#because i get so caught up in trying to make the plot be like the source material

[daydaydayrk420]

I'm the one who asked about the story including a sextape but I'm gonna send an ask after this asking if you received this because sometimes my asks won't send although I hope this one will, but here's the plot.

Steve Rogers x Male Reader.

Plot- the male reader is a new avenger and when he first meets Steve he catches him doing squats in the gym and immediately he can't take his eyes off his bubble butt and Steve notices but as soon as she sees the reader he falls head over heels and he sees him just staring at americas ass so over the week Steve does everything to try and tease the reader using his ass but when the reader doesn't take the hint he decides to surprise him. After a workout the male reader goes back to his room and is shocked to see Steve naked on his bed on his hands and knees showing off America's ass, Steve asks if the reader wants to make a sex tape and reader agrees immediately and so he starts recording and then begins the smut. Please include bottom Steve Rogers and top male reader, include reader rimming Steve, Steve twerking for the male reader, the sex, and then the reader blowing his load all over America's ass while Steve twerks for him again then you can include how it ends like if they decide to become a couple or not and if they decide to keep the sextape for themselves or post it for the world to see.

Show off

Steve Rogers X male reader

⚠️ bottom Steve, top reader, sex tape, rimming, cum shot ⚠️

🚨minors and girls do not interact 🚨

📜 synopsis: y/n is a new avenger and he gains an interest in an ass of a certain team member. Little does he know that that team member is planning something dirty .📜

Y/n has joined the avengers about a week ago.

He blended in quite fast. Everyone immediately started talking to him and starting friendships.

But there is one man who has caught y/n's eyes the most.

Or well.... More like an ass has caught his attention.

Y/n was exploring the avengers tower when mostly everyone was on missions.

He memorised every floor.

Now he's down to the last one he'll probably use the most.

The gym / the training room.

Y/n opens the door with low expectations. It's just a gym. How much difference can there be in an avengers gym and a normal one.

But when y/n opens the door. He's not disappointed.

A couple of meters away from him is a man working out.

A man with an ass.

America's perfect ass.

He's shamelessly staring that he doesn't notice the door shut.

The sound of the doors shutting gets the squatting man's attention. He turns around and sees y/n focused on his ass.

He should feel disgusted. Get up and confront the man about his behaviour. But... He likes the attention?

Why?

He looks away as if he didn't catch the man staring and continues his squatting.

Maybe it's because the attention is on his ass? Not his...goody two shoes captain America persona?

Is this how Steve finds his guilty pleasure?

He finishes his set and gets up. He walks over to get his water bottle only to find the stranger still staring.

"Oh hey. Didn't see you there. Are you the new guy?" Steve pretended and walked over with a smile. He offered his hand for a handshake as he waited for a response.

"Oh uh... Yeah that's me. I'm y/n" Y/n cleared his throat and shook the blond man's hand. "Nice to meet you." He said with a smile but his mind is still focused on the ass.

"So what brought you to the gym?" Steve asks as he turns around to put his water bottle on a nearby bench. He makes sure to sway his ass as he walks.

"Oh I was just... exploring. Getting to know the place." Y/n said as he tries to keep his voice calm. His eyes immediately glued to the man's ass.

And Steve is fully aware. He can feel the hungry eyes whenever he moves.

That's how they met.

And this is how it's going.

Steve is currently in the avengers kitchen. Waiting for the one and only to finally wake up and get his coffee.

Speak of the devil. Y/n, messy as ever and drowsy as a sleeping cat, walks in and drags his feet towards the coffee maker.

"Good morning." Steve said with a grin as he watched how y/n barely held his eyes open.

"mmmrnin..." Y/n tried to speak but his voice is too weak and he's too tired to bother to properly use his mouth.

Steve can't help but laugh.

"Here, let me get your mug before you trip over your own foot trying to get it." The captain said as he leaned over the counter and reached for a mug on the top cupboard. Why do all that? So he can show his ass of course.

But, y/n doesn't seem to care as he's too focused on what type of coffee he wants.

Steve Huffs quietly in disappointment and gives him the mug.

It's been like that for a week.

Steve has been trying everything to show off his ass to y/n. To give the new avenger a hit, a hint that says ' please fuck me '. But the new avenger is so god damn clueless.

The captain just has to take matters into his own hands.

It's Friday.

Steve knows y/n's schedule.

Wakes up at 10. Makes breakfast. Goes to explore the tower as he's still getting used to the layout. And at the end of the day he goes to the gym to tire himself.

So Steve waits. He waits for y/n to go to the gym so he can begin his plan.

"hey Steve wanna join me at the gym tonight?" Y/n asked as he walked by the captain.

"Oh I'd love to but I can't right now I have something to do." Steve wasn't technically lying. He does have plans. And they still include y/n.

"Oh...okay well, next time." Y/n tries to hide his disappointment bug goes to the gym anyway.

Once the sight is clear Steve rushed into y/n's room.

"Fucking hell..." Y/n pants as he's finally in front of his room. He reaches for the handle immediately. Y/n can't to just shower and go to-

"Hey handsome," Steve said with a grin.

Y/n stares wide eyed. Is that... Steve on his bed? Naked?

Yes.

Steve is intact naked. On his elbows and knees with his butt as high as possible. He sways his ass invitingly.

Y/n snaps out of it and quickly shuts the door and locks it.

"Steve-" y/n stops talking when the captain wiggles his ass more.

"Come here and fuck me in front of this camera." He offered and reached behind himself to spread his perfectly round cheeks to show that he's already prepped.

"You - you want to film a sex tape?" Y/n's mouth practically watered at the view.

"With your consent of course," Steve lifted himself so he's only on his knees so he can turn at y/n better.

Y/n's eyes darken with greed. "Is it recording?"

Steve nods. The camera is in fact already recording. It was holstered right next to the bed facing the doors that y/n walked through. So it caught his reaction perfectly. Now it'll perfectly record the upcoming.

That's all it takes for y/n to rush to the bed and push Steve forward so he's on his elbows again.

The captain lets out a surprised gasp. Once he recovers he gets comfortable and wiggles his ass again.

Y/n is naked in an instant.

Y/n strokes himself as he leans down to spit at the captain's hole.

"Fuck waiting." He muttered to himself and latched onto the captain's hole.

He ate him out like a starved man. Steve gasps and moans. Who would've known that y/n's tongue would be so skilled?

The captain whines and pushes back against y/n's face. "Fuck...that tongue is perfect. So fucking perfect." Steve's blabbering out loud as if he was narrating for the camera.

Y/n groans but buries his face more in Steve's ass.

"Please Y/N i need your cock." The captain pleaded.

Y/n pulls off and licks his lips

He's so excited he can only mutter words.

"Lube." He orderes. Steve reaches under the pillow and gives the lube to y/n. He himself is impatient.

Y/n is fast. He's already lubed up and lining up. He grips Steve's ass cheek with one hand and pushes in. He gives the camera a side eye as Steve moans. His back arches and his ass pushes back against y/n.

"Oh fuck you feel better than I imagined." Steve whined and gripped the sheets.

Y/n doesn't give Steve any time to adjust and starts moving immediately. He pulls out almost all the way before he snaps his hips to thrust back in.

The rhythm of the hard thrusts cause the bed to rock against the bed. Y/n checks the camera to make sure it's still recording.

Steve's moans only get louder and louder. His hands eventually found the headboard and gripped it do tight his knuckles turned white.

"Please." The captain's plead is practically spelled out as his voice jumps with each bounce that's caused by the thrusts.

"Your ass is so perfect you know that?" Y/n groans and reaches for the camera.

"I'm gonna paint this ass white." He said and pointed the camera at the captain's hole to show how well he's taking y/n's pounding.

The lube has turned white with use. It's collecting itself at Steve's rim. And y/n makes sure to focus the camera on it.

Steve arches his back, pushing his ass more onto y/n. "I'm close." The captain moans. He reaches down to stroke himself.

Y/n holds the camera with one hand so he can smack the captain's ass with the other. He makes sure to catch every important detail. How the cheek turns red. How Steve's hand is moving fast around his own cock to chase his release.

"Me too." Y/n grunts and smacks Steve's ass again.

The camera captures how fast y/n moves inside the captain. The video will be shaky. But that only adds to the passion.

Steve's hand goes still around his cock as he's hit with an intense climax. But y/n doesn't film it. He films how he pulls out and quickly strokes himself with his free hand.

The captain is trying his best to hold himself up. He looks behind his shoulder to watch how y/n films stroking himself. He can tell that the man is close too so he starts to shake his ass a bit. He would shake it more if he wasn't so exhausted already.

But that's all y/n needs to cum and cover Steve's ass with his cum.

Once he finished Steve finally gave in and collapsed onto the bed.

Y/n follows shortly afterwards.

They're both a panting mess.

Steve however, he turns to face y/n with a shit eating grin. "You look satisfied," he teased the other man as he scooted closer to caress his chest.

Y/n smiles tiredly and looks at the captain. He rests his hand on Steve's hand that's caressing his chest.

"You were amazing." He said with a soft smile and leaned in for a kiss.

The captain doesn't hesitate and returns it immediately.

"Are you still recording?" Steve asks with a chuckle and reaches for the camera that still has a red blinking light.

"Maybe." Y/n chuckles too and watches Steve check the recording.

"we should do that again some day." Steve said with a smile after he turned the camera off and placed it on the nightstand.

He turns to y/n again and lays his head on his chest.

Y/n smiles and runs his finger through the soft blond locks. "Yeah we should."

They both fall asleep with smiles on their faces.

In the morning they'll be smothered with questions about why they were so loud last night to the point y/n once suggests to show them the video which Steve of course declines.

But who knows. Maybe one day Steve will want others to see the tape as well.

[omniphilic]

ahem* hi hope you’re having a great day! Here are some concepts I thought of because there’s so much potential for angst in the Milf reader universe. Also the amber for this concept is show amber , I’ll wake one for comic amber later (if you want me too hehe)

Some people age like milk, some people age like fine wine but Ambers Mom?, she ages like ambrosia. That’s the local inside joke in the neighborhood, some moms envy her, some men love her, sons can’t go a day without staring at her. Does that mean she’s promiscuous? Oh no not at all, she’s kind, with a smile that can run a city, cooks like she was taught in the womb and always makes everyone’s day a but better, she also loves her daughter fiercely, VERY. FIERCELY. And would insult and/or beat the ever loving shit out of you if you mess with her family.

That’s why when Amber brought her first boyfriend home and he started making some berry suggestive passes at her mom, she did the best thing she could do, leave the room. Soon after he left, she called her daughter fi a chat and told her how her boyfriend made her uncomfortable and would want him at the house anymore, keeping the true story to herself so as to not sabotage her relationship with her daughter. Amber knew that there was still some truth yet to be told but trusted her mother either way, her relationship with her first boyfriend went smoothly (aside from her mother’s obvious distaste for him) that was until one day she caught him pants down jerking to a photo of her mom that he got from facebooking. She broke up with him instantly.

Now, you said in one of your answers to an als that this has been a recurring problem with amber and her boyfriends and I just think that’s why she avoids bringing them home to meet Milf reader , partially because she doesn’t trust them and part because she doesn’t want any of them to try to get too handsy with her mom (I feel like this may have happened before) and the other part is because she doesn’t want her mom to feel bad about it any time she breaks up with her boyfriends because of it. But when amber met mark, she felt he was different than the others, that he wouldn’t even dare do such a thing (how wrong she was).

It starts slow but she starts suspecting and soon she finds out and she is DONE, she comes back home angry and tear faced, MILF reader asks her what’s wrong and she EXPLODES and eventually saying a few words she can’t quite take back. Reader is mortified and immensely guilty, she begins to drift away, not out of spite or anger but fear that her presence will mess up the possibility of Amber finding true love, she can’t even look her own daughter in the eye and hovers around like she’s lost her spark and she has, her lovely daughter hates her (she doesn’t and feels guilty about what she said but doesn’t know how to apologize) so now everything just doesn’t seem right anymore.

Do they make up? Maybe idk but the whole concept gave me brain worms and I don’t know how to get rid of them , what do you think?

I LOOOOOOOOOOVE THIS BECAUSE YOU ARE LITERALLY LIVING IN MY MIND!!! you are in my cell dude, because from top to bottom, yes yes yes all over this. just. yes.

tw: inappropriate advances + touching. onesided, background reader x amber's boyfriends (mark's in too deep). slutshaming of reader, accusations of cheating and homewrecking towards reader. Mostly examining Amber and Readers relationship.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀18+ content below / MDNI

Amber has a great mom. You've been her number one fan ever since she could draw breath, you'd lose an arm and a leg for her, die, if it would make her dreams multiply. You already give her the world and have begun plotting on the moon.

So... you have a bit of a problem on your hands when that new boy she brings home sauntered up to you.

Your daughter is beautiful, so it's not very surprising she's bringing home boys. You want her to live her life to the fullest so you've no interest in cramping her style, eager to meet her little friends, even the ones you don't like that much. This one, you think has a bit of a problem.

He has that stupid smirk twisting his lips. You are quite familiar with that kind of boy--he's got something loaded in the chamber and an itchy trigger finger; whether it'd be cool or cruel, you think, naturally, it's some dumb one liner you'll find a way to one up.

As simple as boys can be though, you always forget how unpredictable kids these days are. Bold. Audacious.

He's all puffed chest and pomp, walking past the threshold of the kitchen island. You're smiling because it's your default, head tilted towards, face curious. You make an inquisitive noise, put on to his approach. He doesn't falter for a second, rosy cheeks bunching up with his smile. He's sweet just standing there, but then he opens his mouth, and things get sour.

"Hey, Mrs. Bennett!"

He exchanges pleasantries while standing watch hawkish, waiting for the right time to dip down with talons and catch you up.

He can manage normalcy for at most four minutes.

"Hey, bud! Anything you need from me?" He says 'no', but doesn't stand any less imposing or bothersome, blathering on about nothing for a few moments. The weather, the pool him and Amber are heading to, what kind of swimsuits 'look the best'.

You're half listening, hands busy and mind scoring over the itinerary for the day, so you almost don't hear him.

"I think you'd look really good in a bikini!" His eyes glance down at your breasts in your low-cut shirt, then flick back up. "Or in any swimsuit really. I see where Amber gets her beauty from, you know." Your head arches back, the corners of your eyes wrinkling as your expression expands, lips pursed as you nod, fixing your face as your mind recovers from that white flash. "I guess I'm just sorta surprised Amber doesn't dress like you do..." He sticks up his hand to cradle his chin between thumb and forefinger. "She doesn't really like to be all... showy."

Your body is shot, state of shock so strong you don't notice you cut your finger until it stings under the cool water. You grunt and glance down at the sink, look at the rivulets of blood tinting the water red, and think. He keeps going.

"I guess I'm just lucky she has a beautiful ma—looking at you is sorta like looking at her. Just a... bigger version."

You want to clean out your ears with the dish soap because you couldn't--can't--have heard him right. Disbelief makes you snort as you finish the last of the dishes and wash out your cut. You turn off the water and turn your head up, just to see him standing there, lingering effluvia, looking every part bitch and bastard.

He's staring at you because you never turn your back on a big cat and he's wishing the cougar would pounce. For the other shoe to drop, where you fulfill his fantasy and go belly up for him, claws sheathed, tail aside. Maybe he's imagining you'd be flattered, shy, meek, the take-it-like-a-good-girl type.

"I thought you were gonna tell me a joke or say something funny when you walked up like that. I mean, I guess I wasn't entirely wrong. But this isn't the place for whatever the fuck you got going on." You dry off your hands, wring them in a towel that you ditch on the counter. "Back up."

"What? "

You don't falter.

"I didn't stutter. Behind the counter, now." You don't ask nicely and he realizes he's forgotten himself, cowed, less enthusiastic as tries to back pedal. "I hope you don't speak to Amber like that—never mind your mother." You sneer at him, poised viper-like.

"Amber!" You call out, sing-songy. "Can you come here, please?"

Sunshine ducks her head in and the kitchen becomes very bright, alive despite the blight stood beside with you. "You good mom? Did something happ—Oh! You're in here?" She is immediately distracted by her boy-thing, and you wave him away. "Your boyfriend here was telling me you two are going to the pool?"

You watch him walk and stand beside her, plant a kiss on her cheek.

"Yup! You ready to go, babe?"

She looks up at him but is unable to meet his eye as he quickly brushes past, then back at you. Her face isn't mad, but not happy either, just confused. You smile with no teeth.

"I just hope you two have lots of fun out there, okay? Don't forget to take your sunscreen. Oh! And pictures."

You'll need to have a talk with her when she gets back.

She has very little patience for these kinds of things now but you try to settle the matter as delicately as you can each time.

"Your boyfriend... I think he's gotten a little too, comfortable, don't you think?" It's a delicate matter to discuss over meatloaf but the discussion is most certainly had, with you explaining as sweetly as you can manage how it’d probably be best if you two started meeting at his place is all.

They didn’t stay together for much longer after that, though Amber never exactly told you how it all shook out.

She doesn’t really need to.

Every boy seems to get it in their mind at least once, when they come over. It's always something. Brushing up against you in places with space for ten people, off color comments, backhanded compliments aimed at putting Amber down to big you up.

It's not only sick, but sad.

You could leave the room all you like, put on different clothes, say something, or say nothing. But nothing would change.

They all act the same.

It always ends the same way, too. Your tear-damp shoulder and more time wasted, mounting resentment hidden behind her trembling lip all coming to a head when the apple of her eye falls far from the tree.

This past one was a real shame, too.

That Mark Grayson. An adonis in a modern age, armed with a charm befitting of a boy and a smile you're not surprised wormed it's way into your daughters heart. He wears his interests on his sleeve, if the Seance Dog shirt he wore to dinner one time is anything to go by.

She was afraid to show him off to you. Called him her ‘friend’ whenever he came up in conversation, forgetting how her smile turns up whenever his name comes from betwixt her lips.

You had no problem not knowing. Though it would be better to stagger the arrival of this one, as she’s done times before. To lessen exposure, delay the inevitable.

But eventually, you will meet.

He's sweet enough, you'd reckon, if a little shy when you come 'round. Always head down, light blush as if he's always a little sunburnt.

"Hey Mark, could you pass me the—" Salt. It's in your hands before you can even finish the sentence, as if he knows what you want before you yourself. You found it sweet, if a little too attentive. Mark certainly knew how to make someone feel seen, special, though his affections should've been reserved for his girlfriend, not you.

Starts small. Hugs that last too long, odd looks across the couch, room, dinner table. An arm around the small of your back instead of around your shoulders. A heat simmering on your chest, though when you look up, it’s gone.

She watches you more carefully than him and maybe that’s what stings—that she doesn’t feel entirely assured that you’re batting for her team, that you’re not just trying to secretly whittle her down, because what really are the chances?

The chances she’ll catch Mark with your name on the tip of his tongue, chances she’ll catch him with your panties slip-sliding out his pocket?

Higher than zero.

After a point, you have to see how easy it is for her to concede that some of this is likely your fault.

The fault of a whore. A hoe, housemaker and home wrecker in equal measure, and while you aren’t surprised at the words she slurs and spits at you, it doesn’t make the disrespect hurt any less. You would think your bond paramount to that of any she could’ve forged with those boys—you wouldn’t sacrifice your relationship with the light of your life just to fuck about with pieces of meat, those stupid little men.

You thought your daughter would think so much higher of you.

You were mistaken.

In reality Amber is a young person dealing with complex emotions regarding inadequacy, having not felt like enough for a very long time.

You guys would talk very little in the following weeks, only when she needed, if she wanted. It’s lonely but you’ve your own friends to keep you company, to rave and rant to until Amber has worked through her emotions and chooses circle back around—discuss the things she’d said to you that night.

I think you and her would ultimately resolve your issues. Her new man, is it Kyle? The picture perfect gentleman, wouldn’t look at you sideways cause he’s too busy kissing the ground Amber walks on, treating her with tenderness, care.

You can find it in yourself to be happy for her, simultaneously breathing a sigh of relief. At least it’s over now.

[r66dusthewriter]

The forbidden fruit

Pairing: Simon Riley x fem!reader

Masterlist | Who am i? | REQUESTS ARE OPEN!

a/n: I had to close my legs while writing this.

Genre: Smut

Warnings: Little to no plot. Explicit sexual content (18+), voyeuristic themes, masked man, dry humping, (sort of?) paid sex, strip club setting.

Word count: 1.3k

You’d been a night dancer for four years, moving from uneasy to owning it, with a found family of women nearly as close as sisters. The job paid well, the security was tight and after a while, you realized you liked the power, the control of where eyes landed, who got close and when. With that power in mind, you chose to only dance and maybe talk. Ironically, that restraint, that refusal to be available on demand, only made you more desirable. 

For the last six months, everything about your nightly stage felt different because of him.

He always sat at the back and the same table. Massive, masked and imposing, the kind of man who drew stares even in a club built for spectacle. He never drank, never accepted a dance or even a chat then. 

But two months in, after seeing a creepy customer cross a line with you, he stepped in with just enough force to make the message clear. From that moment on, everyone started calling him “your guy” and he acted like it, tipping hundreds just to sit there two hours and say nothing at all to anyone but you.

