#can’t even blame him in this au | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sceletaflores · 9 days ago

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HALF YOUR BRAIN JUST AIN’T THERE!

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｡𖦹°‧➵ PAIR: Joel Miller x babysitter!fem!reader

｡𖦹°‧➵ WC: 11k

｡𖦹°‧➵ CONTAINS: 18+ SMUT MDNI, no outbreak au, pov switching, trailer park joel awooga wooga, tommy miller appearance because daddy i love him, joel is kinda sleazy and pervy, large girthy age gap (53/early 20s), and it’s very much brought up, finding joel’s porn drawer because he’s vintage, reader is called jailbait like once, reader is also a little creep lmao, just two freaks coming together praise, masturbation, fingering, brief allusions of fisting, the BAREST hint of ass play, p in v, rough sex, riding, pussy pronouns, spanking, finger sucking (told you i can’t stop), erectile dysfunction? yeah we don’t know what that means in this house because that old man can fuck like he’s twenty, porn with too much fucking plot, no use of y/n.

｡𖦹°‧➵ NAT’S NOTE: i blame tommy gunn for this…and my period for rearing its ugly head and making me act like an animal. i don’t know i guess my brain is just fully rotted, but y’all’s are too so here’s a nice little gift from me to you, i’m lovingly placing this on your dash xoxo. this isn’t really based on manchild sorry for the false advertising babies, i just thought the lyric was super cute and it’s been stuck in my head so yeah here we are lmao. hope y’all love it, mwah!

｡𖦹°‧➵ NAT’S HEADPHONES: Manchild - Sabrina Carpenter

dividers by @cafekitsune & @saradika-graphics! plus the delicious icon from @iamasaddie!

joel miller needs a babysitter, you’re back in town…

Gruene hasn't changed much. Not really.

You're not sure how much different it'd be after only a couple years away, but still. Something in you had expected it to feel even smaller—like the way old t-shirts shrink in the wash when you’re not paying attention.

The air felt the same when you first stepped out of your beat up Chevy, heavy and humid like a wet mouth. The pavement in front of your house still burned the bottom of your shoes, and the cicadas were buzzing in the dry grass like they never stopped.

You left for college thinking you’d never come back. And yet, here you are. Spending summer back in your hometown, a little more than half a degree under your belt, flat broke, and bored to death.

Your room’s the same, maybe just a little smaller now that you’ve lived other places, slept in other beds. All the posters are still up, faded from the sun and curling at the corners. Your mom left your old tennis trophies on your dresser, like maybe she thought you’d want to see them. You don’t, not really. You appreciate the effort anyway, at least she didn’t turn it into a yoga room or a place to keep extra boxes and Christmas decorations.

You try not to spend too much time at home, even though you technically don’t have anywhere else to go. You kill time with long drives down the streets you memorized years ago, past beat up gas stations with sun bleached lotto signs and eighteen wheelers parked in the back.

You try your hand at some half-hearted job hunting at a few different places that promise to call but never do. And you sit in the back booth of an old diner where you and your friends used to sneak fries from abandoned tables and smoke paper wrapped joints in the alley out back.

Every place you go feels like a ghost town version of what you remember. Familiar, but all hollowed out.

“You know who might be looking for help?” Your mom says one morning, standing at the stove fussing over a pan of bacon. “Joel Miller, you remember him don’t you?”

You pause, your fork stuck hovering just above the plate. “Sarah’s dad?”

“Mhm. I ran into him at the market a couple weeks ago and we got to catching up. He’s needing to pick up some extra work, and it’s just him, you know. Sarah’s starting high school in the fall but he’s still not wanting to leave her on her own. He looked stressed, poor thing.”

You hum warily, pushing your eggs around your plate to distract from the way your stomach flutters.

Joel Miller.

You haven’t heard that name in years. Not since you stopped babysitting Sarah, not since you left. It has something low and guilty stirring somewhere deep inside you.

You shouldn’t be surprised that it’s floating back into your life like cigarette smoke—all pungent and sour and impossible to ignore. In a town of less than two thousand people, you were bound to circle around some old memories sooner or later. And Joel Miller was a big one.

Mr. Miller was a few years older than your mom, a single dad that lived with his daughter in the trailer park a few miles past the city limit. You met him when you were seventeen and trying to save as much as you could for college, when your puny part time job flipping burgers and serving ice cream cones wasn’t cutting it.

He needed someone to pick up Sarah from school and watch her until he got home from work, you needed the extra money. It seemed like a perfect fit.

But Joel was always…different. He scooped you up off the gravel and carried you into his living room to bandage up your knee when you took a bad fall outside his trailer. He never ratted you out when he caught you smoking one of his Marlboros in his backyard after you put Sarah to bed one night. He drove you home when you got too drunk at a field party and couldn’t stomach the thought of calling your mom.

You can still remember the way his truck smelled—gasoline, sunbaked leather, sawdust.

He didn’t say much, just kept his gaze trained on the road as you watched him through glassy eyes while Johnny Cash floated through the cab. He looked back once, slow and quiet, like he was really thinking something over.

It’s been a long time since you thought about that night, but the reminder of it resurfaces sharp and sudden, like a thumb pressed into a bruise.

Now, your mom’s pouring more coffee into your cup and saying his name like it’s no big deal, like she didn’t just drop a live wire into your lap. Like he didn’t take up way too much room in your seventeen year old imagination.

“You should go down there and talk to him sometime,” she says, casual. “It might be a good way to make some money while you look around for something else.”

You bite back a grimace, conflicted. “Isn’t Sarah old enough to stay home alone by now?”

Your mom shrugs like it doesn’t matter. “Maybe, but like I said Joel’s always been a little…anxious about leaving her on her own too many nights. She’s at that age, you know—boys, phones, lord knows what else.”

You frown, stabbing at your eggs. You only remember Sarah as the sweet little girl who’d beg to stay up and watch Disney with you, who was more interested in her Barbie dolls than any screen. You used to braid her hair while she did her times tables, let her wear some of your lip gloss when she begged.

You take a sip of coffee, the burn of it trickles down from your throat to settle somewhere deep in your chest. “You really think he’d hire me again?”

Your mom shrugs again, plating the bacon. “I don’t see why not. Sarah always loved you, Joel too. He’s asked about you once or twice, said you were a real good girl. Very responsible and all that.”

You try not to laugh at that.

Good girl. Responsible. Right.

You nod vaguely, standing to clear your plate into the trash even though it’s still half full. “Maybe,” you mutter. “I’ll think about it.”

Later that night, alone in your room, you find yourself scrolling through Facebook like an angsty teenager.

You kicked your sheets off a while ago, cracked your window open to let in the cool breeze swirling outside. Crickets sing quietly in the background, only drowned out every once in a while by the sound of cars passing your street.

Joel’s profile is still public, but it’s sparsely updated. A new truck photo here, a blurry picture of Sarah’s eighth grade promotion there. She looks the same, maybe a little older. Her hair’s longer, but still curly as ever.

There’s no recent pictures of Joel anywhere. Not posted by him or any of his friends. You can’t tell if the feeling that blooms inside of you is disappointment or something else entirely.

You’re about to exit the app when finally, a tagged post catches your eye.

A post by an account with the name Henry B. attached to it. It’s just a grainy photo of someone’s backyard littered with wood pallets and stray tools, Joel standing in the middle of it all with a few other people you don’t recognize.

His account is tagged in the caption underneath. Big thanks to my buddy Joel Miller for the extra set of hands tonight. Saved our ass! It’s dated June 13, 2023.

You pause, your thumb hovering over the screen. So he’s still handy, you think distantly, chewing on your bottom lip.

You remember that much. There were always new projects cluttering the yard in front of his trailer. A crib for the expecting couple a few doors down, a rocking chair with ornate vines and flowers carved into the armrests, a soccer goal for Sarah to practice with when she started getting serious about it in the fifth grade.

You zoom in on the picture, just a little.

The angle’s weird and it’s overexposed as shit. Joel’s face is half shadowed by an old Longhorns baseball cap, but even still—there’s that jaw. That mouth. That same broad width of his shoulders you used to trace with your eyes when he’d lean on the doorframe after he got home from work.

It’s still an older picture, and you can’t help but wonder how much he’s changed since.

You breathe through your nose, one long uninterrupted breath before you close the app and toss your phone face down on the mattress.

Joel Miller was handsome when you were in high school and stupid and still biting your nails.

He was a late forty-something, tired around the eyes. Always in pair of ratty, stained jeans and those soft, worn down flannels with the sleeves rolled up. Sarah’s dad. The hot one, according to the girls at school. The divorced one, according to the snooty moms at the PTA. He was tall and strong, thick arms with dark hair dusted along veiny muscle. Big hands that were calloused and rough to the touch when he slipped you a couple folded twenties at the end of every night.

You haven’t seen him since the summer after you graduated, but sometimes you still think about the way he used to look at you.

Like he shouldn’t.

Like he knew he shouldn’t, and did it anyway.

You can still feel it. That heat, that weight. The way his eyes always lingered a little too long when you bent down to grab your homework off the coffee table. The way his voice got low and syrupy when he asked what you were doing that weekend.

You were young then, but now?

Now you’re not sure who you are, not entirely—but you know you’re not that same girl. You’ve lived. You’ve done things he couldn’t even guess at.

You’ve grown up. And you wonder if Joel would notice too.

You don’t plan on going. Not really.

The next day, your mom leaves a note taped to the fridge that says she’s out running errands and won’t be back until later. You stare at it for a while, then glance at the clock.

It’s barely noon.

You have nothing to do. No plans. No job. So you get into your boiling hot car, roll the windows down, and drive.

You’re not sure what makes you do it.

Maybe it’s the antsy feeling that’s been worming around under your skin since you got here. Maybe it’s the way Joel’s name has been bouncing off all the corners of your mind like a moth against glass ever since your mom said it.

Either way, you find yourself veering onto a familiar exit off the highway, tires crunching under gravel until it turns to dirt when you pull into the same trailer park on the edge of town. The same one you spent most nights back in high school.

You sit in your car for a little longer than necessary, keys still in the ignition, engine ticking quietly as it cools.

The place hasn’t changed much either. Same sloped roof, same white paneling, same wind chimes clinking together on the porch. There’s a pair of muddy work boots by the steps, and your stomach knots.

You didn’t bother calling ahead. You don’t even know if he has the same number. You’re regretting that now.

You should leave. You really should. But you’re already pulling the car door open and stepping into the dry afternoon heat. The air’s thick again, the sun sitting high and mean in the sky. Your shirt sticks to the sweaty skin along your spine as you walk through the gate and up the short gravel path.

You hesitate at the foot of the stairs, clenching and unclenching your fists a couple times like that’ll magically relive all your nerves. You wonder, and almost hope, if Sarah will be the one to open the door. If she’ll even remember you.

Then, the screen door cracks open before you can knock.

Joel’s standing there. He looks the same as the last time you saw him.

“Well I’ll be damned,” he mutters, opening the door wider. He’s in jeans, barefoot, nothing but a tank top clinging to his chest, a dark patch blooming at the collar where it’s damp with sweat. “Look at you.”

No, not the same.

Older. Broader, somehow. More worn in, like a favorite jacket that’s been well loved. His hair’s longer than you remember, messier. His beard is thicker too, dusted with more gray, and there’s a little more weight around his middle. But his eyes are just the same—dark, steady, and sharp in a way that makes you feel instantly, achingly seventeen again.

He looks you over once. Not quick. Real slow. Real deliberate. A single drag of his eyes from your flip flops to the shorts you maybe shouldn’t have worn. His gaze sticks when it reaches your chest, lingers there a beat too long before flicking back up to your mouth. And then, finally, your eyes.

You shift your weight, offering a small smile. “Hey, Mr. Miller.”

His eyes narrow, and there’s the ghost of a smirk pulling at his mouth. “Don’t start with that ‘Mr. Miller’ bullshit. You’re grown now.”

Your stomach tightens.

“I, uh...my mom said you might be looking for help,” you say, fighting the urge to squirm where you stand. “With Sarah, I mean.”

He leans against the doorframe, one hand gripping the wood above his head. The movement lifts his shirt just enough to show a strip of his stomach, a trail of dark hair disappearing under the waistband of his sweats. “She did, huh?”

You nod, still frozen in place at the bottom of the steps.

Joel lets the silence hang in the air, heavy and charged. Then he huffs a quiet breath through his nose—half amusement, half something else—and steps aside. “You comin’ in or what?” he asks, jerking his head impatiently, giving you another long, lazy once over. “Ain’t polite to keep an old man waitin’, kid.”

Your heart beats wildly against your ribcage, and with one last quick, steadying breath you hope Joel doesn’t notice, you climb the stairs.

Joel hadn’t expected to see you again. At the very least like this, showing up at his place in the middle of the day—standing at the bottom of his porch like a mirage in the heat, older and more grown in all the places a man like him shouldn’t be noticing.

And sure as hell not in those shorts.

He watches you walk past him into the living room, slow and uncertain, that little sway in your hips you maybe don’t even mean to have. Or maybe you do.

Either way, it’s a goddamn sight.

Joel closes the door with a soft click, dragging a hand over his mouth like that’ll help wipe the look off his face. It doesn’t. The look of you—bare legged and smiling, sun kissed and back in his house after all this time—sticks to the inside of his skull like syrup.

You look around the room with a small smile, eyes scanning the familiar furniture. Some of it’s new, some of it’s the same. Joel’s never been much for decorating. You pause in front of the bookshelf he built a few years back, Sarah’s old school pictures still sit in a few mismatched frames next to a couple of paperbacks.

He clears his throat, scratching at his beard so he has something to do with his hands as he walks to the kitchen. “You want somethin’ to drink? Water, iced tea? I think I got Coke in the fridge somewhere.”

“I’m good, thanks.” You follow slowly, looking younger somehow in the kitchen light. You rest your hip against the doorway, eyes watching him as he walks to the fridge. “I won’t stay long. I just figured I’d stop by real quick and see if you still needed some help.”

Joel pulls the fridge open anyway, grabbing a beer from the half empty six pack. He cracks the tab with a soft hiss and leans back against the counter. “Sarah’s mostly independent now. She don’t need a sitter like she used to, but I still get caught up workin’ late. Don’t like the idea of her bein’ here by herself too often. 'Specially not with some of the boys sniffin’ around lately.”

You laugh, soft and bright. “Well, I’ve got time,” you say, toying with a loose thread on your cutoffs. “I don’t know how much help you actually need, but my schedule’s pretty much open. I can do evenings, weekends, whatever you want.”

Joel has to bite back a grin. Whatever he wants.

If you only knew the half of what he really wants.

Joel shifts his weight against the counter. “It wouldn’t be every night,” he says, shaking his head. “Just the evenings I pick up extra hours, or if I get called out for a job.”

You nod. “I can help. You don’t have to worry about paying me a whole lot. I’ll just be happy to keep busy.”

His mouth pulls into something that might be a smile. “I’ll pay you,” he says, almost gruff. “You’re doin’ me a favor.”

The silence that follows feels familiar. Not awkward—just full. A little tight around the edges.

He’s always known how to talk to you, but now there’s something different to it. You’re not seventeen anymore. Not biting your lip and looking away when he catches your eye. You’re standing there calm as you please, looking straight at him, like you already know he’s thinking things he shouldn’t.

Joel watches you from across the kitchen, beer can sweating against his palm. The ceiling fan spins lazily overhead, stirring warm air that doesn’t help much with the heat climbing under his skin. You’re standing there across the way from him like nothing’s changed, like you never left. Like no time has passed at all.

Except that it has. And it shows.

“You still in school?” he asks, voice rougher than he means it to be.

You blink, head tilting to the left. “Yeah. I’m up in Chicago now, Northwestern.”

“Big shot,” Joel whistles low, nodding appreciatively. “That’s a ways away from here.”

You shake your head, smile small and bashful. “It is. It’s expensive as hell too, my scholarship’s the only reason I’m there.”

He makes a soft sound in his throat, impressed. “Smart girl.”

“I try.” You shrug, but there’s pride under it. “I’ve got one year left, usually I stay for the summer to try and make as much as I can in the city. I—I just needed a breather, I guess. Some time to figure shit out, you know?”

There’s something soft in your tone when you say it, an openness he didn’t expect, and maybe shouldn’t pry into. But part of him wants to. Always has.

“You don’t seem like the type that needs figurin’ out,” Joel says, voice a little quieter now. “Always thought you had your head on straight.”

Your smile flickers into something crooked, something secret. “That’s because you didn’t really know me.”

He chuckles, deep and rough. “No, sweetheart. I think I knew you just fine.”

Your eyes lock for a second too long after that, thick enough with heat and history to make the air feel heavier than it already is.

You look away first, your eyes flicking to the living room. “I, uh–sorry, do you mind if I use the bathroom?”

Joel gestures vaguely with his free hand. “Go ahead, you remember where it is.”

You push off the doorway with one last grateful smile and duck down the hallway, footsteps silent against the linoleum. Joel watches until you disappear around the corner, his gaze dipping low without shame.

He waits until he hears the click of the bathroom door shutting behind you to exhale a slow breath, setting his beer down on the counter harder than he has to.

Jesus Christ.

She’s not a girl anymore, he thinks to himself. And you’re not, you’re far fucking from it.

But that feeling, that ugly one churning deep down in Joel’s gut, it’s still there. It feels just as dangerous as it used to, maybe even worse now. All because of you.

The look of your glossy lips forming around the words whatever he wants. The shape of your thighs, those damn shorts clinging to you like a second skin. The way you were looking at him, eyes all wide and shiny under his shitty kitchen light.

Joel can’t help himself, he thinks back to a few years ago. You, curled up on his couch every night when he got home from a long build, looking so soft in the hazy glow of the TV. Barefoot and sleepy, blinking up at him in those skimpy little after school clothes you’d always throw on.

It was a vision, something to settle his aching bones.

He thinks about how he started looking forward to it, coming home to you. It was sick, he knew that much, the fucked up little game of house he played, projected onto you. An old man like him leering at you, thinking of you long after you’d left, waving sweetly from the window of your moms car.

Joel should’ve known better. Should’ve done better. But that never stopped him before, not when it came to you.

A knock at the door pulls him from his thoughts. Two quick raps, followed by a heavy creak.

“Joel?” Tommy’s voice fills the trailer before he can even move, loud in the quiet. “You home?”

Joel sighs, brows pinching together as he pushes off the counter. He didn’t even hear the damn truck pull up.

Tommy rounds the corner, sweaty and covered in dirt. He’s got a ratty bandanna hanging from his jean pocket, sleeves pulled up around his shoulders and a pair of aviators covering his eyes.

“You ever heard of callin’ before you just barge in on someone?” Joel doesn’t try to hide the annoyance in his tone, brow arched as he stares at his brother.

“Hello to you too, jackass.” Tommy just walks past him like he owns the place, opening up one of the cabinets above the sink. “You gettin’ memory loss already, old man? You said Saturday.”

“Yeah, well now ain’t a good time, Tommy.” Joel cuts his eyes to the hall, to the light bleeding out from under the bathroom door.

Tommy just snorts, still rifling through the cabinet. “Yeah right, you got a woman over or somethin’?”

Joel doesn’t answer, eyes still fixed on that thin sliver of light glowing under the bathroom door like it might give him away.

Tommy catches on, turns slow with a shit-eating grin already stretching across his face. “You do have someone here.”

Joel gives him a hard look, one that should tell him to shut the hell up—but Tommy only laughs, knowing.

“C’mon,” he drawls. “Didn’t know you were even seein’ anybody. You been holdin’ out on me?”

“It ain’t like that,” Joel mutters, too fast, too defensive.

Tommy tilts his head, chewing on that like a dog with a bone. “Huh. So she’s not yours then?”

Joel doesn’t get the chance to answer. Before he can shoot back with something mean enough to shut him up. From down the hall, the bathroom door opens with a quiet click, and then—

Then you're back, smoothing your hands down your thighs as you reappear around the corner, voice drifting back into the space.

“Jesus, that sink is still running freezing cold water? I nearly put my-oh…” You’re clearly caught off guard, your eyes catching on where Tommy stands in front of the sink. “Tommy?”

Joel watches it click in real time—your eyes lighting up with recognition, mouth parting into a surprised smile like you’ve just stumbled on an old friend. Which, in a way, you have. Tommy was around a lot back then. Backyard beers, watching football on the TV, leaning against Joel’s truck while you wrangled Sarah inside for dinner.

“Well shit,” Tommy says, slow and low, pulling his sunglasses down. “That isn’t the little babysitter, is it?”

You smile, sheepish and sweet, and Joel feels something sour twist in his gut. “It’s been a while.”

“Yeah.” Joel watches Tommy take a good long look at you just like the one he did, eyes wide as his gaze rakes from your head down to the bare skin of your legs and back up all over again. “No kiddin’.”

It makes the space behind Joel’s ribs burn with something hot and ugly, Tommy’s eyes on you. Shameless and obvious as all hell. He might just be the biggest hypocrite in the country for it, but he can’t find it in himself to care.

“I didn’t know you were back in town,” Tommy goes on, leaning in like he can’t help himself. “You home for the summer?”

“Yeah, just for the summer,” you say brightly. “I thought I’d see if Joel needed help with Sarah again.”

“Oh, I bet he does,” Tommy says, and Joel’s had about enough of this.

“We were just finishing up,” Joel cuts in, his voice sharp enough to slice through the air. “She was about to head out.”

You don’t seem to notice the tension, if you do, you ignore it with grace that makes it worse somehow.

Your eyes flick to him, and for a second, Joel thinks maybe you notice something’s off. But your smile is still easy. “Yeah, I should probably get going.”

Joel gives a short nod and steps toward you before Tommy can open his mouth again. “I’ll walk you out, honey.”

You look between the two brothers for a second longer, then nod and head back into the living room, Joel right behind you. The sound of Tommy’s boots are hot on his heels, following.

You bend down to swipe your keys off the coffee table, not by much, just enough for your shirt to ride up and your shorts to dip low. Joel nearly swallows his tongue at the sight of lace. Bright pink, thin. A pathetic little scrap of fabric clinging to either side of your hips.

Joel’s throat goes dry, heat rolling under his skin like a slow burn, thick and unrelenting. You straighten back up, smooth the hem of your shirt down, but the damage is done. He feels that familiar ache stirring low in his belly, his cock twitching with interest in his sweats.

He doesn’t look at Tommy, he doesn’t need to. The quiet crunch of a beer can bending under a tight grip is all he needs to know that he isn’t the only one taking that lace peeking out from under those damn shorts as a neon sign flashing all the wrong kinds of welcome.

Joel barely has enough wherewithal to drag his eyes up to your face when you turn back around—that sweet, oblivious smile still pulling at your lips.

“Okay.” Your fingers toy with your keys, the metal soft and jangling in your palm. “Ready.”

Joel gives you a short nod, jaw tight. He doesn’t trust himself to speak.

Tommy, of course, steps in the silence, voice syrupy. “Hey, don’t be a stranger, alright? Good seein’ you again, sweetheart.”

You glance over your shoulder, lips parting into a lazy little grin. “You too, Tommy.”

Joel holds the door open for you, watching the way the light hits your shoulders, the back of your thighs, the little shadow that dips right at the curve of your spine.

The cicadas are buzzing, your car parked half crooked along the curb. You walk slow, gravel crunching under your sandals. Joel stays beside you, hands shoved deep in his pockets. The sun’s lower now, soft gold spilling across the lawn.

You open the car door, pausing with your hand on it. “That was…fun.”

Joel nods, biting back a frown. “Yeah, sorry about him. Tommy hasn’t got much of a filter.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “It’s okay, I missed you guys.”

Joel’s heart kicks hard in his chest. He’s not sure what to do with that.

“You know where to find us,” he says finally.

You nod, climbing into the car. The engine kicks up and the window rolls down.

“Thanks for the talk,” you say. “And the job, I’ll call you?”

Joel leans down a little, arms resting on the open window frame. You’re so close like this. Too close. He can smell the sweet perfume mixing with the bright tang of sweat on your skin.

“Of course,” he says, eyes flicking down to your lips. “I’ll be waiting.”

You smile. “It was nice seeing you, Joel.”

Joel watches you drive off, his reflection shrinking in your side mirror until he’s nothing but a speck in the dust your tires kick up.

He lets out another long breath, turning to walk up to steps. When he comes back inside, Tommy’s on the couch now, feet kicked up on Joel’s coffee table.

Joel shuts the door a little too hard behind him.

He lets out a low whistle. “Damn.”

“I told you,” Joel says, low and firm. “Now ain’t the time.”

Tommy’s grinning. “No shit it ain’t the time. Jesus, Joel. She’s what—twenty? Twenty one?”

“Somethin’ like that.” Joel says, arms crossed tightly over his chest.

“Oh, well never mind then, that makes it fine,” Tommy says, laughing. He cracks open the beer in his hand, taking a slow sip. “You’re outta your fuckin’ mind, you know that?”

Joel clenches his jaw, not bothering with an answer. His heavy silence speaks louder than any words could.

Tommy watches Joel closely, taking his silence for what it is and grinning wide enough to show off the sharp point of his canines. “She filled out real nice though, didn’t she?”

Joel shoots him a warning look, brows pinched together. “Don’t.”

Tommy holds his free hand up in surrender, but he’s still smirking. “All I’m sayin’ is—I remember when she was this pretty little thing runnin’ around here. Now—” He makes a vague gesture at his own chest. “—jailbait’s a whole lotta grown.”

Joel takes a step forward, hands clenched into fists at his side. “Watch your goddamn mouth.”

Tommy raises a brow, and the air goes real still between them for a beat. Joel knows his little brother—knows he’s testing the waters, seeing just how deep the river runs.

Joel shakes his eyes off him, walks to the kitchen and snatches his forgotten beer off the counter.

He hears Tommy chuckle again, more to himself than anything, his voice is louder so Joel can hear him. “You better watch yourself, man. That one? She’s trouble.”

Joel downs the rest of his beer in one long, bitter swallow, eyes peering out the window—locked on the road your car disappeared down. His voice, when it comes, is low and final.

“You got no idea.”

It’s almost too easy, falling back into the routine of it.

A few nights a week, just like before. Joel calls. You come over. The knock on the door doesn’t even feel necessary anymore, since Sarah already knows it’s you when she yanks it open and launches into talking before you’ve even stepped inside.

You know where the snacks are. The remote. You know how to work the tricky thermostat and still have all the emergency contacts scrawled on a paper tacked to the fridge memorized.

It all comes back like muscle memory—like no time has passed at all.

Sarah’s older now, a little more sarcastic. Witty and bolder in a way that surprises you sometimes, just enough edge in the way she talks to you that reminds you how much time has passed since you used to sit on the same couch and color. She’s brimming with the kind of secrets she’s aching to spill to someone she knows won’t tell her dad.

You’re still not quite a “grown-up” in her eyes, but you’re not a kid anymore either. You’re in that sweet spot—a cool older girl with her own car who lets her say things like shit and dickweed when Joel’s not around.

You’re not supposed to let her stay up this late, but you both pretend not to notice the clock. She’s curled up next to you on the couch, draped over the armrest only half watching the reruns you turned on with her chin propped on her palm.

"Can I ask you something?” Sarah says suddenly, grinning.

You narrow your eyes at her, mock suspicious. “You can, but I’m not promising I’ll answer.”

She laughs, kicking you gently with a socked foot. “Did you ever, like, sneak around when you were my age? Steal beer? Hook up with anyone?”

“Jesus, Sarah.” You raise your eyebrows, but she’s too amused to be embarrassed. You toss a throw pillow her way lazily. “You know your dad would kill me for answering that, right? He’d think I’m giving you ideas or something.”

“That’s not a no,” she sings, smirking.

“No comment.” You shake your head, smiling in spite of yourself. “I don’t need to give you any blackmail material to use on me later if I piss you off.”

“Please,” she huffs with a dramatic roll of her eyes. “I’d never narc on you like that. Besides, Dad still thinks I’m eight, I don’t even think he knows that I know what “hooking up” means.”

You laugh, shaking your head as you turn your attention back to the TV. “You’re his baby.” You shrug as a new episode of Daria starts. “It makes sense that he’s treating you like one.”

