#IT JUST SLIPPED OUT I COULDNT HELP IT!!! | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

colouredbyd · 25 days ago

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Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy!

cowboy!remus lupin x fem!reader

synopsis : a sunshine-soft baker moves to town, all ribbons, sweet talk, and a habit of staring a little too long at the cowboy next door. remus lupin tries to focus on his chores, but it’s hard when she keeps calling him remmy and baking him sweets. neither mean to flirt—but the heat’s been rising like bread in an oven, and something’s bound to give

warnings: NSFW, explicit sexual content, graphic language, strong sexual themes, dirty talk, sexual tension, suggestive themes, public or semi-public sexual encounters, alot of dirty thoughts, implied exhibitionism, explicit scenes of desire, lots of cum, eating out, oral sex, no penetrative sex, getting caught dry humping, spitting, fingering, eating out, panty sniffing?, making out, grinding, kinda riding? porn but with plot.

w/c: 5.8k

a/n: 100% inspired by this, all i can say is i should be ashamed for writing this...(to anyone who knows me: im sorry about the horse scene I COULDNT HELP IT)

part two masterlist

Remus Lupin swears he’s got self-control, the kind that’s been hammered into him by years of quiet mornings and grueling afternoons.

He wakes with the sun, hands steady and weathered, working the land like clockwork—feeding cattle, fixing fences, cleaning stalls, the rhythm of routine keeping the ache at bay.

Black coffee steams beside him, boots lined neatly by the door, shirts buttoned up and clean, a man shaped by order and slow, simple needs.

Not much stirs him anymore. Not since the war carved its scars deep into his bones, the kind of ache that settles like rain-soaked dust, dull and constant.

But then, you open your bakery—just two weeks ago—and suddenly, the world shifts beneath his boots.

The last thing Remus Lupin wants to do is lay blame—he’s a grown man, weathered by war and wind, with the calluses to prove it—but in a way, you’re the reason why.

The mere thought of you is enough to make this cowboy go buckwild.

It starts innocent, if only in theory.

He’s out in the field at dawn, meant to be feeding the cattle, fixing the fence, maybe even—God willing—cleaning the horse stalls. But the second your name crosses his mind, he’s gone. Useless.

He stands there with hay in his hands and a slack-jawed expression like he’s been shot in the chest with a buttercream bullet. Doesn’t even notice when the old barn cat winds around his boots or when the horses whinny for their breakfast. He just thinks about you.

And it’s always you.

You, with your little bakery nestled on the corner of Main and Maple, a bright splash of life in the dusty town.

You, wrapped in sundresses kissed by morning light, apron smudged with flour, humming soft songs as you tuck wildflowers into window boxes like secrets meant only for the breeze.

You, waving at every passerby like you’ve belonged here forever—even though you just arrived two weeks ago—and smiling at him like he’s the only thing worth pausing the world for.

It’s almost cruel, the way you’ve shattered him with nothing but kindness and sunlight.

Remus had rules once—wake before dawn, work hard, want less than a man can bear—but you slipped in with your sugar-dusted hands and your laugh like a promise, and now his quiet world is a storm. Because he can’t stop watching you.

Can’t stop craving the curve of your smile, the way flour dusts your cheek like a trace of sin, the softness in your voice when you greet him with that simple, “Morning, cowboy,” like you know exactly how those words strip him bare inside.

And what it does to him—God, it’s sinful, a temptation he’s only just learning how to fight.

You make his hands tremble, his mind stray into wicked places, and his mouth go dry with need. He’s stumbled over his own damn boots more times this week than he has in years, and every misstep is because of you.

The way you lean over that counter, offering him a piece of warm apple pie “on the house,” your scent mingling with the sweetness, setting his skin on fire.

The way you hum, soft and low, like a secret lullaby meant just to tease him. The way your dress sways around your knees, like you’ve never known a single touch that wasn’t hungry, like every inch of you is aching to be claimed.

Today, you slide a wrapped croissant into his palm—blueberry, he guesses, but all he can taste is the ghost of your fingers pressed to his skin, and he nearly drops it, heat pooling low and thick in his gut.

“Thanks,” he manages, voice rough like gravel scraped raw and worn down by too many restless nights and secret pains you can almost taste in the air between you.

You smile at him, warm and bright, like the sun itself had carved that grin just for him, a gentle blaze cutting through the cold edges of his quiet world.

“See you next Sunday?” you ask, voice soft but threaded with a promise that feels like it could burn through stone.

He tips his hat, trying to hide the way his ears bloom a shy, stubborn pink beneath the fabric, but you see it all—the way he’s unraveling just a little, like he’s been waiting for this moment more than he’d ever admit.

“Wouldn’t miss it,” he says, voice low and steady but soaked in something fierce and fragile all at once.

And you know, with every fiber of yourself, he won’t. Even if it kills him.

Because Remus Lupin may be a man of quiet restraint, of slow mornings stretched thin with hesitation and a heart bruised and battered far beyond what any soul should carry—but for you?

For you, he’s already halfway gone, swallowed whole by the gravity of your presence, lost somewhere between the ache and the hope you stir deep inside him.

You don’t see him turn back after he walks away, but he does—just for a heartbeat, a breath stolen in the quiet chaos of his own racing heart.

Remus glances over his shoulder, jaw clenched tight, eyes sharp but soft all at once, catching one last fleeting glimpse of your silhouette framed in the window’s fading light.

You’re already moving, already weaving through the room with that effortless grace, already smiling at the next stranger who crosses your path, slipping away from him like the fragile morning light that dances through the leaves—too quick, too fleeting to hold onto.

He tells himself to stop thinking about the ghost of your fingers brushing his skin, the way your voice hums in his ears even now, a sacred hymn that refuses to fade.

He tells himself to forget it, to shove it deep beneath the weight of reason and restraint, but you linger in his blood like a whispered curse he can’t shake.

Meanwhile, miles away, before the sun even has the courage to rise, you’re waking with the world still wrapped in a lavender yawn.

The air holds that delicate chill of dawn, the kind that promises something new and untouched, and you slip on your short linen sundress, the fabric light as a sigh against your skin. A soft pink ribbon finds its way into your hair, tied just so, fluttering like a secret only you know.

You step out into the cool hush of morning, breath mingling with the mist that clings to the lake behind your cottage, where the world feels paused, sacred, and waiting.

The geese shuffle towards you, their honks soft and shy, and you coo at them with a sweetness that drips like honey from your lips—tossing cracked corn from your palm, murmuring, “You handsome little gentlemen,” and teasing, “Don’t be mean, Harold, everyone gets breakfast.”

In this stillness, this fragile quiet, you hold the whole world in your hands.

You like this moment—the solitude, the gentle promise it carries—because here, just here, you are the only girl in the world.

After the geese are fed and the lake has kissed your ankles like a shy hello, you follow the winding road into town, the sun barely half past seven but already spilling warmth across your skin, filling your chest with a sweetness that feels like it could burst.

“Morning, Miss Lily!” you call, your voice bright and light as you wave to the florist tending dahlias on her porch.

Her eyes crinkle with a smile, and she teases, “Well, don’t you look like a postcard—off to steal some hearts today?”

You laugh, adjusting the basket perched on your hip, “Just flour, I promise.”

She shoots back with a knowing grin, “Flour and trouble, more like.”

You wink and keep moving, bare feet gliding over the cobblestones like a secret only the earth knows — light, quiet, familiar.

The morning sun is already warm on your skin, and your soles are still damp from the pond, where you’d been feeding the geese just minutes earlier, ankles muddy, bread crusts tucked in your apron pocket. You’d kicked off your shoes to keep them clean and never quite bothered putting them back on.

Children dart past, chasing laughter through the square, their shrieks bright and wild.

You crouch without thinking, catching the youngest boy by the elbow before he trips on his own shoelaces. “Whoa, careful there, darling,” you murmur, fingers working fast to tie a double knot as he steadies against your shoulder.

He nods solemnly, wide-eyed, before beaming when you press a lollipop into his palm from your apron’s front pocket. “You’ll have to tell me if it’s too sour,” you tease, tapping his nose.

He scampers off with a sticky grin, and you turn just in time to see a little girl hovering near your skirts, shy fingers twisting in her dress.

You kneel again and offer her a warm smile, pulling from your apron a carefully wrapped chocolate chip cookie — tied with red ribbon, baked fresh last night, soft in the center just the way she likes.

“There you go, Hazel,” you whisper, smoothing her curls from her forehead. “It’s the last one, so guard it with your life.”

She giggles, cheeks pink, and runs to show her mother, cookie clutched in both hands like treasure.

Then it’s onward to the bakery—your pride wrapped in pink walls nestled between the apothecary and the old bookshop, ivy crawling up the windows like whispered promises.

Rose-gold lettering gleams softly above the door, lace curtains framing the scent of vanilla, sugar, and warm peaches that wraps around you like a hug.

The bell chimes as you step inside, the shelves half-full from yesterday’s labor: lemon loaves, rosewater scones, lavender honey buns waiting to be kissed by morning light.

You hum quietly, lighting candles and watering the violets on the windowsill, feeling the quiet pulse of this place you built with your hands and your heart.

And then—just like that, as if summoned straight from the reckless corners of your mind—he’s there.

Remus Lupin.

Striding through the dusty street like a dangerous fantasy you never dared dream. His boots scuffed and weathered from god knows what, the worn denim of his jeans stretched tight over hips that speak of muscle and sin, every damn curve making your blood race and your mind spiral.

His shirt hangs half-open, teasing the sharp angles of his collarbone, the warm, rough skin beneath dusted with dirt and sweat, as if he’s just come from wrestling something wild and primal.

His hat is tipped low, but when his eyes lift and catch yours through the glass, everything inside you snaps taut and wild.

You try to hide it—pretending to wipe the counter, fingers trembling and heat burning your cheeks—but it’s a poor disguise.

“Morning, sweetheart,” his voice drips with honey and something darker, low and smooth, and it hits you right in the gut like a shot of whiskey.

“Good morning, Lupin” you breathe back, syrupy sweet, though your body is humming with a different kind of hunger, the kind that curls in your stomach and drips heat between your thighs.

His ears flush pink, and you swear it makes him ten times hotter, the shy confidence battling with the raw, untamed man beneath.

He shifts the bag of apples in his hands, eyes flickering up to yours like he’s trying to read a secret only you hold.

“Brought you something,” he mutters, voice low and rough, like the words taste damn good on his tongue. “Apples. From the orchard.”

You tilt your head, smile teasing, “That’s sweet of you, Remus. What, trying to win me over with fruit now?”

He chuckles, a deep, gravelly sound that makes your skin prickle. “Maybe. Or maybe I just wanted an excuse to come see you. You know, without looking like a damn fool just standing outside your bakery all day.”

Your breath catches. “Oh, so you’ve been watching, huh?”

He runs a hand through his hair, voice rougher now, like he’s barely holding himself together. “God, I—I don’t know how you do it, but you’ve got me—fuck, you’ve got me all tangled up.”

But all you can think about is the way those hands must grip—rough and sure—how they’d feel pressed against your skin, tracing the lines of your body as if memorizing every inch, every shiver, every desperate need.

How close he could get before the ache inside you explodes. The wild scent of earth and sweat and something raw and hungry clings to him like a second skin, and it wraps around you like a promise of sin.

Your smile is all sunshine and soft wickedness. “You keep doing this and I’m going to start thinking you like me.”

He pauses, blinking. “I—I mean”

You giggle and take the bag from his hands, fingers brushing once more.

“I’m just teasing,” you say, even though you're not, not entirely.

He nods, flustered, already backing toward the door like a man escaping a wildfire.

“Have a good day,” he manages.

“You too, handsome.”

You catch the way his shoulders stiffen, how he trips just slightly on the step.

And gods, it’s almost unfair—the effect you have.

But then again, you saw the way Miss Dervish from the tailor’s shop stared at him like she was ready to mount him like a broomstick right there on Main Street.

Remus Lupin really has all the ladies in town ovulating at the mere sight of him.

Truth is: the whole damn town is in love with Remus Lupin.

But only you get to see the way he looks at your mouth when you laugh. Only you get to make him blush like a boy.

And if he keeps showing up in those jeans, with that voice and that jaw and those hands that look like they could ruin and worship all at once—you’re going to forget how to bake entirely.

By midday, the bakery hums with warmth and chatter, full to the brim with townsfolk craving something sweet.