“Y/n… your guy’s back,” Ani grinned as she strolled into the changing room, her voice sing-song with mischief. Around her, a chorus of teasing sighs and shoulder shimmies erupted from the other girls. You rolled your eyes, trying not to smile.

“He’s not my guy.”

“Oh, but he is,” Ani shot back, stepping closer with a raised brow. “He doesn’t pay for a single service, won’t even take a drink! Just sits at your stage like some brooding statue. Won’t look at anyone, won’t talk to anyone except you.”

She leaned in, voice dropping playfully. “Right now, he’s out there looking like a lost puppy because you’re not on yet.”

Laughter rippled through the room as a few of the girls chimed in their agreement.

“That’s your guy,” Ani said, winking.

You shook your head, brushing the last bit of powder from your face and rising from the makeup chair. You couldn’t suppress the warmth curling in your chest, though you kept your tone neutral. 

“Same table?”

“Same table,” she confirmed, still smiling.

When you arrived, he offered quietly and for the first time ever, a seat beside him. His raspy voice and thick accent sent a shiver up your spine.

“Nice to see you again,” he simply said.

You flirted, you bantered and let the tease slip into your eyes but every time another customer tried to pull you away, you saw the way his gloved hands tensed on his thighs and how his shoulders squared. And when you stood up to go chat with another client, he dropped five grand onto the table, flat and easy. “What does that get me?”

You arched your brow, heat coiling in your belly. “What do you want?”

His eyes glittered behind the skull mask. “To talk.”

Except the game changed when you suggested the massage room. Inside, he stripped off his shirt and your breath caught. His body was scarred yet beautiful with tattooed muscle on pale skin even under harsh light. You took a deep breath and let your hands roam, learning every inch as you straddled his lap.

You massaged his chest with slow, lazy circles, feeling his heartbeat thumping strong under your palms. His gaze burned into you, unmoving.

“I don’t usually do this,” you whispered, voice shaky, suggesting to get one of your coworkers to give him a proper massage.

“It’s good,” he rumbled, voice thick with want.

You grew bolder then. His hands found your thighs, strong and warm on your skin, thumbs pressing just enough to make you gasp and accommodate over him. That’s when you felt his cock, hard and hot under you, causing a sharp ache to throb between your legs, making it hard to ignore how you’d been starved and untouched for so long it almost hurt.

His fingers tightened, pupils blown out as he met your eyes. “Want to get off?” he asked, low and serious.

You shook your head, breath trembling, but not with fear.

His gaze lowered to your parted lips, ears straining to hear how you softly sighed. “Or move?”

Your hips answered for you. Slowly at first, you rolled against him, feeling every contour of him through your thin panties and his jeans. Even like this you could tell his cock was hard, thick and impossibly big. The friction quickly sent a bolt of pleasure straight through you, causing you to tilt your head back and moan aloud.

He groaned at the sight, a raw and needy sound while his hands gripped your ass under your ridden up dress, guiding your movements. It was obscene, the slide of your slick center over his clothed cock, the drag of denim against silk and the unmoving eye contact, all while every grinding thrust sent waves of heat through you.

The air soon filled with desperate sounds, your soft whimpers and sighs mixed with his deep grunts and the harsh rasp of his breath behind the mask. You pressed closer, grinding down harder and his cock twitched against you, leaking through his jeans and making a delicious wet spot that matched your own. 

Your hands rested on his firm, toned abdomen, the heat of his skin grounding you as you moved. You took your time, savoring the moment, every rise and fall of your hips a slow climb, every subtle shift drawing you closer to the edge. His muscles tensed beneath your palms, each breath he took syncing with yours, heavy and hungry. You rocked against him with growing urgency, letting the minutes stretch, letting the pleasure build until your body trembled with the promise of release.

He tilted his hips up to meet your rhythm, his grip strong but worshipful. You could feel yourself getting wetter, soaking through your panties with every pass.

“Fuck—” he growled.

“Uhhh!—” You moaned, walls contracting around nothing. Being an absolute slut for vocal men didn’t help your case, you couldn’t hold it back any longer. Sparks shot through your core, pleasure mounting higher and higher while your clit ground perfectly against the ridge of his cock. “Fuck, I’m—”

“Let go,” he ordered roughly. “Want to watch you come for me.”

Your orgasm hit hard, knees shaking and body shuddering while a strangled moan tore from your throat as you ground down and rode the wave out on his lap. You felt yourself gush even more, soaking him and your panties, the heat between your bodies almost unbearable.

He cursed again, grabbing your hips and rocking you harder against him, forcing you to match the pace burning in his blood. His cock throbbed against your soaked panties as he did, keeping a sinful rhythm until he went rigid under you. With a deep, muffled groan, he came hard. His body tensed beneath you, cock straining as his orgasm surged through him. The heat of it soaked his jeans, messy and uncontrolled but he didn’t care. His head fell back with a heavy exhale, fingers still gripping your hips like he couldn’t quite let go, like he didn’t want to.

You slumped down against his massive chest, catching your breath while his hands stayed on you, fingers denting your flesh.

For a long moment, the only sound was your ragged breaths and the steady thump of his heart against your cheek. You’d never been this undone without a single piece of clothing truly removed, never felt so wanted or so fucking satisfied.

“Simon,” he panted, the name falling from his lips like a confession, knowing you’d never ask due to the rules of the club.

“Pleasure to meet you,” you murmured against his skin, voice threaded with something dangerously close to comfort.

“Likewise.”

If anyone had heard the sounds coming from behind that closed door, they’d know whose girl you really were now.

[coffeegnomee]

Hi Gnomee hiii I really like your analyses and you have such a comprehensive understanding of relationships and the members of the server so I was just wondering if you have any thoughts to share on golden laurels (minute and wemmbu)... because I'm just a bitttt obsessed with them and I like knowing what other people think about them too so yeah.... :D

So i thought i had no thoughts until i started typing and didn't stop. I didn't start watching either of them until they joined lifesteal so i have almost no knowledge of their relationship before except that there was a betrayal in kings s1 and minute wore wemmbu's tiara until he returned.

which is like two very opposite and opposing emotions lmao. hatred from one betrayal that stops minute from ever wanting to team with wemmbu ever again. paired with caring about him so much that his absence when wemmbu had to delete his channel made him change his skin to wear a tiara.

and then they just barely interact or talk or do anything at all ever on the server.

but minute just has absolute and complete exasperated exhaustion and frustration over everything wemmbu does. wemmbu builds an orbital, minute is put out. he builds it again and minute stumbles upon it and is just flabbergasted wemmbu didn't think of someone flying in. It's like an elaborate cat and mouse, but the cat thinks the mouse is up to nothing until it runs out in front of him. and then the mouse gets caught laden with crumbs and just bans himself off, not to minute, but to 4c.

Minute deals with wemmbu quickly and swiftly. He knows that if he can put overwhelming pressure on wemmbu, that wemmbu will cave and quit.

which interestingly colors how minute deals with all problems on lifesteal. He'll often do, or at least think of doing, something that does overwhelming destruction to another's plot, and that's either something that is intrinsic to minute, or something that he's learned from battling wemmbu. bc it's extremely effective against wemmbu. or its just both. but i always wonder about how much his friendship with wemmbu made him the way he is. i wont ever know bc i dont plan on watching the old videos lol. but i like to think it's connected.

Bc like getting a mole on abyss and ensuring it ended before zam could break into the void at all, trying to BAN spoke in their conversation this season. these are overwhelmingly powerful actions meant to absolutely destroy the opposition and make them stop and give up. It's anything for the win, but when you throw golden laurels into the mix, it's everything to stop wemmbu from being annoying with his overpowered plots. It makes him quit and they can go back to being friends.

it is- ok, it is also i think just minute. if you watch his rlcraft play style, even without hardcore, minute grinds until he has overwhelming gear and armor, and then plays really safely against the bosses and wins with ease. It's a facet of how he plays video games.

and then wemmbu has the exact opposite play style. anything to make his life easier. "can i have a hint" .5 seconds into every wato room. He'll do a grind project like the orbital or like learning pvp and then use it all at once in his own overpowered plots. 50 hearts in one hour. killing anyone for no reason and using tnt to get people angry. He puts in time in the backend, but when it comes to the presentation, it's swift and absolute.

And then when it's defeated he just gives up. Life is easier that way.

and so they're so similar but so opposite. both are willing to use overwhelming force. but since wemmbu leans evil he leads the plot, while minute leans good so he's always caught flat footed, something, to note his play style again, he would naturally hate. So he tries to get ahead of wemmbu (and everyone evil) and stop the plot before it can happen, using overwhelming force if they show their hand before the presentation (trying to ban spoke).

but then. ok wow lmao maybe i do have thoughts. but then Every. Single. Thing. Wemmbu. Does. Minute. Does.

Wemmbu paves the way and gives minute permission to follow his darker tendencies to follow the whispers in his heart of what is cool, but maybe a little evil.

wemmbu builds an orbital, minute builds a death star. wemmbu builds an arrow cannon rail gun. minute builds an arrow cannon claymore. and then builds 10 more arrow cannons. wemmbu adds immortality to his presidential decree. minute adds an immortality switch to his presidential decree. and givens himself netherite durability on his armor, a minor version of immortality.

at least he didn't copy wemmbu in blowing up spawn with tnt.

minutetechnologies loves his technology, his silly little redstone technology. But before wemmbu did the orbital, minute only ever did pvp. it's like he limited himself, did what was acceptable to fit into the group of lifesteal, that is until wemmbu did something bigger and it opened the door to more opportunities.

But then again, minute is batman too. He takes the higher road, his voice waver about spawn being the target was just as important to his decision to kill spoke as the exploits were, at least in my mind. We'll see if he decides to bomb spawn next season, but I think we're seeing an upper limit to what Minute is willing to do, one that is much lower than wemmbu's upper limit. And that makes them an even better duo, in some ways their ideologies are the same, and in others they're completely different.

[magicpiano]

Bruce Wayne had a child that was somehow kidnapped right out of the hospital just hours after being born. He of them ever stopped looking despite how cold the trail had grown.

Years later there is some rouge attack and a civilian child was injured and taken to the hospital. Bruce does a DNA test on the blood found at the scene and concludes that the child is actually his long lost kid.

Dani was planning to sneak out of the hospital the moment the doctors stopped looking at her. Then Bruce Wayne of all people comes in and claims that she is his long lost child. She knows that this is very impossible because she is a clone, but Bruce won't listen to her and she really doesn't want to explain the clone thing to a "normal" stranger.

This does brings up a lot of questions about how Danny ended up living with the Fentons though.

[youngpettyqueen]

I know the decision to have Julian's parents have him augmented was made on the fly but imo its pretty obvious from early on that Julian has Family Issues because he avoids talking about his family like the plague and I think they should've incorporated this into the Julian and Sisko dynamic right from early on because I think it would've made for some really compelling stories and moments and could've set up a REALLY interesting Julian and Jake dynamic which they kinda started to do but never fully went for

[tentglitch]

I'm crashing tf out grandson

[soupandsorcery]

me, constantly reminding myself that i'm writing an AU so i can do whatever i want and it doesn't have to line up exactly with canon

[imtaashu]

Teaching Him to Use Modern Tech 📱

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Teaching Bucky how to use a smartphone was supposed to be a casual afternoon task… but no one told you he’d be this cute about it.

Genre: Fluff | Established Relationship | Clingy Bucky | Light Humor

Word Count: ~1.1k

Warnings: Extremely fluffy content ahead! Protective!Bucky, clingy!Bucky, gentle teasing, mentions of technology confusion (lol), and Bucky being dangerously adorable.

craving clingy bucky or emotional destruction? — masterlist is right here baby

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“I swear this thing is plotting against me.”

You looked up from your coffee with a small smile, watching Bucky glare at his brand-new iPhone like it had personally offended him.

“It’s literally the home screen,” you said, laughing softly.

“It changed again!” he insisted, holding up the phone like a crime scene exhibit. “There were these square things and now they’re gone. What the hell is an ‘app switcher,’ doll?”

You scooted closer to him on the couch, grabbing the phone gently from his hand. “Okay, first of all—deep breath. We’re gonna tackle this together.”

Bucky huffed but leaned into your shoulder, clearly happy to let you take over. “This is why I miss the ’40s. You wanted to talk to someone? You showed up at their door. No ‘FaceTime,’ no ghosting, no—what’s it called when someone leaves you on ‘seen’?”

You bit back a grin. “That’s being left on read.”

“Right, well. That’s just rude.”

You giggled as he pouted. “Bucky Barnes, defending the lost art of eye contact since 1917.”

“Damn right,” he muttered.

You walked him through the basics — how to unlock the phone, open apps, and use emojis. (He was highly suspicious of the eggplant.)

“But why would anyone text that to someone?” he asked, squinting at the emoji.

You coughed, suddenly flustered. “Uh. Ask Steve.”

“I will,” he said, determined.

You shoved his shoulder playfully. “Please don’t.”

You weren’t expecting how naturally clingy he got during tech lessons.

Each time you leaned over to show him something on the screen, he’d tilt his head and rest his cheek on your shoulder, or casually wrap an arm around your waist like he needed you physically tethered to him to survive the tech jungle.

At one point, you were trying to teach him how to send a photo and he asked, completely serious:

“Okay, but how do I send one of you to myself? For…emergencies.”

You blinked. “Emergencies?”

“Like when I miss you,” he said simply, not even teasing.

Your heart did not handle that well.

It got even worse when you introduced him to voice notes.

You demonstrated how to hold the little microphone button and record.

“So now,” you said, “you can just say something, and I’ll hear your voice when I listen to it.”

He took the phone, stared at it, then at you. “Like this?”

He held down the button. “Hi, sweetheart. I’m probably sitting next to you while you play this, but if I’m not… I miss you. Come home.”

You stared at the screen. “That’s illegal. You can’t just—be adorable like that without warning.”

He smirked. “So I’m getting better at this, huh?”

You snatched the phone from him and buried your face in your hands. “You’re a menace.”

“A menace who figured out how to make playlists,” he said smugly, waving the phone. “Wanna hear the one I made you?”

Your face peeked out from your hands. “You made me a playlist?!”

He kissed your cheek. “Title: ‘Songs That Remind Me of Her (Even When She’s in the Same Room)’

You were gone.

——————————————-

Later that night, you caught him under the covers, squinting at the screen with his reading glasses perched on the bridge of his nose.

“What are you doing?” you asked, brushing his hair back gently.

“Trying to figure out how to set a contact photo for you.”

You crawled into bed beside him. “You’re obsessed.”

“I’m in love,” he corrected, pulling you close. “Big difference.”

“Let me help,” you whispered, taking the phone.

He let you — mostly because your head rested on his chest while you did it, and he could feel your smile every time you laughed softly at his confusion.

You set his lock screen to a picture of you both at Coney Island, sun-drunk and windblown and laughing.

“There,” you said, placing it back in his hands. “Now I’m always with you.”

He didn’t say anything for a moment — just looked at the screen, then at you.

“I’ve had a lot of things taken from me,” he said softly. “But not this. Not you.”

You kissed him, long and slow and certain.

“I’m not going anywhere, Bucky.”

He nodded, burying his face in your neck. “You better not. I just figured out how to pin you in my texts.”

You laughed.

And maybe modern tech was confusing…

But teaching him had never felt more like home.

~ end

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💌Author’s Note: okay listen… this might be my personal favourite fic i’ve ever written 😭💗

i was legit BLUSHING the entire time because bucky is just so adorable in this 😭🥺 it seriously touched my heart in the softest, fluffiest way.

this isn’t just a fic — it’s a serotonin boost, a comfort blanket, a little moment of peace 🕊️

if you smile while reading it even once, my job here is done 💌

───────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ─────────

[eclips-moon]

Batboys and them having a crush on you:

Let me know what you guys think!!!

Dick Grayson (Nightwing)

Hero Moments: Dick can’t resist showing off when you’re around. Whether it’s flipping through the air during a mission or effortlessly taking down a bad guy, he always glances your way to see if you’re watching. When you cheer him on, he gets all giddy. “Just doing my job,” he’ll say, but you can tell he loves the attention.

Jealous Vibes: If he spots you chatting with another guy, his friendly demeanor shifts. He’ll casually walk by, pretending to check his gear or adjust his mask, but you can see the twitch in his jaw. “Hey, you need help with that?” he’ll say, trying to insert himself into the conversation. He acts like he doesn’t care, but you know he’s dying to get your attention.

Awkward Compliments: Around you, Dick transforms from suave to stuttering mess. “You look… um, amazing! Not that you don’t always look amazing!” His cheeks go a shade of red, and he quickly looks away, pretending to be focused on something else. You can’t help but smile at his clumsiness.

Jason Todd (Red Hood)

Secret Stares: Jason tries to play it cool, but he often gets caught sneaking glances at you when he thinks you’re not looking. His friends are quick to tease him about it. “Dude, you’re not even trying to hide it!” they’ll laugh, making him scowl and deny it, but you can see a faint blush creeping up.

Tough Guy Act: He acts all tough, but when you crack a joke or tease him, he can’t help but smile. “Yeah, real funny,” he’ll say, but his eyes sparkle with amusement. He tries to keep his cool, but the way he lightens up around you is undeniable.

Protective Instincts: Jason’s protective side really comes out when you’re around. He’ll hover just a bit closer during missions, making sure you’re safe. “Stick close to me,” he’ll say, acting like it’s no big deal, but you can sense the underlying concern in his voice. He’s always ready to jump in if you need him.

Tim Drake (Robin)

Overthinking Everything: Tim’s mind is constantly racing when you’re around. He’s always plotting how to ask you out or impress you, but when it comes time to actually talk, he freezes. You catch him staring off into space, and when you ask what he’s thinking about, he panics. “Oh, uh, just… strategizing!” he’ll say, fumbling for a way to change the subject.

Thoughtful Gifts: Tim is secretly the best gift-giver. He leaves you little surprises—a book he knows you’ll love or a custom gadget he made just for you. When you find them, he pretends it’s no big deal. “I just thought you might like it,” he says, trying to act casual, but you can see the hope in his eyes for your reaction.

Nerding Out: When you express interest in his hobbies, Tim’s face lights up. He goes into full-on nerd mode, excitedly explaining tech or comics. “So, this is how it works…” He’s totally in his element, and you can’t help but be charmed by how passionate he is.

Damian Wayne (Robin)

Awkward Teasing: Damian’s idea of flirting is to poke fun at you. “You call that a punch?” he’ll smirk during training, but you can tell he’s impressed. His teasing is playful, and it makes you laugh, even if he acts like he’s being serious.

Jealousy Fits: If he sees you talking to someone else, he turns extremely protective. He’ll huff and challenge that person to a duel, trying to show off. “You think you can impress them? Let’s see what you’ve got,” he’ll say, clearly trying to establish his dominance.

Small Acts of Kindness: Despite his tough exterior, Damian has a soft side. He’ll bring you snacks or offer to help with training, and he tries to act like it’s no big deal. “It’s just efficient to help,” he’ll say, but you know it’s because he cares.

[grimmsbride]

▗▬̸̎͞/̄͆̅ ̎ ̎̿͞͞͞͞͞͞͞͞ι̚━─ ⠀ NYCTOPHILLIAC ⠀ ⠀ 𑄼ల۫ thanos / reader

getting caught up in thanos’s web was a mistake, especially when it interfered with your sleep.

𓂂 ͜ᩘ ̵̼͓̥͒̾͘𑣿 ⁣⁣⠀ TAGS unconsensual voyuerism (thanos & reader have sexual relations in her bed while everyone is asleep. even though they are asleep, i still put this warning because i know some people can get uncomfortable). ooc thanos (first time writing for him). oral sex (fem. receiving). porn no plot. mentions of past sexual relations. fingering. dirty talk. unrealistic expectations of quiet sex(?). overuse of pet names (senorita, mama, etc.) etc.

𓂂 ͜ᩘ ̵̼͓̥͒̾͘𑣿 ⁣⁣⠀ NOTES please heed the warning above as i would hate to make anyone uncomfortable while reading this fic. with that said please enjoy and i apologize for any grammar mistakes or typos.

Despite different games being assigned each day, it all felt the same — as if you had just stepped inside this odd room, surrounded by strangers that held far too many similarities with you. You couldn’t count the amount of times you flinched or teared up as you watched and heard bullets tear people apart, how their strangled cries escaped in a last ditch effort to somehow convince the ruthless guards to spare them. You nearly screamed yourself when blood hit your cheek, tainting the already sweaty area — which you gingerly cleaned up the moment you got time to.

You somehow survived, in just the nick of time too. You wondered if you had any right to be happy for your victory, or you should be remorseful for all the lives lost today. You pondered it for a complete moment before deciding doing so was useless, and not impertinent to your current situation.

Getting out with enough money was of the upmost importance, nothing more and nothing less.

Which is why you were quick to settle into bed the moment the opportunity arose, slipping out of your socks and jacket, pulling the blanket up over yourself, and shutting your eyes. The world around you seemed to cease — aside from the old man’s snoring beside you — your body melting into the mattress. Sleep was the only comfort you could afford to cling to in this situation, anything else was an unnecessary distraction.

