#F^K IT Tee

[quixoti]

... Surprise?

[thevirginslvt]

i had a chance… but this stupid man had to be stupid

[millers-girl]

on the line

interconnected standalone/sequel-ish to bitter/sweet and fallout - a Dr. Jack Abbot (The Pitt) fanfic

pairing: Jack Abbot x f!reader

summary: Jack takes a six-week placement across the country. Four specific FaceTime calls—full of banter, longing, and everything unsaid—hold you two together until he comes home.

warnings/tags: grumpy x sunshine, age gap, long-distance relationship, mild language

word count: 5.0k

“What are you wearing?” 

You cracked one eye open, squinting against the soft glow of your bedside lamp. Jack was staring at you through the screen of your phone, propped up on your nightstand. His image was bright against the dim lighting, accenting the sharp set of his jaw and the smirk playing at his lips.

“You know what I’m wearing – we’re on FaceTime,” you mumbled into your pillow, voice thick with sleep. Your limbs felt heavy under the familiar weight of your comforter. “When are you coming back?” 

“You know when I’m coming back,” he echoed, mimicking your tone. “Why’re you asking – miss me?” His voice dropped an octave, teasing, and you saw his eyes flick down your form as you shifted to get more comfortable beneath the covers.

This had been an ongoing game for the last month – every time you talked, one of you tried to get the other to admit they missed them first. Neither of you had cracked. 

Now, that didn’t mean you didn’t miss him. Quite the opposite, actually. 

Jack had been gone for three weeks now, having been offered an intensive placement at UCLA Medical Center. You could still remember how he broke the news—quietly, nonchalantly, like he didn’t want to make a big deal out of it—and how you’d smiled widely and pushed him to take it even as something inside you fought every move.

This is UCLA, you told yourself. He has to take it; it’s an incredible opportunity. How many times does something like this come along?

But knowing it was the right decision didn’t make it easier.

Six weeks. Forty-two days. Nearly fifty sunsets without him. 

After spending almost every day together, the sudden absence had carved out a hollow space in your chest.

The first week, you felt his absence immensely. But you figured, with time, it’d get easier. 

Oh, how wrong you were.

The ache didn’t dull. It sharpened. Everything reminded you of him – how much he’d probably roll his eyes at a joke Eleni told during service, how he’d immediately get to cleaning your apartment if he saw how messy it had gotten, how he’d let you follow him around if he was back at the hospital when you were dropping dinner off for your sister. 

Luckily, technology was on your side. While he was in California, you texted him constantly – mostly one-sided updates on your day, the chaos of the kitchen, the new weird thing your landlord did. He replied in his usual charming fashion: a “K” here, a thumbs-up emoji there.

FaceTime was more his speed. Every night, your phone took up its spot on your nightstand while you curled into bed, half-asleep before he even picked up. He was usually just getting ready for his shift – brushing his teeth, dressing in his scrubs, sometimes sitting in the car with one hand on the wheel. 

“At least it’s regulating my sleep cycle,” you’d joked during one call, watching him frown in that subtle, concerned way he did.

“You love me doing night shifts,” he’d countered. “Said it keeps you on your toes, guessing.”

“Yeah, guessing how much sleep I’m gonna get that night,” you’d teased back, and he’d huffed a small laugh. 

Now here he was, two weeks from coming home, asking you what you were wearing in that low, steady voice of his that always had knots forming in your stomach.

“You already know I’m wearing one of your hundred black tees,” you mumbled, cheek sinking deeper into your pillow. 

“No panties?” he asked, a hint of a smirk at his lips as his eyes gleamed with mischief.

With minimal effort, you peeled back the duvet just enough for him to catch a glimpse of his boxers sitting low on your hips.

“You do miss me,” he grinned triumphantly, a quiet chuckle escaping him. You sighed through a small smile, eyes fluttering shut. His voice, even through the phone, grounded you. “Tell me what you did today.”

You took a moment to think, thoughts clouded by sleep and the warmth of your sheets. “Tried out a new truffle recipe,” you murmured. 

Sure enough, you peeked an eye open just in time to catch his nose wrinkle in disgust. He hated truffles.

The sight made you smile – even 3,000 miles away, Jack was still so Jack.

“Dinner rush was crazy – some show was going on at the theatre down the block so we were packed. Almost ran into one of the sommeliers rushing out of the kitchen. Nicked my finger on the bottle opener he was holding.”

“Let me see,” he said immediately, and you pulled your hand from under the covers and held it up to the camera, watching his eyes narrow. “Did someone at the Pitt take a look?”

“My sister did,” you said, brushing it off. “It’s fine – just a scrape.”

He frowned that familiar, pinched-brow frown.

“You should keep it wrapped,” he muttered. “Could get infected.” 

You mirrored his expression, this time out of something deeper – affection, mingled with longing. “I miss you medically scolding me.” 

Jack paused a beat, then offered softly, “I can still do it over the phone. That’s why they invented FaceTime.” 

“I’m pretty sure that’s not true,” you giggled sleepily, burrowing deeper into your sheets. The weight of him not being there settled over you again, dense and unrelenting. 

Silence stretched for a moment before you opened your eyes again. Jack was still looking at you. “What?” you asked, your voice small.

He hesitated. “Nothing… you just look tired.”

But the way he said it—gentle, weighted—made your throat tighten. 

You didn’t just look tired.

You missed him. You missed sleeping better when he was beside you, the steady rhythm of his breathing syncing with yours as your limbs tangled together. You missed the safety, the stillness. Without him, everything felt a little bit off.

Your hand drifted across the sheets, reaching for his side of the bed – cold, untouched. Your fingers curled into the empty space as if you could will it to hold his warmth. That familiar ache bloomed in your chest again, pressing hard against your ribs, forcing you to acknowledge it.

And the way he was looking at you right now—gaze just soft enough for you to see the emotion behind it—it made the distance hard to bear. 

You wanted to ask him to come back early. Just say it. Just tell him.

But you didn’t.

He was doing something important – teaching residents, working alongside brilliant attendings, contributing to something meaningful. You couldn’t ask him to give that up. So you buried it, like always.

Instead, you asked, “Any exciting cases today?” 

Jack blinked at you, then shrugged, his voice returning to that calm, clinical cadence. “Someone said a guy came in with third-degree burns from resting his hand on the grill – didn’t realize his wife had turned it on.” 

You winced, turning your face into the pillow. “Ugh, Jack – that’s gross.” 

He chuckled softly. “Reminds me of an old army buddy who met the wrong end of a crockpot once.” 

You hummed, already drifting. “Tell me about it.” 

You tried to stay awake, but the familiar and comforting tone of his low voice began to lull you to sleep. A few minutes into the story, Jack noticed your breathing had slowed.

You looked so peaceful.

He watched for a while, the silence between you warm and heavy, filled with all the things left unsaid.

Then, in a quiet voice that barely crossed the distance, he whispered a sweet good night to you and ended the call.

Four weeks into the placement, when Jack FaceTimed you and you answered with a deep-set frown and red-rimmed eyes, he could already tell it would be one of those days. 

The hard days. The days one of you missed the other so much, it was impossible to ignore. The days your heart was three thousand miles away, tucked into the go-bag of your favorite ED attending, somewhere in a cramped locker room in Los Angeles. 

“What’s wrong?” he immediately asked, making your frown deepen. 

“Nothing,” you promised, setting the phone down on your nightstand as you began to get ready for bed. The camera angle wobbled as you moved – half of your frame disappearing, your voice muffled by distance and steam escaping from the open bathroom door behind you.

This was unusual. Whenever Jack called at this time, you were already tucked in bed, cozy and glowing, hair a little messy, a smile curling at the corners of your lips the moment you saw him. 

And, you always showered in the mornings – you said showering at night would intervene with how much time you two got to spend on FaceTime. 

Yet, here you were now – hair wet from the shower, curling at the ends as you moved about your room, distracted and quieter than usual. You pulled on a soft t-shirt, then wandered off-screen, brushing your teeth with a kind of mechanical rhythm.

Jack stayed silent, watching.

He could tell something was bothering you. 

Your hands shook as you did your skincare – too much toner on the pad, moisturizer forgotten halfway through.

“How was your day?” Jack asked slowly, treading lightly, trying to gauge how you were actually feeling.

“Fine,” you mumbled, disappearing again. The faucet turned on in the background as you washed your hands, cool water grounding your overheated nerves before you slipped into bed wit a heavy sigh. 

Jack’s voice came again, cautious, “Anything happen?” He tried to sound casual, but you weren’t in the mood for it now.

You glanced at the screen sharply. “Like what?” 

“I don’t know, just… anything good? Or… something bad?” 

Your jaw tensed as you looked past the phone, voice bitter. “A critic came in today.”

“Oh?” 

You laughed humorlessly. “I didn’t even know who she was, and I told her to fuck off.” 

Jack’s brow rose at that. “And why’d you do that?”

“Because she was being an asshole – and I didn’t recognize her and I was rushing and – and I was exhausted. I just snapped and – and it wasn’t even about her. It’s just… I’m tired. I’m so tired of pretending this isn’t hard.”  

Jack paused, his face softening, the weight of your words hanging thickly between you.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were feeling like this?” 

You shrugged, unwilling to meet his eyes. “Because it’s not your fault,” you finally said. “And I didn’t want to make it your problem.” 

“You’re not a problem.” 

His voice was quiet, thick with the guilt settling into his stomach.

You immediately noticed the shift in his tone – soft and frayed around the edges.

“I didn’t say it to make you feel guilty,” you said, gaze now locking onto his, unwavering. 

“I know,” he replied, tiredly dragging a hand down his face, like he wanted to crawl through the screen and pull you into his arms.

“I just… I miss you.” 

There it was.

You’d finally said it.

And yet, it didn’t make you feel like you’d lost the game – at least, not in the way you thought. And, it didn’t make Jack feel like he won, either.

“I miss you every day,” you continued. “I miss you so much I don’t know where to put it anymore. It’s just there. Always. Like a weight on my chest. And every day, you – you pick up the phone and I see your face and you’re fine. Smiling… Happy. And, it’s just – just… Don’t you miss me? Like, even a little?” 

The moment you said it, you instantly regretted it. 

Jack could tell – the way your eyes squeezed shut in regret, like you wished you could pull the words right back into your chest. It broke his heart even more than hearing the desperation in your voice. 

He found himself looking away, swallowing hard. Then, finally, quietly, he said, “Of course I miss you. I miss you all the time. I just – I don’t let myself think about it too long. If I do, I can’t focus.” 

You knew he’d never say anything hurtful on purpose but the comment still stung. A sharp pang, like a bruise pressed too hard.

If he missed you so much, how come it felt like you were the only one falling apart? If he missed you so much, why didn’t it seem like he felt it?

Before you could stop yourself, the words spilled out. “Right. Got it. I’m over here crying in the walk-in fridge like a lunatic and you get to compartmentalize.” 

His eyes flinched shut, barely perceptible – but you saw it. Instantly regretted your words. And yet, you didn’t take it back.

And he didn’t push back either.

The silence grew too thick, claustrophobic.

After a beat, you shook your head, voice quieter now. “You’re running late – I should let you go. We can just… I’ll talk to you later, okay?”

Your hand reached for the screen, heart already retreating.

“Wait!” Jack’s voice rang out, startling you.

You hesitated, still refusing to meet his eyes, but something in you paused – your ribs tightened at the strain in his voice.

“I think about you all day,” he admitted. “I know I don’t say it enough, but I do. I make a list in my head of all the things to tell you when we finally talk, and then when you pick up and give me that smile, I forget how to say any of it.”

You blinked.

That wasn't what you expected at all.

Still, he kept going. “And I bought you this mug from the UCLA store, in the shape of a smiling sunny face. I keep it in my locker, drink coffee from it before the shift – and all the residents look at me like I’m crazy. But it just… it reminds me of you. Keeps me grounded. Gets me through the shift.

“And your voice notes – I save them all. I listen to one specific one whenever I miss you more than usual – the one where you called me a broody bastard and then basically told me you missed me in the same breath.” 

That cracked something open in your chest. Like air rushing into lungs that had been holding their breath too long.

Soft tears lined your eyes. Not the frustrated kind. The aching, full-hearted kind.

You stared at the screen, heart thudding in your chest, throat thick with emotion. His face was still there – steady, honest, eyes staring back at yours, so full of you. Of all the missing he hadn’t said until now.

He missed you. Of course he missed you. Maybe not in the same noisy, unraveling way you did – but in the quiet, deliberate way only Jack could. Through mugs and voice notes. Through saved recordings and mental lists. Through showing up, every night, even when words failed.

Your lip trembled as a tear ran down your cheek.

“Jack…” you breathed, the apology catching somewhere between a sob and a sigh. 

“I’m sorry,” you finally said, voice low and thick. “I didn’t mean what I said. I just – God – I feel everything right now, and I don’t know if it’s hormones or just the distance or – ” 

That four-letter word was at the tip of your tongue, but it didn’t feel right to tell him over the phone. This deserved to be told in person. He deserved that.

Jack’s face softened, almost imperceptibly, but you caught it – the way his shoulders eased like something fragile in him had finally seemed to settle.

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, after a beat, he deadpanned, “It’s both. I checked the app earlier.” 

You stared, stunned. Then, your eyes warmed, the corners crinkling as a small, disbelieving, shaky smile touched your lips. “You track my cycle on your phone?” 

He shrugged, a little too casual. “Ever since the brownies incident – hell yeah.” 

That conversation changed things – in the best way. 

It made both you and Jack more intentional about the time apart. More creative, more present. FaceTimes evolved into something more sacred, more playful. You started doing virtual date nights, much to Jack’s technologically-deficient chagrin.

“I can barely work this FaceCall thing, you want me to do what now?”, to which you’d rolled your eyes and corrected, “FaceTime,” while suppressing a grin.

He’d grumbled, but you caught the way he cleared his evenings anyway – made sure he wasn’t on call any earlier than he needed to be, made sure his dinner (mediocre and suspiciously not homemade) was ready on time. Despite the mismatched time zones, you both made space. You’d end up eating hours apart, but “together” nonetheless. And that was what mattered.

Six days before Jack was set to fly home, you had another one of these date nights. 

The screen flickered to life and there he was – tousled hair you wished you could run your fingers through, half-zipped hoodie you wished you could burrow into, sitting cross-legged on a too-modern couch that definitely didn’t belong to him. He held up a plastic takeout container like it was an offering.

“Dinner, courtesy of the fine culinary skills I’ve learned from you.” 

You raised a brow. “That looks suspiciously like pad Thai.” 

He shrugged. “Maybe I cooked. Maybe the DoorDash guy and I are becoming best friends.”  

You snorted, curling deeper under your blanket as you reached for the remote. “What’d you do yesterday?” 

Jack leaned back with a groan, the kind that said his spine hated him and the previous night had been long. “This guy came in with a ridiculous chest injury. We had to work carefully around the nerve endings in his nipple and – what?” 

He paused mid-sentence, catching the grin spreading across your face.

“Should I be jealous by how excited you just got talking about someone else’s nipples?” you teased.

Jack coughed, nearly choking on his water. “Jesus. It was a very complicated procedure. We had to be extremely precise.” 

“Oh, I’m sure his nipples were deeply moved by your devotion,” you grinned.

“You’re insufferable.” 

“And you miss it.” 

“Unfortunately,” he deadpanned, mouth twitching.

You smiled, feeling that familiar warmth settle into your chest. God, you missed his face. You missed his voice, his sarcasm, the way he looked at you like you hung up the moon. 

You squinted at the screen. “Is it just me or are you getting a tan?” 

Jack glanced down at his arms. “Well, the sun does shockingly exist here. Unlike your vampire den of a kitchen.” 

“I work best when the lights are dim, and you know that!” 

He smirked. “Sure. That explains why every time you call me from there, you look like you’re in a hostage video.” 

You groaned, tossing a throw pillow off your bed. “Well, not all of us can soak up some West Coast rays while also being a nipple whisperer. Guess you’re just built different.” 

“I regret telling you anything about that case.” 

You smirked as The Bachelor theme started playing faintly from your TV. You both fell quiet for a beat, comfortable. It had become your ritual – playing the show in the background, pretending to care about the drama, when really, it was just an excuse to sit in each other’s orbit for a while. 

Midway through the episode, Jack stood up and walked off-screen and came back holding something. You squinted.

“Is that… a bobblehead? Of an avocado… surfing?” 

Jack held it up proudly toward the camera like it was fine art. “Picked it up at a roadside stand. Guy said it was hand-painted by his seven-year-old niece.” 

“It’s so ugly,” you commented, grinning anyway. “I love it!”

He just laughed, setting it on the table behind him so its little bobblehead eyes stared into your soul for the rest of the call. And, his heart grew every time he caught you staring at it.

Later, you rolled onto your side, shifting your phone as you got more comfortable. The new angle must’ve shown more of the room, because Jack leaned in, eyes narrowing.

“You changed the bedroom.”

You panned the camera, shaking your head. “Just been sleeping on your side lately,” you admitted through flushed cheeks, before cutting him off when he smirked and parted his lips to speak. “Don’t! Don’t ask me why. Just helps me sleep better.” 

He didn’t make a joke. Just stared at you with that soft, unreadable look that always made your chest feel like it was going to burst open.

“I missed this view,” he said gently. His voice was low, almost reverent. “That room. That bed. You in it.”

You fiddled with the comforter. “It misses you. The vibe’s been different, though. Less broody. No angry sighs every time the neighbor’s dog barks.” 

“That dog is a demon,” Jack said, on instinct.

“You’re just grumpy when you’re tired,” you teased.

“And you’re grumpy when I’m not there for you to stick those frozen toes under my legs to warm them up.” 

You opened your mouth to retort, paused, then nodded. “Okay, that’s true.” 

Jack laughed.

The show was long forgotten now. All that mattered was the glow of your screens, the way his eyes didn’t leave yours, the way his voice softened like it always did when the night got quieter.

“What do you miss the most?” he asked, almost shy.

You hesitated, then said, “I miss you hogging the blanket.” That made Jack laugh, but you shook your head, insisting, “I’m serious. In like a stockholm syndrome-y way – I miss that. And other stuff, like you leaving all the lights on or waking me up at the stupid hours of dawn when you get back from a shift… The little stuff.” 

Jack nodded, smiling in that slow, aching way. “You know what I miss?” 

“What?” 

“Sitting at the island, watching you test out new recipes – make a mess of the kitchen like you’re on some Food Network competition.”  

You smiled, fond and aching. “That’s the only way I cook.” 

“I know,” he said. “I miss it. Miss you.” 

You let that settle between you. Let it warm you all the way through.

 “In six days, I’m gonna be stuck to you like velcro,” you murmured.

He quirked a brow. “Is that so?” 

You nodded. “And you’re not allowed to leave again, by the way. And if you do, you’re taking me in your go-bag.” You lifted your pinky finger toward the camera. “Promise.” 

Without hesitation, Jack raised his pinky to match yours. “Promise, baby.” 

And for a moment, across the glow of two tiny screens, it almost felt like he was already home.

“Are you here yet?” you asked the second you picked up the FaceTime, barely able to contain the grin stretching across your face. The sounds of the kitchen clattered behind you, but your focus remained on the screen. On him.

Today was the day Jack was coming home and you were giddy with anticipation. 

“I am,” he replied, voice smooth, teasing, “but where are you?”

You groaned, “A last-minute catering order came in, so I had to stay late. Almost just brought the chef’s knife with me to work in the car and just sprint to Arrivals.”

Jack smirked, familiar and smug. “I don’t know how TSA would’ve taken that.” 

“But, I sent a good backup, huh?” 

Jack shifted the camera to the driver’s seat, where Robby sat, looking amused as he drove. “You’re lucky I’m easily bribable with food,” he said. “Picking him up on my day off was not part of the plan.” 

“Yeah, but you’d do it for the filet mignon these magic hands can make, right?” You wiggled your fingers at the screen, and Jack snorted.

“Oh, any day of the week,” Robby agreed, his grin cracking wider.

Jack turned the camera back to himself. He looked tired from the long travel day, but the way he looked at you—like he’d been waiting all day, or rather, six weeks, to see your face—made your chest ache.

You drank him in. Stubble. Black tee. Soft warmth creeping onto his features as he looked at you. 

“How was your flight?” you asked.

“You’re lucky I like you,” he replied, rubbing his jaw. “I just spent six hours sitting in front of a guy who kept stabbing at the screen like it wronged him personally. Kept me up the whole flight.”

From off-screen, Robby piped up, “Is that why you fell asleep on my shoulder in the first five minutes of the drive?” 

“Aww, is that true?” you cooed, and Jack immediately frowned, shaking his head. “Liar,” you accused with a knowing smile, before asking, “Are you close?”

“To your place?” You nodded. “I was gonna head home first, shower, sleep for a bit – ”

You were already shaking your head, correcting him, “No. You’re coming here first; not allowed to shower before you see me.”

Robby snorted, and Jack sighed in that over-it-but-not-really way before turning to his friend. “Can you drop me off at hers?” 

“Kinda already assumed,” Robby said, tapping the GPS. “Route’s set to her address.”

“How much longer?” you asked Robby, bouncing on your heels with impatient energy.

“Twenty-three minutes.”

You groaned, tugging off your apron. The clock on the wall ticked slowly, teasingly. “Can you be here already?” you whined at Jack, then paused as a mischievous glint sparked behind your eyes. “I’m ovulating and miss you being in my – ”

“Ohhhkay,” Robby cut in, clearly scarred and making your grin widen. Jack’s mouth twitched.

“I was going to say ‘arms.’ Sheesh, Jack, what kind of freaks do you work with?” you teased, grin widening as Jack broke into a full smile and aimed the camera at Robby, who groaned in defeat. 

“You’re gonna get me kicked out of this car, trouble,” Jack said, warmth bleeding into his voice at the nickname. Your chest squeezed, missing him.

Eleni walked into the office a moment later, waving at the screen. “Hey, Eleni,” Jack greeted.

“Hey,” she said, squinting. “Was that groaning I heard just now? You guys doing phone sex again or just emotionally scarring Robby?” 

“For the record, those things are not mutually exclusive,” Robby chimed in.

Eleni grinned, turning to you. “You heading out now?” 

You nodded. “Unless there’s something else – ”

She was already shaking her head. “Go. Get out of here. You’ve already cleaned the walk-in twice just waiting for Jack to land.” 

Jack perked up at that. “Aww, is that true?” he mocked, using your tone from earlier.

You glared at him, but before you could deny it, Eleni added, “She reorganized the grain bins, too!”

You were already grabbing your keys as Eleni ushered you toward the door. “Okay, I’ll see you when you get here,” you said to Jack. 

In a rare moment of vulnerability, he puckered his lips and blew you a kiss goodbye. You flushed, heart stuttering. 

“You’re getting soft on me, Abbot,” you teased.

“Pretty sure we’re way past that.”

The drive home was a blur; you could barely keep your concentration. Every red light felt like the universe was plotting against you; every slow pedestrian crossing the street made you want to scream. 

Your heart was hammering in your ears. You didn’t even remember pulling into the driveway, adrenaline surging. But the moment you caught sight of the front door – 

There he was.

Jack.

Standing at your front door in that familiar black tee, suitcase sitting on the porch as he fumbled with the spare key you’d given him. He was so focused on unlocking the door, he didn’t even hear your footsteps approaching.

“You know, for someone who saves lives for a living,” you called out, approaching him, “you’re really struggling with the concept of a lock.” 

Jack froze, then turned.

And then, a slow-spreading, lopsided smile that had lived on your phone screen for far too long was finally gracing you in person. 

“Well, maybe if someone didn’t have ten million locks on the door, we wouldn’t be in this situation,” he said, voice lower than usual, rougher in a way that made your stomach flip.

You crossed the distance in three strides. The key clattered onto his luggage as he let it fall.

And then you were in his arms. 

Not the thought of him. Not his voice through a screen. Not his pixelated smile or sleepy texts or pictures of his takeout. Him. Warm and solid and real.

His arms wrapped so tightly around you, it felt like he wouldn’t ever let go. And you didn’t want him to. You buried your face in his chest, breathing him in. 

“I forgot how good you smell,” you mumbled into his shirt. “Like middle seat and recycled plane air.” 

He tugged playfully at your ear, leaning back just enough for you to get a good look at him. Sun-kissed skin. Slight scruff that made your fingertips itch to trace it.

“You got more handsome. That’s annoying.” 

He raised a brow. “You’re only saying that because you’re ovulating.” 

“No,” you promised. “If I did, I would’ve already dragged you inside and ripped your clothes off – ”

He kissed you mid-sentence. Not hurried. Not desperate. Just… steady. Like he had all the time in the world, because now, he did.

When you finally pulled back, breath short, he rested his forehead against yours. “Missed you,” you said softly.

“Yeah,” he whispered, almost like it hurt. “Me too.” 

You leaned into him again, arms tightening, greedy now that you finally could be. “You’re never leaving again, right?” 

He chuckled, voice cracking just a little. “You going to chain me to the radiator?” 

You shrugged. “Tempting. I do own zip ties.” 

His laugh was full, unguarded, the sound of it seeping into your skin like sunlight. “Why don’t we save those for the bedroom, huh?” 

He leaned down again to kiss your cheek, your jaw, the corner of your mouth. And then he whispered, “Let’s go inside.” 

But neither of you moved. Not yet.

You’d waited this long.

What was one more minute in each other’s arms?

[chansdoll]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ 방찬ㅤㅤ♡ㅤㅤfirst timeㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

★ pairing。nerdbf!chan x afab!reader ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎g. ╰・ fluff & smut‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎cw。loss of virginity , oral (f rec.) , shy channie , mentions of panty sniffing , mentions of male masturbation , implied round 2 , aftercare and cuddles (channie is so cute) 。 wc。 3.6 k

lana's note!  ᰍᩚ this was a request ! ive always wanted to do nerdy channie but ive seen so many people do it and i felt my work would be inferior :<

♡ masterlist

you and chan had been dating for a few months now, and honestly? it had been perfect.

it was your third year of college.  a hectic, stressful mess of deadlines, exams, and late nights. but somehow, in the middle of all that chaos, you’d met him. you were studying alone in the library, desperate for a quiet spot, when you spotted the only empty seat left in the building-across from a quiet, glasses-wearing guy with a physics textbook and two mechanical pencils lined up perfectly on the table. you asked if you could sit, and he nodded, barely looking up.

that was the first time you noticed just how adorable he was. soft black curls that flopped over his forehead, pale skin that flushed easily, plush pink lips that looked made to be kissed, and a delicate, perfect nose that held up his glasses like it was crafted just for them.

he always dressed the same, you’d come to realize. a cozy college sweatshirt, jeans, and converse. or, on days he was feeling a little bolder, a flannel layered over a tee. nothing flashy. nothing attention-seeking. but he pulled it off in a way that made you want to pull him into your lap.

you learned pretty early on that chan was a virgin.. which surprised you. it wasn’t common around here. most guys at your school were shameless partiers who hooked up with anything that moved, chasing cheap highs and body counts.

but not chan.

he wasn’t like them. he didn’t go out. he didn’t flirt unless you made the first move. and despite being sweet, attentive, and.. let’s be real, hot as hell, he was painfully shy. soft touches made him twitch. a kiss to his cheek turned him beet red. he’d mumble compliments under his breath but clam up the second you tried to make things sexual.

still, what you didn’t know, what he kept so carefully tucked behind those sweet smiles and nervous laughs.. was that chan, your shy nerd of a boyfriend, was the dirtiest pervert you’d ever met.

but only in private. only in the dark. only when he was alone.

when he had the room to himself, with the door locked and his laptop shut, his thoughts were filthy. he’d imagine you in every position, in every room. he’d stroke himself slowly, desperately, to the thought of stealing your panties and holding them to his face as he came. he’d edge himself for hours, his cock leaking as he imagined your cunt wrapped around him, imagined your face when you came.

but the thought that ruined him the most? the one that made his thighs shake and his eyes roll back as he fucked his hand?

going down on you.

he couldn’t get it out of his head. your thighs over his shoulders, your taste on his tongue, the way you’d sound when you moaned his name with your fingers tangled in his curls. he didn’t even need to fuck you. not yet. he just wanted to devour you. he wanted to make you cum again and again with his mouth alone, wanted to feel your thighs trembling around his ears while you gasped that no one had ever made you feel that good before.

in his mind, he was so bold. shameless. obsessive. but the moment he imagined asking you for it, saying the words out loud?

he nearly choked on the fear. his mouth dried up. his palms got clammy. you were everything to him, and the idea of ruining it by revealing how desperate he was for you?

it kept him silent.

at least, until that night.

you were curled up in his bed, legs tangled under a blanket, his laptop resting against his knees while a movie played between you. something romantic. not your usual, but soft enough to match the mood.

then, suddenly, the scene changed. the couple on-screen began making love, slowly, tenderly, with soft gasps and bare skin. it wasn’t even pornographic, just… intimate. raw. real.

and it broke him.

chan went still beside you. you didn’t notice, but he stopped breathing. the second the actress moaned softly, he was gone. his eyes stayed glued to the screen, but his mind wandered far from it. it wandered to you. to your body. your breasts, full and warm and perfect in his hands. your legs, spread open just for him. your soft skin and your soft moans and the sweet, intoxicating smell of your cunt.

he bit down hard on his lip as the blood rushed to his cock. fast, urgent, impossible to ignore. his dick twitched under the blanket, growing stiff in his sweats, and he tried not to groan. tried not to squirm. tried to breathe.

but all he could think about was you.

and what it might feel like to finally,  finally,  have you.

you shifted slightly beside him, just enough for your thigh to press against his, and that’s when you felt it.

the stiff outline beneath his sweats. firm, hot, twitching with every shallow breath he took.

at first, you weren’t sure. maybe it was the blanket. maybe you were imagining it. but then he made this tiny sound. this quiet, shaky whimper, almost inaudible.. and it was like something clicked.

you turned your head slowly, eyes narrowing just a bit.

“chan?” you said, soft enough not to spook him.

his whole body tensed like a wire. his eyes snapped away from the screen, and when they landed on you, you could practically see the panic ripple across his face.

“i-uh-yeah?”

your gaze dropped, then lifted again. you didn’t say anything, didn’t have to. his cheeks went red. not pink. crimson.

“shit-fuck-i’m sorry,” he stammered. “i didn’t mean to-it’s not because of you-or, no, it is because of you, but not in a bad-fuck, i don’t know-”

“chan,” you cut in gently, pressing your palm against his chest. “hey. it’s okay.”

he looked at you like you’d just told him the earth stopped spinning.

“it is?”

“yeah,” you smiled, brushing his hair back. “you don’t have to freak out over a hard-on. especially not around me.”

his throat bobbed as he swallowed. he was trying to calm down, but the embarrassment clung to him like static. you could see it in the way his fingers nervously curled around the blanket. the way he couldn’t hold your gaze for more than a second.

but then you touched his jaw. gentle, slow.. and tilted his face back toward yours.

“tell me the truth,” you whispered. “what were you thinking about?”

he inhaled sharply. you could see the war playing out in his head. fight or flight. but instead of backing down, he exhaled shakily, eyes fluttering shut for a second.

then, with a voice barely louder than a whisper-

“you.”

your heart skipped.

“the scene on screen just made me think of you. what it would be like… to be inside you. to feel you under me. to touch you, taste you-fuck.”

he clenched his eyes shut again, face burning, hands fisting in the blanket like it might save him from the weight of his own need.

“i’ve wanted you for so long,” he confessed, voice cracking. “but i didn’t know how to bring it up. i didn’t want you to think i was some… creep.”

you climbed into his lap without hesitation, straddling his thighs under the blanket, letting your weight settle slowly against the aching bulge between his legs. he let out a broken little gasp, his hands flying instinctively to your waist.

“you’re not a creep,” you said, brushing your nose against his. “you’re my sweet, shy, very horny boyfriend who’s clearly been holding this in for way too long.”

a whimper slipped from his throat. he squeezed your hips like he didn’t know what else to do.

“you have no idea how bad it’s gotten,” he murmured. “i’ve thought about you every night. i-i’ve looked stuff up. how to do it. what to say. how to eat you out, how to stretch you properly. i memorized diagrams.”

you giggled, and fuck, the way his eyes flicked down to your mouth like he couldn’t help it.

“i want to learn,” he whispered, breath hot against your cheek. “i want to be good for you.”

you kissed him, soft and deep and slow, and he moaned against your mouth like he was already half undone. when you pulled back just enough to look into his eyes, you cupped his face.

“then let me teach you.”

he nodded, fast,  needy,  like he’d been waiting his whole life for that.

“please.”

you slipped your hand beneath the blanket and palmed him through his sweats, loving the way he gasped and twitched under your touch.

“we’ll take it slow,” you whispered, voice low, lips ghosting over his jaw. “you don’t have to prove anything. just let me show you how good it can feel.”

“and if you want to try anything, anything at all, you can tell me. no judgment.”

he let out a shaky exhale and nodded again.

“can i…” he started, then stopped.

you waited.

“can i taste you?”

you smiled, warm, soft, completely in love with how filthy he could be underneath all that shyness.

“yeah, baby,” you murmured, fingers slipping under the hem of your shirt as you straddled him tighter. “you’ve waited long enough.”

you kissed him again, this time deeper. not soft and sweet, but slow and heated, full of intention. you could feel the way his whole body reacted to it. the stiffening of his fingers on your waist. the way his hips jerked slightly beneath you. the way he whimpered when your tongue brushed his.

when you finally pulled back, he was panting softly, eyes wide and glassy, his lips pink and kiss-swollen.

“i want to take this slow,” you whispered, dragging your fingertips up his chest. “i want to show you everything.”

he nodded, almost dazed.

“okay,” he breathed. “please.”

you slid your hands under his hoodie and gently pushed it up his chest. he lifted his arms without a word, letting you undress him. slow, careful, savoring every inch of soft, pale skin as it was revealed. his torso was warm and lean, still trembling slightly as you explored it with your palms. when your thumbs brushed over his nipples, he gasped. eyes fluttering, hips jerking up into you again like he couldn’t help it.

“sensitive,” you teased.

he covered his face with his hands, groaning.

“fuck-don’t tease-”

you grinned. “oh, baby. you can handle it.”

he let out a helpless little sound, muffled behind his fingers, and you kissed your way down his throat. warm, open-mouthed kisses that left him gasping. you dragged your tongue along the sensitive skin below his ear and smiled when he shivered under you.

“you okay?” you whispered.

“no,” he whined. “i’m losing my fucking mind.”

you laughed, soft and breathy, and sat up just enough to start tugging off your own shirt. his hands dropped from his face immediately, and the second he saw your bare skin.. your breasts free, your skin glowing in the low light, he froze.

his mouth parted. his hands hovered in the air, like he was afraid to touch.

“can i…?” he asked, already breathless.

you took his hands and placed them on your chest, guiding his palms gently over your skin.

“touch me.”

he did.

tentatively at first, then with more curiosity. his thumbs brushed your nipples and he let out a breath like it punched the air from his lungs.

“they’re so soft,” he murmured, staring. “you’re so-fuck. i don’t even have words.”

you smiled and leaned in, brushing your lips against his cheek.

“you don’t need words. just follow my lead.”

your hands drifted down to the waistband of his sweatpants. you could feel how hard he was, how the heat of him pulsed against your palm even through the fabric. he twitched under your touch, chest heaving.

“i’ve never been this hard in my life,” he whispered. “it hurts.”

“poor baby,” you cooed, rubbing him gently. “you’ve been pent up for so long, haven’t you?”

he nodded, lips parted, completely at your mercy.

you pulled his pants down slowly, freeing his cock. flushed, thick, leaking. his hips bucked instinctively, and his hands fisted in the sheets.

“you’re beautiful,” you said, and he moaned.

then you stood up and slid off your panties slowly, watching his eyes track every movement like he was watching something sacred. his breathing stuttered the second he saw your pussy. already wet, glistening in the low light.

he sat up straighter, lips parted, completely transfixed.

“lay back,” you said gently, climbing onto the bed. “and look at me.”

he obeyed instantly, chest rising and falling fast.

you crawled forward and straddled his chest, knees pressing into the mattress on either side of him. you hovered just over his face, not quite letting him touch, letting him see.

“this is what you wanted, right?” you whispered, voice soft and teasing. “to taste me?”

“yes,” he breathed. “please.”

“how bad?”

“so fucking bad it hurts. please, i—i need to.”

you slid forward, just enough for your heat to brush against his lips, and he let out the most desperate moan you’d ever heard.

“then make it worth the wait.”

chan didn’t hesitate this time.

his hands came up to grip your thighs, trembling but firm, and he pulled you down with surprising strength, burying his mouth between your legs.

the first lick was slow. hesitant. but the second? the second was filthy.

he moaned like your taste alone had short-circuited his brain. his tongue flattened and dragged up your slit, then circled your clit carefully, exactly the way he’d read about in all those late-night research rabbit holes.

“fuck, baby-” you gasped, your hips rolling involuntarily. “that’s it. just like that.”

he whimpered against you, tongue flicking again, more confidently now. you reached down to thread your fingers into his curls, tugging gently, and he groaned like he liked it.

and then he started eating.

no rhythm, no holding back. just raw, desperate need. he sucked on your clit like he was trying to pull your orgasm from the root. his tongue dipped down to your entrance, tasting everything, moaning like he couldn’t get enough.

“so sweet,” he murmured, voice muffled. “mmmmpphh..”

you couldn’t even reply. your thighs were shaking, your back arching. he was messy, too messy, saliva slicking your folds, but it didn’t matter. the intensity of it made your nerves light up.