“Gross,” Sarah huffs again, letting her head fall back against the cushion to stare up at the ceiling. “He’s just so overprotective sometimes. I mean, I guess I get it but, come on? I’m basically in high school now, I’m not really a baby anymore.”

You glance over at her, and she isn’t. Not really. Not the gap toothed little girl who used to fall asleep on your shoulder watching Finding Nemo. She’s growing up in the kind of terrifying, beautiful way that makes your chest ache a little—already too smart for her own good.

She cracks her eyes open a bit, peering across the way at you. “Bet you noticed that when you were my age, right? When guys started looking at you differently.”

You blink. It’s not the words that shake you—it’s the timing. The way they hit, low and close to the bone.

Because yeah, you did notice. You still do. Especially now. Especially here.

Before you can say anything, the alarm you set on your phone blares loudly, cutting through the quiet.

“Alright!” You push her feet off your lap and stand, happy for the distraction as you clap your hands together. “That’s curfew.”

Sarah groans, but she rolls off the couch with no argument and starts down the hall.

You busy yourself with tidying up the living room as she brushes her teeth, pointedly ignoring the growing pit in your stomach. Her words ring in your ears like church bells, her voice tolling a little too close to something you’ve pointedly ignored since you got back. Something half buried and dangerous.

Bet you noticed that when you were my age, right? When guys started looking at you differently…

You breathe out slowly, shutting off the TV and dropping the remote onto the couch a little harder than necessary. You shouldn’t read into it. She didn’t mean anything by it. Just a kid mouthing off, reaching for connection, for understanding.

But it rattles you more than you want to admit, especially here—especially in his house.

You swallow hard, clearing the dirty dishes off the coffee table and walking into the kitchen. You just won’t think about it anymore, it’s that easy.

You're just being ridiculous. Paranoid. That's all.

A little while later, you’re still tidying up.

The dishes are all done, washed and drying in the rack next to the sink. The living room looks better than when you got here. It’s damn near pristine.

Sarah went to bed almost half an hour ago. You crane your head down the hallway as you fold an old blanket, her door is cracked open enough that you can see the light from her alarm clock shining in the dark. The soft sounds of waves drone quietly from her noise machine.

You smile, a warm fondness blooming in your chest.

That fuzzy feeling doesn’t last long, not when your eyes drift almost on their own, landing on Joel’s door.

Joel’s room.

It’s cracked open too, just like Sarah’s, but there’s no light shining from inside. You keep folding the blanket, distracted. It’s not like you haven’t been in Joel’s room before, you have. Passing through it with clean loads of laundry or sneaking his phone charger from the plug near his nightstand when your phone died.

But you’d never gone in alone, and you’d never stayed long. Sarah was always hot on your heels, catching your wrist in her tiny hand to drag you back out—following you around like an overexcited puppy. Not to mention it was always in the light of day, never at a time like this. When the moon is shining high in the sky and the stars are scattered across vast velvety darkness like spilled sugar.

You drape the folded blanket along the arm of the couch, eyes still glued to the door. The cogs in your mind turn and turn, spitting out an idea that has your stomach clenching with something you can’t quite put your finger on.

You gnaw on your bottom lip anxiously, eyes cutting to the clock above the door.

11:53

Joel told he’d be a while tonight, before he left. He said they’d be short a man, that the job would drag on because of it.

That’s not an excuse, you know that.

You shouldn’t. You really shouldn’t.

Your feet are moving before your brain can catch up to how bad of an idea this really is.

Your steps are silent on the linoleum, barefeet not making a sound. The wood of his door is dark and shiny, cool against your hand when you lay your palm over it. You give Sarah’s room another sideways glance, you can see the shape of her beneath the covers. Sound asleep.

The door creaks when you push it open, just barely. The sound isn’t enough to scare you off, and you step inside. The carpet is plush under you, it silences your steps even more as you walk to the nightstand and flick the light on.

Your heart pounds against your ribs as you take it in. The messy, unmade state of Joel’s bed. The covers are thrown back, there’s a dip in the pillow where his head rests. The nightstand has a paperback open and laying face down, a pair of wiry reading glasses resting next to it.

The room smells like him.

That scent that used to cling to you by accident when you were younger—clean cotton and cedar, a little motor oil and sweat, and whatever body wash he’s been using for years. It hits you all at once.

It has something stirring in your core, the familiarity of it. You look around some more, greedy eyes taking in every tiny detail you can. There’s a few paintings and framed pictures littering the walls. Pictures of Sarah, of Tommy, all kinds of different Texas landscapes.

An old guitar rests on the wall across from you, you can see that it’s a little beat up even from where you’re standing. The glossy wood chipped and well loved.

Then your eyes land on the dresser.

It’s old, stained a light brown. You wonder distantly if he built it himself.

Your gaze catches on the top drawer, the pull handle worn with use.

Again, you know it’s wrong. That you’ve already crossed every line imaginable by just being in here, but you seem full to bursting with bad ideas tonight.

You’re across the room with your fingers resting gently on the handle before you can even blink. Slowly, like something’s pulling you on a leash, you slide it open.

Socks. Boxers. Old, ratty belts. It’s nothing special, but heat climbs up the back of your neck all the same.

The next drawer has shirts, old band tees and fancier button downs that really should be hung up. You press your hand against one of them, feeling the starchy fabric beneath your skin.

The third drawer sticks a little, enough that you need to yank on it harder than the last two. It slides open with a dull thud. You wince, your eyes flicking to the door like Joel could be standing there, catching you rifling through his underwear like a sick little perv.

The darkness of the hallway is all that greets you. Quiet, empty.

You take a steadying breath, but your hands don’t stop trembling as you tug it the rest of the way open.

You’re not sure exactly what you’re looking for, but then, you see it.

There, tucked toward the back under a couple old flannels, a small stack of magazines.

Playboys. A couple Hustlers. From the look of them, they're mostly 90s, maybe early 2000s. It’s so vintage, so Joel. The covers are glossy, edges curled and worn.

Your breath hitches. The heat between your legs is instant, sharp and impossible to ignore.

You pull one out, heart hammering, and flip it open carefully. Your eyes skim over picture after picture, some of the pages sticking together as you thumb through them. The scent of paper and dust and something faintly musky drifts up, and the centerfold you finally land on is obscene—posed, yes, but raw in a way that makes your thighs press together.

Legs spread wide on a bearskin rug, pink mouth parted, full bush and glossy nipples.

She’s brunette, hair poofy and curled up to Jesus like they used those big old school rollers. Her eyes are the same color as yours, half lidded and covered in a sparkly blue shadow.

You glance down at the caption under her photo.

“Turn-ons: Older men. The kind that know how to use their hands.”

A shiver rolls down your spine.

You should be laughing. Maybe grossed out. But instead—

Instead you imagine Joel, sitting in this room, flipping through these pages alone. Hand between his legs. That rough, big, calloused hand. Not fast, not frantic. No, you imagine him slow.

Measured.

Probably gritting his teeth, because he seems like the type who doesn’t let himself sound desperate even when he is. Grunting softly. Breathing hard. Coming into a tissue or his palm or maybe just letting it land on his stomach. Because there’s no one here to see. No one to touch him. Just him and the sound of paper turning.

You shut the magazine too fast. Slide it back in place, heart pounding.

Before you can push the drawer closed, your eyes catch on one of the flannels that covered Joel’s little secret.

It’s an old one—soft looking, broken in, a faded green and black. You should put it back, lay it down exactly where you found it so there’s nothing even hinting at you digging around in places you shouldn’t.

Instead, your hand closes around it, and without letting yourself think too long, you hold it up to your nose.

God. It smells like him. Like his detergent, like summer sweat and wood and something faintly smokey. Warm and safe and so damn inappropriate in every possible way.

It’s too much, it’s not enough. It’s obscene.

You can’t help yourself, you push the rest of the flannels back over the magazines, but the one in your hand gets tucked under your arm.

You don’t even try to justify it. You don’t even look back.

You don’t touch yourself right away.

You wait. You ride the buzz all the way home. Eat a popsicle standing barefoot in your kitchen, flannel in a heap on the counter like a loaded gun. You pretend to forget about it. You go about your night like normal. Shower. Brush your teeth.

Then you’re in bed and it’s just there. Laying on your mattress.

You unfold it. Run your fingers over the soft, worn fabric. You should feel guilty. You do, but that doesn’t stop you from pressing it to your nose and inhaling a deep lungful. You crawl into bed, tearing your shirt off and kicking your shorts down your legs all at once.

You lay back against your sheets, flannel still clutched in your hands. You rub it along your chest, over your peaked nipples, down your stomach. Rubbing Joel’s scent into your skin like it’s your own personal brand.

Your free hand slides down your body, down the lacy fabric of your panties. You’re already wet. You’ve been wet since the minute you opened that drawer.

You close your eyes, fingertips teasing along the wet expanse of your pussy as you let your mind go there—

To the thought of Joel finding you like this.

His flannel draped over your face. Your hand between your thighs.

Would he be mad? Would he punish you for it?

Would he take it back? Rip it out of your hands?

Or would he make you put it on—just so he could see you wear it while he ruined you?

You want to come like this. Wrapped up in something of his. Want to ruin yourself in it. You dip your fingers into your underwear and finally—finally—brush them over your clit.

The gasp you let out is sharp.

It’s not just his cologne. It’s his scent. That hot-skin smell that clings to the inside of his hats and his truck and his work boots. It’s Joel, soaked into the fabric like he’s holding you down.

You rub slow circles over your clit, hips twitching. You can’t stop picturing him. Not just his face, but the sounds he’d make. The weight of his body over yours. The way his voice would rasp against your ear if he caught you doing this.

“Dirty fuckin’ girl, so desperate you’re gettin’ off with my dirty laundry?”

You slide two fingers inside yourself and gasp, mouth falling open. You imagine his hands instead. Rough, thick, calloused. Bigger than yours. Slower. Crueler.

“Oh fuck, Joel—” you whisper without thinking, the name catching on your teeth like a sin.

You come hard, pressing the flannel to your face, thighs trembling, biting down on soft cotton as you ride it out. It rolls through you in hot waves. Shame, lust, guilt, need—all tangled up.

When it’s over, you lie there panting, the room silent except for your heartbeat in your ears. You relax your jaw, the flannel falling from between your lips, fabric soaked with your spit.

You drift off with it clutched to your chest. Still wet between your legs. Still aching. Still imagining what he’d do if he ever found out.

And you sleep better than you have in weeks.

You don’t think anything of it when you see Joel’s truck parked in front of the trailer. It’s not out of the ordinary, he’s almost always there to make sure you get in safe before he leaves.

You climb the creaky steps and knock like usual. Three little raps, your knuckles against the thin aluminum of Joel’s door, already shifting your weight to the side as you wait for Sarah to yank it open and start catching you up on all the latest gossip from her last summer soccer practice.

Only—it doesn't swing open. Not right away.

You frown, Sarah’s usually opened the door before you can even raise your fist to knock again. It’s only then that you notice how quiet it is.

No music thumping out from her window, no light flicked on in her room. No hum of the TV playing. No voice yelling “Just a second!” from down the hall. Just the light hanging above your head buzzing faintly and the dull thud of your knuckles against the door.

You knock for a fourth time, less sure.

A few more seconds go by. One, two, three, four.

You count all the way to ten before the door creaks open, the screen with it. Joel fills the frame, one shoulder leaning against it. The light floods out from behind him, a warm yellow glow spilling into the dark and haloing around his broad shoulders.

He’s not dressed in work clothes, just an old grey short sleeve and a pair of jeans that ride dangerously low on his hips—a beer bottle held loosely in his left hand. He doesn’t even have shoes on.

You’re hit with a violent wash of déjà vu, your traitorous mind thinking back to the first day you saw him again.

“Hey,” you say as casually as you can, shifting on your feet. You peer around him into the living room. Empty. “Where’s Sarah?”

Joel doesn’t move, head tilting as he watches you. “She’s stayin’ over at a friends.”

You blink. “Oh.”

“Yeah. Oh.” The corner of Joel’s mouth raises slightly, it’s not quite a smirk, but it’s close. “I texted. You didn’t check your phone?”

You shake your head slowly, but you can’t help the way your brows furrow. You had checked it, right before you left your house, like you awake do. No calls. No texts.

“I must’ve missed it.”

Joel gives you a lazy once over, eyes dragging down your front like a slow lick. “Huh,” he says, but it’s far away. “Guess you might as well come in anyway, wouldn’t want you to waste your time comin’ out here for nothin’.”

He steps aside, holding the door open expectantly.

“It’s fine, really.” You laugh, but it’s awkward. “I can just go—”

“Come inside.”

He says it low. Not a suggestion.

You hesitate for half a second, nerves suddenly scraping just beneath your skin. But you step in anyway, brushing past him into the cool dimness of the trailer, the familiar scent of cedar, beer, and Joel hitting your nose all at once.

The door shuts behind you with a heavy click.

Joel walks past you, sets his beer down on the coffee table before his eyes find yours again. You can see his face better in the light of the living room, his eyes are hard. Dark in a way you haven’t seen in a long time. It has your stomach clenching tightly, the sour edge of alarm churning with arousal inside you.

“It’s good you’re here. We oughta talk.”

You open your mouth, then shut it. His tone is strange—off—but not angry. Amused, almost. You wring your hands behind your back anxiously. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” he says, voice low, rough, “I been meanin’ to ask you somethin’. Just been waitin’ for the right time.”

You frown. “Ask me what?”

Joel drags the silence out. He watches you try not to squirm, mouth tilted in another half smirk.

"You go through my shit, baby?"

Your heart trips three times over in your chest, stomach dropping down to your feet. “I—what?”

Joel huffs hard out his nose, that smug smirk spreads. It’s all teeth now, feral and amused. “Did I stutter?”

You’re shaking now, hands trembling in time with the frantic beat of your pulse. “I just thought—I didn’t think you—”

Joel clicks his tongue, cutting you off. “Yeah that’s the problem, ain’t it? You didn’t think.” He takes one slow step toward you, eyes locked on yours, heavy and dark and hot enough to burn.

“It’s real funny,” he says offhandedly, too casual—like you’re talking about this week’s forecast. “There’s only a few people who’ve been in and outta here lately. And I know Tommy ain’t the one riflin’ through my drawers, takin’ shit that doesn't belong to him. I ain’t dumb, baby.”

Your mouth opens and closes desperately, mind racing to say anything. To lie, to defend yourself, to beg for forgiveness. Nothing comes out. Your throat works around nothing, and your hands are clenched so tightly behind your back they’re going numb.

Joel just hums. A low, throaty sound that vibrates down your spine. His fingers curl under the hem of your shirt, lifting it slightly, just enough to show the little strip of skin above your shorts. “You touch yourself in it?”

The question punches the air from your lungs. You don’t need to ask him what it is.

“I—Joel—”

“Don’t try lyin’ to me.”

Your face burns. You can’t bring yourself to nod, let alone speak. You don’t have to.

Joel laughs—dark and low, like he already knows the answer. He trails his hand along the skin of your stomach, his touch featherlight. You can’t hide the shiver that wracks through you, goosebumps pebbling along your skin.

His hand falls away, only so he can drop down onto the couch behind him. Legs wide, thighs spread, jeans tugging tight across them as he leans back like he’s settling in for a show. His voice is pure gravel. “Go on, then. Show me what you did.”

You just stand there. Eyes wide. “What?”

Your voice shakes, quiet and small in the tension.

Joel shakes his head, sighing like he’s dealing with a stubborn child. He hooks one finger in the waistband of your shorts, tugging. You move without thinking, stepping into the space between his spread thighs.

“See, I don’t wanna have to ask you again, baby. So, are you gonna show me?” he says slowly, his touch dipping low enough to brush over the lacy edge of your panties. “Or am I gonna have to make you?”

Your breath catches in your throat, heat flooding your body in less than a second. “Joel—”

He cocks a brow. “What’s wrong, sweet thing? You were bold enough to sneak into my room, go through my drawers, take what don’t belong to you. Don’t get shy now.”

You feel it then—that impossible to ignore, deep, slick throb between your legs. Shame and heat twisting up your insides. Your whole being pulses with heat, phantom flames lapping over your skin.

You don’t know if you’re more humiliated or turned on—your body doesn’t seem to care either way. Joel hasn’t taken his eyes off you.

There’s no way out of this. And you’re not even sure if you want one.

You bite your lip, cheeks burning as your fingers trail down your belly, under your shorts and down between your thighs. Already wet. Slick with the shame of it, slick with how bad you want him watching you.

Joel swats your hip, not hard enough to sting. Just enough to make you feel it. “No ma’am, none of that shit. Shorts off.”

You freeze, your hand still buried under the waistband, your pulse thudding in your ears like a war drum. Apparently, you don’t move fast enough, not for him, and Joel’s already leaning forward, hands on your hips as he yanks them down himself—your shorts and panties in one brutal tug.

“Fuckin’ brat,” he mutters, almost to himself, dragging the fabric down your thighs and letting it pool at your ankles.

Your breath hitches as he sits back again, arms draped lazily over the back of the couch, dark eyes fixed on the wet heat between your thighs like he’s starving.

You step out of your clothes, naked from the waist down, cheeks burning, heart beating so hard it’s making you lightheaded.

Joel tips his chin toward the floor. “Go on.”

Your stomach flips. You’re sure he can see it, the way your chest heaves, nipples pressing hard into the thin fabric of your top. Your hand drifts between your legs again, slow and shaky. Joel’s eyes follow every motion. Every tremble.

Your middle finger dips down and slides through your folds, slow. You let out a shaky breath. You brush over your clit, and twitch, hips jerking without meaning to.

“That’s it.” Joel nods, his hands clenched into fists. “See how easy it was, sugar? Feel’s good, doesn't it?”

“Yes,” you whisper, your voice threadbare. You’re rubbing yourself faster now, pressure building fast. “It feels so good, Joel.”

Joel groans at his name falling from your lips. “I bet it does. Bet you fucked your fingers into that tight little cunt while smellin’ me on the collar of that damn shirt. You nasty little thing.”

You nod, barely, lips parted as you circle your clit again, breath hitching on contact.

“I should spank your ass red for that,” he growls. “Should bend you over my lap like a fuckin’ child. You need discipline, don’t you?”

Your knees nearly give. “Joel. Please—”

He cuts you off again, gesturing lazily to where your hand disappears between your thighs. “Open her up. Let me see.”

You press two fingers between your folds, spreading them apart so he can see your glistening pussy, sticky and swollen from just a few strokes.

“Goddamn,” Joel groans, reaching down to adjust the thick shape of his cock hard under his jeans. “She’s fuckin’ drippin’. That for me, baby?”

You nod, lips slack as your thighs tremble.

“Yeah,” he drawls, stretching the word like out taffy between his teeth. “That’s real pretty.”

You moan at that. Loud and desperate. Your touch dip that much lower to push one finger inside. Then another, like you just can’t help yourself. You’re so wet there’s no resistance, your pussy welcoming them in like it’s done this a hundred times thinking of him. Slick drips down your thighs, shining under the light of the lamp.

Joel licks his lips slowly, deliberately. “Look at that.” He leans forward, pupils wide and dark as an oil spill. “Just a little rub like that, a little stretch and you’re already makin’ a mess.”

You whimper, hips rocking against your hand. “Joel, I—”

“Give yourself another finger. Show me how you take it”

You grind down onto your own fingers, mouth slack with soft moans that breathe to life before you can muffle them. You press in a third finger. The stretch burns, but you don’t stop. You’re panting now, skin dewy, hips jerking forward to meet your hand. Joel watches like a man starved.

He grins, smug and handsome and infuriating. “Yeah, three feels nice don’t it, honey?” He reaches out, his hand sliding up your thigh in one slow motion, lazy and unhurried through the slick. “Bet you could take my whole fuckin’ fist if you wanted it real bad.”

A pathetic little whine fills the air, more of a mewl than anything. It takes you a second to realize you’re the one making the noise, so desperate and gone from the tiniest amount of touch. It makes your walls clamp down harder around your fingers.

Joel sees. Joel knows.

And it’s all he needs to finally break.

“Come here,” he growls suddenly, jerking his head impatiently.

You scramble over, straddling him, bare thighs spread over his denim clad ones. Joel undoes his belt with one hand, the clink of the metal making your pulse trip. He pulls himself out of his soaked boxers, hard and straining, the rosy head drooling precome onto his shirt when it slaps up to rest against his stomach.

Your mouth falls open at the sight of it, flushed and big. Bigger than you’ve ever seen, outside of guilty late night porn searches.

Joel chuckles darkly, taking himself in his hand. He strokes himself slowly, twisting his wrist over the head. “You think you can take all this?” he taunts meanly, dragging the tip through your folds, wetting himself with your slick. “You’re just a baby, sweetheart. You think you can handle this dick?”

You moan as he rubs himself over your sensitive clit, warm and wet. Your hips twitch down, desperate for more. Your pussy clenches around nothing, overwhelmingly empty.

He slaps your ass, hard. He kneads the tender skin in his rough hand after, dragging out the sting. “How old am I? Tell me, honey. Say it.”

You gasp, eyes screwing shut in embarrassment. “Fifty–ah! Fifty three,” you breathe, not looking Joel in the eye as you say it.

You can’t, not with the humiliation coursing through your veins like pure kerosine. It’s white hot, burning so bright, but it’s still not enough to stop your pussy from dripping sticky all over his cock like a broken faucet.

“Damn right,” he growls. “Old enough to be your fuckin’ daddy.”

Joel thrusts into you in one brutal push.

You scream. Your nails dig into his shoulders hard enough that you feel the thin material of his shirt straining under it. The stretch feels like it’s tearing you in two, like your fingers didn’t do anything to prepare you for his cock carving a place for itself inside you.

Joel kisses you, sucks the noise right off your tongue. He tastes like beer, like sweat and salt and something that’s only him. You moan into his mouth, your fingers threading into the soft hair curling at the nape of his neck.

He pulls back, a string of spit connecting your lips until it bends and breaks under the weight of gravity. “Come on, darlin’.” He slaps your ass again—once, twice—and you squeal, the burn sharp and perfect. “You wanted to fuck me so bad you couldn’t keep those thievin’ hands to yourself, huh? Well now’s your chance. Fuck me, give it to me good.”

You don’t ease into it, too worked to even think about starting slow.

You bounce on his lap like you’re possessed, thighs slapping, slick drenching his jeans. Joel groans with every roll of your hips, low and drawn out. He lets his head fall back against the couch, the tan column of his throat on display.

“Been waitin’ for this,” he pants. “Since the day you showed back up. Actin’ all grown. Look at you now. Cryin’ on my cock.”

You’re drooling. Dizzy. Brain turned to static as you ride him, his hands gripping your hips so tight you know you’ll bruise.

“You’re so fuckin’ tight,” he growls, raising his head to watch you. “This pussy wasn’t made for boys your age. Needs a man to stretch it out. To ruin it.”

You whine, your pussy tightening around the throbbing length of his cock. Joel notices, of course he does.

His hands grip your ass, urging your hips up and down faster. “You like that, sweet thing? You like lettin’ an old man fuck you raw like this?”

“Yes,” you whine, tears burning at your water line. “I love it, want you to come inside me so bad Joel, fuck-”

“I know, baby.” Joel kisses your cheek, softly. Too soft, too tender. “You ain’t ever gonna want some college boy after this. You’re gonna be thinkin’ about how Mr. Miller fucked you open better than they could.”

Your moan is muffled by his fingers pushing between your slack lips, filling your mouth. You whine at the taste of yourself coating his skin, sucking obediently as he presses them down on your tongue.

“Gonna make you mine,” he pants. “Mine. No more sneakin’ around, no more stealin’ my shit—you want something, you ask for it like a big girl, and I’ll fuckin’ give it to you.”

You shake your head, babbling around his fingers. “Yes—yes, only you. I’m yours—”

You can feel your orgasm building deep in your belly, the coil of pleasure tightening and tightening until it threatens to snap.

Joel rips his fingers from your mouth with a dark growl, reaching back down to grip your ass again. He spreads you open, the cool air making you gasp. One finger, wet with your own spit, rubs over your rim.

He doesn’t push in—just teases, circling, pressing, tugging—enough to make you clench and cry out as he starts pounding up into you. His hips lifting off the couch and filling the room with the loud noise of skin on skin as his balls slap against your ass with every thrust. Your pussy squelching around him with dirty, wet noises would make your ears burn if you weren’t so far gone already.

“You gonna let me play with this too?” he murmurs, lips brushing against your. “You lettin’ me train this hole next?”

That’s it. It’s all you can take.

You shatter with a scream, pussy squeezing so tight it makes Joel snarl and buck wildly up into you. He grabs your ass, choking out a strained string of “fuck, fuck, fuck—”

He curses, pulls you down hard onto his cock one last time as he spills inside you, so deep you swear you feel it behind your ribs. His head drops to your shoulder, breath ragged as he comes and comes.

It feels endless, spurt after spurt of hot spend flooding your walls until it’s forced to leak back out along the fever hot skin of his cock, slipping down his balls to drip onto the couch.

It’s filthy.

It’s obscene.

It’s exactly what you wanted.

You both lean into each other, breathless and spent as you come down. Sweat drips down your back, rolling down your spine as your hands stay buried in his hair.

Joel strokes your thigh lazily, still inside you, watching the mess drip down where you’re spread open around him.

“You’re stayin’ the night,” he says simply.

You can’t fight the tiny, secret smile you press against the sweaty skin of his throat as you nod wordlessly, thighs still shaking violently around his hips.

You’d never make it to the door anyway.

MINI NAT'S NOTE: what's so funny to me about this is that i didn't realize how much i actually missed writing for joel until i took a little mini break to work on my other frankie and harry fics like it’s so dramatic truly, but baby we’re so back! back and hopefully pissing off the joel age gap haters!

shoutouts to baby rylea for giving me the flannel idea cause this fic might have been lost without it. it was rescued from being just another abandoned wip and instead turned into a literal monster which was never supposed to happen but uh that's chill i guess…two fics over 10k words in one month? that’s literally unheard of over here. ALSO my first venture into ass play to spite @ebodebo and @yuenity sooo that’s fun. i love them both really LMAO

once again it's four a.m because i just can't function like a normal person. thank you to femme bot by charli xcx, pink red bull, and ofc my geeky bar for letting me power through and finish this mess. okay i'm done now sorry for talking so much, i just love yapping to you guys :(( thank you so much for reading, love you!

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yanderenightmare · 4 months ago

Text

♡ TW: implied nsfw, implied noncon/dubcon, poly yanderes, sprained ankle, captive reader, apocolypse au, talk of fertility and pregnancy

♡ FEM reader

♡ P1: The Bunker

Your ankle feels better after a little over a week.

The one initially against you staying has been giving you medical check-ups every day—something about wasteland toxins and underlying, possible contagious sicknesses he’d like to keep a weathered eye out for.

You hadn’t refused. After all, such precautions were only warranted.

When you first encountered them in the wasteland, they were both wearing hazmat suits and gas masks. And though you had already been put through the standard disinfection and the basic check—eyes, teeth, and tongue—before they’d even let you in, you can’t blame them for taking extra measures—no matter how meticulous the check-ups have been since, comprising of endless spit, blood, and urine samples.

Somehow, you actually appreciated the thoroughness. It was just one more thing that reminded you of the past. The way he sat there, behind the desk like a doctor, and you opposite, like a patient, waiting for your results.

You’d gotten more or less used to it now, so it didn’t feel as awkward anymore. And, if you were to say so yourself, you think he’s even warmed up to you a little bit too.

“You’re all clear. No detectable toxins,” he states after a moment, mulling over the data, more or less the same outcome he’d come to for the last four or so days. He scribbled a few things into the file he’d been conducting, a focused furrow between his brows as he worked. You felt inclined to inquire about what exactly he’d been jotting down all these days of running tests but then decided against it—explaining things to you would probably only vex him. He was a man of as few words as possible, after all.

He sighs, then informs, “We can stop checking every day now.”

“Really?” you light up—feeling excited for some reason. Suppose you took it as a sign of improvement even without knowing entirely what any of it actually meant. In any case, lesser checks must be good, right?