Your apron is dusted in flour and your lips are berry-stained from tasting jam. The sun outside is golden and bold, filtering through the windows like it’s falling in love with everything it touches—especially you.

You hum as you knead dough, hips swaying gently to the old French jazz playing on the radio.

There’s strawberry juice on your wrists and sugar under your nails. A tray of pies is cooling by the window, their scent thick and syrupy, while rows of rose-shaped butter cookies wait to be iced.

But something’s missing.

Chocolate.

And not just any chocolate—your favorite dark cocoa from the little cupboard at the Lupin farm, the one you tucked away weeks ago when Remus helped carry crates after the harvest fair. He’d told you to stop by for it anytime. So you do.

Not because of the chocolate, though. Not really.

You wipe your hands, untie your apron, and slip out the back door into the sun, your ribbon fluttering in the breeze.

The road to his farm is all wildflowers and bees, the kind of walk that makes you hum to yourself and twirl your skirt, completely unaware of what exactly you're walking into.

You spot him before he sees you.

Remus Lupin. On horseback.

And everything in you goes quiet.

He’s riding slow through the lower pasture, one hand on the reins, the other lifting his hat just enough to rake his fingers through his tousled hair before setting it back in place.

His shirt is undone even more now, clinging with sweat to the sharp slope of his chest, sleeves rolled to reveal those tanned, veined forearms that belong in sin. The muscles in his thighs flex under worn denim as he guides the horse in a slow, powerful trot, hips rising and falling with maddening ease.

You freeze, caught like a deer in the fading light.

His every move is a slow burn—the way he eases off that horse, boots landing heavy on the ground, the muscles in his arms flexing just enough to make your pulse slam against your ribs.

God, he knows exactly what he’s doing, and you’re helpless to look away, your mouth suddenly too dry to form the words you want to say.

Your thoughts spiral, filthy and urgent—how those hands might grip your waist, rough and possessive, pulling you flush against him so close you’d feel every breath, every beat of that steady heart beneath calloused skin.

You imagine the low growl in his voice if he ever lost control, thick and desperate, the kind that shreds all your carefully built walls down to nothing.

And then there’s that hat—the stupid, perfect thing perched on his head, begging to be yanked off like a silent challenge.

You want to reach out, fingers trembling, to drag it free and whisper the words you’d never dare speak aloud: fuck me, Remus.

But you don’t. You can’t. You just watch, helpless and aching.

His gaze locks on you, slow and deliberate, and your breath stutters, caught on the razor’s edge of something fierce and unspoken.

He steps closer, the scent of leather and sweat wrapping around you like a promise, shirt clinging to the lines of his back like a second skin, each movement designed to make your heart race and your mind spiral into sin.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he says, voice low and honeyed, amused like he’s got some wicked secret only you’re about to discover. “Didn’t see you there.”

You force a smile, too sweet, heart already stammering like a busted engine. “Didn’t mean to interrupt. Just came by for the cocoa.”

He nods, eyes drifting to the horse beside him, and then his hand lifts slow and sure, stroking the mare’s neck with a touch so gentle it makes your skin itch in all the wrong places.

“Sorry ‘bout that,” he murmurs, voice dipping lower, thick and warm, like a promise you’re not sure you want but can’t resist.

“Was out riding my favorite girl Dai.” His palm slides along the mare’s side, fingers curling like he’s tracing a secret, a sacred line.

“Weren’t you such a good girl, huh?”

And damn, the way he says it—“good girl”—it’s filthy, all slick sin wrapped in a whisper.

The way his fingers trail over Dai’s bridle, so soft, like he’s touching something precious, something he wants to own, to protect.

You try not to squirm, but your legs suddenly wobble, knees weak like you’re caught in a heatwave you didn’t see coming, and there’s this fire burning low between your thighs that has absolutely nothing to do with flour or sugar or any damn thing you should be thinking about right now.

His eyes flicker back to you, catching the blush flaming across your cheeks, and that twitch at the corner of his mouth tells you he knows exactly the kind of mess he’s making you into—helpless, hot, aching for a touch that hasn’t even happened yet.

“You alright?” he asks, voice teasing but laced with something deeper, something that makes your breath hitch.

You nod, way too fast, words catching on a tremor you can’t hide. “Fine. Just… warm.”

“Mm,” he says. “Bet you are.”

He chuckles, the sound low and rough, like a rumble that shakes your bones. “That’s my favorite girl,” he says, patting Dai’s neck again, “and I reckon you’re my favorite baker.”

You have never in your life wished more to be a goddamn horse than right now.

Because the way he says it, the slow slide of his gaze over you—like he’s already imagining running those rough hands down your back, the heat of his breath ghosting over your skin, whispering all the things he’d do if you let him—makes your insides twist and writhe in delicious agony, caught between wanting and knowing you probably shouldn’t.

But fuck, you want it. You want him. Every filthy, sinful inch of him.

And when he turns toward the farmhouse, his voice is casual, almost teasing.

“C’mon, sweetheart. Let’s go get you that cocoa. Unless you forgot what you came for.”

You definitely did.

But you follow him anyway, biting your tongue, wondering if you can survive five more minutes with this man in his boots and half-unbuttoned shirt and sinful drawl calling anything a good girl.

He walks ahead a few paces, and even from behind, he’s maddening—long legs, golden shoulders beneath that half-undone shirt, a slow, easy swagger that feels like temptation incarnate.

You try not to watch him. You try not to think about what his hands would feel like if they weren’t holding reins or flour sacks. You try not to imagine what his voice might sound like pressed right against your ear.

You fail. Miserably.

The air is warmer inside the farmhouse, thick with the scent of pinewood and tobacco, and your eyes need a second to adjust as you step through the door behind him.

But you don’t get far.

Your toe catches on something—maybe the edge of the rug, maybe a boot left by the door—and your balance tilts out from under you in one horrible, slow-motion stumble.

“Oh—!”

But he’s there.

In an instant, large hands catch you by the waist, grounding you before you even fall.

One arm wraps behind your back, steady and sure, and suddenly you’re pressed flush against him, breath caught between your teeth and heart thundering in your ears.

“Careful there, sweetheart,” he says, voice gentle, eyes flicking down to check you over. “Would’ve hated to see you hurt yourself.”

You laugh a little too quickly, palms resting on his chest for balance. “I—I’m okay. Just clumsy.”

He doesn’t let go right away.

His thumb brushes your waist without thinking, and it sends a spark right through you.

Your body is burning where he’s touching you. And his eyes—soft brown, full of quiet amusement—study your face like you’re some kind of puzzle he wouldn’t mind spending a few lifetimes figuring out.

Then, slowly, he lets go.

“Chocolate, wasn’t it?” he murmurs, stepping back and guiding you with a light hand on your lower back. “Think I’ve got just the kind you like.”

You nod, heart in your throat. “Y-yeah. The one with the orange peel in it.”

He smiles. “Knew it. Sweet with a little bite.”

You try not to read into that. You really try.

He leads you to a wooden shelf near the back of the kitchen, cluttered with old jars, dried herbs hanging in bunches, tins of tea, and a few blocks of dark chocolate wrapped in paper and tied with string.

He crouches to rummage through the lower shelf, muttering softly under his breath.

Meanwhile, your gaze wanders again. The way his fingers handle everything with such care.

And—damn it—the way the back of his shirt clings to his waist, damp with sweat, tucked just loosely enough into those low-hung jeans.

You’re not sure how long you’re standing there trying not to ogle him when he straightens up and hands you two wrapped bars.

“Right here,” he says, tapping one. “One with orange, one with cinnamon. Just in case.”

You beam, holding both to your chest. “You’re a lifesaver.”

He shrugs, easy. “Wouldn’t want you runnin’ out mid-pie. That’d be a tragedy.”

You turn to leave, already backing toward the door, your heart full and fluttering.

But before you go, you glance back over your shoulder.

“Thanks, Remmy,” you say softly, voice light and sweet, ribbon swaying behind you as you walk away, leaving him standing there with a tent in his pants.

Remus Lupin is a patient man.

But you’ve gone and made a mess of all that.

He hasn’t been able to sit still since.

The moment you left, the house felt too empty. The kitchen too quiet. Only the faint scent of orange and cinnamon lingered in the air—sweet, stubborn reminders of you—and Remus couldn’t stop staring at the counter where your fingers had just been.

He drags a hand over the back of his neck, pacing slow in his kitchen, heart pounding like he’s fresh out of a goddamn rodeo.

It’s the way you said Remmy again, all soft and sweet like the syllables were something you wanted to wrap in lace.

The way your fingers brushed his when you took the chocolate.

The way you stumbled and he caught you, hands on your waist for one second too long—and how he’s still not sure if that flutter in your chest was nerves or something else.

Something hopeful.

Something dangerous.

He leans against the doorframe, staring out across the sunlit fields, pretending like the quiet out there might calm the storm in here. It doesn’t.

He can still see you standing in the road, squinting up at him on horseback like you were about to fall on your knees.

Can still hear the breath you took when he slid off Dai and murmured good girl to the horse, his hand smoothing over her mane—and how your eyes never left his mouth.

He tells himself he’s imagining it.

He tells himself it’s the heat, the dust, the soft haze of summer playing tricks.

But his hands still ache from where they steadied your fall. His chest still burns from the way you smiled, like he’d given you the whole damn world for the price of chocolate.

And his thoughts—his thoughts are filthy, honey-thick, clinging.

You’re too sweet. Too soft. Too kind for the way he wants you.

He wants to press you up against the counter of that bakery, sugar and flour in your hair.

He wants to take that sundress off slow, like he’s unwrapping something too delicate for a man like him.

He wants to kiss your throat, taste your laugh, ruin your lip gloss.

And worst of all—he wants to hold your hand after.

Remus Lupin is a patient man.

But for you, he’s starting to lose the only good sense he has left.

Which is why, only a few hours after you left, Remus Lupin found himself walking into town like a man possessed.

He told himself it was nothing. Just a visit. Just being polite.

But his boots hit the pavement harder than they should, dust kicking up behind him as he strode past Mrs. Macmillan’s garden and the old chapel, not sparing a single glance for the women who giggled behind parasols or the way someone’s daughter nearly walked into a fence watching him go by.

He didn’t notice them. Not their perfume, not their waves, not their sun-warmed stares.

His eyes were fixed ahead—on the pink-tinged little building with ivy creeping up the sides and a wooden sign that read The Wildflower Oven. On you.

The bell above the door rang softly when he stepped inside, and he nearly forgot how to breathe.

There you were.

Bent slightly over the counter, piping delicate swirls of icing onto golden vanilla muffins, ribbons tied in your hair like you were spun from sugar yourself.

You were humming something soft, something dreamy and old, and when you glanced up—when your eyes landed on him, bright as sunlight through a summer orchard—you smiled.

“Hi, Rem,” you said, warm and easy.

Rem.

It hit him like a punch to the gut.

That little nickname, all familiar and fond and sinful in the way it curled off your tongue.

His heart gave a desperate lurch in his chest, and he felt—viscerally—the tight pull of desire low in his stomach. His belt was suddenly too snug.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he managed, stepping toward the counter as you finished your muffin with a final flourish.

“Didn’t expect to see you again today,” you said, licking a bit of frosting off your finger. “What brings you here? Another chocolate craving?”

He watched your tongue flick over the tip of your finger like you didn’t even know what you were doing. Or maybe you did.

Maybe you knew exactly how you looked, sunlight on your skin and icing on your lips, a walking fever dream of every soft thing he’s ever wanted.

“Couldn’t stay away,” he said, voice thick.

You laughed, and he knew he was done for.

You moved to grab a towel, but he caught your wrist before you could, gentle but firm, eyes locked to yours.

“I shouldn’t,” he murmured. “I know I shouldn’t.”

But you tilted your head, curious. “Shouldn’t what?”

“This,” he said—and then he pulled you in.

His mouth met yours like he’d waited a lifetime. It wasn’t sweet. It wasn’t polite.

It was needy, hot, his hands gripping your waist and pulling you flush against him as he pressed you back into the counter, scattering a few napkins and flour-dusted tins.

You gasped into the kiss, your hands gripping his shoulders, and he groaned when your hips shifted against his.

The friction nearly undid him.

You were so soft, so warm, and he wanted all of you. Every kiss, every sigh, every inch of skin under that sundress he’d memorized with his eyes.

You whimpered when he kissed down your neck, when his hand slid beneath your apron and gripped your hip hard enough to leave heat in its wake.

“Remus,” you whispered, breathless.