“chan-fuck-you’re gonna make me-”

he doubled down. his lips sealed around your clit, and he sucked hard. like he wanted your orgasm, needed to drink it from you.

and when you finally broke, shaking, crying out, grinding helplessly against his face, he moaned into your pussy like he was the one cumming.

he didn’t stop licking until you were twitching, oversensitive and breathless.

then he pulled back, dazed, lips glistening, hair wild, eyes dark and shining.

“did i do okay?” he asked, breath hitching.

you looked down at him, flushed, trembling, wide-eyed.. and smiled.

“it was perfect, baby,” you whisper. “you did so good.”

lips wet, hair messy, pupils blown so wide his eyes are nearly black. his chest is rising and falling like he’s just run a marathon. he’s still beneath you, blinking slowly like he can’t believe any of this is real.

you lean down and kiss him, moaning softly against his mouth when you taste yourself on his tongue.

he whimpers into the kiss, hands still gripping your thighs like he doesn’t want to let go. but his cock, flushed and twitching between you, presses against your hip, and you feel him shift, just slightly, like he doesn’t know what to do next.

you pull back, cup his jaw gently.

“do you want more?”

his eyes meet yours. his throat bobs as he swallows.

“i want everything. i want to be inside you.”

you nod, brushing your thumb over his cheek.

“okay,” you whisper. “we’ll go slow. i’ll guide you.”

he exhales shakily. his hands are trembling, but he shifts as you climb off of him, letting you lay back on the bed and open your arms. he crawls between your legs like he’s being pulled by gravity.

you open them wider.

he settles there, between your thighs, his cock brushing your entrance, and he gasps, loud, raw.

“is that…?”

“mhm,” you hum, stroking his hips. “that’s me, baby.”

he moans like he’s in pain. you reach between your bodies and wrap your hand gently around his cock, guiding him, lining him up.

“you ready?”

he nods, eyes glassy, lips parted, and you help him press forward.

the tip slips in, and everything changes.

his face crumples, like he’s never felt anything like it. his hips jerk and he gasps your name like a prayer.

“oh my god- you’re so warm-so tight-i can’t-fuck-”

“shhh,” you whisper, one hand on his cheek, the other steady on his hip. “breathe, baby. you’re doing so good.”

he shudders, jaw clenched, cock twitching inside you as he slowly sinks deeper. inch by inch. you guide his hips, keep his pace slow, until he’s fully inside.

“is that… all of it?” he asks, voice barely there.

you nod, smiling through the delicious stretch. “you’re all the way in.”

he moans. not loud, but so full of disbelief. he leans down, pressing his forehead against yours, his body shaking from the sheer intensity of being inside you for the first time.

“i don’t want to move,” he whispers. “i’m scared i’ll cum.”

you giggle softly and kiss him.

“it’s okay if you do. you’ll just get hard again later.”

“but i want to make you feel good. i want it to last.”

you run your fingers through his hair, whispering sweet praise as you roll your hips just enough to make him twitch.

“you already feel amazing. just move when you’re ready.”

he starts to thrust slowly. awkward at first, shallow and unsure, but you keep your hands on him, grounding him, whispering where to go, how deep, how slow. he listens to every word like it’s gospel.

“that’s it,” you murmur. “just like that. you’re doing so good.”

his forehead is still pressed to yours. every time he sinks into you, he lets out a broken little gasp, like the feeling is too much.

“you’re perfect,” he breathes. “you feel so good-i-i think i’m gonna-”

“it’s okay, baby,” you whisper. “let go.”

and with one more thrust, deep, shaky, his body jerking, he cums inside you, moaning your name into your mouth. his hips stutter. his hands grip the sheets like he might fall apart.

you hold him close, stroking his hair as his breathing slowly evens out. he collapses on top of you, completely spent, still buried inside, still trembling.

you kiss his temple.

“you did so good for me, chan.”

“i love you,” he whispers. “i’ve never felt anything like that.”

you smile, heart full.

“i love you too, baby.”

he stayed inside you for a while after, breath stuttering against your neck, body heavy and warm on top of yours.

his hands kept moving. not groping, just touching. tracing lazy circles on your waist, smoothing over your hip bones, tucking stray hairs behind your ear like he couldn’t get enough of you.

“you okay?” you whispered, one hand stroking gently down his spine.

he nodded, then nuzzled into your shoulder with a breathy little sigh.

“better than okay,” he murmured. “i feel like i just saw god.”

you laughed softly and kissed the top of his head. he was still trembling slightly, overwhelmed, over-sensitive, emotionally cracked open in the best way.

“you did so good, baby,” you whispered. “i’m so proud of you.”

he let out this little sound. half-whimper, half-moan, and curled his arms around your waist, holding you tight. his body pressed even closer, like if he could melt into your skin, he would.

“don’t let go,” he whispered.

“not going anywhere,” you promised.

you stayed like that, tangled in the sheets, his softening cock still resting inside you, his breath warm against your neck. you could feel how damp his hair was at the roots. his cheeks were flushed. his lashes fluttered every time you stroked his back.

“you’re so soft,” he whispered after a long pause, kissing your shoulder. “and warm. you always smell so good, too. like—like home.”

your heart clenched a little.

he tilted his face up to look at you, cheeks still pink, pupils wide.

“can you stay here tonight?” he asked quietly. “can i just… hold you?”

you smiled and cupped his face, guiding him into a slow, lazy kiss.

“i can stay forever if you want.”

he smiled, sleepy and starry-eyed. his lips brushed yours again and again, small, sweet pecks, like he couldn’t stop.

eventually, he pulled out with a shaky breath and collapsed beside you, immediately wrapping both arms around your body like a human blanket.

“you’re mine now,” he mumbled into your shoulder.

“i’ve always been yours,” you whispered back.

he stayed there, cuddled up close, his thigh between yours, hand on your stomach like he needed to keep at least some skin touching at all times. he was calm, but you could feel him starting to stir again. just barely. his cock, still soft but twitching slightly, pressing between your thighs as he shifted in his sleepiness.

“i can feel that,” you teased gently, kissing the top of his head.

he groaned and buried his face in your chest, completely wrecked by the observation.

“don’t tease me,” he whined. “i’m already addicted and i’ve only done it once.”

“oh, you’re definitely addicted.”

“i wanna do it again,” he whispered, sheepish and wrecked. “i wanna be better next time.”

you grinned and ran your fingers through his hair.

“then go to sleep, baby. you’re gonna need the energy.”

he let out a soft, breathy laugh, then tightened his grip on your waist, kissing your skin again like a sleepy little habit.

“i’m not letting go,” he whispered. “ever.”

taglist: @ritsmith @bluesungology @jeonginsleftcheek @babigriin @tirena1 @geni-627 @bbokvhs @wavetohannie @hhwangsmoon @staytinyluva

[whirlybirbs]

— NOISE COMPLAINT ; eijiro kirishima ; 切島

summary: red riot feels really bad about absolutely wrecking the shit out of your treasured plants, or eijiro kirishima falls in love at first sight. pairing: f!reader / pro hero!red riot word count: 3.7k tags: mutual pining, fluff/comfort, humor, very gentlemanly make-out, reader is a fan of red riot, mention of ingenium thirst (truth) a/n: kiri might be a twenty-seven year old pro hero in this fic but he is an absolute lovesick virgin who gets all his romantic cues from k-dramas. you cannot force me to think otherwise.

This is exactly the sort of night you needed.

The television, low and quiet, drones on as a deep-dive video on terrariums plays. Your apartment is clean — dishes done, laundry folded and trash taken out. There's a new candle burning on the coffee table, and a Dynamight-themed, cucumber-melon eye mask plastered to your delightedly thoughtless expression.

It's supposed to be good for dark circles. It kinda burns. You wonder if maybe that's, like, part of the gimmick. Y'know. Burns. Dynamight. 

Whatever.

No thoughts. Only the pleasure of turning everything off — brain included — for a perfect Friday night, complete with a mediocre glass of wine and no pants. 

The oversized Red Riot t-shirt clinging to your frame is your favorite. You've had it since college — it's a simple red tee with REAL MEN RIOT blazoned across the front, complete with your favorite hero popping a cheeky, shark-like grin and a double bicep. It's faded, stretched out, and broken in but it's also clean, and it smells like fabric softener and comfort.

This is the life. 

Even Twitter is decidedly pretty calm tonight. 

You're scrolling through your timeline, snickering at your friends' recent thirst tweets over Ingenium's recent GQ Japan shoot when it starts.

Apparently, your upstairs neighbors are home.

You thought those guys were out of town for the week. 

You've had beautiful, silent bliss for too long. The buck stops tonight, you suppose.

There's a shout overhead, then a scramble. Another voice joins the fray, and you swear you hear someone call someone else an idiot. You frown deeply as your eyes trail upwards. You wait, expecting more noise, but unsettling silence follows.

Your eye twitches.

Annoyance tips into a simmering rage.

The apartment complex is old. It's in decent shape, and the rent isn't half bad, but the walls are thin. Your upstairs neighbors have been like this as long as you can remember: shouting, stomping, fighting... Some nights it's like being subjected to musical chairs, modern contemporary tap dance, and experimental sound drum solos all at once. 

Your first week was the worst. You dragged yourself up the back to knock on their door and politely negotiate some silence — but the man who opened the door was less than pleased to have his little dude-bro circle-jerk interrupted. He told you to fuck off, get bent, and leave him the fuck alone. 

Then, before he slammed the door in your face, he procured the sort of audacity only assholes possessed and laughed at your Red Riot shirt — which is just plain unforgivable, frankly. 

"That guy's a fuckin' pussy." 

Sure, sure, sure, right, right, right.

The interaction told you everything you needed to know about the two (or four?) men who lived upstairs. They were losers. And they were fuckin' annoying. 

And, as it turns out, manufacturing bad batches of Trigger. 

You don't know that yet, but truth be told it isn't exactly shocking.

Maybe it's your fault for picking an apartment complex in this part of Tokyo. This part of Arawaka Ward is rarely found on those top-ten-neighborhoods-for-young-professionals lists, but it's affordable! And for day laborers like you, it worked. And hey, in recent months, the crime rate has gone down at least 5% — which only quelled the anxieties of your mom and dad by about the same percentage. 

The candle on the coffee table flickers, and you're about to turn back to your slow Twitter feed when there's another bang upstairs — this one admittedly loud enough to send a wave through your wine beside you. You slip your eyes slowly to the glass, perched on a coaster, as another bang rattles your apartment. You reach to still the vibrating glass on the side table. 

That's when the shouting really starts.

And it's when you notice the growing brightness of red and blue lights outside the window.

The apartment complex is pretty big. There are about sixty residents and six floors. You lucked out and managed to snagone of the last available Western-facing studios with a balcony — which made for a perfect plant haven. 

It was a recent hobby, but one that quickly became your calm after the chaos of the day-to-day. Working for the city's Heroics Response Department left you picking up the physical pieces (literally) of a lot of lives. Your quirk might be the usual, run-of-the-mill strength-based ability, but it comes in handy in the aftermath of property damage due to — what the Nation's Safety Commission has labeled — "villain-aggressed encounters". 

All in all, it's a good gig. It's physically demanding but rewarding. The pay is good, you've got union benefits, and you even have a per-diem schedule. It keeps you busy, and though it's not your father's construction business, it's a career path your parents are proud of. 

The slice-of-heaven balcony is bustling with plants. Some are happier than others, sure, but it's pretty. You've admittedlyformed an emotional bond with those vines, leaves, and flowers. 

It's perfect.

It's also perfect for snooping whenever things like this go down in your complex, or the sister complex across the parking lot. 

The shouting match upstairs is escalating, and you take the moment to tip-toe towards your balcony door to peek outside. It looks like two or three police cruisers have pulled up outside. Maybe someone called for a noise complaint? Maybe the property manager was tired of dealing with those losers?

Cackling to yourself, and hoping for a vindicating show of revenge (NO ONE CALLS RED RIOT A PUSSY), you yank open your balcony door and slip outside just as the sound of a pot crashing meets your ears.

Then:

"Shit, shit, shit—"

There's someone on the balcony. That someone's boot is currently stuck in an empty terracotta pot you were saving for spring. Your eyes are wide as you watch the shadow leap to his other foot, lose his balance, and unceremoniously knock over your entire, six-foot-tall, and well-treasured plant stand. You slap a hand over your mouth mid-shriek, hands flying to try and save whatever you can. 

You fail.

Eijiro Kirishima freezes.

What the fu—

It takes a second.

Like, a full second. Maybe even two. Your brain can't make sense of the sight before you. Neither can his, really. 

There's a girl on this balcony. A pretty girl. Like, mega pretty. Like soft and warm and cute and you smell kinda like vanilla — and there's... You're wearing his merch. His merch and... nothing else. Nothing else but a Dynamight eye mask and a pair of fluffy socks. 

...Is this what it's like to fall in love at first sight?

Shit.

Red Riot is on your balcony.

The Red Riot.

Red Riot, the hero in question, catches himself staring. His wide eyes openly wander over your figure (woah, okay, hello thighs), and the second he realizes it, he quickly snaps his eyes up to your face with a mortified expression. "Uh... hi!"

"...Hi...?"

Your expression is tied between shame, fear, and sheepishness as you blink once at him, then twice at the mess of your hobby's destruction. There's dirt everywhere, a plant stand blocking the doorway, and carnage. Your precious babies have been murdered. 

By Red Riot.

And... Red Riot is on your balcony. 

You repeat: Red Riot is on your balcony. 

Abort mission, abort mission.

Your lips part, your mouth hangs open, and every single thought in your head seems to stutter. Kirishima winces as you look down dejectedly at your plants (or, what remains) before he speaks.

"I, uh— is it cool if I..." he points upwards, "Use your balcony?" 

You're speechless.

You draw your mouth shut and nod hurriedly.

"Thanks," he grins, giving you a thumbs up — and a smile. A toothy, cute, nervous smile, "Lemme just... I gotta handle something. B-But, I'll be back. I'll help fix this mess — just... five minutes, okay?"

It hits you suddenly that his voice sounds different from all those interviews you've watched. It's a little warmer, a little raspier, a little less heroic. It's cute. 

Your brain is still having a hard time connecting the words coming out of his mouth to the scene before you — like, yes frontal lobe, this is real. This is happening.

Red Riot is real and Red Riot is on your balcony. 

He's shockingly gentle when he finally frees his boot from your terracotta pot, setting it down with purposeful delicacy — he even whispers 'please stay' as he props it upright — and then steps back to eye the balcony above yours like an athlete remembering a gameplan. 

He's trying to figure out the best way up. 

How he even got up here is news to you. 

(It was Uravity, as it turns out. They've been patrolling together more in this Ward.)

Red Riot is huge. Like, huge. 

Broad shoulders, rippling biceps, and long, fluffy crimson hair. It's daunting to realize how tall he is in person. The guy is a beast — everyone knows it — but his chivalrous nature is that thing that usually draws in his fans. It's no secret that Red Riot is sweet. He openly champions the need to be a good role model for men everywhere. Y'know, you can be strong and nice!

A sharp canine glints in your apartment's light as he pokes his tongue out and thinks for a second. 

Then, he settles on his plan. 

"You might wanna head inside," Red Riot says as he rolls his shoulders and bounces on the balls of his feet; he's readying up for a fight — and you blink as the beautiful realization dawns on you, "This could get kinda loud."

Loud?

Oh my god.

Is he here for your upstairs neighbors?

Oh my god, he is. 

Your jaw falls open as you bark out a laugh — it's an incredulous rasp that sends you into a spiral of joy; you're not a vengeful person by any means but...

"They're gonna shit themselves," you grin, your eyes alight with pure delight and a spark of something that reminds Kirishima a lot little bit of Bakugo, "They called you a pussy—"

Kirishima's brows shoot upwards as he pauses. He was about to jump and dig his hands into the underside of the balcony, but his quirk is stalling at your words. There's a roaring fire blazing in your eyes, one that screams retribution. 

It's... comical.

You cackle again at him with a wide grin, hissing conspiratorily. "They made fun of my shirt!"

You point down at the REAL MEN RIOT tee with both hands, your face set in a look of vindicated glee. Then, the second realization of the night hits — that you've got no pants on, and that stupid, goofy Dynamight eye mask is still on your face. You make a soft sound of embarrassment and tug your shirt down lower, trying to cover up. He cannot see your underwear. No. No way, no fucking way. Without a single word, you reach up, snatch the Dynamight eye mask off your face, and whip it off the balcony without a second thought. 

Slowly, Kirishima's face splits into a pointy grin. 

Holy shit, he's so fucking hot. 

"Oh, man," Red Riot rumbles, his face cracking into a sharp, playful smirk, "That's real rude. I might have t' teach these guys some manners."

Your smile returns, washing away the wobbly look of embarrassment sticking to your cheeks. 

Man, it sure is cute.

You are really cute, Kirishima realizes.

"Right! And who calls Red Riot a pussy?" you counter excitedly, before reigning it in and awkwardly lowering your arms as you try to tug your shirt down to hide the tops of your thighs again. Your glee has stifled a little bit, but it only reaffirms Kirishima's duty to wrap this all up. 

"Yea, that's, like, super misogynistic," he muses as his quirk kicks in and his hands flick into a hardened state. It's insaneto witness the way his large hands transform into weapons with a single breath. You can see the jagged extension of his quirk working up his large arms, too, "Lemme just have a lil' word with these boys, alright? Head on inside, I'll be back in a sec'."

Then, with graceful ease, he hops upwards with a little hup before latching to the base of the upstairs neighbor's balcony. 

It's insane how effortless it is for him to haul himself up the balcony, his hands dug into the cement. His upper body strength is insane. He's scaling the terrace, alternating his grip. He disappears into the dark, swinging his body upwards and reaching his destination.

You tamp down your awe in favor of heeding his directions: head inside.

You're closing the balcony door when you hear Red Riot's voice greet the unexpecting gaggle.

"Hey, fellas! I heard you guys are some super fans. Got anything you want me to sign?"

You snicker to yourself as you hear the beginning of a fight. 

Again, as it turns out, the guys upstairs sucked. Like, mega sucked. They'd been responsible for several recent Trigger overdoses; Uravity and Red Riot were working with law enforcement to track the small-time manufacturers — which explains why they'd been so quiet lately. They suspected someone was on their tail. 

As Red Riot scaled their balcony, law enforcement waited to break down their door. They arrested the four men (Seriously? Four? In that studio?) without much incident — however, you did spy a broken nose on one of them as they were hauled into the back of the awaiting cruisers. 

Sweet, sweet revenge. 

By the time your neighbors are carted off, you've shimmed into some sweats and made a half-assed attempt to look sort ofpresentable, all while firing off a few contextually incomprehensible texts into your group chat.

red riot has seen me in my underwear wtf do i do know kiss him?

You're really weighing your options when there's a knock on your balcony entry. It's gentle and cordial. You turn, head snapping, and spy that trademarked (and a dozen times retweeted) smile through the glass. He waves. 

Your heart leaps into your throat. You try to remember to breathe as you shuffle over and tug the balcony door open. The night air is cool.

Be like the night air.

Stay cool.

Eijiro feels so silly. And guilty. And honestly? Really into you. 

You're still wearing that shirt — the one with his face on it. You have opted to put on pants, but Kirishima still reminds himself to keep his eyes on your face. No ogling. That's not very gentlemanly. 

There's a beat of awkward silence as the two of you wait for the other to speak, and Kirishima is the one to break it with a raspy laugh.

"I wanted to apologize about your plants," a large hand moves to rub the back of his neck, "I cleaned up as best I could. I'm really, really sorry."

You wave him off, leaning into the doorframe. "No, it's okay! It's nothing I can't... fix. I think?"

You look beyond him to the catastrophic mess of plant matter. He must have tried tidying up while you rattled off the rapid-fire texts in the group chat. 

Red Riot's face warbles into something tied between mortification and guilt. "Please forgive me."

"Seriously!" you cry, waving your hands as you try to placate his dejected expression, "Please don't feel bad. It's a fair trade, y'know. Those guys upstairs were, like, the worst."

"I can only imagine," Eijiro concedes, frowning a little, "They didn't give you too much trouble, did they?"

You shake your head and laugh a little, "Aside from insulting my favorite hero to my face? Not really."

Kirishima can feel his face get a little hot. He shifts from boot to boot. His smile is a little woozy. "So... you're a fan?"

You don't need to tell him the underwear you have on matches the shirt — red, with an embroidered RR on the front. You keep that to yourself. You just nod happily.

"Really?" his grin cracks into something so excitable it makes your entire stomach flip, "I don't meet a lotta fans who are..."

His words drift off.

He's staring at your eyes. You're so... soft. Warm. Your eyes are swirling with quiet, astonished adoration and it's making Kirishima feel like he's floating. 

"Who are...?" your brow quirks as you lean deeper into the doorframe, trying to coax out the rest of the sentence.

"Gorgeous," he breathes, his posture relaxing a little as he soaks in your expression.

It's like getting sucker punched to the sternum.

All the wind rushed out of your lungs.

The soft moment only lasts a beat, because suddenly Red Riot's face screws up and he waves his hands hurriedly. "Wait, no. Hold on, I mean — all of my fans are gorgeous, because, uh, they're my fans and I love them, right? It's not like they're not gorgeous, I just — I'm... I... My fans are, like, usually dudes? A-And that's totally cool because dudes can be gorgeous, too, y'know? But—"

You're laughing.

Kirishima is realizing he was not paying enough attention in his agency's PR training last month and you're laughing.

"I get it," you giggle, crossing your arms and grinning up at him, "I mean, I definitely don't think I'm gorgeous but—"

"You are," he assures firmly, his expression serious.

Are you dead?

Are you, like, literally ascending to a higher plane right now?

There's no fucking way this is happening. 

Your lips part in quiet shock as you bite back a smile that threatens to cramp up your cheeks. Kirishima eats it up, his posture perking up at the way you seem to melt at his compliment. His smile is boyish — almost dizzy. 

You duck a bashful look towards the tiled floor of the balcony, not really giving a singular shit that your beloved monstera has been stomped on.

Kirishima clears his throat, then — in a move he totally hasn't swooned over in those K-dramas he's secretly obsessed with, that'd be ridiculous — he props his arm up against your door and leans over you. Your faces are close in the warm light of the balcony. 

Your eyes stutter up his abdomen, chest, jaw, lips, and eyes. Kirishima notices. It's really, really cute.

"Are you, uh... Are you seeing anyone?" 

Of course, Red Riot would ask that. Red Riot, the king of chivalry. How is something like that so endearing? For the tenth time tonight, he makes your stomach flip.

You shake your head no, a little too stunned to speak.

"Cool," Eijiro musters over a shake of nerves, "Cool. Okay. Uh, then would it... would it be okay if I bought you some new plants?"

You nod, swallowed entirely by his shadow. He's so fucking huge. 

"And if I took you to dinner?" 

Another nod.

"...And — shit. You're, like, so cute," the smooth persona he's put on melts a little as his eyes roam your face; you feel so... shy, "I was gonna ask you something else but..."

"My number?" you offer, fiddling with the hem of your shirt as you maintain eye contact. 

Is it hot? You're sweating. Is he sweating? He's hot. 

Eijiro nods, absolutely mesmerized by the way you tug your lip between your teeth. "That. Yea."

He has to fight back the urge to bite his knuckle when you turn away and move towards your kitchen to snag your phone. Kirishima stays put, allowing himself one moment of ogling. When you turn around, he's clearing his throat and crossing a boot over his ankle. 

He's still leaning up against the doorway.

"Here," you slip him the phone.

Eiijiro takes it — then hesitates for a second.

"...You're not gonna leak my number, are you?"

You have to laugh. You rub your cheek and shake your head before crossing your arms and looking up at him. "If you think I'm going to do anything to fumble this, you're wrong." 

Fumble this? Fumble him? He's the one that is at risk of fumbling, are you serious?

Eijiro barks out a surprised laugh as he enters his number, shoots a quick text his way then ignores the buzz in his back pocket. He hands your phone back and tries so fucking hard to ignore the way your fingers brush his. 

He got your number.

Holy shit, he got your number.

"Hey, Red Riot?"

He blinks down at you. "Y-Yea?"

You gesture for him to come closer, and he obeys easily — he bends a bit at the waist, his hair falling along his shoulders as he smiles down at you in the threshold of your apartment.

"Is everything alri—?"

You pop a chaste kiss against his cheek. 

Or, try. 

As you hop up onto your tippy toes to kiss his cheek, Eijiro is turning his head at the sound of Urvaity calling his name simultaneously. Trajectory failed, and now it's lips and lips instead of lips on cheek — and honestly? He owes Ochaco one for this. 

Red Riot melts — actually, truly, genuinely melts. His posture slumps down as you let out a shocked little sound of apology. But, Eijiro doesn't mind, and fuck, neither do you — because one hand braces against the doorframe above your head while his other hand is suddenly on your waist. He steadies himself, and damn. Damn. 

He breaks away when Uravity calls his name again. Kirishima is breathless and blushing, and your knees feel like jello. 

"I... Uh, I gotta go—"

"Yea, totally," you breathe, swallowing down the burn of unfiltered attraction, "Sorry, I was trying to kiss your cheek—"

Another call of his name. Red Riot curses softly before hollering a 'COMING!' over his shoulder, out past the edge of the balcony. 

When he turns back, he's fast to sweep you into another kiss — this one hotter than before. This one draws you into his chest, sending your hands colliding with the hot skin of his chest. There's muscle and scars and heat beneath your fingertips. His hand curls around your lower back, and you nearly moan. 

He peels himself away with an apologetic look as he backs towards the edge of the balcony. "I gotta go — I'll text you once patrol is over. Is that okay? I'm serious about the plants. And dinner." 

All you can do is nod.

Eijiro is kinda proud of himself for stunning you stupid with that kiss.

This is exactly the sort of night you needed.

[atisecnom]

Francis Mosses NSFW A-Z ♡♡

I love him <33

Reader is gn but has female anatomy.

A-ftercare (What're they like after sex)♡

Very very tired. Everything he says afterwards is either slurred or murmured. Very cuddly tho. Will not let you go. Very sappy afterwards too; telling you he loves you and how pretty and perfect you were/are.

Takes him a second to do it but eventually gets up to get you some water while you go to the bathroom (always pee after sex!).

B-ody part (favorite body part on you & him)♡

On you, he loves your hands and lips. He holds your hand a lot during sex even if hes absolutely destroying you. And he loves your lips because he just likes kisses (and how they look wrapped around his dick). Between tits or ass tho, I think he'd prefer boobs (not pun intended). Even if their small, he looves them.

On him, he'd say his hands are his favorite. He likes the way the have so much effect on you. Like when he fingers you or grabs onto your hips or thighs or when he grabs your hand during sex.

C-um (anything to do w cum basically)♡

I think he'd prefer to cum on your stomach or ass. Though I do think he'd cum inside every once in a while. When you suck him off, he let's you take control of his dick tbh. If you want him to cum all over your face, then he will. If you want it in your mouth, then he will. If you want it on your boobs, he will. He just wants to please you fr.

D-irty secret ♡

I feel like he'd have plenty of them. A main one tho is that he's stolen one of your panties and jerked off with them before. He felt guilty afterwards so that was the only time he did that. The others are small enough for him to forget about it

E-xperience (his past experiences)

♡

I feel like he had NO BITCHES before you came (tee hee) along. He was a quiet kid and just focused on himself, maybe had a couple gfs and intimate moments but you're probably the first "real deal" to come into his life in terms of love.

F-avorite position ♡

He'd like the classics. Like missionary, cowgirl, doggie, etc etc. He'd probably like missionary and cowgirl most. Missionary because of the intimacy. Cowgirl bc sometimes he wants some but he's tired (and boobs).

G-oofy (how serious/unserious are they during sex)♡

He's pretty in the middle. Sometimes he likes to slowly fuck you while you two have a normal conversations so sometimes there's jokes thrown in there. But if it's rougher/faster, he's more serious.

H-air (what kind of hair they got down there)♡

I think he trims it. Keeps it tame. He doesn't shave it clean tho, unless you tell him to, then he might. For the rest of his body, he does have some hair but not a lot.

I-ntimacy ♡

Oh this boy is INTIMATE. The kind of mf that looks at sex like "love-making" instead of just "fuck". Loves praising and listening to what you say. You say harder and he goes harder, you say slower and he goes slower, etc etc. Most of the sex you two have will most likely be when he's tired/half awake so all the praise and such are slurred in such a beautiful way yk.

J-ack off (how often does he jack off)♡

Other than what I said in the dirty secret section, he doesn't really do it anymore. Why imagine you when he has you right there?

K-inks ♡

Praise - he likes receiving and giving praise. He likes talking you through it, telling you how good you feel and how much he loves you.

Marking - he'd like to leave hickeys on you, not for a way to "claim" you, but just because he wants to and he likes your reaction to it when I sucks on your sweet spots.

Overstimulation - he likes to BE overstimulated. Sometimes he wants to keep going but his body doesn't or he's too tired so he just begs you to just ride him til he cries or passes out.

Nipple play - he likes to pinch and massage your boobs a lot. Even if you're not having sex, his hand lives on your boob. Most of your foreplay is him sucking and nibbling on your nipple, pinching your other one while he fingers you.

L-ocation (their favorite locations to do it)♡

I feel like he'd only want to do it at home. He doesn't like public stuff. At home tho, he'd do it anywhere; on the dinner table, kitchen, bedroom, bathroom, living room, anywhere. He could do it in the car tho. Maybe if he gets too worked up after a date and your apartment is too far away.

M-otivation (what turns him on)♡

Tbh. Everything. Skin tight shirts, your sleepwear (no matter what it is), etc. He likes when you take care of him too, just loving him turns him on.

N-o (some turn offs)♡

I'm so sorry yall but I think he'd say no to bdsm. Like maybe SOME parts of it he can do but like hard-core bdsm is a no.

He wouldn't want to actually hurt you in any way. Spanking is ok if it's not full force but like actually causing you pain is a no.

And he wouldn't like shit with pee, poop, and vomit. Shits nasty.

O-ral ♡

Oh bro. He EATS. Man can eat you out for hourss if you let him. He was a little shit at eating pussy at first but with more practice, he gets better and better. Like I'm talking about EATING pussy. There's no kitten licking with him, he is in. There.

And he loves when you suck him off. He talks while you do but they're all murmurs so no one knows what he's saying. He fucks your face gently (unless you tell him you want it rough) everytime. Mutters praises all throughout it and let's out of raspy moan when he cums.

P-ace ♡

Unless he's dead tired, he goes at whatever pace you want. When he's dead tired he wants to go slow and sensual. But if he had energy, he'll go at whatever pace you want him to go at. He starts off slow but if you tell him to go harder and harder he will beat that pussy numb.

Q-uickie (opinions on quickies)♡

I think he'd want to take his time with you so quickies are eh to him. If you seriously cannot wait but you can't leave wherever you are for too long, he'll take you somewhere private to eat you out till you're satisfied (or suck him off until he's satisfied).

He will leave an event for the day to have sex with you tho. If it gets that bad.

R-isk♡

To keep it short, he'd be down for experimenting as long as it's not in his "no" list.

S-tamina ♡

Again, depends on you. If you wanna ride him till the sun comes up, he'll thug it out for you. He likes overstimulation anyway. But tbh he rlly only goes for 2 rounds until you have to take over.

T-toys (toys they own)♡

I don't think he has any toys for himself. And he wouldn't really care if you had your own toys. He's fucked you with your toys before; like a vibrator up to your clit while he fucks you or a dildo in you while he sucks on your clit.

U-nfair (do they tease? And how often)♡

He doesn't really edge or tease you, but when he does, it's on accident. Sometimes he pulls out to cum on your stomach and accidently edges you. He doesn't mind when you do it to him. Feels good.

V-olume (how loud are they during sex)♡

Loud asf. Like I said, he talks during it, like murmuring and slurring his words. He's a moaner and whimperer too. Occasionally groaning but not really.

He LOVES when you're loud tho. He encourages it actually. Turns him on more.

W-ild card ♡

To add onto "volume", he talks dirty so much, even if it's under his breath. Like omfg the filth that comes out of his mouth is so unexpected.

Also, the amount of times you two were getting rough with it and he got that phone call (ykwim), he doesn't stop. He slows down a bit but just continues while you struggle to not blow you're cover.

X-ray (what's in those pants)♡

He's pretty average. Long, kinda thin, a vein on the top of his shaft from the base to the middle of it. He's about 6-7 inches, and he knows how to use it. Tbh I can't decide whether he's circumcised or not so you can personally decide that.

Y-earning (how high/low is his sex drive)♡

Surprisingly high. He's down to fuck whenever. Unless he's literally about to knock out cold. But if he's awake then so is his dick. He barley asks for sex tho, he wants YOU to initiate it. He just gives hints.

Z-zz (how fast he goes to sleep)♡

Like I said before, he's literally so tired afterwards. Once he makes sure you're okay and comfy, he snuggles close to you and sleeps.

I love him your honor.

[ramp-it-up]

All I Know It Feels So Damn Good

...As Hard As I Did | Knock You Down Masterlist | Dessert or Disaster

Summary: James Bucky Barnes was an avowed bachelor and one night stand artist. You came along and knocked him on his face. Bucky gives you anything you want. Anything.

Word count: 2.5 K

Pairing: Art Dealer (mob boss) Bucky Barnes x Reader

A/N: This fic is connected to the Knock You Down AU, and comes After ...As Hard As I Did but BEFORE Dessert or Disaster, but it can be read as a stand alone. It is in answer to this ask. Seb Stan's latest pics and this press run is making me feral. I can write these two ALL DAY!!!! Y'all are gonna have to deal with this for a while, sorry not sorry.

Warnings: 18+ Only, Minors DNI. Read at your own risk. This is porn with some plot. GNO tipsy texting returns, Dom/sub elements, phone sex, talk of raw p in v, description of sex with condom, Bucky being fluffy while filthy, mutual masturbation, dirty talk, degradation kink, talk of face slapping, talk of finger f*cking, talk of oral sex, praise kink, breeding kink, begging, use of Daddy, use of google translate Romanian. Actual raw p in v, lactation kink if you squint, nipple worship if you squint, belly bulge, non-existent refractory period. Not Beta'd. All errors my own.

I no longer have a taglist. Please follow @rampitupandread and turn on notifications to learn when I post! 😘

I Do NOT Consent to my work being reposted, translated or presented on any other blog or site other than by myself.

-----

It was your first Girl’s Night Out as Bucky’s girl. You’d texted him tipsy messages all night, teasing him with your selfies and requests of the same from him.

Your flirty banter was all fun and games until your received a terse, ‘Call me when you get home’ voice memo. 

You don’t know why six little words got you all worked up, but there was a delicious feeling of anticipation in your stomach until you settled into bed after you showered and dialed Bucky. 

For the short time you’d been intimate, you’d sensed that he was holding back something darker, more forceful and to think of it didn’t scare you.

It only served to get you so incredibly hot. Something inside you wanted to push his buttons.

Maybe it was that, and not the champagne, that impelled you to text him what you had earlier.

Bucky was on his couch, staring at the Manhattan skyline and waiting for your call. He answered on the first ring.

“Hello, Frumoasă. Did you have fun tonight?”

His question seemed innocuous enough. Bucky listened as you recounted the drama and escapades of the night with your girls. 

You asked him how his evening with Steve and Sam was and he replied shortly, “Fine. Until I got distracted.”

Then he got to the point.

“Now. Let’s talk about the text you sent me earlier. Run that back for me? What is it that you want to do while I do what to you now?”

The way he slid into confronting you was savage. You weren’t expecting it and now you didn’t want to say it out loud.

Had you crossed the line, you wondered?

Your silence made Bucky smile. He knew he had you flustered, having learned your tells already. You were about to be in the mood he wanted you in; he just needed to push a little further.

“Cat got that talented tongue, baby? Tell me what you said. Or are you only a whore over texts?”

The coldness in Bucky’s tone made you whimper. And wet.

“James…”

Bucky’s cock swelled. He was ten seconds from jumping into his car and showing up at your door. Instead of that, Bucky decided to be patient.

But clear.

“Tell me.”

“I said…I said that I wanted to suck your fingers while you fuck me raw.”

Bucky grunted to cover his moan. You being his shy little slut was so hot.

“Hmmmm. What made my sweet girl think such whore thoughts? Was it the picture that you requested and I sent?”

You shuddered as you ran your fingertips along your belly, playing with the waistband of your underwear. Your nipples were stiff peaks, poking through your thin sleep shirt, which was one of his white tees. 

The fine cotton fabric felt so good against your skin and his scent lingered on the surface. These sensations, along with the knowledge that the shirt, and you, belonged to Bucky sent your fingers further.

“Thank you for the picture, Daddy.”

Bucky clenched his jaw at the moniker. He couldn’t deny you a thing. Even when he was out to dinner with his boys, he would send you a bathroom selfie if you asked. He hadn’t expected the response, however.

You’d only been together for a couple of weeks, and he’d religiously used protection, even after you’d both gotten tested the week after you got together. Despite your clean bills of health, Bucky never pushed to not use protection. He didn’t try to change your mind, he was just happy to be in the room.

In fact, Bucky loved using condoms with you. 

The way you rolled it on him always made him about to bust. The sight of your small fingers on him when you both were past the point of desperation drove him insane with romantic thoughts.

Your tiny hands rolling the rubber on him made him feel like you were his queen and he your knight. And he would vanquish any foe for you. His holy grail was your precious pussy, and if you wanted to use condoms, he was your humble servant. 

But of course, he dreamed of fucking you raw. How could he not with the way your juicy pussy sucked his digits in when he fucked you with his fingers, and the warm wet feel of you when his tongue penetrated your core?

You’d discussed birth control and you had additional methods, but when he snuck a peek of the ring in his closet, he allowed himself to fantasize about making you pregnant.The images got him so hard and yet he restrained himself.