“Yeah. You’re way healthier, thanks to all our produce and not consuming any of that wasteland trash.” He pulled a grimace before his face settled back into that constant look of dour solemnity. “Blood pressure, heart rate, vitals—everything looks good.”

It almost seems like such a silly thing to even bother caring about. Only a few weeks ago, you hadn’t cared for any such thing as health as long as it meant you weren’t starving or freezing—and here you are, celebrating such a privileged thing as blood pressure.

You sniffle, can’t help yourself, balled fists quivering in your lap as a few tears start to drop, “Thank you—truly. I’d have died if it weren’t for the two of you.”

He must think you’re ridiculous, too, crying over something so small. You wipe your eyes, only to notice him holding out a tissue for you. You can only laugh at yourself while accepting it.

“You’ll help me in the greenhouse today since your ankle is all better,” he states while getting up.

You spring to your feet, too. This would be the first time you’d been asked to help out. “What about—”

“He’s busy doing inventory,” he answers before you get the question out. “We’ll have to change a few things since you’re staying.”

This stills you, breath caught in your throat. You look at him wide-eyed, scared you’d heard him wrong. Voice weak as if scared to ask, “I’m staying?”

“Tch—” It’s his turn to chuckle, though he does so much differently from you—mockingly, a way he often does at both your and the other's expense. Though, you’d taken to find it rather endearing. He gives you a look—it’s very almost soft. “You didn’t think we’d waste our resources on something we planned on chucking back out again, did you?”

A tug pulls your wobbly lips back into a smile. “I guess that would be silly...” you sniffle again. “Still, thank you.”

This time, as you say it, you rush to hug him—tightly, with both your arms wrapped around his tough midsection and your head tucked against his broad chest.

It’s him who falls still now—stunted by the action and left both speechless and frozen in place. His arms hover mid-air, unsure of where to rest, before slowly lowering to settle atop your narrow shoulders—so much smaller in comparison. It’s crazy to think you’d endured out in the wasteland for so long.

He’s sure you’ve done things in order to stay alive you’re not at all proud of. Still, your survival is no less than a miracle.

He clears his throat. “Let’s hurry up,” He dismisses, then proceeds to nudge you off as if the hug was unwanted, but even you can spot the blush dusting his cheeks as he looks away with another grumble, “We’re making dinner before he’s done.”

The smile on your face is a sight for sore eyes, he thinks. You didn’t smile like that a week ago.

“Yes, sir.” You salute, following him in stride.

You’d said it innocently enough, but by God, if only you knew how it takes everything in him not to bend you over the medical desk right then and tell you all about how you’re in the perfect window for conceiving.

He manages to steal himself.

After dinner, he promised himself soothingly, calming the hunger in his gut—after dinner, they’d decided, tonight would be the night they’d finally make use of you the real way they’d intended—have you earn your keep.

When you’re done tilling the gardens, about a couple hours later, the two of you move on to the kitchen. You’d learn that the brash one was in charge of making most meals, as the other one was more than hopeless in the kitchen. It seemed you were replacing him as the helper, given simple tasks such as cutting, measuring, and fetching things.

It felt nice to be doing something again, especially something so trivial. Housework and domestic chores were something one could only reminisce about, and yet here you were, doing just that—cutting carrots as if the outside world wasn’t a badland of people killing each other for a can of expired dog food.

You really were so lucky you could hardly believe it. The tears start bubbling again.

“If you’re finished cutting, go to the cupboard over there,” he jolts you out of your thoughts. Not looking away from stirring the pot, he points with his other hand toward the far side of the kitchen.

You pad over and open it to find two dozen or more bottles of wine, all neatly shelved.

“Pick one out,” he calls out.

You blink, looking between the wine and him. “You mean—”

“Anyone of ‘em is fine,” he says. “Feel free to read if you’re looking for something special, though. It’s you were celebrating, after all.”

This time, you can’t stop the tears as they trickle down your face one after the other, soaking your cheeks.

Hearing you sniffle makes him sigh with rust. Scolding you with military toughness, “Quit cryin’ already—it’s getting old.”

You wipe your eyes and stiffen your lip. “Yes, sir.”

Turning your head back to the shelf, you can hardly believe the sight. It had been all moonshine and slop out in the wasteland. Dangerous stuff you were better staying well away from.

You can’t believe you’re going to drink actual wine again—your mouth waters just at the thought as you pick the first bottle you set your eyes on. But then you stop yourself—a guilty knot in your stomach twisting.

“Is it really okay?” you ask. “Shouldn’t we save it?”

“Tch—” he scoffs disapprovingly again. “You gotta stop doin’ that.”

You’re left looking at him even though he keeps his back turned, still busy stirring the pot. He lifts a spoon for tasting, then adds more spice to his liking before continuing as though he could tell you were confused just from the silence.

“You’re not in the wasteland anymore—” he states. “You can afford to live a little now.”

A concept like that had yet to have reached you.

Suppose you were still settling in.

“Besides, there are more in the cellar,” he reveals. “Even if we drank a bottle every day, it would take years for us to finish. So don’t worry your pretty head ‘bout it, a’ight?”

Your grip around the bottle tightens—trying to toughen up to keep the tears at bay. But today was an emotional day, and it seemed there was no end to the blessings you were given. It was all so overwhelming, your heart swelled with happiness—a feeling you hadn’t felt in such an awfully long time.

“Something smells good!” comes a call.

It seems he’s returned from doing inventory.

“Oh no, why are you crying?” He instantly rushes over to you, holding your face to inspect the damage, then snaps his head to the other, who’s still busying himself with perfecting dinner. “Are you being too harsh on her?” he accuses. “You know, not everyone can live up to your cooking expectations—”

“Tch—I haven’t done shit,” he denies. “She’s just emotional ‘cause I told her we’re lettin’ her stay.”

“What!? You told her without me?” he cries then. “We were supposed to surprise her together.” His pout is instantly replaced with a blank look of surprise as you wrap your arms around him like you’d done with the other earlier—hugging him tightly.

“Thank you,” you repeat to him as well.

You still couldn’t believe how nice they had been to you.

After dinner is eaten, the three of you end up sitting there, chatting—about the past, most of all, how things used to be—how people would live in little houses with next-door neighbors they’d invite over for game night—little families with kids and backyards and pet dogs—college, marriage, careers.

You helped the stoic one clear the dishes while the chipper of the two opened another bottle of wine. You can hardly believe it when they bring out the record player and slide a vinyl on.

You end up crying again as the music plays. You even dance. Laughter fills the bunker while you get completely swept away with the feeling of utter bliss. And as the wine finishes and the conversation turns sloppy, the hands twirling your body to the music get a little touchier, a little greedier, until you’re suddenly kissed.

Between the two of them, the air becomes hot—steamy as you share breathes.

Busy hands, large and strong and callused from labor, work on your button-up shirt. It’s gone before you know it, then the hands move on to your pants.

Honestly, after all the emotions joined by the wine and dance and being spun between the two, you can’t say you’re completely without lust, but at the same time, you’re just a bit confused.

Despite not having seen them kiss in front of you, you’re certain they both go to bed in the same room every night—so all this time, you’d been under the impression that they were involved with each other and not interested in you that way.

Not that it matters much what you thought, you think, you’re not against what’s happening so much as you’re a little hesitant about how it’s about to happen. It’s been a while since you’ve slept with anyone—willingly, that is—you’ve sort of forgotten how to enjoy it.

If it were just one, you’d maybe find it a bit less overwhelming, but given there were two, you quickly found yourself feeling somewhat claustrophobic.

“Wait—” you stutter. Blocking the advance with your own hands, looking up into drunken and heated eyes and the soft look of arousal painted on the face before you.

“Don’t worry,” he comforts with that kind smile. “You’re the most valuable thing we have—we’re gonna be gentle.”

You almost bite, almost give in, almost let it soothe you. But even in the drunk haze, the choice of phrasing finds you a little odd. And you’re unable to disregard that feeling that’s been nagging at the very back of your head ever since you stepped foot in the place.

Something’s not right.

“Valuable?” Sure, you could choose to understand it as them saying they care for you, but somehow, it just doesn’t feel as if that’s all. “What does that mean?”

“You know…” he utters softly—his kind smile curling into something different. His eyes fall downward as he licks his lips before finishing, “This.”

He’s laid a hand atop your belly where his gaze is set—his palm flat and firm as he rubs tentative circles into the softness.

It takes you a moment before you shudder. “You…”

You needed to be rational about this. Some part of you always knew there was something going on, didn’t it? Why else would you be here? Why else would they let you stay? The cameras in the bedroom, in the showers, all those medical checkups—you’ve known there was something. And still, you hadn’t left. You hadn’t even so much as humored the thought even once.

There is no life for you out there. You don’t just want to stay—you have to—you need to.

And is it really so bad? Hadn't they been nice? Haven’t they been more than generous? Don’t you owe them so much more than what they’re asking in return?

But what are they asking? It’s not just intimacy. It’s something else—something premeditated.

“You want to use me to…” The realization makes you shudder. “To make you a child…”

Like an incubator.

They don’t deny it.

You want to back up—create space—room to breathe, but the other is just behind you with his big chest pressed stiffly against your back, keeping you close, trapped before the one in front.

“It’s true…” he confesses at your ear. “That is all we wanted from you in the beginning.”

It sends a chill down your spine.

“It was almost too good to be true when we found you,” he continued while playing with your waist in big hands. “How a perfect candidate fell right into our lap mere days after we decided to go lookin’ for one.”

You suck in a hitched breath as the well of tears breaches, dribbling down your cheeks at the clinical word—candidate.

“But you’re more than that now,” the other reassures, bowing and fishing for your eyes as you’d taken to look down—too horrified to look him back in his.

“We figured you’d be a savage, havin’ lived out there for so long,” the one behind says. He’d been the most skeptical at first, but he’d come to learn it was rather the opposite—your time out there hadn’t toughened your skin or hardened your heart but only made you timid and soft.

“In all honesty, we weren’t sure we were gonna keep you after the pregnancy…” the one in front whispers upon your lips. “But that’s all in the past now.”

He lifts your chin, taking in the all-too-soft look of despair on your face. It’s a strange thing to say he’d missed. It nearly makes him feel guilty for the hard-on in his cargo pants. But then again, tears are the allure of the gentler sex. It’s only natural for a man to enjoy the sight.

“We want you to stay.” He strokes your cheek, catching the tears on his thumb. “After all, it would be best for the baby to have a female presence—especially one as soft as yours.”

“And, well…” You flinch at the stubble being dragged upon your shoulder and neck, a kiss placed in the nook there along with his words, “We’ve grown to like having you around.”

His hands had fallen from your waist down to rub your hips, swaying you back against his crotch—and the bulge there, that now felt a little more like a gun being poked against your back.

“It’s been a long while since we’ve had the company of a woman,” he continues while pressing himself against you. “It was unfamiliar at first, but… it’s nice.”

Something urgent takes over your body then—even though it’s beyond stupid. There’s no plan, no further thought than run—despite having no solid clue as to where. And yet, it ends up not mattering in the slightest. You don’t make it far.

You scream as their hands snag you. The grumpier one locks your arms, the chipper one grabs your legs—and they both lift and carry you back—laying you down on the little round table you’d had dinner on.

You struggle, but your wrists are pinned down to the metal with a strength you can’t hope to match.

“Don’t be like that.” He clicks his tongue dismissively like he so often does when you say or do something stupid. “There’s nowhere to go.”

“No—” you cry. “Please—don’t.” Shaking your head while squeezing your thighs shut.

Never mind having sex, you could endure that much—but having a baby in this mess? They’re the ones who lost their minds down here.

“I can’t—”

“Of course, you can,” the other insists, prying your thighs apart to make space for himself between them, already with his hands returning to undo the button of your pants, zipping down the fly and tugging them off.

“No—”

He’s back to console you just as quickly, “Shh-sh, don’t cry,” he soothes, cupping your face in both palms. He gives you that kind smile again, but it no longer serves as any source of comfort—now just a mouth full of teeth. “We’ll be gentle.”

♡ BNHA – KiriBaku, BakuDeku, ShinKami, DabiHawks, EndHawks, ErasurMic ♡ JJK – SatoSugu, ItaFushi, SukuIta ♡ HQ – Miya twins, KageHina, BokuAka ♡ CSM – AkiDen, YoshiDen ♡ BLLK – NagiReo

♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist

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anxiouscherubs · 4 months ago

Text

find you in my heart

✦ summary: the one where you get dumped and your best friend is there to help you realize what you truly deserve… what’s been in front of you all along.

✦ warnings/tags: MDNI! 18+, explicit, smut, slight angst, some fluff, oral sex (f receiving), oral sex (m receiving), fingering, throat fucking, big dick yh, unprotected sex (be safe!), yh is desperately in love, best friends to lovers, mutual pining, mentions of cheating (past relationships), yh and reader met as baristas, pet names, au where jeong yunho can actually cook, yunho is a lil possessive

✦ pairing: nonidol!yunho x reader

✦ author’s note: as a yunho ult, a yh best friends to lovers has been at the top of my list of things to write. i started this fic after yun posted these photos because i just could not get the vision of late night walks with him out of my head! i am new to writing so any feedback is appreciated. i hope you enjoy ♡ as always, thank you to my lovely best friends for enabling me and proofreading my depravity. love you guys forever. ♡

✦ word count: 12.9k

✦ read it on ao3: here

Two years. Two years down the drain because your ex decided he “wasn’t feeling it anymore.” You had a sneaking suspicion his change of heart had to do with his hot new coworker, but you couldn’t think too far into it or it would rip you apart more than he already had.

He had grown distant, and you chalked it up to the stress of his new job. But when he started staying late every other day and missing your sacred Thursday date nights, you knew it was the beginning of the end. You were happy together (most of the time), but you were never certain you could see yourself spending the rest of your life with him. There were certain things about him that you tolerated, but you wanted your forever to be spent with someone who felt perfect for you. And he… didn’t.

Even though you knew he wasn’t who you’d spend your life with, it stung just the same to receive his messages.

loser: hey y/n… i’ve been thinking about this for a while now but i think it’s time for us to part ways.

loser: we’ve had a good run, but i’m just not really feeling it anymore. i hope you understand.

loser: wish you the best. xx

You’d changed his contact and blocked his number immediately, saving yourself from the hurtful words he’d throw your way if you tried to ask for any reasoning or clarification. He always turned into a different person the moment you tried to express your emotions.

“She’s just a coworker, y/n, stop being crazy. You don’t have to worry about her.”

You push his words out of your brain again before they take over. So what if he left you for her? They probably deserve each other. You knew you were better off, that wasn’t the issue. It was that you settled for two years, letting this man who clearly didn’t respect you treat you like an afterthought the entire time. The more you think about it, the more you blame yourself for placing such little value on your own time and energy.

You sit on your couch, your coffee table littered with tear-soaked tissues and instant ramen cups. You haven’t left the house since you got The Texts last night, and you've watched a season of your favorite crime show and eaten your body weight in Buldak since then. You know you can’t sit here and wallow anymore or you’ll start to lose your mind, so you drag yourself to the bathroom to assess the damage. Eyes red and puffy from crying, hair tangled and tied loosely in a scrunchie, tear drops lingering on the same sweatshirt you’d been wearing for the last 24 hours. You look like hell.

“I need to get out of this apartment,” you say to yourself. You pull out your phone and send a quick text to your best friend before hopping in the shower. After washing your hair 3 times, shaving your legs, and exfoliating the sadness away, you’re finally starting to feel human again. You wrap yourself in your favorite towel before checking your phone again.

y/n: yunnie… are you free tonight?

yunho: for you? absolutely. you ok? haven’t heard from you all day.

Of course he’d notice you going MIA for a day. You and your best friend texted every single day, sending quick little updates or funny videos. He’d probably been worried sick, but he never wants to pry. He’s always respected your space like that.

y/n: long story. i’ll explain later.

y/n: meet me in front of blossom in 30?

Blossom was the cafe you and Yunho met working at. You were both burning the candle at both ends working nearly full time as baristas during your senior year of college. Your closing shifts together kept you sane during finals, blasting music and sharing your life stories while you cleaned up the shop. He’d even walk you home, after every closing shift, never wanting to let you walk alone so late. You both gave your two weeks notice right after graduation, but promised each other you’d make up for all the time you wouldn’t spend working together anymore.

That was four years ago, and he’d been such a stable presence in your life since then. You’d grown closer over the years, spending countless movie nights and BBQ dates together. He knew everything about you (after a movie night with too much wine and lots of oversharing) and hadn’t gone running for the hills, so you knew he really cared. You didn’t really have time to make friends in college because you were either working, in class, or studying, so he was really all you had. He was your safe space. You both stayed close by after graduation, staying in your apartments in the city 2 blocks from the cafe on either side. It was nice having your best friend so close by, and the cafe remained a staple in your friendship as a middle point between your two homes. In your reminiscing, you realize you missed your Saturday morning coffee date with him.

yunho: of course, bean. i missed you this morning.

Your heart fluttered in your chest at the nickname. It always does. That, and when he calls you sweetheart. Your heart almost came up your throat the first time he pulled that one. Yunho started calling you bean after you spilled an entire bag of light roast on the cafe floor trying to refill the hopper for the openers. He’ll never let you live that one down. You remembered giggling and scooping coffee beans off the floor on your hands and knees together, his hand brushing over yours when you both reached for the dustpan, your eyes meeting, breath quickening…

You shake the memory from your brain, coming back to reality just as you both had snapped out of it in the moment four years ago, scattering to finish cleaning up and avoiding eye contact the rest of the night. You always dismissed the electricity you felt when his skin touched yours, blaming the exhaustion from working a closing shift after being up all night studying. He had a girlfriend at the time, he wouldn’t have been interested in you that way anyway. He’s your friend, y/n, be realistic. You’re reaching. You send another quick text before getting dressed, and he of course responds right away.

y/n: i missed you too, i’m sorry i should’ve texted. it’s been a shitty 24 hours. i’ll see you soon

yunho: no need to apologize. i’ll be there, see you in a bit.

25 minutes pass and you somehow manage to make yourself look somewhat presentable. You dried your hair and pulled half of it up in a claw clip, leaving some pieces out to frame your face. You threw on some concealer and a bit of blush, trying to hide how puffy your eyes still were. It was a chilly fall night, so you opted for your favorite pair of light wash jeans and an oversized black sweater, accompanied by your beat up black chelsea boots and your gray wool coat.

After a quick 5 minute walk you round the corner to see Yunho standing in front of the cafe, his back facing you. Of course he’s right on time. His broad shoulders fill out the black jacket he’s wearing, his crossbody bag tucked under his arm. The neon sign in the cafe window leaves a purple hue reflecting off his freshly dyed dark gray hair. He turns his head at a car passing by, and you catch yourself smiling at the lost puppy look in his eyes. He must’ve seen you approaching in his peripheral, his head snapping in your direction. A subtle smile plays on his lips as he locks eyes with you. His warm brown eyes are full of an emotion you can’t quite name.

Your chest aches at the realization that your ex, in the two years you were together, never looked at you like that. Why did you ever think you were important to him? Your throat suddenly tightens and your vision starts to blur, tears welling in your eyes for the millionth time today. Yunho’s smile drops, his brow furrowing as he takes two long strides to meet you.

“Y/n, what is it, what happened?” He reaches for your shoulders to hold you steady, but you push forward to bury your face in his chest. He wraps his arms around you without hesitation, one hand cradling the back of your head while the other snakes around your shoulders. Your hands find his waist, gripping his shirt underneath his jacket. His familiar scent of jasmine envelops you, and you realize how badly you needed your best friend to help you through this.

”H-He dumped me,” you sniffle, letting out a shaky breath into Yunho’s chest, “he d-dumped me yesterday, through a fucking t-text message,” another unsteady exhale as you try to level your breathing.

“He did what?!” He pulls you in closer to him, the disbelief lacing his tone reassuring how rational your feelings are.

“It’s over,” you blink away your tears, tilting your head back to look up at your best friend. You’ve never seen the expression on his face before, like anger and worry are battling it out in his brain, and he can’t decide which one should take center stage first. “He texted me last night, saying he ‘wasn’t feeling it anymore’ and he ‘wished me the best,’” your mocking tone repeating his words reignited the angry flame in your chest.

“Wished you the best,” he scoffs, “is he kidding?” He rolls his eyes. “That’s how you end a two-year-long relationship?” He tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear, taking a half step back to give you some more space to catch your breath.

“I can’t believe I wasted two years of my life with someone who just kicked me to the curb without a second thought,” you pinch the fabric of his shirt between your fingers, your eyes lingering on his collarbone peeking out from his slightly unbuttoned shirt. “I’m convinced he left me for a coworker, the one he told me not to worry about.” A humorless laugh leaves your lips, the burning feeling behind your eyes returning as more tears come. “I’m more upset with myself for letting him treat me like this for so long,”

“Hey, look at me,” Yunho cautiously brings his hands to your face, cradling your head gently. You lean into his touch, dragging your gaze up to meet his.

“He doesn’t know what he just threw away, sweetheart,” Yunho holds your teary cheeks in his hands. “You are the most beautiful creature this world has ever seen, and if he doesn’t see that, he doesn’t deserve you.”

“You think I’m beautiful?” You choke out between sniffles.

“Oh y/n… of course I do. I always have,” he wipes a tear from your cheek before it reaches your lips, “since the day I met you.”

Your breath catches in your throat at his admission, your chin wobbling as you try to hold it together.

His eyes search yours, that unspoken emotion taking over his features again. You almost catch the moment he shakes it away, reminding himself that he’s here to support you. His hands fall from your cheeks to grab your hands instead, that familiar electricity prickling your skin as he rubs his thumbs over your knuckles.

“Do you wanna go inside? I called ahead and ordered you a maple latte and a raspberry scone as soon as I got your text.” He tilts his head in the direction of the cafe next to you.

You look inside to see two to-go cups and a brown paper bag sitting on the counter. “And an iced caramel latte for you, I’m assuming,” you poke his stomach teasingly, “thank you, Yun, you didn’t have to do that.”

“Of course I did,” he gently squeezes your hands, a warm smile taking over his features. “Come on, it seems like we have a lot to catch up on. I have a feeling you have a lot to get off your chest.” He lets go of one hand, keeping hold of the other to walk you to the door. You lace your fingers through his, and it feels like the most natural thing in the world.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

You’d spent the last hour sitting in your favorite booth with Yunho, hashing through every single thing you hated about your ex. He was appalled by the things you’d told him, wishing he knew sooner so he could’ve tried to help you see you deserve someone better. Someone who valued your emotions, understood your needs, respected your boundaries… Someone like —

“Yunho, are you with me?” Your voice shakes him out of his daze, bringing him back to the conversation.

“Sorry bean, I just can’t believe he was such an asshole behind closed doors,” he recovers, “I wish you told me sooner. I feel like I wasn’t there for you when I should’ve been.”

”It’s not your fault, I could’ve told you and I didn’t. I think I was in denial,” you scoff. ”I was settling and I knew it, I was just trying to pretend things were better, but I think I’d been checked out for a while.” You swirl your coffee around in your cup, avoiding the concerned look in his eye. If you looked at him too long, you’d risk reading something deeper in the way he cares about you, something that made your heart flutter and ache all at once.

”Y/n, do you remember the girl I was dating when we met?” His tone shifts, a slight vulnerability creeping in. You stop moving your cup, watching the drink settle. You nod hesitantly, still avoiding his eyes.

Of course you remember her. You had developed a crush on Yunho in your first week working together, but you had to smother it at the first mention of her. Any hope you had left for a chance with him disintegrated the first time you saw her — she was the kind of beautiful you only saw on TV. Flawless skin, no split ends, a perfectly sculpted body. Even her voice was smooth. She seemed perfect for him.

“She cheated on me.”

Your head snaps up to him in disbelief. “Excuse me?”

You remember him telling you they broke up in passing — it had been a month after you started a relationship of your own. Part of you always wondered if you had just missed your window to pursue something with Yunho, but you pushed that thought out of your head so you could be present for your best friend. He didn’t want to go into detail about the breakup at the time, and he never did in the two years that followed.

“For the last six months of our relationship, she’d been sleeping with someone she reconnected with from high school. They realized they loved each other, and she ended things.” He offers a sad smile, but the bitterness lingers beneath the surface. You feel a tightness in your chest wondering why he didn’t want to share his pain with you while all of this was going on.

”Oh, Yunnie,” you reach for his hand across the table, holding his large palm in yours. “I’m so sorry. I don’t understand how anyone could ever do that to you. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Maybe we can call it even?” He lets out a breathy laugh, ignoring your question. “You didn’t tell me your relationship troubles, I didn’t tell you mine. Now it’s all on the table and we can leave it in the past.” He squeezes your hand, waiting for your response.

“Fine.” You flash a tight lipped smile, wanting to hash this open again with him at a later time. You didn’t keep secrets from each other, so why was he avoiding getting into this with you?

“Well, it’s almost closing time.” Of course he’s gonna change the subject. “Do you need a night alone or are you coming home with me tonight?” He forces a smile from across the table, and you could’ve sworn his ears turned the slightest bit red asking you to spend the night. Sleepovers weren’t out of the norm for the two of you, but this proposal felt different for some reason.

“I think if I’m alone at my place tonight I’ll revert to the sad couch potato I was before I texted you earlier.” You don’t really believe that, feeling like you’ve moved past the depression stage of grief and slowly inching toward acceptance. But you still wanted the company.

“I’d love to come home with you, Yunnie.”

“Then let’s go, sweetheart.”

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

Your neighborhood was so beautiful at night. The soft streetlights cast a gentle glow on the sidewalk, illuminating little puddles of water from last night’s rain. The fall air feels cool and crisp, carrying the faint smell of the changing leaves. This late at night, the stillness is calming… usually.

You two had found this to be the perfect environment to have your deepest talks. Taking regular nighttime walks with Yunho had become one of your cherished rituals, especially when one of you needed to get something off your chest. You’d shared fragments of your lives, from your family drama to his frequent arguments with a stubborn coworker at his new job. But tonight, a suffocating silence swirls around you.

You’d taken a full lap around the neighborhood in silence since leaving Blossom, the familiar path devoid of your usual chatter. As you approach Yunho’s place, his brisk pace and hands shoved deep in his pockets told you he wasn’t going to be the one to acknowledge it. He was never one for confrontation. If he wouldn’t tell you what’s going on voluntarily, you’d have to coax it out of him.

You stop walking, the cool air feeling sharper on your skin. He takes three more strides before he stops too, spinning back around to face you, confusion etched on his devastatingly handsome features.

“You okay, bean?” he asks, tilting his head at you, genuine concern flickering in his eyes.

“I feel like I should be asking you the same thing,” you reply, barely above a whisper. Maybe you weren’t one for confrontation either.

He takes a step closer to you, “I’m fine,” he says with a quick shrug and a slight shake of his head.

“Then why haven’t you spoken to me since we left Blossom? Did I say something to upset you?” You try your hardest to grab your frustration before it bubbles up, but you can already tell it’s too late. His dismissive tone, both here and at the cafe, gnaws at you. It triggers something inside of you from your recently ended relationship, and you feel on the verge of either shutting down or letting your emotions spiral.

“I just thought you might want a quiet walk is all.” He can barely look you in the eye, and that’s when you know something is very wrong.

“Come on Yun, you know that’s not what’s going on. Something is bothering you.” The frustration claws higher and higher, an unwelcome tightness gripping at your chest. Don’t cry, y/n.

He opens his mouth, the words hanging on the tip of his tongue, but stops himself, his hands finally pulling from his pockets to rest on his hips. He stares at a fallen leaf swirling in a puddle between you.

“Is it because we talked about your ex?” He winces just a little at your words. “I didn’t mean to open old wounds, I just thought after everything we’ve shared with each other that you’d want to talk to me about it.” You don’t mean for your words to sound accusatory, but based on the way his body tenses, you realize they must have.

“It’s not that, y/n, it’s not about…” his voice trails off into a sigh. His eyes search yours, his mind racing trying to decide if he wants to get into what’s really going on, what he’s been keeping inside for so long.

“Then what is it?” You’re grasping at straws, desperately trying to get him to give you anything to go off of. When you’re met with more silence and an indiscernible look in his eyes, you push forward.