He pulled back for half a second, just to see you—flushed cheeks, kiss-swollen lips, eyes wide and shining.

“I’ve been thinking about this all damn day,” he confessed, his voice rough with restraint he no longer had. “You’ve been driving me wild, honey. You walk around this town looking like that and expect me to act right?”

Your fingers slid beneath the hem of his shirt, making him hiss through clenched teeth. “Maybe I don’t want you to act right.”

That was all it took.

A deep, guttural groan tore from his throat as his mouth slammed back onto yours, hips thrusting forward on pure instinct.

The counter shook beneath the weight of your desperate bodies. The kiss deepened, savage and hungry. You clung to him like you’d shatter without his touch—maybe you would.

Slowly, deliberately, you lifted a leg and wrapped it tight around his waist, lowering yourself onto his rock-hard cock.

A guttural groan spilled from his lips as his hands crushed your waist, pulling you harder against him, grinding you with agonizing slowness.

“Shit, baby, can’t do that to me,” Remus groaned, voice thick and ragged against your mouth.

“I really fucking need you.” His hands tore at your dress, breaking the kiss to rip it off, then devoured your breasts with greedy fingers and mouth. He sucked your nipples hard, tugging like he needed to mark you as his.

You peeled your legs free and steadied yourself on the counter, tossing the dress aside. Remus freed his cock, rock-hard and leaking slick precum onto his jeans. Shameless, he stroked himself slow and steady.

“Keep ‘em on.” His voice was low, rough with need as he didn’t let you slide your panties off. Instead, he wrapped his arms tight around your hips and pulled you down so your back pressed flush against his broad chest.

With an effortless lift, he hoisted you up, spreading your thighs just enough with his free hand, pressing his aching cock right between them.

“Remmy…” you breathed out, tilting your head back to kiss along his sharp jawline, soft and slow.

His cowboy hat sat slightly crooked on his head, the worn brim shadowing his dark eyes—an irresistible invitation. Your fingers reached up, bold and trembling, and slowly you pulled the hat off his head, letting it slip free like a promise.

You lifted it carefully, the faint scent of leather and sun-soaked days lingering in the fabric, and slipped it over your own hair, the brim dipping low over your eyes, hiding your flushed cheeks.

Remus’s breath hitched, his eyes darkening with need as he stared at you—his hat on your head like a secret you were daring him to unravel.

You were officially trying to kill him. Remus Lupin—death by pussy. A noble death, really.

His hands clenched your waist tighter, hips pressing harder against yours. “Gods, you in my hat…” His voice was low, rough with want, “You have no idea what you’re doing to me.”

You moaned softly, heat pooling deep and thick between your legs, your voice barely more than a whisper, “You’re so big.”

“Shit, y-you’re squeezing,” he murmured, voice ragged as he looked down. Your hips moved gently, rocking back and forth, thighs curling tenderly around his cock that throbbed hard against your thin fabric.

You both gasped sharply the moment his cock brushed against your soaked, sensitive clit.

Remus couldn’t stop touching you, not if he tried. One hand toyed with the frilly hem of your panties, teasing and pulling, while the other wrapped snug around your heaving chest, fingers kneading and claiming.

“Spit on it, baby,” he growled low, heat dripping from every word.

You leaned your head down, eyes locked on the slick glistening wetness smearing your inner thighs, and without hesitation, spit right on the tip of his cock—just like he wanted—earning a deep, guttural moan vibrating straight through you.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” he cursed, pressing your thighs tighter together, trapping his twitching cock between them, moving just enough to drive you wild.

When he finally came, the bite he left on your shoulder was painful and possessive, hot and rough as he spilled his release all over the front of your panties.

He dragged the tip of his cock through the slick mess, spreading it, marking you thoroughly.

“What are you doing?” you blinked down at him, breath hitching. Remus knelt on the floor, hands sliding your legs apart and resting them gently on his broad shoulders.

“Cleanin’ you up.” His lips burned against the soft skin of your inner thigh, tongue flat and warm as it licked away every trace of his mess, slick and sticky.

His dark brown eyes, shadowed beneath furrowed brows and heavy lashes glistening with moisture, lifted to meet yours just as he reached your center.

Your chest rose and fell with shallow breaths, heart pounding in the quiet tension.

Remus wrapped his mouth around the stained front of your panties, sucking them clean with a slow, deliberate hunger.

His fingers trembled as they slid the fabric aside, revealing slick heat slicked with his cum underneath. He swallowed hard, lips curving into a satisfied grin pressed against your stomach.

“Can I touch your pretty pussy?” His voice was rough, desperate, a shiver running down your spine.

You nodded quickly, breath catching as his cold fingertips ghosted over your swollen clit.

A thick bead of spit fell from his mouth, slick and wet, coating your slick folds before he replaced his fingers with his tongue, warm and insistent.

Your hand dove into his hair, gripping tight as you pulled him closer, needing every inch of him against your burning heat.

His low moan vibrated against your skin, lips and nose grazing your clit, and damn—he could smell you, raw and intoxicating, making him lose himself completely.

“You taste so fuckin’ good,” he breathed, pulling away just long enough to praise you, hand already palming that aching, swollen cock again.

The pain only made him harder, the desperate urge to touch himself uncontrollable.

With a wicked glint in his eye, he snapped the elastic against your sensitive skin drawing a startled whimper from your throat.

“Rem, I’m gonna come!” you whimpered, that tight knot in your stomach about to unravel.

If his mouth wasn’t still buried between your thighs, you’d have caught the smug smirk spreading across his face.

With a slow, deliberate motion, he hooked a finger into the waistband and pushed your panties to the side, exposing you to the cool air—and to him.

His palm pressed firmly against your lower stomach, moving in slow, possessive circles until you cried out his name, the sound raw and needy.

“Sensitive, yeah?” he murmured, lips trailing soft kisses over your clit, making you jerk and shiver.

You tried squeezing your legs shut, but Remus was relentless—elbow hooking under your thighs to pry them open wide, resting your legs on his shoulders as he dove back into your slick heat.

“Please, Rem, someone could come in!” you gasped, attempting to push him away.

“Just a little more, baby,” he slurred, tongue flicking expertly around your trembling hole.

“Gotta come,” he muttered, sharpening the tip of his tongue and plunging it deep inside you, making you gasp and tremble with pure, desperate need.

He curled his tongue inside you before pulling back and spitting wetly inside, the slick fabric pressed against your pussy.

Your eyes snapped open as his fingers slid in alongside the soaked cloth, stretching you deliciously.

“Fuck, you’re sweeter than any damn pie,” he groaned, voice thick with need as he pushed himself up.

“Gonna cum all over this cunt.”

Hovering over you, your legs wrapped instinctively around his torso, clutching him tight. His cock slapped hard against your clit before he began grinding the swollen tip back and forth, moaning deep and loud.

Breath ragged, he sighed softly as hot spurts of cum dripped slick between your folds, the bunch of fabric trapped inside catching most of the mess.

“Fuck, fuck, such a good girl f’me.”

He let his whole weight collapse onto you, hands bracing on your shoulders to pull you impossibly close.

“So fuckin’ good, baby, best damn pussy in this town.” he muttered, words thick with filthy adoration, peppered with profanity.

Sliding down, he planted soft, worshipful kisses on your collarbone, trailing lower to your chest and stomach.

You grabbed your dress off the counter and fumbled to pull it back on, fingers trembling as you tried to find the sleeves.

“Here—c’mere, baby,” Remus murmured, stepping in to help, his hands steady where yours shook. He took his hat and put it back on his head and then guided the fabric up over your shoulders, smoothing it down gently before reaching for the ribbon that had slipped loose in your hair.

“Hold still, love,” he said, voice soft, almost fond, as he tied it back into place. Then he leaned in, pressing a kiss to your lips—slow, sweet, grounding.

Before you could turn away, his arms snaked around your waist, pulling you flush against him. He caged you gently between his chest and the counter, forehead dropping to yours. “You know,” he whispered, breath warm against your lips, “you’re the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen.”

Your smile curved wicked. “Even right now?”

“Especially right now.”

You reached down, curling your fingers through his until his hand was yours again. Slowly, deliberately, you brought it to your mouth—and licked the remaining mess from his fingers, eyes never leaving his.

Remus Lupin was, quite officially, dead and gone for—completely wiped out at the sight of you licking his own cum off his fingers, the sweet angel baker of the town now standing before him as the most gloriously obscene vision he’d ever laid eyes on.

Yeah, Remus was absolutely, undeniably done for.

But then—

CRASH.

The bakery door slammed open with the force of a thunderclap, bell jangling like an alarm.

A deep roar of an engine echoed behind it, followed by the unmistakable snarl of tires on pavement and the lingering scent of leather and smoke.

And standing in the doorway, sunglasses low on his nose, helmet under one arm and a slow smirk tugging at his mouth—

Was Sirius Black.

“Am I interrupting?” he drawled, voice like trouble and sin.

#colouredbyd #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin x reader smut #remus lupin smut #remus lupin x fem!reader #remus lupin oneshot #remus x reader smut #remus lupin imagine #remus lupin #remus lupin fluff #remus lupin drabble #remus lupin hc #remus lupin fic #remus lupin headcanon #remus lupin fanfiction #remus lupin angst #cowboy!remus

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alwaysmaybank · 2 months ago

Text

soft rafe hours

soft!bf!rafe x reader

warnings: barely proofread, use of y/n once, really soft and mushy!

this is my first time actually writing anything fan fic related so idk if this is good or not.. sorry in advance for the people that follow me because of jj or "right in front of you" but when I made this blog I was in my jj phase and now I'm in my rafe one, so sorry! hope you like it !!

the title is so cringy help me

summary: nobody ever saw rafe like this—so soft. well, except for you, especially during soft rafe hours: at night after a long day, when you’re asleep, when he first wakes up, when you’re sick or hurt, after an argument, on rainy days, and even sometimes in bed. you loved this side of him, even if he only showed it to you. people see him as the confident, smug rafe cameron, but one phone call reveals just how different he truly is.

more under the cut!

after tossing and turning the entire night, slumber is finally taking over your eyelids. just as they start to close… ping! you could've sworn you left your phone on silent? after groaning about it and wondering who it could be, it clicks.

ping! it's rafe. this has become a familiar trend now, him not being able to sleep so he texts and texts until you reply.

ping! until you two call.

ping! you consider just ignoring it, ping! but how could you? it's rafe. plus, if you even tried to ignore him, he would come over and break the door down if he had to.

ping! you eventually open your phone, your eyes closing instinctively at the blinding brightness, six texts from rafe.

rafey:

2:14am

hey baby you up? i miss you

rafey:

2:32am

baby? are u up? y/n?

you saw him yesterday. you’re not sure what’s going on, but you suspect it has something to do with ward, given his clingy behavior.

2:35am

hey rafey

rafey:

did i wake you? sorry baby

you lie. you don't want to make him feel bad.

no no dw baby i was watching something

rafey:

oh okay can we call? couldnt sleep without you i miss you

five seconds later, you call him. “hey baby,” you hear his quiet, soft, yet raspy sleepy voice first.

“hi,” you reply tiredly.

“i missed you,” he says, and you can practically hear the radiant smile in his voice.

“how was your day?” you just had a blissfully lazy day today, some shopping on the side.

“good, i went shopping and saw that whiskey you like on the shelf, reminded me of you,” you grin over the phone.

“mm, good,” you hear him mumble out. “just missed your voice,” he continues. “couldn’t sleep without hearing you first, baby.” that’s cute.

“awh, i love you, baby,” you reply, your tired but don’t want to stay silent; you know he needs this.

“i missed you today,” rafe murmured after a beat, his voice rougher now, more raw. “whole day just felt wrong without you in it.” your chest tightened slightly, in the best way as a blush crept onto your cheeks. he said stuff like this all the time; you don’t think you would ever get over it.

“you make everything better, without even trying,” he pauses, taking in a soft breath. “like… just existing.” you didn’t know what to say, so you settled for a soft, “i missed you too, rafey.”

rafe hummed on the other side of the line, clearly content with that answer. the call goes silent for a minute, the only sound both of your soft breaths that blended together.