But now that you opened the door, he could let his fantasies run wild. And dare to hope.

“Tell me more, Frumoasă.”

“Well… your fingers in the picture got me hot. You look so fucking Daddy, your eyes, your hair, which I love a little longer by the way, the grey in your beard. Those lips. But those fingers holding that ratty ass phone…”

You giggled until Bucky spoke again.

“As long as I can talk to you and get those kinds of messages, I don’t need a new one. But do go on…”

You melted at his sentiment. How did you get a man that was so open with his feelings?

“Those fingers, mmmm, they are magic. Make me wanna be a slut for for them, for you, James.”

You heard Bucky moving on his end of the line. You guessed at what he was doing.

“What are you doing, Jamie? Are you touching your cock?”

You bit your finger as you listen to him moving.

“Do you know that I daydream about that beautiful dick of yours?”

A groan was all that you received in response.

“Ever have a goal, James? Sucking your cock is mine. It’s so big. Love to get on my knees and swallow you down. Makes me feel accomplished. Ya know?”

“Holy shit, Y/N…”

“I want to feel it without a condom. I- I just think it will feel so good. Don’t you?”

As he thought of what you would feel like as he sank into you, skin to skin, a shiver ran up his spine.

“You know that I give you anything you ask for. Your soft, wet pussy would feel so warm and so good wrapped around me, Y/N. Are you sure you want that?”

You felt an enormous sense of power, and you had a feeling that Bucky was letting you have your way. For now. You took full advantage.

“You know that vein that runs around your shaft  to the tip?”

Bucky was tracing that very vein with his fingers.

“You mean the one that you love to rub those sweet lips on? The one that your wicked tongue traces to my fat head for your sweet little mouth to suck?”

You gasped at Bucky’s lewd language. You were soaking your panties and you moved to take them off. This conversation was the shit.

“Is that what you want to get on your knees for? To try to make me your slave to your slutty mouth?”

“Yes, Daddy just thinking about it makes me wanna cum.”

Bucky’s ears perked up at your breathless voice. He knew that you were touching yourself.

“Oh yeah?”

“Ummmhmmm.”

“Cum for me now, Frumoasă.”

You moaned and rubbed furious circles around your clit. Your arousal was evident in the sloppy sounds emanating from between your legs

“Is that my wet pussy I hear, Baby? How did that happen? Are you that much of a slut?” 

“Th-thinking about you, Daddy. Always a slut for you,” you keened in response.

“What exactly are you thinking about me? Fă ce spun eu frumos.”

You caught Bucky’s tone, and also the hitch in his voice. He was as close as you were.

“Yes, Daddy. ‘M thinking about your fingers inside me. Your cock. How big it is. The way you handle me. The way you talk to me. How you make me feel nasty and angelic all at the same damn time.” 

“Good girl. Now. Make sure that you fuck your fingers into that sweet cunt.”

You moaned as you obeyed. 

 “Oh. Fuck!” 

“There’s my good little whore. I should slap your fucking face for being so dirty. ” 

You gasped, then thrilled.

“Ooooohhhh, Daddy!” 

You were breathless and Bucky’s heart was beating out of his chest. You liked degradation. Really liked it. He took note.

“‘M so wet for you, Jamie.”

“I’m going to fuck you senseless, and you won’t be able to run from my cock when I fuck all of your fucking holes raw. Gonna leave my cum dripping out of everywhere.” 

You gasped, fingers flying over your clit. 

“Daddy…”

“But what if you get pregnant?”

You cried out. 

“Godamn it, Frumoasă. That belly swollen because I fucked my cum into you. Full of my… fuck… full of my baby. Those tits gushing milk every time I fuck you…”

“Oh yes. Make me a Mommy!”

“You’ll be mine, Frumoasă. In every single way imaginable.” 

“Oh oh oooooooooh!”

Your pussy spasmed under your fingers as his words pushed you over the edge.

“Don’t fucking stop rubbing that clit until I say so.”

He was so mean. You squeezed your thighs around your wrist, but did as he said.

“NNnnnghhh, Daddy… please!”

You continued stroking your oversensitive clit until you heard your name through the fog.

“Take your hand away..”

You gladly obeyed, gasping in order to take in oxygen. Your head was spinning and there was a giant smile on your face. 

“Holy shit. That was…”

Bucky’s low chuckle made you giggle. You heard movement over the phone.

“What’re you doing?”

“Made a mess all over my shirt. Taking it off.”

Your pussy pulsed again at what he said.

“You can’t say things like that when I’m still pounding, Daddy…” you whimpered.

“Poor Y/N, can’t handle the things she starts.”

You laughed and then stopped abruptly.

“You better be glad that you’re not here right now. I’d knock you the fuck out.”

“Big talk. Little girl.”

“Try me, Mr. Barnes.”

He couldn’t resist you and he couldn’t stay away. So he gave up trying.

“Brat. Be there in 30 minutes. Be ready to put your money where your mouth is. I’d like to see you live up to your threat, Baby.”

“Oh I’m ready, James. Leave the condoms at home.”

—-

45 minutes later, Bucky was sinking into your wet heat, eyes rolling back into his head. He was inside in one long stroke, burying himself in your wetness with a fair amount of stretch.  He was huge. But he’d made you so wet.

You quivered around him, sensitive to every twitch of his dick, and he wasn’t even moving yet.

“Who do you belong to, Frumoasă?” 

“You,” you moaned, not even hesitating. 

Bucky flexed his hips, opening you with controlled thrusts. Almost immediately, you were close. His fingers covered your throat, cradling your jaw, and a thumb pushed between your lips. You sucked it eagerly as he lifted one ankle next to your ear.

Blucky’s searing eyes met yours. His black pupils took over the blue as he took in your open mouth and fucked out expression. 

He pulled you up to kiss you on the lips.

“God, you feel like heaven. So unbelievably hot and silky. And soft.”

You clenched around him at his words of praise. You were spiraling at how hard and good and electric every ridge and vein on Bucky’s cock felt inside you. He filled you up so good and now you were addicted.

It wasn’t fair. 

You pouted at him, then put your hand on the bulge he was creating in your belly.

“Feels so fucking good, Daddy. So good. So big.”

His mouth turned up into a half grin as he looked down and put his hand over yours.

“Gonna fucking fill you up.”

He started moving, slowly, gently at first, building to a crescendo the more you moaned and cried. He was hypnotized by your bouncing breasts and your tiny stiff mountain peaks. When his mouth closed over your tight, puckered nipple, you let out a scream. 

Bucky grabbed your ass and smacked it, causing you to clamp down immediately. He gazed at you, eyebrow raised at your reaction. You closed your eyes and threw your head back, but he stopped, grabbed your hair and made you look at him. He paused, balls deep inside you.

You breathed out his name.

“...James…”

Your desperation almost made him come on the spot, and you could feel him pounding inside you. The truth was, he needed a little break so this could last.

The way your pussy was sucking his dick was insane.

“D’you feel how soaked you are?” he crooned, gripping your windpipe again.

“You need this so badly, don’t you? Go on, Frumoasă. It’s not so hard. I know you want to beg me for it. You like being a little whore..” 

You sucked in a breath, remaining silent as you stared at him insolently. His grip tightened. 

“Say it. You love being my cumslut.”

His voice was on the edge of control. It was everything.

“Yes!” you gasped. “Please, Daddy, Pleaseee…”

Bucky started moving again and you realized how sensitive to him you were. You clutched the sheets as he lengthened his strokes.

 “Fuuuuuck,” you gasped. 

Bucky leaned down to kiss you as your sweat combined with your slick and soaked both your bodies. His hips were moving relentlessly, his cock lighting up every nerve ending inside your tight channel. You squeezed him deliciously.

Bucky’s thumb was lighting up your clit and you were running headlong toward that cliff. He growled into your mouth as you tightened around him in a rush of pleasure.

As you neared your peak, your pussy pulsed erratically and you sparked around him like a firework. When you cried out, he spoke again, his hand around your throat with his thumb, (coated with the essence of you) inserted again into your mouth.

 “Look at you, baby,” he said, low and heated.

“You’re gonna cum so hard, and just the way I want you to. Around my naked cock. Gonna give you all this cum.”

He whispered it into your ear.

“Oh God, I’m cuming.” 

“You better hope none of my little soldiers make it past your birth control, little girl.”

You shrieked around his digit, shuddering as one wave after another crashed over your body. Bucky’s cock jerked inside you and he choked on air.

“Oh Goddddd!”

Bucky’s low, deep moan made you shudder around him again as he sped up, unable to contain the feeling that rushed down his spine when you came. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuckfuckfuck FUCKKKKKKKK!”

Bucky pounded you out as you came with him. He collapsed on top of you, laughing, as he kissed and licked your sweat filled neck. Then, he rolled off of you and put his arm over his eyes, his chest heaving beside you. 

You curled up next to him and practically purred as you traced his tattooed sleeve.

“Told you I’d knock you out old man. Too bad you have to go to work tomorrow. How are you ever gonna do it when you’re so worn out? I feel like this pussy was worth it tho.”

Bucky moved his arm and opened one eye at you, a scowl on his face. Then he smiled. The brat in you turned him the fuck on. He turned toward you and traced his fingers along your side, caressing your curves like a feather. His voice was the gentlest whisper.

“Wonder how you’re gonna work tomorrow when you can’t walk, Y/N?”

You felt his dick awaken and gasped as you looked down. Bucky slapped your ass as he stood up to go to the foot of the bed, stroking his cock.

“Turn the fuck over. I’ll show you an old man.”

“We’ll see who is gonna knock out who first tonight. Give me that fucking arch.”

You smiled as your face was pressed into the comforter.

----

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Next part here.

[hoesoflamentation]

↫↫↫↫↫ 𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘩𝘦'𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘬𝘪𝘯' '𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘮𝘦 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘯𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 ↬↬↬↬↬ short ‘n’ sweet part III, om!mammon x f!reader, 18+

C L I C K H E R E for series masterlist!

// now playing: espresso by sabrina carpenter

// synopsis: mammon hasn’t stopped thinking about you since you kissed him, and tonight he can’t stop blowing up your phone. one minute you’re having a girls’ night with your bestie, and now he says he can’t sleep. oh baby, you know - and after years of pining, you certainly aren’t about to turn him down when he shows up to your room looking like that. clearly, you’re not the only one who can relate to desperation…

// content warnings: bsf’s brother, strong language, brief section of smau, smut, oral sex (mouth on vulva), fingering, p-in-v sex, use of petnames like "pretty," "baby," "babygirl," use of "brat," heavy back-and-forth teasing, creampie (with dubcon), biting, praise, lite spanking, lite dacryphilia

Y O U may not have remembered it happening… but that one kiss changed everything. 

One day, Mammon was never home - and the next, he seemed to be everywhere you looked. 

When you were playing games with Levi in the living room, he was hovering over the couch, causing you to lag horribly behind in Mario Kart. 

When Levi and Thirteen were spending the night at your place, suddenly Mammon needed to borrow something - a spice from your mom’s cooking cabinet, a screwdriver from your dad’s toolkit. Before long, he had crashed on your couch, too, blending seamlessly into your friend group.

Not only that, but Mammon was always finding places to brush up against you in the most suggestive ways: leaning across your bare cleavage to grab the remote; touching the place where your top rode up your hip as he reached for a snack from the cabinet. 

Sometimes, when Levi wasn’t looking, he even brushed a stray hair off your forehead or plucked a piece of fuzz off your shoulder, leaving a blazing trail of burning-hot skin in his wake.

And then there were the texts. 

When you had just walked into Levi’s house, wearing an oversized tee and fitted bike shorts… when you snuck into their kitchen for a snack… and when the night was over, and it was long past time for everyone to go to bed… 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

You spent an entire week glued to your phone before Thirteen decided she’d had enough.

“How long are you two going to go back and forth like this?!” she snapped, yanking the unlocked device from your hands.

“...I don’t know,” you mumbled, shifting awkwardly in your seat as you avoided eye contact.

Thirteen raised your cell phone overhead, giving it a few threatening shakes. Even as she held it out of reach, it continued to buzz with Mammon’s messages.

“Make a move,” she urged, “or I’ll do it for you.”

As if the heavens had been listening, your phone started to ring. 

Mammon’s caller ID photo flashed on the screen: an ancient and blurry Snapchat; one where he’d zoomed all the way in on his face and applied the dog filter.

You glanced at the clock on your nightstand: 1:02 AM. 

Why the hell would Mammon be calling at this hour?

Thirteen gave you a knowing look, her thumb hovering over the ‘answer’ button. You stared back meaningfully. 

“You wouldn’t dare,” you hissed.

Thirteen raised an eyebrow. “Oh, I absolutely would.”

You leapt to your feet and lunged toward the phone, Thirteen yanking it just out of reach. She switched the phone between her hands. Finally, you tackled her to the bed in a throng of devious giggles and flailing limbs. 

By the time you got your hands on the phone, Thirteen had already accepted the call.

Mammon’s voice echoed into the ether: “Hey, brat?... Y/n, are ya there?”

Thirteen watched you attentively, flashing you a cruel smile as you raised the phone to your ear with a glare. 

“...hey,” you panted. “Sorry about that.”

Mammon was quiet for a long moment. You rolled onto your back and stared at the ceiling, allowing your heart rate to slow after the impromptu wrestling match. 

Finally, he broke the silence.

“Are ya alone?” Mammon asked. “I wanna talk to ya about somethin’...”

You flashed a panicked look at Thirteen. She pressed a finger to her lips, then mimed locking her mouth and throwing away the key.

“...yeah, I’m alone,” you lied, rolling to face the wall. “What’s up?”

“Actually, uh…” Mammon trailed off, almost… 

Nervously? 

No, you had to be imagining things. Mammon didn’t get nervous - especially not around you.

“...I was hopin’ we could talk in person,” he admitted. “I’m right outside. Can I come up?”

“You’re outside?” you repeated - mostly for Thirteen’s sake. 

And, never one to disappoint, her jaw dropped emphatically in response. 

“...but it’s so late,” you protested. “And my parents are home.”

Even though it was only Mammon, you still felt strangely embarrassed - to be living in your parents’ house in your mid-twenties. 

“I know…” Mammon trailed off. Tentatively, he continued, “I, uh, saw their light on.”

There was another long pause before Mammon said, “Look out the window.”

You flashed Thirteen a look of confusion as you stood up and leaned across the windowsill to peek through the gossamer curtains. 

Surely enough, Mammon was standing below the big oak tree in your front yard…looking somewhat tortured, but still just as good as ever. He wore black joggers and a white v-neck tee that highlighted his golden tan and chiseled chest; his messy silver hair looked like it was still damp from the shower, as if he had raced here on a whim. 

And, of course, he was still wearing the same gold necklace he never took off.

Panicking, you closed the curtain and turned your back to the window. Your heartbeat throbbed violently in your ears, drowning out all thoughts of anything but him…

“So,” Mammon asked pointedly, “are ya gonna let me come up or what?” 

Anxiously, you looked to Thirteen for your answer. She was already pulling on her shoes - and, through an impressive repertoire of thinly-veiled gestures, strongly encouraging you to give him a reply.

“Just… give me five minutes,” you finally sighed. “I’ll leave the window open.” 

Without hesitation, you hung up the phone - and immediately threw it across the room with a pained yelp, as if it were poisonous to the touch.

Your thoughts spilled out like word vomit: 

“He can’t come up here!” you blurted. “I haven’t showered in two days. I have crumbs under my fingernails. I’m not even wearing pants.”

Thirteen laughed, dusting off her jacket. “Oh, honey. I think we’re way past the time for pants, don’t you?”

You flashed her a look of panic and disbelief. Still wearing the same knowing smile, Thirteen walked up to you and gave you a once-over. She licked her thumb, smoothed down a few of your runaway hairs, and patted you fondly on the cheek.

“I promise you look great,” Thirteen reassured. “He’ll think so, too.” 

You cocked an incredulous eyebrow. “Really?”

Smiling, Thirteen shook her head, turning to unlatch your window. 

“He texts every ten seconds, he calls when you don’t answer right away…let’s just say, I don’t think he cares what you’re wearing.”

You furrowed your brow, watching in uncertainty as she swung her leg over the windowsill. 

After years of pathetic pining and unrequited love, you weren’t sure whether you could believe her or not… 

But once Thirteen jumped out that window, you knew that was it. Soon, you would have your answer. 

“Call me tomorrow!” Thirteen called over her shoulder with a grin. “And use protection!” 

You groaned and buried your head in your hands. 

“Just… go.”

Thirteen gave you an enthusiastic salute before making the leap from the window to the tree. You didn’t watch so much as hear her make her way down, listening as her combat boots padded softly along the tree’s bark before thudding gracefully onto the ground. 

You watched with burning anticipation as Mammon vaulted over the windowsill in her place, his black Nikes landing softly on your bedroom carpet. His bronzed cheeks flushed as he plucked a stray twig out of his hair and tossed it back outside. 

For a long moment, you shared in each other’s silence. Then…

“Hey,” Mammon said. 

You gulped. 

“...hey.”

"I can't sleep," he admitted.

"Oh." You blinked at him, unsure how to respond.

What you wanted to say was, why are you here?

Instead, what came out was, "...sorry, I guess."

Mammon awkwardly rubbed his neck and continued, “We need to talk.”

“Yeah,” you mumbled, “I got that from your phone call.” 

You perched on the edge of the bed, while Mammon leaned against the open window.

“So…” You trailed off meaningfully. “What did you wanna talk about?”

Mammon sighed and ran a hand through his mussed silver waves. He looked almost…troubled. 

He spoke carefully, as if struggling to choose his words: “There’s… something I need to tell ya.” 

Your stomach somersaulted as he met your gaze for the first time that night, blue eyes wide and vulnerable. Despite knowing him practically your entire lifetime, you had never seen him wear this expression before. 

“...okay,” you said tentatively, folding your hands in your lap. “What is it?”

Mammon blinked at you like he had just learned you didn’t know how to read. 

“Ya really don’t know?”

You shrugged innocently, raising your eyebrows in a silent demand to know more. 

“Jeez, Y/n.” Mammon snorted and turned away, kicking at a stray ball of crumpled paper that had been sitting underneath your desk. “I know yer wearin’ glasses, but ya can’t possibly be that blind…”

A sigh of frustration escaped your lips as you self-consciously adjusted your frames.  

“Off to a strong start,” you deadpanned.

Mammon groaned, whirling over his shoulder to face you and making sweeping gestures with his hands as he spoke. 

“Okay, sorry, sorry!” he fumbled. “Ya just… yer makin’ me nervous.”

“I’ll believe that when I see it,” you scoffed, crossing your arms defensively. 

“I’m bein’ serious!” Mammon exclaimed, beginning to pace back and forth. 

After a few restless laps, he crossed the room in two long strides and grabbed your hand by the wrist. “Here! Feel my heart.” Mammon pressed your open palm to his chiseled pec. “It’s fuckin’ racing.”

You bashfully avoided eye contact as you felt the rhythmic thudding of his heartbeat, the reassuring glow of warmth within his body - and his penetrating blue gaze boring holes into your skin.

“Was there a point to that, or did you just want me to feel you up?” you teased halfheartedly, trying to conceal your mounting nerves.

You were acutely aware that your hand had lingered on his chest far too long… but Mammon made no moves to release your wrist. 

In fact, his iron grip on your arm tightened as he frowned down at you. 

“You could show a little more sympathy, ya know,” Mammon chided, cheeks blushing. “Ya got me shittin’ bricks over here.” 

You searched his eyes for any clue as to what he was trying to do here…but for probably the first time in your life, you were unable to read the boy next door.

“Just…get to the point already,” you huffed in frustration, indignantly pulling your wrist away. 

Your arm still tingled with goosebumps in all the places where his fingertips had grazed your skin. Mammon’s eyes grew wide with an unfamiliar anxiety as his thoughts finally bubbled over.

“I like you!” he blurted, turning to hide his reddened face against your wall full of 2010s boyband posters. “Happy?!”

The world suddenly moved in slow motion. At a snail’s pace, you lifted your gaze from the floor, blinking at him like a deer in headlights. 

Mammon still couldn’t allow himself to spare a glance in your direction. Your brain jumped to the worst conclusion - that maybe, he couldn’t bring himself to look at you because he didn’t want to let you down.

You let out a shaky breath. “Look, Mammon…”

Hesitantly, you rose to your feet and took a few steps toward his perch at the windowsill.

“...I know we’ve been texting a lot lately, and I don’t want to get the wrong idea,” you continued, your voice growing stronger the longer you spoke. 

“So, if you’re just saying that because you feel bad for stringing me along… there’s no need to lie about your feelings.” Your posture stiffened. “I can take it.”

Your hands balled into fists at your sides, bracing for his sagging shoulders and relieved response…

Instead, what you got was pure hellfire.

Mammon whirled around and shouted, “Let ya down?! Ya really think I climbed a tree at one o’clock in the mornin’ to let ya down?!” He let out a maniacal laugh as he nervously paced the room. “Holy shit, you’re even dumber than I am…I love you, ya fuckin’ idiot!”

Your knees turned to jelly as the room began to spin, the floor seeming to give out beneath you.

“You…love me?”

Mammon couldn’t possibly have meant that… could he?

Sneakily, you gave yourself a tiny pinch on the thigh to check if you were dreaming - but it was of no use. Either you were very dead… or this was very, very real.

Mammon suddenly faced you with an earnest expression, looking like a deer caught in headlights - or a man confessing to the love of his life.

“Christ, brat,” he said, the edges of his words softening slightly. “Don’t make me say it again.”

Your hands quaked nervously at your sides as you managed to voice a faint reply. 

“...that wasn’t a funny joke.” 

Mammon let out a sardonic cackle as he snorted, “Well, ya won’t see me laughin’ about it!”

Now, fueled by the adrenaline of his sudden admission, it was your turn to pace the room.

“No…no,” you mumbled to yourself, bouncing between the walls like a pinball. “Absolutely not. This isn’t right.”

Mammon furrowed his brow and grumbled, “What part of me bein’ in love with you isn’t right?”

“The part where you don’t get to say that to me!” you snapped, whirling around to chastise him face-to-face.

“Say what?” Mammon scoffed, crossing his arms.

“That you’re in love with me!”

Mammon shrank the gap between you with a single, threatening step. There could be no more than a foot left between his chest and yours. 

“Well, I am in love with ya - so why the hell shouldn’t I say it?!” he retorted… so close you could feel his breath sizzling on your skin.

You resisted the urge to press an accusatory finger into his sternum…or to grab fistfuls of his shirt and yank his lips toward your own.

“-because you don’t really mean it!” you exploded.

At these words, Mammon took a reflective step backward, wincing like a kicked puppy. 

His words were barely a whisper when he spoke. 

“...and what makes ya think I don’t mean it?”

“Oh, please,” you deadpanned. “You kissed another girl just a few days ago!”

Mammon rolled his eyes. “I already told ya, Y/n, she kissed me!”

“It doesn’t matter! It’s the principle of the thing!” you shrieked. “You can’t just stand here wearing your…your fuckboy joggers and your generic gold chain and expect me to swoon just because you said you’re sorry.”

“So, now ya think my necklace is ‘generic?’” he sneered.

You laughed humorlessly. “Out of everything I said, that’s the part you want to address?”

Mammon shook his head, a few loose waves falling into his eyes. He reached around to unlatch the chain at the back of his neck as he closed the distance between you.

“Do ya really not remember?” he asked.

You rolled your eyes. “Remember what?”

The clasp opened, the gold dog tags falling into Mammon’s hand. Looking away with a flustered expression, he shoved his open palm toward you face-up. 

“Just…look.”

Upon closer inspection, you realized the tags Mammon wore every day were engraved. You could just barely make out the faded cursive font that read, ‘This isn’t goodbye - just see you later,’ followed by a date that was almost a decade ago to the day.

Your heart sank into your stomach as you realized you had seen this chain before... 

In fact, you had spent months saving up money from your summer job scooping ice cream to buy him it as a going-away present for college. 

“I gave you this as a graduation gift,” you murmured, gingerly running your fingers over the grooves of the engraving.

Mammon gazed down at the treasure with a quiet reverence. His fingers curved protectively over the edges of the tags. “This is the first time I’ve taken ‘em off in ten years.”

It said more than ‘I love you’ ever could.

You gazed up at him, tears beading at the corners of your eyes. You placed your domed hand on top of his, safely covering the chain inside. 

“Can I help you put it back on?” you asked, your voice cracking a little.

The corner of Mammon’s lip tugged gently upwards as he nodded. You took the chain from his palm and gestured at him to sit down on the bed. 

It was the second time he had been in your bed in the month since you had come home - and somehow, he looked both out of place and perfectly matched against the background of Hello Kitty sheets and giant stuffies. 

You cleared your throat and sat down behind him, admiring the sinews of his back through the thin material of his white t-shirt. 

Your hands shook slightly as you reached over his shoulders to arrange the necklace just so. You forced yourself to steady your grip as you pinched the clasp between your fingertips a few times. 

Finally, you managed to fix the jewelry into place - but you had to admit that you were reluctant to let go. Instead of pulling your hand away, you allowed your fingertips to gently trace the curve of his spine, watching the hairs on the back of his neck raise in response; listening to the way his breath hitched in his throat.

Maybe it was too forward... 

Maybe you didn’t care. 

Your hand finally reached the place where his seat met the mattress. You released a breath you hadn’t known you were holding as your hand dropped. 

Silently, you rose to your feet… but as you turned to create distance between you and him, Mammon seized you by the wrist and pulled you back in. He shifted his stance so he was facing you, opening his thighs to make room for your body as his arms settled around your lower back. 

You looked down into his oceanic blue eyes, hypervigilant of the fact that his lips were just inches from your own. He gazed up at you earnestly through long lashes, those same old gold tags glinting in the light of your bedside lamp. 

“What’re ya waitin’ for, brat?” Mammon murmured affectionately, kneading his hands into your legs in a way that made your senses tingle. 

He broke into a smirk as he continued teasingly, “It’s not like it’s the first time you’ve kissed me.”

You were close enough to see the faint sheen of saliva that glazed his plush lower lip. He smelled like a delicious concoction of spearmint gum and spiced cologne, like a love potion brewed especially for you. 

Instinctively, your body relaxed in his arms, closing the last few inches between you two. The gummy tip of your nose bumped against his own, the taste of his breath sweet and tempting as it coated your tongue. 

“Just… shut up,” you whispered into Mammon’s mouth, before pressing your lips against his.

Hesitation quickly turned into desperation. Your body melted into his, until you could no longer tell where your limbs ended and his began. 

Mammon tangled his hand in your hair and gently fell onto his back, gently guiding you to straddle his body. His palms ghosted the inch of bare skin between your leggings and your panties; his hips arched hungrily into the thinly-clothed space between your thighs, leaving you dripping.

You kissed like you had waited decades to taste each other - because you had. 

And you didn’t want to wait a minute longer. 

Your shaky hands fiddled clumsily with his waistband.

“Hurry up and take these off,��� you grumbled, cheeks burning.

Mammon sat up and cupped your cheek, flashing a grin. 

“Not yet,” he retorted. “I’d much rather take my time with ya.” 

Mammon leaned forward to nuzzle your neck, sucking and biting at the delicate skin of your collarbone as his fingers toyed experimentally with the hem of your top. It felt good, but slowing down was the opposite of what you wanted… 

Because slowing down allowed you the chance to think.

Squirming as his lips massaged your skin, you shyly dodged his attempts to peel off your sweatshirt - suddenly feeling self-conscious about the circumstances; about your appearance; about the poster of Louis Tomlinson staring ominously from your bedroom wall… 

You had everything you wanted. The man you had loved your entire life was ready to give you even more. 

The only thing wrong with this situation was that soon, he’d realize that you were the one in it. 

Realizing your mind was elsewhere, Mammon reached for your hand and squeezed it gently. 

His voice was raspy as he whispered against your skin, “Where do ya think yer goin’, hm?”

You scrunched your face and closed your eyes. You squirmed in equal parts arousal and embarrassment. “Now I’m the one who’s nervous.”

He rubbed your palm with his thumb. 

“Tell me what’s wrong,” Mammon said, making your heart skip a beat.

You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him as you admitted softly, “I have… a hard time believing you when you say you love me.”

Mammon sighed, tucking his fingers under your chin and tilting your face up to look at his. You slowly blinked your eyes open, his baby-blue gaze shining back earnestly as his other hand snaked around your waist.

“...then why don’t I show ya, instead?”

Greedily, Mammon reached down to pull off your sweatshirt. He furrowed his brow in confusion as you caught him by the wrist.

“...annnd I haven’t showered today,” you admitted sheepishly.

Mammon shook his head and laughed, as if he couldn’t believe you thought he cared. 

He leaned down and murmured hungrily into your ear, his voice husky with desire: 

“Good…”

Mammon hooked his arms around your thighs and yanked you toward him. Your legs naturally fell open as you fell back onto the pile of fuzzy throw pillows and plushies that christened your bed. 

“You’ll taste even better, then.” 

Laughing, you hid your face in your hands, halfheartedly pretending to chide him. “Mammon!”

He only grinned, kneading your inner thighs as he shimmied into position between them. 

“You can keep the hoodie, anyways,” Mammon said, nipping at your clothed cunt. “I only need these.”

He teasingly hooked his teeth under the lace waistband of your panties, drawing back before allowing it to snap against your mound. 

“Smooth,” you huffed, trying to hide that you were already out of breath. 

Mammon merely hummed against your covered clit, sending sweet vibrations up your spine. He sucked at your swollen spot over your panties, the moisture of his saliva mingling with your juices to soak the cotton cloth.

You covered your mouth with the back of your hand, stifling your moans with practiced measure. It wasn’t the first time you had snuck a boy into your parents’ house - but none of those juvenile hookups could ever measure up to this. 

Mammon snorted at your attempt to hide your pleasure, hot breath blowing out of his nose and warming your throbbing nub.

“Don’t act like yer not lovin’ this,” he goaded. “I’ve seen ya watchin’ my stories at midnight, ya little perv.”

“Ah-!” You whimpered helplessly as Mammon pushed your panties to the side. “Y-you saw that?” 

“Of course.” He grinned devilishly, licking his lips. “Why d’ya think I kept postin’ em?” 

Before you could say anything, Mammon dragged his tongue from the base of your hole all the way up to your clit, lapping up every last drop of your delicious fluids like a purring kitty savoring its milk. You couldn’t keep yourself from gasping… 

As anticipated, this Mammon was so much better than any of your late-night fantasies. 

“How’s the real thing, baby?” he coaxed, spreading you open with his hands. 

Your voice could only form consonants as Mammon painted sensitive stripes along your pussy lips, his skillful mouth enveloping your center until you pulsed with need. You coated his tongue with your mess, weakly grasping at whatever you could find - his hair, the sheets - as you writhed beneath his ministrations.

“Mmm - that good, huh?” Mammon trilled into your core. 

“Better,” you cried softly, arching into his strokes.

Though you sensed he would have been happy to swallow you whole, Mammon reluctantly rose for air - but he wasn’t about to leave you without the stimulation you so desperately craved.

He rubbed you in rhythmic circles with his thumb as he taunted, “Tell me how many times ya touched yerself thinkin’ about this...thinkin’ about us…”

“Probably just as many times as you,” you breathed without hesitation. “Maybe more.” 

“No fuckin’ way,” Mammon laughed mirthlessly. “Nobody’s thought about this more than me.” 

“Touchin’ ya here…” he cooed, massaging your thighs for emphasis. Mammon smiled as you whimpered, as if on command. “Hearing ya make that noise…tastin’ ya…” 

His words tied your intestines in knots. But he wasn’t done yet. 

Unable to resist temptation, Mammon descended on your clit once more. His tongue washed over you in drawn-out waves, curling your toes.

“Fuck,” he muttered, licking the sheen of you off his lips. “Yer so sweet. I could drink ya all day…”

Mammon ate pussy in a way that made you believe him. 

But you weren’t about to let him know that.

“You’re so… full of shit…” you panted, fisting the blankets beneath you.

Your words were quickly forgotten as Mammon made out with your cunt. The soft hum of his mocking laughter only served to intensify your pleasure.

“Not talkin’ back anymore, are ya, brat?” he teased as he came up for air.

“Shut… up,” you exhaled, your limbs tangling in the sheets as your body ran from his touch.

“Don’t have to tell me twice,” Mammon mumbled into your clit - before giving it another stroke that took your breath away. “I don’t like to talk with my mouth full.”

You wriggled sensitively against his tongue, greedy for more. 

“When’s it my turn to touch you?” 

“Not yet,” Mammon chuckled.

He propped himself up on his elbows. “That was just an appetizer.” 

Mammon paused to lick the juices from his lower lip. “Haven’t even had my main course yet.”

You rolled your eyes, half-sitting up. 

“Then at least let me look at the menu first,” you complained. 

He rose to his knees with a grin, hands already underneath his shirt. 

“Anything for you, babygirl.” 

Mammon unceremoniously yanked off his shirt - your gold chain dangling against his toned, tan skin. His washboard abs glistened with a faint sheen of sweat already; his muscular thighs flexing beneath his tight joggers.

No matter how much you stared, you couldn’t believe that all of this was yours.

After tossing everything but his boxers to the floor, Mammon leaned forward and pecked you on the lips. 

“Turn over,” he ordered, reaching a hand underneath your thigh to roll you onto your knees.

You asked as you started to comply, “What are you- ah!”

Mammon flipped you over without flexing a muscle, grabbing fistfuls of your luscious ass-cheeks in his wide palms. He slid a single digit down your slick cunt until it slipped inside, curling inside of you experimentally as he searched for your weakest point.

“Thought ya might like to try the evenin’ special,” he teased, pressing a kiss to your plump seat.

After a moment of rearranging, the pad of his finger made delicious contact with your g-spot.��

You gasped and collapsed your chest onto the pillows, arching your ass as he began to lick you - still pumping his finger inside. “Nng, Mammon-!”

“Look at you.” Mammon smiled against your clit before adding a second digit, your pussy dripping onto the bed with a lewd squelch as he stuffed you full. “Yer so cute wrapped around my fingers.”

“-and you’re so annoying,” you moaned in reply, burying your heated face in the bed. 

Pop- 

He unlatched his lips from your swollen button and removed his fingers from your cunt, leaving you with an uneasy sensation of emptiness. 

Mammon switched to his opposite side, now stuffing three digits inside as he spread the fingers of his free hand. 

“Hear that?” Lewd squelching filled the room as his touch shaped your insides. “She’s sayin’ she’s ready.”

It was all you could do not to bust right then and there.

You gasped as Mammon pulled his fingers out of you and brought them immediately to his lips. You watched over your shoulder as he admired your gloss forming stretchy webs between his bronzed appendages. 

He dipped his tongue into the sticky precum coating his hand, seductively tasting you - before taking his cock out and stroking it, massaging your slick into his shaft. 

Just like the rest of him, his cock was pretty: velvety red-violet, intimidatingly long, but with a slight upward curve that made it the perfect shape for bruising your cervix. 

“Condoms are in the drawer-” you started to say…

But Mammon couldn’t wait. 

“Sorry, pretty,” he growled, planting his palms on either side of you. “Need to feel ya, now.”

Even though you knew you should be using protection, you couldn’t help but shudder as his raw tip massaged your puffy lips, spreading around his slippery precum. 

Every part of you already felt so sensitized from his foreplay that you swore he’d be able to get you off with just a few strokes.

“...ready?” Mammon asked, his voice quivering ever-so-slightly. 

For the briefest of moments, you wondered if he felt as nervous as you did.

Eyes wide and glossy, you nodded. Mammon’s breath hitched in his throat with a soft whimper.

“Okay, baby,” he whispered into your ear. “Big stretch…” 

Broken gasps spilled from your lips. You quickly forgot your grudge as his throbbing shaft bullied its way past your entrance, your walls spreading to accommodate him more with each gentle push. 

Everything… 

You could feel everything - every inch; every vein; every pulse. 

“That’s my good girl,” Mammon cooed. “Just a bit more...I know ya can take it.”

You couldn’t stop yourself from crying out as slowly, methodically, Mammon bottomed out inside of you. He sighed together with you as he relaxed his hips against the backs of your thighs.

Mammon brushed your hair aside to kiss the back of your neck. “Yer doin’ so good, pretty girl…gonna start movin’ now, okay” 

Tears welled in the corners of your eyes from his sweet stretch. Words wouldn’t come out; you could only nod at him over your shoulder.

Mammon drew in a sharp breath and drew his hips back before slamming back into you, his balls swinging against your swollen clit with every movement.

“Mmm- that’s good,” He gradually picked up his pace as he babbled. “Feel the way she’s suckin’ me in? She’s tellin’ me we’re made for each other.”

Thwack, thwack, thwack. The sound of skin slapping skin echoed against your bedroom walls. You clawed at the sheets as your eyelids fluttered shut with each of his rough thrusts. 

“Dontcha hear how wet she is f’me?” Mammon talked as he fucked into you from behind. “How she’s moldin’ into the shape of my cock…”

Mammon moaned and impulsively seized a fistful of your hair. His staccato breathing ghosted against the back of your neck as his forearm crossed your neck, locking you in an erotic trap.

“Pretty sure she’s saying you talk too much,” you taunted - even as your pussy flooded around his shaft.

“Shaddup, brat,” he grunted, tightening his grip on your neck until you lost air. “Can’t hear her singin’ over all this noise.”

“Mmf- Mammon! Fuck.”

Craving more of him, you rose onto your knees and straightened your back, so that he could thrust up vertically into your pussy. 

“That’s my good girl,” he cooed, nipping at your earlobe. “Gettin’ close already, yeah?”

“-and how would you know?” you scoffed, rolling your hips into his touch.