“I just don’t get why you wouldn’t tell me she cheated on you Yun, we help each other through everything.” Anger wells up in you, more at yourself for not asking him to open up to you about it at the time.

“Y/n, please, it’s more complicated than just her cheating, and I just don’t know if now is the best time to get into it, you’re still—”

“Still what, Yunho? Grieving my own relationship? Just because I just got dumped doesn’t mean I can’t be here for you!” Your voice rises, each word sharp, the tension in your throat threatening to break. “You don’t get to decide what I can and can’t handle, that’s not up to you—”

“Fine,” he interrupts, “do you wanna know the real reason I didn’t tell you, y/n? Is that what you want?” His ears redden, and you can’t tell if he’s angry, embarrassed, or a combination of the two. You nod hesitantly. “I didn’t tell you she cheated because I didn’t care, okay? I didn’t care. Her heart wasn’t in it anymore, but neither was mine.” His chest heaves, squeezing his eyes shut tight for a brief moment to brace himself.

“I didn’t care that she cheated, because I didn’t want her anyway.” He lets out a shaky breath. “I wanted you.”

Oh.

His eyes burn into yours as his words hang in the air between the two of you.

“Yunho…” You take a step toward him only for him to take a step back. Your heart is pounding so hard in your chest, you wonder if he can hear it. What is happening right now?

“I’m sorry y/n, I can’t keep it to myself anymore. I’ve held it in for so long, and I just can’t do it anymore, I—” He stutters over his words, “I wasn’t grieving my relationship, I was grieving yours. You found someone just before she ended things with me, and I realized maybe you and I weren’t meant to be. That we’d never have the chance to try.” His eyes gloss over with pent up emotion, thinking about all the time he spent wondering what could’ve been. “I wanted you, but I had to act like I didn’t, and we were becoming such good friends, I didn’t want to ruin it, I just—”

”Did you think I didn’t feel the same?” You interrupt him. “That I don’t feel the same now?”

He tilts his head at you, the tension in his body visibly disintegrating. “What are you saying?” Brows furrowing, cheeks blushing, so many emotions flying through his features at a speed neither of you can process. He runs his hands down his face before resting them on his hips. “Sweetheart, what are you saying?”

“I wanted you, too, Yun…” The words tumble out of you, a rush of honesty that feels both exhilarating and terrifying. “I want you too.”

He takes another step toward you, his mind racing as he searches for answers to never ending questions. “You did?” Another step. “You do?”

“Yes, and yes,” you nod, feeling warmth flood your cheeks at your admission—both to Yunho and to you. You realize you’d never said it out loud before, not even to yourself.

“Say it again,” he urges, closing the gap between the two of you. One hand finds your waist while the other gently cradles the back of your neck. His touch lights a fire on your skin, his hands feeling heavier on your body than they ever have before. Your hands find their way to his waist, tugging him closer to you. Chests heaving, hearts racing.

“I want you, Yunho.”

The tension between you peaks, your grip tightening on one another, like if either one of you lets go, the moment will slip away. Yunho’s eyes search yours, looking for confirmation.

He gently cups your face, his thumb brushing your cheek, wiping away the remnants of your tears. His touch sends a shiver down your spine, igniting the familiar spark that had always lingered between the two of you. Your breath hitches in your throat, caught between the fear of moving too fast and the undeniable pull you have always felt towards him.

You bring a hand up to his cheek, your fingers gliding over his skin, feeling the warmth radiating from him. You linger for a moment before wrapping your fingers around the back of his neck, pulling him closer to you.

“Y/n,” he whispers, “sweetheart,” his gaze drops to your lips, and you swear you can hear your hearts beating in time with one another in the quiet.

You take a deep breath, searching his gaze for the same spark of desire you feel coursing through your body. He inches closer, breath mingling with yours, heating the space between you.

“Is this okay?” he asks softly, his voice trembling slightly.

You nod, breathless, as you lean in just enough to finally close the distance between the two of you.

The tip of his nose brushes against yours, the contact making your head spin. You’ve thought about this moment countless times, and being here feels so right.

“Yunho,” you breathe, “please kiss me alr—“

His mouth molds to yours before you can finish your sentence, pulling all the remaining air from your lungs. The world around you explodes in a flash of warmth and tenderness, all the hurt you had been feeling melting away into a puddle at your feet.

You feel a rush of emotions— relief, joy, and a deep, intoxicating desire— as he deepens the kiss. Your hands tighten around the back of his neck, pulling him closer as he sweeps his tongue across your bottom lip. You lose yourself in the sensation, the taste of him and the feeling of his lips on yours erasing everything else you’ve ever felt.

His fingers tangle in your hair, holding you as if you might disappear. This moment, this kiss, feels like a declaration— a culmination of all the unspoken words, the hidden glances, the years of longing between the two of you. It’s exhilarating.

He finally pulls away, resting his forehead against yours, your heavy breaths the only sounds on the quiet street. Your hands slide from his neck, traveling down his chest before settling on his waist.

“Sorry sweetheart, I didn’t mean to cut you off,” he chuckles, brushing a strand of hair from your face, “I’ve just been waiting a really long time to do that.” He drops a gentle kiss to your forehead before wrapping his arms around you to pull you close.

“You can cut me off anytime if it means I get to kiss you,” you nuzzle into his chest. The steady thud of his heartbeat slows yours to match.

“Oh yeah?” He looks down at you, a teasing glint in his eyes.

“Yes, abso—“

His lips connect to yours again, a fire igniting in your belly when his tongue tangles with yours. He tastes like caramel, the sweetness of his latte lingering on his tongue. Wide hands wrap around your hips, dragging you closer, rolling your body into him.

You snake your hands up his lower back, digging your nails into his skin through his shirt. A low groan rumbles deep in Yunho’s throat at the sensation, sending a bolt of heat straight to your core. A whimper crawls up your throat before you can stop it, and Yunho smiles against your mouth. He draws your bottom lip between his teeth, biting down gently.

“Your lips are even softer than I imagined they’d be,” he gives you one more lingering kiss before pulling back. His deep eyes find yours, his blushed cheeks glowing under the streetlights.

“You’ve imagined kissing me?” Shyness creeps in at the realization that Yunho thought about you in the same way you thought about him.

“Among other things, yes,” he brushes your hair out of your face, his palm settling to cup your cheek. “You’re cute when you blush.”

“I am not blushing!” You hide your face in your hands. “Maybe I am, but how can I not when you talk to me like that,” you muffle into your palms.

“I’ll talk to you any way you want if it means you’ll react like this,” he teases, gently pulling your hands from your face to hold them in his. “Your hands are freezing, sweetheart,” he brings your hands to his mouth, holding them between his and blowing his hot breath onto them to warm them up.

”Well we have been out here a while,” you shiver at the feeling of his breath on your skin.

“Am I still allowed to take you home tonight, or would that complicate things?” He’s either nervous, or hesitant. Either would make sense, you just got dumped and 24 hours later you’re confessing your feelings for your best friend (and kissing him). Anyone with a brain might wonder if you’re rushing, or worse, rebounding. Once you get out of this cold, you can talk things through.

“Yes, please, let’s go.” You take his hand in yours, kissing his knuckles before pulling him in the direction of his place.

“You got it, baby.” He slings an arm over your shoulder, planting a kiss to the top of your head. Your heart flutters as you walk toward his apartment.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

As soon as you walk through Yunho’s front door, he breezes past you to grab two wine glasses and a bottle of your favorite rosé while you kick off your boots. As you shed your jacket, he sets two full glasses on his simple wooden coffee table, heading back to his kitchen to grab a bag of chips and some chocolates. He returns with his hands full, confusion lacing his features when he finds you standing in the middle of his living room stifling a laugh.

“Is something funny?” He chuckles at your reddening cheeks as you let out a giggle.

“When did you get so nervous to have me in your apartment?” Part of you feels bad for teasing, but he looks so cute when he’s flustered, you can’t help it. “I’ve never seen you move so fast to get me a glass of wine.”

“Well, when you decide to tell me you want me in the middle of the street, that tends to change things, baby,” he grins at you, clocking you for the second time now having a physical reaction to his newest pet name for you. You thought sweetheart sounded beautiful coming out of his mouth, but baby is a whole new level of intoxicating.

”You said it first, but I guess that does change things, huh, baby?” You cross your arms, challenging him. “Do I make you nervous, Jeong Yunho?”

“You make me a lot of things, sweetheart, but nervous isn’t one of them.” He pokes the inside of his cheek with his tongue, the gesture making your head spin. After setting your snacks down on the coffee table, he finally takes off his jacket and kicks off his shoes. He plops down on his couch, patting the empty cushion next to him. “Come sit with me,” the deep, inviting tone of his voice has you moving to him immediately. Grabbing your wine, you sit next to him, folding one leg up onto the couch to turn to face him. He copies your position, his knee resting just an inch from yours.

“What do I make you feel, then?” You swirl your wine in your glass as your gaze flicks over his handsome features. Landing on his eyes, your heart jumps at the way they shine for you.

“Fulfilled,” he starts, scooting closer to you so your knees are just barely touching. “Cared for, understood,” the corner of his mouth quirks up slightly, “and loved.”

A bloom of warmth floods your chest at the word. This is what you’ve been missing the last few years. You thought your ex would give you this sense of gratification if you gave him more time, but what you were searching for was in your best friend. You always knew in the back of your mind that it was him. The one who held you when you cried, who made you laugh until your stomach hurt, who would drop everything to be there when you needed him. You take a big sip of your wine.

“I was settling,” the words fall off your lips before you can stop them, the alcohol warming your cheeks right away. “I thought that if I kept giving him everything he would eventually give me half of what I was craving, but in the back of my mind I think I knew he’d never be what I really needed… I settled for him.”

Yunho offers a soft nod, zero judgment, only understanding. “And what is it you were craving?” He moves even closer to you, your shins now pressed together.

“You,” you sigh, his deep eyes boring into yours, waiting for more. You tap your fingers on your wine glass, contemplating your next words. “The connection, the comfort, the joy, the love that you gave me,” your throat tightens thinking about the nights you spent longing for your best friend. “I wanted you, how you made me feel…but I settled for him.”

“Right person, wrong time,” Yunho scoffs, a gentle shake of his head, “kind of applies to us, right? We’ve wanted each other for years now, but we just never had the chance.”

“I should’ve told you sooner, Yun,” your hand rests on his, his fingers immediately lacing between yours. “We’ve wasted so much time,” hot tears blur your vision, but you blink them away before they fall.

“Hey, we have all the time in the world, baby,” he brings your hand to his mouth, planting a gentle kiss on your knuckles. “All the time in the world,” he muffles against your skin. You turn your palm to hold his cheek, and you notice his eyes roll back before they flutter closed.

“All the time in the world,” you repeat, threading your fingers into his hair. A future with Yunho flashes through your mind. Lazy Sunday mornings, celebrating milestones and holidays together, late nights tangled in the sheets, his body taking over yours —

“Y/n…” His deep, smooth voice brings you back to the moment, the sound of your name on his lips heating your cheeks.

“Hm?”

He gently takes your wine glass from your hand, setting it on the coffee table next to his untouched one. When his eyes find yours again, warmth pools in your belly at the darkness that’s taken over his features. “I really want to kiss you again, but I feel like we should talk first,” he takes both your hands in his, and your heart pounds a beat faster in your chest. “If you spend the night tonight, there’s no going back. Once I have you, I don’t think I can let you go.”

“I don’t want you to let me go, Yun,” you squeeze his hands in yours. “I’ve waited too long to get here, I don’t wanna go back… You already have me, don’t let me go.” The thudding in your rib cage intensifies with every second of heated silence.

“I couldn’t if I tried,” he finally says, pulling you in, crashing his lips into yours. His hands find your waist, his tongue exploring your mouth, and you wrap your arms around his neck as he pulls you into his lap. You straddle him, resting your knees on either side of his hips, deepening the kiss as his hands wander to cup your ass, pulling you closer to him. You roll your hips against him, his grip tightening on you as he drags your body over him. A groan rumbles in his chest and you feel his cock stiffening beneath you, grinding on him slower and harder.

“I can’t believe you’re finally mine,” Yuhho’s hand snakes up your back and into your hair, gently removing your clip and tossing it to the floor before gripping your locks and tilting your head to the side, exposing the sensitive column of your neck to his mouth. He nips at your skin, licking the spot with his tongue, moving up to the tender spot under your ear. “My beautiful girl,” his hot breath in your ear has your entire body blooming with goosebumps.

”Yunho,” you roll your hips over him again as his lips travel down your neck to your collarbone, a whimper crawling up your throat at your rough jeans catching on your swelling clit. He feels harder and harder underneath you with each rock against him, and you’re cursing yourself for wearing such thick pants. You just want to feel him.

“Yes, sweetheart?” He tightens his grip on your hair, kissing back up your neck until his lips connect with yours again. You moan into his mouth as his other hand guides your hips back and forth, shamelessly grinding your bodies against each other like horny teenagers.

“Touch me please,” you beg, catching his bottom lip between your teeth, sucking on it gently.

“Only because you asked so nicely,” he teases. He snakes an arm around your waist and smoothly rolls you onto your back, laying you down in the soft cushions. He kneels, settling between your legs, spreading them wide to roll his hips into your needy clothed core. His mouth finds yours again, tangling his tongue with yours.

The hand in your hair loosens, trailing down your body, ghosting over your breasts, down your belly, and lifting your sweater slightly to get to your jeans. He makes light work of the button and zipper, his nimble fingers undoing the fastenings with ease, all while keeping his mouth on yours. You feel him tapping on your ass, signaling you to lift your hips. When you do, he shimmies your jeans down your legs agonizingly slowly, breaking the kiss to admire the bits of your skin he’s dreamt about for years.

He tosses your jeans on his living room floor, and a timidity slithers up at the realization that you’re in your underwear on your best friend’s couch. His broad hands rest on your thighs, letting you close them slightly, your shared shuddering breaths the only sound in his quiet apartment.

“Getting shy on me, sweetheart?” He teases you, reading your mind. He knows you so well. You giggle as he slides his hands to your sweater, dragging it up your body, exposing your panties, shifting it higher and higher until the bottom hem of your bra is barely showing. He slides his hands under your top, expertly cradling your bra-clad breasts in his hands, letting out a restrained groan. The energy shifts and you whimper, watching his eyes locked on the way his fingers swim beneath the fabric of your sweater. You let your legs fall open slightly as Yunho slots himself between them, peppering your belly with gentle kisses and thumbing one of your pebbling nipples through the thin material of your bra.

“Yun…” you sigh, running your fingers through his hair as he kisses you lower and lower, “please,”

“Mhm,” he nods against your soft skin, shifting down to lay on his belly between your legs, hooking your knees over his shoulders. You feel his searing breath over your pussy, cooling the growing wet patch in your panties, making you clench around nothing. He picks up on your reaction, gripping your hips before blowing a steady stream of air over your sensitive heat.

“Oh,” you breathe, wriggling under his strong grasp, spreading your legs wider for him.

“You’re so reactive,” he murmurs, biting down on your inner thigh, soothing the spot with his tongue. You yelp at the sensation, covering your mouth in shock of the sound that just came out of you. Yunho chuckles darkly, “don’t hold back, baby, I wanna hear all the noises you make.”

He hooks an arm over your hip so his hand rests on your mound. He grips your panties in his fist, pulling them up until the fabric slips between your wet folds, gliding firmly over your clit. You stifle a sob as he tugs them harder, biting you once more.

“I thought I told you not to hold back, sweetheart,” he licks your skin again, soothing the angry bite mark that will surely be bruised by morning. Another tug of your panties has you mewling, one hand gripping his hair for dear life, the other blindly searching for anything to ground you.

“Yunnie, please, stop teasing me,” you never thought your sweet and wholesome best friend could have you whimpering and begging beneath him, hardly having touched you. He has such a dark, dominating presence about him in this moment, and it’s making your head fuzzy.

He lets go of your panties, swiftly pulling them to the side, exposing your wet heat to the cool air. You suck in a sharp inhale, finally bare to him.

“Fuck,” he moans, “look at you, baby,” he runs two fingers through your heat, the sudden contact making you cry out. He spreads you wide to see every inch of you, taking his time. “So pretty,” he breathes.

“I need you, please,” you whine, “are you gonna make me keep begging?”

“Baby, I’ve wanted to touch you like this for years,” he drawls, “let me savor it a little.” Before you can protest, he teases your entrance with two fingers, slowly thrusting them deeper and deeper inside you, little by little, until his palm is flush with your cunt. Your head falls back into the cushions, your chest heaving. You had daydreamed about how his fingers would feel inside of you, but nothing compares to the real thing. He pumps in and out a few more times before he curls his fingers, hitting the spot that makes your back arch. You grip his hair, tugging on it harder than you mean to, but you can’t help it. You miss the way his eyes roll back, his mouth hanging open at the pain.

Yunho lets you guide his mouth to your core, his fingers keeping a steady pace as he uses his free hand to spread you open, swirling his tongue around your clit.

“Yunnie…” you whimper, grinding your hips on his mouth. He nods against you, sucking your clit into his mouth, rolling his tongue over the swollen bud over and over in time with his fingers moving in and out of you. Pleasure blooms in your belly as he works you, each flick of his tongue bringing you closer to the edge.

“Feeling good, sweetheart?” He replaces his tongue with his thumb, circling your clit softly to ease you into the sensation. You push yourself down into his hand, needing more. He chuckles, applying more pressure until he feels you melting under him.

“Yes, so good Yun, fuck,” the pressure low in your belly builds rapidly, and you know if he keeps going at this pace, you’ll fall apart in no time. You prop yourself up on your elbows to look at him, and once your eyes lock with his you know you’re a goner.

His hair is mussed from your tugging on it, his cheeks flushed, his mouth glistening, a bead of sweat dripping down his temple as he picks up the pace ever so slightly. He smirks at you, letting your legs fall from his shoulders so he can kneel between them again, sitting back to get a good look at you, never slowing his ministrations. You make the mistake of glancing down, your mouth drying at the sight of his cock pressing against the confines of his jeans. He hits that spot deep inside you again, and you fall back into the cushions, breathy curses falling from your mouth over and over.

“You look so beautiful like this, fucking hell,” he drops his free hand next to your head, caging you in beneath him, watching his fingers pistoning in and out of you faster and faster, circling your clit in a matching pace. “Mine, mine, mine,” he repeats over and over, like he can’t believe this is finally happening. He brings his lips to yours, mumbling the words against your mouth as you nod wordlessly in agreement, the taste of yourself on his tongue making you dizzy. He kisses you down to your neck, nipping at your sensitive skin, praise after praise whispered into your ear.

“Tell me you’re mine,” he emphasizes his words with a sharp thrust of his fingers, and you cry out at the sensation.

“I’m yours, I’m yours— fuck!” You feel the cord in your belly tightening and tightening.

“Good fucking girl,” he whispers in your ear, nipping at your earlobe, “come around my fingers, baby,”

“Oh, oh,” you shudder underneath him, his words pushing you over the edge as your orgasm rips through your body, pleasure burning from the inside out. He kisses you hard, slowing his pace bit by bit to ease you through your climax, your body trembling in his hold. “Yunho,” you mumble into his mouth, “I’m yours,” you whisper.

“You sure are,” he peppers your cheeks with soft, tender kisses, your brain slowly coming back online as he slows his fingers, coming to a stop. “And I’m yours,” he kisses you gently, easing his fingers out of you, slipping your panties back into place. He lays down on the couch next to you, pulling your favorite throw blanket over your exposed bottom half, tracing hearts and stars on your skin while your breathing steadies, running his fingers through your hair as you let your eyes flutter closed. You snuggle into him, the warmth of his body keeping the flame in your core burning.

“You are incredible, Jeong Yunho,” you giggle as he kisses every inch of your face, his soft lips mapping the details of your skin. He wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you flush against him.

“Why, because I made you come in 5 minutes flat?” His low drawl has desire coursing through your veins, part of you feeling embarrassed he can turn you on so easily with just his words.

Your breath hitches as you nod, trying to keep your cool, but he knows you better than that by now. “You really like when I talk to you like this, don’t you, baby?”

“Apparently I do,” you turn to look at him, a teasing glint in his eyes, his fingers dancing across the bare skin of your belly. “I’d love to hear what else you have to say,” you tease.

“Well for starters, I want to take you to bed” His mouth hovers over the shell of your ear, the combination of his hot breath fanning over your skin and the vibrations of his deep voice have lust taking over your thoughts once again. “I want to fuck you properly, and we just don’t exactly have the space for that here,” you can hear the smile in his voice.

“Oh,” you giggle, his straightforwardness taking you by surprise. Just like that you’re throbbing for him again, your mind racing thinking about where your night with him is going to go. “I’d like that.”

Before he can catch you, you jump up from the couch, leaving your throw blanket behind, beelining for the hallway toward Yunho’s bedroom, giggling the whole way.

“Hey!” He laughs, clamoring up to chase after you. A few long strides and he’s caught up to you, right in the doorway of his bedroom. He hooks an arm around your waist and you yelp as he spins you around to face him, the momentum of both your running carrying you to the foot of his bed. The backs of your knees hit the mattress, but he holds you upright, pressing your body against his. Your eyes lock, both of you breathing heavily.

“Someone’s excited,” Yunho chuckles, giving you a firm kiss before pushing you back onto his bed. You let out a breathless laugh as you plop down on the mattress, pushing yourself to sit upright.

“A little,” your hands find his torso, fiddling with the hem of his shirt. He smirks down at you as you run your hands under his shirt and up his stomach to chest. He lets out a shaky breath at the feeling of your hands on him, and pulls his shirt off over his head, discarding it on the floor. You’d seen him without a shirt a handful of times, but this close he looks ethereal. Your fingers dance across his bare skin, reveling in the feeling of being able to touch him like this. You want to see more of him, touch more of him, taste more of him.

“Yun,” you start, hesitant to take the lead. You slide your hands down his body until your fingers feel the smooth leather of his belt. Your eyes meet his, not breaking contact while you smoothly undo his belt buckle. “Can I?” You whisper.

“You can do whatever you want to me, y/n,” he breathes, looking down to where your fingers are undoing the button of his jeans, sliding the zipper down slowly. You pull his jeans down, and he kicks them to the side, standing before you in only his boxers, his hard length pressing against the confines of the fabric.

His fingers lace through your hair, gripping it gently to tip your head back. Keeping your eyes on him, you slowly pull your sweater over your head, letting him let go of your hair to take it from your hands and toss it to the floor. You reach behind you, undoing the clasp of your bra, slowly sliding it from your body and dropping it next to your discarded sweater. Yunho’s chest heaves as he pokes the inside of his cheek with his tongue, drinking this image of you in, dragging his gaze across your exposed chest.

“So beautiful,” his voice has dropped even lower, a tone you’ve never heard from him, the deep timbre stoking the fire deep inside you. “You are so beautiful,” he cups your face in his hands, bending over to kiss you softly. He parts your lips with his tongue as you rest your hands on his abdomen, sliding one down to palm his cock over his boxers.

“Fuck,” he groans into your mouth, your fingers wrapping around him as much as you can through the fabric, stroking his impressive length as he licks deeper into your mouth. You pump him from base to tip, running your thumb over the wet patch at the head of his cock, drawing another guttural moan from his lips. Your mouth is watering at the feeling of him, but it’s not enough.

You dip your fingers under the waistband of his boxers, and Yunho breaks the kiss to watch you pull them slowly down, down, down, until his cock springs free, hanging heavy in front of you. You absentmindedly lick your lips at the sight of him, feeling the wetness in your panties growing. Lust prickles across your skin thinking about feeling him inside of you.

“Yunho,” you sigh, wrapping your fingers around him, pumping him slowly as he stands up straight, tugging your hair in his fist to tip your head back again. “I want you to fuck my throat,” you whine, “please,”

“Oh, baby,” he grips your hair tighter at your words while you stroke him, the sting making your cheeks warm, “you want me to stuff your pretty little mouth? Wanna wrap those beautiful lips around me?” Towering over you like this, you start to realize just how much he could overpower you, and the thought spreads heat through your abdomen.

“Please,” you nod, “I wanna taste you,” you open your mouth, sticking your tongue out for him, keeping your eyes on his. You pump his length twice more as you guide his hips toward your mouth, dropping your hands into your lap as his tip rests on your tongue.

“Mmh, so pretty,” he whispers, wrapping his fist around his cock, tapping his tip on your tongue before sliding past your lips. “If it gets to be too much, just tap my thigh, okay sweetheart?”

You nod, wrapping your lips around him, sliding your tongue over the sensitive underside of his tip. His head falls back, a beautiful moan falling from his lips as you slowly start to bob your head. You take more of him, inch by inch until his cock taps the back of your throat. You swallow around him, and he absentmindedly thrusts deeper, chasing the sensation.

“Fuck,” he groans, his grip on your hair tightening again as he holds you there. “I’m gonna move now, is that okay?” He brings his free hand to your cheek, caressing it gently as you nod in confirmation. As soon as you give him the signal, he pulls back slightly, rocking his hips slowly, savoring the feeling of your lips wrapped around him and your tongue gliding over him. “So beautiful with your mouth stuffed so full,” he praises you, thrusting deeper into your mouth, down your throat, testing the limits of what you can take. He finds a steady rhythm, and you match his pace, bobbing your head and licking over every inch of him as he pumps in and out of your mouth, the stretch burning your throat deliciously.

You can’t take your eyes off of him, tears blurring your vision as you admire his lustful features. His furrowed brow, his blown pupils, his flushed cheeks. The bead of sweat dripping down the tip of his nose, the tensing muscles in his stomach as he pumps into your mouth… he looks so beautiful. You find yourself rocking your hips, grinding into the mattress, looking for any friction you can get.

He thrusts deep into your mouth, his cock hitting the back of your throat again, and he holds you down on him, your nose brushing over his abdomen. The lack of air makes your head spin, and you want him even deeper. You reach up to grab his hips, but your hand bumps his thigh on the way up, which he takes as your signal that it’s too much.

“Shit,” he pulls out of your mouth, and you gasp for air as he drops to his knees in front of you. “Are you okay, baby? I’m so sorry, was that too rough?” His eyes are full of panic and he brushes your hair out of your face, wiping the saliva that had bubbled up at the corners of your mouth. It all happens so fast, it takes you a moment to process the man waiting in front of you, waiting for a response. Before you can stop yourself, a smile breaks across your face and a giggle rises up your throat.

“Yunnie,” you laugh, cradling his concerned face in your hands, “I’m fine, more than fine,” you try to catch your breath. “I was trying to…grab your hips to pull you closer, but I … bumped your leg by mistake,” his panicked face relaxes, a beautiful smile taking its place, and he lets out a deep sigh of relief. “I do appreciate how quickly you stopped though,” you tease him, your breathing finally steady, “it’s nice to know my boundaries will be taken very seriously.”

“You scared me!” He laughs, dropping his head in your lap.

“It was an accident!” You laugh with him, brushing through his hair with your fingers. “I actually wanted you to be more rough with me,”

He straightens up. “Is that so?” He plants his hands on the mattress on either side of your hips, the darkness returning to his gaze as he stands again, leaning over you. You lean back onto your elbows as he towers over you, his eyes raking over every inch of your body.

“It is,” you whisper, suddenly feeling so small beneath him, all lightheartedness suddenly sucked out of the room. “I would enjoy that very much,”

“Mmh,” he hooks an arm under your waist, lifting you easily and moving your body further up the mattress. You let out a small yelp as he drops you, heart warming as he reaches above you to grab a pillow to prop under your head. Once he’s sure you’re comfortable, he hooks his fingers on your panties, and you lift your hips for him to peel them off of you. He tosses them to the floor, turning his attention back to you, spreading your legs wide open, kneeling between them.

“I would enjoy that too, however,” he runs his hands up your calves, your thighs, until he reaches your center, using both hands to spread you wide open. You watch in awe as he runs two fingers through your arousal, teasingly dipping them inside of you. “I want to savor every moment of this,” he dips down to kiss you softly as he drives his fingers even deeper, prodding that tender spot inside of you, drawing a whine from your lips. “Let me be gentle this time, let me show you how much I–” he pauses, something indiscernible flashing through his eyes. “Let me show you how much I’ve been wanting you,” he recovers. “Then next time,” his thumb flicks over your clit, “I will do whatever you want me to do to you,” he circles the sensitive bud, your mind reeling. “Does that sound good, baby?”

