, and a link to a meticulously detailed account of your wildest fantasies. After weeks of back and forth, chatting with a few equally nondescript profiles, you found the one that you really clicked with, the stranger you decided you’d let sneak into your window and do whatever he wanted with you. After an std panel and the agreement of your safe word, you decided to fully commit, sending this complete stranger your address and logging off for the night.

Even though you knew this was a stupid idea, you weren’t a complete idiot, you had plans in case anything went south, including placing your handgun in your bedside table for easy access if you, god-forbid, had to use it. Placing yourself in a high-risk situation was the whole point, and you couldn’t wait to see how it turned out.

You spent the remainder of your afternoon preparing, doing every grooming ritual you’d usually do before a date, but this time felt somehow more important. You didn’t even know what this guy looked like, and yet, you wanted to be the picture of beauty for him. It was silly, but you always pictured yourself the prettiest you’d ever been when you daydreamed about being ravaged by a stranger. You wanted to be completely irresistible in every way, and you were doing everything in your power to accomplish that.

As the sun finally set, your excitement levels began to rise, anxiously awaiting the arrival of your masked suitor. You opened the bedroom window just above your fire escape, the cool night air drawing goosebumps over your exposed skin, only a thin lace slip and matching panties adorning your frame. You crawled into bed, double checking your bedside drawer before pulling your comforter over your body, eagerly drifting off to sleep.

—

Spencer had been keeping a secret, one that he did not want you to know about, until today. A few weeks ago he’d stayed late to finish up some paperwork for the last case you’d been on, when his pen ran out of ink just as he was about to sign off the last document. He walked to your empty desk, reaching across it to grab a pen from the cup next to your monitor, when his arm brushed against your mouse, causing your display to light up.

He knew he shouldn’t snoop, but curiosity got the best of him, scanning through the title of each tab open on your browser until a certain website caught his eye. He went against his better judgment and clicked the tab, his jaw dropping upon viewing your profile, and with it, the graphic description of your sexual proclivities. His brain immediately cemented that information in his mind’s eye, fit to torture him for days after the encounter.

He couldn’t stop picturing himself fulfilling all of those desires for you, having to excuse himself to the bathroom several times a day to take care of the bulge in his pants just from being around you. He eventually bit the bullet, creating his own profile on the website and messaging you as an “anonymous” suitor, beyond pleased when the two of you hit it off. He felt bad not telling you, but this was a means to an end that would surely leave you both satisfied, and the devious part of him won out this time.

He did everything you asked, getting tested so he could fuck you raw, he was apprehensive about the risks of a potential pregnancy even without the fear of std transmission, but the way you begged so beautifully in your messages for him to creampie you was more than enough to convince him. The moment he got your message with your address, he went out and purchased a mask to conceal his identity just like you asked, and anxiously waited for nightfall.

—

The graze of fabric against your skin gently woke you as your bedding was pulled down off of your body, your mind clouded from the deep sleep you’d been sunk in seconds before. You rolled onto your back, starting to lift your head until a large hand clamped over your mouth, forcing your head back down onto your pillow. Your eyes widened, darting around the room before settling on the masked figure on top of you. You tried to scream against his palm, but the sound simply reverberated back against you, muffled by his strong grip.

His free hand made quick work of cutting off your slip, the thin fabric splitting easily against the blade of the knife in his grasp. You struggled underneath him, weakly pushing at his strong shoulders, feigning defense as the heartbeat in your cunt grew stronger by the second. You couldn’t believe this was actually happening, the adrenaline coursing through your veins making you feel almost high.

“Don’t fight it.” He hushed, holding the knife flush against your neck. You slowed your movements, settling for shifting your legs against his. He removed his hand from your mouth, freeing it up to gather your hands to pin them above your head as well as give you an opportunity to use your safe-word if need be.

He trailed the knife down your body, your chest heaving with shaky breaths as the blade scratched a small cut between your breasts, warm droplets of blood forming in it’s wake. He followed the curve of your body, leaving shallow kitten scratches until he reached your hip, using the tip of the knife to carve a heart into your skin. The sting of each movement set every nerve ending in your body on fire, the wetness pooling between your thighs increasing by the second.

He pressed his thumb to the wound, smearing the blood down to the waistband of your panties, using the digit to pull the fabric before letting it snap back against your skin. You gasped, your labored breaths growing more desperate as he brought the blade to slice the fabric, exposing your embarrassingly wet cunt.