Mammon grinned cheekily. “‘Cause yer only this quiet when yer enjoyin’ yerself.”

He clung your body close to his, reaching one hand down to massage your breast under your sweatshirt. The other hand slid across your hip to find your clit, swirling around the nub in a tantalizing rhythm that matched the rhythm of his battering ram.

“Ah! M-Mammon, I-” you whined - your words all but forgotten as sparks shot through your core. 

“It’s okay, baby-” Mammon reassured, each of his sentences punctuated by a cruel thrust. “-let it all out f’me...”

You were far too needy to keep up the bratty act for long. By now, you were thinking only of cumming with him - of sharing this moment of sensual vulnerability with the man that you loved.

“K-kiss me,” you begged, your voice coming out faint and pathetic. “Please.”

“Whatever my girl wants, she gets,” he murmured, leaning in so close that you felt his breath before his kiss.

Mammon’s nose grazed yours affectionately as he brought his mouth toward yours. He captured your lips with his own, releasing the lock on your neck to cradle your cheek gently in his hands. 

“Baby, I’m close-“ you moaned.

Mammon voiced a groan of approval. He pressed his forehead against yours, allowing his lids to flutter closed as your muscles began to twitch.

“Atta girl…hold on tight f’me, alright, pretty?”

He didn’t even give you the chance to answer him before he was meanly pushing your face into the mattress, propping up one leg beside you to angle himself deeper inside. 

Drool puddled at the corners of your lips as Mammon piston-thrusted inside of you, turning every last cell of your brain into a pile of mush. He kissed and grabbed at every inch of skin he could find, peppering your skin with faint bite marks and hazy bruises. 

Your voice was unrecognizable to you as you cried into the covers: “Fuck, Mammon- I love you, I love you, I love you…I’m gonna cum-!”

“That’s it, baby-” Mammon breathed, his voice hoarse with effort. “Fuuuuck, right there. Got a big load ready just for you, brat. Ya want me to shoot it inside of ya?

“Yes, please,” you whined desperately.

“Mmm- okay then.” Mammon kissed the top of your head, brushing a messy clump of hair from your eyes. “Just don’t say ya didn’t ask for it.” 

A few more thrusts and you were both gone, your bodies melding together until you were unsure where you ended and where Mammon began. 

All you could see was stars as Mammon painted your walls white, mixing his warm seed into your creamy pussy to create a masterful recipe together. He muffled his own whimpers against your shoulder, leaving imprints of his teeth on your collarbone, as your intermingled tears and slobber puddled onto the pillowcases beneath you.

Your entire body shivered as Mammon collapsed onto your back, planting a kiss on your sweaty shoulder. Beneath him, you turned one cheek to the side, gazing at the digital clock on your nightstand through heavy lids: 

2:20 AM, it read.

“Sorry, babe,” he slurred in exhaustion, gazing at the clock over your shoulder. “Think I got a little carried away…”

Mammon smiled sleepily as he rolled onto his back beside you. Though your legs had jellied, you somehow mustered the strength to roll toward him, propping yourself up on one elbow. 

Less than an hour ago, your mind had been flooded with thousands of questions for him… Now, your brain was so muddled that you could only manage to pull out one:

“So…” You paused thoughtfully. “...you’re calling me babe now?” 

Mammon turned toward you and smirked, his cerulean eyes glittering with promise.

“Among other things…brat,” he said meaningfully, thumbing your chin. “Don’t worry, though…” 

Mammon broke into a toothy grin. 

“...I like it when ya talk back.”

T A G L I S T : @devildomditzy

A / N: thank you all for the love and support on short 'n' sweet! it saddens me a little to watch this au come to an end... but who knows, maybe I'll revisit it one day??

[lycanlupins]

NSFW Alphabet - Remy Lebeau/Gambit

Warnings: NSFW talk obviously! I love this kinky cajun and hope you do too

But seriously, I hope y’all like this, it was something to write while I recovered mentally and physically from being sick for so long

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

He’s kind and caring, he’ll crack jokes while cleaning his partner up, maybe even run them a hot bath and give them a quick once over with a warm wash cloth

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

On him its his cock, he’s loud and proud about it. He’s quite skilled with what he does and it doesn’t hurt that he’s well equipped

On his partner he loves thighs and ass. He’s 100% a thigh and ass man, anyone with a fat behind is right up his alley. He likes to hold and grab and grip and he can’t do that if there’s nothing there

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

He likes to cum mark his partner, making sure that it’s on their tummy or face, taking a long hard look (and maybe a few pictures) just to remember the occasion

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He likes to fuck his partner in their sleep (consensually) and thinks its a wee bit hot when they wake up full of his cum dripping all over the sheets

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Very experienced, Remy is so good at what he does and he knows it. Especially when he’s going down on his partner and they moan about what a good job he’s doing, he’s smirk and say something they don’t understand before going back to doing his duties

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Nasty man likes it kinky, he’ll start off with a nice 69 and end in Lotus or Mating Press depending on his mood. He rarely does missionary unless its romantic or his partner requests it

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

He can be goofy for sure but most often than not he’s serious in a sexy way, not a quiet and boring way. He’ll occasionally make sex a little humorous by whispering funny things while he’s trying to catch his breath or between changing positions

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

This man is natural to a tee, not to say its a bad thing but he doesn’t trim it at all. He naturally has softer hair so its not uncomfortable and its not too hairy by any means either

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

He loves intimacy but he can turn that off quick if its a one time thing. He’s an adaptable lover through and through and he’ll give his partner all or none of the romance if they wish

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

He gets off in risky places ie. common rooms, the kitchen, anywhere he might get caught by his partner or even someone else

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Vouyerism

Threesomes (or more)

Anal

Role play (CNC, kidnapper, etc. he’s in when it comes to fun consensual kinks)

Breath play

Food Play

Breeding Kink

JOI

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Anywhere, anytime. He has no qualms about where and when he wants to have sex, he’s ready to go at a moments notice

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Teasing of any kind, him or his partner teasing the other is a sure fire way to end up folded under him, getting pumped full of cum

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

He doesn’t like physically hurting in the way of impact play to the face area, spanking is fine but he rarely if ever slaps his partner. Its kind of uncomfortable for him, it feels too much like abuse to him

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

He prefers to give but its an equal 50/50 in his relationships, he’s good at what he does and he likes to teach his partners just how to please him

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

He changes the pace often, sometimes quick sometimes slow, usually somewhere between rough and not but he’ll make sure his partner knows he’s fucking them

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Quickies are frequently needed in his line of work so he’s not against them whatsoever, especially if its in a pretty public place

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Risk would be his middle name if he didn’t already have one, he’s up for a good pregnancy scare or getting caught by someone unsuspecting

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

2-3 rounds before he needs to recover, and those rounds could be 10 or so minutes excluding foreplay (which is his favorite part when he can get it in)

Quickies are always a problem when he’s as insatiable as he is but he still gives his partner a quick round or two

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

God he loves toys, he doesn’t find them competition but gladly welcomes their use on him or his partner, especially anal beads/anal plugs and vibrators

He also has a small remote controlled vibrator to match his partner that both of them have control to so they can mess with each other when they feel horny

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Big tease, especially with the remote controlled vibrator mentioned previously. He loves to turn it on while he’s watching his partner lecture about something or when they’re watching movies just to fuck with them

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Loud and proud, especially when he starts speaking in his native tongue. He’ll start praising and cursing loud enough for someone to hear if they walked by the room or lived in the room next to his/his partners

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

He uses his staff to fuck his partner and then uses it in fights just so he has a little extra luck, at least in his mind

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

9 inches, curves slightly up and to the left, BIG balls. Mean vein on the left side of his shaft and a dark pink tip

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Insatiable but he’s not annoying about it, he’ll wait if his partner isn’t in the mood but once they are its all bets off

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

He makes sure his partner is all set and taken care of before he lets himself relax enough to sleep afterwards. He can’t go to bed knowing he didn’t take care of his beloved first

[lunareclipse-writes]

Eddie Munson NSFW🔠 w/ gn reader

---

A = Aftercare

Eddie is ridiculously doting after sex. He’ll clean you up with whatever’s closest—probably a band tee—and then pull you close, mumbling sleepy praise into your hair. Expect him to keep a water bottle and snacks on the nightstand like the chaotic little caregiver he secretly is.

B = Body Part

He loves his hands—calls them “magic fingers” (which… he's not wrong). On you? He’s obsessed with your thighs, regardless of size or shape. Whether he’s gripping them during oral, marking them up with love bites, or laying his head there post-orgasm, they’re his comfort zone.

C = Cum

Messy. So fucking messy. He lives for the sight of you dripping, or being coated with his release. Might mutter shit like “look what you do to me…” and smear it across your stomach or lips like a worshipper painting his deity.

D = Dirty Secret

He’s jerked off in his van while thinking about you riding him right there in the driver’s seat. More than once. He might’ve even stolen a piece of your clothing for a while. Don’t ask what happened to that bandana…

E = Experience

More experienced than he lets on. He’s fumbled through enough casual flings to know his way around a body. But he gets especially good when he really cares. If it’s you? He’s patient, attentive, and eager to learn what makes you whimper.

F = Favorite Position

Doggy, with a fist in your hair and your back arched just right. But he also adores riding—whether it's you on top of him or the other way around. He loves watching your face contort when you take him deep.

G = Goofy

He’ll crack jokes, do a bad porn voice, or make a pun mid-thrust—but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t take your pleasure seriously. Expect to laugh and cum. Sometimes at the same time.

H = Hair

Messy, unkempt, definitely a thatch of curls down there. He trims just enough to not get caught in zippers. And no, the carpet doesn’t quite match—it's darker.

I = Intimacy

He pretends he’s just in it for the fun, but when it’s late and you're chest-to-chest and he’s whispering “you’re perfect” like a confession? That’s real. His touches are always a little worshipful, like you’re too good for him.

J = Jack Off

A chronic masturbator. He’s absolutely touched himself to your voice, your scent left on his clothes, even texts you sent. Sometimes multiple times a day if he's not seeing you. He’ll totally tell you about it, too.

K = Kink

Bondage (especially makeshift—ties you up with belts or guitar straps), praise/degradation mix (“You’re such a good fuckin’ slut for me”), a touch of voyeurism, mutual masturbation, and maybe some exhibitionism. He lives for getting you to moan in risky places.

L = Location

Anywhere that feels just risky enough: backstage at the Hideout, the van, your childhood bedroom when your parents are downstairs, the school auditorium after hours…

M = Motivation

Your sounds. You moaning his name or gasping into his ear? Instant hard-on. He’s also turned on by emotional vulnerability, weirdly—catch him after you’ve cried in his arms, and he’ll treat you like the most precious thing while fucking your brains out.

N = No

Anything that feels cold or overly clinical—he’s not into strict dom/sub protocols or totally silent sex. He needs emotion, mess, you reacting. Also no shaming; he's been shamed enough in life, he won’t do that to you.

O = Oral

Giving? Oh, he’s obsessed. Will spend hours between your thighs, moaning into you like he’s starving. Receiving? He loves it, especially when you’re watching his face and talking dirty. “Come on, baby, suck me like you mean it…”

P = Pace

He can go rough and fast, especially if he’s been teased, but most often it starts slow and builds. He loves dragging it out, letting you feel every inch before he ruins you. Alternates between deep strokes and frantic ruts.

Q = Quickie

Hell yes. He loves quickies, especially when he can bend you over the bathroom sink or drag you into the back of the van. They usually end with both of you giggling, sweating, and needing to fix your clothes.

R = Risk

Big risk-taker. He gets off on nearly being caught. He’ll try anything once if it sounds hot and isn’t harmful. He’s got that chaotic gremlin energy, so don't be surprised if he suggests sex on the school roof or while driving (bad idea, but hot).

S = Stamina

He can go at least two or three rounds if he’s well-fed and hyped. He’s not a marathon man, but he will edge you and himself until you’re both desperate. His refractory period shortens if you're touching him post-orgasm.

T = Toys

He’s curious and a little kinky—might have a vibrator or two, maybe a pair of cuffs from a Halloween costume that ended up being very real. Loves using toys on you while he watches you squirm.

U = Unfair

Master tease. Will absolutely edge you with his mouth or hands until you’re begging. Might hold you down with a smirk and say, “Not yet, sweetheart.” But he’ll always reward you in the end.

V = Volume

Loud. Whines, moans, breathy curses—he talks you through it the whole time. “You feel so good,” “You’re fuckin’ perfect,” “That’s it, take it.” He praises and swears like a rockstar in the throes of ecstasy.

W = Wild Card

Eddie has definitely written a dirty song about you. A whole filthy guitar riff matched to the rhythm of your moans. He’ll never play it in public—but you’ll hear it in private, with his fingers between your legs.

X = X-ray

He’s got a decent size, but it’s the curve and the way he uses his hips that’ll wreck you. Just enough girth to stretch without pain, and a thick vein that drags along every sweet spot. Plus, he knows how to use his fingers and tongue.

Y = Yearning

High. He’s always down for sex, but when he’s in love? It’s not just physical—it’s clingy, needy, borderline obsessed. He’ll touch you constantly, even if it’s just slipping a hand under your shirt or mouthing at your neck in passing.

Z = Zzz

He crashes fast once he’s worn out—but he has to be curled around you, preferably skin-to-skin. You’ll wake up tangled in limbs, his hair in your face, and his hand on your ass.

---

“Make Me Beg”

Eddie Munson x GN!Reader | Smut | ~1.2k words

The van rocks with every thrust of his hips.

Parked deep in the woods just off the main road, the sounds of cicadas and distant thunder are completely drowned out by Eddie’s ragged moans and the wet sounds of his mouth working between your thighs.

He’s been down there forever.

Pinned on your back across the backseat, shirt pushed up and pants discarded, you're a wreck—legs trembling, breath hiccupping, and hands fisted tightly in the tangled curls of Eddie’s hair. And the bastard’s loving it.

“You should see yourself,” he mutters, voice muffled as he kisses your inner thigh again, dragging his tongue along the skin there just to hear you whimper. “God, I should film this. You're shaking, sweetheart.”

You glare weakly down at him. “Eddie… please.”

“Please what?” His grin is all teeth and sin, chin glistening with your arousal. “Need me to use my magic tongue a little higher?”

You squirm and whimper when he doesn’t. Instead, he licks a slow, lazy stripe back down your thigh, mouthing at the sensitive skin again until you’re gasping, legs twitching around his shoulders.

His voice drops an octave, and his fingers dig into your hips. “I love your thighs, baby. You know that? Could fuckin’ live here. Bury my face in ‘em forever.”

“You’re not even touching me—”

“I am,” he argues, sucking another bruise into the soft skin, eyes flicking up at you like a challenge. “Just not where you want yet. But I will. You just look so fuckin’ hot like this.”

“Eddie—!”

Suddenly, he moves. One thick finger drags through your slick, slow and filthy, before he presses it into you with a groan.

“There we go,” he growls. “God, you're tight. Look at you—already clenching, and I haven’t even used my tongue yet.”

You whine so loudly it echoes, and Eddie smirks like he’s just won the lottery.

Then he devours you.

There’s no other word for it—he latches on like he’s starved, tongue fucking into you as his finger curls just right, just enough pressure to make you cry out and arch off the seat. He moans into it like you taste better than any drug, sloppy and loud, a mess of spit and slick and desperation.

And when you start to twitch—start to beg—he pulls back with a filthy pop.

“Not yet,” he pants, eyes blown wide, lips swollen. “I wanna hear you scream when you come.”

“Eddie—!”

He shoves his tongue back in before you can curse him out.

You come hard, with your thighs clamped around his head, his name ripped from your throat like a prayer and a curse in one. He doesn’t stop. Doesn’t fucking stop until you’re crying, twitching, overstimulated, pleading.

When he finally pulls away, his chin is soaked and he looks wrecked, pupils blown wide with lust and pride.

“Holy shit,” he murmurs, climbing up to cage you under him, pressing his still-clothed cock against your spent heat. “You’re so fucking perfect.”

You don’t even have the strength to sass him, but he’s already kissing you—messy and deep, letting you taste yourself on his tongue, whispering:

“Round two, baby. You’re not getting out of this van until I’ve fucked you into the cushions.”

---

Masterlist

[jazzthatonewriterchick]

Can I Keep You Touch It? (Eren x Geto x F!Reader 18+ One Shot)

Pairing: Rapper!Eren Yeager x Stripper!Reader x CEO!Geto Suguru

Synopsis: You’ve been working at a high-end strip club for a couple years now and have quickly racked up popularity among the high rollers for your confidence, moves, looks, and wicked ways of getting to their pockets. But when you find yourself caught between two wealthy and sexy men in particular who have interested you (mostly because of the strange butterflies they give you), you will have to ask yourself if the money is worthy giving up on something special when they ask you to choose between them.

Warnings: Smutty Smut, 18+ (MINORS DNI), Pole Dancing, Lap Dance, Strip Tease, Love Triangle, Reader Is A Gold Digger, Possessive MDom!Eren + Possessive MDom!Geto x fsub!Reader, Exhibitionism, Public/VIP Room Sex, Threesome, Doggystyle, Cowgirl, Slutification, Degradation/Praise, Dual Blowjob, Oral (Giving & Receiving), Spanking, CMNF (briefly), Finger Sucking, Aftercare, Poly Love

Disclaimer: I own none of the characters mentioned in this fic. However, as this is my writing, I do not give permission for my work to be reposted on any other sites that are not from my own accounts. Thank you!

Writer's Note: Had this little idea in my head for a minute now & I'm still on my Eren hyper fixation lol. He's so fun to write about! I hope y'all enjoy! -Jazz

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It was another weekend working in the club tonight...or so you thought when you first walked in.

Until you caught the whiff of his cologne: wealthy and sweet, like him.

You smelled it the minute you were doing your rounds on the floor before you were ordered to one of the VIP rooms or put on stage for one of your routines. It seemed lately that your boss has been putting you on stage more and more...probably because he knows you bring in the big ballers.

Everybody knows it, including you. It isn't just the fullness of your titties or the way they bounce in your itty bitty bikini tops or bodysuits. It isn't just the way your ass bounces and moves like Jell-O, transfixing anyone who watches. It isn't just your smooth skin or pretty face or sultry eyes.

It is your confidence. The way you present yourself. How you walk and talk when you enter the domaine of the strip club night after night. And how you're able to drain a man out of his last dollar with just some sweet talk and the promise of your number.

He is here tonight. Again. For you.

Hopefully.

You see him walk in, carrying the same confidence that got you before. It is a quiet yet intense aura that makes your body tingle and your stomach flip. You suppose that is what has gotten him such a devoted fanbase other than his raspy tones on his music.

As soon as he steps into the room, all eyes are on him. He has captured others' attention. Clients and strippers alike eye him down, some with excitement and others with lust. It isn't every day that one sees a celebrity wander into the same place as them.

Eren Yeager, popular rapper/singer/dancer/songwriter, is the "IT boy", one could say. He used to be in a K/JPOP group before he went solo three years ago and since then, he has been on every billboard, magazine, and woman's shirt known to man. You've listened to his music before you met him, so you know his appeal. You can't deny that you've gotten butterflies hearing him switch from English to Japanese to Korean in his songs, flexing his bilingual talent.

It also helps that the man is fine as fuck. Tonight, he wears $1,1000 Balenciaga sneakers that he has paired with jeans, a silver chain, rings on his fingers, and a white tee that shows the outline of his pecs and forearms soooo nicely. He has put his long, black hair up in a bun tonight. When you met, it was down at his shoulders.

His tattoos are prominent and enchanting, roping up and down his toned arms. His piercings-one etched into his brow, a couple in his ears, one in his bottom lip-glisten in the dim violet lights above, giving him a very dangerous look that has gotten you wet many times before.

His intense grey eyes scan the room, searching. Maybe for you? You hope so. You were hoping he would come tonight. He said he was coming home from a press run overseas in London today, but had time tonight. "I'm never too busy for you," he said to you over the phone. "You know that." You never admitted to yourself how much that made your stomach flutter.

You stand at the bar in your bedazzled red bra that holds your titties up and in, your mini skirt with just a sliver of your ass poking out, and your gold heels that you swear bring you good luck. You're well aware that you're getting stares as you usually do, even when you're just standing around waiting for your drink.

It is the price of being beautiful, you suppose. You know you tend to attract eyes with your glossy hair, creamy skin, intense eyes, and thick thighs. Not to mention your walk and your moves when you dance. You take pride in your job, whether some think it's dirty or not. You're just making a buck.

You turn away from looking at the tattooed, pierced-up stud, not wanting him to see you watching him first. That is what happened the first time you met: you eyed him down and he noticed. But now? You want him to eye you down instead.

Your bestie and favorite bartender Yuki comes wandering over in her six-inch heels and a secretive smile on her face. She leans over to talk to you, keeping her voice down to avoid any patrons hearing. The club is packed tonight.

"He's here again, you know," she whispers. You raise an eyebrow at her and she nods at the rapper. You don't turn around to see if he has left the entrance and is heading towards you. "What'd you do to him?" she giggles.

"Watchu mean?" you chuckle. "I didn't do nothin' but get him hooked on this body." You run a hand down your physique, smiling cockily. Yuki rolls her eyes, but giggles, pausing to assist a client with another shot of brown liquor.

You then turn to look over your shoulder at Eren and finally, your eyes lock. It is as if the entire room vanishes, leaving only you two in the room. He smiles, and it aches. It is a happy, adoring smile that means he is happy to see you. And dammit, you're happy to see him too.

You abruptly turn back around to face Yuki, your heart pounding wildly. She gives you a smile, but you can tell she is worried. She taps one of her glossy, burgundy nails against your chin. "You know what the boss says about makin' personal relationships with the clients."

You roll your eyes. You don't want to hear anything about those stupid ass rules. "Please," you scoff, waving your bejeweled acrylic nails. "He only says that he doesn't want baby mama drama if one of the girls wind up pregnant by one of 'em. That won't be me."

You give Yuki a smirk over the bar and tease a lock of her blonde hair. "I'm just gettin' to the bag," you snicker. "Like I always do." But even when you say that, you can feel the twinge of guilt in your gut. You've been "talking" to Eren for over a month now. A month of nonstop chatting, flirting, and teasing.

You will admit that the minute you saw Eren, you saw dollar signs. But how else can you see men when they walk through the doors of the club? You make your living dancing on a pole! Of course, you're going to try to squeeze these guys out of their checks to pay your bills!

So when you saw Eren, you saw an opportunity. You figured he'd eventually get tired of you and cut your strings loose soon, especially since you haven't let him hit yet. All men are like that, you have learned...all men who come to the club, that is. 'But maybe Eren is different,' a little voice in your head argues. You push it away.

"Just be careful, Y/N," Yuki worriedly says. "He's hot, but he doesn't seem like he likes to share. What if one day, he swoops you up out of here and we never see you again?" You just laugh, tittering at her. "That would be my happy ending," you giggle. "Now gimme a shot."

Yuki still looks concerned, but pours you a shot of your favorite tequila. You down it and suck on a lime before you have the courage to stand and properly greet Eren, but to your surprise, he is gone. You begin to slowly strut away from the bar, searching for him among the lights and people.

You then feel a hand gently grasp yours. You turn, prepared to bark at the non-consenting touch, but your prepared lecture is stunted by Eren's pretty face and eyes. "So you just gonna walk around like you ain't see me?" He cocks his head to the side, acting mock offended. "What's up witchu?"

You crack a smile, trying hard to swallow your butterflies at being so close to him. "What's up witchu?" you playfully shoot back. "I was gettin' to you, but I have my rounds too. Nice to see you again, Eren."

His smile is so infectious, it's annoying. "You too, Princess." He way he says your stripper name is close to dirty talk to your ears. "Actually, since we're on the subject of names, when are you gonna tell me yours?"

There are two things that you don't do with clients: tell them your birth name or fall in love. Both make things too messy, especially when money is involved. They are the two rules you follow always, no matter how tempted you are to break them for Eren. "A lady doesn't draw all her cards at once," you giggle, flipping your hair back. "Don't you think the mystery is sexy? So what brings you back here again tonight?"

Eren passively shrugs, acting nonchalant. "I dunno, the mystery is kinda sexy." You roll your eyes at his quip, earning a very sexy laugh in return. "I just got back from my London trip and figured I'd drop in to see you."

He shoves a hand in his pocket, suddenly looking sheepish. "I...missed you," he confesses. "Those texts only did so much." You ignore the way your heart flutters at his confession. "Well, I hope the videos helped," you purr, referring to the very lewd videos you sent him after too much wine.

Eren's eyes light up at the mention of them. "Thank God I'm back so I can get the physical thing," he softly growls, snapping back the red nylon of your stockings. "Oh, and before I forget..." He pauses, digs into his pocket, and presents you with a small wrapped box.

Your heart shoots into your throat. "What's this?" you curiously ask. He smirks at you. "A bomb. Open it and find out, silly girl." You do as ordered and melt at the sight of the little Hello Kitty figurine dressed in a Queen's Guard uniform with the funny hat staring back at you.

Eren blushes, somehow looking hotter. "It ain't much, but I remember you sayin' how much you love Hello Kitty and I saw this in a window."

You stare at the gift for longer than necessary, gobsmacked. No client has ever given you a gift before besides an extra tip or the usual, unwanted dick pics. "Thank you, Eren," you whisper. You saunter up to him, watching his proud smile fade as he gets a good look at you.

You place a hand on his shoulder and lean in to whisper in his ear. "Wait for me in the back. Call for me in about fifteen." You pull away to see the hot, unwavering look in his eyes, making you melt in your skirt and stockings. He makes you drip even more when he suddenly leans in and presses a soft kiss to your cheek. "I'll be waitin' for you," he whispers.

Before you can even utter a single breath, he walks off, heading towards the VIP rooms where he always goes to be alone with you. After taking a moment to get yourself together, you tell Yuki to hide your present in your locker (after telling her to shut up with all of that excited squealing) and start to make your rounds.

But again, you're stopped by a hand grabbing yours. You yank your hand away and turn around to fuss at the patron. The nerve of these men! "Whoa!" you yell, about to rip into this stranger's asshole. "Hands off the merchandise, mother..."

Your tongue lashing dies down when you get a look at the tall, dark, and handsome stud standing before you in his long-sleeve top that hugs his toned upper torso and big forearms the way you'd like to and sweats. Definitely not the ideal outfit for a CEO. He has his hair down tonight, each glossy, raven-colored lock cascading down his broad shoulders, covering his gage piercings.

He, too, has piercings-silver snakebites in his bottom lip, one in his eyebrow, and the other embedded in his tongue. You've seen it many times before. All of that somehow fits his handsome face, sharp cheekbones, and violet eyes so increasingly well.

Oh, shit. He's here too. Another one of your "tricks" in your stable that you've been chatting up for a month: Geto Suguru, owner of his own popular clothing company. Hot, wealthy, and generous with his money. Just your type. Just like Eren.

"I'm sorry, hon," he says, sounding genuine. "I didn't realize you didn't like my touch anymore." You feel yourself trembling at the sound of his silky, deep voice and the sweet scent of vanilla on his skin. "Shit, Geto," you sigh. "Sorry, I thought you were-"

"Some drunk bum sittin' by the bar waitin' for a dance?" he chuckles. "No worries. Though if I looked like you, I'd definitely have dudes pay to touch me too." He gives you a smile that is blinding and painful for you. It is one filled with joy to see you. "How are you tonight, love?" he asks.

You swallow, doing your best to relax. "G-Good...now. What brings you here tonight?" You weren't expecting both of these men to be here tonight. They usually aren't in the same place at the same time. And then you tell yourself to stop being a dumb bitch. You aren't dating either one of these guys, so why do you feel so nervous and guilty?

Geto shrugs his broad shoulders, the collar of his shirt low enough to see the koi fish neck tattoo he is sporting. "Oh, y'know: the expensive drinks, the stimulating music, and the appealing skin shows." That's another thing you like about Geto: his humor. He has the same dry, Dad humor that you do that makes you giggle whenever you're giving him lap dances.

"Of course, you know I'm fuckin' with you," he chuckles, cracking another gorgeous smile. "Of course, you know I'm here for you."

"Oh, you are?" you flirtatiously ask. He nods, his violet eyes glistening with mirth and interest in the lights. "Mmm-hmm. After all, you promised me a dance and a date the last time I was here."

"I did?" you ask. And then your brain backtracks to a week ago when Geto visited and you threw back too many chocolate vodka shots so you were hot in the mouth. "I did," you realize.

Noticing your reaction, Geto frowns. "Guess you can't do the date yet?" he gently asks. He places a gentle hand on your shoulder, burning you down to the bone. "Hey, don't worry about it. You will when you're ready, okay?"

That is another thing you unfortunately like about Geto: his sweetness. He is by far the sweetest, most considerate man you've ever met. You feel so horrible for leading him on the way you are. He has been asking for a date for a longest time, but it is always an excuse. Just like with Eren.

"I just don't know when I'm gonna get off tonight," you lamely explain. He nods, but you both know that he knows you're bullshitting. "But I can give you a dance," you offer, giving him a smile. "You'll just have to wait a bit though."

Instantly, storm clouds cloud his eyes and he scowls. He and Eren both aren't too keen on sharing you and you can't imagine how they would feel knowing that one is in front of the other for a dance. "Why? You got somebody before me?"

You nervously twirl the end of your hair, thinking things over. "W-Well..." You stop, getting an idea. A very bad idea. "Actually, come with me real quick." You take Geto's hand in yours and you ignore how much bigger in size it is compared to yours as you weave through the club to the VIP rooms.

The VIP rooms are by far the nicest rooms in the club with their comfy furniture, mini bars, private showers, and soundproof walls. Eren is currently chilling in the one you and Geto enter, sitting on a couch facing a stripper pole attached to the wall and trailing to the floor.

He instantly looks up when he hears your heels clicking across the floor and tosses his phone aside. "Hey, you," he says, adoration in his voice. "I thought you'd forgotten about me and went off to..." He trails off as his eyes flick to Geto. Confusion and irritation registers across his face. "Who the fuck are you?" he asks, venom in his tone.

Geto barely looks intimidated. "Who the fuck are you?" he asks, unbothered.

You clear your throat, closing the door behind you. "Um, Suguru, this is Eren. Eren, this is Suguru. Tonight, you're both my clients and I'm caught in a bind, so y'all are gonna have to share me for a few minutes." Eren scowls in confusion. "A few minutes? You don't got an hour?"

"I have other duties, Eren," you slightly giggle. "Fuck that. Your boss knows I got the money to pay for an hour." The CEO slips his wallet out, giving you a smile that pisses Eren off. "So do I," Geto replies. "For two hours, actually."

You stare wide-eyed at the wallet where a golden American Express card glistens at you. Two hours?! This man definitely came here with an agenda. But so did Eren. Obviously looking for a challenge, he pulls a wad of crisp bills out of his pocket, a Black Card wrapped up in the dollars. You never thought you could get so wet over money before...but maybe that's just because of the men holding it.

You place your hands on your hips like a fed-up mom, popping up your hip as you glare at them. "Well, this as good as you two are gonna get right now, so please...no fighting."

The two men are still staring each other down, both looking like they want the other to disappear. "Do y'all want a dance or not?" you huff. After another silent stare down, they finally break and give in to your conditions. "Fine," they both sigh.

You smile, pleased. "Good boys. Now relax and let me some drinks." You aware hyper-aware of the two studs ogling your ass as you strut to the mini bar to whip them up some vodka tonics, the only drink you know how to make.

As the two get comfortable on either side of the couch, Eren whips out his pre-rolled blunts like he usually does. As he flicks open the lighter, letting the blunt hang between his lips, Geto curiously eyes him. "Y'know, you do look familiar," he says. Eren raises a brow, confused. "Yeah, I've seen you in here before. With her."

He nods at you across the way. You puts around pouring the drinks, pretending that you don't hear them. You also sip a bit more than you pour, needing the liquid confidence. You can feel yourself becoming nervous. You look up to examine them from afar as if you're on a safari and you're about to witness two male lions go at it for their prey.

"Yeah," Eren deadpans. "Where else would I be? And I'm guessin' you're here for the same reason?"

Geto acts as if he didn't hear the previous quip from the hot-headed rapper. "Depends," he replies, tossing an arm behind the couch and placing an ankle on his opposite knee. "I'm not one for competing in challenges that I'll win, but I like friendly competitions here an' there."

Silence descends upon you and the tension is so thick that you could cut the bitch with a chainsaw. You strut back over with their drinks, carefully eyeing the two men. "You two gettin' along?" you ask, raising a sharp brow. They silently nod though they look anything but happy. "Good!" you giggle.

You hand them their drinks and proceed to move to the music playing. It is Brent Faiyaz from what you can hear thumping through the walls. "Now stop bitchin' and look here," you order. Like two dogs hearing Pavlov's bell, the two studs abruptly sit up at the change in your tone and the sight of your body. "Yes, ma'am," they both reply in unison.

You smile, relishing in their interested, lustful stares at your body as you sway and gyrate your hips, grasping the pole beside you. You flip your hair, do the "left cheek, right cheek" twerk that they seem to like so much, and do your whole sexy shtick, keeping eye contact the entire time.

It is easy for you to follow the beat depending on what is playing. Mostly because you love dancing. You love to feel the cool metal of the pole and feel your feet in the air as you swing, spin, and twirl on the stripper pole. You lose yourself in your movements and the feeling you get from being watched by the two studs.

They can't get enough of you, their lids becoming hooded as they watch the show before them. It may also be the vodka and the weed curiosity of Eren's blunt, but you can see the lust quickly filling their irises.

By the time you finish working the pole, you're out of breath and shining in sweat. The body oil you wear makes you shimmer as if you're a Goddess blessing the two humans sitting before you. "You both paid for a lap dance, right?" you ask. "Then you get two minutes each."

The two don't argue with your statement, both looking ready to snatch you up at any point. You choose to do Eren first. As soon as you lower yourself onto the floor and crawl towards him, giving him (and Geto) a great view of your arch and your soft ass, the rapper sits up straight and leans forward, his blunt and his drink forgotten.

You place your hands on his thighs as you wedge yourself between them, your heart pounding as his natural scent and cologne fill your nose. You trail your hands up his body, feeling him up, and press against his chest to push him back against the couch. He lets you, his eyes never leaving yours.

You then straddle him, placing each leg over thighs, and begin to grind yourself into his groin that you can feel hardening beneath you. Eren hums in pleasure, placing one hand on your ass while he smokes his blunt with the other, doing his best to blow the smoke away from you.

You don't usually let clients touch you while you dance, but you often make an exception for Eren and Geto (not at all because you crave their touch). "Fuck," Eren exhales, the word dripping from his lips. "You're perfect. So perfect for me."

You feel as if you are with the way he stares at you through his hooded, red eyes. He looks upon you as if you are the best thing since sliced bread. You can feel his cock pulse underneath you, throbbing and ready to-

"My turn," Geto orders. He looks damn near feral as he watches you on top of Eren and pats his lap. "Hop on, baby." He gives you a playful smile, ignoring Eren's sharp glare his way. You giggle despite the tension and unhook yourself from Eren's lap despite his very possessive ass grab.

Now is Geto's turn. He too watches you like he wants to kiss you all over as you lower yourself down onto his lap, your back to him. You proceed to grind your ass back in his face, swirling your hips around and around. During this, your ass grazes his hard-on a few times, earning you soft moans that make the hairs on your body stand on end.

When you lie back against Geto's chest and hook a thigh over his lap, you catch a glimpse of Eren watching. Though he is irritated, you notice the pulsing tent beneath his pants. Geto distracts you by wrapping an arm around your waist, his hand grazing your thigh. "God, you look nice sittin' there," he sighs. "I could get used to this view...preferably somewhere other than a strip club."

"Like where?" you ask, the vodka and weed smoke fogging your brain. Geto doesn't answer, leaving his answer open for interpretation as his arm becomes a little too firm around your waist. You can also feel his lips ghosting across your neck which is highly against stripper protocol.

Luckily, Eren cuts in by slamming his drink down on the table. "Time's up, asshole," he growls. "You went over. It's my turn with her." Geto's hold on you tightens, possessive and stubborn. "Oh, is it?" he asks, feigning innocence. "I didn't notice. My bad."

Eren practically snatches you up and sits you down in his lap, encouraging you to move with his hands on your hips. They shouldn't be there, but you don't move them. You like them too much. Heat radiates from between your thighs, meshing with Eren's hard-on that is quickly growing harder underneath you.

And then, you feel them: his lips on your neck, peppering your skin in kisses. Your eyes flick over to Geto watching you, his face oddly stoic. "Eren, wait," you weakly say. "You can't-"

"Touch you?" he finishes. "Kiss you? Why not? It's not like we ain't done this before." He pauses to stare at you, his eyes flashing. "Or is it because he's here?"

Geto laughs, humored by this as his hand gently caresses your ankle. The soft touch makes your stomach flutter and your nipples tingle. "I'm not usually the jealous type, but seein' you with someone who ain't me is startin' to get under your man's skin."

The alcohol and weed may be affecting you, but not enough to miss what he just said. "M-My what?" you gasp.

Eren catches it too and practically simmers with anger. With a growl, he gently scoots you off of him and places you in the middle of him and Geto. "That's fuckin' it!" he snaps. "I'm tired of this back and forth bullshit, Princess. You need to choose.”

You blink at him, shocked by his sudden outburst. The influence that you're under and the arousal you're feeling make you process everything a little bit slow than you usually do. “What are you talkin’ about?” you softly ask.

Geto chuckles at your cuteness, taking a sip of his Vodka Tonic. “It ain’t rocket science, cutie. You’re a smart girl. Smart enough to get two of us in the same room fightin’ over you.”