Including the one that stood infront of you, taking form as a purple-haired devil.

You never intended to get entangled with any of the other contestants. You could smile and cheer together, but it wasn’t a secret how quickly that relationship could turn sour. Mixing any type of deeper attachments just seemed like a bad idea.

But you fucked up horribly, one thing leading to another, with you in the arms of a man named Thanos, who said just the right words at the time.

You promised yourself that one time was it, you wouldn’t slip up again. You couldn’t afford to slip up anyway.

“Thanos.. go away.” You murmured, courteous of the other contestants around you. You wondered if the two of you were the only ones awake.

Through the dimmed room you could spot Thanos tilting his head, elbow pressing against your bed as he leaned closer.

“C’mon don’t be like that.. just checking on you.”

You rolled your eyes, growing more frustrated by the minute. You desperately wanted sleep- actually, you needed it. You refused to suffer the next morning, especially since your life was literally on the line. You adjusted your pillow, basically staring daggers into the man.

“I’m fine, now, go to your own bed—“

“And.. I’m also cold.”

You blinked rapidly, nearly slapping that stupid smile right off his face. You decided to turn your back to him, ignoring that soft sound of disapproval he released.

“Wear your jacket or something.. hell— steal your friend’s blanket. Just let me sleep.”

You chose to ignore the second sound he released, which seemed to be an unusually pitiful whine, mixed with an obnoxious groan. You wanted to tell him off for his volume, but decided not to— trying to seem as stern as possible so he could finally leave you alone.

But Thanos wasn’t the type to let up, something you quickly learned the moment you met him. Seeing as his fingers began to graze your blanket, rising closer just so his lips were hovering over your ear.

“But you’re right here.. can’t we share some warmth until morning? You wouldn’t want me to freeze, right?”

Thanos’s words were tempting, as usual. Whether you liked to admit it or not, he knew just what to say. Which is why you called him a devil, a sickening demon with that silver tongue.

You bit the inside of your cheek, desperately trying to fight mind over matter. Not only was this bad for your sleep, you were also at risk for breaking some unknown rule. And if you got shot over cuddling, you would definitely haunt this place like a vengeful spirit.

But in the end you gave in, the reason fleeting at the moment. You could only focus on the fact he would hopefully shut up when he got what he wanted. So, wordlessly, you brought up the blanket behind you; hearing his small giddy voice as he climbed in with you.

At least the man was nice enough to allow most of the blanket to cover you, the rest of your exposed self covered by his larger frame. Thanos made quick work of wrapping his arm around your waist, tugging you closer to him as his face found your neck.

“You have to leave before morning.”

Whether acknowledging you or not, the man just let out a hum, lips treading across your warm skin in the process. With a shiver you attempted to focus on sleep, admitting to yourself that the extra warmth was comforting. It also allowed you to truly relax, knowing your back was covered— literally.

Your hand found the back of his, fingers spreading along it as your eyes settled shut. You felt your self slipping in slowly, body growing heavier as that relaxation began to reach its peak.

Only to tumble down the moment you felt a thumb play at the waistband of your pants.

“Thanos..”

“Hm?”

You slowly turned your head, tight-lipped and squinting at him through the darkness. “Don’t fucking hm, me— what are you doing?”

The shit-eating grin that developed was telling, his thumb now slithering under your shirt and rubbing small circles into your skin.

“Not a thing.. yet.”

“We’re supposed to be sleeping!”

The man was quick to raise his free hand, placing a taunting finger to his lips. “Don’t wake the others Señorita, that’ll be just plain rude.” The circles on your skin continued, Thanos closer as his lips brushed against your own yet didn’t fully touch.

“This will help you sleep better. Erasing alll your worries in the blink of an eye.” He breathed, eyes flicking low as if attempting to see beneath the blanket. Instead his hand did the seeing for him, fingers breaching your pants and underwear; tips stroking your soft cunt. He couldn’t help the little twitch of a smile the moment he felt you release a strangled breath, using two long fingers to spread you open to his hand.

And when your lips parted to speak, his own covered them; a gentle kiss that caused your mind to grow dizzy. You couldn’t help your legs spreading, hand wrapping around Thanos’s wrist the moment you felt him at your clit. He rolled his thumb so perfectly, applying delicious pressure to the little bud that caused you to see stars.

The moment you needed to breathe you regretted leaving his lips, seeing as you struggled to keep your voice down. He wasn’t even touching you much yet here you were, panting and releasing the softest moan. With a quick raise of your hand, you covered your mouth— teeth biting into the flesh the moment you felt a finger slowly sink into your wetness.

“Wish I could see..” The soft comment made you groan softly, hips rising the moment he began to piston his finger. Within moments a second was joining, scissoring you open and plunging deeper then your own fingers could. Your eyebrows knitted close, the pain of your bite washing away with each thrust of his digits.

“Thanos.. please..”

“Oh no.. keep your voice to yourself— I wouldn’t want anyone else to hear how pretty you sound.”

As usual his words held such a teasing tone, face moving back to your neck to kiss and bite gently. Even with his small request the man wasn’t making the situation any easier, especially when his thumb moved right back to your sensitive clit; rubbing those same dizzy inducing circles.

You felt way too good right now, your body practically shaking with how much you struggled to keep in. The thought of anyone waking up right now with you in this state — under the mercy of a certain purple-haired, tattooed rapper — was a thought you couldn’t even imagine without your heart pounding with anxiety.

The best thing to do would be to push him off before things progressed. You hadn’t a clue how far he wanted to take this, nor did you think it would end in time for the lights to cut on. And Thanos wasn’t a creep, he would listen to you the moment you expressed actual discomfort from the situation. But you weren’t, that pain you felt all day, that anguish; did truly wash away in seconds just from the flick of his fingers.

The thrusts against your velvety, soaked walls were perfect— your eyes rolling to find your skull the moment the ferocity increased. A metallic taste invaded your mouth from how bad you were biting yourself, but you didn’t care; it was a concern for morning [Name], not horny [Name] who was currently being cared for by the hottest contestant in this god forsaken place.

“Oh, all this clenching— you’re close aren’t you? Can barely get my fingers out.”

The smile in his speech was obvious, breath fanning against your skin as he urged you more and more; curling his fingers just right to hear your muffled sounds peak into a small squeal.

Your nails dragged across his tattooed hand, feeling it flex with each movement of his fingers. Your mind was growing cloudy, barely being able to register the words that were being pressed right against your ear.

“How about I get a taste, huh? Wanna come all in my mouth, mama.. it’ll be such an easy clean up.”

Before you could even think to speak Thanos was pulling his hand out from within you. You had little time to protest when you felt him grabbing your blanket, pulling it over his body as he crawled down your own. Your eyes slowly widened, realizing his words and actions; a new sheen of sweat finding your skin. Your nerves were on fine at this point, inner mind screaming to tell him to do anything else but that.

However, the moment you felt him pulling down your pants and his lips finding your pretty cunt, all hope was lost. The back of your head quickly found your pillow, hand going right back to your mouth to bite down even harsher than before. His tongue exited his mouth in a long stride, gliding across your wet center, and parting you easily.

Thanos created similar ministrations with the tip of his tongue like his thumb, circling your bud and slowly pulling it between his lips. There, he began to suck, the sound noisy but muffled by your blankets and other’s snoring.

Muffled gasps pushed against your skin, hips rising and legs closing around his head; bringing him even closer to you. The peak that was steadily approached seemed to pick up speed far too quickly, your mind turning to mush.

No more were you number so-so, victim to madmen and their sick games. No, you were simply [Name], moaning wantonly with little care for the environment around you.

Your other hand slithered under the blanket, finding his hair and tugging the soft tresses; feeling them stick between the gaps of your fingers. Shamelessly you rubbed against his face, desperate for that sweet release. Your pussy convulsed with each struggled breath you took, stars impeding your vision as you got closer and closer.

You felt it before you heard it, Thanos’s sweet urges right into your pussy. His wet words of make me a mess, pretty girl— don’t hold back on me now, causing you to tip over the line.

His mouth latched to you, drinking up your release as if you tasted better than any drug within his cross. It didn’t help he was practically praising your taste, a sloppy groan being delivered right into your pussy. Gingerly, Thanos licked you clean, assuring not a single drop was left.

Only when the man was fully satisfied did he let up, climbing up from the blanket and popping his head out to look down at you.

“See, it helped— you can barely keep your eyes open right now.”

You released a soft breath, a mix of a chuckle and a sigh as you stared up at the man. “You gonna let me sleep now?” You spoke softly, watching his wet lips curl into a gentle smile.

“Of course. Good night, [Name].”

[taesjpq]

Jealousy part. II

genre — best friends to lovers, fluff, smut MDNI!! pairing — female!reader x best friend!Mingyu summary — read part 1 hehe, this is pure smut (with plot) word count — 8,7k (part II)

I highly recommend reading part 1, first, or this probably won’t make much sense.

Warnings and notes under the line.

Notes: mention of san (ateez) and sangyeon (theboyz)

Well… it’s finally here!! it’s been a while, so even if you’ve already read part 1, I recommend giving it another read before diving in – this picks up right where it left off. Enjoy, and please scream & shout at me about how you liked it!! it’s my first time writing smut, so be kind (but also honest hehe) ⋆✴︎˚｡⋆

WARNINGS: alcohol consumption, switch!mingyu (CAUSE I KNOW HE IS), switch!reader, needy mingyu (yes that’s a warning), semi-public situations (they're not getting caught at all), fingering, oral sex (f & m receiving), consent emphasized, breast play, dirty talk, edging, mild overstimulation, unprotected sex/creampie (don't do that!!), cockwarming, aftercare implied, excessive use of “fuck” and “shit” (because i can’t stop it) 

21:12 

"Woah." 

Hoshi and Wonwoo storm inside, the door swinging shut behind them. "I almost turned into a damn tree waiting out there. Thought you guys were pretending not to be here." 

There’s a pause. His eyes flicker around the room—searching. 

"For whatever reason," he adds, dragging out the words before shooting Wonwoo a look, wiggling his brows. Wonwoo chuckles under his breath, balancing bottles in both hands. 

Usually, Mingyu would roll his eyes, maybe even smack Hoshi for a dumb comment like that. But right now? His mind is too hazy, too full—still tangled up in you. 

The second you hear their voices, you go. 

Straight to the bathroom. Fast enough to escape, slow enough not to raise suspicion. The door clicks shut behind you, just shy of a slam. 

Your hands grip the sink. Your reflection stares back at you, wide-eyed, cheeks burning, lips—fuck. 

You look wrecked. 

Your hair is a mess from where Mingyu had leaned too close, your lips are swollen from nothing but a brush, and your skin still tingles where his breath had been. 

You squeeze your eyes shut. Inhale deep. Try to steady yourself. 

Because they’re out there. He is out there. And you need to act normal. 

So you force it all down, splash cold water on your face, and when you step out of the bathroom, you do what you do best. 

You pretend. 

"Why the hell wouldn’t you guys pick up my call? I was going crazy. Do you know how much I paid yesterday for your shit?" 

Hoshi sprawls out on the couch, his voice loud and dramatic, while Wonwoo sets the snacks and bottles down on the table. 

That’s how Hoshi expresses his worry—through complaints, through exaggerated frustration that’s half real, half just him being Hoshi. Usually, Mingyu would respond. Would roll his eyes, laugh, tease him back. 

But right now? 

Mingyu isn’t listening. 

He can’t listen. 

He sinks onto the couch, still lightheaded. Still caught up in the last few minutes. 

Hoshi is talking—something about the night, something Mingyu should probably respond to—but his mind is elsewhere. He’s still in the kitchen. Still pressed against you. Still feeling the ghost of your lips brushing his. His whole body is tense, his skin too warm, his jeans way too fucking tight. 

He shifts uncomfortably, subtly adjusting himself before grabbing a pillow and placing it over his lap. He tries—really, really tries—to focus on Hoshi. To nod at the right moments. To act normal. But all he can think about is how soft your lips felt, how you looked at him. The way your lips parted just slightly, like you were going to— 

"So tell me, what did you guys do today?" 

Fuck. 

Mingyu freezes. 

What—what is he supposed to say? That you guys—? No. No fucking way. 

His stomach tightens. His jeans—shit—feel impossibly tighter. A sudden wave of dizziness washes over him. He wasn’t even drunk, but it was too hot in here. Too much. Too you. 

"Umm…" he mutters, fingers pressing to his temple, trying to come up with something—anything—normal to say. 

"Nothing much," you say, stepping into the living room. Too casual. Too even. "Just ate, watched something. Pretty chill." 

Hoshi hums, unconvinced. 

And Mingyu—Mingyu forgets how to breathe. 

His eyes drag over you—your face, your lips. Your legs, where he was between them just minutes ago. 

Shit. 

His grip tightens on the pillow. 

"Yeah, of course," Hoshi says, voice laced with suspicion. But thankfully, he shrugs it off, already moving on to another topic. The conversation shifts, flows into something else. 

But Mingyu doesn’t. 

He stays still. Because you don’t look at him. Not once. 

Since the second you walked into the room, since the moment you spoke, you haven’t spared him a single glance. 

And fuck, that does something to him. 

Fingers clenched. Jaw locked. Heart pounding. 

Because this isn’t over. 

Because no matter how much you pretend— 

No matter how steady your voice is, how carefully you avoid his gaze— 

He knows. 

He knows now.

22:12 

"Well, I was supposed to go out with the other guys tonight, but of course, you guys come first," Hoshi announces dramatically, stretching across the couch. 

Wonwoo doesn’t even look up from his phone. "Why are you lying? You were the one who insisted on coming here and dragged me along." 

Hoshi huffs and lightly smacks Wonwoo’s arm. "Shh, be quiet." 

But then, as if the thought just occurred to him, Hoshi perks up. "Actually… now that I think about it, I could've brought them along. They’re pretty cool." 

He pauses for effect, then smirks. "Especially Sangyeon." 

There’s something in his tone—something teasing—that immediately puts you on edge. 

"You know what?" He grins. "I should introduce him to you. He might be your type." 

Your head snaps up. 

And so does Mingyu’s. 

The air shifts in an instant. 

“I—uh, I’m actually pretty picky, so don’t bother.”  

“Come on, it can’t be that complicated. What is your type, anyway?” 

Your mouth opens, then closes. 

 And before you can stop yourself, before you can think—your gaze flickers to Mingyu. 

Shit. 

You regret it immediately. The moment is too fast, too obvious. Wonwoo catches it instantly, his sharp eyes reading your expression like an open book. 

"Just leave her alone with your nonsense," Wonwoo says, his voice even, unimpressed. "Maybe worry about finding your own girlfriend first." 

Hoshi gasps, clutching his chest dramatically. "Hey! I’m trying to help! It’s been years since she’s had a boyfriend!" 

Your stomach tightens. You can’t sit here any longer. 

Mingyu doesn’t look away. He just watches.  

Heat creeps up your neck, and suddenly, you need to get out of here. Now.  

You force out a laugh, pushing yourself to your feet. "I think it’s time for more drinks." 

"Want some help with that?” Wonwoo asks, still half-distracted by his phone. 

"No!" It comes out too fast, too desperate. You cringe at yourself but don’t stop. 

You don’t wait for a response—you just go. 

The moment you step into the kitchen, you exhale sharply, setting the glasses down and gripping the counter. 

Just breathe. In and ou— 

“Need help?” 

His voice. 

Casual. Too casual. 

He’s there—leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, shoulders broad, completely unbothered.Taking up too much space. 

An annoyed smile tugs at your lips. Why can’t he just leave you alone? 

“I thought I was being clear,” you mutter, staring ahead. 

A slow, knowing hum. Amused. Mocking . “I’m just being nice. Like always.” 

And he’s enjoying this—teasing you like this. 

You shake your head, you shift, pulling open the fridge. “Good. Then don’t be like always.” 

Mingyu straightens, uncrossing his arms, a soft chuckle. 

You grab a couple of bottles, setting them on the counter before reaching for the glasses in the cabinet. 

He doesn’t move. Just staying there at the door frame. Watching you. 

“Yeah? And how exactly do you want me then?” 

Your grip tightens around the glass. 

Mingyu. You little shit. 

You inhale, forcing yourself to keep your back to him. “I need you to be quiet. Just quiet.”  

“Oh, I can do that,” he murmurs, voice lower, rougher. 

You don’t dare meet his eyes. You don’t even turn around. Instead, you keep your gaze on the glasses in your hands—like that’s all you came here for.  

“I think you know how.” 

You let out a breath, stepping toward him like it’s nothing. 

“If you’re done, here, make yourself useful.” 

His smirk deepens. You’re trying so hard to act unaffected, but he sees it—the way your fingers tremble slightly, the way your breath catches.  

Mingyu tilts his head. Slow. Calculating. “I thought you didn’t want my help?” 

You shoot him a glare. You scowl. Why does he have to be so goddamn annoying?  

And worse—why does he have to look this good while doing it? 

But before you can fire back— 

Your phone rings. 

You glance down at your pocket, hands too full to reach for it. You sigh, shifting everything toward Mingyu. 

He looks at you. A beat of silence. And just when you think he’s going to take the bottles— 

His hand moves. 

Not for the drinks. 

For your phone. 

No hesitation. No second-guessing. 

His fingers brush against your waist as he lifts the hem of your shirt—just slightly. 

His fingers curl around your phone. He pulls it out, his gaze flickers down to the screen. 

San. 

The name rolls off his tongue. He’s heard it before, here and there. Was it someone from work? 

His eyes flick back up to yours, searching. “This late?” 

You swallow. “Give it back.” 

You step forward, but he doesn’t move. 

His grip tightens around your phone. He should just hand it over. He should step back. 

Instead, the words slip out—low, unfiltered. 

“Why is he calling?” 

You blink. 

Shit. It wasn’t a question he meant to ask. It wasn’t something he even thought about saying. It just fell out of him. 

“What?” 

The call ends. Silence. 

Mingyu doesn’t answer the question. Neither do you. 

Before you can figure out what's happening, he smiles. But not just any smile.That slow, knowing, devastating kind. 

And then—He puts it back, back into your pocket. 

Ding. 

A message. 

He tilts his head. 

Ding. Ding. 

“Must be important.” 

Another message. 

“You close?” 

His voice dips lower. 

You open your mouth, but before you can answer— 

“How close?” 

Something shifts. 

The teasing is gone. 

He sees the realization flicker across your face. You notice it now—the difference. 

No smirking. No amusement. 

Just— 

Jealousy. 

Your lips twitch. 

This is fun. 

Your turn now. 

“This close,” you murmur, taking a few steps back. 

His brows furrow slightly. 

“Or this close?” 

You step forward again. 

His fingers flex. His jaw tightens. 

Now he gets it. 

Now you’re right in front of him. So close, almost touching. 

“Or maybe… this close?” 

So close you feel his breath. The way his chest rises. The way his hand twitches at his side. 

Your gaze flickers down to his lips. Then back up. 

His breath stutters. 

Your voice drops, barely above a whisper. 

“What are you gonna do about it?” 

Mingyu moves before he can think. 

His hand grips your waist. Your back. Pulling you into him. 

His body is so warm. So solid. 

And then— 

“I doubt you two are this close.” He leans in. Just slightly. 

His breath ghosts over your lips, his fingers flexing against your waist.  

The cold of the drinks and glasses in your hands presses against his chest, against his stomach—a sharp contrast to the heat radiating from him. It makes his breath hitch. You can feel it, the bottles and glasses pressing against your breasts, and you wonder what it would have been like if they weren't there. 

“You didn’t even think about checking his messages,” he murmurs. His voice is smooth. Too smooth. And then—lower—right against your ear—  

“I have you right where I want you.” 

A sharp inhale. 

“YAAA!!”  

Hoshi’s voice cuts through the moment like a blade. 

Neither of you move. 

Neither of you break eye contact. 

“MY DRINKS!! WHERE ARE MY DRINKS!!”  

Mingyu should step back. He should let go. 

He watches the way your chest rises. The way your lips part. The way your fingers tremble, just slightly, against his arm. He could end it right here. Close the space. Kiss you senseless. 

He wants to. God, he wants to. 

But the voices in the living room—too close. 

He doesn’t know how it would end. Doesn’t know what you’d do. What he might do. Not when his pulse is this loud, not when you’re looking at him like you already know. 

Not now, he thinks. 

Because if he moves even an inch closer—  He’ll do something stupid. 

Right then where you think he would lean in —again 

he takes the bottles and glasses from your hands. 

Turns and walks out of the kitchen. 

Leaving you standing there, heart racing. 

Mingyu—smirking to himself. 

He chooses restraint. For now. 

00:34 

Your night plays out like it always does. 

Mario Kart on the Switch, followed by rounds of drinking games, laughter bubbling up with every sip, the room alive with energy. It’s become routine—getting tipsy with the guys, letting the evening slip into a blur of noise and warmth. But tonight, something’s different. Your mind isn’t on the game; it’s on him. 

Mingyu. 

You’re counting down the minutes until this all ends, until you can finally be alone. 

Alone with your thoughts. 

“Okay, last round, Hoshi,” you say, trying to sound nonchalant. 