“don’t hang up,” he mumbled, his voice hard to get the point across but softened immensely. “jus’… stay, okay?” he whispered, and you agreed with a soft hum.

there was another long pause, and then, so quiet you could’ve thought you imagined it, a little, “love you so much, baby,” slipped past rafe’s lips. you held a chuckle in before responding, “i love you too, rafey, goodnight.” but by the time you said that, rafe was fast asleep, his breath slowing down as the gentle trance of sleep pulled him in.

as you lay there, wrapped in the warmth of his soothing voice, you felt your own eyelids grow heavy, surrendering to a peaceful slumber where everything felt right.

this is wayyyy too short stop

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #drew starkey #alwaysmaybank #outer banks #phone #fanfic #outerbanks rafe #rafe obx #rafe x reader #rafe fanfiction #rafe outer banks #fluff #soft!rafe x reader #soft!rafe cameron

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lxnarphase · 1 year ago

Note

As a society we need to appreciate Suguru fingerfucking fem!reader as if it was nothing but an everyday task.

yes i have an indifference kink.

━━ ❝ INCOMING CALL : S. GOJO!!! ❞

☾₊‧⁺...synopsis : suguru isn't going to let a phone call interrupt his wrist work out, especially when he realizes who's calling

☾₊‧⁺...cw : suguru geto x fem!reader ft. satoru gojo, smut, fingerfucking, pre-established relationship, exhibitionism, voyeurism, dirty talk, begging, suguru and satoru being perverts, suguru is a bad influence

☾₊‧⁺...a/n : mmm iM A FREAK !!! sorry i couldnt help but throw gojo in there too for a lil extraness so i hope u like it, suguru is just a big meanie but i love it

"oh, satoru's calling."

beep.

"hey, satoru, what's up?"

he was annoying. so, so, SO annoying.

only suguru would have the fucking nerve to whine and beg for you to leave the comfort of your soft sheets on the bed on your rest day to sit on the couch next to him while he watches some game show.

only suguru would pat your thighs, muttering a little 'open up, baby' without taking his eyes off the screen, acting as if he's more into it than you.

only suguru would smirk as he slips his fingers inside your soft pussy, humming as he slowly feels you begin to soak his fingers, teasing you on how quickly you get wet for him.

and only suguru would answer his fucking phone to gojo satoru of all people while he plays with your pussy.

"ehhh? you want to come over? but you were just here this morning," suguru hums into the phone, acting as if his fingers aren't swirling circles into your clit. it's so unfair, he's so good with his hands that you aren't sure how you're gonna be able to stay quiet. satoru never knew when to shut up, especially on the phone.

"aww, but i didn't get to see pipsqueak today!"

that makes you huff, annoyance crossing your features. you were not that small! satoru and suguru were just! abnormally tall!

before you can even mutter a snide comment, suguru slips his fingers back into you, smirking when you gasp so sweetly. your gushing all over his slender fingers and he's relishing the tight heat that envelops him.

"aww, satoru," suguru fucking purrs into the phone, not missing the way satoru's teasing comments pause for a moment nor the way you shook him a look. you know that tone, you know it better than anyone.

suguru is up to no fucking good.

"you're right, you did miss her. poor thing was so tired from last night, she needed to sleep in." suguru's focus is back on the TV, voice mischievous as he picks up pace with his finger, wanting to see if he could get you to crack.

"s-sugu," you whimper, a hand coming to cover your mouth. you didn't want to get too loud, the embarrassment of satoru possibly hearing you sounding worse than death. suguru nearly groaned into the phone, feeling how you squeezed on him.

"awww, baby, thinkin' about satoru hearing you is getting you this wet? hm?"

suguru's grip on your thigh to keep you spread for him is firm, his fingers digging into your soft skin as he holds you in place. it's so unfair how he continues to multitask so effortlessly, his phone in his other hand away from his face so he can say such filthy things to you.

it's unfair because it's just making you wetter.

"it's so cute how you get so wet for me, soaking my hand just from two fingers...now shh, baby, i gotta talk to satoru," he coos at you, leaning over to press a sweet kiss to your cheek, like he's not fucking your cunt open with those slender digits of his.

without hesitation, he maneuvers his fingers deeper into the plush, wet heat of your pussy, curling them in a way that made your body arch instinctively as he brings his phone back to his ear, talking to satoru like nothing is happening.

while satoru continues to talk suguru's ear off, you are struggling so bad. it's hard to stay quiet with the way he's touching you. you don't get it, why is he still on the phone? each stroke of his stupid fingers keeps you wound up, unable to think properly, which lets to a sweet whimper leaving you before you can stop it.

"shhh, keep it down, baby," suguru whispers, leaning closer to you, his breath hot against your cheek. "we don't want satoru to hear what a naughty little slut you're being for me, would we?" he's so cruel, his words only making you shiver at the thrill of the situation. feeling you clench on his fingers, he hums curouisly. "oh..? maybe you do. you wanna have satoru hear you get your pussy played with?"

you shake your head, not wanting to deal with the endless teasing from suguru and satoru from being in this situation. but while you was keeping your mouth shut, your pussy betrays you. you're so wet, the sounds of your cunt gushing and sloshing around his fingers start to get picked up by the phone, and satoru noticed.

he could fucking hear the wet slick noises of suguru's fingers messing up your soft slit, and the sound stuns him into silence. he glups, something suguru hears and can't help but smirk about.

he's got the both of you exactly where he wants you.

after a few moments of silence, satoru clears his throat.

"i-is, uh...is she there?"

he's...he's curious, so curious to see if suguru will keep playing this game, keep pretending like he's not fucking you open with his fingers so good that he can hear it through the phone. shit, he's getting so hard from this, he feels like a fucking perv.

suguru's eyes flash with something dangerous at satoru's shaky words, his smirk turning almost evil. you want to glare at him, do something for putting you in such an embarrassing situation, but you just can't. not with how good he's making you feel and how the thought of satoru hearing you makes your walls clamp on his fingers.

suguru maintains his composure, fingers never faltering their movements in and out of your dripping cunt. "mm, i dunno, satoru, what do you think," he asks coolly, his voice a seductive blend of mockery and affection.

"suguruuu, h-he's gonna hear me," you whimper as your arm reaches out to grip his wrist, trying to stop his fingers from moving anymore. it was so messy sounding, your face was on fire. god, why did you have to get so wet from suguru being so mean?!

your breaths come in ragged gasps, hips moving instinctively against suguru's hand, unconsciously seeking more. you just can't help it, he's playing with your pussy so good, it's making your brain mushy.

the squelching sound of your slick wetness is unmistakable to satoru. on the other side of the phone, he's got his phone squished against his ear as much as possible, desperate to hear all of your noises. he's...he's hard, but he can't touch, not yet, he doesn't want any distractions from this.

"fuck, i-i can hear her, suguru...i-is she really wet?"

"mhm. she's dripping, 'toru, all over the couch."

without missing a beat, suguru moves the phone closer to you, continuing work his fingers inside your dripping slit. if you say anything, he'd just smirk at you and say he's just repositioning so his hand doesn't hurt.

but you know he's moving it closer to give satoru a better chance of hearing all your noises. and it just makes you squeeze on his fingers, your juices dripping down his wrist.

"here, angel. talk to satoru for me, yeah?"

...oh, what the hell?

your brain is already fucking melting out of your ears, you don't even think about what would happen if you take the phone. your hand trembles as you take the phone, the other hand clutching at the couch cushions for support.

the moment you bring the phone to you, you can hear satoru's excited breathing, the anticipation practically radiating through the speaker.

"h-hi, satoru..." you manage to greet him, voice breaking as suguru finds another sensitive spot within you, his free hand now pressing down on your tummy as he really starts to fuck you with his fingers.

"h-hey, sweet thing," satoru tries to purr, but it just comes out like a desperate sigh, a mix of curiosity and arousal clear in his tone. "you...you sound so pretty..."

suguru doesn't relent for a moment, his pretty fingers plunging and twisting inside you. sure, he wants you to be able to talk to satoru, but that doesn't mean you have to be incoherent. no, he wants you to be unable to hold back those moans from him.

who cares if his best friend is on the other line?

"c'mon, princess, tell him how you're feelin'," suguru whispers into your ear, his breath hot against your skin. "let him know how good 'm makin' your pretty pussy feel right now."

his voice sounds so good in your ear, your grip on the phone tightening as you try to hold onto the last shred of your composure.

"s-sugu, don't talk t' me like that, fuck, 's so embarrassing..."

he knows you don't mean it, not when he feels your gummy walls clench on him like that. you like it, you like when he's mean, when he makes you talk to him and tell him how good he's making you feel. but it feels even better because you know satoru is gonna hear how good suguru, his best friend, makes you feel with just his fingers.

the sensation of suguru's fingers, slick and sticky with your arousal, moving relentlessly inside your soft pussy and pressing against that fucking spot that makes you gush all over his hands, is making having any coherent thought nearly impossible.

"s-suguruuu, i-i can't, 'm gonna—!"

on the other end, satoru bites his lip to muffle his groan, the mental image of the scene flashing in his mind. his mind is going blank as the wet sounds of his best friend's fingers and your labored breaths and broken little moans fills his ears.

but then, they stop.

you let out the prettiest little moan and satoru feel his cock throb in his sweats, the feeling of precum leaking out making him shiver.

god, he wants to hear you like that all the time...

"s-suguru, why'd you—?"

"are you coming over or not, satoru? wouldn't you rather see her than hear her? if you come over, i'll teach you how t' make her squirt."

that seems to be all it takes to get him to keen, a high pitched and pathetic whimper coming from satoru's end of the call. who knew suguru could get the strongest to make such a sound just from a simple set of words?

"i'm on my way right now, please, don't let her cum without me there."

#geto suguru x you #geto suguru smut #suguru smut #geto suguru x reader #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #gojo satoru smut #gojo smut #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk smut #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #💎 ── satoru.#🔮 ── suguru.#˗ˏˋ ★ lxnarworks .ᐟ

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kitysugar · 9 months ago

Text

run ~ sunghoon x reader

ଓ ⋆˙⊹ [ 성훈 ] ☆ sunghoon can't help but watch his favorite little toy go absolutely crazy, you unbeknowingly give him exactly what he wants; not only your blood , but your pussy as well.

word count ; 2.6k

sunghoon x reader | heavy cnc , slight manhandling , smacking , dacryphilia , mask-kink , fingering , stalking , chasing / prey + hunter , blood consumption, slight knife play, degrading, slight praise, sadism / masochism, you live in the woods , you're also kinda dumb... sorry . not proof read. since its spooky season and I felt like sharing my thoughts.... enjoy you fucking freaks.

sunghoon kept quiet as he stalked through your house , making sure not to step on the places where your floorboard squeaked. you were fast asleep under the covers , breathing steady and your eyes fluttering as they moved behind you lids. sunghoon liked watching you sleep , it almost made him feel as if he were sane.

he'd been stalking observing you for a while , his interest peaking when he saw you working your little day job in the book store down the road.. you were oh so kind to him; helping him find everything he needed, walking around the store with him in order to find a book he had been wanting, you were just so sweet.

he caught on to the hidden compliments you threw at him whenever he would come into your book store, making him smile and blush like crazy. you would even try flirting with him a little. you started looking forward to the times sunghoon came in, the way he would talk to you made you feel like you were special, and you were honestly thinking about asking him out on a date.

he liked watching you walk to and from your job, playing with your dog when you came home, he liked how you would light a candle and read in your room before bed right after doing your skin care routine and oh how he loved watching your dainty little fingers fuck your pussy. your nails freshly manicured in your favorite color.

ever since his little, fascination with you, a side of him was unlocked that he never new about. a side of him that he hides from everyone. you know what one says though; the more you keep things bottled up, the bigger the explosion was going to be.

now here he was, watching you fast asleep in bed, as your parted lips let out breathy sighs. he wonders what you're dreaming about.

maybe you dream about him the same way he used to about you. oh he doesn't sleep anymore unless he quite literally passes out. you've consumed so much of his person that its like the two of you are one now !

his hand brushes over your soft cheek delicately, coming down to the skin of your lips as he presses his thumb down onto your bottom one, feeling your breath fan his digit. he shudders, taking in every single one of your features

that was until you started to stir awake. sunghoon curses for being in your room for too long, knowing that you normally get up at 3:30 in the morning to go pee and get a glass of water. he shuffles out of your room quickly before your eyes fling open.

you heard something.

you could have sworn it. you sit up, your eyes adjusting to the dark room before they land on your bedroom door.

it was closed.

you always close your door before you head to bed. here it was, wide fucking open. fear runs through your veins, your hand shaking as you go to lift yourself up off the bed. you slip out of bed, wary of your surroundings as you make your way around the house. sunghoon can see your figure in the dark as he hides himself behind your couch, crouching down so you couldnt see him. you walk into the kitchen, flicking on a light and turning around to observe your area.

sunghoon has a clear view of you, watching as you shakingly look around for any sign of break ins or anything. you turn around and stare at your front door.

its open.

wide fucking open.

the darkness from outside seeping into your home. you just stare at the front door, your hands folded into your chest while your eyes are as big as the sun, staring straight out of the door and into the darkness.

sunghoon chuckles at how cute you are.

maybe you shouldn't have left it unlocked

sunghoon shifts slightly, but just enough for your head to snap to his. you scream as soon as you see the masked man in the corner. you dart behind you counter within a fraction of a second and run to grab a knife. sunghoon is quick on his feet, meeting you in the kitchen and trapping you in the room. you scurry around your silverware drawer, not finding any of your sharp knives.