You scowl, not sure how to take his words. Does he know your plan? “I-I don’t know-“

“Don’t do that,” the CEO firmly says, and you button your lip. Yes, he does know your plan. “We know you were after the money. It’s okay, baby! A club like this is full of go-getters like you.” He reaches over, gently stroking your thigh. “But I know you weren’t prepared for either of us to want more from you."

You blink at him, shook beyond belief. They don't even know you! You haven't even told them your real name! Geto's eyes shift to Eren, his expression steely. “Though I’m not too keen on you showin’ the attention you showed me to someone else.”

Eren gives his blunt a puff and sits it on the ashtray on the table. “And neither am I," he huffs. "I don’t got you on a leash, babe, but I’m about ready to do it if it means havin’ you to myself." He leans over to whisper in your ear, his lip ring toying with your earlobe. “And I can pay you way more than he can.”

You flinch away from him as if you have been burned. He looks hurt by your action. “I don’t want your money, Ren,” you softly say. “And I don’t like being cornered either.”

“Would you rather we discuss it over dinner?” Geto sarcastically asks. “Pardon the attitude. Vodka isn’t my strongest suit.” Despite the blow, you realize that he is right. It's bad enough they both know your little plan to make bank off of them, playing them like a fiddle for a month.

But could they also possibly know that you've been second-guessing that? That you've been thinking about giving in to their offers for dates and something more than just a lap-dance, hot makeup sessions, and flirting?

You look between the two men, hot as ever and possessive. All for you. Any woman would kill to be in your position right now! You would be stupid to give this moment up. Maybe it's the weed or the vodka or the fact that they both smell so good, their colognes mingling with each other, but one of the three makes you bold enough to express your interest.

"W-Well...I could think it over, but..." You trail off, not sure what else to say. Your tongue is heavy and your mouth feels like it's full of cotton. "But what, love?" Geto gently asks, walking his fingers up your leg. They settle on your skirt, toying with the thin fabric. "You need a little persuasion?"

He suddenly leans in, pressing a kiss to your neck on your left that makes your body sing. Eren does the same thing, pressing kisses to the right side of your neck, leaving trails of fire in his wake. "How much for an hour?" he softly growls.

"E-Eren, I can't-"

"Don't try that with me again. You're talkin' 'bout doin' more in here than just dancin', so how much?"

You bite your lip, feeling heat pool between your thighs as the men's kisses grow more feverish and passion. "I-I'm not sure," you whimper out. It is so hard to think with all of this stimulation.

Eren places a possessive hand on your throat, the weight of it making you gasp. “Then I’ll fuckin’ find out when I’m done with you. I’ll pay the sun and moon for you, Princess.”

You figure at this point that there are no more secrets. No more roles. So you let your government name drip from your lips: “Y/N. That’s my name.” Geto smiles against your neck while Eren nuzzles the space behind your ear, his voice making you shiver. “Y/N,” he says. Your name sounds like sin on his lips.

Geto pulls away enough to acknowledge Eren for the first time in minutes. “So we’re sharing her?” Eren stares at him in boredom, stroking your throat with his thumb. “Yeah, unless you wanna watch. I don’t really give a fuck. My little dancer gets off on bein’ watched."

His hand trails down to your skirt where he toes with the ribbon holding it together at your hip. With one pull it slides off and he yanks it down your legs, revealing the surprise underneath: a G-string with a tiny pink bow on the front of your mound. The two men practically salivate at the sight.

Eren forces you to turn your face so he can plant more kisses on your lips, each one hotter and sloppier than the last. You can taste the vodka and lime on his tongue. “Eren,” you sigh. “The door—“

“Bodyguards,” Geto ruggedly answers, his hand caressing your thigh where it means your asscheek. “I had ‘em follow us. Nobody’s gettin’ in here, so don’t worry your pretty head about anything but this.” He busies himself with your breasts, pressing kisses along the tops of the soft globes. “You don’t know how long I’ve wanted this,” he whispers against your breasts. “I needed you for so long.”

You almost say ‘me too’. Their touches and kisses are making you delirious, ready to proclaim your love for two men you barely know. With each passing second, your pussy grows wetter, soaking the tiny cloth attached to the G-string. “Please," you whimper.

“Please what?” Eren asks. He squeezes your chin with his ringed hand, forcing you to look at him. “Open your mouth and ask us nicely.”

Geto grins at the rapper's choice of words. “Us, huh?” he chuckles. He then glides a hand down between your thighs, his fingers gliding against your G-string. “You want us to touch you here?" he whispers. Biting back a moan, you nod, your body quickly growing hotter than a wild fire. “Please….touch me.”

You glide a hand down your thighs to caress your thong-covered pussy, causing your puffy lips to swallow the thin line of fabric. The men groan at the sight, loving how your nails look against your soft, wet, plush pussy lips.

Geto kisses you a rough kiss on the cheek, pleased with your response. “Well, since you asked so nicely…”

In the blink of an eye, you are suddenly facing Geto between your legs while Eren is busy peeling your bra off, your back against his broad, hard chest. The smell of their cologne and marijuana drifts in the air, clouding your judgment even further.

Geto's eyes widen as he drags your thong to the aside, exposing your wet, soft cunt and the tiny diamond stud embedded in your clit. “So pretty,” he coos. "And a clit piercing?" He gently huffs his breath onto your clit and the bit of stimulation makes you twitch.

"Lemme see," Eren growls, craning his neck to see. "Fuck, that's so slutty, babe." Once he has your bra unclasped, your breasts and pierced nipples are exposed to their eyes. "My God!" he groans, cupping your tits in his hands. "How are you this fuckin' perfect, babe, huh?"

You thought you couldn't speak before? Words cease to exist when Geto finally gets his mouth on you. He uses his big hands to pin your legs apart as he laps at your cunt, sucking gently on your clit and rolling the diamond stud around with his wet tongue. His tongue piercing clashes with the one in your clit, causing sparks of pleasure to shoot through your core.

All you can muster are loud sobs and whines of pleasure as Geto laps and slurps at your pussy, each stroke of his tongue and suckle of his soft lips sending you into orbit. You can't stop your muscles from twitching and your thighs from clenching, desperate to be freed from Geto's iron grip on them. "Oooh, she’s a cryer,” he chuckles against your hole. “And a squirmer.”

His tongue then slithers into your hole, using the tip of his tongue to shallowly fuck you while his nose glides against your clit. Eren watches from behind you, his hands still groping your tits and tugging at your nipples. “She’s not gonna do shit when it’s my turn," he lightly growls. "Lemme show you how it’s done.”

The two men switch places, but Geto doesn't move from his spot between your thighs. He just watches as Eren absolutely goes feral on your pussy, causing spit and your juices to mix together and stain his chin and lips. All of it slips down your asscrack, making every nice and slippery. Slippery enough to fuck you with his tongue much faster. “O-Oh!” you gasp. “Oh, fuck, Eren!”

The rapper's grey eyes tick up to look at you, hypnotizing you the same way his mouth is. “Yeah?” he teases. “It’s good?”

You writhe on the couch, gripping the cushion below you for dear life. “Yes!” you sob. “Yes, Daddy, please keep going!” The honorific slips out as easy as a breath of fresh air, sounding so natural. Eren begins to lick you faster as if that title has changed him.

Geto side-eyes the rapper before he gives your ass a spank. “He gets an honorific?” he scoffs. “What about me, love? What do I get, huh?” He leans forward, pressing soothing kisses to the stinging spot where his hand collided with your asscheek.

You stare at him through teary eyes, your lashes wet with droplets. “S-Sir,” you whimper. "I'm sorry". Geto grins at you, flashing you all of his pearly whites. “Works for me. Now let's see if you can take two tongues at the same time."

Eren briefly pauses in his meal to glance at the CEO. You think he is about to tell Geto to fuck off, but to your surprise, he scoots over and allows Geto to share in feasting on your cunt. Each one has a firm hand pinned on your thigh, forcing you to stay open for them they lap at your wetness, pausing to spit copious amounts of saliva onto your lips and slurping it back up.

They take turns tongue-fucking you, alternating between one sticking his tongue inside of your wet hole while the other toys with your clit, rubbing the button around and around. You are a wailing, sobbing, screaming mess, writhing and squirming on the couch as if you're possessed. “Oh, God, wait! It’s too much!”

You feel like you're a balloon that has been pumped with too much air. You're about to pop. Geto stares up at you through hooded eyes and his lips drenched in your juices. “But you’re doin’ so well for us, love. You should see how cute you look.”

He reaches over, placing two fingers in your mouth. Greedily, you suck on his digits, coating them in your spit. Eren tears his tongue out of your hole to stare at you adoringly, allowing Geto to fill his spot. “She does look mighty good right now. Little slut.”

You have no doubt you look crazy, titties out, skirt peeled up to expose your ass and pussy, mascara askew and coating your eye sockets. But you don't care. You don't care about anything but cumming as that feeling begins to build in your core. “Oh, sh-sh-shit, I’m gonna cum!” you gasp to the ceiling.

“Mmm-hmm,” Geto hums into your pussy. “Cum for me, love. Give it to me.”

“Bitch,” Eren growls. “Cum for me, baby. You know you love this piercing, dontchu?”

You do, and deliriously, you think you love them too. They keep licking and slurping and sucking and moaning into your pussy until finally, you give a little tremble and your cum floods their mouths. The two men moan in appreciation at your taste, eagerly and happily lapping at what you give them.

Your orgasm is intense, making you shake and moan to the heavens, every word being "fuck" and "oh, shit" which God would not appreciate, probably. You could get used to being treated like this. Maybe a relationship with either of these two studs wouldn't be so terrible. 'Why just one?' a tiny voice in your head whispers. 'Why not both?'

When you come down from your orgasmic high, you look down at the two men, noticing their cocks chubbing against their pants. You giggle, delirious from the pleasure and drunk off of your orgasm. "I think you two might need some help," you purr.

The two pop up like Jack-In-The-Boxes, eager to get your mouth on them. The clothes come off, shirts, pants, and designer boxers discarded, revealing muscles laced and inked with tattoos. You momentarily think about grazing your hands over their abs, licking up their stomachs, and sucking each brown nipple, but all of that flies out the window when you get a look at their cocks.

Both are hard and standing up at attention for you, but while Eren is thicker and curves upward, Geto is longer and his balls hang heavy. You can do nothing but stare, your hands wrapping around each one. "Oh, wow," you sigh, unable to say anything else.

"Like you ain't seen it before," Eren chuckles, referring to the dick pics he has sent you over the course of your 'situationship'. Geto has only sent you two though his cock was covered by his sweats. To see it now here, in your face, is more than you can take.

"Now, you're just seein' it in person," Eren continues, gently tapping his thumb against your chin. "So you gonna do somethin' with it or what?" He doesn't need to tell you twice. Instantly, you open your mouth and wrap your glossy lips around his length.

"Ah, fuck, baby," he sighs, digging a hand in your hair. He lays his hand on your scalp, letting you work his cock up and down, his length stroking your throat. "That's a good girl. I fit so well in that mouth, fuck."

He tilts his head back to expose his throat and the head of his serpent tattoo snaking up the left side of his neck. You yearn to kiss and bite it. With your other hand, you stroke Geto to your heart's content, relishing in his low moans and encouraging swears that drip from his lips.

You can hardly believe that you're here, sucking your clients' dicks in VIP! You have never done anything like this before and probably never will again. These two are just special. With every stroke of Eren's cock in your sloppy throat and every moan that escapes Geto's plump lips, you can feel yourself needing them more and more.

Finally having enough of waiting, Geto yanks you away from Eren and plants your mouth on his dick this time. "My turn," he huffs and apologetically laughs in Eren's face. "Sorry, man, but I couldn't resist. Her mouth just looked too damn good."

He pushes himself deeper, sheathing himself between the plush, wet walls of your mouth. You gag a bit from his bulbous head nearly hitting the back of your throat, but you manage to recover and let him fuck away. "Good girl," he pants. "Sir loves that. He loves your little mouth."

You moan in reply to his dirty words of affirmation, spit dribbling from your lips and pooling between your shaky thighs. At this point, you are creaming, gushing all over yourself and ruining your thong. Eren groans at the feeling of your soft hand stroking him up and down, up and down. "Can't wait to fuck you, babe," he moans. "I know you'll feel just as good as your pretty hand."

Then he is yanking you away from Geto and back towards him. "Fuck offa her. You're takin' too damn long." Then it's back in your mouth he goes where he proceeds to fuck your mouth like it's going out of style. "Not bad, love," Geto sighs, watching in adoration as your mouth is filled with cock. "You suck dick almost as well as you dance."

With a loud groan that overpowers the muffled music from the club, Eren pulls his cock out of your mouth. A line of spit follows in his wake and you take a breath, the taste of salt on your tongue. Eren tilts your chin up to face him and Geto, exposing your fucked-out face to them.

"Are you ready for us to fuck you now, baby?" Eren cooingly asks, his thumb toying with your wet bottom lip. You press a kiss to it, suckling on the digit. "Tell Daddy how you want it," he demands. It takes every bit of energy in your brain cells to conjure up one single sentence. You can barely think straight.

"C'mon now, darling," Geto coos, tapping his cock against your lips. "Don't be shy. I can stand to wait a while." Finally finding your voice and your head, you turn to Eren with big, watery eyes and ruined makeup. "From behind," you whimper. "Fuck me from behind, Daddy."

Eren doesn't need to be told twice. He hikes you up on your jelly-like legs and puts you in position on the couch: face down, ass up. You feel him kneel behind you, his thick cock sliding between your slit to your asshole, up and down, emitting moans from the both of you.

"I'm gonna make you regret ever toyin' with me," he says through panted breaths. "Gonna make sure you know whose you are." And then, slowly, he slides himself inside of you, inch by inch. Your mouth falls open, a loud moan escaping you as you feel the wet walls of your cunt stretch around him.

"A-Ah!" you gasp. "Oh, fuck, Eren, please!" The rapper lays a hand on your ass, giving you a sharp spank that makes your clit jump and your pussy clench.

SMACK!

"See what's you've been missin', baby?" he chuckles. "All of this an' more."

He begins to slowly pump his hips back and forth, sheathing his cock inside of you more with every stroke. "Fuck me back, mama," he coos, his voice breathless and panty. "Show me how good you think this dick is, c'mon. Show me."

You do as you're told and toss your ass back into him, meeting his thrusts and drawing louder moans out of both of you that bounce off of the VIP room's walls.

SMACK!

Geto's big hand takes a turn slapping your ass as it bounces against Eren's pelvis as he sits on the couch beside you. He places your face in his lap and taps his cock against your lips. "Sorry, love, you just looked too sexy gettin' fucked like this," he sighs. "But you don't mind, do you?"

Even if you could respond, you would say no. You want them both to use you. To take every single hole you have and fill it up as much as they want. You want to be used for their pleasure in a way you have never wanted any other man to.

Eren begins to pump harder and faster, causing the couch springs to creak and his moans to grow louder and more desperate. "God, you're so wet," he groans, sweat trickling down his handsome face and gorgeous body. "I'm gonna cum soon, baby. This pussy got me so fuckin' close!"

"Well, would ya mind hurryin' it up?" Geto huffs. "I still need to fuck my little dancer too." Eren glares daggers at the CEO, each word punctuated by a pump of his hips that make your eyes roll back. "Don't. Rush. Me."

You can feel your second orgasm cresting, building inside of you, causing you to reach between your legs to frantically rub your clit. "Daddy," you whine. "I'm gonna cum. Please make me cum."

"You wanna cum for me?" Eren teases. You can hear the smile in his voice, knowing that he is enjoying every second of seeing you like this. "Then you're gonna be my baby, right? You're gonna let me take you out and have you all to myself, right?"

You don't respond. You can't. You're moaning too much and his cock is too good, pumping in and out of you at a fast pace that makes your head spin. When you suddenly feel Eren's thumb gliding against your asshole, it's all over for you. You explode all over his cock, nearly ruining your voice box with how loud you scream. "I'm cumming!" you sob, pressing your face into Geto's thigh.

"Go 'head, baby, cum for me!" Eren groans. "Fuck, I'm cummin' too!" He grips your ass for dear life as he chases his high in your pussy, giving you rougher thrusts until he finally shoots a hot, creamy load inside of your pussy. He lets out a loud, raspy groan as he cums, gripping your ass so tight that you're sure he has left bruises.

You shiver and shake in your position, your head blank and all of your senses heightened. Geto begins to stroke your hair, his hard cock pressed against your lips. "That's a good girl," he coos. "You look so good when you cum, darlin'. I'm gonna enjoy fucking you."

Oh, God...you forgot he was next.

But he doesn't let you forget. When Eren pulls out of you slowly, Geto shushes you when you weakly moan at the loss. "Relax, love," he coos, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "You don't have to do anything for me. Just let your Sir take care of you."

You don't think you quite have a choice, especially when he hikes you onto his lap. He kisses you as you lean into his body, his big arms holding you tight as his hard cock sinks inside of the quivering, sensitive, sobbing wet walls of your pussy. "Oh, goddamn," he groans, his handsome face etched in pleasure as soon as he sinks inside of you. "You're perfect."

You whine in response, arching your tits into his chest. You press yourself flush against him, your body going weak and slack from Eren's previous buckshots. Geto embraces this, keeping his arms wrapped securely around you as he draws his hips up to fuck you from the bottom. "Just lay against me, darlin'. Lemme do all the work."

You can't stop any sort of moan or whimper that escapes you, each one weak and desperate as your pussy is filled with Geto's cock. Your eyes flutter closed at the feeling, all of your energy drained from being fucked dumb twice.

Suddenly, you feel two hands cupping your face and the scent of ocean waves in your nose. "Open your eyes, mama," Eren coos. "Lemme see you." Weakly, you open your eyes, staring at grey irises through slits. "Feels good, don't it?" he asks. "Does he feel better than me?"

Geto laughs through a moan, his thighs smacking against your ass as he drills himself inside of you, bouncing you on his cock. "You don't have to answer him, but I'd like to know if I'm gettin' that date after this. You know I expect it."

You can't think of anything remotely close to the end of tonight in this position. The pleasure is too blinding and your mind is going blank. But your clients won't take no for an answer. "You're gonna be mine by the end of tonight, right, darlin'?" Geto growls in your ear. "You'll finally let me take you out on a proper date?"

"Nah, fuck that," Eren hisses, still cupping your face and staring into your eyes. "You're all for me, right, baby? You're not gonna play with my feelings like this, right?"

"Tell us what you want, Y/N," Geto demands, slowing his thrusts down to deep, soul-bending strokes that make you sing. "Tell us who you want."

"I-I want!" You grip Geto for dear life, sinking your nails into his shoulders as his cock strokes every part of your pussy. The words that explode from you fly up after being trapped for so long inside of you: "Both! I want both of you!" you sob.

Eren blinks at you, shocked, and takes a look at Geto. He has slowed his thrusts down into more shallow, gentler ones, just as taken aback at your confession. There it is. All out in the open. And instead of arguing or disagreeing, the two men smile at each other.

"Both it is then," Eren says, pecking you on the lips. "Now cum on that dick like a good girl. Make her sing, Geto."

The CEO goes right back to bouncing you restlessly on his cock, making your tits jiggle and your pussy feel like it's about to fall off the bone as your clit rubs against his pelvis. His callused hands grip your ass, giving you brief smacks and possessive grabs that edge you closer and closer to the cliff.

"Sugu, fuck!" you gasp. "I'm gonna...gonna-"

"Do it, darlin'," he demands. "Cum with me. Give it all to your Sir."

And like a puppet on a string, you are controlled by him and his cock. After a few more rough thrusts, you shut your eyes against Eren's face and cum all over Geto's cock, your third orgasm rocking you to the core. Everything feels like a hot, white light washing you in warmth as each wave of your orgasm sweeps you away.

"Ah, fuck!" Geto groans, his end near too. He pauses and his body tenses as he cums, rope after rope of hot spunk entering your pussy. You gasp and shudder, held onto by him and Eren who continues to grasp your face, watching your O face is adoration. "That's a good girl," he laughs. "You did so good for us, babe."

You can only whimper in reply. Exhaustion comes to you, making your body heavier and your muscles loose. Geto groans as he slides his cock out of you, his and Eren's cum leaking down your thighs. "Easy now," he coos, stroking your back. "Just take it slow, love."

He lays you down on the couch between himself and Eren, your head lulling against the couch. You feel sweat coat the skin beneath your tits and your inner thighs feel soaked. The only thing you wear are your stockings and heels, your skirt, bra, and thong on the floor.

You know that eventually you'll have to go back to finish your shift. You know that people, including Yuki and your boss, will ask about these two men that seem to be mighty close to you now. You know that things will probably become a lot more complicated.

But you also find yourself not caring. Not when the two men snuggle up close to you, pressing you tightly and securely between them. It is better than any dollar bill they could give you. Silence descends upon you, calm and satisfied.

"So," you finally say, a smile on your face, "when's our date?"

THE END.

[hy6erion]

Hi🤍🤍

Could you do a desire doue nsfw alphabet?🤍

🤍🤍

𝐍𝐒𝐅𝐖 𝐀𝐋𝐏𝐇𝐀𝐁𝐄𝐓 - 𝐃𝐞́𝐬𝐢𝐫𝐞́ 𝐃𝐨𝐮𝐞́

𝐃𝐞́𝐬𝐢𝐫𝐞́ 𝐃𝐨𝐮𝐞́ 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

⇢ 𝐧𝐬𝐟𝐰 (𝐦𝐝𝐧𝐢), 𝐨𝐫𝐚𝐥 (𝐦 𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐞𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠), 𝐩𝐮𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐜/ 𝐬𝐞𝐦𝐢 𝐩𝐮𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐜 𝐬𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬, 𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐮𝐥𝐭𝐢𝐩𝐥𝐞 𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐬, 𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐤 𝐨𝐟 𝐜𝐮𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲, 𝐩𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐬𝐞/ 𝐝𝐞𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬, 𝐟𝐢𝐥𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐫𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐭𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐥 𝐭𝐨𝐲 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲

A – Aftercare

Désiré isn’t just sweet after sex—he’s devoted. Once he’s wrung every last bit of pleasure from you, he pulls you close, kisses your temple, and murmurs praise while massaging your thighs. A warm towel. Water. A hoodie slipped over your bare skin. He makes sure you’re not just satisfied, but cherished.

B – Body Part

He’s obsessed with your hips. His hands always settle there, whether he’s gripping them to keep you still while he pounds into you from behind, or tracing circles over them lazily after. He says they were made for him—to hold, to worship, to rut against.

C – Cum

Désiré is possessive. He loves to finish inside you, slow and deep, watching the way your body clenches around him as you both ride the wave together. He murmurs, “That’s mine,” every time he sees it leaking out.

D – Dirty Talk

Filthy doesn’t even begin to cover it. He talks you through every second—“You like that, don’t you? Look at you, dripping for me.” He loves when you get shy about it, especially because he knows how wrecked you get when he gets mean with it.

E – Experience

He might surprise you. He’s young, yes, but he learns fast—and he’s naturally gifted. Confident without being cocky. Attentive. Bold. He gets off on learning what makes you fall apart, and once he finds your weak spots, he abuses them.

F – Favorite Position

Bent over with your face buried in the pillows, your ass high in the air, and his hands locked around your waist. The sound of skin slapping, the wet heat of your moans—he loses himself in it every time. But he also loves missionary, just so he can watch your face when he makes you come.

G – Guilty Pleasure

Filming it. Just for the two of you. He props the phone up, fucks you slow and deep while whispering, “Wanna watch this later? Wanna see how good you look taking me?” And later, he does. Usually with you sitting in his lap, your body already aching for round two.

H – Hair

Trimmed and clean, but not bare. He doesn’t care much about grooming—he’s focused on how you feel, not aesthetics. But he loves when you run your hands through his curls while you’re going down on him.

I – Intimacy

He doesn’t separate rough from romantic. Désiré knows how to be gentle, but even when he’s being filthy, it’s because he’s obsessed with you. Kissing your shoulders between thrusts. Telling you how good you feel. Pressing his forehead to yours as you both unravel.

J – Jack-Off

He does it often, especially when he’s on the road and can’t have you. And he always thinks about you—specifically the way you moan his name when you’re close, or the way you tremble when he fingers you just right. Bonus: he loves sending you voice notes of it.

K – Kinks

Praise & Degradation: He’ll ruin you with “Good girl. Just like that.” And then whisper “My filthy little slut” five seconds later.

Marking: Hickeys. Handprints. Bite marks. He wants you covered.

Control: Not full dom/sub, but he likes holding you down, pinning your wrists, telling you when to come.

L – Location

The backseat of his car after late-night matches. He’s still sweaty, adrenaline pumping—and he ravages you. The windows fog up, your clothes half-off, and he moans into your mouth like he’s starving for you.

M – Motivation

He gets hard just watching you exist. You in one of his oversized tees? Instant problem. Biting your lip while you text? His hands are already on your thighs. You riding him slow while whispering his name? He’s feral.

N – No

Nothing involving pain, fear, or humiliation that crosses into disrespect. He wants to be filthy with you—not cruel. And he’s serious about checking in if something doesn’t feel right.

O – Oral (Receiving)

He loves it. Deep, messy, and eye contact? He groans so loud it echoes. But he’s not a “lean back and relax” type—he’ll hold your hair, whisper filthy encouragement, and finish with a shudder while praising how good your throat feels.

P – Pace

Désiré likes to build it up. Starts slow and sensual, just to make you beg. But once you’re whining his name and gripping the sheets, he snaps his hips harder, rougher, relentless. He keeps going until your voice breaks.

Q – Quickies

He lives for them. In the locker room shower. A hidden hallway at a party. Pressing you up against a wall and grinding into you while whispering, “Five minutes. You can be good for me that long, yeah?”

R – Risk

He’s not reckless, but he loves the thrill. Hands under the table at dinner with friends. Fingering you in a dressing room. Whispering what he’s going to do to you later, just to see you blush and squirm.

S – Stamina

The man has endurance. One round is never enough. He’ll eat you out until you’re shaking, fuck you slow for round one, rough for round two—and if you can still walk, he’ll make it his mission to fix that.

T – Toys

He’s into them—especially ones he can use on you. Remote-controlled panties when you’re out in public. Vibrators during foreplay. He gets off on control and watching you come undone for him.

U – Unfair

He teases ruthlessly. Kisses down your stomach only to pull away. Fingers you until you’re about to break—then stops. He loves hearing you whine for it. But he always rewards your patience. Hard.

V – Volume

He’s vocal. Deep groans, breathy curses in French, and your name in a broken gasp. He wants you to hear how good you make him feel. Sometimes he even talks you through it—“So tight… fuck, you were made for me.”

W – Wild Card

Sometimes, after a game, when he’s still on a high, he’ll grab you without a word, drags u into the empty locker room and absolutely wrecks you. Up against the wall. Clothes half-torn. He fucks you like a man possessed and leaves your body buzzing for days.

X – X-Ray

He’s big. Thick and long enough to make your breath catch when he pushes in. The curve hits deep. You feel full in the best way—especially when he grinds his hips and tells you how well you take him.

Y – Yearning

He’s not just horny—he’s addicted to you. The way he looks at you after a few days apart? Eyes dark, hands restless, voice low—“I need you. Now.” It’s never just sex with Désiré. It’s hunger.

Z – Zzz

Afterward, he wraps around you like a blanket. Hand on your stomach, face buried in your neck, still warm inside you. He falls asleep like that, totally spent, whispering, “You’re everything.”

[burreauxsss]

sfw x joe burrow headcanons

background: its here, the new sfw version!

(all pics from pinterest, all rights reserved.)

notes: the other ;) version is here, do not read if you are MDNI.

warning: none! just LOTS of fluff.

A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

Hes affectionate in public, but during college/frat boy era he hated being lovey dovey in parties etc. After his rookie season ACL injury, he warmed up to PDA and at first, felt uncomfortable for him but during the failed super bowl run he got more comfortable as the year went.

B = Best Friend (How are they as best friends?)

In college you were more of a one night stand, never became best friends technically. But you do observe that he keeps his friends/teammates (ja'marr and tee) close to him as he cant necessarily trust everyone.

C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

Joe loves to cuddle, especially at night when everything dies down. Even when your sleep, he slips his hand around your waist and holds you tight.

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

He does want to settle down eventually into a family once his career slows (which ultimately never). Joe's lack of cooking skills is the exact reason why he has a chef to plan half of his meals for gamedays etc. On the other hand, Joe does love to keep his house clean which you notice as a perk.

E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

Joe wouldnt do it over text, preferably in person and always not quick to blame anyone.

F = Fiance(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

Joe would most definitely wait a couple of years before proposing. But getting married in private because of certain tea pages and people who love to look at the State marriage records for entertainment purposes.

G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

He may seem nonchalant on the field but off the field hes soft. When he steps right into the house something switches in him physically. Joe's at ease when hes at home, and that includes emotionally becoming a huge nfl teddy bear.

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

His #2 source of PDA is definitely hugs, his hugs are basically a good type of suffocating most of the time. But a tiny bit of the time when its serious or rushed, its just a usual side hug that would do the job.

I = I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?)

He says it first half of the time, you could be in bed, on the couch, postgame, or even in the kitchen or on the phone and you would hear him say "I love you."

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)

He gets hella jealous when your around other men who seem flirty. Yes he lets you have your freedom, but oh when you show up after seeming happier than ever? Hes about to get very tense.

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

His kisses depend on the type of mood, if its just a rushed day its just a quick peck and go, but when he has time he loves to cherish you. Due to the height difference he loves to do forehead kisses.

L = Little ones (How are they around children?)

He's basically father material. When hes around his nephews outside in Athens playing football with them, he always coaches them when they need help when it comes to throwing, giving that attention that they need.

M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)

When hes in the offseason or he has a recovery day, he likes to spend a long time in bed with you. A rare sight, but when hes in a rush he either texts you before leaving or if you're already awake he most definitely hugs and kisses you before he goes.

N = Night (How are nights spent with them?)

During the night, its simple, hes most likely sleep before you. So let the quarterback sleep, and youve learned.

O = Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

During college he was more hidden due to the ego he had, but even after his ACL injury he still hid things up until the wrist injury when he let everything hit the fan.

P = Patience (How easily angered are they?)

Its not easy to make him pissed off, but there are things that take him from a 0-10 and youve mastered every one of them.

Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

He remembers everything from the dates, your favorite drinks, meals, colors, and everything inbetween. Anything you say to your family or friends, he remembers.

R = Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

His most definite favorite moment was when he gave you the promise ring after the AFC championship, but only you know that.

S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)

He would KILL someone and die for you if it was needed. Including creepy fans and harrassing ones who love to be a pain, he always puts them in place.

T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

He tries really hard, but when he fails he always has a backup plan including on anniversaries when he tried to fix breakfast but gave up and got his personal chef to make something last second thankfully.

U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)

A really bad habit of his would probably be leaving his shoes all over the house in different spots, and a boundary for you to trip on if you arent looking. Even sometimes he leaves the toilet seat up and started laughing once when you nearly fell into it... which earned him the silent treatment.

V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

Hes not insecure at all about his looks but he does care about how he does look, and in your case when you feel iffy about a outfit he does compliment you and make sure you feel worthy.

W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

Hes admitted it many times. Yes.

X = Xtra (A random headcanon for them.)

It had been horrifying when Joe decided to bleach and buzz his hair, but during the bleaching process he wanted to touch it up a bit more. So here you were sitting on the bathroom counter as he stood inbetween your legs as you got ready to put the bleach on his already bleached hair, until he asked you the most dumbest question ever.

"After I wash this out do I need to wash my head again, I mean im practically bald." Joe said

"Unless you want to sleep on the couch for being so nasty I'd advise you do wash your hair when you shower.

Y = Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)

Definitely cheating or flexing off everything you have. He wants someone true and humble but a bit cocky.

Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habits of theirs?)

He snores lightly which is acceptable and he is very clingy in bed, he wont let you up to use the bathroom at night due to his strength of holding your waist at night even when unaware.

notes: if you want fluffy and smutty moments like this, go check out my new series it couple!

[hsdiaries]

Oh Anna.

4.9k words - LHH!harry x best friend!original character x Niall.

Threesome, oral f & m recieving, p in v. Slight praise, slight dom.

Harry & Niall play a game on who can make Anna come more.

I pushed through the crowd, making my way to the back of the house. I hated parties, truly everything about them was pointless to me. Drunken fake conversations with people I wouldn't even remember tomorrow. I wasn't planning on coming, I was already in my bed when Anna texted me.

Anna:

Please come Haz. I want you here.

That was all it took and I was out of bed in skinny black jeans and a baggy grey tee; hair tied up in a bun. Now I was here, pushing my way through the crowd at Niall's house; all because his girlfriend said she wanted me here.

Yeah, that's right, his girlfriend.

Anna, Niall and I had been best friends for as long as I can remember. Niall and I always fighting for her attention since the moment we met her.

Obviously he won.

Yet, I was never fully convinced that he won every bit of it. She never stopped being flirty with me. Never stopped being touchy. Never stopped staring at me with those damn honey eyes.

I finally spotted my friends at the back of the house, on the normal grey couch we would all always congregate at. I pushed through the final group of people, as Niall turned and faced me.

"H! You came! What the hell?" He said walking over and embracing me. I chuckled and nodded.

"Decided I missed your pale Irish arse," I raised my eyebrows at him, causing him to laugh a big belly laugh.

"What's so funny?" I heard the sweetness of her voice behind us, and I released Niall, turning to face in her direction.

"Nothing, just Niall's face." I shrugged and he shoved me as we both laughed.

Anna giggled, her bottom lip disappearing behind her teeth before pursing out softly, "I mean, sometimes." She moved her honey brown eyes from me to wink at Niall.

"Yet you love me." Niall said, leaning close and kissing her nose, making me look away.

"Sometimes." She responded, glancing over at me. She was wearing a green crop top, high waisted jeans. She moved over to hug me and the smell of Black Opium filled my lungs. It was her signature scent.

"Thanks for coming." She said once Niall turned his attention back to the group. The pink of her lips was almost red today, I loved how the plumpness of the bottom always settled on her chin a bit.

"Only for you. Just remember that." I winked at her as she let me go, a smirk appearing on her face.

"Sooo, I brought us something..." she said addressing the group while still holding my gaze.

"And what would that be?" Tanya said, Anna moving her attention over. She reached into her pocket, pulling out a small baggie with blue pills. Blue pills this group was really familiar with.

Tanya's eyes widened and she snatched the bag waving it around at the group, "Baby Anna always pulling through!" She quickly opened the bag, taking one out and popping it in her mouth like it was candy. She passed the bag around, our group each taking one. The baggie got to me and I grabbed it, handing it back to Anna.

"That's yours, H." She said, just looking at the bag then back at me.

"Not tonight, Anna." I said, and instantly she had those eyes. The soft ones, that narrowed in such a sexy manner.

"Please H. We have so much more fun." She pouted, her hand on my arm, causing me to swallow hard. Niall wrapped his arms around her waist pulling her towards him.

"Yeah, H, come on." He pretended to pout, fluttering his lashes at me causing me to laugh.

"Alright, alright, but you lot are responsible for waking my ass up tomorrow!" I said, emptying out the last pill in my hand before popping it in my mouth. Anna smirked, peeking up at Niall then back at me.

"Deal." She said, biting her lip.

—

Everyone started to feel the drug around the same time. It became an instant love fest. Hugs, kisses and so much touching. This was the normal with us, a giant orgy of a fucking friend group. Truth was everyone had fucked, touched, kissed done just about everything with everyone.

Except Anna and I.

It was the one boundary I never crossed.

But tonight, I wanted to cross it a million times over. I sat on the couch as everyone was up dancing. Tanya had found herself attached to my neck, her legs across mine as she nipped, sucked and kissed at my skin. She was trying to work me up, to get me to return the same lust towards her, but my eyes were fixed on Anna as she danced on Niall.

I watched as she reached her hands up, wrapping around Niall's neck, her perfect ass moving in motions that would drive any man wild, pushing back against him. He had his hands all over her, along her waist line, her hips. I saw him reaching between her legs, applying pressure in ways I knew I could do better. She tossed her head back onto his shoulder, turning her face so she could suck at his neck. I closed my eyes, pretending Tanya was Anna. Pretending she was dancing on me, her ass moving against my cock, it hardening at the idea of being that close to her.

I opened my eyes, looking back over at her and to my surprise she was already looking at me. Her eyes were skimming over the situation that was Tanya, her lips pursing. She shook her head, using it to call me over. I wasn't sure at first, until she mouthed the word.

"Come here." Her lips curled and I didn't hesitate.

"'Scuse me." I said pushing Tanya gently off of me.

"Harry, what the fuck!" I heard her say, but it didn't matter because I was moving straight to where I was being called.

I moved to stand in front of Anna, licking my lower lip, "You called."

She giggled and nodded, peeking up at Niall, "Baby, can I dance with Harry?"

Niall opened his eyes, as if coming to for the first time in a while, clearly on more than just the molly, "Yeah, that's fine." He said kissing her neck, "Just for a little." He started to let her go and she quickly grabbed his arm, turning around to face him.

"No, I want to dance with both of you." She said slyly, her hand moving up his arm. He looked down at her hand, then back to her face. I couldn't help but raise an eyebrow, feeling overwhelmed by everything going on. I wanted to touch her already, and I didn't want to wait for his response.

I moved forward, wrapping my arm around Anna's waist, pressing my cock into her ass. I was already hard and I wanted her to know it. I felt a pang of energy flow through me as she rolled her hips softly back, grinding on me. I felt my eyes want to close, but I had to do something first. I had to make Niall think this was his idea.

"She thinks she can handle us both mate, ain't that a funny thought." I said, smirking over at him. He narrowed his eyes a bit at me, taking in the situation then shaking his head.