“Yes! Yes!” Hoshi hurls himself into the couch, already grabbing his drink before the race even starts. Predictably, he loses again. 

You don’t even flinch, too distracted by the way Mingyu leans back against the couch, his eyes casually glancing at the screen but his attention fully on you. He’s sitting there, relaxed—his messy hair falling perfectly in a way that makes you want to reach out and fix it, even though you know he’d just mess it up again. 

His black t-shirt is slightly stretched from his movement, and as he shifts to grab another drink, you catch a glimpse of the chain hanging loosely around his neck. It glints in the dim light, you gaze down to the sharp line of his jaw to his exposed collarbones. 

You try to look away,  but every movement he makes seems deliberate, as if he's doing it on purpose. 

“PLEASE! LAST ROUND, PLEASE!!” Hoshi’s voice rings out, exaggerated and dramatic, dragging you back into the room. Mingyu chuckles, his lips curling into that effortless smirk. 

“Alright, let him have another round,” he says, voice deep and calm, a little too calm, his eyes meeting yours for a fraction of a second. 

It’s enough. 

Your heart stutters. You’re hyper-aware of everything. He rolls his sleeves up, just slightly, as he takes another drink. The biceps of his arm flex as he lifts his glass, you can see the veins along his forearm. It’s suddenly so warm in here and you can feel the way it pulls you closer even though you haven’t moved an inch. 

He doesn't need to try. He just is. 

He knows it, too.  

“YAAA!! THIS CAN’T BE!!” Hoshi wails, the chaos pulling you out of the moment. His controller crashes to the floor in exaggerated despair. 

You sigh, laughing despite yourself, the sound escaping your lips like a small release. For a moment, it feels like the tension that’s been thickening the air all night finally breaks, but it lingers—just out of reach. Your eyes flicker to Mingyu, and in that instant, you catch him. Staring at you. Not just a glance, but a look that lingers. 

He’s watching you, watching the way you sit there—knees on the floor, bare legs beneath you. But it’s not just the way you’re sitting, it’s the way his shirt clings to your skin, your posture, your eyes, your lips... everything about you seems to pull him in. His thoughts begin to drift, and before he can stop them, his mind’s running down a path he knows he shouldn’t be on. 

No, he thinks. Not again. 

He drags a hand over his face and thunks his head back against the couch, eyes squeezed shut. He exhales slowly, a forced calm. Focus, Mingyu.  

He can’t afford another hard-on tonight. Not with everyone around. 

But he knows. You both know it. 

It’s going to be a long, torturous night after all. And it isn’t ending anytime soon.

02:46 

Hours have slipped by, blurred by laughter and the bitter tang of alcohol on your tongue. The room is warm, dimly lit,—half-empty glasses, crumpled snack bags, the low hum of music still playing somewhere in the background. 

You’re exhausted, but wired. The kind of tired where everything feels a little too slow, a little too heavy. 

A soft snore interrupts your thoughts. 

You turn your head. Hoshi, sprawled out across the couch, mouth slightly open, completely dead to the world. 

You blink. "Well. There he goes." 

Mingyu huffs out a quiet laugh across from you, tilting his head toward the couch. "Took him long enough." 

"It’s always him," you mutter, shaking your head. 

"It was Wonwoo first." 

"Wonwoo doesn’t count. He chooses sleep." 

Mingyu grins, eyes crinkling at the edges, his dark, tousled hair—slightly messy from the long night—falls over his forehead, the dim light catches the sharp line of his jaw and suddenly, you’re aware  that its just the two of you now. The laughter fades, leaving something quieter in its place. 

And then it happens. 

That look. 

Mingyu leans his head back against the couch, watching you in that way that makes your stomach twist. His gaze is dark, unreadable, and smirking. you feel it—lingering too long on your face, dropping to your lips.  

He’s fucking smirking at you.  

Like you guys didnt kiss each other just hours ago.  

Your breath catches. Heat pools in your stomach, climbs up your spine, wraps around your throat until your face burns. It’s impossible to ignore the way your body reacts to him, impossible not to remember the way he felt pressed against you, the way he almost— 

No. 

You need to move. You need to do something—anything—to break the tension before it swallows you whole. 

So you stand up. 

Quickly. Too quickly. You busy yourself with the mess on the table, grabbing empty glasses, snack wrappers—anything to keep your hands occupied, your mind distracted. You can still feel his gaze pressing into you, following your every movement like a weight on your skin. So you just move yourself to the kitchen. Yeah, that damn kitchen. 

To escape. To escape him. 

But of course, he follows you. 

You focus on the counter, setting things down with a little too much force. You reach for an empty glass, then hesitate, frowning. Where does this go again? You open a random cabinet. Wrong one. You try another. Wrong again. 

Mingyu leans against the counter, arms crossed, watching you struggle. His broad shoulders stretch the fabric of his shirt, and the sleeves cling to his biceps in a way that makes your fingers itch to touch. 

"Need help?" 

"No." 

"You sure?" 

"Yes." 

You find the right cabinet—finally—but as you reach up to place the glass inside, it slips. Not enough to fall, but enough for Mingyu to react. 

He leans in slightly, voice lower now. "You seem a little distracted." 

You exhale sharply, setting the glass down before you drop it for real. "I’m fine." 

He hums, unconvinced. 

Silence settles between you. Mingyu doesn’t move, doesn’t look away. Instead, he watches you—closely. His gaze lingers as you slowly place the glass in the cabinet, like he’s studying every movement, every flicker of hesitation. You feel it—his eyes, the weight of his attention pressing into your skin. 

"You’re bad at this, you know," he murmurs. 

"At what?" 

"At pretending." 

Your pulse stumbles. 

"I’m not pretending," you say, but your voice isn’t as steady as you want it to be. 

He laughs teasingly, not really believing you.  

"You’re also bad at drinking games," he teases, his voice low, laced with something deeper. He leans against the counter, too close. "Honestly surprised you’re still standing." 

You roll your eyes, feigning confidence. "It takes a lot to get me down." you say, your voice steadier than you feel. The warmth of the alcohol hums beneath your skin. "I’m not even that drunk, actually."  

"Oh, yeah?"  

He steps closer.  

No. Please, no. 

You almost whine.  

Not again. Not when you’re still weak from earlier. Not when you still feel the ghost of his breath on your skin, the way he nearly kissed you, the way he almost had you.  

You swallow hard, nodding—but it’s weak, almost shaky. And he notices. 

"So, you weren’t really that drunk yesterday? Was all of that just an act?" 

His skin glows under the kitchen light, sweat dampening his forehead, his neck. His lips are pinker than before, and when he tilts his head slightly, your knees almost give in.  

“I dont know what you mean- I-" Your voice falters, and you curse yourself for how obvious it is. He's always been able to read you, hasn't he? 

He smirks. But he knows it all too well. Without touching you, he moves. His presence alone pulls you backward, guiding your body against the counter. You find yourself pressed against the edge, your breath caught in your throat. He doesn't touch you, but it feels as if he’s controlling every inch of your movement. 

Finally, his gaze softens, but the intensity remains. He reaches up, his fingers grazing your cheek, the touch light but electric, sending a shiver through you. “Your cheeks are giving you away,” he murmurs, his voice low and knowing. “Mingyu, stop.” you whisper, as you push against his chest, it causes him to step back, just a little. His arm wraps around yours, pulling you right back into him. The movement is fast, and before you can fully react, you’re pressed against him—your chest against his, your breath shallow as you’re forced to tilt your head back to meet his gaze.  

He exhales, voice deep, teasing, but his eyes betray him. "Why? you’re not gonna ask me to stay this time? Not gonna ask me to sleep with you?"  

"I don’t even remember what I—" 

"But I do." 

He doesn’t let you go. 

He leans in, hand ghosting along your jaw, his thumb brushing the corner of your mouth like he’s trying to memorize it. His warmth seeps into your skin, into your bones, unraveling something inside you. 

“You were looking at me like this,” he murmurs, forehead resting lightly against yours. “Exactly like this.” 

You can feel every word against your skin. His eyes don’t leave yours. 

“Mingyu, I—” 

“You held me here.” He traces your hand over his chest, down his abs, his touch slow, deliberate. “You asked me to stay, told me not to leave”, a smirk tugging at his lips as he remembers that moment. “Shit, I thought you were fucking with me.” 

Your throat goes dry, a tightness spreading through you as his nose brushes against yours.  

“You said please,” he murmurs, his voice dropping to a low, teasing whisper. He slowly pushes you against the counter.  

“Say it again" he whispers, the word coming out like a plea, thick with want, yearning—almost as if he's asking to kiss you.

“Please,” he whispers. It’s barely a sound—more breath than voice—but it carries everything. A plea. A need. Like he’s not just asking for a kiss, but for permission to fall apart in your hands. 

Your chest tightens. Your fingers move before your thoughts can catch up, curling around the back of his neck, drawing him in even though you’re already impossibly close. 

His breath hitches at the movement, eyes locking with yours. And there, in the quiet space between heartbeats, he knows. 

Then he kisses you.  

Soft at first. Barely there. It’s slow, careful—his lips brushing yours, like he’s learning the shape of you through every careful pass. 

Then again—deeper this time. More sure. 

His hands find their way to your cheeks, holding you, steadying you, like he can't pull away even if he wanted to. He hums against your lips, a soft relief, like he's been waiting for this. And he was. 

But the moment his mind catches up with the taste of you—he’s lost. 

The kiss turns desperate, all softness bleeding into something needier. Like if he stops, even for a second, it might all slip away. 

Your hands are everywhere—roaming, exploring. He nudges you gently until your back hits the counter, the edge cool against your spine. Your palms press to the surface behind you, steadying yourself as the bottles shift and clink under your touch. 

“Mingyu—” 

“No—”,he’s already kissing you again. 

Your protest is cut off, swallowed by his mouth, his kiss harder now. Like he’s trying to erase every reason not to. 

His hand slides to your waist, fingers pressing in, grounding himself in you. His chest brushes yours, heart pounding. 

“We should—” he exhales, his voice cracking, his lips barely leaving yours. “We should stop, right?” 

Your fingers find the hem of his shirt, slipping underneath, brushing against the skin of his stomach. He’s warm, feverish beneath your touch. 

“Yeah,” you breathe, lips still brushing his, “they—hmh-they could come in…” 

Shit. He knows. He really fucking knows. But he’s too far in. He should stop—he knows that. But how’s he supposed to do that? When you're looking at him like that? He tried to be good. He really did. But with you like this? He’s already too far gone. 

“Mmh,” he exhales, kissing the corner of your mouth. “We should stop before...” 

But even as he says it, his hands slide down, fingertips grazing your thigh. He looks at you, like he’s checking—like he needs to make sure. And the way you're staring back? He gets his answer. 

He lifts your leg onto the counter. The bottles clink next you, sharp and loud in the quiet, like a reminder of where you are but — 

“Yes—mmh—we should stop before anyone—” 

But then he hums, low and rough, as his hand moves to your chest. Fingers glide up, brushing over your breast, and your breath stutters.  

“We should… fuck-” His voice trembles. “Go to sleep.” 

He’s trying. God, he’s trying. 

But his mind is lost in you. Like he’s clinging to every thread of control he has left. 

 “Yeah,” you whisper back, breathless. Your hand slides under his shirt again, feeling the way he trembles under your touch. 

“I should go to sleep…”, you smile to yourself.  

“Yes- We should go to sleep,” he says, pulling off his shirt. 

You watch his skin glows golden under the dim lamp, and when he runs a hand through his hair—black strands sticking up in every direction—you almost loose it. It’s not the first time you’ve seen him like this, but damn. 

He takes your hands, places them on his chest, his abs—letting you feel him. And then he kisses you again. 

“Shit,” he breathes. “I can’t… I can’t fucking stop.” 

You're still on the counter, legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him closer. 

“Tell me to stop,” he murmurs against your lips, even as his hands slide up, cupping your tits, grazing the edge of your bra, his mouth finding your neck. 

“Fuck— Mingyu,” you moan, soft but breathless. 

“Don’t do that,” he groans. “-Fuck.” 

You tug off your shirt, and he just stares for a second. 

Out of breath, hair a mess, half-dressed. This—this is what he dreamed about for far too long. 

You reach for his belt, pulling him back in. 

“We can’t be loud,” you whisper. “Be quiet, Mingyu.” 

He smirks like you’ve just dared him. Like being quiet is a challenge. 

He kisses you hard, pressing his dick against you—exactly where you want him. You moan into his mouth, hands in his hair, kissing him like this might be the last time. Because maybe it is. 

He trails kisses down your neck, then your chest—his mouth warm over your bra, licking and sucking. You feel everything, but it’s not enough. You need more. 

“Mingyu, don’t—don’t tease.” 

“We can’t be loud, right?” he smirks to himself. You whine in response. 

One hand cups your breast while the other runs across his lips, tasting you . You bite down on your lip, trying to quiet every moan that threatens to slip. His hands are so big on you, his mouth so unbelievably good. 

You pull him back to your lips, needing to feel him—needing to let those moans escape where only he can hear them. 

“More,” you breathe, your hand drifting lower, palming him through his pants. 

The alcohol is blurring your filter, but you don’t care. You want him. 

Still, he doesn’t give in. Not fully. Not yet. 

He kisses you deeper—your lips, your throat—grinding against you like he’s losing control. Like you’re the one driving him insane. He thinks he’s teasing you, but maybe he’s torturing himself just as much. 

You dig your nails into his back, kissing along his shoulder. The intimacy of it gives you goosebumps, sets your skin on fire. 

You can’t take it anymore. Your hands go to his belt, fingers working it open as your eyes meet his. 

“Shit,” he exhales. Mingyu shakes his head “Not here.” 

“Not here?” you whisper, almost whining. 

His hands find your waist again, sliding lower, between your legs. 

His fingers are a little cold, and the touch makes you gasp.  

“Mingyu-” 

“Spread your legs for me,” he says lowly, never breaking eye contact. 

You do. 

He moves slowly at first, teasing your clit, eyes locked on every little reaction your face gives away. 

Your mouth parts open slightly, breath hitching. 

“Hm? That sensitive?” he asks, speeding up just a little. 

A soft moan slips from your lips as you grip his arms, trying to steady yourself. 

And then his finger slides inside. 

Then another. 

While his thumb keeps working your clit, making you lose your mind. 

“You like seeing my hands between your legs?” he rasps, still watching you. 

You can’t even look away—neither of you can. 

He kisses you, and you moan right into his mouth. 

“You like the way that feels?” he asks. “So wet for me already…” 

You try not to, but his names slips out of your mouth.  

“Shit. Didn’t we talk about being quiet?”, voice low, watching you all desperate and squirming under his touch. 

And you can feel it building—right there, right under his fingers. 

“Fuck, yeah. Like this”, he whispers. You’re so close. 

His fingers move just right—fast, precise, relentless—and your body can’t take it anymore. It hits you all at once. You gasp, eyes squeezing shut, legs trembling as the orgasm rolls through you.  

He doesn’t stop until you're done—his fingers slow down, helping you through it, letting you ride it out as your whole body shudders against him. 

Then he kisses you—soft, almost sweet, lips warm and slow. You melt into it, dizzy, still catching your breath. 

He smiles into the kiss, smug as hell. “You think they heard you?” 

You smack his chest, face burning, and he just laughs—loud, unbothered—and gives you a quick kiss on the lips like it’s nothing. 

“Time to sleep,” he says, all casual, like he didn’t just make you fall apart on the kitchen counter. 

You’re still dazed, legs weak, not even trying to get up when he picks up your clothes. And just as you’re wondering what now, he lifts you—hands under your thighs and back—carrying you. 

You bury your face in his neck, skin still warm, and you can feel him chuckling, chest shaking under your cheek.  

He carries you into your room, setting you down on the bed,you lean back on your elbows, chest rising and falling, still hazy from your high—but your eyes are locked on him. The soft light from the hallway hits his skin just right. His abs flex as he moves, still shirtless, just his jeans hanging low on his hips.  

You're supposed to be tired. You’re supposed to be done. 

But your body says otherwise. 

He notices your stare. “Don’t look at me like that.” 

You tilt your head. “Like what?” 

He runs a hand through his hair, almost flustered, but that smirk is back.  

“Like you want more. You know I lose control when you do that.” 

You lean forward, lips brushing into a small, wicked smile. “Hm, really?” 

He curses under his breath. 

You shift onto your knees, crawling closer to where he’s standing by the bed, teasing, until you’re eye level with his lips. You watch him closely, deliberately. His eyes darken, flickering down to your mouth. 

“You’re testing my patience,” he mutters. 

“I’m just being like always,” you say, like it’s innocent—but the way you graze your fingers over his belt says otherwise. 

He laughs, low and rough. “You’re impossible.” 

Then he kisses you, hard, like he’s finally letting go again.  

Your hands move lower, reaching for him, cupping him as you finally try to undo his belt. But he gently brushes your hands away, shaking his head. 

“Mhh, no,” he says against your lips, voice deep and determined. “I’m not done with you.” 

His hand finds your waist, guiding you back down to the bed without breaking the kiss. You sigh into it, helpless under his touch.  

Mingyu slips off your bra, he trails kisses down your collarbone, your chest—slow. His mouth lingers on your breasts, lips and tongue teasing. You’re biting back a moan when he lightly sucks on your nipple. His other hand slides lower, down your side, until it reaches your hips. You gasp as his fingers curl around the waistband of your panties. 

He pulls them down slowly, watching every flicker of your expression like it’s something he doesn’t want to miss. Like he’s imprinting it in his mind. 

Then he kisses lower—over your stomach, your hips your inner thighs. His lips brush every part of you except where you want him most. He’s taking his time, savoring the moment, and it’s driving you insane.  

You breathe in sharply when his mouth finally finds you. His tongue moves in slow, careful circles over your clit, your fingers already tangling in the sheets. He’s gentle at first, like he’s still learning, but his confidence grows fast. And it’s not just skill—it’s the way he pays attention. The way he listens to every sound you make, every breath you take He groans into you, like he needs it just as badly. 

You can barely focus. Your thoughts are scattered. All you know is heat. His tongue. That pressure building again, way too fast.  

You peek down at him, and the sight almost ruins you. His eyes are half-lidded, completely focused —locked on yours. His brows slightly furrowed like he’s concentrating, feeling you, not just tasting. His grip tightens on your thighs as you move, and he groans against you—fuck, he’s into it. 

And in his head? He’s losing it. 

This is all he ever wanted. 

He’d dreamed about this—too many nights, too many times imagining what you'd sound like, taste like, how you’d fall apart under his mouth. But none of it compares to this—flushed, needy, eyes fluttering, mouth open with every breathy moan. And the way you say his name? 

Yeah, he’s gone. 

He’s so mad at himself—mad that he waited this long, mad that he let you be so close for so long without touching you like this. But right now? He’s making up for it. 

He presses your thighs open wider, groaning at the way you react. His tongue starts to move faster now, rougher, more deliberate. Circling, sucking, teasing. You whimper his name—desperate, breathless—and he loves it. Every moan you try to bite back just makes him go harder. 

“Mingyu—fuck—” you breathe, legs trembling under his grip. 

And he just hums into you in response, lips curved, like he’s proud of the way you fall apart for him all over again. 

He slips a finger inside you, and your back arches, a loud gasp ripping from your throat before you can stop it. You glance down—his mouth still on you, tongue still moving—and you can see it. 

That smug little smile. 

You actually want to slap him for it. But God, it feels so good. Too good. 

You shove your finger between your lips, biting down hard, because otherwise you'd be moaning his name. 

Trying to not wake anyone. But he makes it impossible. His finger curls just right, finding that spot that makes your whole body clench, and then— 

A second finger. Thicker. Deeper. You cry out into your arm, hand flying to his hair, gripping hard—more for your sanity than his guidance. 

This isn’t what you had in mind when you got drunk last night—but fuck, you’re not complaining. 

“Mingyu—I’m going to—” 

You can barely get the words out, voice all shaky. He pulls back just a little, breath heavy against your thigh, fingers still pumping into you slow and deep, while looking at you in your eyes. 

“Not yet,” he says, voice low, but wrecked. “Just a little longer, please?” 

You want to curse at him, cry, beg—but all that comes out is a desperate whine. You throw your head back into the mattress, eyes squeezed shut. 

You need it. 

But he knows that. He wants you right there. He wants to watch you fall apart again—and know it’s him doing it to you. 

His fingers speed up, more precise now, like he knows exactly how much you can take. His tongue’s back on you—licking, moaning with you, vibrating against you. 

And when he lifts your legs up, resting them on his broad shoulders—you can’t take it anymore. 

Your whole body clenches. The heat crashes over you so fast it steals your breath. Your hands still tangled in his hair as he stays with you till wave ends. 

He doesn’t let go. He holds you through it, still licking you soft and slow, humming gently like he’s calming you down from a high only he could give. 

He smiles to himself, then leans in to kiss you again—slow, deep. You can still taste yourself on his lips. You kiss him back. your body’s still buzzing, but God, you're tired. 

Eventually, he lets himself drop back onto the bed beside you, one arm flung lazily over his eyes. You're both breathing hard, skin warm and flushed. 

“You tired?” he murmurs, voice a little hoarse. 