"what the fuck!" you scream in fear. you never touch your sharper knives unless you have to. sunghoon chuckles behind you, and you swear you can just fucking die on the spot. you spin around, the tall man stands inbetween you and the rest of the house. your eyes dart around looking for something- anything to use to defend yourself that you can reach for quicker than he can.

nothing, not a single fucking thing in sight. you suddenly get an idea; the only way out was to run turn around and run out the back door, having a small chance of survival if you were to run into the woods behind your house.

"dont be stupid.." he warns, your biggest knife sliding out from his belt loop, his fingers coming to play with the pointy end of it, twisting it in his fingers. you hesitate, your body shaking as your mind screams at you to run.

your eyes drink in his figure. the shape of his arms defined by the black shirt he's wearing and a black pair of jeans that match. under different circumstances, you would be unbelievably turned on due to the ghost face mask covering this mans face. you breathe in through your nose, holding it as your body spins around, acting before you can think.

you work fast to unlock the door, swinging it open and slamming it shut behind you within a second.

"I said dont be fucking stupid" he leaps over the counter, beginning to run after you, his long legs and toned figure gaining distance on you quickly. the light from your house disappears as you make it to the tree line, your feet beginning to scrape against the ground of the woods. your breathing is heavy as you move as you run for your life. sunghoon watching you disappear into the shadows, following in after you. he listens to your feet hitting the ground, twigs and leaves crunching under the pressure of your body weight.

you turn around to see if you had gained any distance, but scream as you see him hot on your tail. your body feels like its going to give out underneath you at any given second and your feet begin to bleed against the rough ground. tears stream down your face as they blur your vision.

you're terrified.

you grab onto a small tree and make a sharp turn, hissing as the bark cuts into your hand. sunghoon follows you, watching your every move like a hawk as he does so.

"you can't run from me, y/n" you hear him tease you. you spot another tree to make a sharp turn at, but before you can reach out to grab it, you trip on a huge tree root that's growing above the ground. you stumble, your body hitting the ground in a tumble, leaves get in your hair and you feel your nose start to bleed. before you can process what happened, you feel a hand on your throat. your eyes shoot open as the masked man now stands in front of your aching body.

his fingers press against your artery, threatening to cut off your oxygen.

"no no please, please dont hurt me" you say as he places the tip of the knife on your thigh, trailing it up your skin and under your night gown. your breath shudders under the cold metal, your arms feeling weak after you just landed on them, your full body weight crushing them in an instant.

"aww, begging already sweetheart?" he coos at you, his knife finding your clothed clit and you can't help yourself when a whimper exits your throat. your head hurts as he throws the knife to the side, his fingers coming to rub against your clothed heat instead. your hands fly up to grab his arm, attempting to push him away.

sunghoon's grip on your throat disappears, a harsh sting on your cheek making you gasp as he slaps you across the face before grabbing both your wrists in his hold and pushing them into the dirt above your head.

"stop fucking squirming and take it" his fingers pull your panties to the side as he enters two of his digits into your wet cunt, and you feel embarrassment rise to your cheeks at the squelch your wetness makes.

"you're so wet, you like it when I use your body? what a fucking whore" you squirm under his fingers, your hips grinding into his hand and your legs kick out as he pumps your pussy, his fingers curling in and out of you.

"please" tears cloud your vision again and all you want to do is disappear.

"that's right, squirm for me a little more" a sob racks out of your throat, your wetness increasing as his fingers work inside you. your walls clamp down on his digits. you bite your lip hard enough to draw blood and you can taste the iron on your tongue.

you squeal out when you feel the coil in your tummy, your back arching off the ground and your legs begin to shake. sunghoon chuckles to himself, your pussy sucks in his fingers almost as if they're begging for his cock.

he knew today was the day he was gonna use your body. the way you purposely left the door unlocked and your curtains open, the way you looked outside longly before you had gone to bed, your bedroom window being cracked as your fingers fucked your pussy pathetically. he does it better, and you knew as much.

he sees your change in demeanor, your walls flutter around his fingers and your arms buckle in his hold. he tongues his cheek before he rips his digits out of you, your orgasm being stripped away from your body and you dart your head up, a scared whine leaving your lips as you hear the buckle of his belt come undone. you begin to thrust your heels into the ground, an attempt to get away from the man once more.

he looks back up at you, shaking his head with a 'tsk' before his hand comes away from his belt to slap your puffy cunt, a squeal erupting from your mouth. he takes his belt off completely, working to undo his button and zipper. when you hear his pants shuffle, that's when you know you're all done for, but that doesn't stop you from putting up a fight.

you kick his leg, earning you a loud "fuck" from the man and your wrists slip from his grip, but before you can claw your way out from underneath him completely, he grabs you ankles and drags you against the hard ground, your body under his as you notice his hard cock sprung against his abdomen, pearly beads of precum leaking out of his pink tip.

you whine as his free hand comes to wrap around your throat once more, squeezing down and you almost lose all ability to breathe. your head feels fuzzy, but you still fight anyways. your hands grab at the mask and rip it off, your eyes widening when you see who it is.

"s-sunghoon ?" you choke out in surprise. he chuckles at your reaction, his fanged teeth on display. his fist pumps his cock as he leans over your trembling figure, his face coming down to yours as he licks the blood off your cheek, a scratch littering your face from your earlier fall.

you whine under him as he pushes his tip against your sopping hole, your pussy wet enough he was able to slide in with ease. your back arched as you curled into him, your hands coming up to grip his hair in your fingers and yanking, attempting to pull him off. he hisses under your grip and his hand lets go of your throat, earning you yet another slap across the face. just as his palm met contact with your cheek, he began to thrust his dick inside you roughly, his thrusts demanding and concentrated. you scream at the pain of the stretch, his cock splitting you open in a sting.

your hands fall from his hair, moving towards his hips to push him away

"s-stop f..f p lease ! h-hoon no !" you squeal as his tip presses up against your cervix. his thrusts dont falter at your desperate attempt to get him away from you, your pussy clenching down on his length as your moans fill the cool, autumn air. the trees hum in tune with your beautiful melody, sunghoon groaning.

"shut up and take it and I might let you live" his threat hangs in the air over your head and you whine, your hands letting go of his body, coming up to grab his biceps, one holding your legs apart and the other is digging its palm into the ground, holding him up above your frame as he fucks himself into you.

your jaw slacks open, the prettiest of whines and whimpers dance off your tongue in pleasure. sunghoon drags his lower lip inbetween his teeth, your cunt sucking him in as he graces your sweet spot with every thrust.

"please f-fuck oh my god" you beg- not having a clue in the world what for. your body is tingly and your head is light. your head turns to the side and tears roll down your cheeks, your mouth kisses sunghoons hand that holds himself up, and he can't help but laugh at your cuteness.

"god you're so fucking adorable when you cry, pretty" you hum at his words. his hips rock against yours, your hole fluttering around him like a butterfly's wing. the coil in your stomach tightens and you feel your orgasm approaching, and sunghoon can tell because you get that look in your eye as your body begins to convulse. he curses under his breath as he sits up.

he grabs your legs and forces them over his shoulders, his body pressing down on the back of your thighs as he brings your knees to the sides of your head, folding you in half. your eyes widen at the deeper angle, your hands moving towards his back as your nails dig into him.

"you still want me to stop, precious?" he looks into your eyes and you can't help the pathetic way you shake your head slowly, a hushed whine fills sunghoons ears as a protest. his thrusts pick up pace again, fucking you into the dirt beneath you.

"that's what I fucking thought" your legs feel like jelly as sunghoon presses them up against you, your orgasm from before begins to wash over you.

sunghoon snakes a hand down in between your sweaty bodies, rubbing sloppy circles on your clit and you finally feel yourself begin to spill over. with your legs wrapping around his head, you cream all over his dick with a scream, his cock hitting all the right angles.

he doesn't care. his pace doesn't let up as he fucks you through your orgasm, overstimulation beginning to make your body convulse in his hold, your pulse picking up the pace even more.

"n-no , 's too much pl-please !" your hiccuped sobs of desperation egg sunghoon on further, your clit pulsating against his fingers.

"we're not done until I say we are, understand?" you nod your head, taking his dick pathetically, your eyes begging and your mouth telling him to continue with your sounds.

"you're gonna take my cock like the pathetic little girl you are" he spits at you, venom in his tone.

you might be just as sick as he is, purposely leaving your doors unlocked knowing who was going to be barging in this late into the night.

#⊹ ⋆꒰ఎ ♡ ໒꒱ ⋆ﾟ⊹#girlblog ♡#♡#sunghoon x reader smut #park sunghoon x you #enhypen sunghoon smut #sunghoon enhypen #enhypen sunghoon #park sunghoon x reader #sunghoon x reader #sunghoon smut #park sunghoon #sunghoon #enhypen smut #enhypen x reader #enhypen

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mekakitsune · 9 months ago

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jinx x fem!reader | minors dni

kinktober 2024 prompts i found :p (overstim, biting, oral sex)

something to know about jinx? she will give it her all, especially when it comes tou you. she relishes in pushing your limits, much to your dismay.

you lay beneath her, top long discarded, her form mirroring yours. her kisses were feverish, harshly prying apart you lips to taste everything you could give her. her hips moved against yours, slow and desperate. a small groan left her lips as she pulled away.

taking in her form, you couldnt help but stare. chest moving rapidly, her long, blue hair tied behind her ears, strands falling wildly. her lips are swollen, red and surely bruised. her chest, small, round breasts adore with sweet little barbells through her stiff nipples.

"youre staring baby..." she purrs, grinding her hips farther into you, leaning in close.

"cant help it....look at you." i giggle at her flushed cheeks, fingers brushing some hair from her sweaty forehead.

with a roll of her eyes, she moves to settle herself between your legs.

"s'nough sweet talk, yeah? wanna taste this pretty pussy..." she rasps, smirking as you squirm at her words. her cold fingers rub at the fabric covering your cunt cause you to gasp and buck your hips into her hold.

another giggle. "youre so sensitive, havent even done anything yet." she teases as she kisses at your thighs, fingers pressing into your hips. her tongue licks the inside of you thigh, so close to where you need her, making you moan softly.

without much warning, she sinks her teeth in. wild giggles fall from her lips as you whimper at the pain, the metallic taste on her tongue is enough to make her see stars. her tongue rolls over the bite, soothing the sting as she kneeds your hips with her hands.

"jinx..fuck i-"

you're undeniably soaked. she takes your plea as motivation to continue and pulls your underwear down, letting them fall to the floor.

"s'wet for me baby, so fuckin pretty." she groans at the sight, wasting little time before she dives in. her tongue finds your swollen clit immediately, making small yet intense strides.

your fingers find her hair, pulling at the strands, causing another moan to rip through her chest. she laps at you like her life right now, depends on it.

fingers move to prod at your hole, easily slipping in with a small hum of approval from jinx. moans and the sound of slick skin fill the room. her fingers continue thier assault on your inside as her tongue moves messily around your clit.

"jinx...m'close" you moan wantonly, feeling yourself definitely coating her face.

"gonna cum babygirl? lemme see it." she muttered against your clit, making you throb around her. "yeah? fuckin cum f'me."

like a dam breaking, your orgasm crashes through you fast and hard. jinx fucks you through it, groaning as you spill all over her face and fingers. her pace stays steady, making you moan and writhe against her. soon, the throbbing assault became too much to handle.

"too much...s'too much...hah fuck-" you buck against her wildly, her head still unmoving.

"you can give me another yeah?" she taunts as she pulls her mouth away for a moment, her fingers still slamming into you. "know you can baby...cmon, make a fuckin mess f'me." her lips find your cunt again, abusing the swollen flesh.