"We ain't doing this mate. Not with her." He said, running his hands through his hair, watching my hands move over her stomach.

"Doing what?" Anna said, a slight innocence that didn't suit her layering her voice.

I took a chance, the risk of Niall decking me was something I could take. I turned my face into her neck, running the tip of my nose along the length of it. I heard her inhale sharply, pressing my lips against her neck. I didn't kiss her, I just spoke against it.

"Niall and I, we used to have a certain thing we liked to do. It was a game almost." I said, pressing a soft kiss against her neck.

I heard her hum softly, a slight laugh escaping her lips, "Mm, a game? What was the game baby?" She said, pulling him closer to her. Niall's eyes searched Anna's face before his eyes shifted to me.

"Haz..." he said, his face so serious.

"He's scared I'll win if we dare to play again." I smirked, and he cocked his head to the side.

"You forget I have the upper hand here Styles." He said, challenging me, so I knew my taunting was working.

"And yet, I'd still win." I said, raising and lowering both my eyebrows, my lips moving back to Anna's neck causing her head to fall back slightly.

That's when it happened, the switch in Niall's head, "We used to see who could make a girl come more. That's the game."

Anna's head went straight, her face turning to me and then to Niall, "But then couldn't one of you just lie?"

"Oh no, Anna," I said, my hand wrapping around her neck, my thumb and pointer finger applying the softest pressure. I moved my lips to her ear, "We did it at the same time, taking turns. Whatever worked."

"Oh..." she swallowed, her face turned to me, and I loosened my grip on her neck a bit, then back to Niall. She licked her pink lips, "I wanna play." She said softly.

Niall took a deep breath, swallowing hard before he glared up at me, "Fine. Once everyone leaves, until then, keep your hands off her." He pulled her out of my arms and I chuckled, quickly reaching down and adjusting myself. I threw my hands up in defense and nodded.

"Hands off. 'Til later anyways." I smirked.

—

Everyone had slowly left the party, I sat on the couch, sipping on a whiskey. I laid my head back on the couch, closing my eyes, the molly was making me jittery at this point, but I didn't know what to do with all the extra energy.

As I sat, I felt someone climb on me, a leg on either side of me. My freehand moved to feel a bare leg, making me question who it was; but it was the damn Black Opium that let me know it was Anna. I smirked, keeping my head back and eyes closed.

"Is it game time already?" I teased and she giggled. I was surprised to feel her lips on my neck, my senses flying out the window the moment it happened. She kissed up to my ear, biting it softly.

"Niall's just locking up. I told him I was going to get started." She said, before pressing her lips on my earlobe.

Fucking hell.

I opened my eyes, sitting up and she pushed back so we could lock eyes, "Be an angel and place this down for me." I said, before quickly downing my whiskey and handing her the glass. I held onto her waist as she bent back placing the glass on the floor. She was in just her crop top and lace burgundy thong. I helped her sit back straight on me, but I pulled her closer to me, so our faces were inches from each other.

"I'm going to win," I whispered, "And you're going to regret not picking me."

Anna's POV

I searched his eyes and swallowed hard. There was a darkness that filled his eyes, just as his hand cupped my face pulling me in and kissing me deeply. His tongue quickly finding mine. For a moment I didn't know what to do with my hands, still completely stunned by his initial comment. Before I even had a chance to think about it, I felt someone pull me off of him; flipping me around. My back was pressed into Harry, both of us falling back against the couch. Niall leaned down, biting at my lower lip, before kissing me deeply. He broke the kiss, looking over my shoulder at Harry, "I'll start."

He winked, standing up straight and slipping off his shirt; before lowering himself back down. He slipped his arms under the bend of my knees, slipping me down Harry's body so that my ass was hanging between the open space of Harry's legs. He dropped down to his knees, his lips moving up right thigh, placing kisses up it. His tongue moved up my thigh, skimming along the front line of my thong; tracing the bend of my upper thigh and hip. It drove chills through me, his lips moving to my center, his tongue lapping on my clit over the thin material of my thong.

My head fell back, remembering I was laying on Harry. I peeked up at him and he smirked, his hands soon on my body. His hands were so big, strong as they touched me, moving over my tits. He palmed at them over my crop top, my nipples hardening and I wanted nothing more than for him to slip it off me. Meanwhile, Niall's hands were on my hips, pulling my thong down and off my body. He bit at my legs as he made his way back to my middle, his tongue soon met my folds, moving my wetness along every part of my center.

"Mmm," I hummed, my hands reaching down into Niall's hair and as if I was giving him too much attention; Harry's hands pushed down my top, one hand on each of my tits, his fingers teasing at my nipples.

His lips were on my cheek, placing kisses on it as his hands moved on me. His lips moving down to my ear, whispering softly, "You feel good, Anna?" I felt myself nod, as Niall's tongue rolled on my clit, he sucked at it, causing my eyes to roll back, "You like when he eats you out like that angel? His tongue taking in your sweetness."

His words made me push Niall's head down further on me, his tongue moving down my slit, creating a figure eight motion along my opening, up to my clit. Each time he reached my clit he would suck on it softly, building an anticipation in me for every time it would come. Niall knew it drove me insane and he was using it to his advantage.

"Oh god, yes." I moaned out, and Harry pulled at my already hard nipples, causing me to yelp from the mixture of pain and pleasure I was feeling. He slapped my tits, palming at them to soothing the pain, and I heard myself whimper at the sensation. He did it, again and again, Niall adjusting himself to slip two fingers inside of me, instantly curling in me and meeting my sweet spot.

"Oh, fuck, Ni—that feels so...oh god." I moaned, my hips beginning to buck towards him, his fingers curving in me, his tongue on my clit. I felt every bit of me tremble at the feeling of being touched like I was, Niall's gentle roughness, mixed with Harry's aggressive nature was driving me to my edge.

"That's it angel, does he feel good? Do you feel good being eat out like that by him, hmm?" His hand moved up to my neck, choking me as his other hand kept rolling my nipples in his fingers. Niall moved his face, his thumb replacing his tongue on my clit, his fingers still moving inside me, quickly along my g spot, in and out.

"Look at me, petal." He cooed at me, and I bit my lip, struggling to move my eyes to him, "Come for me love." He encouraged me as my eyes found his. His thumb moving quick circles over my clit. My mess was clear on his chin and when he licked his lips, my back arched.

"Oh ... fu .. Niall." I moaned his name, my head falling back. Harry turned my face to his, kissing me deeply, his tongue running past mine. I moaned into our kiss, feeling the knot in my stomach the quicker Niall moved his thumb and his fingers. I broke the kiss, rest my forehead against Harry's cheek, whimpers escaping me.

"Come Anna, come so I can finally show you what you've been missing." Harry whispered and that was enough to take me there. The thought alone of finally have Harry touch me in this way carried me straight to my high. I felt myself clench around Niall's fingers, my mess spilling all over him.

"Oh god, yes. Mmm..." I said, feeling my body go limp. I didn't have a moment to breath, soon Harry was pulling me up, and laying me on the couch, leaving space between my head and the arm rest. I watched as he hovered over me, I took him in, his muscles, his tattoos. He was beautiful and I couldn't deny it. He unbuttoned his pants, his hard length clearly being suffocated by his tight pants. I pushed up, trying to help him, to offer relief and he quickly pushed me down.

"He's going to need you more than me." He said, pointing with his eyes in Niall's direction. I turned to face him, he was down to just his briefs, his hard length filling them up. He walked over and kneeled down, kissing me. I reached up and pulled his face closer to mine, thanking him for my high. He groaned against my lips, and I reach down, my hand palming over his length.

In that moment Harry placed three fingers on my clit, his motions were painstakingly slow on me, but due to my sensitivity from my previous high, it felt like he was moving quickly. I broke my kiss from Niall. Looking over at Harry, I felt a whine escape me, my hips pushing forward against his fingers and he used his free hand to push me down.

"Patience, angel. I know your sensitive right now. I know this still feels so good, don't it?" He teased and I felt my eyes roll back slightly.

"Harry please, oh god..." I begged but his fingers kept moving slowly on me.

"Come here." I heard Niall say, turning my face towards him, he squeezed my cheeks softly, slipping his thumb into my mouth, "Lend me your mouth, petal?" He said as he pulled out his cock from his briefs, precum already on his pink tip. I nodded in his hold, hungry for him, feeling so many sensations all over my body being touched by both of them. He pushed his cock in my mouth, not allowing anytime to adjust, shoving his length to the back of my throat. I swallowed against his length causing him to groan.

"Fuck Anna, your mouth." He said, pulling out only to thrust back in, over and over. My saliva was all over his cock, dribbling down my chin as he moved. His groans mixed with my name and Harry's slow movement on my clit made the knots in my stomach start to form.

"You look so pretty with his cock in your mouth, Angel." Harry said, his finger still moving in slow circles on my clit, my moan vibrating against Niall's cock as he pushed it deep in my throat.

"An — fuck baby." He pulled out, ramming back into my mouth, holding my head tight so I couldn't pull away. I felt my legs start to tremble, Harry's teasing movements on my clit starting to become so overbearing I knew I was going to come again. I pushed against Niall, needing to gasp for air. He pulled out, a string of my saliva clinging onto his cock. I turned to look at Harry, his cock was in his hand, pumping up and down his length as his fingers moved on me.

"Har — Uh, Harry I'm going to come, please don't stop." I said, my head falling back as I felt my release happen. As I began coming, he began moving his fingers faster on me, moving quickly from side to side on my clit. I screamed out in pleasure, "Harry, please." I moved my hand down to grab his but Niall quickly stopped it, wrapping his hand around my wrist. He brought it over my head, grabbing the other and doing the same. He had placed his foot up on the couch behind my head. He leaned down and kissed me, his tongue finding mine as Harry's fingers kept moving quickly on my clit.

"We can't play the game if you interrupt, baby." He said against our kiss, my moans causing me to turn my head away. Niall pushed up, letting go of my hands and moving to palm at my breasts, pinching my nipples as he did. I couldn't find the end of my current high and the start of the new one Harry was causing.

"Oh, oh god...fuck that feels so good." I moaned, my back arching, my hands reaching up to grab Niall's cock in them, I moved them along his length, my palm running over his tip. I moved another to palm at his balls.

"Fucking hell Anna. Fuck." He groaned, pinching my nipples hard and tugging them up. I licked my lips, feeling my releasing coming again, Harry fingers moving quicker.

"Come for me angel, come for me" Harry said, Niall's groans lacing with my moans created the most beautiful sound in the living space we were in, "God, yours so fucking wet Anna, come all over me baby, make more of mess on me, come on be a good girl my sweet angel."

"Oh—fuck, fuck, fuck." I yelled out, my legs trying to squeeze shut as he made me come again, an orgasm like I had never felt before shot through my body. I didn't have a moment ride it out, to come down from it, because soon Niall was sitting me up.

He sat on the arm rest of the couch, pulling me up so that my legs were between his. He held my body up, so I was hovering over him. I felt him wasting no time, rubbing the tip of his cock against my opening. The thing about Niall was, his cock was not only big in length, but in girth as well. He began pushing himself in me, lowering me onto himself. I moaned out in pleasure, my hands gripping onto his thighs. I was so wet, I had no problem adjusting around him. He moved me up and down his cock, my hips rolling on him each time he lowered me down.

"Niall, you feel so good." I moaned, tossing my head back onto his shoulder, I turned my head, kissing at his neck, biting it causing him to groan. I could see Harry out of the corner of my eye moving towards us on the couch. He stopped right in front of us on his knees.

I watched as he lowered his head down, his tongue finding my clit, rolling circles on it as I rolled my hips on Niall's cock. In doing so I kept pushing against his tongue, my head pushing back further on Niall's shoulders, my moans escaping me as my hand reached down and tangled itself in Harry's hair. His bun had become loose and messy, and I wanted it completely out. I pulled his mouth off me, pulling him up so we could lock eyes, Niall beginning to thrust fast into me as I kept rolling my hips.

"Fu—Fuck, oh god yes Niall...fuck." I said, all while holding eye contact with Harry. He narrowed his eyes at me, reaching between my legs, moving his fingers roughly against my clit, causing screams to escape me.

"I thought it was a game?" I said, forcing the words out of me.

"Fuck the game," he said, moving his fingers on me faster, he moved his body closer to mine, kissing me deeply, his tongue messily moving on mine. I felt Niall yank my head back by the hair, moving my lips to his but this didn't stop Harry. He moved it kiss me as well, all of our lips moving against each others, Niall's cock thrusting deeper inside me, Harry's fingers slowing down against my clit only to speed up, rolling along it, moving side to side.

"Oh, god, fu—uck...please..." my moans were interrupted by Harry taking control and kissing me deeply, his tongue running along mine, as his fingers kept moving on me. I could feel ever single one of my muscles tense up. I was so close to my high. I gripped onto Niall's thighs so I could bounce on him. Moving up and down his length, squeezing against him as I did, causing him to groan.

"Fuck Anna, fuck baby." He said, thrusting up as I moved my body down, hitting right against my sweet spot, pushing me over the edge. I felt every muscle release, I felt my release all over him. I broke from my kiss with Harry, my head tossing back as I moaned out in pleasure. Harry's mouth moving to my tits, sucking them as I rode out my high on Niall's cock.

"Come 'ere." I heard Harry say, my head falling back straight as he pulled me off Niall. He quickly flipped me so I was laying on the couch, bringing my left leg over his shoulder. He held his cock in his hand, rubbing against my opening, his thumb on clit. He began to slip inside me, his eyebrows furrowing as he hissed.

"God damn it, Anna...uh.." he groaned as he slipped inside me, my hands gripping at his biceps as he did. I took him in, in a way I hadn't ever before. His bare skin, his tattoos, they way his muscles flexed as he pushed in and out of me. He was so god like it felt unfair. As he pushed further in me, he pushed my leg toward my body, my thigh pushing against my torso. He was slipping in so deep, I felt like I couldn't handle all of him.

"Fuck, Harry...don't stop." I moaned, my eyes locked on his as I felt him pick up his pace. I for a moment forgot Niall was there until he appeared over me.

"I hate how much you're enjoying this petal." He said, reaching down and choking me, "I hate his bloody name coming out of your mouth like that." He said, Harry snickering, moving quicker in me, his strokes felt long and hard. I knew he was getting off on making Niall jealous and it was turning me on more.

"But he feels so fucking good." I choked out, knowing I was only adding fuel to the fire. I let my eyes roll back, moans escaping me as Harry kissed along my calf as he fucked me.

Niall slid his hand up to my jaw, turning my face toward his, "Open that pretty mouth petal, let me see your tongue."

I did as he asked, my tongue sticking out for him as he spit on it, before shoving his length in my mouth. My tongue immediately smooth along him, gagging as he pushed himself deeper in me. He was holding my face, his hand under my chin, groan escaping him.

Both of them, were fucking me relentlessly, Niall giving me small breaks to catch my breath before is cock filled my mouth again. Harry's thumb teasing my clit, slow and fast circles on me. He would add more of his body weight on my leg, pushing it closer to my body allowing him deeper in me.

I moaned, gagging every time I did, I was going to come again, I couldn't fight it. I knew they both were close to. Harry's movements becoming sloppy, his moans more consistent. Niall was gripping at his balls as he kept fucking my mouth, muttering my name like he did just before he came.

We were all going to come undone together, the thought making me push my hips up to meet Harry's. Niall's hand moving over my tits, pinching hard at my nipples.

And then everything went still. Quiet. Both of them groaning, exhaling that breath they had take as they came, their release filling me one way or another. Niall pulled out of my mouth, his thumb pressing on my lower lip, as I squeezed against Harry, keeping him inside me. He whimpered at the feeling, gripping onto my hips.

"Swallow like a good girl." Niall said, and I nodded, closing my lips against his thumb, and swallowing his come. I licked my lips and he bent down, kissing me deeply as Harry pulled out of me slowly, both of us groaning at the sensation. I felt him place a small kiss on my clit, then my thighs, before removing himself from me. He pushed off the couch, walking around so he was behind my head, leaning down, and shoving Niall's face from mine. He kissed me deeply and soon Niall and him were fighting for my lips.

I chuckled, turning so neither of them could kiss me. I turned back and looked at both of them, a small smirk on my face. "I'll gladly play this game again."

"Right now?" Harry teased.

"You two couldn't keep up." I winked, both of them looking at each other then back at me.

"Try us." Niall smirked, before kissing me again.

[kneelingshadowsalome]

I Never Missed You 3/3 (Bodyguard!Ghost x F!Reader)

Word count: 6.4 k

Tags/warnings: 18+ only. Romance, eventual smut, fluff, light angst, banter, pining, flirting, minor injuries, major character death, HFN ending. Lady/Knight dynamic. Unequal pairing trope. Bodyguard AU. Reader is a rich bitch (how else could she afford a PPO?)

Summary: You hire a bodyguard to protect you and hunt down the one who's been sent to take your life. This man was your lawyer's first recommendation, and you never even looked through his file because you had better things to do. But it soon turns out that this man – this Simon Riley – is very talented... Talented in driving you crazy.

A/N: A three part fic based on this request. Angst and smut and fluff (the holy trinity!) in this last part.

Part 1 Part 2

Juice spills all over the table from the oranges you press, but you don't mind. There has been a soft smile on your face all morning.

Simon's still sleeping, and you want to surprise him with a special breakfast today: scrambled eggs, freshly pressed orange juice, berries, and…

"You took my shirt."

You flinch when you hear his familiar rumble not a few feet away. The staircase wailed like a widow last night, but obviously, this man has learned to avoid the creaky spots when he wants. A goddamn heavyweight ninja...

"I'm sorry." You lick your fingers from the juice and try to feign innocence. The sleeves of his black tee reach your elbows, but you're not sorry. Nor do you feel bad about seeing him in your kitchen without a shirt.

"It was not an accusation," he says, the corner of his mouth curving a little, the dark eyes that made love to you last night giving you an approving once-over.

You approach him with a glass full of sun, but it's you he grabs in his hold. Your fingers find the scars on his back as you two embrace, and you feel an odd churn in your stomach.

"What's this…?"

Your hand floats across the embossed, white ridges that crisscross his back. The collection forms an entire mountain range, and it's chilling because you've only brushed the space between his shoulder blades.

"A reminder. To trust no one."

"No one…?"

"No one."

You remain a coward and refrain from asking for more details. You doubt he would even share them.

"I made you breakfast," you lower your gaze to the colorful palette you've gathered on the plates. Is it some sort of an instinct to want to feed a man after they've fucked you so good?

"So I see," he says, ever more approvingly. Then you're lifted on the table, next to the plates, like you're the breakfast.

Soon you're only wearing his shirt and your tiny socks, which Simon decides to leave on, too busy with getting his face between your legs. 

No one has done anything like that before… No one has chosen you over breakfast; an entire abundance of delicacies laid out. 

He licks you until your legs are trembling on that tortured back. You're pure, you're untouched by evil, and he carries your naivety on his shoulders like it weighs nothing. He flattens his tongue on you, sucks your flesh, tortures you on that table and doesn't even mind his teeth all too much. The peak stubble he hasn't yet shaved stings and burns as he moves across your folds. 

Saying that the coarse chin on your silk feels good would be an understatement. You come undone next to the breakfast, clad in golden light shining through the small window left uncovered.

You feel alive, and raw, and stellar. A shooting star, a comet high above the sky, although the space through which you ignite consists of golden rays of sunlight and the scent of orange juice. 

He takes the shirt back after he's done. After you're done and try your best to return back to earth with shaking legs. The only thing you're wearing is your socks, but you feel completely naked before him, dopey and dumb before the day has even started. Simon only licks his lips, throws that shirt on, and grabs his plate.

He dares to comment that there's no hot water. You put the kettle on with a wobble, feeling hotness on your cheeks while he sits down to eat his second breakfast like it's the most natural thing in the world: to wreck you first thing in the morning.

…............................

Simon.

He fixes the door on your fridge. He helps you clean your garage and fucks you on the table. Oily, dusty, filthy table. You go to shower after, together. You're giggling; he's smiling. Fully, now.

You want to ask him, Is this free of charge too…? Not just his cock... But his smiles. His assistance and support. The looks he grants you when you come out of the shower, ready to be licked to ruin.

He calls you his Princess to tease you just right. To get you in a state where your eyes flash with half-rage, half-lust, just before he slips inside you. He knows exactly which strings to pull – and then calls you love just when you're about to give him a piece of your mind.

You end up on the table, on the counter, on the floor. He takes you while your jaw slowly falls open from his audacity and his cock, splitting you apart with slow love. The first time he takes you in a missionary, you squirt. It's like his cock was made for you. And he dares to tease you about that, too.

"Did ya just squirt all over my cock?"

You have tears in your eyes, shame on your cheeks, and he's wetter than a wet dog down there… then he makes you squirt again, high on the lewd, obscene praise you just gave him with your pussy. 

Your cunt can't lie; he knows it by now. So it's futile to keep your lips sealed either.

Kiss me. 

That's what you would've usually ordered. But after an exceptionally quiet and passionate and desperate fuck that leaves you both catching your breath, leaves him hovering only inches from your sweaty upper lip, you whisper…

"I want to kiss you."

You expect him to laugh or mock you, at least crack a stupid joke or two. But he doesn't. Instead, his eyes drop to your lips, and he swallows with a heavy roll, then closes the gap between you two. Covers your mouth with his, uses that strong jaw to open you for devouring.

The kiss lasts long enough for you to begin breathing through your nose. Your inner walls grip him, still buried deep inside, and the gusts of exhales passing through his nostrils hit your face with pure bliss. He’s a little breathless when he parts – withdraws just enough to look into your eyes.

“Will that do...?”

There is a drunken vigor in his eyes of crushed amber, but to your shock, you hear your own question laid out before you. The one you asked when you were going to that party.

Will I do…?

Your hands find his jaw and cup his face from both sides, drawing him back to your lips.

“Yes." 

You will more than just do. 

And then you say… 

"I want more.”

He chuckles a soft scoff on your face. 

"Greedy little thing." 

Then he swallows you again. You kiss for a good few minutes while he grows half-hard inside you. It's the most romantic kiss you have shared with anyone, ever. He tells you how spoiled you are between the breaths you both catch, then spoils you some more with his mouth and tongue and cock. 

You start to curl together in the evening. Just to watch a comedy. He massages your feet and smiles more every day. It's kind of domestic, how he wrinkles his nose at your fine white wine and asks what it is in that decanter you have in your study. When you say it's just some old bourbon, he goes and gets himself a glass like he's finally made himself at home. 

It makes your heart grow thick from love. You almost forget why he's here in the first place.

When you ask him about the plan, he explains it to you in detail while kissing his way down your ribs and navel. He takes his sweet time while doing it, kissing the inside of your thigh, the hollow place below the knee, the tender skin under the knee. He kisses your calf and the ankle bone while holding your leg up for his lips with just one hand. Then he does the same to your other leg, but this time, kisses his way from ankle to thigh until he reaches…

You.

You've forgotten half the plan by then because you realize Simon hasn't looked at you like you're a steak or garbage in a long, long time. 

He looks at you like you're a queen. You could say he worships you, but the thought alone makes your heart flutter with the anxiety of a fragile hummingbird. 

Simon gets you your groceries and gets himself only a beer as a reward. You would happily offer him a case if you knew it would make him happy.

But you don't really know what would make him happy. You don't know anything about this man. You know he likes it when you're dolled up and angry. He likes you when you're sleepy, without makeup, wearing only his shirt. He likes to fuck you from behind and hold you close after. He likes to give you a wash, likes it when you wash him. He likes to watch the two tall trees outside the window sway when there's a strong wind. 

"What makes you happy?" You ask one night after you've had him in your mouth.

"Blowjobs," he answers with a straight face, and you shove him in the shoulder. Nicely. Softly.

"No, for real."

"I dunno." He sighs and turns to stare at your ceiling with a bothered look. It's a tricky question, perhaps. Or weapons, not willingly gifted. 

"Dogs," he shrugs after a while. "A day of silence. Good whiskey."

He doesn't grant you weapons. You get some rope, but not enough to choke him with it. He trusts no one.

"Why don't you like missionary…?" You continue roasting him while curling your fingers around the pale hair on his chest.

"I never said I didn't like it."

"Don't avoid the question, Mr. Doggystyle."

You prop yourself up on your elbow and place your palm flat over his heart. His stare slowly drifts from the ceiling back to you.

"Simon. Why do you always fuck me from behind?" 

He raises his eyebrows like he's innocent of the crime he's being accused of. "Not always."

"Seriously, Simon."

The smug look returns; it gives his eyes a delightful little spark and tugs at the corner of that kissable mouth.

"I like your ass."

"But not my eyes?"

The smile dies, and he gulps down a short surprise, caught between truth and dare. But then his eyes settle like the calming sea under a full moon. Stern, but not remorseless. Bold, but not heartless. If anything, he's naked and bare.

"Darlin'. Love your eyes the most."

Your heart does a backflip. You've been a fool because what else has he done but search for your eyes first thing in the morning? Given you flashes of mischief over breakfast, made love to you with those eyes as you cum around his cock? That liquid fire and smoke hasn't left you since he stepped inside this house.

You breathe together; you can feel the slow rise and fall of his chest. There was a time when you thought this man was incapable of love, but now you fear he has never been allowed to love enough.

"We never talked, you know," you whisper. His heart swells underneath your palm like a sail.

"What'ya wanna talk about?"

"Us."

"So talk."

Walls are raised so quickly you feel them knocking the warmth out of your body. It's cold, it's Antarctic, the technique he uses to withdraw. Your room turns into a kingdom of ice from the cruel, emotionless indifference he emits. 

You've been a fool, yes... And a child.

"You're making it hard," you say, noticing how the man starts to tense up under your fingertips. This is not the way, but you're not smart enough to stop your rampage.

"What happens when you've done your job?"

He doesn't sigh. He doesn't even think twice before giving his answer.

"I go back to the base."

You know now why he's called a ghost. You wonder if he was ever even here. Simon becomes a reminder for you, a reminder to trust no one.

"...Right." You pull your hand away slowly. As if it somehow helps with the pain to pretend you haven't just touched a hot stove and ended up getting your fingers burned.

He notices how you tense up far more than he. The arm around your waist goes tight, and you wonder if you've always been a bloodied steak to this brute, a stupid little princess with your wines, sighs, and wet eyes. He just doesn't want to let go of the last bites of his fine, delicious meat.

"I never thought you wanted a relationship," he says with a hollow voice, and the red rage nearly blinds your sight. You're too riled up to even yell at him.

"Love…" he tries for the last time.

"Get out of my bed."

…............................

His musk still clings to you as you descend the stairs the next morning.

He's sitting at the end of the steps with hunched shoulders and a tense back, exiled into the man he was the first day you met him. Your heart bleeds from the sight, wondering whether Simon has waited there the whole night after you kicked him out of your bedroom. But the boiling bile in your stomach forces you to lift your chin and draw your shoulders back as you walk down those steps with an audible clatter as your heels clack across the parquet.

He must've heard you before you make a racket fitting for an angered queen, but rises only after you've made it halfway through the staircase. You won't allow yourself to even look his way as he draws a deep breath.

"Love. Sweetheart."

But with that, you flash the man a stare full of despise as you walk past him.

"Don't."

"Let me–"

"Don't say a word," you take a sharp turn and raise a hand to shield you from whatever brutality he would like to stain you with. "You don't talk to me. You just do your job. Ok?"

His chest swells with another deep breath, but otherwise, this man is still as a statue again.

"Ma'am."

It takes you a while to notice he has regressed back to that term again, and you tilt your head. The movement is that of a warrior who swings her sword to a guard before a fight. He crosses his hands over his crotch as if to shield the most vulnerable parts from a low blow, but his eyes are full of hateful hurt as he gives you his most pretentious, mocking tone.

"Miss."

Your heart skips a beat – Simon becomes the thing you miss. 

A hit and run.

You have to resist the urge to grimace at the pure venom in his voice - it doesn't matter what he calls you because that tone seeps straight through your skin like lye. It hurts; it burns to see him even more withdrawn to his shell than when you first met. He retreats far beyond the front line, he goes further than the rear, and it's a bitter defeat for both of you. 

This man has rubbed your feet while you've laughed at a stupid joke in a sitcom. The same man has been inside you – night after night after night. It rips your heart to see a distant, perfectly blank expression on his face after you've seen him give you a plentitude of relaxed and wicked little smiles. 

You share the breakfast in funeral-like silence. You wish you could pay him to stay home so that you can go through your day filled with terror and longing without Simon Riley following you around.

"I've been meaning to update you on new intel about the target," he breaks the silence, and your heart feels like it's being put through a wringer. Simon hasn't even touched his breakfast. "Turns out he received training in a sniper unit."

"So?"

"There's a high chance he might prefer to use long-range weapons."

He's professional, curt, clinical. Even more so than when you first shook hands with him. And all the while, those eyes burn you; they examine you like you're the most challenging puzzle he's ever tried to solve. He's cold as ice with his words and hot as hell with that stare. Those eyes seem to pierce your clothes, they even reach under your skin.

"Right," you say without giving him a single look back.

"We have to update our protocol asap."

Our…

We.

"The protocol…" you whisper and finally look up at him. His lips draw into a thin line as he sees how your walls crumble; they didn't last even half a day.

"Simon, I can't do this," you say, your voice breaking. The tears are only seconds away. They blur your sight, but as he rises from the table slowly and takes a hesitant step towards you, you turn your head back to your toast with a snap.

"I want to change bodyguards."

From the corner of your blurred vision, you see how he raises a hand. If you didn't know any better, you could say that he's at his weakest. But the hand falls straight back and gives a twitch by his side. You wonder why he even bothers to disguise the spasm so lousily as a stretch. It's as if he wants you to see that he's in tumult too.

"I'll stay until–"

"No. Get out."

"Miss. I'll just get my things," he says, and you nod briefly. No exchange of gazes is probably the best policy after informing him you no longer need his services. It's better to rip the band-aid off with one yank than try to pretend that this relationship was something more than sexual. 

You know he came to your house with minimal belongings, a duffel bag full of spare clothes and a large case which you supposed was a container for different weapons. That is why you notice he takes a surprisingly long time to get those things and leave your house.

When he finally emerges from his room – no, not his room, but the guest room, you remind yourself – he places the luggage in the hallway and comes back to you, probably to say his polite farewells.

"You won't let me speak to you, so I wrote you a fuckin' letter."

You turn to solid stone as he places an envelope between your water glass and cup of coffee. You sit with your heart thumping in your chest as he picks up his things, walks to the door, walks out of it and out of your life.

It's one of those moments you wish you could freeze and rewind. Do everything differently so that it wouldn't have to come to this. Instead, you listen how the front door clunks shut.

Then you send your trembling fingers up from your lap and onto the pure white thing that holds his secrets. You pry it open and find yourself reading the lines, scribbled with surprisingly sophisticated handwriting, through a round of hot tears.

They cloud your vision, but they don't cloud his words.

You skim through the letter in a frenzied hurry once, then again with more control, and try to remember how to breathe.

He shares shrivels from his past, ugly, horrid things which make your breakfast nearly push up your throat. He tells you he stopped dating eleven years ago for a reason. He writes that he would rather be tortured again than make you suffer from his past and incapacities.

There are certain lines that enter your heart like a thief with the most delicate crowbar. Lines like I'm not good with words and You must know by now that I'm a broken man.

Lines like I'm not a fucking poet but I'll miss your warmth even under the desert sun.

Some lines make you want to tear the letter to pieces. Lines such as Don't throw your diamonds in the dust and I can't give you what you deserve.

He thinks you can't take his darkness, so he shelters you from it. He says he would come back to you if he could. You don't know what the hell he means by that. 

If he could? 

What the fuck prevents him?

You sit inside your empty, lonely house, confident of the fact that it is not you who prevents it. It was not you who just sent him out that door. Who commanded him to leave because you didn't need his services anymore.

The letter makes you cry, and then it makes you boil.

Such sweet words, and so many empty sentences. If only, if I wasn't, if I could.

You get the feeling that he's mocking you again. If only you weren't a princess and a spoiled brat, then perhaps he could reconsider this relationship.

You leave the letter there; you leave your coffee and your breakfast. You almost wish someone would shoot you and put you out of your misery as you call a taxi and go to the heart of the city.

You're completely numb as your fingertips brush silk and linen and all the newest designs. They curl around tiny bottles of bright nail polish and touch the perfumes made from the last free wildflowers of a burning world, but you feel nothing stir inside.

You're emptier than the echo that rings through the malls and corridors of stone; you feel poorer than all the beggars on the street. Shopping always makes you feel better. But now you want to burn all your money, throw your jewels out the window, torch all the fucking stores like some bloody anarchist. You leave every store without buying a thing and try to remember what it was to have lunch without drowning in tears that can't be cried in public.

"I can't give you what you deserve."

That's the line that scalds you most. You know what he meant when he wrote those words, seemingly humble. But your bleeding heart twists that sentence until his words are a testimony of pure rejection.

You have money, so you don't deserve love, is that it?

You want to find him and shake him. It's not about what you deserve or what he deserves. It's not about what anyone deserves. And if the bloody man thinks he doesn't deserve love only because he's made his home in suffering, then he's the last person who should be allowed to decide who deserves what.

You walk through the crowds and streets like a small whirlwind, on the verge of yelling your heart and loneliness out in the air until your vocal cords are raw. You're so riled your mind doesn't even register the gunshot.

The only thing you hear is a glass shattering next to you just before an entire boulder hits you.

His scent envelops you like a safe, warm blanket, even if that blanket weighs a ton and causes your jeans to grate and tear as you two hit the asphalt. Simon gives you bruises, scrapes and burns all across your left side as your body grinds through the dirt. 

Another shot is fired; this time, a car's glass is shattered above you, and the body surrounding you tenses until you worry your bodyguard has been hit. The bodyguard you fired this morning, who's still doing his job, who never even left you…

People are screaming and running in different directions all around and above you, but time comes to a halt as Simon rises only an inch or two.

"Stay down," he gruffs in your ear. "Don't move. Don't you fucking move, ok?"

The whole world could've gone silent from the way you only hear his voice. His words. His distress. You remain still as a stone and look up at him – your lips part because he's looking at you with impatience that's not just pressing; it's demanding.

"Yes," you stutter, "yes, of course."

Someone's pissed because a third shot sends him right back over you, and only then do you notice you're clinging to him, to his jacket and his shirt, like he's a human shield. Then the human shield speaks again, and the words that come out only make you grip him tighter.

"He has to change the magazine soon. You stay right here, ok? I'm going in."

"No, don't," your fingers curl around his clothes and try to keep him on top of you. "Don't go. I'm afraid."

I'll get you a dog. 

A day of silence. 

I'll buy you some good whiskey. I promise…

"I'll be right back," he murmurs, more softly now. "I promise." 

Then he rips himself off you. Your body misses his heat like the desert sand must miss the sun, and you realize you've ruined everything as you finally get to watch him in his element. He's agile and beautiful as he reaches for his gun, takes it out, and prepares it in a few seconds to fire death upon your faceless enemy. You've ruined everything because if Simon goes in, he might get killed – he's a human, not a shield, he's not even a weapon – and all the things you never said will haunt you for the rest of your life.

"Don't leave me," you want to reach for him, but don't dare disobey his orders. It should send you laughing: that you're finally doing precisely as he says. You finally trust your life with him, just before he leaves you, leaves you, leaves you. 

"Simon–"

"Sweetheart. I never left you."

He looks straight into your eyes. You gulp the tears now.

"I'm so sorry," you whisper, and someone is screaming; everythings a buzz, cars whir by as you tell him all the things you meant to say weeks ago. "I never wanted you to go. I always liked you. I– I think I love–"

"Shh. Don't you do this to me now."

The words are so soft you have to struggle to hear what he's saying under his breath. It's like he's talking to himself, and you realize you're an asshole, saying things like that to him when he's trying to concentrate on his mission and his job. But you just can't help yourself sometimes. No one in your life compares to him. No one has caused such a ruckus, such turmoil, such devastation and such love.

"Do what?" you whimper there, motionless on the ground as he gives you a last, painful look before his stare fixes on the piece of glass still unshattered, the dim, transient mirror of a store window he uses to locate movement in one of the buildings. 

Then he takes a peek over the car, and you hold your breath – he's the bait now, and ducks his head immediately as two more shots are fired. You don't even have the strength to scream; your whole body simply shudders from the echoing sound of pure fear – how can he play tag with death like that? 

And then he leaves. 

He rounds the car and darts for the building and the sniper; he disappears from your vision so quickly you wonder if these past weeks have been but a dream.

A hit and run.

"Do what…" you repeat on the ground and curl into yourself even though he said you shouldn't move. You figure it's not that big of a crime to go into a fetal position when you don't know if he's ever coming back to scold you for breaking the rules.

You want to close your ears from the sounds that follow – you fear you'll jinx something if you listen too closely to what happens in that building. You try to concentrate on your breaths, slowly bringing you back to your body. You haven't even noticed that there's blood running down your arm.

It's funny how you only notice the pain after seeing the flowing crimson that makes small rivers around your fingers. You don't want to look at your burning shoulder because the shock is already here. 

The searing pulse gets worse as you hear another shot, then another shot. Those sounds pound inside your shoulder and send more fire down your arm. Minutes or hours pass and you think how strange it is that everything's completely still, how bizarre it is that there are no sirens, no cars, no screaming. They've finally closed off the roads.

You only start to cry when you see that he's alive.

You try to rise from the ground to meet him – a bleeding princess, waking from her beauty sleep and realizing everything's just been a bad dream, greeting her knight in a black pair of fitted tactical pants and a pistol on his waist. Diamonds and darkness…

He rushes to you in what seems like desperation. You find it oddly beautiful that he's not only relieved to see his client is still alive and well, he's also relieved to know you're still there. That his princess has waited for him.