You hum, eyes still closed. “Yes… but no.” 

He lets out a quiet laugh, shifting just enough to peek at you from under his arm. “What kinda answer is that?” 

You giggle softly, brain still foggy. “You?” 

“Kinda, yeah.” He drags a hand through his messy hair. “You seriously drive me insane. I was tense the whole damn day… like some fucking college kid with a crush.” 

You smile to yourself. “Oh yeah? You deserved it. You made me wait long enough.” 

He lifts his head, resting on his elbows now, eyebrows raised. “I made you wait?Are you kidding? I was trailing after you like a damn dog for months. Everyone saw it. Everyone. Except for— you. They made fun of me. Hoshi even gave me names. He called me a puppy!” 

“You didn’t do anything either!” you shoot back. “And it’s not my fault—you’re nice to everyone!” 

“Yeah, but…” he pauses, and you can feel something shift in the air between you. You look at him, waiting for ending the sentence. 

“I’m only in love with you.” 

The words are soft. Steady. No hesitation, no teasing this time. And it hits you. Your heart stutters—you look at him, searching his face, trying to read the truth in his eyes.  He meant it. Every word.  

Your lips part, but no answer comes. Not yet. Instead, your gaze drops—his chest still rising fast, the muscles of his stomach tense, his jeans still unbuttoned, the bulge beneath his boxers so obvious now.  

A slow smile curls on your lips.  

“You waited that long?”, drawing the word out, fingers drifting low on his stomach. 

He groans, tossing his arm back over his face. “Don’t mock me.” 

You lean in. “What did they call you again?” Your hand cups him through his boxers—he’s already hard. 

He lets out a long breath through his nose, biting back a curse. 

“Stop playing…” he mutters, but it’s weak—he doesn’t really mean it. 

Your voice dips lower. “Did Hoshi call you a puppy?” 

“Mhm—  a puppy in love, he said.” 

A slow smirk tugs at your lips as your hand dips beneath the waistband of his boxers, fingers wrapping around him. He’s hot, thick, and already leaking. He groans—sharp and low. 

“Fuck—don’t tease—” 

You pull down his jeans and boxers in one slow motion, freeing his cock. He twitches in your hand. 

“So much pre-cum…” you say. “Were you really about to cum in your pants, Gyu?” 

He laughs at himself, eyes squeezing shut. “Fuck, yes—almost.” 

You bite your lip, your hand moving slow at first, teasing.  His breath catches. “Shit—I’m sensitive.” 

You watch the way his expression shifts—brows knit together, lips parting, chest rising quicker with every breath. 

  “Don’t—ahh—your hands…” he groans, voice breaking around the words. 

You go a little faster. His hips twitch. A breathless moan slips from his lips and he grabs at the sheets. 

“What if I..” You lean in, breath ghosting over the tip of his cock. You give a soft lick, just once—just to see. 

“Shit— cant you just—” he gasps, jaw clenched tight.  

You look up at him, wide-eyed and innocent. “Not so loud,” you whisper. “What if they hear you like this?” 

He lets out a desperate sound, biting down on his fist, like that’ll help. 

You smirk, finally taking him into your mouth—slow, deep, with deliberate pressure. His whole body jerks. 

He’s trying to hold back. He doesn’t even dare to look at you. Because if he does—if he watches your lips wrapped around his cock, your eyes fluttering shut, your head moving slow and steady—he’ll lose it. Completely. 

You suck him deeper, your lips wrapped tight, tongue tracing every inch. He’s so responsive, so sensitive, every little flick making him twitch in your mouth. His thighs tense beneath your hands, and the soft, ragged sounds coming from his throat only make you want more. 

“Shit—” he gasps, a hand reaching down, not to push you away—but to ground himself. His fingers tangle in your hair, not guiding, just holding. 

You glance up. His head’s tossed back, lips parted. 

He tries to hold still. Tries not to fuck up into your mouth. But the way you’re working him—slow, then fast, then slow again—it’s driving him insane. 

And then suddenly— 

“Wait—fuck, baby—stop.” 

You try to understand why he pulled away—lips still parted, his length heavy in your hand—and then you hear it. Footsteps. The faint creak of the bathroom door down the hall. Someone’s awake. 

instead of stopping, you stroke him—slow, deliberate—watching his eyes flutter, jaw clench tight. 

“Shit, baby…” he whispers, voice tight, “I can’t hold it in. I’m gonna—” 

  You lean up, cutting him off with a kiss. A soft hush. You don’t want him too loud either. But he’s still so hard, throbbing in your hand, and the way he kisses you back—messy and desperate—tells you how badly he’s struggling. 

He sits up slowly, his hands grip your waist, pulling you into his lap like he can’t help it. You settle over him, straddling, still bare, your pussy brushing his cock. The friction makes you both gasp—his tip slides right against your folds, wet and hot and so wrong. So good. 

“Fuck—” he groans into your mouth. “Baby, your pussy… it's—shit—it’s right there.”  

“I know,” you whisper, lips brushing his. You roll your hips, letting his cock glide through your slick folds, not quite inside, but enough to make him lose his breath. “But we’re not having sex, right?” 

His hands squeeze your hips tighter, trying to steady you, but you keep grinding—slow, delicious pressure. His cock slides over your clit just right, making you both shiver. 

“You’re gonna kill me,” he breathes. 

“But you like it,” you whisper against his jaw, biting it gently. 

“Fuck baby, I love it. You feel—mhm—fuck.” He’s unraveling beneath you, hips jerking up once, just barely. 

You smirk and keep going. Little circles. Little rocks of your hips. You moan quietly, lips brushing his ear. “What if I came like this? Just from grinding on your cock?” 

“Dont fucking talk like that. Shit—” 

And then he says it—low, strained, breathless: 

“Just the tip?” He meets your eyes, voice barely a whisper. “It wouldn’t count… right?” 

The smirk on your lips falters when you feel him shift beneath you. He looks at you, one arm wrapping around your waist. His tone drops lower—deeper, more confident now. “Say yes.” 

You nod. That’s all he needs. 

He pulls you down—slowly—just enough to push the head of his cock inside. You gasp at the stretch, at how thick he feels, even like this. He holds you there, both of you trembling, his forehead resting against yours.  

You whimper, but before you can speak, he moves. He rocks his hips up—just once, shallow, purposeful. Enough to make you cry out and cling to him. 

He chuckles, quiet and low. “Told you. Just the tip, and already look at you…” 

Your nails dig into his shoulders, and he loves it. 

“You’re so fucking tight,” he murmurs, guiding your hips slowly, letting you feel all of him without giving you everything. “Look at you. So desperate to be full, huh?” 

You nod again, helpless. “Please…” 

He tilts your chin up, kissing you softly—then deeper, filthier. “You want more?” 

“Yes,” you whisper. 

He hums, leaning back to look at you. “Then ask me.” 

You swallow hard, but your mouth stays shut, lips parted, breath shallow. You know what he wants to hear— but something  in you won’t give it to him that easily. Not yet. 

“Hm?” he says softly, eyes narrowing with the hint of a smirk. “No?” 

His hands slide down your sides, slow and sure. He shifts his hips under you—just the head of his cock still buried inside, pulsing—and rolls them up ever so slightly. Just enough to make your breath hitch. 

“You gonna make me work for it, huh?” he murmurs, brushing his lips against your jaw. One of his hands slips between your bodies, fingers trailing over your clit in featherlight circles. You jerk forward instinctively, gasping. 

“Fuck—Mingyu—” 

“Still not asking,” he mutters, almost amused, his voice thick with restraint. 

He keeps circling, teasing—soft, slow, maddening. At the same time, he rocks his hips again, just a little, dragging himself barely an inch deeper inside you. Your body clenches down, desperate for more. 

You whimper, hands braced on his chest, trying not to completely melt. He’s watching you now, eyes locked on your face, drinking in every twitch, every shaky breath. 

His free hand grips your ass, guiding you into a slow, lazy grind against him. The friction makes your head spin—you can feel the tip of his cock pressing right there, and his fingers still working you, too slow to satisfy, too perfect to ignore. 

You try to hold on—but your body betrays you, chasing the rhythm, chasing more. The words are on the tip of your tongue, but your pride holds them back just a moment longer. 

He leans in close, lips brushing your ear. “I’ll keep going like this all night,” he whispers, voice rough. “Just like this. Teasing you. Keeping you full, but never enough. Is that what you want?” 

“N-No,” you breathe, almost a sob. Your legs are shaking now, your whole body aching. 

“Say it,” he whispers. You break. You can’t take it anymore. 

“Please—Mingyu—fuck me.” 

And the second those words leave your mouth, his expression shifts—something deeper, darker flashes in his eyes. 

He grabs your waist with both hands and sinks you down onto him in one slow, devastating thrust, filling you inch by inch until you’re gasping his name, your body going taut. 

“There you go,” he breathes, his voice strained, jaw clenched. “Fuck—you take me so well.” 

You’re panting, hips rolling instinctively, but he slows you down with a firm grip. 

“Not yet,” he murmurs. “I want to feel you like this. Just… stay here a second.” 

You can feel him pulsing inside you, his hands roaming your back, your hips, your thighs like he’s trying to memorize every part of you. He presses kisses to your neck, slow and hot. 

Then he starts to move—hips snapping up, controlled, deep. Not rough, but precise. He watches your face the whole time, eyes flicking down to your parted lips, your fluttering lashes, the way you gasp when he hits that spot inside you. 

“You feel me right there?” he growls against your ear. “Right where you needed it?” 

You nod frantically, fingers clutching his shoulders, your voice broken. 

“Tell me,” he urges, his tone softer now, coaxing. “Tell me how good I make you feel.” 

“So good—fuck, so deep—Mingyu—” 

He kisses you again, grinning into it, just a little cocky now that you’re coming apart in his hands. His pace quickens, your moans slipping free with every thrust, louder, needier. 

And then he stills, his grip on your waist tightening. 

“Ride me,” he says, voice low and hoarse. “Fuck yourself on my cock. Let me watch you.” 

You bite your lip, breath shaky, but you shift your weight and begin to move—slow at first, dragging your hips in circles, rolling against him. He groans, loud, his head tipping back, eyes heavy-lidded as he watches you from beneath messy strands of hair. 

“That’s it, baby,” he pants. “Just like that—fuck—look at you.” 

You start to bounce, the rhythm building as his hands slide down to your hips, helping, guiding, squeezing. The sound of skin on skin fills the air, filthy and wet and perfect. You can’t stop moaning, can’t stop grinding down onto him—because he’s so deep, and you’re so full, and it’s too much. 

You’re close. You can feel it coiling deep in your stomach. 

“I—Gyu—I’m—” You don’t even finish. Your body seizes up, every muscle tightening as you cry out his name and fall apart around him, shaking, pulsing, gasping. 

“Let go, baby,” he whispers, his voice wrecked. “Cum for me. Right here, right on my cock.” 

He’s right there with you—watching you fall apart around him has him unraveling, too. His fingers tighten at your waist, jaw clenched, a desperate groan tearing from his throat. 

“I’m gonna cum—fuck, I can’t hold it—” 

“Cum inside me,” you breathe, still trembling, your voice barely more than a whimper. You’re still fluttering around him, soaked and warm, and the plea in your voice pushes him right over the edge. 

With a broken moan of your name, he buries himself deep, his hips stuttering as he spills inside you, pulsing hot and thick. He holds you tight through it, his face tucked into your neck, breath shaky and warm against your skin. 

For a while, neither of you moves. There’s just the sound of your heartbeats, the rise and fall of your chests pressed together. 

Then he presses a kiss to your shoulder. Then your jaw. Then your lips—soft, lingering. You both smile into it, drunk on the closeness. 

As the haze starts to fade, you shift your hips, starting to lift off him gently. 

But his arms tighten, holding you in place. 

“No,” he murmurs, half-pleading. “I wanna stay inside you a little longer.”  

You sink back down with a quiet laugh, and he whimpers. 

“Shit,” he mutters, eyes fluttering shut, “I’m still sensitive…”  

You smile, brushing his damp hair back from his forehead and kiss the mole on the tip of his nose. He blinks up at you, wide-eyed and flushed—and then he just starts to laugh. His hair is a wreck, his lips still kiss-bruised, and his collarbone is marked where you bit him earlier. But it’s his eyes that undo you—bright and crinkled at the corners. 

You laugh too, even if you’re not sure why. “What?” you ask, grinning.  

He shakes his head, still smiling like he can’t believe you’re real.

“I’m a fucking puppy in love.”  

a/n: it’s done!! finally. i’m so sorry for making you guys wait this long, but i’m actually really happy with how it turned out. i hope you like it just as much as i do ⭑.ᐟ thank you so much for waiting patiently—your comments were seriously the sweetest and so, so kind. ⋆.˚

fun fact about the whole “jealousy” story: this actually started out as a completely different story. i was inspired by that one gif of mingyu at the gym, and had this whole plot in mind… but then i realized it needed some context to make sense, and somewhere along the way, it just turned into this. so yeah, that’s why san’s little cameo feels kinda random 😭 BUT i’m thinking of turning that original idea into a bonus part for this one instead...would you want to read it?? let me know in the comments, in my dms, wherever—i’d love to hear from you!!

love youuuu xoxo ౨ৎ

My cute little 🏷️ taglist:

@wseye @wooahaeivy @dinow13 @httpscoco444 @jihoonsbbygirl @tigersandcherries @souleater440 @gyuldaengie97 @potayaa @mmingooo @ninigyuuu @littlewolfieposts @amingo046 @saturnesposts @starsewl @saltyfriendsaladbandit @imhwajaez @perfectlycleverface @chykyu @gohyemi @baekhyunimochibbh @gh0stprinceess @holyfestfire @id7lso @zimzalaminho @hellosighsophy-blog @my-woozi @sumeyyetuna

Honorable tag: @maplegyu

thank you for enjoying my fic and supporting me! It means a lot!

[chicksmoothie]

• Lovedrunk — mingi

Pairing: bf!mingi x gf!reader

— Mingi and you finally decide to move in together, but truth to be told you didn’t have time for each other more than for the basics. This means you are desperate to spend time just enjoying the other’s company (and fuck, and well, it shows)

! Long fuck fic

! based on Say it like you mean it characters but not mentioning its plot

W/C: ~4.8K

Genre: smut, fluff, established relationship, madly in love

Warnings: +18, mdni (seriously), cursing (a lot), dirty talking (another lot), teasing, edging, slight possessive behaviour (from both parts), breeding kink, praise kink, size kink, honestly this is a kink compilation, raw sex (you know you shouldn’t), needy mingi & needy reader, both vibing in the same horny kind of tune, pure hornyness, dry humping, a lot of spit, oral (f receiving), making out, multiple orgasms and therefore overstim, squirting, switch dynamics (rather bratty power bottom reader x service top mingi but also kind of switching so idk?), filming, this counts as a warning too cos really madly in love should be a warning, let me know if I forgot something i hope not cos this warnings are longer than the fic already

A/N: at the end

Also: this oneshot is fiction and in no way aims to portrait anyone involved in the story

Taglist: @i01233 @tinie03 @thesupreme316 @esmedelacroix thanks for waiting ♡

His scent was all over the room after taking a shower. His arm still a bit humid and warmer than usual had you hugged close to him under the blanket. And you couldn’t see it well since it was dark in the room, but the red and white highlights flashing from the tv painting his beautiful profile and the screen reflecting on his glasses had you totally distracted.

you were trying so hard to focus on the anime you decided to watch together. You were so, so trying it…

But the way his casual and cozy look caught your breath each time you had the chance to see it since you moved in together had no hopes in changing, ever.

It had been some time since you had had a quality time and chill night together due to hectic schedules at work and all the move in process, so now that the stars aligned and you had the same days off you wanted it to be as actually chill as possible and restricted every single dirty thought about pulling his glasses off and kiss him to start with.

If only his fingers were not playing with yours under the blanket. If only his shampoo wasn’t the same as yours and you didn’t weirdly get off to that because it meant you were actually living together. If only you weren’t so pent up after nearly a week without seeing each other for anything else but eating and sleeping if you were lucky.

If only you didn’t feel your heart skip a beat every time he chuckled when he found something funny happening in the anime that you were totally not watching.

If only you didn’t love him so fucking much.

Mingi turned his face your way while still smiling to check if you found the scene as funny as he did.

And you will never know what he saw on your face at this very moment, but his smile dropped and his eyes narrowed in only one second. “What’s up babychick? You don’t like the series?”

He knew exactly what was up, but he chose to play dumb for a moment. “Yes, yes, i am loving it,” you recovered quickly from your trance ”it is so interesting” and decided to play along. You smiled, lovingly, not showing how sarcastic you were actually being and on the contrary making it sound as genuine as possible.

You turned your face to the screen just in time to catch a smirk slowly growing on his face. He wanted to play? This you could do it. No problem at all.

—

The voices coming from the tv were white noise and ambient sound at this point. You had been silent since your little conversation earlier, but no words were needed when both of you were anticipating what was going to happen. You knew each other already, so you could tell that Mingi was getting impatient by how he looked at you from the corner of his eye. His tease was backfiring completely and all he could think about was him eating you out, but he didn’t want to lose just yet.

It all started to get complicated for him with you pulling up slightly at the hem of his shirt and placing your hand on his lower stomach pretending you were looking for some kind of warmth, your hand was cold you said. Sneaky girl… and eventho his breath hitched for one millisecond he continued with your little edging game.

He put his hand over yours, saying that by doing so it would warm up quicker. And it could have been an innocent gesture if only he wasn’t tracing random forms and decorating your fingers in suggestive caresses. Fucking tease… Good thing someone died in the anime in this exact moment, that way your little pout could pass as unbothered.

But you were bothered. Both of you were since long ago. All the second intentions behind the caresses, all the low whimpers you could hear from one another at every single touch and trying to contain yourselves from just lose it all and finally fuck were agonizing at this point.

You knowing he was already half hard and that your hand was dangerously close to his crotch but intentionally not daring to touch him wasn’t easy.

Him knowing you were probably already soaking through the grey leggins you used as a pijamas and he had done nothing but sit beside you and hug you yet was even less easy. How bad would it be when he got started…

You realizing the hands you originally had interlaced under the blanket were now somehow resting on your tit made you sigh.

Him realizing that your nipple was perking out and begging to be pinched, squeezed, bitten, sucked and anything possible was almost unbearable.

You and him panting quietly, suffocating in the tension that you both had slowly been creating by doing nothing but know that you wanted each other very, very badly.

You were also getting impatient, so you decided to push his buttons further and you knew exactly how. Without saying a word, you broke your cozy (yet hot) hug to slowly get up the sofa. “Where are you going?” His voice was husky and a little pouty because of your sudden distance. “I am sleepy, I think I am going to be-“

You couldn’t even finish your sentence as he grabbed your arm and pulled you down, placing you on his lap right over his hard bulge. Both of you moaned at the contact. God he was harder than you thought he would be. This rilling up game was going to be one of your favorites… “stop with the teasing, you win” you smiled in victory “i always win” well, he had to agree on that.

As soon as you leaned in to take his glasses off and give him the long awaited kiss both of you were a panting mess already. The kiss was slow and nasty, drinking in each other as if you had been wandering in a desert for ages and just found a fountain.

His hands were gripping your hips hard, knuckles white and head empty, bucking up every time you grinded your pussy along his dick through your clothes. The friction so good you could cum from just that after all the built up tension, your fingers tangled in his shirt and pulled to bring him even closer. You had the feeling that he had been too far from you for too long, otherwise you wouldn’t be this extremely horny, so needy for his touch and his skin on yours already.

“I need this out of the way” you pulled his shirt off slowly, taking your time on the motion, then yours went after, both ending rumbled on the floor.

You had to take a second to admire his topless figure under you, the dim light of the tv outlining his strong figure, and you looked at him with real adoration written in your eyes “my hand is cold again…” you bit your lip shyly, putting your hand back on his lower tummy as you had done earlier, but this time you traced the pattern of his slightly defined torso up to his chest, both hands meeting at his back and feeling his wide shoulders with featherlike touches.

“You are gonna be the end of me babe, you doing this on purpose?” his head rested on the back of the sofa, eyes lidded, tensing under your light touch and waiting impatiently for you to snap and continue what had already started.

You looked at him with such a fake surprised expression, “what do you mean? I am only admiring my pretty boyfriend” and you knew what you calling him pretty would do to him.

“I thought the game ended” he growled, eyes now on the roof and his adam’s apple bobbing while swallowing a moan at the praise “yes, and I won, so I am going to savor my price” you leaned back and took his chin to make him look at you “see how I am already? You made me wet through my pijamas, anything to say about that??”

He looked down where your leggins were indeed as soaked as he had imagined, the dark patch too close to his cock for his brain to not malfunction. “I am going to fuck you so good babychick you wont be going out of bed in three working days” that you didn’t see it coming. He was never so aggressive from the beginning, but he was in such a horny state his hands were already shaking in your hips.

“Please let me eat you out” you moaned at his begging “its all I can think about” he closed his eyes and sighed just at the thought of your dripping cunt smearing his face and your sweet flavor filling his mouth. “You are so needy…” you said and he nodded slowly and deadly serious “only for you”.