"fuck oh god...its too much jinx...hurts." you whine pathetically, sentences broken apart by whimpers and moans.

"s'okay baby, just let it go, i know you can" she encouraged, eyes looking up at your disheveled form.

your second orgasm of the night hits you like a truck, feeling spurts of cum fall from your pussy. jinx doesnt let any go to waste, slurping obscenely while moaning at the mess you were making. tears of overstimulation burn in your eyes as you buck against her, pushing her shoulders, hoping shes had her fill.

she pulls her head away from you, panting wildly as she slides her fingers out. she brings her fingers to her mouth and cleans them of the stringy substance, moaning in satisfaction as she looks into you eyes.

"that was fuckin hot." she teases, giggling as she moves to hover you again. she leans in and places a searing kiss to your lips, the taste of your orgasm still on her lips. a sigh leaves her lungs as her lips mold with yours, fingers finding your side and rubbing softly.

"did so good f'me." she whispers against your lips as you both catch your breath.

a silent beat passes, basking in the warmth of each other as she speaks again, eyes glinting with something mischievous.

"you got one more in ya, right baby?" she smirks, fingers moving to toy with the waistband of her pants.

#hi its been a while #my bad #take this as an apology pls <3 #not proofread im illiterate sorry #jinx arcane #jinx x reader #jinx smut #jinx x reader smut #arcane #arcane x reader #arcane smut #wlw #wlw smut #lesbian #nsfw.mp3 🫧

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slutzforbueckers · 1 month ago

Note

hi bby! first, congrats on 1k!! proud of you and cant believe ive been here since one of your first fics 🥹🥹

second, can i request fluff prompt 15: “am i your lockscreen?” “you werent supposed to see that.” its set RIGHT after paige and y/n make everything official after MONTHSSSS of going on dates and flirting and hanging out. its subtle, like a canid picture paige took of y/n or a mirror pic from one of the dates or a picture from a game that one of the photographers took. but its on paiges phone, and y/n only notices because she couldnt find her phone. so she goes to grab paiges phone to call it and paige freaked out about it and got all nervous.

such a softie

♡— pairing: paige bueckers x fem!reader

♡— warnings: none

♡— synopsis: after you and paige make things official, your first thought is to call your best friend and spill the news. the only problem is that you can’t find your phone and when you reach for paige’s phone you see something you weren’t meant to see.

♡—a/n: ilyyyyyyy

❥•°❀°•༢

you were still smiling from ear to ear when you settled back in the passenger seat. paige had just kissed you for the first time—she’d just made things official between you. her hand found yours and she interlaced your fingers.

“wait! i have to tell jana. she is the one who introduced us.” you screeched. paige just laughed and shook her head, her cheeks still a little flushed.

you reached for your phone, which was supposed to be right next to you but when your hand met the seat it wasn’t there. you frowned and lifted your hips a bit, patting around under you.

“what’s wrong?” paige asked, her brows coming together slightly. she turned in her seat and leaned forward a bit.

“my phone, i can’t find my phone.” you slid off the seat and kneeled in the floorboard, looking around. it was dark out so you couldn’t see as good. paige looked around her seat even though she knew it wouldn’t be there. “i literally just had it. give me your phone—i’ll call it.”

you reached for her phone and paige panicked,

“i—i’ll do it,” she blurted, way too fast.

you blinked. “what?”

“i’ll call it,” she repeated quickly, already scrambling for her phone in the cupholder.

you paused, eyebrows drawing together in confusion as she fumbled to unlock it. “okay, that was suspicious,” you said, watching her carefully.

“no it wasn’t,” she replied, avoiding your eyes.

you leaned closer, eyes narrowing just a little. “why don’t you want me to use your phone?”

“i didn’t say that!”

“paige.”

your hand moved toward her phone again, but she instinctively snatched it out of your reach with a speed that made your jaw drop.

“paige!” you laughed, half-shocked, half-suspicious now. “what is going on right now?”

she hesitated, then reluctantly, so slowly, she handed the phone over. you tapped the screen and it lit up—and then you froze. there was a picture of you on the lock screen, it wasn’t obvious though—it was you with your head tilted back mid-laugh.

it was from one of those late night runs to the diner—the “not-a-date” dates. it was old though, obvious by the necklace you wore, which you lost months ago.

“am i your lockscreen?” you asked, blinking at the screen like you weren’t sure you were seeing it right.

paige closed her eyes like she was in pain and you couldn’t help but smile. “you weren’t supposed to see that.”

“you’ve had this for a while, huh?” you turned her phone off and placed it back in the cup holder, leaning over the center console. paige turned her head, a blush creeping up her cheeks.

“maybe.” she mumbled, turning back to look at you. your heart flipped at little, your smile getting wider.

“you’re such a softie,” you whispered, grinning as you leaned over the center console to kiss her. she let out a bashful laugh against your mouth, one hand slipping around to cup your cheek.

“only for you.”

#m speaks #paige bueckers #paige bueckers x reader #paige bueckers x fem!reader #paige bueckers fluff #paige bueckers x fem!reader fluff #dallas wings

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starlinggirll · 2 months ago

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dilf!art x stripper!reader pt1 ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

the first time he saw you he was hooked.

patrick had dragged him to a club after his retirement and divorce with tashi. he was hesitant on going, but he had been rotting in his house, alone. you were basically naked. thong not covering your ass at all, your top piece couldnt even contain your breasts either. your face had glittery make up that make you shine.

but what specially caught his eye was the man you were ontop of. he was ugly. ugly and he could tell he wasn't going to give you good money in exchange of your dance.

he turned to look at patrick but he was already getting danced on by another girl. he sighed, walking towards you. he was nervous, he didnt want to seem like a pervert, even tho he was going to basically give u money for a dance. he gently tapped your shoulder, gulping as your turned around to face him.

you had to tilt your head slightly to look up at him. you were surprised, very. he was tall, broad shoulders, neat button up, a gentle smile on his face. and the most important of all, he looked like he had alot of money. you smiled back, "yes? how can i help you with?" you said in the voice you use with all your costumers. except now your voice was sweeter. he was handsome and looked like he had money? yeah. he was your costumer. you

"i-i um-" he sighs, slightly embarrassed at his stuttering. "how much for a dance?" he mumbles, and you giggle. "that depends, clothes on or clothes off?"

his eyes widen slightly, he looks back at patrick and that's when he realizes the girl ontop of him is naked except for a thong. "oh um," he responds before taking out $400. "clothes on."

your eyes widen slightly, "it's usually only $200 i dont need-" "take it," he insists, softly grabbing your hand and placing the 4 hundred bills in it. you looked so beautiful in the lighting. too beautiful for a place like this.

"okay then, if you insist." you smile softly, grabbing his wrist and pulling him to one of the room where private sessions happen, "sit down." you press your hands on his chest, pushing down on the couch.

"so," you hummed as you straddled him. "what you work on?" you tilt your head to the side, grinding on him softly, hair falling to the side to reveal your neck.

his chest faltered slightly, you were so pretty, in such a horrible place. he could easily 'save you'. get you in his house, spoil you, treat you like you deserve. "i-im a retired tennis player." he mumbles, your eyes widen slightly as you realize. "no wayyy, you're Art Donaldson?" you giggle, smiling even more as you feel his hands shyly touch your thighs.

"yeah. in the flesh," he chuckles, gently caressing your thighs. "whatcha doing in a place like this, Mrs. Donaldson?" you tease. and god, he wishes he had the balls to ask you the same question. "me and my wife got divorced a few months ago, my friend thought going out would be good for me."

"divorced, huh?" you gently rubbed your chest against him before getting off him. "well, since you paid such a generous tip, i dont mind breaking a few rules for you." you winked, slipping your thong down to your knees.

he wanted to stop you, but he wanted it. plus, he could be one step closer to convince you go to his house. not for sex, but for you to experience how to be truly taken care of.

you pressed you ass against his groin, grinning as you arched your back and grinding against him at a measured pace. his hands gently grasped your hips, after a few seconds he stops you. "d-do you want to go back to my place?" he mumbles.

he can already imagine you, sleeping in his shirt, getting held in his arms as you sleep peacefully in his big bed. away from the men in here, away from all the perverts that want to put their hands on you. he doesn't know why he feels a big sense of protection over you, he just does.

"um what?" you laugh nervously, turning to look at him with raised eyebrows. ah, right. "ill give u another $500 dollars if you go to my place." he frowns very slightly. "1k. if you go to my house."

after a few seconds of thinking about it you nod. "yeah, yeah sure."

he lets out a sigh of relief as he stands up, even tho he knows you're mostly doing it for the money. his hand wraps around your waist and he pulls the thong back up. "ill see you outside, yeah?" you nod. gulping as his big strong hands give your thighs a little squeeze.

he walks out, and you're left standing alone with a tinge of nervousness and also a tinge of excitement. biting your bottom lip, you scatter out of the room to your locker to change.

#dilf!art #challengers #mike faist #art donaldson #art donaldson i love you #art donaldson x reader #anora inspired #anora #stripper!reader #josh o'connor #patrick zweig #zendeya #tashi duncan #blow this up #please and thank you #bonniesbluee ۶ৎ

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ev3rm0re-q · 27 days ago

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fire & ice ⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆

desc: basically the hotel room scene in challengers (with a twist!) but with yeonbin!!

pairing: tennis player!Yeonjun x tennis player fem!reader x tennis player!Soobin

genre: challengers AU, spicyy

warning/s: lots of swearing, smoking, 18+ content (suggestive)

wc: 5.1k

a/n: okay, okay.. i know i did promise a part 2 for half a spell, but i just couldnt help myself ITS A CHALLENGERS AUU I MEANN. i feel like u guys are getting fed as much w this one bc this one is scrumptious as fuckkk HELPPPAKSHBFAJS anyway, pls comment if u guys want more from thiss (part 2??) bc i doo have a very fun dynamic planned for these three!! hope yall enjoyyy <33

"She’s not coming, Yeonjun."

"She’s coming."

Soobin lies the wrong way across the bed, his bed technically, but both mattresses had been shoved together hours ago in a half-assed attempt at a bigger one.

His bare feet rest on the pillows as he tosses a tiny rubber ball against the wall—thunk, thunk, thunk—watching it rebound into his palm again and again.

“You don’t know that,” he says, flicking his wrist. His voice isn’t bitter, just worn out.

Yeonjun doesn’t answer right away.

He’s slouched in the wooden chair at the foot of the bed, one leg propped up, elbow draped over his knee. The dim light from his phone screen casts a pale blue shine over his face. A lit cigarette hangs loosely from his mouth as he scrolls through social media.

"She said she’d think about it," Soobin mutters, catching the ball mid-air and letting it sit in his hand for once. "People don’t usually show when they say that they'll 'think about it.'"

Yeonjun stops scrolling. His eyes flick toward the door.

“She’s coming.” He says it with quiet finality.

Then, just as easily, he scrolls again.

Thunk. Thunk.

The ball hits the wall.

✧˖° earlier that day °˖✧

The game was still in full swing, the bright yellow ball cracking sharply against the court with every controlled hit.

Yeonjun didn’t flinch or clap.

He simply sank deeper into his seat, a popcorn bucket left forgotten on his lap as one hand loosely held onto the container. His eyes flicked back and forth across the court, tracking the steady rhythm of the ball.

Soobin, on the other hand, leaned forward slightly, lips curled softly around the straw of his iced tea, sipping with quiet focus.

His eyes were only locked on her, sharp and unreadable, like he was silently memorizing every flick of her wrist and every subtle shift in her stance.

Moments earlier, Yeonjun had practically dragged Soobin into the stands, insisting he watch the women’s finals—raving about this tennis prodigy who, in his words, was "the hottest woman he’d ever seen."

Sure.

Soobin had taken it lightly at first, figuring Yeonjun was just exaggerating again.

But now, watching Y/N move across the court with that rare blend of grace and fire, he couldn’t look away. She wasn’t just a prodigy.

She was easily the most captivating girl he’d ever laid eyes on.

Just then, Y/N sent a sharp hit of the ball, skimming right at the edge of the court, just out of her opponent’s reach. The point was hers, and a soft murmur rippled through the crowd.

She made her way back to the baseline, casually bouncing the ball in her hand. Her hair was tied back loosely in a ponytail, her wrist completely relaxed—no tension, just precise control.