“Look at how wet you are, you love this, don’t you?” The condescension in his tone felt almost half-hearted, and the more of his voice you heard, the more familiar he started to sound, but you couldn’t quite place why. You looked down at him, watching his every move as you tried to place him.

He set the knife on the bed, using his now free hand to yank his pants down, his hard cock slapping against his thigh. Your eyes went wide at his size, looking just long and thick enough to have you a little worried about being able to take him raw, but the thought of being stretched to your limits sent another wave of arousal straight to your core and helped quell that fear ever so slightly.

“If you don’t want this, just say the word.” His words dripped from his lips like honey, sickly sweet, and in that moment you had never felt more sure of your desire for anything in your life.

—

Spencer wondered if the way he was feeling was akin to that of religious psychosis, so engulfed in your very being that he ought to worship at your altar for the rest of his life, fit to carry out any act you requested of him.

His brain kept your description of your fantasy scrolling in the back of his mind, catering to everything you had written to a T in hopes of making this a night you’d never forget. The only thing at the forefront of his thoughts, however, was the intoxicating sounds you made every time he gripped or marked your skin. Each note sought to pull his focus, threatening his plan as it tempted him to lose control all together. He couldn’t do that, his conscience too righteous in its goal to keep you as pleased as possible.

He took his time, marking you just the way you’d requested, his cock twitching with every whimper that flowed out of you until he finally reached your core, the lace of your underwear glistening under the moonlight cast through your open window from how wet you were. He wanted to sink fully into you without a care in the world, but he had to make sure this was absolutely what you wanted. He was, to your knowledge, a stranger after all, and the last thing he wanted was for you to be uncomfortable in any way.

—

You frantically shook your head in acknowledgment, spreading your legs wider for him, ready for this tall stranger to finally be inside of you. Your eagerness spurred him on, a surge of confidence washing over him as he let go of your wrists, his large hands gripping your hips and pulling you further down the bed. He lifted your legs so your knees rested atop his shoulders, his rough movements making you gasp.

He brought his cock to your core, running the shaft through your slick folds before slapping the head against your clit a few times, the repeated hits making your hips jolt ever so slightly. He hummed low in the back of his throat, lining up his tip with your entrance before thrusting forward, bottoming out inside of you in one fell swoop.

“You’re so tight.” He grunted, one hand holding an iron grip on your thigh to hold your leg up, the other digging fingerprints into your hip. You gasped once more at the intrusion, feeling more full than ever before as he set a steady but unrelenting pace. Your gasp turned to crying moans, brows furrowed in awe at the way his cock stretched you so deliciously, prominent veins rubbing against the contours of your sensitive walls.

Each snap of his hips had his balls slapping against your ass, the lude sound mixing with his grunts and the wet squelching where your bodies met in the most intimate way, the decibel level in the room reaching an all-time high.

You bit your lip, trying to quiet yourself to at least somewhat lower the noise and not disturb your sleeping neighbors, but the absence of your desperate moans was not lost on him. His pace slowed, his left hand firmly gripping your chin to force you to look at his masked face. His eyes met yours through the thin slit in the dark fabric.

You knew those eyes, those big, soft brown irises, so comforting, yet darker than you recognized, pupils far more blown than you’d ever seen before. You knew him, but there was no way. Your mind must have been playing tricks on you, because there was no way that Spencer Reid would do anything this perverse, let alone with you.

“Louder, slut.” He squeezed your cheeks, forcing your lower lip out from under your bite.

“I-I’m not a slut.” You mumbled, barely above a whisper.

“Only a slut would leave her bedroom window open, practically begging a stranger to come in and fuck her.” This was far too brazen to be Spencer, you thought, a level of blunt confidence you’d never in a million years expect from him.

“I-I didn’t mean to.” You stuttered over your words, raising your voice in an attempt to half heartedly defend your actions.

“Well then, you should really be more careful next time.” He laughed, releasing his grip on your face before playfully slapping your cheek and increasing the pace of his thrusts, his now free hand finding your clit. His calloused thumb drew broad strokes over and over and over against your sensitive bundle of nerves, a knot tightening in your stomach as you drew closer and closer to your release. You turned your head, trying to bury your face in the pillow as you writhed underneath him, your body frantically looking for relief.

“Oh don’t be shy doll, let me see how much you’re enjoying this.” His tone was almost sing-song, clearly enjoying this just as much as you were. He pressed his body down closer to yours, almost pinning your thighs against your stomach, the change in angle forcing a borderline scream from your lungs, crying out strangled ‘uh’s with every stroke. You looked him in the eye, desperate to know if this deity above you could possibly be your nerdy coworker, and every interaction you’d had with him flashed before your eyes.