“Mhm,” you nod, “so good,” you whimper as he scissors his fingers inside of you, surely trying to stretch you open for what’s to come.

He reaches for the drawer in his nightstand with his free hand, but you stop him. “You don’t have to wear one,” you interrupt.

“Are you sure?” His fingers keep moving inside of you, stretching you wider with each thrust, but still giving your conversation his attention.

“I’m on the pill and was tested recently, so yes, please Yunnie, I want to feel you,” you mewl, “please let me feel you,”

“So good for me,” he praises you over and over, “are you ready?”

“Yes, please,” you whine when he pulls his fingers from your cunt, desperate for him. He lifts your hips, pulling you closer to him, nestling himself between your legs, being sure to adjust your pillow once more. He spreads you open with one hand, tapping the tip of his solid cock on your swollen clit before rubbing it up and down your slit, lining up with your entrance. You both freeze at the same time as the reality of what’s about to happen finally hits you.

The feeling of this moment is nothing you’ve experienced before. For years, you’ve longed for Yunho, wanting the intimacy of your friendship to go beyond just emotional intimacy. You’ve yearned for him as long as you’ve known him. You wanted him– all of him. Finally, the universe decided it’s time for you two to experience that.

You realize he’s feeling it too, his hand finding your cheek in the silence, brushing away a tear that you didn’t realize had fallen down your cheek. “I know, baby,” he whispers, and that’s all you need to hear.

He presses his lips to your forehead as he slowly pushes inside, easing you into the sensation, gently stretching you out on his cock. You feel grateful that he prepped you with his fingers, the sting you feel only lasting a few brief moments before he’s smoothly gliding into you. He pushes in deeper and deeper, until you’re filled to the brim. He drops his hands to the mattress on either side of your head as he bottoms out. Almost in unison, you both let out a shuddering exhale.

“You feel incredible, fuck” he breathes against your forehead, finally pulling back to look into your eyes, your bodies finally connected physically in the way they’ve felt connected spiritually all these years. “And you look so pretty, my angel,” he whispers, his eyes shining.

“I don’t know how you can still manage to make me blush when you’re literally inside of me,” you pant, shyly giggling as your cheeks warm under his loving gaze. He hisses at the way you squeeze around him when you laugh. “Sorry,” you cover your mouth with your hand to stifle your giggles.

“I’m learning so much about you today,” he pulls hips back slightly before burying himself inside you again, all teasing coming to an instant halt as the tip of his cock presses against your g-spot.

“Oh my–” your back arches at the feeling, “God Yunnie, I feel so f-full.”

“You’re doing so well baby,” he praises you again, giving you a moment to adjust to his size. “Look at you, so beautiful taking my cock.”

“I need you to fuck me,” you scramble to grip his forearms, feeling the taut muscles under his skin. “Please,” you wriggle your hips beneath him, “move,”

“Mm,” he pulls out almost completely, just the tip of his cock resting inside of you, “say it again, sweetheart,”

“Fuck me Yunnie, please,” you beg, trying to push your hips down on his cock.

“God, I’ve waited so long to hear you say that, I’ll never get tired of it” he slams into you, and you cry out as he bottoms out inside of you again. He sets a steady pace, rolling his hips into you over and over, the feeling of him pumping in and out of you more delicious than you could’ve ever imagined. He kisses you hard, licking into your mouth, swallowing all of your pretty little moans.

He cups one of your breasts in his wide palm, running his thumb over your nipple, stoking the fire in the pit of your belly. He straightens, admiring how beautiful you look while you take him. Your lips red and puffy, your eyes half lidded, your breasts bouncing with each thrust.

“So pretty, taking me so well,” he praises you as his hand coasts up your chest, fingers gently wrapping around your neck. He holds his hand there for a moment, making a mental note of the way your eyes light up when he briefly squeezes the column of your throat.

“F-feels so g-good,” you choke out between thrusts. His thumb slides along your jaw toward your chin, prodding at your bottom lip, coaxing your mouth open. You wrap your lips around his thumb, sucking on it briefly before he pops it out of your mouth, trailing it down your body until he reaches your clit. The contact has your head spinning, the cord in your center tightening and tightening as he flicks your sensitive bud.

“Baby, look,” his voice cuts through the foggy lust in your head, grabbing your attention. He nods down to where your bodies are connected, gesturing for you to take a glance.

One look at him splitting you open has your climax threatening to wash over you, warmth running up and down your spine at the sight of your arousal shining on his cock as he pistons in and out of your heat relentlessly. He swirls his thumb around your clit faster at the feeling of you squeezing around him.

“You close, sweetheart?” He’s breathless as he fucks you, hitting so deep inside you that you can feel it in your stomach.

“Mhm, fuck, yes,” you cry out, scrambling for his free hand, lacing your fingers between his.

“Come on, I want to watch you fall apart around my cock.” He’s fucking you impossibly hard, each thrust hitting just right, bringing you closer and closer to the edge. “Let me feel you, love,”

“Oh my god,” you stammer out a string of curses as your second orgasm washes over you, your heart thudding in your ears as your body tenses underneath him. He barely slows his pace, keeping his thumb resting on your clit, fucking you through your high.

“There she is,” he coos, slowing little by little until your body starts to relax. He thrusts all the way inside, bottoming out, collapsing over you.

“Wow,” you laugh, bringing your hands up to cradle his flushed face. “That was,”

“Incredible?” He finishes your sentence, kissing your sweaty forehead over and over. You let out a soft moan in agreement, and his cock jumps inside of you at the sound.

“Mmh,” you whimper, the warmth creeping back into your belly, and you squeeze around Yunho’s cock.

“Wanting more already?” He teases, pushing his hips against you, thrusting himself in even deeper.

“Absolutely,” you squeeze around him again, craning your neck up to capture his lips with yours. “Fuck me however you want, baby,” you whisper against his mouth. His cock twitches inside you again and you giggle, waiting for his next move.

“Flip over,” he pants, “I wanna fuck you like this,” he slips out of you and you whine, feeling empty. He helps you roll onto your belly, kneeling behind you as he pulls your ass in the air and plants a hand in the middle of your back, guiding you to arch for him. You squish your cheek into the mattress, trying to look back at him. “Fucking hell,” he palms your ass with both hands, admiring your delectable form, “you are unreal.”

“Yun, please, I need you,” you whine as he bends over your body, planting hot, wet kisses up your spine until he reaches the nape of your neck, bringing his lips to your ear. You feel his cock bump against your backside, his body flush against yours.

“You are insatiable, my love,” your heart flutters at the word, but your lust pushes any overanalyzing to the back of your mind in favor of how desperate you are for him.

You push back into him, feeling the tip of his cock bump against your heat. He straightens at the feeling, rubbing circles into your hips with his thumbs as he watches you move. You roll your hips, catching the tip of his cock between your folds, wiggling and rocking to find the right angle before it finally slips inside.

“Oh, fuck,” he whimpers as you push back, taking him deeper and deeper until your ass is flush against him. You start bouncing your hips, taking him in and out, slowly at first, the sounds of his moans filling your ears and soaking your center.

“Feel good, baby?” You muffle from beneath him, moving your hips quicker with each bounce on his cock. You open your legs a little wider, the new angle rocking his cock against your g-spot.

“The best thing I’ve ever felt,” he rolls his hips to meet yours, the sound of skin slapping filling the air of his bedroom. “I can’t believe how long we’ve waited for this,” he grips your hips, meeting your thrusts in earnest, fucking into you impossibly deep. You match each other’s pace immediately, moans and whines filling the air.

He threads his fingers through your hair, tugging you upwards until your body is flush against his, your sweat-slicked bodies rocking together. His hand drops from your hair to wrap around your neck, holding you firmly in place as he threads his other hand between your legs, his middle and ring finger easily finding your swollen clit.

“I want you like this forever,” he whispers in your ear as he drives into you, your motivation to bounce on him melting into the mattress beneath you. You want him to take you however he wants you, your body molding into his grip.

“Forever,” you nod as he kisses your neck, “you have me forever Yunnie,”

“Again,” he groans as you tighten around him, his fingers swirling around your clit, your third orgasm of the night building rapidly low in your belly. “Say it again,”

“Forever,” you repeat, “I’m yours forever,”

“Fuck, sweetheart, I’m so close,” he growls into your ear, “you take me so well, like you were made for me,”

“I was, Yun,” you assure him, “I was made for you,” he rubs your clit faster, “and you were made for me,”

“God, yes,” he kisses your shoulder, his pace faltering as he gets closer to the edge, “I love you, y/n, fuck.” His fingers swirl around your clit as his hips stutter, spilling hot and fast inside of you. “I love you, I love you, I love you,” he repeats over and over as he ruts into you.

“I love you, Yunho,” you cry out, your heart exploding as your orgasm follows, your body shuddering against him as you come together, your words and his swirling around you in the afterglow.

He holds you tight against him, guiding your spent form back down to the mattress, kissing every inch of your skin as you both come down from your highs. He slips out of you, lowering your hips, massaging your sore muscles before rolling onto his back next to you. You mimic his position, flipping over so you’re both staring at the ceiling, processing the words you both just confessed. You lay together in silence, the sounds of both of you trying to catch your breath filling the room. You let your eyes close, processing the moment.

“Jeong Yunho,” your voice is hoarse once you speak. “Tell me you love me.” Your eyes flutter open, turning your head to see him already beaming at you. He rolls onto his side, bringing himself nose to nose with you.

“I love you.” He declares, clear and confident, your heart swelling in your chest. His lips brush over yours, both of you smiling as he kisses you softly. “Your turn,” he whispers. You copy him, rolling onto your side, brushing his sweat slicked hair from his forehead as he throws an arm around your waist, pulling you closer to him.

“I love you,” you giggle, kissing him again.

“One more time?”

“I, love, you,” you emphasize each word with a gentle kiss on his lips,

“I will never get tired of hearing that,” he whispers. “Let’s go get cleaned up.”

You whine in protest, but Yunho eventually gets you into the bathroom, running a hot shower for the both of you. You wash up together, hardly able to keep your hands off of each other. Once you’ve fallen apart in his hands twice more and the water’s run cold, he helps you into a pair of his boxers and his biggest, softest sweatshirt.

“This feels like a dream,” you think out loud once you’re snuggled up in Yunho’s bed together. “Is this a dream?”

“If it is, I never want to wake up,” he smiles at you under the dim street lights flooding through his windows. “This is all I need, forever.”

You kiss him at that, soft and tender, his arms wrapping tighter around you, holding you close. You fall asleep shortly after, nose to nose, hearts full.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

You wake to the morning sun shining through Yunho’s bedroom windows, the sweet smell of vanilla flooding your nose. Stretching your tired limbs, you roll over to find the other side of the bed empty. Panic floods your mind at the sight, your past making you assume the worst. Is he sleeping on the couch? You wonder. Does he regret what he said and now he’s avoiding me? Before you can reason with yourself, you jump out of bed and speed walk down the hallway, stopping dead in your tracks when you reach the kitchen.

“You’re not freaking out, are you y/n?” Yunho drawls, his voice still laced with sleep, low and raspy. He hasn’t even looked at you yet, his focus being on the plate on the counter in front of him, but he already knows where your mind is at just by the sound of your footsteps coming down the hallway. Of course he does. His bare, wide shoulders shake as he laughs to himself. His pajama pants hang low on his hips, the muscles in his back moving beneath his skin as he throws the final touches on what’s in front of him. He spins around to face you holding a plate of pancakes, littered with strawberries cut into hearts. Your heart flutters at the scene in front of you. “You think I’m gonna make love to you, tell you that I love you, and not make you breakfast in the morning?”

Suddenly feeling self conscious over your immediate assumption that he regretted your night together, you cross your arms, avoiding his gaze. “I got scared,” you whisper.

“That I left you in my apartment all alone? Baby,” he puts the plate down, “I would never, especially after last night,” he crosses the kitchen to reach you, pulling you into his warm embrace, his hot skin beneath you melting away the coldness you felt from waking up alone. “I’m not like…him,” he reminds you, brushing his fingers through your hair. “You are safe with me. Safe, loved, protected, respected, I could go on and on. Do you understand me?” He presses a gentle kiss to the top of your head.

You nod against his chest. “I do,” you feel a tear slide down your cheek, spreading from your skin, onto his. He squeezes you in a tight hug.

“Come on, let’s get some food in your system. You haven’t eaten since our pastries at Blossom last night,” he releases you to grab your plate, as well as a second he made for himself, and drops another quick kiss to your forehead before carrying them to the coffee table in his living room.

“Come sit,” he beckons you, and you follow automatically, plopping on the couch. He grabs your favorite throw blanket before sitting down next to you, draping it over both of your laps. No matter how hard you try to ignore them, negative thoughts are still plaguing your mind. You both pick up your plates, eating in silence for a few moments before Yunho speaks up again.

“Y/n, what’s on your mind?” His tone is so sincere, you immediately feel guilty for making him worry.

“I’m just–” you hesitate for a moment. “I’m scared it’s too good to be true.”

“What is? Us?” Worry flickers across his features, his heart aching seeing you so distraught.

“Yeah,” you sigh, poking at one of your pancakes with your fork. You know you’re being unreasonable, and that Yunho has shown you nothing but love and commitment as long as you’ve known him. But your self doubt and your history of awful relationships is screaming at you that you don’t deserve him. You’re so lost in your thoughts that you don’t even realize that you’re crying.

Yunho gently takes your plate from your hands, putting both his and yours back on the coffee table. He shifts his body slowly until he’s kneeling on the floor in front of you, resting his hands on your blanket-covered thighs.

“Y/n, look at me,” he pleads. You wipe the tears from your cheeks, patting the dampness into the blanket in your lap. You rest your hands on top of his, tracing the lines of his veins for a moment before dragging your gaze upwards to meet his. His eyes are glazed over with tears of his own.

“Yunnie, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you, I–”

“Listen to me,” he interrupts. “You are the best thing that has ever happened to me. The most precious thing in this world to me. Each moment that I spend with you fills me with a joy that I never experienced until I met you.” He turns his hands over to cradle yours as his tears finally fall down his cheeks. “I love you. And I will spend every day of the rest of my life proving that to you. And proving to you that you deserve the love that I give you.”

You stifle a sob at his words, trying to take all of it in as the beautiful truth. You know he means it, he’s always meant every word he’s ever said to you, and you know you need to silence your anxieties in favor of what you know to be true.

“It’s gonna take time,” you whisper. “It’ll take time for me to believe that I deserve what you give me,” you wipe your own tears, then his, both of you laughing breathlessly at your own emotions. “But I will get there,” you continue, “I just need you to be patient with me.”

“Of course. I will spend the rest of my life reminding you what you deserve, sweetheart. That’s a promise.”

“I love you.” You cradle his head in your hands, memorizing every inch of his face, savoring the first day of the rest of your lives.

“I love you,” he kisses the tip of your nose. “Let’s go finish our breakfast in bed.”

“Okay,” you giggle watching Yunho jump up to grab both your plates, giddily walking toward his bedroom with a wide smile on his face.

“You coming?” He glances over his shoulder at you, his ears blushing bright red as he waits for you.

You nod, hopping up to follow after him, to your new forever.

#ateez yunho #ateez x reader #ateez fic #ateez smut #ateez fanfic #yunho x reader #ateez imagines #yunho #yunho smut #anxiouscherubs updates

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underskz · 3 months ago

Text

➪ ‘TIL NEXT TUESDAY

➪ mark lee x cisfem!reader ✩ w.c 8.5k — NSFW ✩ 18+ minors dni —

✰ NON-IDOL AU

pov: you're a camgirl with a secret admirer who's a little (okay maybe a lot) obsessed

note: y'all do not understand the pain,,, the struggle,,,, the trauma that this fic has inflicted upon me <//3 i quite literally started writing it last year on mark lees stupid lil bday and have been typing away at it for so mf long and have had to dig into the deepest filthiest depths of my brain to finally finish this,,,,, anyways welcome to my twisted mind and we can all blame mark lee my greatest enemy,,,, i hate u… anyways pls make note of the warnings !!! btw don’t ask me what website they’re using idk i couldn’t be fcked to think that hard

warnings: NSFW CONTENT, aka smut, obsessive behavior, viscerally lewd comments, uh lying LOL, wolf in sheep’s clothing energy (good church boy mark lee and his hidden demons <3), honestly both reader and mark r freaky (aww they match each others freaks!), readers thinly veiled shame kink, unsafe sex/no condom, barely any prep lol, not beta read bc im a full send girl (sorry for any typos etc LMAO)

There’s clearly something wrong with user ‘66golden_boy99’ and you can’t quite figure it out. Sure, he seems to be just another fan of your work. And maybe his comments tended to be on the imaginative side.

i wanna dick you down til next tuesday

stuff your guts this thursday and stay buried in you thru the weekend

til youre cryin to me about how you can feel my dick in your throat

how pretty would you cry for me?

That little voice in the back of your head whispers (the one that sounds far too much like Donghyuck), an annoying little I told you so, someone was bound to get obsessed. It wasn’t like you never considered or even feared the possibility.

But these comments, this person, there was something there. You click into a different video, scrolling down to a specific cluster of comments.

i wanna ruin you so fuckin bad

ruin that pussy for anyone else

wanna hear you beg me to stop

until it turns into begging me for more

sound fun sweetheart?

Every video, every clip, every single little teaser you post; there’s a thread from him. His stupid username right there, ‘66golden_boy99’ and a digital paper trail that ranges from being unforgivably horny to borderline demented and most of the time a combination of both.

fuck if i could keep you in a little cage…

i’d fuck u every day all day

turn you into my perfect little pet

made just for my cock

don’t you want that too?

You can’t help but let your mouth gape at that one, a cage? Your head spins at the thought, trying (and failing) to not let your imagination wander.

There’s a certain thrill that crawls down your spine, twisting itself deep into your gut and lodging itself there. An ache that you can’t quite sate yourself, barely sated by these comments.

So yeah, there’s definitely something wrong with user ‘66golden_boy99’ but that could only mean there’s something wrong with you.

“Mark, read this! Isn’t it insane?” Donghyuck all but smacks him in the face with your phone.

“Oh! Um.” He immediately flushes, no doubt flustered by the nature of the comments along with the fact he’s one of your few friends who still gets a little red in the cheeks by your choice of profession.

Good church boy Mark Lee at your service. Who thankfully plucks your phone from Donghyuck and passes it back to you— most likely to avoid further being subjected to such filth in broad daylight.

“Don’t bust a tit Hyuck, it’s just some dude living out his freaky fantasy while hiding behind a screen.” You knew it was going to be brought up the moment you saw your friends, but you had hoped that Donghyuck would have the decency to not mention it while seated outside a popular cafe on a busy street.

Jokes on you for thinking he could keep his cool about this. The moment you had sent a screenshot to the group chat Donghyuck had been rearing for a fight, overly scandalized and always righteous whenever he thought his friends were being treated badly.

There was no way in hell you’d tell him those comments piqued your debased interest.

“It’s a little creepy.” Jungwoo settles on, stealing a blueberry off of your parfait. “He doesn’t message when you’re live though.”

“Nope, only comments on clips and videos.” You bite back your disappointment, maintaining an almost clinical tone.

“Does he even watch your streams?” Jungwoo questions as he attempts to swipe a strawberry this time, narrowly thwarted by you whacking his hand with your plastic spoon.

“What difference does it make? He’s a fucking perv!” Donghyuck snipes.

The answer is yes, he does watch every single one of your streams. Occasionally donates too, yet no messages. No live interactions.

“Hyuck, my whole fanbase are pervs.” You ignore the glare of an elderly woman as she passes by your table. “When did you become such a prude?”

It’s enough of a jab to send the man into a fit, ranting and raving about how he’s perfectly freaky enough and that his boyfriend(s) is (are) so into how weird and kinky he could get.

“Seriously though, is he scaring you?” Mark whispers, careful to not catch Donghyuck’s attention lest he starts laying into you about your “creepy” admirer again. Mark’s considerate like that.

For a moment you sit with the question, mindlessly spooning around your half eaten parfait. Were you scared? You knew full well you were bound to deal with the occasional creep when you decided to pursue camming as a full-time job after university.

But you weren’t— aren’t scared, initially you had maybe been a bit unnerved. Yet you hadn’t shared the messages because you wanted your friends to “save” you or anything. More so because you were shocked by the sheer audacity and of course by what was being said.

If Donghyuck wasn’t so busy talking about getting spit roasted much to the horror of Jungwoo, he’d be pestering you for the answer too. And you would’ve lied, told him that you were a little nervous but nothing that’d keep you from carrying on as usual.

Instead you have Mark asking, no trace of judgment behind his thick rimmed glasses, just a curious glint with a healthy dash of concern for a friend.

“He’s not.” Is what ends up coming out. It’s simpler than the whole truth, cleaner as well.

You couldn’t admit to one of your best friends that it sent a thrill down your spine, to have someone so obsessed they comment utter depravity on every post you make. That you’ve checked to make sure this mystery creep was watching your every stream. And that there’s nothing you’ve ever wanted more than to be craved so deeply, to be ached for, to be someone’s sole obsession.

“If you do get freaked out or anything, uh understandably so, we’ll figure something out. I’ll beat him up?” Mark offers one of his dorky smiles, and despite his statement inspiring little hope — seriously Mark is way too sweet to ‘beat’ anyone up — you still appreciate the sentiment. Offering him a big spoonful of whipped cream and strawberries for his valiant statement.

“Hey! Why does Mark get fed and I have to fight for a crumb?” Jungwoo cries out only causing you to roll your eyes and spark even more outrage from him.

You're thankful that the rest of the outing goes on without another mention of a certain fan of yours. Though Mark seems to be shooting more indiscernible looks your way than usual, but that’s easy to chalk down as him just projecting his own anxieties onto you.

When you all start to bid farewell Donghyuck wastes a few minutes to preach about the dangers of internet strangers, while Jungwoo goads and teases him until his nagging is turned onto Jungwoo.

Again Mark offers comfort — though you really have no need for it, considering the fact you honestly are enjoying the debased behavior more than you maybe should — and you pretend to appreciate it.

needa fuck you over and over and over

til your pretty lil pussy is gaping open

so i can see the way i paint you up inside

wouldn’t you like that?

Yes, you dig your teeth into your bottom lip, fuck yes.

You had just posted a teaser for your next video, a simple reaction to some random threesome video your subscribers had begged you to watch.

And as always without fail, only a few minutes after you’ve hit post your phone lights up with notifications from ‘66golden_boy99’. You should hate how much you look forward to it— how you’re practically gagging for it (him).

You remember his first thread of comments, remember the scandal that pumped through your veins as the words registered in your brain.

The thrill.

well aren’t you a sweet thing

He had started it off so normally.

you look like you dont care for just any kind of fun

you look like u need to be fucked within an inch of your life

thrown around and violated like a stupid little toy

i could do that

It’s the only time he hadn’t ended with a question. The only statement needed to stake his claim, to solidify his place.

It planted the seed right in your lust ridden mind, the growing need to see more and more. It becomes a sick little ritual, to go looking for his comments just after you tuck yourself into bed under the guise of resting for the day.

You’re desperate enough to reread old ones, to stare at the same comments from days or even weeks ago. Sometimes he’ll throw you a bone, coming back to leave another thread of comments for you to find.

wanna fill you up so bad

make you take it over and over and over

til my cum is dripping outta you for days

so that all that’s in your pretty head is the thought of my cock pumping you full

wanna make it happen?

Maybe it’s the way you’ve never replied to them, or even acknowledge them in a stream. It doesn’t deter him from continuing, his perverted dedication proving something to you. Something twisted and delicious and all too tempting.

need you so bad

just need to use you over and over and over and over so fuckin bad

turn you into my own pretty fleshlight to use whenever i please

just wanna use you all up baby

how much can you take?

Thursday streams are one of your three weekly streams, and while it had marginally less viewers therefore profit than your Friday and every other Saturday ones, it was by far your favorite.

The chat is far more relaxed, which means you have a better chance to interact with viewers, to have a more intimate stream.

It means you can instead sit at your desk, dressed in nothing but an oversized white tee, playing with your hair and batting your lashes. While making idle conversation as your viewers dutifully pay you compliments and donate small amounts as a hello.

66golden_boy99: hey there

“Oh? Golden boy? And here I was thinking you weren’t interested enough in having a live convo with me.” You wonder if he waited for this, a Thursday stream with an even lower than usual number of viewers to finally send his first message in chat. Was your little freak shy? Only able to sling his filth when nobody was paying attention?

Too late for that, he was in your sights now.

66golden_boy99: nah just liked sitting here and watching you too much

“Is that so?” You feign distraction, looking off towards the side as you tap your chin thoughtfully. “But here I am, doing nothing. Isn’t that boring?”

There’s a flood of no’s in the chat, messages ranging from horny to sweet about how some like just chatting and others saying that you should at least take off your shirt.

“My shirt? It’s only been twenty-ish minutes since I’ve started and you all don’t wanna butter me up first? Tell me how pretty I am?” You’re accused of being a tease, which is of course your exact angle. Some of them bite, sending cooing comments about how they’d love to see your shirt off, some going as far as to send in a few dollars.

$200 from 66golden_boy99

it’s okay sweetheart, show em what’ll be mine

Your jaw drops, because while he had tipped in the past, it was never this much. You can’t help the shiver that itches down your spine, ‘what’ll be mine’ he says, like he already has you in the bag.

“Aww you wanna see me that bad? Everyone say thank you to Golden Boy!” You goad, making a show of hooking your thumbs in the hem of your shirt. Slowly you drag the fabric across your flesh, inch by inch exposing how you truly had nothing under your flimsy excuse for clothing.

66golden_boy99: and where’s your thank you?

“That’s right, you were so generous after all, I should give you a little treat to show my appreciation.” Again you flutter your lashes. “How do you want me?”

66golden_boy99: spreading your legs like a desperate slut

66golden_boy99: wanna see you fuck your fingers

66golden_boy99: cmon babe show off your perfect pussy and open yourself up for me

“Anything for you.” And maybe you’re a little fucked in the head for how much you mean it.

You’ve never had a favorite before. Nobody in your chat, comments and so on have ever caught your attention. They’ve never bothered to be so interesting, to be so openly obsessed.

Slowly you let your hands wander, cupping your tits before letting your fingertips dance along your ribcage, inching down, down, down.

You pathetically think of him, wonder who’s on the other side of the screen. It could be some old man, or some greasy incel, maybe it’s someone you’ve met on the street. It could be anyone, and it sickens you almost as much as it excites you.

Carefully, you plant your feet on the edge of your desk, sliding down a few inches in your chair as you spread nice and wide for the camera.

“This what you want?” The words jumble in your mouth as your fingers continue to find their way south. You dig your nails into your thighs, moaning loudly at the bite of them into your tender skin.

Shame was something that had long escaped you in this field of work, only the tastefully faked sense of it ever gracing you these days. But there’s that all too familiar burn crawling back into your chest after almost years of nothing. Scorching away at your insides as your fingers drag along your waiting pussy.

You’re wet, you’re wet and it’s because of some fucking freak on the internet. Your eyes zero in on the chat, hoping to catch a comment from him.

66golden_boy99: fucking perfect for me always so good

It’s all you need to keep going, to let wanton moans tumble out left and right as your back arches into your own touch.

The sense of shame doesn’t diminish, doesn’t fade as you tease your clit and pump your fingers pitifully into your sopping cunt, loudly bemoaning the fact you didn’t grab a toy.

66golden_boy99: you’ll cum just like this baby, no toys, just your fingers and wishing it was me instead

“Nnn- please.” It’s whiner than you’ve ever heard yourself, because goddammit you are wishing it was him. Old man be damned he had a wicked way of speaking, of sneaking into the dark recesses of your mind and ripping you open. Exposing a side of you that you’d long since buried, a side of you craving to be devoured wholly.

Pleasure snakes through your body, dropping down into your belly as you cum with a whimper. You make a show of bringing your fingers to your lips, tongue flicking out to taste yourself, that sick part of you hoping it makes him want you more.