A small twitch ran through her fingers as she lined up the serve, fully absorbed in the rhythm of the game. Still, her expression remained soft—effortless and sweet, yet deadly in its own grace.

With calm focus, she tossed the ball into the air.

Her serve sliced through the court.

Her opponent reacted almost instantly, matching her pace with barely a pause. The ball returned with equal force, flying through the court with razor-sharp precision.

The rally stretched on each shot smooth, deliberate, and packed with skill. And with every return, quiet grunts slipped from her lips as the scoreboard crept closer to the final point.

“Holy… fuck…” Soobin breathed out, his voice barely more than a moan.

Yeonjun let out a soft groan and shifted in his seat. Both of them subtly adjusted their jeans, trying to stay composed despite the rising tension.

On the last shot, her opponent lunged but missed—the ball slipping just past their racket, out of bounds.

The crowd’s applause swelled, growing louder with every second.

“Match point. Y/N,” the announcer said, calm and clear.

Her breath slowed, every muscle tightening and then releasing, moving like clockwork. The ball bounced once, then twice.

Y/N tightened her grip on the racket, eyes locked on her opponent—ready for the final play. Without a second thought, she sprung into action.

Her racket cut through the air as she launched the last serve. The ball blasted across the court with deadly speed, landing just out of her opponent’s desperate reach at the far edge court.

The crowd held its breath as the ball slammed into the baseline, the sharp crack echoing across the outdoor court.

Her opponent lunged once more, the tip of the racket barely grazing the ball—but it was too late.

The match was hers.

And for a split second, everything stood still.

Then—

Y/N lets out a soft breath.

Not a loud battle-cry shout or a booming cheer—just a quiet sigh that slipped through the silence of the court. For the first time all match, the composed mask she’d been wearing slipped just enough to let the fire underneath peek through.

Then, the crowd erupted in thunderous applause.

Soobin blinked, like he’d just been snapped out of a trance, lips parted in something between awe and disbelief. Even Yeonjun was uncharacteristically speechless—until he let out a low whistle and leaned back with a small, impressed smile.

Down on the court, Y/N didn't move. Her feet were kept grounded to the floor as her shoulders held loose but steady, chest rising and falling with quiet, measured composure.

Like the match hadn’t taken everything.

Like she still had more to give.

Then, as the cheers grew louder, she smiled.

It was soft yet bright. Almost too dazzling to look at. It wasn’t the kind of smile that begged for attention. It just had a way of drawing you in.

Y/N had won.

Not with noise. Not with theatrics.

But with grace, control, and a fire that didn’t need to roar to be felt. And in that moment it was undeniable:

She didn’t just belong on that court.

She fucking owned it.

Later that evening, Yeonjun and Soobin somehow ended up at a celebration party thrown in her honor—despite the fact that Soobin had only learned of her existence a few hours earlier.

Between the pop of champagne and the buzz of congratulatory chatter, both boys just stood off to the side, looking completely out of place. They almost resembled two lost puppies who were simply basking in the glory of her ADIDAS sponsorship, the swarm of rich kids in sleek designer outfits… and, of course, her.

Neither of them really mingled. They just kind of… hovered.

Close enough to see her laugh, talk, and dance. But far enough to not be too obvious about it.

Which, of course, made it almost glaringly obvious.

Eventually, Yeonjun couldn't take it anymore and worked up the courage to cross the room over to Y/N. Soobin trailed closely behind him, carrying an expression that looked like he wanted to turn back with every other step.

And when finally they reached her, the nerves hit. But to their surprise, the girl didn’t wave them off.

She smiled. Laughed even.

Teasing them back just enough to make it hard to tell if she was being polite… or genuinely flirting back.

Then Yeonjun, bold as ever, just went for it.

“You know,” he said, feigning casual, “since we’re all staying at the same hotel. If you’re free later, you could… swing by our room?”

She looked at him with that soft, unreadable smile. The kind that said absolutely nothing and everything all at once.

“I’ll think about it,” she said, voice sweet as honey.

And then she was gone—off to greet another guest who had just arrived at the party, leaving both boys staring after her like they’d just been hit by a truck.

A beat passed.

Then another.

And then, suddenly, they bolted—straight back to their hotel room, scrambling to clean their mess like their lives depended on it.

Pillows were deliberately fluffed. Scented air fresheners and personal colognes were deployed.

Soobin even wiped the windows.

Just in case.

✧˖° Cut back to the present °˖✧

The hotel room, once spotless in a frenzy of panicked cleaning, has now slowly returned to its natural state of chaos.

Pillows and blankets are, once again, tossed haphazardly across both beds, and clothes lie scattered in every direction. It’s the same mess Yeonjun had promised—multiple times—that he’d “get to later.”

And honestly? It’s really starting to seem like she’s not coming after all.

Thunk. Thunk. Thunk.

Soobin huffs, “I’m telling you, she’s not—”

A knock cuts through the room.

They both go still.

The rubber ball slips from Soobin’s fingers and hits the floor with a soft thud, rolling just beneath the coffee table.

Another knock. Then one more.

And then all hell breaks loose.

Yeonjun quickly flicks the cigarette out the window, exhaling the last bit of smoke through his nose as they both rush to fix the room—again. Blankets are yanked back into place, clothes shoved under the beds, pillows re-fluffed in a frenzy, like they hadn’t just trashed the place twenty minutes ago.

Soobin, caught up in the chaos, reaches for a pillow but missteps.

He rolls right off the bed with a surprised yelp, landing with a soft thud on the floor. He immediately scrambles to get back up as Yeonjun stifles a laugh.

On the other side of the door, Y/N presses her ear lightly against the wood, biting back a laugh.

She hears frantic footsteps, whispered scolding, and then the unmistakable sound of someone tripping over something. Her grin spreads wider with each passing second.

Without warning, the door swings open. Y/N quickly straightens, slipping into a calm, indifferent expression.

Inside, both boys freeze in awkward poses.

Soobin 'coolly' leans against the doorframe, trying to look casual. Except, his elbow is positioned too high, making him seem more like he’s mid-flinch than striking a cool pose.

Yeonjun stands in front of him, attempting a smooth, effortless smirk, but the panic in his eyes and the messy hang of his half-untucked tank top ruin the effect completely.

Y/N lifts an eyebrow, visibly amused.

“…Hey,” Yeonjun says, breath just a touch uneven.

Soobin gives her a slight nod, pretending that his shoulder isn’t starting to cramp from that ridiculous pose.

She just smiles. Innocently. As if she hadn’t heard every second of their panicked scrambling.

"Hi."

Her voice is soft, but it cuts right through the thick cloud of tension hanging in the air.

For a beat, no one moves.

Soobin, still awkwardly leaning against the doorframe, blinks like he forgot how to function. Yeonjun opens his mouth, then closes it again. Neither of them speak. The silence stretches—long enough to feel heavy, too short to recover.

Somewhere behind them, a sock slides slowly off the bed and lands on the floor with an audible flop.

Y/N tilts her head, lips twitching like she’s fighting a smile.

"Soo… are you guys gonna let me in?"

Soobin jolts upright so fast he nearly knocks into the door.

“Yeah, s-sorry...come in!” he stammers, quickly stepping aside to give her space.

Yeonjun clears his throat, suddenly standing straighter as he tries to kick away a wrinkled shirt behind him with one foot.

“Make yourself at home,” he says, stepping aside as well as he flashes what he hopes is a cool, effortless smirk. But it’s mostly just nervous.

Y/N steps inside, eyes sweeping the room with a knowing look that says she’s already seen everything she needs to.

But, she doesn’t comment on the grey t-shirt poking out from behind the curtain or the suspiciously empty chip bag sticking out from under a pillow. Instead, she just walks in like she belongs there, comfortable, unfazed, and completely in control.

Yeonjun and Soobin glance at each other behind her back, both silently mouthing what now? like two idiots in over their heads.

Y/N turns around to face them, arms crossed and one brow raised.

“Well?” she says, playful. “You two gonna stand there all night or offer me a drink?”

A beat of silence—Soobin blinks like he’s short-circuited, and Yeonjun jumps in, a little too loudly, “Right! Yeah. Of course!”

-------˖⁺. ༶ ❤︎ ⋆˙⊹ ෆ ⊹˙⋆❤︎ ༶ .⁺˖-------

Now, they’re sitting on the floor, legs either stretched out or curled up, passing around a half-empty beer can between them.

A few crushed cans lie scattered nearby—a quiet reminder of the nerves they’d been carrying just moments before. Soft music plays from Soobin’s phone, propped up on the table beside him, blending seamlessly with the warm glow filling the boys’ hotel room.

The earlier tension has now melted away, replaced by easy chatter, casual laughter, and quiet—sometimes not-so-subtle—glances exchanged between them.

“Wait, wait—so you guys started a band back in middle school? That’s how you met?”

“Yeah. We started this little garage band with three other friends. Instruments and everything,” Soobin says, taking another sip of the beer. “I played guitar, and Yeonjun here was the lead singer.”

“Wow, that’s really cool,” she says, tilting her head with a soft smile.

Then, after a beat, she adds smoothly, “But how did you guys become… this?”

“This..?” Yeonjun raises a brow, a smirk tugging at his lips.

“Tennis,” Y/N says, gesturing vaguely between the two of them. “You know, Fire and Ice.”

Yeonjun leans back on his hands, legs stretched out in front of him, tank top loose against his frame. “Oh, we always played. Not seriously at first—just with our dads, sometimes after school.”

“Yeah, our dads were friends,” Soobin says, sitting cross-legged at the foot of the bed, beer in hand. “They used to take us to their country clubs and let us mess around on the courts for hours.”

He lets out a soft laugh. “But we were pretty awful back then. I’d swing like I was trying to murder the ball. And Yeonjun kept trying these dumb trick shots on the court.”

“Sounds about right,” Y/N giggles, curled up across from them in a sweater and black shorts, knees pulled to her chest. She watches them with quiet amusement.

A pause. She tilts her head again, voice soft but clear.

“When did it get serious?”

“Tennis camp in Jeju,” Yeonjun says, running a hand through his raven hair. “It was the summer before high school. Our parents shipped us off for like three weeks—thought we needed discipline or whatever.”

A beat.

“And?” she prompts.

Yeonjun exhales. “And, it was the first time anyone really pushed us.”

"We also got placed in the same dorm room,” Soobin says, glancing at her. “Tiny-ass bunk beds, shitty air conditioning, and we shared it with like six other kids.”

“I swear we almost killed each other the first night,” Yeonjun says, grinning at Soobin. “Then we both realized we hated everyone else more.”

“That’s cute...” Y/N laughs, eyes crinkling. Her gaze flickers briefly to the beer in Soobin’s hand as he lifts it for a sip.

A quiet beat later, Y/N leans forward with graceful ease, fingers brushing his as she takes the can. Then she leans back again, her movements smooth and unhurried, and takes a slow sip.

“The training must’ve been intense,” she says, voice still light.

“Oh it was brutal,” Yeonjun adds. “Drills before sunrise. Coaches who didn’t give a shit if you puked in the grass.”

The room quiets for a moment.

“But,” Soobin shifts slightly, “it was also the first time we realized we were pretty good at tennis.”

“Yeah, like maybe-we-could-actually-do-this kind of good,” Yeonjun echoes.

“So.. you’ve been playing together since then,” she says, almost to herself.

“Yeah,” Yeonjun nods. “Always doubles. Sometimes singles, but… you know, it’s different when there’s someone you trust on your side of the court.”

Soobin glances at him, then at Y/N again. His expression softens, but there’s something else there too. It was subtle and unreadable.

“I guess you kind of start to know different things too,” Soobin says. “How they move. How they think. When they’re gonna overhit or choke a serve. It’s like…”

“Muscle memory,” Yeonjun finishes quietly.

Y/N’s gaze lingers on the both of them. Then, with that same casual ease, she leans forward again and takes another sip from the can, eyes still on them.

“But this camp,” she asks, voice smooth and nonchalant, “was it co-ed?”

“Yeah,” Soobin says, eyes still on her. “But they split the dorms—guys and girls.”

Y/N nods slowly, a small curve playing at the corner of her mouth.

“Is that where you met your girlfriend?” Y/N asks, pointing at Yeonjun with the can still in her hand.

“Oh, she’s not my, uh…” Yeonjun starts to trail off, eyes flicking away as he thinks. Soobin smirks as he crosses his arms, clearly enjoying watching the other boy squirm.

“…Yeah. I guess.”