One of his hands run up to your back, the other one still gripping your hip tightly. Your boy was so strong and so big it took him zero effort to stand up carrying you on top of him. “You wanted to go to bed yeah?” You grinned “I knew you would get the hint at some point”

He had been between your legs for two orgasms already. His face a dripping mess and his thumb circling your clit slowly compared to the quick pace his tongue had set on you. Slurping, moaning in your cunt, drawing random patterns in your inner thighs with his free hand to feel your soft skin somehow. He was fucking the mattress to get some kind of friction for himself although he could cum untouched by just the sound of your moans and the way you pushed his head impossibly close to you.

The overstimulation of cumming twice with just his mouth was torture but you couldn’t think about pushing him away, that would be worse. “My girl likes to go wild with overstim?” He slurped up a drop of your cum, pulling out his tongue to show you your own creamy arousal “you think you are stretched out for me already my love?”

You couldn’t take this any longer, having him inside was your top priority in this moment so you grabbed a handful of his hair and dragged him up as he moaned in pleasure due to the sudden pain while you cried “mingi, pants off” you were already naked, but he had still these black home sweatpants that normally drove you crazy but in this moment drove you mad.

He obliged and pulled them down, revealing that he had no boxers on and letting his dripping cock spring out, red, all veins on display and you swore to god you had never seen him this hard in all the time you had been together.

You were already salivating… the stretch of his cock was always good, but this time.. oh my god you couldn’t imagine it, you had to have it.

Wide open on your bed, waiting for him to put the condom on and his dick to finally fill you up, anticipating that stretch you were aching for with little whimpers trying to escape your mouth.

And he knew it.

He was sliding his tip along your entrance, covering the condom in your slick and his own spit after his make out session with your pussy. “mingi, fuck off…” you were desperate for him “baby I really want to slam in, but I have to put it in slowly” this was half true given his size and half him getting revenge for his loss, but you were not having it.

You were always the winner for a reason: whatever he did you took it further.

You rose your hips and pushed against the tip. finally, finally opening yourself for him inch by inch. You couldn’t see it because you had closed your eyes at the feeling, but he kept them wide open in a completely fucked out expression, savoring the sight of your relaxed face for having him inside you at good fucking last.

Mingi tried, but he couldn’t keep your slow pace until the end and bottomed out in one go, gasping and falling over you, completely worn out already. “god, fuck, mingi” After a few seconds of both of you adjusting to the feeling he started moving, his body still flush against yours, he didn’t bear thinking about being the slightest bit apart from you and not feel you tense, squirm and tremble underneath him. Your sweat making it easier for you to meet his movements as if you were water.

“God…Your pussy hugs me so good baby, I love it. My fucking girl… you are mine, yeah? Answer me baby please…” and he sounded as he really needed you to give a response to that question, eyes shut and forehead pressed against yours. “Mingi…” you cupped his face with both your hands to kiss him “i am yours” you whispered between his lips and dragged your fingers to his hair to pull slightly.

His beautiful reaction every time you did so made you clench around him, making him open his eyes in shock at the sudden tightness and turning his growls even deeper.

He pretended he wasn’t, but he was so needy and so clingy. So lovedrunk for you that you saying that you belonged to him had him already close to cumming.

“There is no other one for you either” you looked at him in the eyes through your lashes, pulling off your best sultry face, “you are mine too, say it” he was shuddering, loving the way you demanded his response, bossing him around from underneath him as if the one being fucked to the brim wasn’t you.

You had him so in the palm of your hand he wouldn’t mind you closing it and crush him, how could he answer anything else than that? “I am yours baby… fuck…” and that made you giggle.

“Thanks” you pecked his lips, hugging him around his neck, legs around his waist pushing him deeper and earning a low moan from him, “baby I really won’t last today”, and it was a given since you had been fucking each other really since the moment you sat on the sofa this afternoon, “so take it easy on me and behave yeah?” he was fucking you slow, the way he knew you liked it. The way he could fill you completely and leave no single untouched spot inside you. But also the only way he would be able to keep going for a while.

And just because you were dying to see him lose his mind completely were you determined to do everything you knew he loved at the same time. Pressing kisses all over his neck till you reached his earlobe and bit it, “I am behaving right? I am being so good today, what you gonna give me, hm?”

He was panting heavily, eyes shut, both his hands at each side of your head, the vision so good and his dick so deep you nearly started crying at the unbearable thrill.

But you decided to slowly move your arms down from his neck to interlace one of his hands with your own instead. Your other hand landed on your lips, tongue full of spit ready to coat your fingers in your saliva and leaving a string behind once you finished with the task, never breaking the eye contact.

Mingi couldn’t win against you being a dirty brat, but he had even less chances of winning against your hand going down where your bodies met to push one of your soaked fingers inside your cunt, stretching you even more but making it even tighter for him.

His jaw clenched and his eyes were silently asking you if you were being fucking for real right now. And oh my god you were, so fucking for real that you started moving your finger slowly inside you and rubbing his dick on your way, moaning loud and grabbing his hand tightly, needing to hold onto something for how good it was feeling for you too.

“Fuuuuuuuuck….” Fuck it, he really didn’t stand a chance from the beginning “I am gonna cum, where do you want it? Tell me babe I won’t last much more” he knew that you loved to feel his cum all over you and you were already trembling, so close yourself.

You couldn’t imagine him pulling out from you right now nor for too long, this past weeks without any intimate contact at all were working hard on you so you didn’t have to think it twice “mingi please… cum inside”

He could never have figured you would say that, eyes rolling to the back of his head as he thought about how to answer.

“Raw baby?” He finally asked with a cry, just to make sure he was understanding it right “please…” your affirmation whisper froze him and made him almost nut on the spot.

He slowly carried on with the roll of his hips, struggling with the pace while the only thing on his mind was to piston fuck you into the bed after what you had asked him to do “you can’t say shit like that”. He was struggling, gritting his teeth and he really wanted to obey but you would regret this tomorrow, this had been said in the heat of the moment, or at least this is what he was telling himself in order not to breed you full.

But you blinked, you fucking innocently blinked pretending to be surprised, knowing how bad he wanted it and quickly slid your sticky hand out of your cunt and between your bodies to push him off and pull him out “but I can tho”.

In one swift motion and in a record time you took the condom off, tossed it somewhere on the floor and aligned his pulsing cock inside you again, painfully slowly sinking him in as you watched his face contort in pure ecstasy by the contact of your wet walls around him for the first time in months using protection.

Nothing could describe the way he felt about having you split open and raw underneath him, completely his to take. You put your arms around his neck, dragging him down to look him in the eyes again as you always liked to watch him when he reached his climax “now you can cum baby” your voice was merely a whisper, small but commanding “i will look so good with your cum dripping out later”.

And that was it. Something animalistic took over him and he started to move rougher, faster and more desperate than he ever had .

“Yeah?? You want to be full of my cum that bad??” His voice deep in the crook of your neck sending shivers through your whole body. Shit, you wanted to see his face!! but you were feeling so good at the way he thrusted into you, grinding his pelvis against your clit each time he went back inside, that you couldn’t be arsed complaining about it.

“Not enough with having me ballsdeep inside you that you also want to keep me there after I pull out??” He was testing the waters, trying to find out if he could say what he actually wanted to. But your loud moan at his words told him that he could carry on and so he did.

“You want me here?” you were far gone, dripping from your pussy to the bed and your skin burning, goosebumps all over and making the prettiest noises he had ever heard.

Never knew this would thrill him so much, but as his hand reached your belly, pressing down slightly and feeling himself moving in and out of you over your skin and going back to kiss you desperately he understood that no other raw pussy was ever gonna have him “you want me to get you pregnant tonight or what?”

Finally. He met your eyes just in time to see them roll back and flutter shut, your cry immediate “yes yes yes yes” you were begging, your cunt squeezing and sucking his cock in so hard it was getting difficult for him to slide out, seeing white ass stars as you came around him repeating his name since it was the only word you could remember.

The noises of your wet bodies crashing every time he thrusted inside you filling his ears and the warmth of your cum soaking his pelvis felt too good, “you drive me fucking insane” he growled and was now letting go, feeling you milk him dry and trembling in a pleasure he was sure he was going to get addicted to.

Cumming raw and inside after holding it in for so long only for you, he really wanted to see how your tummy grew big. “mingi…” he covered his nervous smile with your lips, still panting over your worn out body, never pulling out even after both of you came down from the shared orgasm.

Wait, “you are still hard??” you couldn’t believe it “give me another one babes, i know you can” there was nothing else in this world that had him in more bliss than your whole body response when you were cumming and he knew that nothing could ever compare to the way your walls hugged him perfectly, massaging his cock in ways nothing could do. He needed to feel it some more “you are having my kids no? we need to fill this up”. His words were going to turn you into burning ashes.

He started to move slowly again, the painful overstimulation not being enough to make him stop “but mingi I don’t think I can cum anymore” your eyebrows were beautifully frown and a tear was about to roll down your cheek when he suddenly flipped you over, you being still flush against his body but now on top of him. He fucking knew you loved being on top, completely able to adjust to his length and set your own pace. Watching him from above was one of your most personal moments.

You looked at him in disbelief, he was seriously going to play this game with you??? You straighten up, watching him dangerously challenging but still catching your breath. As soon as you leaned back and rolled your hips your thoughts about not being able to cum were already gone, his dick filling you up so good you couldn’t believe you ever said that.

You put one hand over his leg to balance yourself while grinding over his dick nice and slow “actually maybe I can…?” your other one gently reaching your belly and caressing it in a wide circle, your own touch giving you goosebumps, the gesture making him flinch at the thought of his cum inside you right where you were touching yourself, yours and his imagination going fucking wild.

He closed his eyes to savor each sensation you could pull out of him, hands running up your legs and landing on your hips to help you grind. But he really wanted to see you, so when he opened his eyes again you were still watching him, all the love you felt for him showing on your face and basically dancing on his lap, little moans escaping your mouth. His eyes on you were so raw and sincere it had you melting, a hot drop of your slick running down your boyfriends lap. How the fuck were you this lucky you didn’t know.

He was biting his bottom lip, all his feelings over the place. he loved you so much. And knowing you felt the same for him sometimes blew his mind “how am i so lucky?” you smiled at his words matching your exact thoughts, “look at me mingi, am I not lucky too?” he indeed looked at you, from your pretty face to your pretty hole sucking his cock, a husky moan leaving him.

He brought his hand to your pussy and split your lips open to watch how his cock disappeared inside you “fucking god…” he nearly came again at the sight of his release forming a ring around his base “I wish I could see this forever” and he could tell when you had a bright idea pop into your clever head, like right now.

You stopped for a second to reach out for your phone, your change of position making him pant and trying to hold you still. You popped the camera app on your screen and pressed record then offered it to him. Seriously, how was he so lucky? He was too horny to argue or question you so…

His eyes were fixed on the screen, watching you go back to moving gently on his dick but quickening your pace until you were sliding him out and bucking back in, jumping and moaning nonsenses. His dick felt so right inside you, so where it belonged to that you stopped thinking what you were saying, completely lovedrunk yourself.

“I love this dick” he groaned and struggled to keep the recording and it took everything in him to not throw the phone away and keep looking through the screen, “no one else is ever cumming inside me, I am all yours” you cried and threw your head back, letting out a high pitched moan as you sensed his free hand grip your hip tighter and buck up to meet your movements.

The hand where he was holding the phone completely trembling, the dirty feeling of this happening to him but also watching you getting fucked through anything that wasn’t his own eyes made it look like something nasty. And hell was he getting off to that shit, “mingi I am gonna…” “yeah, yeah please cum babychick, I am following”

Mingi had this rare gifted talent of making you cum as soon as he commanded, and so you did. The scream was loud from both parts, your pussy tightening harder than it ever had around him, not wanting him to ever leave that place “I am cumming inside again baby is that okay?” you couldn’t even manage to answer, your orgasm so hard it was taking forever for it to go down, so you only nodded fervently as a yes.

All the edging and the overstimulation from earlier skyrocketing your sensitivity. It wasn’t easy for it to happen to you but it did this time and it was recorded forever for commemorative purposes; your pussy started to spray over everything reachable around you, all his torso drenched in your squirt, the camera lens soaked and the image blurry.

Fuck it, you didn’t need to save anything else. Mingi stopped the recording and tossed the phone somewhere over the bed, sat up straight to hug you while you were still crying out his name and started to thrust harsher from bellow.

You hugged him back, curling your legs around his waist to keep him as close as you could and started to kiss him desperately, no rhythm no attention, waiting for this rollercoaster climax to end. His movements were already unsteady due to his own incoming orgasm, calling your name and saying sweet praises into your mouth as the string finally snapped and he finished inside again, making your insides warm with his hot cum.

Once he calmed down he fell on his back over the bed, hugging you still over on top of him, totally worn out and suddenly cold after what you thought had been the best orgasm you’d had.

“shit” you sighed “it is so cold” mingi smiled, completely satisfied, “let me get a towel, I will clean this mess up” he reached down to get a sample of the said mess in his finger. You couldn’t help it and licked it without thinking, “baby… don’t go there again” he was being half serious, but his still inside cock twitched weakly. You laughed at him, “baby go get that towel, I am seriously cold”.

He slid out of you, leaving you to get the promised towel, both relieved and sad at the sudden emptiness in your cunt. But… wait, it is not that empty? Your cheeks burned beet red, remembering how you had been begging him to get you pregnant. How many kinks were you gonna collect with this guy?! Your hand moved by its own, trying to find its way to your slit.

As soon as you felt it in your fingers you couldn’t stop yourself, you were putting all the cum that dripped out back in, moaning quietly at the single thought of your belly full of him again.

“need any help with that?” you looked towards the door, he was leaning against its frame, towel in hand, his smile showing his front teeth that you loved so much. You had to smile back, “yeah?”

—

A/N: Hellooo haha this took me a while.

I know it was meant to be the continuation for Say it like you mean it, but it has been so long already (two whole years to be exact) that I found no joy in these characters anymore. And as much as I tried to start them over again (seriously I had like 9 drafts about them) it always ended up being just not too good. I really wanted to give them a hot and steamy (and really long wtf) chance with this one. I think my writing got better too (not posting at all but still writing), even if english is not my mother language and therefore I am a bit limited!

I would like to improve some more for the next one, which will also be set on mingi & the chick since i am biased and i kinda got attached to some of the topics I was writing about in Say it like you mean it. So for now we have this one, but possibly the next one will fiiiiinally be SILYMI part.2? When? Who knows, no one when it comes to me i am afraid.

Anyways! I hope you enjoyed. Comments are welcome ♡

[booksandteaandtears]

That's your wife? thunder version

Dr. Jack Abbot x f!attending!wife!reader

summary: the new ER personnel does not yet know who Jack is married to. You're a pretty scary ortho attending that seems to always be fighting with Jack

genre: fluff --- be aware: medical inaccuracies

masterlist | sunshine version

You had met Jack in a training centre in Texas. You'd been with the army a couple of years at that point, having joined straight after pre-med. You were specialising in orthopedics because you liked the people working the field and it was a place where you could make a difference to people's life.

Jack had been an emergency lover from the start, so you'd butted heads more then once when you had different opinions. You had heated arguments about patient care, strategies and new techniques. Your fights weren't pretty, but you found you enjoyed them none the less. At some point you found yourself hoping he'd be on shift when you were, aching to see him and bite his head of. He asked you out on a date when you'd saved six patients together in one night.

When Jack got injured and left the army, you handed in your resignation and went with him. You got married as soon as Jack had recuperated enough to get himself down the isle.

You'd started at the PTMC together, Jack downstairs in the Pitt, you upstairs surrounded by ortho bros. Now you were an attending, having been promoted easily because of your natural leadership and medical capabilities and experiences. You were a tough one. New med-students and residents would try to avoid you the first couple of weeks, getting scared when you would sneak up behind them to judge their work. You were harsh and strong, but you were a good teacher and a damn good doctor.

You and Jack were a true enemies to lovers tale, and though you'd arrived at the lovers' side of it now, the snarky comments and fierce looks hadn't stopped. You'd fallen in love through your fighting in emergency situations, and so you kept it up. It felt part of you to act this way towards Jack inside the hospital, the part of you that had started out as enemies never fully left. It made sense for you to work together in this way, and strangely it made you both better doctors when you were biting each other's heads off.

For your colleagues this could be a strange dynamic. They'd get a little nervous if arguments got too heated, but mostly they just ignored and laughed at the names you'd cal each other. Sweetheart was a favourite, although said in a very sarcastic tone. Most people knew that the two of you were hopelessly in love, but they liked to make a game out of it for anyone new. There was, of course, a betting pool when new students or residents would arrive, placing bets on how long it would take the newbies to figure it out. The record was held by Dr. Mohan, who had taken almost four months to figure it out.

You and Jack were both in on the plot, secretly loving it when new doctors would come in and get scared by the hostility between you two in the trauma bay. You two would even amp it up a little bit when you knew the rookies had been gossiping about hospital relationships. You were usually caught because one of Jack's colleagues couldn't stop smirking at your behaviour.

When Mel, Santos, Whitaker and Javadi had been in the ER a couple of weeks, they heard whispers about you. You'd been off to train some combat medics for a month, and had missed Pittfest. Rumours were that you'd be back that day and the entire ER staff was gearing up for it.

Abbot was a couple of hours early that day. He said he'd heard about a multiple collision on the radio and wanted to come in to help. Dana laughed at him. "You tell yourself that, Jack. Just keep the shouting down later. If I hear one more sarcastic sweetheart I might just start throwing things at you."

Mel overheard the conversation and looked away from the board, trying to figure out what she'd missed. Jack was smiling at Dana.

The trauma came in and Jack called for her. "King, you're with me. Degloving injury of the lower right leg. Let's try to get it figured out before ortho comes in to ruin it." They'd been running the trauma for a couple of minutes when you barged through the door. "Right," you ordered, "Who's this and what's going on." You locked your eyes on Mel. "You're the resident running this? Go on, make your report, we haven't got all day. Don't look at Abbot, he doesn't know shit." Mel presented the patient, stumbling over her words because she was flustered by the intensity of the ortho attending. Jack tied off a tourniquet and you stepped in to bump him out of the way.

"Keep your hands of that tourniquet. Did they give you your degree with a carton of milk? I'm taking over." She loosened the tourniquet, trying for a pulse on the foot.

"He's going to bleed out if you don't tie of that tourniquet, sweetheart." He sneered at you. You scoffed at him. "Don't tell me what to do. If we tie it off he's losing his leg for sure, just hang another o-neg and let me look at him first. Can't have everyone limping around like you, sweetheart, so just let me work my miracles." Mel felt her throat constrict when you said it. She was sure Jack was going to burst into anger now. Jack did not, however, and he smiled at you with a twinkle in his eyes. "By all means, you quack. Take all the time you need, I know you always need a little longer to get up to speed. I'll just try to make sure he lives in the meantime."

The jabs continued back and forth and Mel had to take a moment after the trauma to refigure her confused emotions. You'd gone up to the OR with the patient and Jack was working on another one of the collision victims.

Dana found Mel in the hall, staring into it. "Tough day, kid?" Mel nodded. "They're intense, Dr. Abbot and the ortho attending." Dana laughed at that. "Don't I know it. You'll get used to it before long. It's just names they're calling each other, they always figure out the best course of action. It works, one way or another, they're both at the top of their game. But intense is the right word for it." She patted Mel on the back. "Come on kid, it's time for shift change."

Two days later Javadi was caught between one of your arguments, trying to referee it. She couldn't make herself heard over your raised voices. "You're plainly in the wrong, sweetheart. What does your husband think of these idiotic ideas on patient care?" Jack shouted at you. Your eyes turned to thunder. "That's the path you're taking? Do you want to hear what your wife's opinion on the matter is?" Javadi fled.

A week later both Javadi and Mel were running a code with Dr. Abbot when you came bursting through the doors. "I was scrubbing in to a ACL reconstruction, this better be serious or I'm going to kill you all for wasting my time." Mel's face lost some of its colour. "Come on, present the patient!" You barked at her. "It's enough that your attending is always wasting my time. Get on with it." Mel's eyes turned huge and she was picking at her hands from anxiety. You trained your eyes on her, anger evident in the way your brows had furrowed. "Now, if you please! I thought you were a resident, not some nervous med-student. Stop wasting my damn time!" Javadi swallowed her fear and tried to press herself into the corner of the trauma bay.

Dr. Abbot stepped in front of you. "That's enough. You don't get to bitch at my residents. They're not some cadets that you're training. Get over yourself and don't take your anger out on them." You huffed at him. "Jesus, Jack! Are you really quoting my therapist to me? Are you fucking serious?" Jack continued to stare at you. Javadi and Mel got even more confused by the conversation and looked at each other anxiously. Javadi was trying to gauge wether it was best to flee again.

It took ten seconds for you to calm down and apologise to the two women. "Sorry." You told them. "I was out of line and I shouldn't have shouted at you. I apologise. Let's get back to the patient now."

You leaned over the patient to check for any damage to the lower back, dog-tags falling out over the top of your scrub top. Mel could see a golden ring hanging next to them. Jack did the same opposite to you, his dog-tags clanking as they met the wedding ring that was also on his chain. It looked like the one on your neck, only it was a little smaller and it had a beautiful green emerald.