You slump against your chair, mindlessly answering chats as you fix yourself into a more comfortable position. You don’t bother looking for your shirt, letting your viewers enjoy watching your chest rise and fall in panting breaths, admire the way the sweat gleams on your skin.

You hope his eyes are glued to his screen. You hope you’re driving him absolutely insane.

“I fear I might be tapped out for the night, but don’t worry there’s always Sunday.” You manage to get out a real sentence, your brain still a little mushy from the post-orgasm haze. “Sweet dreams everyone!”

You take a moment to let the chat fill with well wishes, a few more donations and scan for a message from one user in particular.

66golden_boy99: good night sweet thing, dream of me

And oh, you just might.

Ending streams were nothing special, just a click of a button and your privacy was all yours again. Leaving you with a plethora of thoughts, a tiny remnant of that formerly elusive shame and a craving for something or more accurately someone.

Send a friend request to 66golden_boy99?

What did you have to lose? What did you have to gain?

There’s a little angel on your shoulder in the shape of Donghyuck, your ever annoying moral compass, telling you to go shower and to never feed into this anonymous man’s delusions again.

While the little devil on your shoulder shaped like Yuta does nothing, sits there and smirks at you knowing full well you’ll choose his route.

You always do.

Sorry Hyuck.

Friend request sent!

Three days go by, no comments, no messages on stream, nothing. Absolute silence.

You can’t help yourself but watch each excruciating second tick by, waiting for something, anything from him. Three whole days of obsessively checking your phone, every social media tied to your occupation and nothing.

It’s like he up and fucking forgot about you. And maybe three days seems too short of a timeline to be losing it, but this is a man who has been all over your account — and notifications — for months.

And he gets scared off by a friend request.

God, you should’ve known better than to trust Yuta, even if he was just a figment of your imagination at that moment. Though the real Yuta would’ve said the same thing anyway, therefore still making this whole ordeal his fault.

But as fun as blaming your friend and obsessing over whether your twisted little admirer would accept your request, let alone give you something to work with nowadays. It was driving you up the fucking wall.

You need a distraction, and you need it badly.

Your usual and immediate reaction to having nothing to do and needing attention would be to ask Donghyuck to go out and do something stupid, but the lucky bastard was on vacation with his boyfriend(s?) probably getting fucked into the new year.

So you’re left to consider your options but Jungwoo is definitely still at work and Yuta just left to visit his family. And your other friends lived too far.

That only left you with Mark. God, you need more friends in close proximity. Not because you don’t like Mark, you adore the man if anything and still consider him one of your best friends. It's just that despite all the years of friendship the two of you just haven’t figured out how to quite mesh conversationally like the others.

You need more spark, conviction. Mark Lee talks like a wet noodle came to life and decided to use ‘yo’, ‘dude’ and ‘woah’ on a permanent rotation.

At least he’s a great listener.

And since he’s one of your closest friends nonetheless, he would have no problem with you coming over to eat his snacks and lounge on his couch while he works from home.

So you shoot him a text.

TO: marky markmarkly sparkly can i cum over ;P

FROM: marky markHaha sure dude! I told you stop spelling it like that > <

TO: marky markprude be there in 10 want coffee ?

FROM: marky markSure! Caramel latte please :3

He even texts like a good and innocent church boy. But he’s definitely had girlfriends, and that one boyfriend, so there’s no way he’s a virgin. Is it possible to be a blushing virgin in spirit and at heart?

“Hey beautiful, what can I get ya?” The barista’s stare is nothing short of sleazy, not even bothering to make eye contact as he tries to magically see through your clothing.

“I’ll take a caramel latte, lemme double check what my boyfriend wanted, hmm just a regular coffee.” And okay it’s a little demeaning to Mark to switch your coffee orders in front of this greaseball.

The boyfriend comment works well enough, if you take the guy opting to just stare at your ass as you walk out the door instead of bullying you for your number a win.

Thankfully Mark's apartment is just around the corner, and somehow you manage to key in the code not once but twice despite carrying two drinks.

“Marky! Coffee!” Immediately he comes tumbling down the hallway, eyes wide with confusion. His hair is sticking up in different directions, his glasses crooked and half-hanging off his face. His sweat stained white tee, and low hanging gray sweats only the cherry atop the homebody trainwreck sundae of a man before you.

“Hey, yo, shit! Uh dude!” He stops a few steps in front of you, scratching his head sheepishly. “I thought…you would take longer.”

“Do I look like Jungwoo? Or worse, Yuta?” You feign offense with a dramatic gasp.

“Nah! Ha…ha, um come on in, it’s a fuckin’ mess but like you know, ‘m swamped with work and…”

You hand him his latte and push past him, barely batting an eye at the nightmarish state of his apartment. There’s mountains of paperwork and books stacked along the walls, empty food boxes, bags and wrappers scattered across the floor (along with any other available surface) and you’re trying desperately to not gag at the state of his kitchen.

“Johnny would clean?” You muse as you kick aside an empty pasta box.

“Johnny would clean.” He sighs. Johnny, being Mark’s roommate, along with (one of) Donghyuck’s boyfriend(s???) is currently on vacation. On top of that, from what you've heard, he’s barely been at the apartment at all the past few months. Definitely too busy catering to every single one of Hyuck’s whims and dramatics.

“I could help?”

“Woah! I couldn’t ask you that, I made this mess on my own. I’ll clean it er.. eventually.” He gestures loosely.

“Mark Lee.” You muster up your best deadpan tone. “I’m so bored I’m gonna chew my own hand off, please let me help you clean your awfully disgusting apartment.”

“That bad?” He snorts.

“I think that pile of dust moved on it’s own.” At least you’re hoping it’s a pile of dust and not some undiscovered rodent that thrives in the apartments of bachelors with piss poor cleaning habits.

“…I think you’re right. Hey um, lemme just shower and change, I think I’m just as gross as this place. We can clean together. So just…” He shoves aside the pile of laundry inhabiting the couch just enough to give you a place to sit. “Sit for a second?”

The poor guy looks like he’s on the brink of a meltdown, and if you didn’t know Mark as well as you do you would’ve called an ambulance. But he just always has that air around him, exhausted and overworked— but always smiling through it.

“I’m in no rush.” You pat his arm before taking a seat in the space he so generously carved out for you. The second Mark walks off to the bathroom you make yourself nice and comfortable, switching on the TV, straightening out some of the magazines and assorted papers on the coffee table.

Mindlessly you even start folding some of the laundry next to you. The thought of taking pictures and sending them to Donghyuck so he could show Johnny just how far his roomie has fallen in his absence promptly interrupts your side task.

But to your dismay you find your phone is barely holding on by a few measly percentages. Looking around the living room you know there’s definitely no hope in trying to find a charger on your own. So instead you head off towards the bathroom, following the sound of the shower pouring down.

“Mark!” You knock harshly, hoping he can hear you okay.

“Yeah?” His voice comes through clear, sounding only a little startled by your sudden presence.

“Need to charge my phone!”

There’s a moment of pause and you can only assume it’s because his room is so hellish he can’t even remember where he put the thing.

“By my bed!”

“Thanks!”

His room is actually better than the living room and kitchen, not by much, but still better. You navigate around the clothes and books strewn about the floor. Giggling at his wastebasket full of balled up tissues and a used up bottle of lotion, you definitely couldn’t wait to tell Donghyuck when he gets back.

Making fun of Mark was an art, a beloved pastime of your friend group. And he always took it like a champ.

You plop down on his unmade bed, looking around for his charger. It’s half under the bed when you spot it, tugging the cord only for there to be a bit of resistance. Carefully you lower yourself to the floor, yanking at the charger and forcing Mark’s IPad to come flying at you.

“Shit!” It lands next to you face down on the hardwood and you pray to whatever gods that you haven’t cracked it. Slowly you pick it up, carefully flipping it over as you prepare yourself for the damage.

“Oh, my god.”

Because it’s not cracked, it’s not even locked, it’s still open to what Mark had been watching last to be exact.

One of your streams, one of your streams with you bent over one of your pillows, both holes stuffed with toys in the perfect position for the camera to see everything. It’s not even a new video, you haven’t done anything like that in months.

There’s a blur in your vision as you shoot up, lightheaded from standing up straight so suddenly. A scorching heat begins to burn in your gut, creeping through your veins.

You can still hear the shower going, and you know it must be wrong, to go through his private device like this but…it’s you. He’s been watching you, one of your most bible-thumping, prude-built friends who can barely look you in the eyes and blushes whenever you or your friends make dirty jokes, has been watching your debaucherous streams and has never said a word.

Sure, Yuta and Jungwoo have confessed to watching more than once and Donghyuck is a fucking mod for your streams. It never bothered you if your friends watched, it wouldn’t bother you now.

But this is…this is different. He kept his viewership a secret, and you weren’t sure what to make of it. Was he too embarrassed to say? Was he afraid it’d ruin your friendship?

You close out the video, looking through his watch history which consists solely of your videos, looking at who he follows — you, only you, and you can’t tell if that’s a good thing yet — and now the used tissues in his trash bin don’t feel so funny anymore.

“Oh.” You mutter lamely as you open up his comment history. Fucking oh.

66golden_boy99: wanna fuck you with my tongue til youre squirting all over my face

And your world collapses, punctuated by the sound of the shower turning off— yet that’s lost on your ears. You can’t hear anything but the furious pound of your heart trying to dismantle your ribcage, your blood rushing through your veins and sloshing around your head.

Mark Lee, sweet, kind and innocent. Mark Lee, who stutters just talking about who he likes. Mark Lee, the resident saint of the group.

Is him.

The man who’s been peddling filth into your mind, who’s been haunting you every time you decide to start your stream or post a video, skulking around every comment section with your name on it.

Is Mark fucking Lee.

“Heya! Did ya find…it.” It’s cinematic honestly, the way his stride slows as his eyes frantically flicker back and forth between you and the IPad. “Y-Y-You!”

It’s instantaneous, his face turning a brilliant crimson as he trips over himself to grab the tablet and throw it haphazardly to the side.

His chest is heaving, panic creasing his features as you look him over. He kept the same color scheme, you think emptily, white tank top and gray basketball shorts. It does nothing for your brain as you stare at him mouth agape.

“I c-can explain?” He has the audacity to squeak, to look ashamed even. He’s trying to hide behind his bangs as they fall over his eyes, trying to look so innocent despite his filthy secret coming to light.

“Why didn’t you accept my friend request?” It’s probably not what you should open with, and Mark’s jaw simply hanging open at the question might be a testament to that.

“…What?” His croaks, voice hoarse.

“You didn’t accept it, why? And where have you been, it’s been three whole days? I’ve been fucking waiting for—”

“You’re not mad?” His voice is still uneven, and even a pitch higher.

“Mad? Mad? I’m pissed, you, you idiot!” And you are. Probably. Your mind so fucked from trying to comprehend this newfound piece of info you don’t even know where to begin with how you’re feeling. So mad must be the best place to start.

“For months I’ve been wondering who had the fucking balls to send these freaky borderline insane comments.” He flinches. “Wondering just who the hell was making me feel like, like…that.”

“I—”

“And it was you! Right under my nose, looking at me with those stupid round eyes and big glasses a-and you just pretended like you knew nothing? …I got off to you on stream?” You hate the way your voice sounds so high in your ears, teetering on the edge of full blown shrieking.

“Please, I’m sor…”

“When Hyuck showed those comments were you even ashamed?” You hiss.

He’s blubbering now, eyes pinned somewhere to the ground; half cooked sentences or maybe excuses scattering about the floor with the rest of his mess. It’s all lost on your ears, a million different thoughts in your head drowning it all out.

His hands raise as if admitting defeat, even beginning to back away in a pitiful attempt at escaping but like hell you’ll let the fool get away from you now.

“Goddammit, Mark Lee, look at me!” And he does, his mouth snapping shut and eyes focusing on you. His stupid glasses are nowhere to be seen, giving you an unfiltered front row view of how his pupils are blown wide. “Did you mean it?”

“Mean…what?” You could kill him, you really could because how after all these months of sending you towards the edge with the crudest, filthiest words he can barely say a proper sentence standing before you.

“Any of it! All of it, was it all just talk?” You must’ve hit a nerve. He’s silent again, eyes narrowing for a moment at the accusation. But it slips away, a fickle persona he shoves down.

His hands lower to his sides.

“...What do you want?” His voice is more even, eyebrows knitting together.

You know what he’s asking — he was obvious like that, his heart always worn so proudly on his sleeve — because even now with his disgusting secret out in the open between the two of you. He has the audacity to try to take the gentlemanly route of getting you to explicitly state what you want from him, if you want him.

When all you’ve been waiting for was for him to take.

“What do I want, huh? Let me tell you what I think first.” You know this will definitely make or break what happens next, and maybe even your friendship. But you’re sick of his games, of dancing around whatever the hell was going on between the two of you. “I think you’re all bark and no fucking bite, I think you hide behind a screen because you’re a coward and you probably couldn’t fuck your way out of a wet paper bag.”

His eyes narrow once more.

“You hide behind your good little god fearing boy next door persona when you’re a freak who likes watching one of his best friends get off on camera!”

He takes a step closer.

“I think you’re filthy and depraved, a repressed weirdo with disgusting kinks. A borderline incel!”

And another step.

“I bet the second you actually got inside of me you’d cum and cry yourself to sleep in a matter of seconds.” His expression darkens at that, and now you’re starting to think that you should stop.

But where’s the fun in that?

“You couldn’t handle even half the shit you said online, you cowardly little prude, you tiny dicked—”

You don’t realize his hands are on you until you're backed against the wall, one tightly gripping your hip while the other lands on your chest keeping you firmly in place.

“You never shut up. Even in your streams and videos you're constantly yammering on, whimpering and whining and begging.” His voice is low, buzzing around your ears and in your head. You look down at the tent forming in his shorts, mouth drying and watering simultaneously.

“That for me?” Your tongue feels thick as you look up at him through your lashes.

The hand on your chest inches up, until his palm settles against your throat and you're left wondering if he’ll indulge you by tightening his fingers. Even just a little.

“Even now, can’t shut the fuck up.” He moves in closer, until his hardened cock is against your thigh and he’s forcing his knee between yours. “I asked what you wanted, not for you to insult me.”

“You-”

“So I’ll tell you what I want.” And you feel so wildly out of your depth, there’s a cognitive dissonance you can’t quite escape. Good church boy Mark means wholesome activities, ice cream in the park, farmer’s markets and, and–

“And then you’re gonna try again for me.”

“M-Me?” It comes out lamely. Is this really Mark Lee? You think belatedly. Looking at you like he wants to tear you apart inch by inch with nothing but his teeth and tongue.

“I want you on my tongue, on my cock, want you begging for me to stop but it’s all just a filthy fucking lie. I want you to want me to ruin you, this, us.” His voice is raspier, laced with a desperation and craving you’ve never heard before and damn do you need to hear more, so much more.

“So try again. Tell me what you want.” And you can see it, that plea in his eyes for you to just say it. To know you want this as badly as he does, the promise, the threat of him finally letting go looming over the two of you.

“Want.” You grab him by the face, pressing your nose against his and staring into the black depths of his pupils. “Want good boy Mark Lee to die right before my eyes, wan’ you to eat me ‘til nothin’ is left.”

It’s slurred, you’re delirious, so drunk off the way he’s already hard off of you screaming at him (or maybe it was getting caught), at the way he’s demanding you to express your want for him when you’d rather just be on your knees.

But the thing is you always have wanted, craved. That underlying itch to see one of your best friends let loose, the borderline wanting (what you thought was) a random stranger to break into your apartment and do filthy, unmentionable things to you. When you flipped over that IPad thinking you broke it to find yourself being the object of his debauched desire, when you saw his username on the site.

You ached.

It’s stupid and toeing the line of embarrassing with how badly you want, no, need him, how turned on by the fact he doesn’t even know which person to be in front of you. Doesn’t quite know how to be both.

“Let him die.” Is all he can say, having the audacity to take advantage of your stupor to kiss you. To push you back up against the wall and slot his lips against yours, pulling back just to dive back in before you could truly feel his absence. Over and over each one messier, hotter than the last as a debaucherous hunger flows between the two of you.

“You don’t get it.” He mumbles, pressing himself firmly against you, sweat starting to prickle against your skin. “When y-you started camming I didn’t know what to do with myself.”

And suddenly you could see it, vividly. Just behind your eyelids was Mark hunched over in his bed, one of your streams or videos playing in the background as he furiously chased his release. Only to be left wallowing in the shame of jerking it with cheap lotion to you, forced to clean himself off with even cheaper tissues and spending the rest of his night completely alone.

“Your perfect fucking pussy, for everyone to see…when I’ve been waiting.” He rasps, hands finding their way back onto your body. “Couldn’t stand it, couldn’t fuckin’ stand it.”

“Mm, Ma-ark…” Without hesitation he twists his head, allowing himself to sink his teeth at the base of your throat. Pulling away to focus another dark look at you, that heady mixture of unmitigated want and wicked promises swirling in his eyes.

“S’All I could think about, even with our friends.” He noses along your jaw, nipping at your earlobe as his breathing turns ragged. “Wanted to haul you onto the table and fuck you ‘til your head went dumb, ‘til all was left was you squealing like a fuckin’ whore while they all watched.”

There’s a cartoon halo of stars around your head, surely there is, each word from his mouth adding another to the ditzy constellation circling your brain. This is him, this is Mark ‘Golden Boy’ Lee and his once hidden (and so deliciously unhinged) silver tongue.

“Pl-Please, oh fu— please.” His lips are back to working against your throat, and just as you try to reach up and grab at him, to try and sway him into relieving some of the tension building in the air.

He steps back, yanking at your arm.

Yet he doesn’t give you a chance to simply fall, or even react. Instead he uses your off-kilter balance to push you onto your knees, thankful that he’s a sloppy loser when you land on a pile of clothes.

“This.” He doesn’t bother being shy about tugging his shorts and boxers off in one fluid motion. “This is how I want you.”

He pauses, as if to let you admire the view and you’re not nearly above doing so as your eyes roam so shamelessly.

Of course he’s cut, with neatly trimmed hair adorning his groin. And though he's just above average in length, he definitely makes up in girth. You think hazily that calling him tiny dicked was definitely a lie.

Your mouth waters.

He lets out a low chuckle of all things, surely laughing at the way your eyes have widened. And maybe you did let your tongue swipe over your lips in anticipation.

“Go ahead, before I make it hurt.” His words are delayed, understanding creeping in slowly; impaired by having long let that fog of desperation cloud your mind.

You move before you can think, nosing along the side of his cock, pressing a kiss to a cute little mole that you hope to revisit at a later date. But for now you’re flattening your tongue against the base of his shaft and dragging it up his length at a frustrating rate.

He’s heavy on your tongue, thick and heavy and so so hot, and fuck he tastes good or maybe you’re just already addicted. Doomed from the start.

There’s a war raging in your mind, whether to try your hardest to please him with your mouth, all too tempted to hear the pretty, desperate sounds he’ll make and maybe it’ll earn you a bit of praise. Or to tease until he’s pissed off enough to throw any regard for you and your (throat’s) wellbeing out the window.

The latter is far more appealing.

Coyly you look up at him again through your lashes once more, bringing your tongue to tease at the tip of his cock, licking off a bead of precum forming.

“Are you tryin’ to blow me or piss me off?” Ah, so he has you all figured out.

“Haven’t decided.” You reply properly by taking his tip into your mouth, swirling your tongue around it before sinking further down and ignoring the slightly uncomfortable stretch of your lips. You could get used to this.

Languidly you try to mind your teeth as you sink further down, your jaw aching at the unprecedented stretch. Shallowly you bob your head, barely giving anything as you look up to meet his burning gaze.

“Enough.” He groans, clearly sick of the teasing as his hand comes around to hook his fingers around the back of your head.

It’s enough of a warning as your hands come up to grip at his bare thighs, whimpering at the first tentative thrust. Unable to escape, knees aching and you can’t help but wonder how damp your panties will be by the time you get them off.

He’s careful at first, not to be too rough in his movements, trying to be considerate of your comfort. It’s ridiculous, and you let him know as much by stabbing your nails into his thighs only forcing him to accidentally bottom out.

Tears well in your eyes as you choke, gagging around the sinfully thick intrusion into your throat.

“Woah! Fuck, I’m sor-”

He starts to pull away, and desperately you chase after him. But the fucker pulls out, grabbing you by the cheeks to look you in the eyes.

“Do I have to start calling you names again?” Your voice is already wrecked, but not nearly enough, it could be worse, so much worse. If he would just fully let go. “Or are you just scared?”

He blinks at you, once, twice, those stupidly big eyes of his narrowing into something dangerous.

“Two taps if it’s too much.”

“It won’t be.” You barely finish the sentence as he grabs you on either side of your head with both hands, pressing the leaking head of his cock against the seam of your lips, precum smearing across. You barely open your mouth before he’s shoving his entire cock down your throat again.

You can see him, blurred by the tears stuck to your lashes, watching you with such reverence as you pitifully try to relax, still unable to avoid gagging and choking. Yet this time he offers no reprieve, keeps you firmly in place as tears stream down your face and your nails continue to dig into his thighs.

“T-That’s it, choke.” The break in his voice sends something hot through your chest, snaking through the rest of your body and creeping into your veins. How embarrassed would you really be if you came just from having your throat fucked?

“Where are you?” Your wandering thoughts immediately cease, drawn back in by his fingers dancing along your cheekbone before settling at the back of your head.

He doesn’t even have the decency to let you catch your breath after pulling your attention, shallow thrusts turning reckless as he fucks your face with little regard for you— it’s everything you’ve every wanted from him.

It sends another surge of heat down into your belly, pooling between your thighs and now you’re wondering if your poor panties will even be salvageable after this.

“Fuck that’s it, so fuckin’ good for me.” He bites his lip, and a part of you wishes you could be tugging on it too with your teeth.

Use me, use me, use me. The thought fills your mind, leaving room for nothing else but Mark and his cock and your jaw and throat struggling to keep up.

Frantically you tap on his calf, his response instantaneous.

“You good?” He pulls out again, swiping his thumb along your bottom lip to wipe away a mess of spit and precum.

“Need you,” and you could care less how your voice shakes and rasps, “need you in me so bad. Fuck me.”

Your fingers dig into his thighs as you muster up the best pitiful look possible, silently begging for more.

“C-Condom, need, condom.” He huffs, looking around his room frantically.

“Like hell, what happened to painting my insides huh?” Shakily you stand up, managing to push him towards the bed which he doesn’t even bother resisting. “Thought you wanted your cum dripping from my pussy for days.”

And he fucking growls, the sound so wildly animalistic you can barely believe it came from him.

“That what you want? You wanna feel me for days?” You’re on your back in a matter of seconds, his forearms landing on either side of your head to cage you in. He’s staring you down with an uncharacteristic intensity; a predator sizing up his prey.

“Ruin me for anybody else.” It comes out broken, desperation seeping from each word. How much more do you need to bend before he finally breaks?

He’s back on you, a barrage of teeth and tongue assaulting your flesh as his hands leave no part of you untouched, kneading and feeling. Just as you try to bring your own shirt over your head he pushes away your hands, allowing him to take over stripping you bare.

Each caress of his fingers leaves a trail of fire, almost too hot to bear.

“Please Marky, please.” It comes out high and whiny and so very needy. “Touch me more.”

“I’ll give you what you want, just lemme…fuck lemme look at you.” He catches your wrists just as you try to bring your hands up to cover your face, pinning your arms against your sides as his eye shamelessly trace over your figure. There’s a glint of something hungry, swirled with something akin to adoration.

“Y-You like m-me, you’re obsessed.” You

“Yeah, I really fucking am.” He’s grinning, all teeth with a hint of gums that makes your heart somehow pound even harder and you know you’re well and truly fucked. “Like you s’much gonna keep you on my cock forever.”

He lets go of your hands, grabbing at your thighs to spread them apart, callused fingers dragging up until he’s almost carelessly pressing a finger into you.

“Fuck, you can… o-oh keep me!” You whimper as he bullies one, then two more fingers into your throbbing cunt— there’s a determination bordering on desperation creasing his brow in order to prep you as quickly as possible.

“Next time, I’ll spend fuckin’ hours doin’ this.” You whine as he drags his fingers out of you.

His hands hook under your thighs, pressing up and up until he can hook your legs over his shoulders and he’s pressing the blunt head of his cock against your hole. There’s a slight sting as he pushes in, the stretch unfamiliar and despite how wet you are some lube would’ve helped.

But you well and truly could care less.

“I don’t care who sees this, you, I’m the only one who gets to touch, the only one who gets to fuck you like this.” He rasps, bottoming out in one harsh thrust and punching the air out of your lungs.

He’s kind enough to let you catch your breath, indulging you with a few soft kisses along your jaw and nipping at your bottom lip. But it doesn’t last long, following a sloppy kiss with a tentative grind of his hips, then a soft thrust.

Those desperate whines you usually play up for your streams easily escaping your lips as he builds a steady rhythm.

“Yes, yes, yes, Mark.” It’s perfect, every single thrust is perfect, the way you're folded in half, the feeling of his fingers digging into you, the strain of toned muscles under flushed skin; so fucking perfect. “Only you.”

And you mean it, fully, wholeheartedly without any hesitation. Only Mark, if that’s what he wants then you want it too, whatever Mark wants he can have.

“M’Close, fuck, I’m so close.” You whimper, raking your fingers through his still damp hair.

“Already?” It spears through your chest, harsh and burning and tears down your belly.

There’s a split second of perfect silence interrupting the sound of skin slapping against skin, a ringing in your ears followed by the crash of your heart into your ribcage.

Pleasure slices down your spine, rippling through your body in crashing waves and leaving your head spinning.

He fucks you through the high, any chance of a coherent thought spilling right out of your ears, his name garbled and strained as it forces it’s way past your lips.

He slows, as if he’s about to waste both your time and do something stupid like pull out and finish on your stomach. And like hell you’re letting that happen, grabbing at his head with both hands and smashing your lips together, pulling away just enough to stare into blown pupils.

“Cum inside me, you bitch!” His teeth come down on your bottom lip, the bite of iron and tang of sweat and spit swirling together on your tongue dizzying, intoxicating. He slams back into you with a force you didn’t know he had, swallowing down a broken moan from his lips as he spills into you.

“I’m still gonna stream.” The two of you have settled on his now made bed, tucked under the covers. You had no problem letting Mark dress you in a clean tee and boxers, watching sleepily from his desk chair as he made his bed before depositing you in it.

“I’ll still watch.” He hums.

“And comment?” It brings up the matter from earlier, the one you never got an answer to. “Why didn’t you?”

“I…I didn’t know what to do. Uh, it was one thing, hiding, but then I thought you…didn’t…”

“Didn’t?” You raise your head, trying to level your gaze to his.

“Didn’t like m- it, the comments, those messages in chat, all of it. Thought you were just tryin’ to message me to stop. And then I got scared you somehow knew it was…me.” He has that sheepish look smearing his features, a hand coming up to scratch at his nape.

You stare at him silently, watching as his eyes bounce around your face searching for some hint of what you could possibly be thinking.

“Look where that got us, I can’t even feel my legs, oh my god you have to fuck me on stream, please!”

“H-Huh? Live? Yo I can’t just-”

“Think about it, Marky.” Aching hips and sore muscles be damned, you somehow manage to climb into his lap and straddle his thighs. “Fucking me, on camera, for everyone to see just what you do to me. I’d be so good for you.”

You can see it, what little resolve he had starting to crumble, just a little more.

“Don’t you want that?” It’s his words and he knows it, starting to see the monster he’s created. You run your fingers along his jaw, settling one hand on his shoulder while the other comes up to muss up fluffy brown locks. “Stretching me on your fat cock for my pitiful little viewers to see, wishing it was them driving me insane.”

“Baby…” The pet name from his lips is instantly addicting, and you need so much more of it.

“Please.” And now you’re not sure what you’re begging for, your body screams for you to stop, to not roll your hips against his because it’s far too soon to be fucked into the mattress again.

“If, if you don’t stop doing that.” He groans. “You’re not gonna be able to stream tomorrow.”