He falls on his knees and prevents you from rising. You're quickly wrapped in his arms, feeling so happy and safe that you don't even bother to tell him you're injured. It's just a scratch anyway. Even if your leg was blown off, you wouldn't complain about being picked up in his lap like this. 

"Shh. I got you. I got you."

He's cradling you like a child while tears stream down your face, but there's no audible sounds of crying. You weep a whole river of tears and your nose is clogged, forcing you to breathe through your mouth, but there's no wailing, no screaming, no bawling. The first words that roll off your tongue are a child's moody complaint.

"You left me," you mope as he caresses your head.

"Only for a little while."

"You came back."

"I said I would."

More tears flow, and this time you sniffle and sob. He rocks you gently back and forth as you cry in his embrace. Simon would make a good father.

"Is he…?" You whisper, then look up at him. He just nods and gives you a quick scan, drawing a sharp breath when he notices the wound on your arm. 

You're placed back on the ground as he inspects your shoulder and tells you the bullet managed to scrape some skin but has mostly just ruined your jacket. You're almost sorry that the wound is not as severe as it feels. You thought the burning sensation meant shattered bones and scarred flesh, but the scratch is no deeper than if you had accidentally cut yourself with a kitchen knife.

"No, I don't want… No hospital," you beg as he offers to take you to ER. You're not spending the rest of the day in a frigid treatment room where tired medical personnel only clean the wound and put a big plaster on it. 

"Just take me home," you plead like you're his daughter who doesn't want to go to school today. "Please?"

"Sure. Whatever ya want."

He makes a few phone calls, arranges things with the local police or something. You don't want to know anything about it. You don't want to know who got shot in that building and how.

It's not a taxi that drives you back this time. You don't know where he got a car and a driver, but the vehicle is big and black, and your head is in Simon's lap when you lie in the backseat. There's a panel between the driver's seat and the rear, so you don't even know who's driving, but you're only grateful for the privacy after the crazy morning followed by a murder attempt. You look up at Simon, who looks back at you for the first time while you're in a car together.

"Why did you become a soldier?" You ask, not knowing why you're whispering. He's holding your hand – a simple, wholesome thing to do, but his grip on you is solid and warm and feels equally as intimate as the times this man has been inside you. 

"I wanted to help people." 

"By killing them?"

"By saving those I can."

He keeps a hand on your cheek too. Simon has spoken softly ever since you were fired at, has been humane and caring and tender, and you realize… This man is naked before you; he's stripped bare from all pretenses. 

And he's not darkness. He's not a skeleton or a dead man or even a soldier.

He's a beacon in the night.

"You did a good job," you squeeze his hand softly.

The last glass-like veil in his eyes shatters, but far more softly than those windows shot at with a rifle.

"I live to serve, Ma'am...–Miss."

"Don’t… Simon, please don’t call me a–"

He descends. He doesn't need that hand to lift your chin up to meet him in a kiss. It's not a hungry devouring this time, but a soft promise, a lover's seal. You feel the rest of the shock leave your body in his embrace. There's no more coldness, only a fragile burning.

"You never look me in the eyes," you whisper as a tear escapes from the corner of your eye. It's a silly thing to say when he looks at you with all the love in the world.

"Yes I do," he gives you a soft brush of a thumb across your cheek. His lips are right there, an inch away from yours. "How could you have missed that?"

He's right, as always. The dark love almost swallows the brown of his eyes as he looks at you, shining light on you as he has shined for days, for weeks now. How could you have missed that, indeed? You raise a hand to cup his cheek, not caring about the pain, not even mourning that your blood stains his chin. He doesn't seem to mind at all, so why would you?

When you arrive at your house, he drives away the loneliness, sorrow, everything a rich girl can fear by carrying you in his arms, stepping over the threshold with you like you two are married now.

He peels your jacket off with affection and tenderness, tends to your wound and wipes away the blood that has caked dry all over your arm. The gash has bled a lot for such a small wound, and you purse your lips from how accurately it reflects your feelings for him.

He ties the wound, checks at least two times he's not tying it too tight. His care breaks your heart, because you don't know whether he will leave you after this. There's nothing that keeps him here anymore – there's no way you can keep Simon Riley to yourself. So you abandon him first for the second time, ascend the stairs to your lonely domain while he cleans up the small mess in the bathroom.

It's a small miracle that he follows you. He opens the door to your room without knocking – not because he's entitled to your privacy, but because there are no more barriers between you two. You're gathered in a stout embrace for the second time this afternoon, and you wrap your arms around him to hold him closer.

"You'll leave me soon," you speak to the wall before you, to the man behind you, holding you so gently against his chest. "I'll miss you."

"Love," he murmurs behind you, you feel the words against your back as a warm rumble. "I'll come back. If you want me, I'll come back to you."

"You will…?"

"I promise."

You have no more tears to cry, so you settle for examining the stab inside your heart, the wound that will bleed you dry if no one ties it tightly enough. 

"I don't believe you."

"It's not a matter of whether you believe me."

He turns you around and lets you bathe in his warmth again, the same golden light that came through the window when he placed his mouth on you in the kitchen. It's almost frightening to know that there's nothing that can keep him from you. Nothing, except you. The only thing that has stood between you was only and ever pride.

"Simon," you breathe, a soft attempt to introduce him to mercy. "It's not a matter of what we deserve."

He blinks a few times, the chest against your side collapses a little. It's a hard reset. The corner of his mouth tugs, a beautiful betrayal of his surrender, a sign of being hit by a boulder – your boulder, finally bringing the rest of those walls down.

"You think so...?"

"Yes. I think so."

He brushes his knuckles across your sternum – a familiar motion that always manages to lift your heart. You used to think it was foreplay when it was in truth, an attempt to touch the organ said to be the house of love.

You think about the times his harsh breaths have hit you just before he cums, the urgent praise he's peppered you with merely seconds before you've cried from pleasure. Can't get enough of you pet, you’re fucking perfect, 'm gonna make you cum, sing for me, just like that... 

You always thought it was a catalogue of shallow lust when it was an offering of naked devotion. 

He was as vulnerable as you when you drifted through space together, when you drowned in his stunning midnight sea. He was catching fire and burning too, again and again until you were both satisfied and sweaty. He always held you close after, panted desperate love on your skin, planted kisses on your collarbones and neck before resting his head on your heart. Settling there, over your pulse, like he had finally found his way home…

The hand glides between your breasts and molds itself over your waist. It fits there like a second skin. You're relatively sure his hands were made for holding you. 

"You asked what makes me happy," he says, completely naked and bare. The heavy love surrounds you with warm safety; your breath flows freely as you await his confession, the last secret revealed. "I think you know, love."

You know. It has finally dawned on you. What you didn't know was that tears of hope could feel like fire too. You've never been more eager to burn.

"Now keep those pretty eyes on me."

[luckyroll3]

Crush

My Masterlist

Summary: Years after hearing the confession of his crush, Professor Elise Richards never expected to see her former student, Han Jisung, again—she also never imagined he’d turn into a global K-pop sensation. But when he returns, confident and breathtakingly grown, he reminds her of the promise he once made: to look her up in five years. Now a man who knows exactly what he desires, Jisung is determined to claim the woman who captivated him, and Elise finds herself unable to resist him.

Han Jisung x Reader (f); Smut; Professor/Student

Warnings: This work of fiction is intended for 18+ audiences only. Includes explicit sexual content, graphic language, marijuana use, etc. Author chooses to not extensively tag in order to preserve some elements of storytelling.

Word Count: 14,169

Dr. Elise Richards sighed contently as she strolled along the moonlit beach, the sand between her toes feeling like liquid silk, cool and smooth against her bare feet, and the salty breeze playing with her curly hair. She inhaled deeply, the marijuana smoke curling from her fingers like lazy tendrils against the twilight sky as she savored the moment of solitude and reflection. Another semester finished. Another year of academic bullshit behind her.

She rolled her shoulders, feeling the tension from grading papers and getting final grades uploaded before the deadline dissolve with each step along the deserted shoreline. The waves crashed rhythmically against the shore, their soothing ebb and flow easing her into meditative thought. The joint dangled between her fingers, a small act of rebellion against her meticulously structured professional life. One drag. Then another.

The chill in the air became more pronounced as she continued to walk. Shivering slightly, she wrapped one arm around herself, hugging her slender frame tight as she wished she had chosen a hoodie and sweatpants for this impromptu excursion, instead of the longed-sleeve t-shirt and jean shorts doing nothing to keep the cold out. The thin fabric of the tee brushed against her nipples, hardening them against the chill. The sensation lingered in her mind, mixing with the buzz from the weed. 

A bonfire in the distance caught her attention — a warm orange pulse against the deepening navy of the evening. Music drifted, indistinct but rhythmic, punctuated by bursts of laughter. Her curiosity tugged at her, a subtle magnetic pull drawing her gaze toward the light.

As she neared closer, Elise could make out the silhouettes of people dancing with carefree movements. The closer she got to the fire, she realized it was a beach party. She wasn't planning to interrupt whatever celebration was happening. Just observe. Just breathe. Just exist in this moment.

Her body moved with practiced grace, each step deliberate yet casual. The music grew louder. The fire's glow more inviting. She kept walking.

As she approached, the silhouettes around the bonfire became clearer. T-shirts and sweatshirts with her university's logo caught the firelight — students, unmistakably. A soft, involuntary smile played across her lips. They looked so young. So alive. She took another drag from the joint as she started to walk past, invisible. 

"Dr. Richards!" So much for invisible.

She turned to find Han Jisung, one of her current students, beaming at her with his irresistible smile, so electric it lit up the space even in the darkness. The firelight danced across his youthful features, accentuating his cute chipmunk-like cheeks, sharp jawline and mischievous eyes. He was surrounded by a group of equally energetic students, all clutching cans of beer or red solo cups as they laughed and danced.

“Jisung,” she said, surprised. “What are you doing here?”

“It’s my birthday. Just a little low-key celebration for getting older and the end of the semester.” Jisung's eyes sparkled — part mischief, part genuine excitement. "You should join us," he said, his invitation hanging in the salt-laden air between them. “Since it’s my 20th, I can make an exception to the guest list, especially for you.” His eyes traveled down and up her body slowly, stopping for a second to linger on her nipples protruding through her shirt before landing back on her eyes. He raised an eyebrow and smirked. Twenty years old, all possibility and potential, radiating a confidence that bordered on audacity.

Elise laughed, captivated by his playful charm and the way his dark eyes shined with hope. The wind shifted and she brought the joint back to her lips, pulling slowly as she watched him. The night seemed to pause, waiting for her response.

Ah, fuck it, she thought to herself. "For a few minutes," Elise heard herself say, her feet already moving towards the group.

Jisung's grin widened, triumph and excitement dancing in his eyes. He shuffled, creating space beside him, patting the sandy ground in clear invitation.

Her internal monologue was a mixture of caution and genuine curiosity. She knew the risks. A professor, fraternizing with students. Off-campus or not, it was a delicate line. But something about Jisung — his unfiltered enthusiasm, his raw charm — made her want to lean into the moment. Plus, it was the end of the semester; he was technically no longer her student.

As she settled near the fire, Jisung leaned close. His proximity was warm. Intentional. Charged.

"You're not gonna report us for drinking, are you?" he teased, a beer bottle already extended towards her.

Elise's laugh was low. Smoky. "What happens off-campus," she drawled, taking the cold bottle, "stays off-campus. Especially if someone keeps my little herbal indulgence a secret." She waggled the half-smoked joint meaningfully, then offered it to him in exchange.

Jisung's eyes gleamed. A silent, playful agreement. He took the joint delicately between his fingers and brought it to his lips. 

“Happy birthday, by the way,” she said as she took a swig of the beer. “Twenty will definitely be one of the best years of your life. I had a lot of fun in year 20.”

“Thanks. I hope so,” he replied as they both settled into silence and watched the others. 

The flames danced hypnotically, casting a warm glow across the faces gathered around the bonfire. Elise sank into the sand, feeling the grains shift beneath her as she got comfortable. The heat from the fire warmed her skin, a pleasant contrast to the cool ocean breeze. 

Despite the age gap and her role as his professor, Elise felt oddly at ease in Jisung’s presence. There was something disarmingly charming about his boyish grin and tousled hair. Over the past few months, she came to know him pretty well, given that he was a frequent visitor to her weekly office hours. It started out with him needing advice on how to succeed in her class since he wasn’t really a “science person” as he described it. Then it became him checking in with her weekly, simply because he enjoyed talking with her. His constant presence every Thursday afternoon—sometimes for 15 minutes, sometimes for the full hour—became something she had started to look forward to each week. He was adorable, funny, sweet, and she found it endearing that he wanted to talk to her about music, books, life.

"Want another hit?" Jisung asked, offering her the joint they'd been sharing.

Elise accepted it gratefully, taking a long drag. The smoke filled her lungs, heightening her senses. She watched through heavy-lidded eyes as Jisung's friends tossed a football around, their laughter carried on the salty air.

"So what’s your final verdict on your semester abroad?" she asked, turning to face Jisung. The firelight danced in his dark eyes. 

"It's been amazing," Jisung replied enthusiastically. "I'm so grateful I got accepted into the music program here. My skills have grown so much these past few months."

Elise nodded, recalling his talent from the few times she'd heard him perform at campus events. He had invited her to every performance he had, and when she was available, she went. "You're very gifted," she murmured. 

He launched into animated descriptions of the lifelong friends he'd made, pointing out the ones who were present and the adventures they’d had this semester. Elise found herself captivated by his infectious energy and genuine passion. 

As they continued to chat and pass the joint back and forth, Elise felt a warm contentment settle over her. The alcohol and weed lowered her inhibitions, allowing her to relax fully into the moment. She found Jisung’s gaze lingering on her lips as they spoke, and she wondered what he was thinking about. Her own eyes darted every once in a while to his very pink pout.

Shaking off the inappropriate thought, Elise took another swig of beer. "I'm glad you enjoyed yourself," she said. "College is about more than just academics. It's about growth and new experiences."

Jisung's eyes locked onto hers, an intensity in his gaze that hadn't been there before. "Speaking of new experiences," he began, his voice low. "I never expected to be sharing a joint and drinks with my professor on the beach at midnight."

"Careful," she warned, her tone playful. "This is our secret. This is between us and your 18 closest friends here." She laughed as Jisung's grin widened.

"Copy," he confirmed amused.

The distant sound of laughter and splashing reached Elise's ears as Jisung's friends disappeared into the dark water, leaving them alone on the beach. A warm breeze caressed her skin, carrying the scent of salt and smoke. She took another long drag from the joint, savoring the pleasant buzz that had settled over her, before passing it back to Jisung.

Beside her, Jisung shifted closer. His thigh brushed against hers, sending a tiny jolt through her body. Elise glanced at him, taking in his flushed cheeks and bright eyes. 

"Dr. Richards," he said softly, leaning in. His breath was warm against her ear. "I need to tell you something."

Elise quirked an eyebrow. "Oh? What's on your mind, Jisung?"

He gazed at her intently, a mixture of nerves and determination in his expression. "You're the most captivating, beautiful woman I've ever met. I... I had to tell you before I leave. The semester's over and I'll be going back to Korea in a couple days."

Elise's eyes widened slightly in surprise. She hadn't expected such a bold confession from her usually reserved student. A warmth spread through her chest that had nothing to do with the joint or beer.

"I know I'm probably just drunk," he continued, "but I needed to get it off my chest. You're incredible, Dr. Richards. Smart and funny and so damn sexy."

His eyes dropped back to her lips for a moment before meeting her gaze again. The raw desire she saw there made her pause. 

Elise chuckled softly, trying to lighten the suddenly charged atmosphere. "Oh wow. You’re feeling bold tonight, huh?” He smiled shyly, but didn’t look away. I'm flattered, Jisung, truly. But this is probably just a little youthful infatuation with an older woman."

"I don’t think so," he insisted. "I know what I feel. Plus, you’re only six years older than me. Not technically an ‘older woman’."

Elise's heart raced as she stared into Jisung's earnest face. Part of her wanted to give in to the heat building between them. To throw caution to the wind and see where this unexpected connection might lead. 

But the responsible part of her mind whispered caution. He was her student. Young and likely with a crush. It wouldn't be right to take advantage, no matter how tempting. No matter that he was technically an adult and also technically no longer her student. No matter that she probably wouldn’t see him again given that he was moving back to his home on the other side of the globe. 

This wasn’t the first time a student had hit on her. It was usually the self-assured student athletes, who often assumed because of her casual dress and youthful appearance that she was a fellow student. Yet, once they learned she was a professor, their overconfidence led them to flirt and/or ask her out. Each time, she immediately shut them down, leaving no room for doubt about her lack of interest. But this attempt by Jisung was certainly the cutest. 

"I appreciate the compliment, Jisung. But you're young. There's a whole world of experiences waiting for you. Don't waste your time pining after a professor."

Jisung's face fell slightly, but determination still burned in his eyes. His hand found hers in the sand, his fingers intertwining with hers. "I'm not wasting anything," he insisted. "What I feel for you is real."

Elise felt a flutter in her stomach as Jisung's unwavering gaze held hers and her chest tightened at the sincerity in his voice. The crackling fire cast a warm glow on his youthful features, accentuating the determination etched across his face. She couldn't deny that there was a pull she felt towards him, though it wasn’t strong, but she knew better than to indulge in such dangerous territory.

“You’re sweet, Jisung,” she murmured, her voice low and tinged with affection. With a soft sigh, Elise leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek. His skin was warm and smooth against her lips, and she caught the faint scent of sea salt mixed with his citrusy musk cologne. As she pulled back, she noticed his eyes had widened in surprise, a faint blush creeping across his cheeks. "Live your life, Jisung. Find love with someone your own age. Then get your heart broken and do it all over again. Five more times! Experience all that the world has to offer. Trust me, in a few years you'll barely remember my name."

"I won't forget you, Dr. Richards. No matter where I go or who I meet."

Elise chuckled and squeezed his hand lightly. “Listen, if you still feel this way in say, five years, and you happen to find yourself back here… look me up. Who knows what might happen then?” 

Jisung's face lit up, hope blooming in his expression. "Really? You mean that?"

"I do," Elise nodded, surprising herself with how much she actually did mean it. "Five years. If you still remember me, if you still feel this way... we'll see where things stand."

A broad grin spread across Jisung's face. "I'll remember. I promise. Five years from now, I'll be right back here, Dr. Richards."

“Call me Elise.”

“Okay… Elise,” he said, sounding out the name. She squeezed his hand again before gently extracting hers from his. 

As Elise gazed at Jisung's earnest expression, the thrill of possibility, however distant, sent a shiver of excitement through her body. She liked who he was as a person, even as a twenty-year old. She couldn’t wait to see the man he would be in 5 years. 

Elise took one last deep drag from the joint, holding the smoke in her lungs before exhaling slowly then putting it out in the sand. The sweet, pungent aroma mingled with the salty sea air and wafted over the crackling bonfire. She could feel the buzz from the weed and several beers coursing through her body, loosening her inhibitions. 

"Fuck, I needed this," Elise murmured to herself, leaning back on her elbows in the cool sand. Her eyes drifted over to Jisung, who was laughing loudly at something his friend said. 

As the night wore on, Elise found herself caught up in the carefree revelry of the students. Their youthful energy was infectious, reminding her of her own college days. But as the bonfire started to die down and the cool night air settled in, Elise knew it was time to call it a night. She stood up, brushing sand from her shorts.

"Alright kiddos, this old lady needs her beauty sleep," she announced with a grin. "Thanks for letting me crash your party."

A chorus of "goodnight professor" and "thanks for hanging out" echoed from the group. But it was Jisung's gaze that caught and held her attention as she said her goodbyes. His eyes were filled with a potent mixture of admiration, longing, and something deeper that made her breath catch. 

"Let me walk you," he offered, jumping up to join her. 

Elise hesitated for a moment, knowing she should refuse. But the alcohol and weed clouded her judgment.

"Sure, why not," she agreed with a shrug.

They walked in companionable silence down the moonlit beach, the sound of waves lapping at the shore a soothing backdrop. Elise was hyper-aware of Jisung's presence beside her, the occasional brush of his arm against hers.

"I meant what I said earlier," Jisung said softly as they neared the sidewalk serving as the transitional boundary between the sand and the main street. "You really are the most exquisite woman I've ever met."

Elise's heart rate picked up at his words. She turned to face him, ready to gently rebuff him again. But before she could speak, Jisung leaned in and pressed his lips to hers in a tender kiss.

For a moment, Elise froze in shock. But then her body betrayed her, melting into the kiss as her eyes fluttered closed. Jisung's lips were soft and warm against hers, tasting faintly of beer and marijuana. It was sweet and chaste, yet filled with unspoken longing that made her toes curl in the sand.

All too soon, Jisung pulled back. His eyes were wide, as if he couldn't believe his own boldness.

"I-I'm sorry," he stammered. "I shouldn't have done that. It's just... I don't think I'll ever forget you, Dr. Rich…, uh, Elise."

Elise's head was spinning, and not just from the alcohol. She knew she should be angry, should reprimand him for crossing that line. But a small, rebellious part of her thrilled at his touch, wanting more.

"It's okay," she heard herself say. "No harm done. Goodnight, Jisung. Safe travels back home."

With a final lingering look, she turned and walked unsteadily across the street, towards the block where her house was located. She brought her fingers to her lips, which tingled from the kiss, and her mind raced with random thoughts. 

****

Elise groaned as she hefted another stack of papers into the recycling bin. The end of semester always meant a mountain of grading followed by a mountain of cleanup. She blew a stray curl out of her eyes and reached to shut down her computer, eager to get off campus and hit the beach for some much needed R&R.

The quiet of the empty lecture hall was interrupted by a voice calling her name, and she froze, surprisingly rattled by the intrusion. 

"Dr. Richards?" 

The vaguely familiar voice made her pause, hand hovering over the power button. She looked up, squinting at the figure silhouetted in her classroom doorway. Something about that voice...

The young man stepped into the room, a playful smirk on his lips. "Don't tell me you've forgotten me already."

It took a moment for Elise to place him. Her eyes widened as recognition dawned. Holy shit. It couldn't be...

"Han Jisung?" she breathed, hardly believing her eyes. 

Memories came flooding back. Oh, how could she ever forget the charming, passionate exchange student from years ago. The bright-eyed music major taking her class as an elective who always sat in the front row, hanging on her every word, who came to every office hour just to hang out with her. The sweet, awkward boy she'd run into at that beach bonfire years ago. But the person standing before her now was... different. Gone was the boy who had been her eager student. In his place, a polished, mature man stood, oozing an air of confidence and sexuality that wasn't there before.

Her gaze raked over him, taking in the changes. The baby-faced kid in oversized hoodies and baggy jeans was nowhere to be seen. This Jisung carried himself with an easy confidence, designer clothes hugging a lean, toned frame. His jawline had sharpened, his dark hair medium length in soft waves, styled to perfection. A confident swagger in his step as he crossed the room to stand before her. But those cute cheeks and pretty eyes — warm, mischievous, captivating — were unmistakable.

"The one and only," he said with a wink.

Elise's mouth went dry as she struggled to reconcile the Jisung in her memories with the absolutely gorgeous man before her. Jesus, puberty had been kind to him. More than kind. Downright fucking miraculous.

She cleared her throat. "I... Wow. You've certainly grown up."

Jisung's smirk widened as he sauntered closer, stopping just a few feet away. Close enough for Elise to catch a whiff of expensive cologne. "I hope that's a good thing Elise," he said, voice low and sultry. “Can I get a hug?” He opened his arms wide and enveloped her tightly before she had a chance to answer. His embrace was firm and reassuring, and she hugged him back, feeling the taut muscles in his body.

Elise felt heat creep up her neck. Get it together, woman. He used to be your student for fuck's sake. She released him and stepped back.

"Jisung, it's been...," she realized she had no idea how long it had been since they'd last seen each other, all the semesters starting to run together in her head. "It's been a while, hasn't it?"

He grinned, that familiar boyish charm still shining through his newfound maturity. "Six years, to be exact, Professor." 

Hearing him call her "Professor" sent a shiver down her spine, and she suddenly felt the weight of the years between them. "I… I can't believe it's been that long," she stammered, mentally cursing herself for stumbling over her words. "You look good," she managed, aiming for casual. "Life must be treating you well. What brings you back?"

"Can't complain," Jisung replied with a modest shrug that did interesting things to the muscles in his shoulders. “My group is in town for a concert, and I thought I’d drop by, see how my absolute favorite teacher was doing." 

His voice had dropped an octave, and Elise felt her knees weaken at the newfound depth in his voice and the way he said "favorite". This was dangerous territory. But god help her, she couldn't look away from those smoldering eyes.

“Well, as you can see, I’m still here… teaching and doing research,” she said, waving her hand around the barren classroom. “But your band, huh?”

"Yeah," Jisung replied with a small smile. "I’m part of a k-pop group called Stray Kids. Have you heard of us?” Elise shakes her head. “We've been doing pretty well actually."

"That's amazing," Elise said sincerely. “And well enough to be on tour.”

“Yup. I’d actually love for you to come see us tonight, if you’re available. I can leave tickets for you and your partner at will call.”

“I’d love to see you and your group. Kind of reminds me of all your performances I saw when you were here.”

“Yeah, I always appreciated how you supported me back then. You always pushed me to be better, to chase my dreams no matter what. And look at me now.” He gestured to himself. “So, I’ll definitely see you tonight then?”

“Absolutely.”

****

Elise arrived at the packed stadium with her best friend Nicole in tow, excited to see Jisung perform live. They navigated through the bustling crowd outside the concert venue, following the steady stream of fans funneling through the entrance. Elise was still in her head trying to reconcile the suave K-pop star she had seen earlier today with the eager student who had sat in her class years ago.

As they made their way inside, Elise marveled at the sheer scale of the event — the arena was packed to the rafters with screaming fans waving light sticks and homemade signs. Ushers directed them to the VIP box seats Jisung had secured for her, and Elise's eyes widened as they stepped into the plush private area overlooking the stage.

A bottle of champagne chilled in an ice bucket next to a stunning floral arrangement with a card that simply read "Elise, enjoy the show - HJ." Elise's pulse quickened reading the note in Jisung's graceful script.

"Girl, that boy must have some serious pull to get us these spots," Nicole said as they settled into the plush seats. From here, they had an unobstructed view of the massive stage and the hordes of adoring fans already filling up the floor below.

Nicole took a sip of champagne and turned to Elise with an excited smile. "Okay, spill! What's the deal with you and this Han guy? I did a deep dive on him and his group earlier and whew, they are a big, big deal! Stray Kids are huge in the K-pop world. He's like an ace or something."

Elise raised her eyebrows in surprise. "An ace?"

"Yeah! He’s apparently crazy talented — he writes a ton of their songs, produces, and slays it on stage. He’s technically classified as one the main rappers, but he’s renowned for his amazing vocals and dance ability too. They call him the ‘Ace of the 4th Gen’ because he excels at everything. Fans are obsessed with him!" Nicole gushed.

Elise absorbed this new information with intrigue. She recalled Jisung's immense potential all those years ago, remembering the shy yet passionate performer he had been in college. It sounded like a lot had changed since then.

"I had no idea they were so popular. He just said they were doing ‘pretty well’.”

“Hmm. He certainly undersold. Stray Kids are big time; the real deal!" Nicole exclaimed. "They've won all kinds of awards, their songs top the charts, and they sell out arenas and stadiums everywhere they go. There are apparently close to 50,000 people here tonight.”

“Jisung was just a nice student in my class back then," Elise mused.

Nicole leaned in, eyes sparkling with curiosity. "Soooo... did you guys ever, you know... get close, during his exchange program?"

Elise laughed. "No, no, nothing like that. He was just a bright kid with big dreams who loved to talk and laugh. I’m pretty sure I told you about him. The one who came to every office hour?”

“Oh, the lovesick puppy?” Nicole made a cute face. “With the crush?”

“Yeah. He was just an adorable kid that I enjoyed having as a student.”

The lights dimmed and screams erupted from the audience. Elise leaned forward in anticipation.

Suddenly the deafening screams reached a fever pitch as the band members emerged from beneath the stage. Elise was shocked when Jisung bound into view. This was not the Han Jisung she remembered. In place of the shy, eager student always ready with a laugh stood a young man oozing charisma, confidence, and raw talent.

He moved with precision and power alongside the other members of Stray Kids during a high-energy hip hop number that had the crowd going wild. Elise couldn't take her eyes off of him. Everything about his stage presence exuded star quality and commanded attention.

Jisung had transformed into the epitome of a K-pop idol – his lean, muscular frame showcased in a sleeveless shirt and tight jeans. He stalked the stage with feline grace, alternately snarling into the mic with intensity and then breaking into a megawatt grin that made the audience scream. His body rolled and popped flawlessly in time with the pounding beat.

He unleashed smooth vocals and effortlessly nailed every complex dance move without compromising his breath. Elise was mesmerized, unable to tear her eyes away. During a rap break, Jisung spat fire, his intensity and flow electrifying. Elise was impressed by the verbal dexterity he displayed. His delivery was rapid-fire and nuanced, voice shifting from husky and raw to a crystalline falsetto. The wordplay was clever and complex, blending Korean and English phrases seamlessly. The fans went wild as he hit every beat with precision, seemingly without needing to breathe. When he segued back into singing the chorus, his rich vocals soared through riffs and runs that showcased his immense range.

Elise was captivated by Jisung's magnetic stage presence. Each smooth choreographed movement and confident strut sent a thrill through her core. She found herself leaning forward, enraptured by the way his body moved in time with the pulsing music.

His tight jeans hugged the curves of his hips and thighs enticingly. When he turned to prowl the length of the stage, Elise's eyes were drawn to his firm backside. She felt her cheeks flush, pulse quickening at the sight.

But he also had adorably cute moments on stage too, where he joked around with his members or the fans. Like when he was so busy reading the poster board signs held high by the audience, he hadn't realized he'd been left behind by the other members who were getting into position for their next choreographed section. He had to sprint to the back of the stage to meet them, getting into his spot just a beat prior to the start of the dance. It made Elise laugh, reminding her of how silly he was back then. 

As the set went on, she noticed subtle glances from Jisung directed her way, brief but loaded eye contact that spoke volumes. It was clear he was performing for her, wanting to impress her and prove himself. There was an unmistakable intimacy in those fleeting moments of connection amidst the chaos of the stage. Elise drank in the sight of him.

Elise shifted in her seat, suddenly feeling flushed. She fanned herself discreetly, trying to calm the heat rising within her. What was happening? This was her former student up there, though he seemed like an entirely different person.

Nicole leaned over and whispered in Elise’s ear, “This is the ‘adorable kid’?!?!?! That man oozes sex appeal.”

Elise felt her cheeks flush again and she nodded in agreement. Seeing Jisung command the stage had awakened something inside her.

"I mean, look at his body," Nicole continued. "He is smoking hot. And the way he's eyeing you while he dances? Girl, that boy is into you."

Elise shook her head, trying to clear it. "It's just part of the performance," she murmured. But deep down, she knew Nicole was right. Jisung's gaze kept finding her in the crowd, his eyes dark with unspoken desire.

The rest of the concert passed in a blur. All Elise could focus on was Jisung. His smooth moves, the way his body glistened with sweat under the stage lights, the sultry looks he threw her way. By the end, Elise was practically squirming in her seat, overwhelmed with want, desire pooling hot and urgent between her legs.

After an energetic encore, the show ended and the venue emptied out. As Elise and Nicole exited the box, a staff member stopped Elise to inform her that Jisung had invited them backstage to meet the rest of the band. Elise and Nicole made their way to the blocked off area, guided by security. When they entered the private room, Elise was momentarily taken aback. Jisung stood shirtless, a towel around his neck as he gulped water to rehydrate. Rivulets of sweat still glistened on his chiseled chest and defined abs, moving down to a snatched, yet delicate waist. Elise’s eyes landed on the tattoos on his chest and down the left side of his body. Those were definitely new. 

Jisung looked up, his face lighting up when he saw Elise. He quickly pulled on a hoodie, before moving forward to pull her into an enthusiastic hug. 

“You came!” he said. Elise inhaled his scent, a mix of his cologne and the musk of performance.

“Of course I did,” Elise replied as they separated. “I told you I would. That was an incredible show. I’m so impressed. I mean, you were always talented, but that was on another level.”

Jisung grinned, clearly reveling in her praise. 

“This is my friend Nicole,” Elise continued. 

Turning to Nicole, he gave a charming smile and introduced himself. "I'm Jisung, an old friend of Elise's. I can say that right?” He looked to Elise for confirmation.

She just chuckled. “Sure. ‘Old friend’ works.”

“Oh my gosh, you were incredible out there! I can’t believe Elise knows a huge K-pop star!” Nicole replied as she shook his hand. 

Jisung laughed, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “Nah. I’m still just me, the same goofy, awkward kid who took Elise’s class years ago.” 

His smile faded slightly as his gaze lingered on Elise, raw desire flickering in his eyes. Clearing his throat, he turned back to Nicole.

"So what did you think of the show?"

As Nicole gushed enthusiastically, Jisung's attention kept straying to Elise, who was watching him with casual interest. When Nicole had finished her review, Jisung turned back to Elise. 

“Was your partner unable to make it?” his eyebrows lifted. “I can get you some swag to take back for him.”

“Oh, I don’t currently have a partner.” Elise watched as Jisung tried to hide his excitement. 

“I’ll take the swag!” Nicole interrupted. 

“Um, yeah sure. I’ll make sure the two of you have stuff to take home.”

Just then, the rest of Stray Kids entered the dressing room, cheering and chatting loudly as they congratulated each other on a successful performance.

Jisung introduced Elise and Nicole to the members enthusiastically. Each member greeted them with a smile and a handshake before settling in different areas of the room. Elise and Nicole spent the next hour chatting and laughing with Stray Kids, feeling completely at ease with the down-to-earth group. As they talked and exchanged pleasantries, Elise couldn’t help but keep glancing over at Jisung, who was doing the same to her. 

At one point, Jisung came over and sat next to Elise on the couch, his thigh lightly pressing against hers. Leaning in, he said in a low voice meant only for her, "I'm really glad you came tonight. It means a lot to me."

Elise was highly aware of his proximity. Trying to play it cool, she replied, "Of course. I wouldn't have missed it."

She gently nudged him with her shoulder. "So Mr. Big Shot K-pop Star… what's it like being such a huge deal now? I’m told you’re the quote, unquote ‘ace’?" She used her fingers to make air quotes. 

Jisung laughed, his eyes crinkling. "I think everyone in our group is technically an ace. I'm not sure why they always single me out.”

“It's because you're amazing. But you're enjoying it, right? Getting to do what you love? Being a huge superstar?”

“I am. It certainly has its perks, but honestly, I'm still the same guy trying to make good music with my friends and connect with people. Fame is fleeting. The music and memories last."

He gazed at her intently and Elise felt her heartbeat quicken. There was a maturity and confidence in him now that hadn't been there before. And yet, that familiar, magnetic charm that she always found so adorable was still there.

“So single, huh?” Jisung continued. “I find that hard to believe.” He looked her directly in her eyes as he ran his fingers through his hair. 

“Very single. Chronically single,” she said with a laugh. “I haven’t been in a serious relationship in a few years and given my pool of options here, I haven’t really prioritized dating.”

“Interesting. Not sure what’s wrong with the guys here if they can’t see you’re a fucking catch.”

Elise smiled. “You’re still so sweet Jisung.” The comment made him start to blush. 

The door opened and several staff entered, speaking Korean and signaling for the group to head out. 

“Ah, we have to do interviews now,” Jisung said, translating the staff’s words as he stood up. He looked at Elise, seemingly hesitating before continuing. “Would you, uhm, be interested in having dinner with me tomorrow night? It would give us time to catch up properly.” 

Elise smiled at Jisung’s invitation. She had always enjoyed spending time with him, and the thought of catching up over dinner sounded perfect.

"Sure, I would love that," she replied. 

Jisung grinned back, relieved at her response. "Great, I'll make a reservation for us somewhere and send you the address. What kind of food do you like?"

"I'm not picky. You can choose," Elise said.

Jisung's eyes lit up. He quickly pulled out his phone to add Elise's number to his contacts. As they walked out of the dressing room together, Jisung turned to Elise and said, "I'm really looking forward to tomorrow night."

“Me too.”

The group members all waved goodbye as they followed the staff down the hallway.

****

The following evening, Elise arrived at the restaurant Jisung had chosen, an intimate Italian bistro tucked away on a side street. She was shown to a private table towards the back, with flickering candles providing a romantic glow. Jisung stood up to greet her, looking effortlessly stylish in a fitted black button-down shirt and dark brown jeans. 

"You look beautiful," he said, taking in her sleeveless dress, his eyes stopping at where the flared short skirt met her thighs, before kissing her cheek in greeting. Elise blushed at the compliment and the feeling of his lips grazing her skin. 

Over dinner, the conversation flowed easily as they caught up on the past few years. Jisung spoke of his meteoric rise to fame, the pleasures and pressures of life in the spotlight. He even shared about the time his anxiety got so bad that he had to take a few months off to get his mind right. Elise shared stories from campus and her research trips abroad. Throughout it all, the chemistry between them was palpable. Lingering looks, playful banter, knees brushing under the table.

At one point, Jisung reached across to tuck a stray curl behind Elise's ear, his fingers trailing down her neck lightly. 

"I'm sorry I couldn't make it back sooner like I promised," he said, voice tinged with regret. "My schedule has been nonstop the past few years." 

Elise looked at him, puzzled. "Make it back?” she repeated, confused.