Mel took a step forward and examined the dog-tags on your neck. It took her a moment, but then she could plainly see the name Jack Abbot written on them. Mel blinked in confusion. "Dr. Abbot," She began, "She's wearing your tags." Jack stopped assessing the patient, satisfied that he'd live. He looked at you. "I sure hope she is because otherwise she would have lost them. She already lost my wedding ring once and that's more than enough." You turned away from the patient and snapped your gloves off. "You've got to stop bringing that up Jack, it was years ago. Besides, you're the one who wants my ring around your neck, you possessive man. It's only fair that I get yours in return. Patient will be fine, just sent him up for a CT. I'm gonna scrub for my ACL." You turned to walk out the door. Jack called after you. "We're still on for coffee around 10, right?" You turned back to Jack and kissed him on the lips. "Of course, sweetheart." you said, "Don't forget my creamer." Then you walked off, leaving Mel and Javadi without words.

Javadi finally found her voice after a minute. "That is your wife?" She gasped out. "She is absolutely terrifying." Javadi slapped her hand in front of her mouth as soon as she'd said it.

Jack just laughed at her, walking back to the board. "Yes, isn't she lovely? What do you gen-z-ers call this, having a terrifying partner? I think Shen told me once." He scratched his chin. "Ah, I remember. Scary dog privilege!"

[fanged-fanfics]

☆ "You Can Have My Last Name" — Zaunites x GN Reader ☆

Genre: Fluff || they/them pronouns for reader || No warnings needed

A/N: I'm pretty sure this idea is like. Everywhere by now. But people from Zaun/the Undercity don't really have surnames so plot is basically what if Reader offered up theirs. Simple and cute type stuff idk I wanted some fluff

──────.𖥔 ݁ ˖˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ──────

Viktor

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Mentioned the nature of his lack of a surname rather casually, while venting about how Piltover kept trying to say his paperwork was 'invalid' for lacking one. He explained to you that it was common for anyone in the Undercity, and that most from there didn't have one at all

ᯓᡣ𐭩 More confused than anything when you offer yours, or he at least pretends to be. The truth is the idea flustered him coming from you so casually, so to cope he acted like he didn't know what you were implying

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Thinks about it for several weeks afterwards, subconsciously mulls over how your name would sound paired with his in his mind. He writes it down a few times too, just to test it out. Finds out pretty quickly that he likes the sound of it

Vi

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Doesn't miss the implications a bit, as a matter of fact she IMMEDIATELY flirts back by asking if you'd really give your precious name to any pretty face you come across

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Teases you about the idea relentlessly any time the subject of names is brought up, or in any way she can really. Often makes jokes that she's gonna make a fool out of the name

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Secretly actually very honored that you'd offer it up to her but she doesn't feel like admitting that yet, you're gonna have to deal with jokey teasing for a good while first

Jinx

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Snarkily says she wouldn't be a good fit for your name to hide the fact that she really doesn't think she deserves to be considered a part of your life

ᯓᡣ𐭩 "Ohh, you might be crazy too if you're gonna give it to someone like me"

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Feels kinda bad that she wouldn't have anything like that to offer you in return. She loves the idea of having a family to belong to again, but her own self doubt gets in the way of admitting that to herself

Ekko

ᯓᡣ𐭩 "Oh- uh- what??"

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Genuinely very caught off guard. Not at all in a bad way, he just doesn't know how to respond to such a sudden and blatant flirt. Quickly tries to think of something to say as you're chuckling and reassuring him it's okay

ᯓᡣ𐭩 He ends up telling you through his fluster that it's not really gonna bring you any good to proudly announce a Zaunite as part of your family name. But in the end, he gives you a soft smile and says it's a nice thought he isn't against

Sevika

ᯓᡣ𐭩 "Is that so?"

ᯓᡣ𐭩 More keen on the idea than you'd might think- tells you it wouldn't be such a bad idea, but you'd have to prove it's a name worth adopting first, teasingly daring you to make it a name you'd both be proud to wear

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Tells you to reconsider once or twice, but mostly because she loves seeing how determined you get when defending her right to bear your name

Silco

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Doesn't pick up on what you're implying at first at all, simply tells you that isn't how that works and you're talking nonsense

ᯓᡣ𐭩 You have to prod into the implications a little more to get him to finally register what you're actually trying to say. It takes him a moment, but when he catches on he falls silent for a while

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Ends up mildly tripping over his words while telling you he's not really someone to give such an important thing to, and that you should get a better head on your shoulders and keep focused (largely to hide the fact that the offer genuinely caught him off guard. He's never gonna stop thinking about it)

Vander

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Actually not against the idea. Seems to chuckle it off at first, but once he realizes you're being serious he fondly mulls over the idea with you while cleaning up for the night

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Recognizes the idea might not be very feasible, but hey, what's wrong with having hope? Everyone's allowed to have dreams to chase, right? No harm in chasing this one together, then

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Promises that once things are settled down enough that he'll try to make it happen with you. As long as the kids he takes in are all alright with you, of course

[slowburningechoes]

on my mind

Ah!! Here it is, I hope you all love it. Pls keep in mind an exhausted doctoral student wrote this with little reviews/edits hehe

Summary: After months of secretly pining over Wilson, you find something suggesting he might feel the same way. Despite it all, curiosity gets the best of you and what you get is far beyond anything you ever fantasized about.

Pairing: James Wilson (House, MD) x Fem!Reader

Content Warning: very self-indulgent smut, 18+ content (NSFW/NSFM) / brief mention of past infidelity, mutual pining, sexual fantasization, slight age gap, fingering, oral (f receiving), cunnilingus, vaginal sex, office sex, desk sex, threat of exhibition, unprotected sex (pls wrap it up), body worship, breeding, soul connection, porn WITH plot and feelings

Word Count: 7.8k

here is the ao3 link if that’s your preferred site

Wilson didn’t have the best romantic track record when you reflected on it, standing outside his office, debating whether or not to knock.

That was what Cameron had told you on the first day consulting the team as a new psychologist at PPTH, when she caught you trying not to stare.

You had been so engaged in observing how the diagnostic team battled through a differential before he arrived. The quick exchange of wits and sly remarks was so enthralling, you couldn’t look away. Until something else distracted you…

The door swung open, and in walked a man who carried himself with an effortless kind of charm. His brown hair appeared perfectly tousled, but still neat enough to be professional, like he had absentmindedly run a hand through it just before coming in. His white coat, crisp and clean, hung open just enough to reveal a comfortably fitting dress shirt and a tie that was loosened ever-so-slightly.

As he stepped into the conference room, he seemed to be already three steps ahead in the conversation he was about to join — like this heated exchange was something he’d been witnessing for years. He paused, silently observing Foreman and House trade intellectually sarcastic banter. As the exchange died down, his eyes met yours. His sharp features softened as he looked at you with curiosity, the hint of a dimple appearing as his lips curved into a playful smirk.

“You know, House, I’m impressed,” he joked, tapping House’s cane with his foot. “It only took you this long to admit you need some serious psychological help.” 

His warm brown eyes flicked back to you, winking, amusement lingering just beneath the surface.

A scoff escaped House, followed by a characteristic retort, “I’m not admitting anything, Wilson. Besides, I wouldn’t want you getting jealous watching someone else take the job you volunteered for all these years.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle, despite knowing so little about their dynamic. Apparently, you were not alone in this reaction, as the rest of the team seemed to find House’s response amusing, likely because it was true.

“James Wilson, Head of Oncology,” he said, rolling his eyes at House’s comment. “You must be Dr. Y/L/N. I’ve heard good things from your new colleagues.”

His hand extended towards you welcomingly. Despite a flutter of nerves beneath the surface, you shook it, hoping your feigned confidence wasn’t too obvious.

“Y/N’s fine,” you responded, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Dr. Y/L/N has always felt a bit too formal for me.” Your gaze held his for a brief moment, feeling the subtle weight of the connection. A soft gasp escaped your lips, despite trying so desperately to keep it in.

“Y/N,” Wilson repeated softly with a smug smile.

He held your hand just a moment longer than necessary. When he finally released it, the hold he had on you remained. There was something magnetic about him, making it impossible to draw your gaze away as he repositioned himself against the wall. You blinked a few times to ground yourself, quickly glancing down at the file in your hand before instinctively looking up at him again. His eyes caught yours and his smirk deepened ever so slightly, as if he’d caught you giving away exactly what you hadn’t meant to. He appeared to take quiet pleasure in the fact that, for just a moment, you were completely distracted by him… but you were certain that was just wishful thinking getting the best of you.

It was then that Cameron leaned towards you, voice in a low whisper, “Careful with that look — you don’t want to end up in the ex wives club.”

You raised your eyebrows in surprise, not only at the fact that he was divorced but that it seemed to be more than once.

Cameron nodded matter-of-factly, subtly mouthing the word “three” as she held up the same number of fingers under the table before gathering her things to head to the patient’s room.

While you felt the warning in her comment, it didn’t deter you much over the coming months. After all, it was highly unlikely that Wilson would even share your feelings. Despite this, there was something magnetic about his presence, and you often found yourself running into him, both accidentally and — more than you would like to admit — on purpose.

You had bought each other lunch in the cafeteria on a few occasions and took time to chat at least every couple of days. Even when you didn’t run into each other for a few days, both of you exchanged small reminders. One time, when you spent all day managing a patient in psychosis from the emergency department, he left a sticky note on your desk that read, "Missed you at lunch. Hope your patient is doing as well as possible. Also, House is being insufferable — rescue me soon?" A few days after that, after Wilson had an emotionally exhausting morning with some of his late stage patients, you had appeared at his office door with a cup of coffee exactly how he liked it (sickeningly sweet), offering no explanation other than a casual, "Figured you could use a pick-me-up." These exchanges became regular but still made your day every time.

There were quieter moments too, ones that lingered in your mind long after they happened. A late-night conversation in the breakroom when both of you had been too exhausted to keep up pretenses, speaking in hushed voices over lukewarm chamomile tea. A touch that lasted a fraction longer than necessary when he passed you a patient folder for a consultation he requested. Playful glances exchanged across the hallway after House made some inappropriate joke at his expense. Small pick-me-ups scratched onto sticky notes and left on desks or forgotten items.

But today, something a bit different occurred. By the time you finally got back to your office late in the day, you found a vanilla bean scone from the café waiting for you on your desk, a thoughtful surprise he had left earlier that morning. It was nothing out of the ordinary until you saw, across the brown paper, scribbled in pen, a note that read: Saw this and thought of you. Can’t seem to stop doing that lately. Come by my office soon?

At first, you thought he was just being normal Wilson — friendly, with the touch of flirtatious he has with everyone. That was until you read it a few more times and those moments over the past few weeks replayed in your mind over and over. You had been thinking of him incessantly from the moment you first saw him, but always tried to keep it professional. His note to come by sounded charged in your mind, more suggestive than any of your previous conversations. You contemplated his intentions for longer than you would like to admit, but figured you would never truly know unless you asked.

Which is exactly how you ended up here, in front of his office, two cups of coffee in hand, torn between knocking and shamefully walking back to your office. The hum of the hospital growing quiet as the typical business day came to a close. 

There was no way he was serious… was he? It was probably just some stupid bet he had made with House. God, that would be embarrassing. Maybe you should just leave the coffee and accept that your relationship would only ever be a friendship. When all those inner arguments (and more) failed to motivate you to turn and head to your office, you thought back to that conversation with Cameron. Even if he was serious, it was unlikely to last. You didn’t want to end up hurt like so many times before… but you were interested to see where this went.

Curiosity is what did you in… so, you knocked. So, what if it’s what killed the cat? “Come in!” his voice called, slightly muffled from the other side.

You hesitantly step inside, jumping a bit as you hear the door click behind you. You had barely stepped into his office before Wilson glanced up from his desk, his expression shifting from slightly stressed to pleased when he saw it was you.

“And here I thought my afternoon was going to be boring,” he said, standing to meet you by the door.

You lift the coffee cup slightly, before handing it to him, “Just returning the favor.”

He raised his brow in curiosity, leaning back to rest against his desk. “Oh, is that all?”

His feigned disappointment was laced with more flirtation than you had noticed before.

You shook your head silently, glancing down at the floor as you felt an embarrassed blush spread across your cheeks. 

“Your note,” you say, barely above a whisper, “...intrigued me.”

That got his attention, pausing from taking a sip of the beverage you brought.

“Oh?” His smirk turned curious as he scanned you up and down. “How so?”

You hesitated, but only for a second, “You’ve really been thinking about me?”

You brought your eyes to meet his as you finished your question, masking your nerves by tightening your fingers around your cup of coffee. When your eyes met him, the look on Wilson’s face was a mix of amusement and satisfaction.

“Well, that depends,” Wilson responds, sitting the cup down and crossing his arms across his chest. “Would saying yes make me seem endearing… or deeply concerning?”

You tilt your head, feigning consideration as you build your confidence. “Hmmm… that depends on just how much you’ve been thinking about me.”

A moment of silence passed as Wilson pondered his answer, breaking it with deep breath and a step towards you.

His grin deepened, and he leaned a little closer, admitting. “More than I should, really.”

Your stomach fluttered. You hadn’t expected him to admit it so easily, so effortlessly… or even at all. The part of you that wondered if the note had been some bet was fading, but you couldn’t help expressing your doubt even as your heart pounded into your throat.

“You’re not just… messing with me, right? This isn’t some House-ordained social experiment, is it?” Your voice was softer than you had desired, hesitation dominating your tone. You wanted to believe him more than anything, but you knew better than to take things at face value when House might be involved.

Wilson studied you for a long moment, his expression nearly unreadable, except for the flicker of something undeniably heated in his eyes.

“Is that what you think?” His voice is noticeably lower than before, still smooth and warm. “No, no… this isn’t some bet. If House was putting me up to this, don’t you think it would’ve been months ago?”

He did have a point.

Wilson tilted his head slightly, his smirk deepening as he watched you consider his argument. Then, he slowly brushed his fingertips against the edge of the desk he rested upon, fingers tapping twice, as if considering his next words carefully. Or maybe he was just giving you time to process the shift in the air between you, which had become quickly thick and charged.

"Though if it was, I would’ve lost already," he stated matter-of-factly, bringing himself to stand up right, taking a step towards you. “Because this is painfully real for me.” His gaze flickered over your face, lingering for just a beat too long at your lips before returning to your eyes.

You swallowed, heat creeping up your neck. "What is, exactly?"

Wilson exhaled a quiet chuckle, the sound richer, deeper than his usual easy amusement, “You really have no idea, do you?”

You shook your head, any idea of what he meant absent from your mind.

"The way I catch myself looking for you even when I know you’re not there.” Wilson’s breath came slow and measured, but you could feel the tension humming beneath it, the weight of his restraint barely holding. “The way I think about you when I know I shouldn’t.”

Wilson stepped even closer, rolling the sleeves of his dress shirt up as he thought silently. Your breath caught as you shamelessly notice the veins in his arm becoming more pronounced, the subtle flex of his hand accentuating the tension coiling beneath his skin.

"I tell myself to stop," Wilson admitted, his tone almost confessional. "That it’s unprofessional, that I should focus on work... But then you walk into the room or I hear your voice, and suddenly, I don’t care about anything else."

“Wh-what do you think of?” You asked breathlessly, looking back into his eyes.

He didn’t respond at first, a conflicted look replaced his previous vulnerability. Wilson took the coffee from your grip, gently placing it on the desk next to his before stepping back towards you. He appeared deep in thought, the crease between his brows deepening as they furrowed and he brought his hand to briefly cover his mouth. His warm brown eyes flickered over your face, searching, as if debating how much he should give away.

Then after what felt like an eternity, he spoke, slowly and steadily, “It was small things at first. How the first day we met, your quiet laugh was so genuine and radiant.” Wilson cautiously raised his hand to barely brush fingers through the hair that hugs your cheeks. “Or how you sucked in a little breath when I said your name for the first time…”

You dart your eyes away from him, feeling simultaneous embarrassment and surprise. “I, oh — that wasn’t subtle was it?”

He shook his head with a quiet chuckle, a knowing smirk appearing across his lips.

“Not at all,” Wilson teased, bringing his fingertips to caress your neck. “Should I keep going?”

You nod quickly, likely a bit too enthusiastic. His arms came up by your ears to brace the door behind you, making your heart thud in your chest even harder.

A low hum came from his throat before continuing, “Then I started to notice how your perfume would linger after you left me.” He held still for a moment, stiff with restraint. “It’s so intoxicating… I swear it follows me all day.”

As Wilson finished his sentence, his face buried into your hair and one of his hands dropped to grip your hip. Your breath hitched at his touch as his breath warmed you, shifting from beside your ear to the curve of your neck. 

“J-James,” you gasped, a near moan as his breath tickled against your skin, lips so close to touching flesh.

“I’ve tried not to think about all of it, Y/N,” he whispered deeply, barely audible. “I promise, I really have.”

The hold he had upon your hips moved to nest in the small of your back, pulling you closer to him.

“I’ve tried to distance myself, stay professional,” Wilson explained with a tone of desperation, bringing his eyes back to meet yours. “But then I’d always end up coming back… asking you to lunch or finding something, anything, that I could use to get a consultation from you.”

“So, what you're saying is... you’ve been using work to get closer to me?” You let a playful smile slip through, despite your nerves standing on end.

Wilson’s gaze softened, sincerity behind his eyes. “Is that so bad?” His voice was low, almost questioning. “Because, honestly… I couldn’t help myself. Every excuse I found — every consultation or referral or accidental cafeteria meet up — was just an excuse to see you. To be close to you. I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

The air around you seemed to thicken with the confession, and your breath hitched, feeling the weight of his words pressing against you. His honesty disarmed you, and you found yourself drawn in closer, despite the unspoken tension.

“And you know what?” Wilson asked, his hand in the small of your back spreading open to feel you even closer. “I’m pretty sure you’ve been thinking about me, too.”

“I —,” you breathe, a chill crawling up your spine. “I don’t know what you’re talking about…” 

Of course you did.

“Don’t play coy with me,” Wilson said with a bit of bite in his tone.

His thumb traced a slow, deliberate path along your jawline, tilting your chin just enough to where you could not avoid his gaze, a knowing look in his eyes.

“You think I haven’t noticed?” His voice was softer now, rich with quiet amusement. “The way you look at me when you think I won’t catch you?”

You opened your mouth to protest, but Wilson only hummed, bringing his thumb to press against your bottom lip.

“Or how you always seem to find a reason to stay just a little longer when we talk,” he continued, his face looming closer to yours. “Like you don’t really want to leave.”

You never realized he had been paying attention to any of that, or really that you had acted on your internal feelings so obviously.

Wilson’s fingers pressed just a little firmer into your waist, bringing your body flush against you. His body was soft and warm against yours.

You swallowed hard, words unsaid stuck tied in your throat. There was no escape from the truth pressing against your ribs, demanding to be spoken. Your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt before you could stop yourself, gripping just enough to steady yourself.

“I do,” you admitted, voice hushed. “I - I think about you… all of the time.”

You looked up at him through your lashes. Relief washes over him, relaxing the tension in his shoulder and softening his facial expressions. however, the look of desire in his eyes did not fade.

“I thought so,” he murmured, voice lacking its usual teasing lilt. Instead, he sounded almost relieved. “And how do you think about me?”

You swallowed, feeling the weight of his question settle between you. It was so very “Wilson” — turning your own question back to you.

Your fingers stroked against his tie as you thought, evading his gaze. “The same as you — I think about you when I shouldn’t be,” you admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “When I’m supposed to be working. I think of you whenever something good happens… or something bad, and I need to tell someone. When I see something and I wish you were there to see it too.” You bite your bottom lip, pulse thrumming wildly beneath your skin. Then, you barely mumble, “And — I think about you when I’m alone at night...”

Though your voice trails off at the end, Wilson’s body language shows that he heard exactly what you said. He closed his eyes, inhaling sharply, his grip at your waist tightening for just a moment, relaxing again as he exhaled slowly. As he opened his eyes, they were darker, his pupils blown with an unspoken hunger, yearning that simmered just beneath the surface.

The weight of your quiet confession hung between you, making the whole room charged. For once, he didn’t have a quick-witted remark, no teasing quip to defuse the moment. Instead, he reached up, his knuckles brushing along your cheek, his touch achingly gentle.

“You shouldn’t say things like that,” he whispered. There was no real warning in his tone, but rather a slight hint of desperation.

You tilted your head into his touch. “Why not?”

His gaze flickered down to your mouth, lingering there for just a second too long before he looked back into your eyes. “Because,” he said, pausing momentarily, his face riddled with confliction, “...it makes it very, very hard to resist you.”

A rush of heat engulfs every inch of your body, making it nearly impossible to think. Before you can, your fingers dance across the fabric of his tie.

“Then don’t,” you respond quietly, the last bit of uncertainty melting away as the words escape your lips.

He didn’t move, which you had somewhat expected him to. You could feel the weight of his restraint, so tense it could snap at any moment. His jaw was clenched, as though he was just barely holding it together.