You blink.

“Wow you really are my biggest fan.”

“Huh?”

“Got my schedule memorized and everything, does that mean we could do it tomorrow? You’ll fuck me on stream tomorrow?”

“I’ll think about it.”

“Seriously I–”

“Actually, cancel it.” He’s hooking his hands under your thighs, drawing you closer. “Don’t look at me like that, I said cancel it.”

“Mm, I don’t know if I can go again yet.” But there’s no conviction behind your words.

“You’re fine, I’ll do all the work.” You’re fine he says, it sends a thrill up your spine right into your brain, reworking the entire chemistry in there. It had been there in the back of your mind, slipping in somewhere between finding out his secret and that first kiss.

You’re absolutely hooked, simply addicted, to Mark Lee.

“Okay.” You grin at him.

#mark x reader #mark lee x reader #nct x reader #nct 127 x reader #nct dream x reader #nct smut #nct 127 smut #– miki writes #– mark

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thyme-in-a-bubble · 7 months ago

Text

three times

a/n: some time ago i asked you guys on a poll what dude you wanted in this story and you all chose bucky, so here it is! also, i partly blame you all for how unhinged it turned out... like you get maybe 6,69% of the blame for the push you gave me... the rest is just me being a hoe

summary: a tale of the three times a nurse was kidnapped by new york’s most notorious gang.

warnings: dark!mob boss!bucky barnes x nurse!reader x doctor!peter parker, smut, dark content, noncon/dubcon, mob au, mobsters!steve rogers, clint barton, tony stark, scott lang, bruce banner, the gang is called the avengers, doctor!kate bishop, enemies to lovers, kidnapping, violence, weapons, blood, being drugged, alcohol consumption, possessiveness, kissing, clothed x completely naked, panty sniffing, dirty talk, manhandling, size kink, gaping, belly bulge, oral, fingering, fisting, pussyjob, in bucky's mind it's brat taming, dumbification, impact play, squirting, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, somno, bondage, mild knife play, mild gunplay, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, creampie, cumplay

word count: 11.574

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You flinched jaggedly as the dark cloth bag was finally ripped off your head. Eyes immediately squinting, they still strained to take in the unfamiliar space you’d been dragged to.

You were no longer in the hospital’s dark parking lot, nor were you in the black van you’d suddenly been tossed into, but instead, you found yourself in a dark living room. It was elegantly decorated, from the Persian rug to the dramatic, antique fireplace flicking behind the cluster of suit-clad criminals glaring down at you.

“This her?” one of them grumbled.

“Yep, one doctor as per your request,” the one who’d abducted you grinned, proudly planting a palm on his hip, “even choose a pretty one just for shits and giggles,” his starkly different mannerisms only made the others seem that much more intimidating.

The broad-figured one with a shock of sandy hair then stepped closer to where you stood, “alright, here’s the thing, doc,” his head tilted slightly to get on your level as he spoke to you directly, “you’re gonna do exactly as we say and then everything will be alright, okay?” he stared in your eyes as you offered him a shaky nod, “okay,” he exhaled, “you got a name?”

“Y/n Y/l/n…” you uttered before hearing yourself try to correct, “but I–…”

“But what?” the same man croaked.

“I-I’m not a doctor…”

“God damn it!” someone rumbled as everyone’s eyes flicked to the man who’d captured you, “we can’t fucking trust the new guy to do anything.”

“Well, she’s wearing scrubs,” he tried, frantically gesturing to your uniform, “I just thought–”

“You fucked up, Lang!” the first man who you’d heard speak barked loudly, “and now we’re not just gonna lose one of our brothers tonight, but also the head of the snake. Great fucking job,” a sharp click then caused your eyes to find the gun he yanked out, “and now she gotta die as well–”

“Wait!” you shrieked as both of your palms shot up in the air, “no! Please don’t kill me! I-I’m a nurse! I’m a nurse! I can help! Whoever’s hurt, I can help!”

Seemingly superior to the others present, the blonde one stared at you intensely for a while before exhaling a verdict, “shit… well, I guess it’s better than nothing…” his polished shoes then began to shuffle before he gestured to you, “come this way.”

Hesitantly, you slowly shadowed him out of the living room, down a dim hallway, and into the chamber that bloomed at the bottom of the corridor. In the centre of the dark room, bathed by two glowing pendants, stood a large pool table, and upon the green felt, with colourful orbs haphazardly scatted all about, there laid a man, unconscious and bleeding.

The brunette’s suit was sodden with crimson, though you couldn’t tell from here how much of it was his own.

The gangster who was standing by the side and watching over the wounded individual glanced up at your arrival and asked his fellow men, “this the doctor?”

“No, it’s a fucking stripper,” you twisted your neck at the sarcastic tone as the guy who’d only moments ago pulled a gun on you waltzed past you and entered the room as well, “yes, of course it is, Tony. How’s the boss?”

“Still alive,” he answered in a sigh and cast his glance back down upon the man on the pool table.

Slowly stepping up, you carefully let your stare wash over the mobster, from the frazzled and blood-soaked attire to the metal-looking hand poking out one of the sleeves.

“What happened?” you asked carefully.

“Miss,” someone grumbled as they set a bag of supplies down beside you on the games table, “just fix him.”

“If you wanna give your friend a better chance, then you give me as much information as possible about what happened to him,” you uttered as you found a pair of gloves and slipped them on.

Letting out a sigh, the blonde fellow then said, “it was a shootout.”

Snatching up a pair of scissors, you began to snip in the man’s clothes, staring at the sleeve closest to you, “how many times was he shot?”

“I don’t know, he–… a lot of rounds went off,” he grunted, the events of the night weighting his broad shoulders down, “I wasn’t exactly counting.”

Two bullets. That’s how many you found when his dress shirt was in tatters on the floor. One was lodged in his right arm four finger widths above his elbow, while the other had strayed a bit further north and buried itself in his bulky bicep. You also found other scrapes and scratches along his torso, assumingly from other bullets that hadn’t been as lucky as those two.

The smallest of relieved sighs flowed from your lungs as you discovered that he wasn’t in a critical enough condition to be in need of a surgeon, at least not from what you could tell with the limited resources currently at your disposal.

As you carefully set to work, first digging the bullets out before cleaning the wounds with saline, your lips slowly parted as you treaded a curved needle, “…so, not that I don’t love the change to my evening plans,” you didn’t dare shift your glance as you asked, “but don’t you have a regular guy for cleaning up these sorts of messes?”

“We did… he died tonight, trying to stop that from happening,” the blonde man gestured to the injuries you began to stitch up.

Blinking up to find his eye, you uttered sincerely, “I’m so sorry for your loss…” feeling yourself, even under such circumstances, uncontrollably slip into those compassionate parts of your profession.

A slight scoff bubbled out of the gangster, taken aback by your unexpected gentleness, “yeah, me too. Banner was one hell of a guy…”

Once each of the wounds were sutured closed and you’d bandaged him up, you pushed yourself back from the pool table.

“Alright,” you exhaled and glanced up at the criminals lurking in the shadows of the chamber, “I’m done.”

“Yeah?” one of them stepped up to get a better look, “he’s alright?”

“No, he’s not alright, he was shot multiple times and should be in a fucking hospital,” your eyes briefly fluttered shut as you heard yourself snap, “now, can I please go home?”

Catching the eye of the blonde one, second in command, you watched as his jaw briefly clenched, the muscles dancing beneath his skin before he breathed, “no, you’re not done.”

“But I did exactly as you asked–”

“Like you said, he should be in a hospital right now, but we can’t have that happen, so instead, you’re gonna stay here till he’s out of the woods.”

“What? I can’t–”

“You’re a nurse, right?” he croaked to shut you up, “so fucking do your job and nurse him back to health.”

Three whole days ended up passing by before Mr Barnes slowly began to regain consciousness.

“Oh, you’re awake!” you snapped back into work mode, springing from your seat and leaning in over the bed which he’d previously been moved into. As the mobster instinctively began to sit up, his eyes barely open yet, you laid a soft palm upon his metal arm and uttered, “sir, please don’t move,” and watched as his clenched jaw almost silenced a groan, “one second, I’ll give you something for the pain,” before you shifted a moment to scavenge through the supplies you’d been given. Once the medicine was found, you exhaled slowly as you injected it, gently pressing down the plunger of the syringe, “there you go…”

You let yourself suck in a deep breath before your sharp eyes washed over him, briefly assessing him as he woke, though as your gaze flickered up to meet his own, initially with the intent of checking his pupillary response, the manner he stared back at you caught you so of guard that a shiver trickled down your spine.

“Sir, do you know what your name is?” you asked in a clear tone.

“Mhm…” he hummed and continued to stare at you as if you were an angel, “Bucky…”

“Bucky, great, that’s good,” you nodded, “and do you know where you are?”

His gaze didn’t shift away from your visage as he then murmured, “heaven…”

“No, I assure you, you’re not dead,” grasping the stethoscope draped around your neck, you shifted it into place to take a quick listen to his heart, “you almost were, a few times, but you aren’t.”

As the steady thumping of his pulse filled your ears and seeped into your soul, his deep voice washed over you once again and layered atop the beat, “I’m guessing you had something to do with that?”

Catching his unwavering eye a moment, you then averted yours and muttered, “I was just doing my job…” before retracting the stethoscope from his chest and casting your glance towards the door, “I should probably go tell the others that you’re awake.”

TWO WEEKS LATER

“…and Mr Jensen in 401 is complaining of a headache, so you might wanna check that out as well.”

“Alright, cool,” the doctor scribbled down the last of your words on the little notepad in his palm before his gaze flickered up to catch yours, “thank you so much, Y/n,” he flashed you a warm smile.

Mirroring his expression, you hugged the charts in your grasp closer to your chest, “any time, Dr Parker.”

“Peter, please,” his thumb extended to click the top of his blue pen before sliding it into the breast pocket of his white coat, “hey, I was gonna go grab a cup of coffee right now, do you wanna join?” he tried to keep his tone casual.

Blinking back at him, your breath couldn’t help but get caught in your throat, “I–, uhm… I’d love to, but I get off in a little bit. Wednesdays are always just morning shifts for me.”

“Oh, alright,” he nodded understandingly, though the gentle rejection still tainted his features slightly.

“But another time,” you offered, successfully brightening his smile once more.

“Yeah?” his elbow curled up to lean against the supportive railing that lined the hospital hallways.

“Sure. I mean, I drink coffee, you drink coffee,” you awkwardly began to dig yourself into a hole, “the chances of us bumping into each other at the coffee cart are pretty high–”

But your sentence was then cut short as Peter’s pager suddenly pinged in his pocket.

Fishing the small device out, his eyes flickered down to the small screen before he croaked, “oh, sorry. I gotta run.”

“Of course,” you swiftly waved a hand and watched as his feet began to shuffle into a run.

“Talk later!” Peter called over his shoulder before he rounded a corner and disappeared into the maze of the hospital.

Twisting around, your feet carried you the remaining distance towards the nurses’ station overlooking the ICU. As you laid the stack of files in your arms down on the counter, a familiar voice found your ears right before her visage popped into your periphery.

“Please tell me that that was what I think it was.”

Your gaze stayed glued on the charts a moment longer as you ignored your friend’s prying, “hello to you too, Kate.”

When your head finally raised and you let her catch your eye, her wide ones questioned you before she expectantly poked once more, “well?”

“Well what?” you shrugged, though your feeble attempts at shutting the pending subject down failed as she shot you a glare, efficiently causing you to crumble with a sigh, “yes, he asked me out again–, or kinda. It was just coffee.”

“And you finally said yes?” she smiled keenly.

Holding back your scoff, you simply uttered, “no,” before spinning on your heel.

“Again?” she shuffled slightly to catch up to the pace you swiftly slipped into, “why not? He’s kind, he’s a doctor, he’s hot,” she listed off, counting on her fingers, “he’s literally perfect for you.”

“I know he is…” you tilted your head, almost with an air of shame, “he’s exactly the type of guy that I should be running after…”

Though you liked him as a person and cared for him enough to call him your friend, those feelings you caught yourself forcing just hadn’t bubbled up yet. He was the kind of man that you deserved, that you should fall for, and certainly not the monster that still haunted you, that for some reason wouldn’t stop popping into your mind, especially at inappropriate times, like very late at night…

“So then why aren’t you?” Kate asked as you entered the employee locker room.

And though thoughts of a gruff gangster caused your heart to swell, you still muttered, “I don’t know…” as an excuse before you popped open your locker and uttered, “hey… what do you know about mobsters here in the city?

“Other than the horror stories I’ve picked up in the ER, not too much,” she leaned against the row of cubbies beside your own as you dug out your bag and began to change out of your scrubs and back into the clothes you’d worn early this morning when the sun was still only a promise waiting to rise, “though I did grow up here, so I probably do know a bit more than you,” she acknowledged your move to the city only a few years prior, “why? Are you suddenly in the mood for a change in careers?”

Though the truth was on the tip of your tongue, you still found yourself obeying the commands the gangsters had sent you home with. Telling the cops was no use because they were all in their pockets, and confiding in a loved one also wasn’t a smart choice as that would only put them in danger.

“Have you ever heard of someone called Bucky Barnes?” you asked, instinctively lowering your voice to a whisper.

The ever light-hearted expression plastered upon Kate’s face fell at the recognition of that name, “yeah…”

“Really?” your brows rose, “what do you know about him?”

“I mean, other than that he’s the supposed leader of the Avengers, not too much.”

“The Avengers?”

“Yeah, one of New York’s most notorious gangs,” she let out a breath, “from what little I know, they get up to a shit ton of stuff straight out of a De Niro movie or something, but their real money maker is cocaine… I mean, that’s why the head of the group is known as the winter soldier.”

“How do you know about all this stuff?” you squinted back at her in slight amazement.

“Went to med school with a few coke heads, might have dated one of them,” she blurted before shaking her head and getting back to the subject at hand, “anyways, Y/n, the point is, you don’t wanna mess with those types, trust me.”

“I know,” you uttered quietly as you shrugged on your coat and pushed your locker closed, “I wasn’t planning on it, I was just curious…”

As you dragged your foaming toothbrush over the last of your teeth, a loud knock suddenly rattled your front door, causing you to jump atop the pink bathmat in your tiny bathroom.

Neck twisted out towards the entryway of your apartment, you briefly leaned over the sink to spit out the toothpaste slowly leaking out of your mouth, before your feet began to carry you towards the exit.

One of your palms momentarily ran over the edge of your pyjama-clad arm as the night chill soaked through the cotton and made you yearn for the warmth of your bed.

Though as you pulled on the handle, the haunting figures on the other side of the door caused your blood to freeze with recognition. Standing tall on the other side of the threshold, there stood two of the Avengers’ henchmen.

“You need to come with us,” the one called Barton ordered coldly. Over the few days the gang had held you captive, you’d picked up on the names of many of the members, including the two that stood before you now.

“What?” your chest rose and fell rapidly, “I–, please, I swear, I haven’t told a soul.”

Having them knock at your door was one thing, but even just the thought of criminals such as them knowing where you lived sent you into a spiral.

“Yeah, we know you haven’t,” Scott put a hand on the doorframe, “that’s not why we’re here.”

“What happened?” you murmured as you were led into one of the many sitting rooms in the mysterious manor they once again brought you to. In an armchair before you, half-empty glass of bourbon in metal hand and the sleeves rolled up on his blood-tainted shirt, there sat the big bad winter soldier himself, panting as he slowly sipped.

Though when the sound of your voice filled the room, Bucky’s eyes only snapped up to yours for a moment before he shot a glare at his men.

“What is she doing here?” he grumbled lowly.

“Boss, you busted your stitches,” Lang gestured tensely to the crimson slowly staining his crisp white shirt, “what else were we–”

Intersecting the conversation, the broad form of Steve stepped into the space between the gangsters and swiftly snuffed the pending argument out, “thank you, Barton, Lang,” he nodded to each of them, “you can go,” and you watched the pair that had brought you back exited the room. Shifting his weight, Bucky’s right hand man turned to you and offered you a polite smile, “Y/n, pleasure to see you again.”

“Yeah,” you exhaled, not masking your disdain of the situation you’d been dragged into yet again, “I wish I could say the same…” before you shifted your eyes to the man in the chair, though still directed your question at Steve, “what do you need me to do?”

As you shifted closer to the intimidating leader, ever drinking, surely to dull the pain, Rogers murmured as you kneeled down to assess, “I think it’s just the one on his shoulder that’s–”

“Yeah, I see it,” you cut him off, then glanced back over your shoulder at him, “do you still have that medical bag?”

“Yeah, one second,” he swiftly disappeared to fetch it, leaving you all alone with the feared mob boss.

With the crackling fireplace off to the side as your only source of light, you cautiously raised your hands and asked, “do you mind taking this off?” motioning to the shirt he wore.

“Yeah, sure,” Bucky sighed and sat down his glass before shrugging the item off. Though you’d stared at his bare chest for hours on end before, soaking in his reveal once again for some reason caused your heartbeat to pick up, though you swiftly averted your gaze in an attempt at staying professional.

Not long passed before Rogers had returned with the supplies, and you’d commenced redoing his stitches.

“So,” you murmured though your concentration, weaving his skin back together, “do I even wanna know how this happened?”

Blinking down at you, your face close to your work and therefore his skin, Bucky breathed, “probably not...” and as his stare only intensified over the next few stitches, his low timbre once again washed over you as the corners of his lips tugged into the slightest of smirks, “cute PJs, by the way…”

“Yeah, I didn’t exactly get a chance to change,” you felt your cheeks heat up.

“Oh, I'm not complaining,” his gaze shifted to take in the way the cool night air had caused your nipples to become visible like pebbles beneath the thin stripy fabric, the comment making you shift tensely on your knees.

Once the last of the knots were tied off and you’d snipped the end of the thread, you wrapped the wounds back up with clean bandages before placing the roll of gauze back into the medical bag.

“Alright, uhm,” you shifted back, “you’re good now,” a slight winch shot through you as you watched him briefly test out his arm’s mobility, “just be careful, try not to use it too much.”

Catching your eye, he uttered softly, “thank you,” before shifting his gaze to the gangster by the door, “Rogers?”

“Yes, boss?”

“See to it that she gets home safe.”

ONE MONTH LATER

“I’ve heard the risotto here is really good,” Peter noted as you both skimmed the menus resting on the tablecloth before you, the crystal chandeliers illuminating the restaurant cast a soft glow down upon the choices.

“Yeah?” you briefly glanced up to catch the doctor’s eye, “well, maybe I should get that then,” you shrugged before shifting slightly in your seat, “hey,” you captured his gaze once more, “could you maybe order for me? I just need to–…” you trailed off, letting the thumb you discreetly pointed over your shoulder in the direction of the bathrooms fill out the rest of the sentence.

“Oh, yeah, of course,” he nodded.

“Great, thank you,” you smiled as you rose. The long, cobalt-blue, velvet dress you wore briefly swooshed around your legs before the soft click of your heels against the polished floors carried you through the maze of tables.

It was the third date you’d ventured on with the kind doctor. The third one and yet you still didn’t have any feelings towards him.

Stubbornly trying as you might, you still couldn’t get the poison out of your system and do the right thing.

Once you exited the ladies’ room, and big breath of courage in your lungs as you pushed open the door, it all seeped out as you walked through the small hallway that connected the lavatories with the dining space, and you accidentally bumped into two figures that waited in the space.

Unsure of who was to blame for the collision, you immediately just muttered, “oh, sorry–,” before you glanced up at the pair and your apology crumbled from your lips, your frame immediately freezing up at the recognition.

“Listen to me. You are going to quietly walk back to your little date, tell him that you’re not feeling well and need to go home,” Stark kept his voice hushed as both he and the other gangster slowly cornered you, the other one grasping your arm to keep you in place, “and then you’re gonna come with us.”

Sucking in a breath, you then tilted your chin slightly, “and if I don’t?”

“Then we won’t hesitate to make a scene,” Barton shifted the edge of his jacket out of the way to flash you the gun strapped beneath, “so you can either walk with us and safe a life or you can not only have a dying gangster’s blood on your hands, but also everyone in this fucking restaurant.”

With the clench of your jaw, you glared up at them and murmured, “...fine,” before you ripped your arm free and began to walk back into the dining area and the table where Peter still sat.

Flashing you a smile as you neared, the doctor swiftly said, “so, I ordered this chardonnay that the waiter said was good. You drink wine, right?”

“I–, uhm…” your fingers clutched the back of the chair as you tried to appear as you had before, even though now you felt as if your hammering heart might spring straight out of your ribcage, “Peter, I’m really sorry, but I gotta go,” you briefly scrambled your brain before adding, “the hospital paged me. There was a big accident downtown.”

“Really?” he fished out his own beeper from his pocket and furrowed down at it, “I didn’t get paged, so it probably can’t be that bad.”

“Yeah, but nurses shortage, you know?”

“Right,” he nodded, disappointment slightly polluting his understanding expression.

“I'm really sorry,” you uttered as you picked up your small purse from the chair.

“No, it’s fine,” he shook his head gently, “hey, I get it,” he shrugged before waving a hand, “go.”

“Thank you,” you stood there a moment longer, unsure of how you should depart, “uhm… bye,” before you awkwardly shifted closer to his seat and leaned down to press a brief kiss to his cheek as you offered him a half-hearted hug.

“Who is it this time?” you sighed as you were led into an elegant space, surely intended for parties judging by the long bar that stretched along the back wall. Glaring at the only man seated on one of the barstools, you asked impatiently, “is it you? Did you hurt yourself again?”

Glancing over his shoulder as you halted your stride halfway down the short steps, a smile appeared on Bucky’s face as he leaned a forearm against the bar top and bellowed, “Y/n! Come, have a drink with me,” he waved a hand for you to take the seat beside him.

Standing your ground, you squinted back at him in confusion, “no, I can’t, I–, where’s the patient?”

“The patient?” he echoed as if you were speaking a foreign language.

“Yes,” you huffed, your annoyance simmering into a full-on boil, “the person who’s on death’s door, the reason why I, a medical professional, is here,” you placed your hands on your hips and asked once again, “is it you?”

“No, I’m phenomenal,” he pursed his lips as he snatched up the stout glass waiting for him on the marble counter, “never been better.”

“Okay, so who is it?”

Tearing his gaze away from you, he then uttered, “no one,” before raising the drink up to his lips. As your mouth parted and your glare nearly burned straight through him, the mobster casually added, “you look stunning, by the way,” before twisting in his seat to face you more, “I didn’t know they changed scrubs out with gowns.”

“No, I–, I was on a date–,” you muttered faintly through your confusion, slightly shaking your head in an attempt to clear it before you raised a hand, “wait, excuse me, no one’s injured?”

“No,” Barnes shook his head, “no one’s hurt or dying,” then added as if your reaction was a tad bit too dramatic for his taste, “you can relax, it’s fine.”

But instead, the opposite emotions roiled inside of you as you slowly ascended a single one of the remaining steps, “so you mean to tell me that your men threatened me, my date and a whole restaurant of people, then dragged me all the way out here again, for nothing?” you fumed.

“No, it wasn’t for nothing,” he shrugged, “they brought you back here because I told them to,” he kept his ocean eyes upon you as he once again repeated, “now, come drink with me.”

“No, I don’t want a fucking drink,” you roared.

But then, just as swiftly as you had raised your voice, Bucky’s steely hand dipped beneath his suit jacket and pulled out a gun.

“I asked you nicely,” his stern tone rolled off his tongue slowly as he aimed the weapon upon you, “now sit your ass down and share a drink with me.”

Carefully, you finally followed his orders and sat down at the bar beside him.

“Good girl. That wasn’t so hard now, was it?” he uttered as he sat the gun down beside his drink. Raising up a hand to the silent shadow behind the bar, a glass was soon slid across the counter, one Bukcy pushed closer towards you, “here,” he said as you stared down at the orange peel floating at the top. As you lifted up the cocktail, the gangster beside you raised his own to click yours, “cheers.”

You briefly toyed with the thought of just taking a sip, though opted instead to down it all, both out of the desperate hope that the alcohol would aid the strange evening, but also in an attempt to fast forward a tad closer to your longed-for departure, ripping the bandage off instead of nursing it all night long.

Though as you sat the glass back down on the bar, the bottom clanged against the marble much more forcefully than you’d intended as the fingers you clutched it with began to tingle. Blinking heavily a few times, your hand accidentally knocked over the empty drink as a numbing sensation began to bloom within your chest and spread throughout your body.

Trying to get up from your seat, you mumbled foggily, “what the hell?” though quickly stumbled as your legs felt like jelly beneath your velvet gown.

“Whoa, careful now, angel,” Bucky’s calm gaze trailed you chillingly as you tried to steady yourself.

“The fuck did you do?” you panted as your wide eyes watched him raise from his seat.

“It's okay,” he uttered softly, “it’s all gonna be okay,” before your world turned to black and you passed out into his arms.

When you finally stirred, you were no longer at the bar, nor any other room you’d been in before. You were in a bedroom, situated on a spacious mattress and alongside countless fluffy maroon pillows.

As you sat up, a low rustling found your ears and drew your vision down towards the coldness clinging around your ankle. Strung between the bottom corner of the bedframe and your own foot, there shined a chain, one that, try as you instinctively did, you couldn’t snap out of.

But then, as the door to the room creaked open and caused your body to flinch, a plea swiftly flowed out of you as you watched Rogers step inside, balancing a small tray with a glass and a tall decanter of clear water.

“Steve!” you crawled to the bottom of the bed, “I–… help me, please,” you begged, hearing tears thicken up your voice as they rolled down your cheeks, “you’re a good man, deep down I know you don’t wanna stand by and let this happen. Can you unlock me? Please? Help me get out of here.”

But just as you waited for Steve’s lips to part, you instead heard, “shh, don’t waste your breath, honey,” as in strolled Bucky, causing you to swiftly scramble as far back on the bed as the chain would allow.

Sitting down in a chair just out of your reach, the fireplace opposing the bed, directly behind where he sat, clacked and lit up his spine as he settled into the seat and directed his cold gaze upon you.

“Glad to see you awake,” he uttered calmly.

“Fuck you!” you swiftly spat as you hugged your knees tightly to your chest.

“And with all of your charms still intact,” he tilted his head, a light smirk blooming on his lips as your vulgar language hadn’t fazed him one bit.

“Let me go,” you demanded.

“Yeah, that’s not gonna happen, my angel,” his burly arms folded across his chest, “this is for your own protection,” he briefly gestured to the chain, “we wouldn’t want you to do anything stupid or rash now, would we?” one of his eyebrows twitched, “I can’t let anything happen to you,” he uttered as you continued to stare daggers at him, “you need to be kept as safe as possible so you can keep on helping me the way that you have.”

“What? You want me to be your gang’s personal nurse?” you scoffed, “is this your sick and twisted way of offering me a job, because if so, no thanks!”

“Yeah, no, this isn’t a job offering, I’m not interested in those talents of yours,” he leaned further back in the seat before he began to explain, “you see, for the past few years, I’ve had a serious string of bad luck. Deals have fallen through, rats have been found, the feds have been snipping at our heels and countless of my men have lost their lives,” he listed off, “but, then I met you,” his eyes flickered up to capture your own, “and it all turned around,” he uttered, “I tell you, when you’re here, it’s fate herself is on my side and nothing whatsoever could go wrong. Like having you has made me a fucking god or something, that’s the level of power you’ve bestowed in me,” a faint smile tugged at his lips as those words rolled off his tongue, “so no, you can not leave. You have to stay right here where I can make sure you’re safe and sound. Although, just because you get to be kept safe, that doesn’t mean you’re free of any consequences if you step out of line… it also doesn’t mean that I’ll deny anyone of your beauty if it pleases them… so, I guess it’s more along the lines of you just staying alive under my watch.”

In the blind rage his words threw you into, your fingers wrapped around the bedside lamp before you chucked it across the room. Though just before it could strike the gangster’s head, he casually ducked out of the way, the lamp instead smashing on the floor behind him as a chuckle began to rumble within his chest.

“That’s cute,” he laughed lowly, “you’ve got some bite. It’ll get you in trouble, but it’s adorable.”