Y/N grins, amusement shining in her eyes.

“And you,” she shifts her gaze to Soobin, taking another sip of the beer, “why aren't you pretending not to have a girlfriend?”

"Oh no, I don't—"

“Soobin’s got this whole 'no strings attached' thing going on right now.” Yeonjun smirks, taking the beer from Y/N’s hand.

“What? No—no, that makes me sound like—”

“A player?” Y/N offers, eyes twinkling with quiet mischief.

“Yeah, Soobin does fine for himself.” Yeonjun says, smirking. “I mean, come on—look at him.” He reaches over and gives Soobin’s cheek a light tap before Soobin swats his hand away.

Y/N smiles, the corners of her lips lifting as she shifts slightly from her postion.

“Alright then—how about this? Right now… how often do you guys go after the same girl?”

And just like that, both of them freeze, caught off guard.

Soobin finally looks away, eyes dropping to the carpet, cheeks flushed. Yeonjun chuckles softly, raising his hands in mock surrender.

“Were we that obvious?”

Y/N shrugs, taking the beer can back from Yeonjun. “It’s like looking through a glass window.”

A beat passes.

Soobin clears his throat, still a little pink. “Not very often…”

“We usually have different types,” Yeonjun adds with a smirk.

Y/N takes a slow sip of the beer. Her voice is velvet-smooth, but there’s a glint behind it now.

“Soo you’re saying I’m supposed to be.. flattered?” Y/N teases.

Soobin takes the beer from her, holding her gaze a beat too long, then looks away, lips twitching like he’s holding back a smile.

“Depends.”

“On?” she presses, brow raised, as if she doesn’t already know.

Yeonjun answers, voice low, teasing. “On whether you mind being the exception.”

Y/N leans back, arms draped over her knees, calm and in control, like she knows exactly what she’s doing. “Hmm,” she hums, eyes flicking between them. “I don't mind the view from here.”

Then, silence. The boys don't utter a word, they just watch her.

Tension slowly filling the air around them.

Yeonjun finally speaks, tone softer. “Alright then, since you’re so curious about us… how about you? What’s your experience been like—navigating this kind of attention?”

Y/N rolls her eyes playfully at Yeonjun’s question, but there’s a gentle light in her eyes that feels almost unguarded.

“I’ve had a few boyfriends here and there,” she says softly, voice steady but with an easy warmth. Then, after a brief pause, she adds quietly, “Most of them just didn’t know how to handle someone like me, though.”

Her smile is calm, almost innocent. “So, I simply didn’t stick around long enough to teach them.”

Yeonjun blinks, clearly surprised by the quiet honesty. Soobin’s grin softens, his gaze thoughtful.

Y/N tucks her hair behind her ear, looking down briefly before meeting their gaze again.

“I’m usually the one who holds it all together,” she says gently. “But sometimes… I feel like it’s okay to just let things be.”

Yeonjun’s leaning back on his hands now, but his eyes stay on her—curious, like he wasn't expecting this moment of such raw honesty.

Soobin, on the other hand, grows quieter now, fidgeting with the tab on the beer can as his knees slowly brush against hers.

“You know, you guys talk a lot,” she says, voice soft, teasing. “But you’re kind of terrible at this kind of thing.”

“Oh?” Yeonjun lifts a brow.

“You two keep looking at me like I’m going to break,” she says, voice soft but charged.

“If you’re going to keep staring… you might as well do something about it.” Her eyes lock onto them without flinching.

...huh?

This makes their brains completely short circuit.

Soobin freezes, fingers hovering over the can, eyes snapping up to meet hers—wide and caught completely off guard. Yeonjun breathes out a low, incredulous laugh. He seems to be struggling to conceal the smile tugging at his lips as his head briefly dips.

But, when he looks up, his eyes are darker now. Focused.

The silence stretches, but it isn’t awkward. it’s fucking electric.

That's when he makes his move.

With careful movements, Yeonjun pushes off his hands, shifting from his seated position and slowly closing the distance between him and Y/N.

He kneels tall, just right above her, his eyes darkening with lust as they roam over her figure beneath him.

Y/N’s breath hitches ever so slightly as she tilts her head up to meet Yeonjun's gaze. But her expression remains calm, unbothered, as she tries to casually brushing past the subtle tremble in her fingers.

She looks at him with soft, doe-like eyes. The picture of pure innocence—almost. Because beneath that softness, there’s something else entirely.

Hunger.

She looks at him as if this moment was always meant to be—from the second she stepped into the boys’ hastily cleaned hotel room. Like she’d known all along and was just waiting for them to catch up.

His eyes linger on her face a moment longer, quietly drinking in her soft, perfect features—like he’s trying to memorize every detail, unwilling to let a single part of her slip from his memory.

Carefully, his gaze drifts down to her lips.

Then, he reaches out, fingers brushing along the side of her face, gently caressing her soft skin. She leans into it, calm and steady, her eyes never leaving his.

Soobin sits cross-legged just across from them, his heart pounding so hard it feels like it might burst from his chest. His palms grow clammy, and his lips part slightly in stunned anticipation, unable to tear his eyes away from what’s unfolding right before him.

Yeonjun leans in slowly, his movements soft but charged with an unmistakable hunger. Their lips meet in a gentle, lingering kiss—his soft, plump lips pressing against hers with sensual tenderness.

He moves closer, his body nearly pressing against hers as he settles between her legs, still kneeling. His tongue traces delicate, kitten-like licks along her pink lips, drawing a soft moan from the girl.

Then, just as Yeonjun parts his mouth slightly, Y/N takes the lead, slipping her tongue inside with practiced ease. She feels his warm breath tickling her face as she deepens the kiss, and he lets out a low, surprised moan, caught off guard by her sudden boldness.

Meanwhile, Soobin just sits there again, eyes wide, her moans sounding like gentle music in his ears. His cheeks flush a soft pink as he bites down on his bottom lip, trying to hold back a low groan from slipping past his lips.

He shifts uncomfortably in his spot, struggling to ignore the tent growing in his shorts as he tries to figure out what to do next.

Does he leave?

Does he stay?

Fuck, what do I do now? Soobin thought to himself.

Then, Y/N breaks the kiss, before slowly leaning in again. Her lips brushing Yeonjun's in a teasing whisper of contact—just enough to leave him breathless—before pulling away completely.

Her eyes don’t stay on him for long.

Instead, she tilts her head to the side, gaze drifting over to Soobin.

God, he looks so cute, she thought.

He continues to sit there cross-legged, the beer can he previously in his hand is now discarded on the floor beside him.

One hand rests over his lap—not subtle, but not exactly trying to hide it either. It makes her wonder if he’s shielding himself… or just chasing a bit of friction through the fabric of his shorts.

He looks up at Y/N, eyes wide and darkened with a mix of jealousy and lust.

"Come here, baby. Don’t be shy," she says, her voice soft and inviting as she gestures him over with a crook of her finger.

Soobin’s eyes widen, but he doesn’t hesitate—scrambling forward so quickly that he knocks over the empty beer can with a soft clatter. Yeonjun slowly leans back, hands braced against the carpet, watching them with lust-filled eyes.

Soobin finally settles beside her, sitting like an obedient puppy waiting for his owner's command—eyes fixed on her, breath shallow. He's practically vibrating with nervous energy now, the need in his gaze impossible to miss.

Y/N leans in, effortlessly straddling his lap as her arms drape around his neck. Her breath fans against his face, their lips now just centimeters apart.

By now, Soobin wants to individually thank every single person who has led him to this exact moment.

His parents, for pushing him into tennis camp. His coaches, for their brutal training schedules. And, of course, Yeonjun—for convincing him to come watch that match in the first place.

Because right now, in this moment, Soobin feels like the luckiest man alive.

“Don’t be scared, baby, okay?” she whispers, gently brushing his hair away from his face as she leans in even closer.

“I’ll take care of you,” she adds softly.

Soobin melts under her touch, every feeling of doubt and hesitation dissolving into the warmth of her words.

He places his hands on her waist carefully, his gaze still locked onto hers, almost like he’s afraid to blink and miss it.

Then she leans in, her lips meeting his.

Soobin lets out a quiet, surprised moan, caught off guard by the contact, as if he’d been waiting for this exact moment without even realizing it. (It’s not his first kiss, but god, it might as well be.)

Her fingers tangle into his hair, gently scratching at his scalp, and Soobin groans again, louder this time, completely at her mercy.

Slowly, Y/N begins to rock back and forth in his lap, the soft friction sparking heat between their lower areas. The kiss deepens naturally. Their lips parting just a bit, tongues brushing softly against one another—growing a small pool of wetness in her core.

Holy. Fuck.

Soobin softly tightens his grip around her waist, carefully slipping his hands beneath the fabric of her sweater, resting them on her bare skin.

Y/N slowly withdraws one hand from Soobin’s hair, tilting her head just enough to catch Yeonjun’s gaze—her lips never parting from Soobin’s.

Yeonjun’s gaze is fixed on her, jaw clenched, eyes filled with lust and desire as they trace the scene before him. His hand moves quietly over his clothed member, fingers stroking with a slow, measured rhythm, searching for some quiet release.

Then, Y/N reaches over slightly, taking Yeonjun's his hand and gently pulling it closer to herself and Soobin.

Yeonjun leans in from behind her, softly brushing her hair aside before pressing his plump lips to the tender curve of her neck.

She lets out a soft moan against Soobin's lips, pulling him in closer, as her kiss grows hungrier and heavier. His grip on her waist tightens, unaware of the faint bruises forming on her delicate skin.

But she couldn’t care less—in fact, it only made everything feel even better.

Then, Y/N slowly pulls away from Soobin, her breath still shaky as she turns to Yeonjun. With a gentle touch, she takes his face in her hand and leans in, pressing her lips greedily against his.

Soobin sits there, mouth slightly open, arms still locked around her waist. Then he inches forward a bit, pressing soft wet kisses to her neck.

If it weren’t for her sweater, god knows he’d be trailing even lower.

Instead, he tightens his hold on her, gently rocking her hips in his lap, building the friction and heat between them as she stays locked in a kiss with Yeonjun.

Her free hand slides up to the front of Yeonjun’s neck, fingers curling tight around his throat, making him moan loudly at the touch. His hands follow, slipping slowly beneath her sweater, settling over her clothed breasts.

She groans into his mouth before shifting one hand to guide Yeonjun’s hand beneath her bra, her fingers intertwining with his as he cups her bare breast, playing with her soft nipples.

With her other hand still clenched tightly in Soobin’s hair, she draws him closer, encouraging his sloppy, desperate kisses on her delicate skin and the blooming purple marks forming on her neck.

Slowly, her grip eases on both of them, and the kiss slows, losing its urgency and settling into a slow, lingering rhythm.

Then, without warning, Y/N pulls away from Yeonjun, their lips parting with a soft, breathy sound and a thin string of saliva stretching between them for just a second.

She catches her breath, her chest rising and falling slowly as her eyes flicker between Yeonjun and Soobin. They both stare back at her, breathless. Then, she shifts, easing herself off Soobin’s lap. His hands linger for a moment as she pulls away from his grasp.

Soobin lets out a soft, almost involuntary whine at the loss of her warmth.

The room falls silent.

Both boys sit there, completely dumbfounded—caught somewhere between confusion and desire, unable to find the words. Y/N breaks the quiet with a soft, teasing tone, her voice low and playful.

“It’s getting late… I should probably head back.”

She stands in front of them, and they look up at her—flushed cheeks, heavy breaths, and lingering eyes.

And then—

That smile.

That same innocent, sweet smile, like she hadn’t just borderline orchestrated a threesome between the three of them.

She takes a step away, but Yeonjun’s voice stops her.

“Wait… that’s it?”

Soobin looks a little lost, his voice soft and hesitant. “Oh… I.."

Then he adds, hopeful, “C-can we at least have your number?”

There’s a brief pause—then Soobin’s voice lowers, almost pleading, “…Please?”

Y/N glances between them, a playful smile tugging at her lips, eyes sparkling with mischief.

“You guys study at Eastmound, right?”

They both nod silently, still trying to process everything.

“Well... I’ll see you both around campus, then.”

With that, she turns and leaves their hotel room, the door clicking softly behind her.

Yeonjun and Soobin stand there, stunned and speechless, the moment lingering in the quiet air.

a/n: this one is craaazzyyyyy omgg pls comment if yall want a full story out of thiss!! (will start working on half a spell pt 2 now hehe)

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