Jisung's eyes widened in surprise. "Wait, you don't remember? The night of the bonfire, after I drunkenly confessed my crush, you told me to come back in five years to confirm if I still felt the same way after I’d ‘lived life’.” He chuckled. “I haven’t stopped thinking about your words since.”

Suddenly it came flooding back to Elise — the conversation they'd had on the beach as they’d shared a joint and beer a few days before he returned to Korea. The two of them sat together watching the flames dance into the night sky. She remembered the shy way Jisung had admitted his feelings for her, and how she had gently let him down, encouraging him to experience life and love to the fullest in his early twenties and to check for her afterwards. It had slipped her mind entirely over the years.

Elise smiled softly at the memory. "I can't believe you remembered that conversation," she said, touched that her words had resonated so deeply with him after all this time. 

Jisung grinned, his eyes twinkling in the candlelight. "I could never forget it. What you said stayed with me over the years. And well... Here I am, keeping my promise."

"I honestly didn't think you were serious at the time. We were both pretty tipsy and high that night." She took a sip of her wine. "So, did you manage to fall in love and live life to the fullest like I told you to?" she asked gently.

Jisung smiled ruefully. "I dated around, had a few relationships…” He shoved a forkful of food into his mouth and chewed slowly. “To be honest,” he started again, looking down slightly as a slight blush rose on his cheeks, “I was so embarrassed after drunkenly confessing to you that night," he admitted. "I thought for sure you would laugh at me or tell me to get lost. But you didn't — you were so kind and understanding instead." He met her gaze again, his eyes filled with sincerity. "I meant what I said back then. You were unlike any woman I'd ever met — so smart, confident, beautiful. I've met a lot of other women over the years, but no one has ever compared to you, Elise. None."

Elise felt her own cheeks grow warm under the intensity of his words. She glanced away, suddenly feeling self-conscious. She didn’t know how to respond to such an intense confession.

"Oh come the fuck on. I find that hard to believe," she finally said lightly, forcing a laugh, trying to diffuse the tension. "You're a huge celebrity now — I'm sure you have women, and probably men, throwing themselves at you all the time."

Jisung chuckled and shook his head. "Maybe so, but none of them hold a candle to you." He reached out and took her hand, his thumb gently caressing her skin. "I knew even back then that what I felt for you was real. But now that I'm here with you again, I realize nothing has changed. My feelings are still the same, if not stronger. I’m still getting those same flutters in my chest like I did when I was your student. Getting to see you again after all these years... it feels like fate."

Elise felt her breath catch in her throat at his words, her pulse quickening as his thumb gently caressed her hand. She knew she should pull away, but something kept her frozen, mesmerized by the deep emotion in his eyes.

"Jisung..." she started, still unsure of what to say. She fidgeted with the stem of her wine glass, avoiding his intense gaze. "This is all so unexpected. I'm flattered, truly.” She brought the glass to her lips and chugged half of it. Elise bit her lip as she savored and swallowed the wine, internally conflicted. 

She couldn't deny there was a spark between them, one that hadn’t been there all those years ago, at least not from her perspective. But the exhilarating tension had been building all evening. And even though he wasn’t her student anymore and he was no longer tiptoeing the line between teen and young adult, she felt a bit uneasy, conflicted about the potential ethical implications present. On one hand, she was flattered by his affection and drawn to his charming persistence. But on the other hand, she worried about crossing professional boundaries, even if they were flimsy. “So, what’s the next city on the tour?” she asked, clumsily changing the subject. 

Jisung chuckled softly and gave her hand a gentle squeeze before sitting back in his chair and resuming eating. “Atlanta, followed by New York and Chicago,” he said in between bites. 

Elise nodded as she picked at the linguini on her plate. “I love New York. You guys will have a great time there.”

“I can get you tickets for that show too… if you want to go. It would be great to explore the city with you. Think about it.”

“That’s generous. But the hotels are always so expensive.”

“You can stay in my room.” Elise raised an eyebrow at him. He held his hands up in defense. “I meant that you could have my room and I can easily share with one of my members. We do it all the time.”

“Uh huh,” Elise said with a chuckle, still feeling conflicted as she gazed across the table at Jisung. “I’ll think about it.”

As they finished up dinner, chatting casually in between bites, her mind raced. She snuck glances at him when he wasn't looking, taking in his matured features and confident aura. He certainly wasn't the shy boy who had stumbled into her class years ago.

They were interrupted frequently by texts flooding Jisung's phone. His bandmates were apparently having a party in their hotel room since it was their last night in town. He extended an invitation to Elise, his eyes filled with hopeful anticipation.

Elise hesitated. She knew she should make an excuse and call it a night, but the way he was looking at her made it hard to resist. The wine was making her feel warm and reckless. Before she could overthink it, she heard herself say "Sure, why not?"

Jisung's face lit up. As they left the restaurant, the charged atmosphere between Jisung and Elise intensified, the air thick with unspoken possibilities. She could feel Jisung's eyes on her as they walked to the Uber, his gaze trailing over her body appreciatively. She knew she was playing with fire by agreeing to go to the party, but the wine had lowered her inhibitions just enough to make her throw caution to the wind. Elise's mind raced as she thought about where the night may lead, her heart pounding with a mix of nervous excitement and apprehension.

She couldn't deny the chemistry between them, the palpable tension that had been building all evening. When Jisung took her hand to help her into the car, she felt a jolt of electricity from his touch. When their thighs brushed together in the backseat, the subtle contact sent a warmth sensation spiraling outwards from her core. He intertwined their fingers, pressing his warm palm against hers. 

Elise snuck a glance at Jisung as the car moved down the road. He was gazing out the window with a small smile playing on his lips. She studied his sharp profile appreciatively in the passing streetlights. He had grown into such a handsome young man. She also noticed how he had filled out in the years since she had seen him last. He was still thin, but now with toned arms, prominent pecs, and muscular thighs on full display in his ripped jeans and tailored shirt. 

The memory of their first encounter, when he was just a student in her class, seemed almost surreal compared to the celebrity sitting beside her now. She felt herself flush as her mind wandered, imagining what he would look like and feel like without those clothes...

Jisung caught her staring and smiled knowingly. "See something you like?" he teased.

Elise laughed and lightly slapped his arm with her free hand. "Don't get cocky. I'm just... impressed with how much you've grown up."

He raised an eyebrow. "Oh really? Maybe you'll be even more impressed later..." Elise shook her head in disbelief at his boldness. As the Uber pulled up to the hotel, Elise took a deep breath to steady her nerves.

They exchanged glances as they rode up the elevator together. The party was already in full swing, as evidenced from the thumping bass reaching them as the elevator neared the penthouse floor.

She felt a flutter of nerves in her stomach, suddenly wondering if she was too old to be crashing a party with Jisung and his bandmates. The oldest one, Chan, was only 2 to 3 years younger than her; she had several close friends who were his age. But most of the members were around Jisung’s age or younger.

Sensing her hesitation, Jisung gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. "Don't worry, they're going to love you," he said, flashing her a charming grin.

The doors slid open, and they were immersed in pulsing music and the chatter of voices. Jisung led her through the crowded room, one hand placed lightly on the small of her back as he guided her in.

****

The party was in full swing, music thumping and laughter filling the air as Jisung guided Elise through the sea of ​​people. His hand on the small of her back was both possessive and gentle, making her tingle with each brush of his skin against hers. 

Elise found herself pulled into conversations with various members of Stray Kids, but her attention always drifted back to Jisung. His dark eyes would catch hers across the room, holding her gaze for a moment too long before he'd flash her a devilish grin and return his attention to his own conversation. The tension between them was an electric current sizzling just below the surface, waiting for a spark to ignite it.

At one point, he pulled her over to the middle of the room to dance. As they moved together, their bodies pressed against each other, Jisung's hands roamed her body, seemingly unable to keep away. One moment they'd be casually around her waist, the next, sliding down to her hips, molding her against him. He whispered in her ear, his breath hot, “Having fun, Dr. Richards?” His voice was low and husky. 

“I am,” she whispered back.

“Good.” He pulled her flush against his chest as they continued to dance, probably much too slow for the song that was playing. 

They were interrupted by Felix calling Jisung over for shots. Afterwards, Hyunjin brought them all mixed drinks, and they joined the lively conversation amongst the Stray Kids’ members. 

Elise's glass, now empty, seemed to be the only quiet thing amidst the pulsating thrum of the party. Music, conversation, and laughter swirled around her as Jisung excused himself to fetch her another drink, his fingers trailing off her waist with a promise of return. Left standing with Chan, Changbin, and Minho, she felt the weight of their scrutiny, a curious blend of skepticism and awe.

"Seriously, Dr. Richards," Chan said with a chuckle that didn't quite mask his disbelief, "we thought Jisung was just spinning tales. He always described you like some mythical creature."

“Please call me Elise,” she said with a low laugh. 

"We didn't think you were real, Elise. Guess we were half-expecting you to have a tail and seashells," Changbin added, his eyes sparkling with mirth.

Minho nodded, his expression mirroring his bandmates' amusement. "No one could measure up to his Elise. It was like every other girl was just... pedestrian."

"Pedestrian?" She echoed out loud, her lips curving into an amused smile. His Elise, huh? Elise thought. Interesting. She leaned back against the cool wall, her eyes playfully searching the room until they landed on Jisung in the kitchen waiting for Hyunjin to finish pouring the next round of drinks. Even from this distance, she could feel the magnetism of his gaze, intense and unblinking, tethering her to him across the sea of bodies. "Sounds like I've been the topic of conversation," she replied, her voice light but edged with intrigue.

"More like the gold standard," Chan corrected with a smirk. "Six years of 'Elise this' and 'Elise that'. You'd think he was in love or something."

"Or obsessed," Changbin quipped, earning an elbow to the gut from Minho.

"Hey, it's all in good fun," Minho reassured, though his eyes glinted with the same playful mischief. "But it's clear he's smitten. Been so ever since he came back from the States."

Elise's heart skipped. Six years of carrying a torch wasn't something to scoff at, and the revelation moved something in her. 

“You two didn’t…, you know, when he was here did you?” Chan asked with a mischievous glint in his eye and brow raised. Elise pulled her gaze away from Jisung, rolling her eyes and giving Chan an ‘are you serious?’ face before he continued, “Cause that would actually explain a lot. Like why he’s so whipped!” Changbin and Minho erupted into laughter.

“Dude you’re such a dick!” Changbin wheezed out.

Elise was about to respond with something equally as snarky when Jisung reappeared, weaving through the crowd with two drinks in hand, his cheeks flushed either from the alcohol or, possibly, the impending embarrassment.

"Here you go Elise," Jisung said as he handed her a glass. His eyes moved from Chan to Changbing to Minho, who were all smirking. “They’re talking about me, aren’t they?” His voice was smooth despite the flush spreading from his cheeks to his neck and ears, clearly catching wind of his members' teasing.

"Wow, look at him blush," Changbin sang out, not missing a beat. "You'd think he's the one meeting his idol tonight." 

"Shut up, hyung," Jisung muttered, a playful scowl on his face as he nudged Changbin's shoulder. The camaraderie between them was evident, even as they ribbed each other mercilessly.

"Ah, Jisung, no need to be shy. We're all family here," Minho chimed in, draping an arm around Jisung's shoulders.

"Family that apparently knows all my secrets," Jisung grumbled, but there was a twinkle in his eye that betrayed his annoyance.

"Only the ones worth knowing," Chan said with a wink. "And trust me, your saga with Professor Richards, I mean, Elise? Definitely worth knowing."

"Alright, alright, that's enough," Jisung conceded, but his arm found its way around Elise's waist once more, drawing her in close. His touch was bold, possessive, yet somehow reverent.

Elise took a sip of her refreshed drink. “To answer your question Chan: No. At least not yet,” she said as she cocked her head to the side with a sly smirk before taking another sip. 

Changbin and Minho’s mouths dropped open in shock before they burst into uncontrollable laughter. Chan smirked back. “Ok, then professor,” he teased. “Ooh, we like her Han. She’s spicy!”

"Sorry for their lack of filter," he whispered, his breath warm against her ear. The flirtatious edge in his voice suggested anything but an apology.

"Nothing to apologize for," Elise murmured back, leaning into his embrace. "I find it endearing how much you've shared. And flattering too."

"Good," Jisung replied, his lips grazing the shell of her ear. "Because what I've said doesn't even scratch the surface of how I feel about you."

The words, raw and unfiltered, charged the air between them with an electrifying current. Elise felt her pulse quicken, her body responding instinctively to his proximity. The heat of his chest pressed against her back, the firmness of his hand on her hip – it was all-consuming, dizzying in its intensity. She took a deep breath, the scent of his cologne mingling with the fragrance of her own skin, a sensory cocktail that left her head swimming.

"Careful, Jisung," she teased with a coy tilt of her head as she turned to face him, enjoying the playfulness that danced between them. "Keep that up, and you might just get what you've been pining for all these years."

"Is that a promise, Dr. Richards?" His voice was low, a seductive rumble that matched the bass vibrating through the floorboards.

"Maybe," she breathed out, her gaze locking with his, a silent challenge passing through the depths of her light brown eyes. 

Elise felt the thrum of the music shift as Jisung guided her to a dimly lit corner, away from the crowd and his troublemaking members. The air was cooler here, the laughter and chatter from the party now a soft murmur against the backdrop of sultry beats. A velvet love seat sat unoccupied, offering a sanctuary amidst the chaos. She sank into it, the fabric soft beneath her fingers, and Jisung perched beside her, close enough that she could feel the warmth radiating from his body.

"Elise," he began, his voice barely above a whisper, yet it cut through the din with intimate clarity. "There's something I have to tell you."

She turned to face him, the proximity sending a jolt of anticipation through her veins. His eyes searched hers with an intensity that spoke volumes, reflecting the amber glow of the scattered fairy lights.

"Ever since I left for Korea," he confided, his words slow and measured, "you've been on my mind. There was a part of me that wondered about you — about us — over the years. Yes, I’ve been with other women, and as I’m sure my members told you, it always comes back to you."

The confession hung heavy in the air, weighted with years of unspoken thoughts and repressed yearnings. Elise could see the sincerity etching lines of vulnerability across Jisung's usually playful features.

"Jisung..." she whispered, unsure how to continue. Her heart hammered against her ribs, betraying the cool demeanor she clung to. This man, this achingly beautiful soul who had once been her student, was confessing a longing that he’d held onto for years.

"Say something, please," he urged gently, his hand finding its way to her knee, a touch both comforting and electric. “I know you feel something too, even if you won't admit it."

Elise bit her lip, conflicted. She couldn't deny the spark between them, the exhilarating tension that had been building all evening. She was caught between the professional boundaries she'd always upheld and the raw, undeniable chemistry that currently sizzled between them. Her mind raced with images of their shared past—his eager eyes drinking in her lectures, the innocent brush of their hands over a shared textbook, the kiss after the confession of his crush.

"Jisung, we can't," she started, “We shouldn’t."

His thumb traced circles on her skin, each loop igniting a fire within her.

"Then let's not talk about what we can't and shouldn’t do," he said, his voice dropping to that husky tone that made her insides flutter. "Let's talk about what we want to do." Jisung leaned in closer, his breath tickling her ear. "Forget about the rules for tonight, for me," he murmured. "Just let yourself feel." He kissed her gently on the neck, his lips lingering against her skin.

Elise leaned in, drawn by the gravity of his presence, her rational mind warring with the pulsating desire coursing through her. She was acutely aware of every point where their bodies touched—the heat of his thigh against hers, his hand on her knee drifting upwards, his nose grazing her jawline, the tantalizing gap between his chest and her folded arms.

"Jisung, this is insane," she breathed out, though her body leaned closer as he peppered her neck with more soft kisses, betraying her words. "We're at a party full of your fans, your bandmates..." 

"None of them matter right now," he interrupted, his gaze fierce. "You're all I see, Elise. All I've seen for so long."

The confession stripped away the last of her defenses, leaving her exposed in the face of his raw need. The room around them seemed to fade, the sounds and sights dissolving until there was nothing but the magnetic pull between them.

The bottle of wine at dinner coupled with the shots and cocktails she had since arriving at the party were doing her no favors. Fuck! she thought.

"Let's find somewhere we can hear each other," Jisung murmured into Elise's ear, his breath making her quiver. “I’m tired of sharing you with all these other people.” The laughter and music of the party became a distant hum as she considered his proposal. His eyes, dark pools of intent, locked onto hers, promising untold pleasures.

Elise hesitated, the professor in her screaming cautions into the wind. But the woman—the one who hadn’t been wanted like this in a very long time—nodded, succumbing to the seductive pull of what might be.

With a triumphant yet tender smile, Jisung intertwined his fingers with hers, leading her away from the crowd. Each step they took together was laden with urgency, their hands clasped as if nothing could pry them apart. Through the groups of people, past the pulsating lights, they moved in sync, heading toward an escape all their own.

The hotel corridor was silent compared to the suite's cacophony, their footfalls on the plush carpet the only sound. As they reached the door to Jisung's room further down the hall, Elise’s pulse raced.

He didn't waste a moment; as soon as the door clicked shut behind them, Jisung's arms were around her, pressing her back against the cool wall. Their lips crashed together in a kiss that was both a revelation and a homecoming—a fusion of heat and hunger that dulled the world to nothingness as his tongue danced with hers. The taste of wine and liquor lingered between them, mingling with the flavor of longing long-contained.

Elise gasped into the kiss as Jisung's hands began their fevered exploration over the curves he had only dared to touch in dreams. They traced a path up her sides, over fabric that felt too restrictive, too much of a barrier for the inferno building within them.

Her senses ignited, every brush of his fingertips sparking lightning beneath her skin. The scent of his cologne, mixed with the musk of desire, filled her lungs, intoxicating her further into abandon. The sound of their mingled breaths became the rhythm to which their bodies swayed.

As they broke the kiss for air, Elise's head spun, her thoughts scrambled by the fervent intensity of his embrace with a passion that threatened to consume her whole.

"I… I," she stuttered, searching for words that didn't come. How could she possibly articulate the maelstrom of emotions whirling within her? The guilt of her attraction to her former student, the thrill of transgression, and the overwhelming desire for more.

Jisung's lips traced a fiery path along her jawline, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin as he moved to her neck. "I've been thinking about this, about re-doing that kiss from the sidewalk every day for the past six years, Elise," he confessed, his voice rough with emotion. "I hope this kiss was better.” 

Holy fuck, it was, Elise thought to herself, still trying to catch her breath from the onslaught of his lips and tongue. This kiss was nothing like the last one, which was cute, innocent, inexperienced. 

Jisung continued, his lips now reaching her collarbone. “I've been dreaming about picking up where we left off, about what would have happened if I'd had the balls to ask for more." His hands continued their exploration, sliding over her ass and continuing until they were on the back of her thighs before slipping beneath her dress. "I want you, Elise," Jisung breathed against her skin. "I've only ever wanted you. I thought about reaching out over the years, but I was scared, worried you’d never see me as anything more than a student, just a kid. But I’m a man now, and I know what I fucking want." His lips continued their journey, moving to her shoulders, as his hands inched up higher beneath her dress.

"Jisung," she gasped when she felt his fingers tracing the edge of her panties, her protests losing their strength with every heartbeat thundering in her ears. "We can't—"

"I know," he interrupted, his voice suddenly urgent. "But I'm selfish, and I want this—want you—tonight." He pulled back, his eyes boring into hers, a mixture of heat and vulnerability. "Can I have you Elise?" he whispered, the sound so low she could barely hear him. “Even if it’s just for tonight. Tomorrow we can go back to our lives, but tonight... let me have all of you.” Elise, breathless and yearning, stared back at him. Despite her better judgment, her conscience silenced by the roaring in her ears, she nodded.

With a groan, Jisung crushed his lips to hers again, more urgent now, fueled by her breathless consent. This time, there was no pretense of restraint or control. This was pure, unadulterated hunger, the culmination of years of pent-up desire and longing. Their tongues dueled, battling for dominance. Elise ran her fingers through his hair, pulling him closer. Jisung’s hands slide further up, pushing her dress higher. She gasped as he slid a finger under her panties, teasing her sensitive flesh. His other hand grasped her hip to pull her firmly against him. She could feel his hardening cock pressed against her, sending spikes of heat to her core.

The passion between them ignited like a raging inferno, consuming everything in its path. One of Jisung's hands found the zipper at the back of her dress and deftly undid it, sliding it down her shoulders and letting it flutter to the floor revealing her lacy lingerie beneath. Elise, equally as impatient, fumbled with the buttons of his shirt, quickly helping him out of it so she could finally run her hands over the muscular planes of his chest and trace the raised edges of his tattoos with her fingertips. He groaned into her mouth at the skin-on-skin contact. She also undid his belt and unbuttoned his jeans, pushing them off until he was standing in nothing but his boxer briefs.

"Do you have any idea how long I've been waiting for this?" he growled, his voice raw with lust. He slid the straps of her bra down her arms, before unhooking it in the back, then he peeled off her panties, letting them fall down her legs. Before she knew it, Elise stood naked before him, her body on fire, aching for him.

Jisung's eyes roamed her form, his appreciation and lust unhidden. Reverently, he ran a finger down her centerline, starting from her chin and grazing over the skin on her neck, chest, between her breasts, then over her stomach and past her belly button. Elise moaned as his fingers danced over her exposed skin, the action causing goosebumps to erupt in their wake. "You're so beautiful," he breathed, his voice thick with desire. His lips followed the same path as his finger, trailing kisses down her body. When his fingers reached the sensitive flesh between her legs, Elise let out an involuntary moan this time, arching into his touch as he slipped his fingers into her. 

Jisung looked up at her, eyes dark with lust. In one swift motion he stood, hooking his hands under her thighs to lift her up. Elise gasped in surprise but instinctively wrapped her legs around his waist. She could feel his dick, hard and insistent, pressed against her.

Carrying her effortlessly, as if she weighed no more than a feather, Jisung made his way to the bedroom, laying her down gently against the soft sheets on the bed. 

Hovering above her, Jisung paused to admire her splayed out before him, hair fanned out against the pillows, lips swollen from their kisses. He drank in the sight of her as if committing every curve and contour to memory. His eyes burned with a feral hunger that sent a spike of arousal through Elise. Slowly, he stripped off his boxers, freeing his hardened length. Elise's eyes widened as she bit her lower lip, taking in every inch of him.

His hand slid between her legs once more, parting her slick folds and rubbing against her clit. Elise's back arched off the bed at the exquisite sensation, a throaty moan escaping her lips.

Jisung watched her reactions hungrily as he stroked her most sensitive spots, sunk fingers in deeper, learning what made her gasp. Each movement of his fingers was a question, each of her gasps and moans an answer. He was learning her, mapping the terrain of her pleasure, and the intensity of his focus made her head spin.

Elise's thoughts tumbled over each other, a chaotic mix of rationalizations and justifications. This was madness, this was wrong, this was everything she had ever wanted and more. The guilt of giving in, the fear of what this could mean, the sheer unadulterated joy of being desired like this—all of it clashed and collided in her mind, leaving her dizzy and breathless.

Her eyes traced the lines of his body, the lean musculature of his torso, the sharp angles of his hip bones, the sinewy strength of his thighs. He was beautiful in a way that was almost painful, a living, breathing work of art, and the realization that he wanted her—had always wanted her—was nearly too much to bear.

Jisung shifted, his fingers never leaving her as he lowered himself to his knees at the edge of the bed. He kissed her inner thighs, first one and then the other, his lips soft and teasing. Then his mouth found its way to her clit. Elise's hands flew to his hair, her fingers weaving through the long, dark strands as her body tightened and her hips rocked against his face.

Just as she thought she might tumble over, Jisung rose, his face flushed, his eyes burning with a mix of lust and something deeper. He crawled onto the bed, his body sliding over hers, the heat of his skin a stark contrast to the cool air of the room. His hand trailed up her side, over her breast, and along her neck, leaving a path of tingling nerve endings in its wake.

Their mouths found each other again as the cool air caressed their overheated skin, goosebumps erupting where their flesh met. Jisung's touch was both reverent and possessive.

"I have you now," he growled, his voice thick with desire as he positioned himself at her entrance. "Six years, Elise. Six fucking years of dreaming about this moment."

"Then what are you waiting for?" she challenged, her words a breathless whisper.

With a growl, he entered her in one swift, powerful stroke, filling her completely, stretching her in ways she hadn’t felt in a long time. Elise cried out, nails digging into his shoulders at the sudden intrusion. Her walls clenched around him, her body welcoming him home as if he'd always belonged there.

Jisung began to move inside her, each thrust a slow, measured invasion that set her entire body on fire. His youthful energy paired with her experienced touch created a perfect storm of sensations, each stroke and counter-thrust more exquisite than the last. Elise arched her back, meeting him halfway, her moans and gasps mingling with his labored breaths.

His hands gripped her hips, guiding her movements as he picked up the pace, driving into her harder, faster, until they were both panting and soaked in sweat. The headboard slammed against the wall in time with their frenzied rhythm, the room echoing with their wanton cries.

This was Jisung – the boy she'd known years ago – now a man before her very eyes. And she was losing herself right along with him.

Elise moaned, her voice raw with desire as Jisung's strokes deepened, his pace quickening as he lost himself in the exquisite torture of being inside her. Every thrust sent waves of pleasure crashing through her, each one more intense than the last. Her fingers dug into his back, scraping down his spine as she fought to hold on, her body a live wire of sensation.

Jisung's lips brushed against her ear, his breath hot and ragged. He whispered words of praise and filthy promises, alternating between English and Korean, the dichotomy only serving to heighten her arousal. Each foreign syllable rolled off his tongue like a seductive chant, making her pulse quicken and her pussy tighten around him.

"You feel so fucking good," he panted, his breath hot against her ear, his hips rocking back and forth with increasing urgency. "Better than I ever imagined."

Elise's mind was a blur, unable to process the mix of languages, the onslaught of sensations, the sheer intensity of his need for her. She had never felt so desired, so completely consumed by another person. Every word he spoke, every thrust of his body, was a declaration of his longing, a reminder of the years he had waited for this moment.

Her breaths came in short, desperate gasps as she teetered on the edge of release, her body winding tighter and tighter like a spring about to snap. Jisung's hands roamed her curves, his touch both possessive and worshipful, as if he couldn't believe she was real and not some figment of his imagination.

"Elise," he groaned, his voice thick with emotion. "I need you. I need all of you."

The room seemed to close in around them, the air heavy with their mingled sweat and desire. The sounds of their bodies colliding, the bed creaking in protest, created a symphony of lust that drowned out all other thoughts. Elise was lost, completely and utterly, in the moment, in him.

Jisung's pace became almost frantic, each thrust more demanding than the last. He was on the brink, and she could feel herself being pulled along with him, their bodies moving in perfect, desperate harmony.

In the midst of their fevered passion, Jisung's movements slowed, his thrusts becoming more deliberate, more precise. Elise could feel every inch of him, her body hypersensitive to his touch. It was as if he were trying to extend the moment, to make it last forever.

She grasped his shoulders, her nails leaving crescent moons in his skin as she braced for each slow, torturous stroke. Elise's breath hitched, her body trembling beneath him as the tension built to an unbearable peak. She could feel his heart pounding against her chest, could taste the salt of his sweat on her lips.

Jisung's eyes locked onto hers, a fierce intensity burning in their depths. He was holding on by a thread, his determination to draw out their pleasure evident in every controlled movement. Elise's mind was a blur of sensation and emotion, the slow build driving her to the brink of madness.

Unable to maintain this slow pace he had set, Jisung picked back up his speed, thrusting into her with a fervor that spoke of deep-rooted yearning. 

"Elise," Jisung groaned, his rhythm unyielding as he sought their peak. The sound of his voice, laden with both reverence and raw need, was enough to unravel her completely. She felt her climax approaching like a wave ready to break upon the shore, inevitable and all-consuming.

"Jisung—yes. Yes!" she gasped, her world narrowing to the point of unbearable intensity. And then, with a shudder that ran through her soul, Elise surrendered to the torrent of pleasure. Her cry mingled with Jisung's as he followed, his own release flooding her senses, marking her in the most primal way. They clutched each other, hearts thundering against chests, as the surge of fulfillment swept them away, erasing the years of separation that had once seemed insurmountable.

In the quiet aftermath, they lay entwined, the cadence of their breathing the only sound in the room. Elise traced the line of Jisung’s jaw with a fingertip, the action tender. He turned his head to press a kiss into her palm, his eyes holding hers with an intensity that belied the gentle touch.

"Stay," he whispered, the single word a plea wrapped in vulnerability. It wasn't just for tonight—it was a silent petition for nights thereafter, a hope for a future where this intimacy was not a stolen moment, but a continuous thread woven into the fabric of their lives.

"I'm not going anywhere," Elise promised, her voice soft but resolute. In the cocoon of their embrace, promises were etched into skin and sealed with lingering kisses, the taste of wine and desire still fresh on their tongues. As dawn's first light began to creep along the edges of the curtains, Jisung pulled her closer, his lips finding hers once more.

****

The warm rays of morning sunlight filtered through the sheer curtains, gently rousing Elise from her slumber. As consciousness slowly returned, she became acutely aware of an unfamiliar weight draped across her waist. Her eyes fluttered open, breath catching as memories from the night before came flooding back.

Jisung's arm was wrapped possessively around her, his chest rising and falling with slow, steady breaths against her back. The heat of his skin seeped into her, igniting a tingling warmth that spread through her body. 

Holy shit. This actually happened, she thought.

Her body flushed as vivid images flashed through her mind. Jisung pressing her up against the wall of his hotel suite, his lips hot on her neck. Their tangle of limbs and discarded clothing. His lean, toned body moving above her, inside her...

She hadn’t really done anything wrong, given that Jisung hadn’t been her student for many years now; yet, she still felt kind of guilty. It was mildly unethical. And yet... Elise couldn't deny the quiet thrill that coursed through her veins. The night they'd shared had been passionate, intense, unlike anything she'd experienced before. 

There was an unexpected tenderness to Jisung's touch, a depth of emotion in his gaze that stirred something within her. He wasn't just some hot young celebrity looking for a quick hookup. The connection between them felt real, meaningful.

Elise's heart raced as she grappled with the intensity of her feelings. It had been years since she’d seen him, and yet she felt drawn to Jisung in a way that both thrilled and terrified her. How could she have fallen so hard, so fast, in two fucking days?

And yet, as Jisung's arm tightened around her waist, pulling her closer in his sleep, Elise couldn't help but melt into his embrace. For just a moment, she allowed herself to savor the intimacy, pushing aside all thoughts of the complications that awaited.

Elise shifted in bed, careful not to wake Jisung as she turned to face him. She took a moment to study his face, so at peace in slumber. His dark lashes fanned out against his cheeks, and his full lips curved upward in a contented smile. The gentle rise and fall of his chest, the quiet sound of his breathing, soothed her in a way she never thought possible.

How could she ever have resisted him? He had grown into such a beautiful, sexy, sensual man, so different from the adorkable boy she once knew. Last night, Jisung had been attentive, considerate, but also dominant in a way that turned her on.

As if sensing her gaze, Jisung's dark, almond-shaped eyes fluttered open, his lids blinking sleepily as he squinted in the morning light. Their gazes locked. In that moment, Elise felt exposed, her heart pounding in her chest. But there was no judgement or regret in his eyes, only a wellspring of emotion mirroring her own.

"Hey," Jisung murmured, his voice gruff with sleep.

"Hi," Elise whispered, her voice barely audible.

The tension in the air thickened as they lingered in the aftermath of their passionate night together. It was as though their pasts, their present, and their potential future were all colliding in that single, sultry exchange.

As the sun continued its ascent, casting a warm glow over their tangled limbs, Elise knew that their world had irrevocably shifted. The unspoken understanding between them was as potent as the scent of the salty air wafting through the open window.

"So," Jisung said, breaking the silence as he stretched languidly, his muscles rippling with each movement. "I take it last night...?"

Elise couldn't help but giggle, the sound foreign yet welcome in the stillness of the morning. "Yeah," she managed, her cheeks flushing. "Definitely happened."

Jisung's grin reached his eyes, the same mischievous glint she remembered from years prior. "And?"

"It was..." Elise trailed off, at a loss for words.

"Amazing," Jisung finished for her, flashing her a cocky grin. 

Elise playfully swatted his chest, their laughter mingling with the sound of the crashing waves below.

"Well you certainly know how to show a girl a good time, Jisung," she quipped, her cheeks flushing.

"I aim to please, Dr. Richards," he deadpanned, his voice dripping with fake formality before he broke out in a wide grin.

An awkward silence settled over them, both of them lost in their own thoughts. Elise wasn't sure where to start, how to broach the elephant in the room. What did one say after spending the night with their former student?

"That was..." Jisung began, his voice tentative, as if he were treading on fragile ground, “everything I hoped it would be.”

"It was... it was incredible, but it was just one night. It doesn't need to mean anything. Just a one-time thing, right?”

Jisung's expression clouded over. “If… if that’s what you want.” He chewed on his bottom lip as he thought about her words. 

They lay there in silence, the tension between them thick. Elise traced patterns on the crumpled sheets, desperately trying to ignore the throbbing, but pleasant ache between her thighs.

"So, what now?" Jisung asked, his voice neutral, as if discussing the weather rather than the earth-shattering, life-changing night they'd just shared.

Elise shrugged, feigning indifference. "I guess we go back to our respective lives? You go back to being a talented, sexy idol with millions of fans who would do anything for you, and I go back to academia. Just... forget this ever happened."

Jisung nodded, his jaw clenching. "Forget it ever happened," he echoed hollowly.

Elise forced a smile. "Right."

“Right,” Jisung echoed again. As Elise’s words hung heavy in the air, he shifted onto his back and stared at the ceiling. Elise could see the wheels in his head spinning and she wondered what he was thinking. After a minute, he sighed and then turned back onto his side to face her again. “It’s just…. I don’t think I can do that. I can’t pretend that last night never happened when it’s everything I’ve dreamed of for so long.” Jisung reached for her, his fingers brushing against her bare thigh. She quivered at his touch. “Elise,” he breathed, his voice low and hoarse with need, “you can’t tell me you felt nothing. That it didn’t feel… right.”

"Jisung," she whispered, her voice a shaky whisper.

In one fluid motion, Jisung leaned in, his lips crashing against hers in a feverish kiss. Elise moaned into his mouth, her resolve crumbling like sand against the relentless tide of their desire. His hands roamed up her thighs, gripping her hips as he pulled her impossibly closer. Her top leg locked around his waist, the blanket falling to the floor, forgotten. Before she knew it, she felt Jisung’s cock slowly filling her up, an involuntary sigh leaving her lips as he pushed in to the hilt. 

As they lay side-by-side, their bodies moved as one, their rhythm the complete opposite of the night before, now slow and steady. The frenzy of last night was about fulfilling long-held desires; the calm passion of this morning was more about Jisung proving that she was more than just a number to add to his body count. Jisung's hips rocked gently into hers, the feeling of his cock rubbing back and forth against the sensitive walls of her pussy sending quakes through her body.

Elise ran her fingers through Jisung's hair, pulling him deeper into their kiss. She could taste the desperation and hope on his lips, each stroke of his tongue a plea for something more. Her hands traveled down his back, feeling the play of his muscles as he moved with a languid grace. Every touch, every caress was laden with an unspoken promise, a question of what could be.

Their breathing grew heavier, each exhale a hot burst against the other's skin. Jisung's hand slid up her side, cupping her breast and teasing her nipple with his thumb. A jolt of pleasure shot through Elise, causing her to arch her back and press harder against him. She could feel the tension building, the slow burn of their union threatening to consume her.

"Elise," Jisung whispered against her lips, his voice trembling with emotion. "I need you to believe this means something."

She closed her eyes, fighting the torrent of feelings that his words unleashed. 

Jisung's movements became more deliberate, each thrust a declaration, each kiss a vow. The room seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of them and the raw, electric connection they shared. Elise's body responded to him with a fervor she couldn't control.

The tension between them reached a breaking point, their bodies on the edge of an abyss. Elise clung to him, her nails digging into his shoulders as she braced for the fall.

Finally, with a joint cry, they climaxed together, their bodies shuddering in tandem as they rode out the pleasure. As their breathing slowed, Jisung held her against his body. 

“Wow,” Elise panted, burying her flaming face in his shoulder.

Jisung chuckled softly, his chest still heaving with exertion. "Wow," he echoed.

Elise looked up at him, her eyes filled with a mix of uncertainty and longing. "What now?"

Jisung traced a finger down her flushed cheek, his expression serious. "This can be whatever you want it to be, Elise. But know this," he whispered, his gaze smoldering, "I've wanted you for a very long time. And now that I've had a taste, I don't think I can ever let you go."

Elise's heart skipped a beat, her breath catching in her throat. She knew she should end this, that this surely couldn’t last. But as she looked into his sincere, smoldering eyes, she knew she was lost.

"Okay," she breathed, her voice shaking with emotion. “Let’s see where this takes us.”

With a tender smile, Jisung leaned in, capturing her lips in a searing kiss that left no doubt in her mind. They were in this; they were doing this.

“So… New York then?” he raised an eyebrow as he made the same offer he had last night to get her tickets to the show. “Except I rescind the offer to give up my room. I want every opportunity I have to fuck you silly.” He buried his face in her neck, tickling the delicate skin with kisses. 

“Okay ‘Ace’,” she said, giggling as she poked his chest. “I’ll see you in New York.”

Jisung’s eyes sparkled with triumph. "You won’t regret it," he promised, his lips brushing against hers in a feather-light kiss.

"I better not," she teased, biting her lower lip seductively. "You’ll need to make it worth my while."

"Oh, I will," he said, his voice dropping to a husky whisper. "I plan on making every second count."