Every fleeting glance he took at your chest or your ass, the way he lingered behind you in the field, feeling his presence even when you couldn’t see him. You couldn’t think of a time he wasn’t around a corner when you turned it, always near whenever you needed his help on a case. You always secretly hoped he'd make a move sooner or later, but you never thought it would be anything like this.

He was omnipotent, knowing exactly how to make you feel things you’d never felt before, pushing your body to levels of pleasure you never thought possible. You thought you might disappear, your brain short-circuiting as you tried to make sense of everything, finally understanding why the French refer to orgasms as the little death.

Your walls fluttered around him, the sounds leaving you reduced to pathetic whimpers as your vocal chords grew strained.

“That’s it, cum on my cock, angel.” He groaned, his thrusts growing increasingly desperate. The pet name surprised you, but if he saw you as an angel, how fitting considering how godlike he felt to you in that moment. You could tell he was close, and if your orgasm was what would get him to cum inside you, then so be it. Your eyes glazed over, your hands clawing at his back as you chanted ‘fuck, fuck, fuck’ like a mantra, wave after wave of euphoria washing over every nerve in your body.

—

Spencer was a man possessed, his primal urges leaving his mind completely uninhibited, so lost in your body that he thought he might need divine intervention to ever leave you.

He didn’t quite understand where the sudden dominant urge coursing through his veins had come from, but he didn’t care to dwell too much on the thought, content to fuck you into the mattress until you screamed his name.

He knew that wouldn’t happen, but he secretly hoped you’d realize who he was, wishing for nothing more than for you to want him for him. His heart felt like it may burst at the thought, the desire to be wanted as he was ever-lingering inside of it, that being the very motivation behind his lingering tendencies from the start.

As your heat contracted around him, he felt an embrace like no other, hoping the myth of twin flames to be true. If this connection wasn’t proof of it, how could he rationally explain anything? He knew the scientific reasoning behind it, but it didn’t feel like enough, such a finite explanation for a feeling so sempiternal.

He wondered if you felt the same way too, so lost in his every desire that he let himself dive into the delusion, using the pet name he wished he could call you every day for eternity.

Your chants and cries as you came set him free, his hips stuttering as he finally filled your aching cunt to the brim with his seed. He hovered above you, catching his breath, watching your expression soften as you rode out your orgasm, practically glowing.

When he finally snapped out of his lust-fueled haze, he fully remembered his role, pulling out of you and quickly scrambling to stand, fixing his pants and underwear. You had agreed to his departure after, and as badly as he wanted to hold you until you drifted off to sleep, he respected your wishes more than his wants. He walked to the window, lifting his leg to climb out of it when you cleared your throat, drawing his attention. He turned, seeing you sit up, hazy smile on your face.

“Thank you.” You sighed, and he gave a nod of acknowledgement before slipping out of the window and into the night.

—

When you awoke, you had a couple minutes of doubt in which you thought the events of the night before had all been a dream, until you moved to get out of bed and winced at sting from the shallow marks adorning your body and the dull ache between your legs. You smiled to yourself, before looking at your phone and realizing what time it was. You were going to be late, and panic set in when you realized you’d have to go to work in the makeup you’d fallen asleep in last night.

You rushed out the door, checking your makeup in a compact mirror in your car, wiping a small bit of smudged mascara off of your brow bone before walking into work.

“Fun night?” Derek quipped as you walked through the doors, always the first to poke fun at your perceived escapades.

“You could say that.” You laughed, setting your handbag on your desk before joining the team to walk to the conference room.

“What happened?” Penelope asked, almost panicked, taking your arm in her hand and pointing to the only visible cut on your body.

“Oh that’s nothing, I just scraped my arm on my car door.” You reassured, smiling at her. As much as you loved your best friend, she didn’t need to know the truth of your little white lie.

“You should really be more careful next time.” Spencer’s voice came from behind you, his hand gently resting on your hip before squeezing right where the heart shaped cut from the night before was inlaid in your skin. His words reverberated in the space between your ears as your brain processed what he’d just said.

Realization hit you like a semi truck, your lips parting in shock. Your suspicions had been correct, and you almost wanted to turn around and kiss then interrogate him right there. You couldn’t do that though, having a full work day in front of both of you.

Now you just had to figure out a time and place to broach the subject with him without completely humiliating yourself.

——

part 2 can be found here

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