You didn’t want to wait anymore. You wanted him to crumble — you needed him to. 

With a sharp breath, you curled your fingers tighter around his tie. You thought for only a split second before pulling him down to you with a sudden, desperate urgency that surprised both of you. Before could even think to hesitate, your lips, finally, crashed into his. 

The moment your lips met, it was as if a dam had broken inside him. You felt the weight of everything Wilson had been holding back in that kiss — the hunger, the frustration, the overwhelming need. His hand that cupped your lower back pulled you in tighter, while the other cupped your cheek, ensuring you couldn’t break away from his kiss. Wilson’s lips were so soft yet demanding, the hint of sweet coffee on his tongue as he coaxed you open, exploring you with a raw intensity. His breath was hot against your mouth between kisses. A low, needy groan came from him as he deepened your embrace, motivating your entire body to react, heat pooling in familiar, secret places.

The rhythm of the kiss became frantic, desperate, each movement clumsy and raw, breaths coming in quick, uneven gasps. You could feel the loss of control in every touch, every trembling sigh that escaped your lips. Your hands gripped his shirt, pulling him closer with need. He obliged, his fingers tracing feverishly from your back to your waist, skimming upward to your ribcage, then to the curve of your breast, each touch sending jolts of heat through your body.

Then, Wilson’s lips reluctantly left yours, only to trace the line of your jaw with messy kisses, his breath erratic. “Y/N,” he said between kisses, nearly begging. “I can’t… you have to tell me to stop.”

You shook your head, against his request. “Not a chance, James,” you breathed, your voice raw with need. The next words felt like they were ripped from your soul, a silent plea to let go, to fully give in to what had been brewing for months before. “Don't stop. Please – don’t stop.”

Wilson’s lips found yours again, rougher this time, his hands clutching you like you were the only thing keeping him tethered to reality. Wilson pushed you further against the wall, lifting you up just slightly so his hips aligned with yours.

There was an undeniable ache between your legs, where the heat had gathered earlier, beginning to throb and grow slick with need. Your desire for friction was so overwhelming, you hadn’t even noticed your hips rolling into his with desperation until Wilson groaned, low and guttural, separating your kiss once more.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to stop?” he asked, his words soft and just centimeters away from your lips.

“I’m sure,” You nod with reassurance. “Because this,” you whisper against his cheek, the heat of your breath brushing against his ear, “is just the beginning of what I think about when I’m alone.” The words were more than a confession, but also a promise and a challenge all at once.

“Christ, are you trying to kill me?” Wilson muttered, words laden with shock. 

He dipped his head lower, pressing open-mouth kisses from your lips down the nape of your neck and onto your collarbone. His hands began to explore further, tugging your blouse from its tucked position, slipping his finger beneath the fabric. The built up tension made his touch sting, sending a shiver down your spine and the heat beneath your legs becoming practically unbearable.

“Please, James,” you whimper, a handful of his hair and the other dipping down, applying friction in an attempt to relieve your need.

He drew back, studying the quiet plea upon your face and your hand trembling against your still-clothed center, attempting to find satisfaction as you rocked your hips. You could only imagine how pitiful you looked, but it was entirely overwhelming for Wilson. His breath caught in his throat and he fell to his knees, lips parted with desire and his brown doe eyes looking up, with an expression that was almost fawning.

Wilson reached behind you to find the handle of his office door, which he clicked into the lock position. Still on his knees, he watched you silently for a few more seconds, admiring the look upon your face. Your brows furrowed in desperation, soft grunts escaping your lips, as you unsuccessfully searched for your release. He stared up at you, soaking it all in.

Then, suddenly, both his hands gripped the fabric on the outer sides of your thighs, shifting your skirt upwards to your waist and revealing your shamelessly soaked panties. The sudden rush of air hitting your sex made you gasp, chills climbing up your stomach and hardening your nipples. 

Before you could fully process the atmosphere overwhelming your senses, Wilson brought his pointer finger to slowly glide over the damp spot of your underwear, running perfectly between your covered folds. As he reached your clit, your breath hitched, prompting a teasing smirk to grow across his cheeks.

“Now,” he sighed, still basking in the sight. “I’m going to show you what I’ve thought about doing to you,” he paused, placing a gentle kiss against your mound, before continuing slowly, “…Every. Single. Time. You wear a skirt like this.”

A moan escapes you as his fingers hook on either side of your underwear, pulling them down to expose you entirely. Instinctively, you kick them off your ankles.

“God, you’re so…,” Wilson places careless kisses against your thighs, admiring your bare pussy before him, “so perfect.”

You look down at him, reveling at the sight of your pussy on full display. Just as you wrap your fingers in his hair, he lunges forward, pressing his lips against your clit, bracing your back with one hand, and spreading your thighs open with the other. Your legs go weak as his tongue darts out and begins lapping at you relentlessly. The mix of his soft lips intermittently sucking your clit and the deep pressure of his fingers digging into your flesh, is so consuming that you absentmindedly tighten your grip on Wilson’s hair. You begin pushing and pulling him while bucking your hips into his mouth, fighting desperately to reach your climax.

He can sense your need, which is reflected as his tongue begins to flick more methodically against your clit in addition to providing suction. His dominant hand joins his mouth, one finger massaging your entrance before slipping between your folds. Your body responds almost immediately, becoming even more aroused as he introduces a second finger, pumping you with a complementary rhythm to the one he is devouring you with.

The sensation is so overwhelming that there are tears in your eyes, and cry-like whimpers escape softly from your mouth. “P-please, I’m so close.”

He maintains his pace, but curls his fingers just enough to find the exact spot where you needed stimulation most. Looking down at him, seeing his mouth full of you and his pupils blown wide with desire is too much to handle. His lips provide deep suction against your swollen clit and the tension burning in your stomach releases. You are overcome with pleasure as you ride out your orgasm on Wilson’s face, his fingers and tongue still putting in work to ensure he can lap up every last drop.

When you were finally able to catch your breath, your legs were impossibly weak. You steadied yourself against Wilson’s body as he rose to his feet, a look of teasing satisfaction on his face.

“You taste so sweet," he hummed, his voice low and lustful. He pulled you flush against him, the heat between you both rising with every second. As his tongue flicked against yours, you could taste yourself mixed with him, the fire inside you burning brighter with every passing second. He groaned softly as you deepened the kiss as if he couldn’t help himself anymore.

You pulled back, barely able to catch your breath, lips swollen from the intensity of his kiss. "You know, I did expect you to be a giver," you teased, running your tongue over your lips. "But that… that was better than anything I ever imagined."

“That’s because I’ve been obsessed with the idea of what you’d taste like…,” he breathed, his words thick with need, “And the scent of you… God - I’ve been dreaming about it, craving it, for months now.” He couldn’t stop himself from groaning, the raw honesty in his admission pushing you to pull him down by his tie, lips crashing together again in a messy, heated kiss.

You broke away after a few moments, breathing heavily, a smile curling on your lips as you slowly pulled his tie loose. “Well, since one of your fantasies has been fulfilled," you sighed, tone heavy with teasing lust, “it’s only fair that one of mine gets to be, too. Don’t you think?”

You look up at him through half-lidded eyes. There were so many thoughts that had run through your mind — so many fantasies you’d envisioned over and over again, but there was one that had played over and over in your mind far more than the rest.

For a moment, he was mute with anticipation, admiring how your fingers began to undo the buttons of his dress shirt. By the time words finally break from his throat, one of your hands is caressing down his chest, the other grazing along the waistline of his pants.

“I’ll give you anything, whatever you want.” He assures, reaching to cup your cheek. Pressing his forehead to yours, he closes his eyes for a moment, trying to steady himself, but his voice cracks as he pleads in a near whisper, “Just tell me — but don’t stop touching me, please.”

His plea is so raw, so desperate, it makes your heart race, your pulse quickening in response. You can feel the weight of his need, how much he’s willing to surrender, and it sends a wave of satisfaction through you. You can’t help but feel a deep sense of accomplishment hearing the vulnerability and desperation in his voice.

You let your fingers trail over his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath your touch. A slow, teasing smirk grows across your face as you lock eyes with him. “I’ve been thinking about this for months, you know.”

His breath catches, his pupils dilating as his gaze flickers to your lips. The heat between you both is undeniable, and the anticipation thickens.

“Tell me... tell me what you’ve been thinking,” he mutters with desperation.

You lean in closer, your lips brushing against his ear as you speak, your words a slow, tantalizing whisper, “I’ve been imagining you… having your way with me, right here on your office desk.”

The words hang in the air and you watch as his body reacts, muscles tightening and his throat bobbing with a heavy swallow.

"I’ve imagined you pushing me onto this desk, your hands all over me, taking control, claiming me,” you hum, bringing your hand to brush against the bulge in his pants. “No hesitation. Just you, making me lose myself in you."

 A deep groan escapes his lips, your words and touch unraveling him. Wilson’s eyes squeeze shut as he tilts his head back as if he’s struggling to regain some sense of control. Then, without warning, his lips crash against yours. His kiss is frantic, starved for you. His hands grip you, sliding up your back, threading through your hair, pressing you so close it’s like he wants you under his skin.

"You have no idea," he moans between kisses, breath hot and uneven, "how many times I’ve wanted this, too. How many times I’ve thought about throwing everything off this desk and putting you right where you belong — right under me.”

The words send chills down your spine, desire coiling tight in your stomach. His hands are already moving, feverish and impatient, pushing under your clothes, dragging his fingertips over every sliver of bare skin he can reach. You gasp into his mouth as his grip tightens around your waist. 

Then, in one swift motion, Wilson’s hands slide down to your thighs, lifting you effortlessly onto the desk. The sound of scattered papers and objects hitting the floor barely registers before he’s on you again, mouth crashing against yours, feverish and insatiable, his tongue sweeping in, tasting, teasing, like he’s trying to devour every gasp, every moan.

 His hands roam with an urgency that borders on worship — gripping, kneading, learning every inch of you that he’s been deprived of for far too long. Then, with a low, needy groan, his fingers find the hem of your blouse, tugging it up, over your torso, leaving your top nearly bare before him. The fabric is barely gone before his lips descend, hot, open-mouthed kisses trailing down your neck, over your collarbone. A sharp gasp comes from your throat as chills scatter across the tops of your breasts, your skin prickling at the contrast of the cool air and the heat of his breath.

Wilson takes a slow, deliberate step back, his gaze raking over you like he’s trying to memorize every inch of the sight before him. His chest rises and falls, his lips still parted from your last kiss. Slowly, without breaking eye contact, his fingers move to his belt. The slow slide of leather through the loops is deliberate. His knuckles graze his waistband as he pulls the belt free, the flex of muscle beneath his sleeves hinting at the tension coiling just beneath his skin.

As Wilson tosses his belt to the ground, the air feels thicker, heavier, expectation crackling between you, leaving you breathless with want. You have truly never felt this aroused in your life, your heart rate quickening, muscles tense, and every sensitive part of you swollen with desire. You never expected that you would ever really be laying on top of Wilson’s desk, watching him undress and waiting for him to take advantage of your body — let alone that he had thought about it, too.

As he moves back towards you, slacks now undone, you can’t help but notice the outline of his prominent erection straining beneath his boxer briefs. You reach out to touch him, but he meets you first — his hands slipping under your skirt, fingers digging into your skin before drawing the fabric down your legs. As the garment falls to the ground, Wilson kisses up your legs and to your torso, caressing every part he does not touch with his lips with his fingertips. Eventually, he meets your breasts, still guarded by your bra, placing kisses along the valley between them. He then cups both of them with his hands before sliding behind you to unhook the final bit of clothing that was keeping you from being completely nude before him.

As Wilson pulled the thin barrier of fabric from your body, his warm hand replaced the supportive cups that protected your tender breasts. His eyes linger on your chest, admiring as it rises and falls, thumbs grazing over your hardened nipples. Your breath seizes in your throat as he takes one into his mouth, suction pulling between gentle flicks of his tongue. 

As much pleasure as you feel in this moment, you can’t help but remember Wilson’s bulge, hard and twitching just underneath a layer of cloth. You sit forward, propping yourself up on your forearms, prompting a perplexed look from Wilson who was reluctantly releasing his mouth from your breast.

“Everything okay?” he inquires, catching his breath. 

You do not answer him with words, instead you lean forward and bring your palm to press softly against his bulge. Wilson’s eyes squeezed shut, mouth parted in a struggle between ache and pleasure as a grunt escaped him. He was full and swollen as you gripped him firmly through his briefs, precum staining the fabric darker.

You kiss his chest softly as you sneak your hand beneath his waistband. His flesh was hot as your fingers danced across his erection, which jerked in response. You wrap your hand around him, savoring how strained and tense his thick cock feels, before bringing your thumb to glide down the slit.

“I need to feel you inside of me,” you insist with a begging tone, eyes fluttering up at him with need.

Before any words come from his lips, his dick is already out and Wilson is stroking it with painfully slow, drawn-out motions. The head of his cock is swollen and flushed and a prominent vein on the underside is near-throbbing with with every motion.

 “God, yes,” he groaned in agreement with your request, before pulling you down closer to the edge of the desk. “Spread yourself open for me, beautiful.”

Without taking time to think, you separate your legs, bringing your fingers down to glide through your slickness. Wilson revels in the sight, but still moves towards you — his earlier restraint melted away entirely. Placing one hand on your thigh, he uses the other to guide his cock to massage between your labia, tip grazing against your clit, sending shock-like waves of pleasure through you. He stays there for a moment, gliding himself through your folds, properly preparing both of you before lining up with your entrance.

You lock eyes, both of your faces twisted with anticipation and desperation, as he begins to sink into you with a pace so slow and deliberate it is nearly excruciating. At the same time, you were grateful for this patient approach, as the thickness of his cock stretches you out, creating the perfect mix of pain and pleasure across every inch of your body.

“Y/N,” Wilson cries in a hushed whisper, nearly half-way inside of you. “Y-you’re so tight a-and warm… damn.”

You moan in satisfaction at his words, hands searching for something to hold onto as you unravel beneath him. Seeing your fingers wrap around the edge of the desk, Wilson reaches one hand down to intertwine with yours. There is something intimate and touching about how he holds your hand as he presses deeper into you, true care mixing into this moment of raw lust.

As he bottoms out, feeling the base of his dick against your pussy, your free hand clings to his back, fingernails digging into the skin beneath his shoulder blades. Wilson fills you perfectly, stretching you just enough to still surround him like a sheath. You have never felt this full before, which makes you even more aroused, bucking your hips to grind your clit against his groin. It must look utterly pitiful, but you can’t help but search for friction.

“Fuck, you’re stretching me out so good,” you whine, pitch higher than before and laced with pleasure.

Looking up for reassurance, you see Wilson’s face is blown with pleasure, slack-jawed and brows knit together, pupils blown. “You’re perfect,” he mumbles, slowly pushing the first full thrust into you.

It doesn’t take long for him to build up the pace, his cock sliding in and out of you with ease, despite your walls attempting to cling to him with every entrance and exit. 

Despite the pace being steady and his strokes being deep enough you feel them in your stomach, there is something so soft in the way Wilson fucks you — more as if it wasn’t fucking at all, but more like making love. His eyes look over you with admiration, like he’s soaking in every motion of your body, and the hand not holding yours roams freely across your skin, frequently nestling fingers against your aching clit. When a cry escapes you as he begins rubbing it in figure eights, he presses a kiss to your lips — not only to muffle the sound but as an indication that he loves to make you feel this way.

He whispers against your lips as he breaks the kiss. “You feel amazing, better than anything I ever dreamed…” You feel him trembling with overwhelm as he continues breathlessly. “I-I’ve never felt — fuck — any pussy as perfect as yours.”

“James,” you gasp, feeling his dick hit against the most sensitive area inside you. “Please, keep going… r-right there.”

Wilson nods eagerly, in surrendering agreement, “Anything you want, my love. I’ll do anything for you.”

He keeps true to his promise, continuing the same pressure and angle of his thrusts until you’re completely undone beneath him — vision blurry and every inch of your body nearly numb with pleasure. The only thing keeping you grounded is your back against wood and his hand still holding yours.

You can barely form thoughts, let alone words when he takes one of your nipples into his mouth, sucking on them needily and grunting enough that low vibrations hum against your chest. Every inch of you was buzzing with pleasure, but you felt the familiar pressure grow deep within you.

“I - I’m going to cum,” you manage to say, looking down at him with pleading eyes.

Wilson releases his latch from your breast, barely taking time to catch his breath when he provides a pressured reply, “Please, please cum on my cock. Shit — I don’t know how much longer I can hold on.”

His permission is all you need to let go as he keeps up his pace, working your clit relentlessly with his free hand. Your eyes roll back into your head as the sensation of heat rushes across your trembling thighs, walls clenching around Wilson’s thick cock as you cum. The pressure slowly lessens and your clit is throbbing from overstimulation when you come back to reality, your mind still foggy in bliss.

“That was so fucking hot,” Wilson whines, face scrunched with the sweet agony of pleasure. You can tell he’s close, before he even tells you, through strained breaths. “Y/N — tell me where I can cum. I’m so close, please.”

“Cum in me,” you beg, consumed with feverish need. “I’m on the pill. Baby, please — fucking fill me with your cum.”

A guttural groan leaves Wilson’s lips as he hears your request, his dick twitching inside of you. “Christ — yes. I was hoping you’d say that.”

With a few more strokes, you feel him become rigid inside of you and his breath hitches in his throat as he releases inside of you. The warmth of his cum coating your walls sends a rush of bliss throughout your body, a soft yet satisfied smile growing across your face.

You both try to catch your breath as you come down from your shared high, soaking in the last seconds of being physically one. As Wilson’s tense body relaxes, he nearly collapses on top of you, bare chests still heaving and sweat-laden pressed against one another. You’re both exhausted, yet idyllically happy. You run your fingers through his now-damp hair as his breath slowly returns to a normal pattern.

The quiet hum of the room settles around you and the faint rustle of fabric begins to fill the air. You both begin to dress, but the heat between you lingers, tangible and unspoken. As you pull your skirt up over your hips, the soft fabric brushing against your skin, you instinctively glance at him. His eyes are fixed on you, intense, almost reverent, as if he wanted every moment, every movement, etched into his mind. The tenderness in his stare is enough to make your heart race like he's memorizing every inch of you, this closeness, this shared silence.

You gather your hair, pulling it into a ponytail, a vain attempt to fix the mess it’s become. As your fingers complete the final loop, Wilson steps towards you, cupping your face with his hands and bringing you in for a tender kiss. His thumb traces your cheek with a tenderness so light, it feels almost like a whisper. Your fingers weave through his hair, drawing him closer, as if you’re aching to be closer, wanting to melt into him, as if he hadn’t just been inside you. The moment is quiet and brief — but feels like an eternity. You both linger in it, savoring the silence that speaks volumes.

As the kiss ends, the absence of his lips on yours leaves a hollow ache, but it is almost immediately remedied when he speaks. “Come home with me?” Wilson asks, his voice wrapped in a quiet, inviting warmth. 

His eyes search yours, steady and sincere, yet there’s something more behind it, something vulnerable like he’s offering you a piece of himself. “I’ve wanted this for so long... wanted you,” he says in a near-whisper, his tone thick with emotion. “Now that I’ve had you... I can’t stand the thought of letting you go.”

The sensitivity in his voice makes your heart race, his words carrying all the unspoken hopes you’ve both held onto these past few months. You let the moment stretch between you, just enough to collect yourself, but not long enough to let the fear of doubt slip into his mind.

“Of course, I’ll come with you,” you respond quietly, your voice filled with affection as you press a gentle kiss to his flushed cheek. “I don’t want to be anywhere but with you. We’ve both waited long enough for this, haven’t we?” 

A soft, almost disbelieving smile appears on his face, as he threads his fingers gently around yours. “I’m so glad you said that,” he sighs in relief, his voice thick with sincerity. 

“I’m yours, James,” you assure him, squeezing his hand in return. "I have been for a long time.”

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to hear you say that,” he murmurs in a pleased tone, a look of admiration beaming down at you. 

“I think you’ve shown me that tonight,” you reply with a slight tease. The months of longing, of stolen glances and unspoken feelings, all seem to settle into this one moment—solid, certain, and undeniably real. “Take me home?”

His smile deepens, tender and unguarded as he presses a kiss to your forehead. “Let’s get out of here,” he says softly, opening his office door. 

The silence as you walk hand-in-hand down the hall is no longer heavy with anticipation but is instead filled with something quieter, more certain. Peaceful. 

Outside, the cool night air hits your skin, stinging as it contrasts your flushed cheeks. Wilson pulls you close as you walk, his thumb tracing soft circles against the back of your hand. Neither of you speaks, but the silence is full of contentment and understanding. Every glance, every brush of his fingers against yours, a language all its own.

When you reach his car, he pauses, turning to face you as if needing to see you clearly beneath the dim glow of the streetlights. His gaze lingers on your face, soft and searching, before he leans in and presses a tender kiss to your lips, sealing some still-unspoken promise.

“Home,” he whispers breathlessly, the single word carrying more weight than it should. As you settle into the passenger seat beside him, heart thrumming in your chest, you know, deep within you, that you’re finally right where you’re meant to be.