“I'm not interested in being your good luck charm, you superstitious fuck!” you yelled as he got up from his seat.

Huffing out a condescending grin, “give it some time, angel,” he fastened the button on his dark suit jacket before smoothing a palm down over the front, “the human psyche is much more fragile than you’d think and can get used to some surprising conditions,” he ignored the scream that desperately tore from your lungs and instead turned to Steve standing by the door and asked him calming, “Rogers, would you mind cleaning that up?” gesturing to the broken lamp on the floor, and as he received a small nod in return, he murmured, “thank you,” before exiting the room and leaving you to your fate.

“Seriously?” Steve let out a laugh when he finally coaxed the truth out as to why you hadn’t been touching any of the food they’d brought you, “and here I thought you were just a picky eater.”

“Well, you’ve already drugged me once so what’s stopping you from doing it again,” you explained, glaring down at the plate before you as he attempted to stifle his laughter.

“I swear, cross my heart, your pasta is not poisoned.”

Continuing to squint down at the food, you kissed your teeth, “prove it.”

“Really?” his brows floated up, “alright,” he sighed as he sat down across from you. Dragging your plate closer, he twirled some of the spaghetti onto the fork before slipping it into his mouth, “see?” he chewed, “I’m fine, and so will you be when you get some food in that belly of yours.”

Pushing it back towards you, hesitantly, you picked up the fork and slowly began to eat. It had only been little things you’d consumed the past couple of days being here, things you could be certain weren’t tainted, like the odd apple and such.

Though as you chewed and finally began to settle your stomach’s nauseating rumbling, tears began to stream down your cheeks.

No matter how hard you tried to beg, none of the mobsters would help you, as their loyalty was just too hard for you to crack.

“Hey…” your bloodshot eyes then flickered up to Rogers as he noticed your weeping, “it’ll get easier, I promise,” he attempted in a soft tone.

“How?” you blinked back at him hopelessly, “I am being locked up in a room by a maniac as if I’m just some trinket for him to own.”

Throwing a brief glance over his shoulder, he then leaned in a bit closer to cautiously advise you, “…there might be some things you could do to change your situation…”

“What?” a spark suddenly flickered within you, “I’d do anything.”

“…you might consider trying to get closer to Barnes…” his words remained hesitant, “…if he begins to care for you, then he might treat you differently…”

“Like, he’d let me go?”

“I don’t know,” he exhaled, “but maybe it could get that chain off your ankle,” he gestured to your foot, “baby steps.”

ONE MONTH LATER

“Here,” Steve croaked as he suddenly burst through the doors to your room, a big flat box in his arms which he tossed on the bed beside you. Peeking inside, a folded-up bundle of black fabric met your eye, “put it on,” he ordered hastily, “make yourself presentable.”

“Why?” you blinked up at him, your brows knitting gently together.

“Because the boss requested it,” he answered impatiently.

“What, he wants to play dress up with me now? Treat me like a doll?”

Over the past month, you had gone from being scared out of your mind, barely sleeping at night, horrified of what they might do to you, till the paralysing fear slowly began to melt away as not much happened at all, in fact so little that you grew bored in your imprisonment, thinking that the big bad gangsters were just all bark and no bite. Perhaps that was a dangerous confidence to develop, growing cocky in your restlessness, but you couldn’t help it.

Letting out a low sigh, “just put it on,” Rogers’ head tilted before he said, “I’ll be outside, yell when you’re done.”

Popping the lid off all the way, you then slipped into the black gown waiting within. It was long and simple in its beauty as it hugged all of your curves like a second skin.

Right before you called out to the mobster in the hallway, you leaned in closer to the mirror on the left side of the room. The dark storm clouds visible out the gothic windows that filled up the wall behind you blossomed in the reflection alongside you as you momentarily fussed with your hair to make it match the elegant dress better.

Once Steve had entered the room once again, the very last thing you expected was what he did next.

Walking straight up to you, without a word, he bent down and unlocked the chain binding you to the bedpost. At first, a wave of hope washed over you till it was drowned out by the unsettling notion as to where he would take you and just what plans were on the horizon.

Grabbing you by the arm, he dragged you out of the room and down the dark hallway you’d only seen glimpses of before. You tried to ask him what was going on, though he didn’t offer you any clue in return, only remained silent as he hauled you through the maze-like manor till a wide set of steps found you, leading you down into a garage where a group of the other gangsters already stood beside the black car rolled up by the base of the stairs.

Standing in the middle with an arm resting against the roof of the vehicle, Bucky’s gaze swiftly landed upon you as you ascended the stone steps.

“Well,” the mob boss’ eyes roamed your form, “don’t you look pretty.”

Biting your tongue, you greeted him politely, “Mr Barnes.”

“Shall we go?” he cracked open one of the car doors.

“Where?” you tried, though your question only caused him to breathe out a smile as he ignored it and instead commanded softly.

“Get in the car, angel,” his metal arm rested atop the door.

Riding in a different vehicle than you, it was Clint who slipped in behind the wheel of your car and drove you the silent route towards the mysterious destination.

Though once the car came to a stop, the door to your left cracked open from the outside and there to greet you was an outstretched metal hand to help you exit.

You didn’t recognise the building that loomed before you, though it was grand and opulent with large steps leading you and all the other arrivals up to what sounded like a party already buzzing on.

“So, you needed a date,” you exhaled as Barnes took your arm and began to lead you up the stairs, a cluster of his men shadowing behind you both.

“No,” he cocked his head, “I didn’t need it...”

Casting your glance around at the other guests that passed, you asked, “what kinda party is this anyway? Let me guess, human trafficking auction?” you were completely serious, though still managed to make the gangster laugh gently.

“It’s a wedding,” his chuckle finished billowing out of his lungs, “or a funeral,” he tilted his head, “I'm not quite sure.”

“How could you not be sure?” you shot him a glance as you reached the top of the steps and he dragged you inside the marbled halls, “there’s a pretty significant difference.”

“They all just kinda melt together at this point,” he sighed, “I have at least one of these a week I gotta show my face at, just out of respect.”

Taking a look around, you uttered, “well, do you at least know who this funeral wedding is for?”

“No fucking clue,” he exhaled before following the signs and leading you into the venue’s ballroom.

Turns out it was a wedding for some couple you hadn’t yet spotted, though you’d already read their names a thousand times with all the stuff they were plastered upon.

You stayed quiet and lingered by Bucky’s side as he shook some people’s hands and made some small talk before the two of you found yourselves seated at one of the many round tables in the hall.

Blinking up at the floral centrepiece, your fingers fiddled with the white tablecloth as the hours rolled by. Soon, not only the complementary glass of champagne you’d been handed back when you arrived was sloshing in your belly, but also quite a bit more alcohol as you decided that was a good tool to make the evening more bearable.

It however also came with the hindrance of boosting your cockiness as you eventually found yourself poking the bear.

“You know for a big bad gangster,” you stared over at him, leaned back in the seat next to yours, “you’re actually not that scary up close,” you pursed your lips, causing a chuckle to rumble within his chest because of just how untrue that statement was, “smiling at everyone, being polite. Are you sure you really are the big bad winter solider? The king of New York with no heart and only an imagination for torture…”

“Well…” he huffed out a short laugh as he met your gaze, “don’t you have me just all figured out.”

“Some of your guys may have filled me in a bit,” you tilted your head.

“Have they now?” he continued to look amused.

“Yeah, well, a bit at least,” you seized your glass and took another sip.

As you placed the flute back down on the table and rested your cheek in a propped-up palm, your stare only intensified into a squint as Bucky’s eyes flickered back around the room.

But as his gaze fluttered back to notice your gawking, he muttered, “what?”

“Why aren’t you mean tonight?” you uttered through the haze fuzzing up your mind.

Tongue flicking out to wet his lips, his eyes briefly dipped before he uttered, “do you want me to be mean?” a playful smirk twitched at the corner of his lip in a threat to appear.

“Is it all just a lie?” you asked, the subtext of his previous words flowing directly over your dizzy head.

“What?”

Squinting back at him, you then breathed, “there’s always a part of me that’s still scared, imagining what you might do to me… but now,” you slowly drew out, “I don’t think you’re actually ever gonna do anything,” you blindly decided, “that’s not really who you are, they’re all just empty threats…”

“Hm…” he hummed, a slight smile blooming upon his lips as he stared back at you, “okay…” before he leaned in closer to utter, “and just what makes you think that I haven’t already?” your face immediately dropped as his words caused your frame to freeze up, “tell me, Y/n,” his breath fanned across your cheeks, “did you sleep well last night? Or the night before for that matter, or–, well, just during the time you’ve spent here with me?”

As your shock not only showed in your expression but also in your complete lack of speech, he simply grinned back at your stunned features before grabbing you by the hand and breaking the moment.

“Come on,” he dragged you with him as he then stood up himself, “let’s dance.”

With an argument on the tip of your tongue, the appendage, just as the rest of you, still remained too dumbfounded for it to come to fruition. You didn’t manage to gather your wits once again till he had you on the middle of the floor, wide hand on your waist as you swayed to the music.

As his hold slowly tightened and he brought you closer to his broad frame, your breath suddenly hitched as you blinked up into his eyes, the air between you growing thick. The hand that grasped your own near swallowed your palm in a dizzying contrast. Goosebumps began to erupt across your skin as you felt your heartbeat thump not only in your chest, but also much further south, a mortifying clue to the dark truth you hoped he didn’t somehow notice.

Gliding his palm up the length of your spine, it came to rest between your shoulder blades as he then drew you in closer and your gaze fell to the band strumming over his shoulder.

“Does the thought of me playing with you at night turn you on?” he whispered in your ear and continued to gently sway you to the music, “because if you want me to wake you, all you have to do is ask. Though my attempts so far at rubbing your luck off on me have been rather eventful, I’m still sure it would be better if you gave me a bit of a hand…”

Tilting your head back to blink up at him, you thought you were gonna spit him in the face for making such an accusation, till your stare acted of its own accord and fluttered down to fixate on his lips.

It almost felt as if they were calling for you, begging you closer like a stubborn magnet. But before you could close the short distance that kept you two apart, Barton appeared in your periphery and tapped his boss on the shoulder.

As he leaned in to whisper in his ear, you couldn’t pick up on the words over the music, though watched as Bucky’s face swiftly grew hard.

“What’s going on?” you asked as the secretive message came to an end and the mobster’s wide hands faded from your frame.

Ignoring your question, Bucky instead cast his glance over your head at one of the men behind you and ordered sternly, “Stark? Get her home, now.”

“What’s happening?” you tried again, though without success as Tony dragged you away and the remaining gathered to converse in hushed tones.

Perhaps it was because of the chaos of whatever was happening, perhaps just a simple mistake, but when you returned back to the manor, the shackle wasn’t reunited with your ankle.

Not willing to let that gift slip through your fingers, you soon grasped that opportunity tight and made an attempt at your escape.

Sneaking down the many hallways, you successfully hid from a handful of gruff-looking men before you realised you couldn’t remember the path to the garage or any other way out of the labyrinth of a building that kept you swallowed in the dark.

However, your mission turned into a swiftly sinking ship as soon as you rounded the wrong corner and crossed the threshold of the last room you should have entered.

In the centre of the space stood two chairs, both with individuals strapped to them, though only one of them was still alive. Before the seated pair and with his back turned to your frozen-up form, there stood Bucky. Returned from the party and with both his jacket and tie torn off, his sleeves were rolled up though still tainted in small crimson flecks of the deed he’d just done.

“Come on, Vladimir…” Barnes uttered as he kneeled down in front of the battered man still breathing, neither he nor the other members in the room haven noticed you in the doorway, “just give me what I want and we can wrap this up.”

Wheezing painfully through his broken nose, the man met Bucky’s steely gaze before fulfilling his request, “…I’m sorry…”

“Hm?” he leaned in pettily, “what was that?”

“I’m sorry,” the tied-up man repeated with a laboured huff.

“Okay, getting there,” he nodded, “what are you sorry for?”

“I’m sorry for killing Bruce…” the name rolled off Vladimir’s tongue like a crackle to a bonfire.

“And?” Bucky fished.

“For hurting you…”

“See? That wasn’t so bad now,” Barnes straightened back up, “an apology, a life for the one you took from me, and now there’s just one last thing left to do, and then we’re even,” he then took one step back and conjured his gun. Aiming it at the Russian, barely a second passed before a shot deafened everyone’s ears and a bullet blasted through the tied-up man’s arm, mirroring the injuries Bucky himself had sustained. The loud blast and the bloodcurdling scream that tore from Vladimir, however, caught you so off guard that a shriek slipped from you as you flinched, revealing your presence as everybody’s eyes suddenly shifted to train on you. Glancing over his shoulder, Bucky grunted, “what are you doing out? What is she doing out?” he shot his glare in the direction of Steve off to the side, “Rogers? Get her back into bed.”

“Yes, boss,” his right-hand man swiftly nodded before catching up to you in two long steps and seizing your arm.

And as you were dragged back to your doom, your eyes caught the tail end as Barnes let out a sigh and turned back around to face his victim, “now, where were we? Right! I believe the other one was right around here,” another gunshot echoed in the manor as he shot Vladimir’s arm once more, “and now, we can’t forget about the ones that only skimmed me, so get up and don’t fucking flinch, it’s on you if I hit your lung.”

The chain reunited with your ankle jingled as you twisted on the bed to cast your gaze out the window. Heavy rain hammered against the tall panes as the restless city twinkled through the darkness of the night. In the corner of the room, Steve watched up like a hawk as you continuously failed to find rest.

But then, just as you thought you felt your heartbeat return to a normal rhythm, the double doors burst open and in paced Bucky.

“Is she awake?” he huffed, though didn’t wait for an answer before he heatedly went on, “okay, great.”

As his rushed steps halted by the foot of your bed, the look in his eye caused your body to shudder.

“Rogers?” he kept his cold stare glued on you as he uttered, “go wait outside.”

Though you silently pleaded with your eyes for the mobster to stay, it was no use as Steve swiftly shut the doors behind him.

As the man before you then shifted, your wide eyes finally noticed the bundle of rope in his grasp as he began to unravel it. Scrambling back, you didn’t manage to crawl far away before Bucky caught the chain and yanked it hard enough to force your frame down towards him. Though your struggling finally fizzled out when the gangster pulled out his gun, the very gun he’d just ended a life with, and aimed it at your head to get you to comply.

“You know,” he uttered gruffly like a pent-up bull, “I’ve been nice, I’ve been real well behaved, kept my manners intact, been a goddamn gentleman,” the heavy weapon in his hand tilted slightly to emphasise his words, “but evidently, that’s not what you need to learn your fucking place,” he fumed before letting out a low exhale, “that’s alright…”

“Bucky, please,” tears blurred your vision as you held up your palms, “I-I understand, I’m sorry, you don’t have to do this.”

“Oh, but I do…” he sighed almost softly as he then kneeled down closer and let the tip of the cool barrel stroke your cheek, “…if you don’t break a horse, then she’ll never be tamed…” his eyes trailed after the line he drew before it flickered up to find your own, “now give me your hands,” he ordered and hesitantly, you shakily obeyed.

Since you couldn’t stay in your place, he simply had to tie you down better.

Unfurling the rope in his grasp, the mobster then fastened the cord around not only both of your wrists, but also your free ankle. After each of the tight knots were tied off, he yanked each appendage to the nearest corner of the bedframe, spreading your limbs till you looked like a starfish on the mattress.

Taking a step back to admire his handiwork, his fingers then dipped down into his pocket before a slight furrow found his brow as his touch didn’t locate the item he fished for. Placing the heavy gun in his palm down on the fireplace mantel, he then closed the distance towards the exit and cracked open the door just a smidge.

“Rogers?” he extended a hand through the sliver, “give me your knife,” to which a switchblade was swiftly placed in his palm, replacing his own which was still lodged deeply inside the corpse of the Russian in the other room.

Slamming the door behind him, he then crossed the room and silently began to cut your clothes off. The black gown you still wore came off with only a few slices, though your underwear, that he took his time with, slowly grazing the blade over your goosebump-ridden flesh before nicking the cotton clinging tightly to your frame.

Once you were bare before him, his feet shuffled back slightly as he let his stare soak up every millimetre of you.

A hand floated up to tug on his tie and loosen it slightly from around the collar still dappled with the blood of his enemy. Folding closed the knife with a faint flourish, he then sank down into the armchair directly behind him. The tattered panties he’d sliced from you were still clutched tightly in his hand as his eyes stayed glued upon your frame. Bringing the fabric up to his nose, his blue eyes then fluttered closed for a second as he breathed deeply, letting the scent of you flood his senses.

But as he stuffed the cotton down into his pocket and let his palm drift to somewhere else, your eyes grew even wider as you gasped, “what are you–”

“Just shut up, please,” he groaned, sounding like he was at his very last straw as he brashly began to rub himself through his pants, “just for one fucking second, don’t be a brat.”

Your jaw couldn’t help but hit the floor as he shamelessly pulled out his cock, letting the intimidating hardness spring free of its confines before he spit in his palm and enclosed his fist around the fat girth. You wanted to look away, you truly did, but you just couldn’t, a flaw he obviously noticed.

“You’re unbelievable…” he chuckled as his fist silkily stroked up and down his cock, the mixture of his own spit and the precum beading at the tip caused a sloppy melody to fill the room at each and every twist, “I mean, me being into you, that’s one thing, that makes sense, you’re the closest thing to magic that I’ve ever experienced, so of course that’s enough to get me going, but you… you’re the very textbook definition of a good girl and here you are pining after–, how was it again you put it? A superstitious fuck?”

Stunned at his accusation, you tried to tear your stare away, “I don’t know what you’re talking about…”

“Really? Well, I didn’t take you for a fool, but hey,” he tilted his head, “some folks are just that disconnected to their own feelings.”

Blinking back at him, you scoffed faintly, “you’re crazy, I’m not–…” but you couldn’t even say it out loud as you, deep down, knew that it was a lie.

“Oh yeah?” he cocked a brow, finding your flustered state amusing, “then why did you almost kiss me tonight?”

“I–…I was drunk.”

Letting out a dark chuckle, “alright, sure,” he then rose from his seat and crawled up on the bed with you before he buried his face between your parted thighs, “if you despise me so much, then why are you so fucking wet?” his hot breath fanned across your core.

“I’m not–,” you tried, though your attempt then fell short as he proved you wrong, reaching out his touch to tickle at your lightly and let the wet sounds of your arousal slosh into your soul.

“Hm?” the broad pad of his thumb gently brushed over your glistening petals, making them part for him, “if this isn’t because deep down you want me, then why? I’d love to hear you try and explain your way out of this one…”

“I-I–…” your eyes fluttered as you tried to fight the feeling, “I don’t…”

Laughing lightly through the scoff that then bubbled out of him, he averted his gaze and said, “okay, fine. You wanna play that game?” his eyes flickered back up to find yours, “if you need a bit of help in order to admit the truth, then that’s what you’ll get,” he uttered before suddenly stuffing two of his fingers inside of you.

Craning his neck, he tilted down to catch a taste. You tried to hold back your moans as his digits caressed you, but the softness of his velvety tongue came as such a shock that a little squeak managed to slip out past your lips.

“I mean, if it’s any consolation,” his stubbly chin glimmered with your essence as he retracted slightly to smirk, “I personally think it’s kinda cute that you have a crush on me like a little schoolgirl…”

He then sent his palm down upon your pussy in a wet smack, before repeating the action a couple of times to echo the jolt it shot through your body.

“Fuck…” he groaned in a low rumble, “you are so much more pretty awake…” he revealed casually, “sure, you make some cute noises in your sleep, but not like this,” you instinctually tried to stifle the uncontrollable whimpers that flowed from your lungs, “you should really be thanking me for all of the time and effort I’ve put into stretching this little hole of yours out,” his fingers continued to pump in and out of you, “if I hadn’t, well then you might just split in two when I finally get my cock in there.”

And as he leaned down to lap you up once more, you curled your toes as you felt him push you closer to the edge.

“Mr Barnes…” you attempted with an air of respect through your pants, “please don’t–…”

“Why? Because it makes you want to kiss me again?” he teasingly taunted you before continuing his persistent licks, bullying your clit into submission.

And as he kept going, even as you gasped, “stop–, a-ah!” he still kept his lips locked around your puffy pearl long after a gush of squirt wept around his fingers, keeping his efforts up till your hips were bucking back in sensitivity.

But when his kiss finally ceased, he let some of your juices, that had flooded into his mouth, trickle out past his lips and back down onto your pussy, “fuck…” his low groan nearly caused the whole room to rumble, “nasty little cunt…” before he slapped your throbbing core once more, watching as the last little trickle weakly leaked out and soaked the sheets below.

Lifting himself up to hover above your constricted form, you then squirmed as you felt him nudge the bulbous tip of him against you.

“Does the idea of liking, or even loving, someone like me scare you that much?” he uttered as he gathered up your slick and smeared it with his cock, “does it make you feel all wrong and icky inside that I of all people make you feel the way that you do?”

All of the air in your lungs was then suddenly knocked clean out as he, with one long stroke, slipped all the way inside, before pulling right back out to tap the weight of him against your poor clit with the hold he had at his base.

“You won’t spontaneously combust if you admit it out loud, you know…”

He repeated the motion, plugging you up completely before he denied your cunt the chance of getting used to the stretch.

“I just wanna hear you say it…”

And on the next time he filled you up to the brim, this time his hips didn’t retract.

Reeling as you fought to comprehend the manner his girth split you open, you gasped weakly, “I can’t…”

“Hmm…” his eyes above you narrowed slightly before he pointed out, “that’s not a no,” and he began to move, “finally getting somewhere…”

The gangster was in no way gentle as he started to fuck your pussy, the selfish force of it caused your body to jostle every time his heavy balls tapped against your slick skin, thereby conducting a lewd beat each time he slammed into you.

Lowing himself to get even closer to you, his nose ghosted against your own from the proximity. The gesture made you assume that he was about to press his lips to yours, though they never touched, even as your own instincts overwhelmed you and made you dizzily tilt up to try and close the gap, “nah-ah-ah,” he swiftly clicked his tongue and moved out of your reach, “admit the truth and then I’ll kiss you all you want.”

With his length still embedded deep within you, he sat back up. His fingers dented your hips as he grabbed onto them and then began to sink them harshly down against his own, lifting your frame entirely off of the mattress as he used you like a toy.

“Oh god…” you whimpered as your eyes fluttered down to notice the faint bulge that appeared in your lower abdomen, the thrusting imprint of his size visibly showing just how deep he buried himself inside of you.

Once he’d plopped your hips back down onto the bed, his hands then instead floated up to play with your tits, the rhythm he offered you causing them to jiggle in his palms. Though once he’d fiercely pinched your nipples and parted ways in a brief tap, his fingers then drifted further down south till his right hand found your puffy clit.

Casting his glance down as he rubbed your pearl, a smirk appeared on his lip as he spotted the way your cream coated his girth. Sweeping down to smear his touch against it, what he did next caught you so off guard that you jostled wildly in your binds in an attempt to hit him for his audacity.

“Ahh!” you yelped as he stuffed two of his fingers in your pussy alongside his already overwhelming girth, “Buck, no, it’s too much!”

But your squeak only caused him to chuckle as he stared down at the way your little hole struggled to take what he gave it, clinging around him so tightly that loud groans began to billow from him as he soon painted your insides white and pumped you full of his cum.

With heavy breaths, he withdrew his dick, though let his digits stay inside your warmth.

“Maybe in time you could become more than just my good luck charm…” he murmured as he flopped down to curl closer to your core, “would you like that?” he nipped at one of your thighs as his load slowly began to leak around his thick fingers, “does the idea of me falling down to my knees before you and declaring my undying love entice you, angel?”

“You’ll just have to do better,” he continued as his digits began to twist within you, “let me mould you and make you perfect for me,” another one of his fingers was stuffed inside of you, causing your eyes to flutter, “just let go,” he breathed, “shut off your brain and let it become a leaky mess just like your pussy already is for me,” he worked another digit into your creamy cunt before grazing the last one against your stretched out opening, “you don’t need to think, you just need to do exactly as I tell you to and everything will be okay,” his tone was soft as his thumb curled close to the others and sank into your pussy with a pop, “just break for me, it’s okay,” your body was shaking beneath him as his entire fist slowly twisted within you, “you’ll be so much more perfect ruined…”

Tears were streaming down your face as you unravelled once more, trembling violently as your pussy clamped down around his wide hand so tightly that it was forced all the way out, a drizzle of your nectar once again spraying out at the intensity.

“Alright!” you let out a sob, “alright… I–… I don’t understand it… but, I–…” you caught his eye and confessed, “ever since the moment I met you, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you… even when I fall asleep, it’s like you’re haunting me in my dreams…” a faint shake found your head as you blinked up at him through your blurry vision, “I don’t wanna feel this way. But–… I do.”

It seemed as though time stood still as Bucky stared down at you, an unreadable expression tinting his features before he finally shifted, slowly leaning down over you and inching closer before he finally pressed his lips to your own.

A faint whimper was muffled against his kiss as you felt the world crumble around you.

“That wasn’t so hard, was it now…” he breathed as he ended the soft peck, “say it again,” his hand slid over your jaw, “practice makes perfect.”

Blinking up into his eyes, you uttered from the bottom of your heart, “I am yours,” a single tear rolled down your cheek as you still trembled beneath him.

“Damn right you are…” his lips tilted into a smile.

Fishing out the borrowed switchblade that still rested within the gangster’s pocket, he then sliced through the ropes and constricted you.

Tangling your arms around his neck as you sat up, you captured his lips once again and felt his touch slide down under your ass before he scooped you into his lap. Your sore pussy wept against his cock, once again throbbing and hard as a rock against your core. As your tongue danced against his own, you couldn’t help but scramble even closer, pressing your body impossibly close to his own as you grinded down against him.

“You are mine,” he groaned as he manhandled your frame in his hold and sank you back down onto his fat dick, “you are my most prized possession,” your bodies met in sticky claps as the aftermath of the rough round moments before still oozed all over this one where passion crackled behind both of your own desperate efforts, “I will never let you go,” he blinked up into your eyes as you rode him, both of you clinging to each other as the end crept ever nearer, “always need you–,” his sentence was briefly broken up by a moan as you rolled your hips, your pussy gripping around him and squeezing him tightly, “need you by my side…”

Once your synced-up orgasms had both shuddered your senses and you were sharing each other’s breath, your eyes remained locked as his throbbing cock stayed buried deep within you.

“So, what now?” your chest rose and fell as you whispered into the night, the pitter-patter of rain splashing against your windows once again catching your attention as it swept over and mingled with your laboured pants of breath.

Not shifting his gaze, his eyes briefly scanned your own in search of any ounce of deception, before his fingers dipped down into his pocket and conjured a tiny key, “now,” and he stretched down to undo the chain at your ankle. The click of the lock felt like a gasp of real air was finally filling your depraved lungs, “I take you to my room,” and he manoeuvred you around to slink one arm in behind your knees while the other stayed fast at your spine. As he rose from the bed, he plucked you up with him as well, carrying you in his hold as he exited the bedroom.

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beloveds-embrace · 7 months ago

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Part two of the Lavender Marriage au! Considered adding smut to this but I chickened out lmao if the ending is abrupt it’s because of that 🙂‍↕️

The four men are fuming.

Since witnessing the lip-lock battle, they’ve been stewing in barely-contained anger. Every time they see you- on your porch in one of those sweet sundresses, humming to yourself as you water the flower boxes or hand them freshly-baked cookies- they’re consumed by a burning desire to tell you the “truth” about your cheating husband. But the ring on your finger, and your seemingly cheerful demeanor, stop them every time.

Still, they’re restless. It’s wrong to let you live in ignorance like this. But also, it’s not their business even if they want it- even if they want you. The thought of ruining your cozy life, despite your husband’s unfaithfulness, isn’t an easy one to swallow.

It becomes easier to think of admitting it all to you with each passing day, though.

“He’s walking around like he’s done nothing wrong! The bastard. How does she not see it?” Kyle grumbles, gesturing wildly with his tea mug. He grits his teeth, watching your husband saunter inside the house without offering to help you. He just puts down a plate of steak Kyle knows is too fucking cooked. Heathen. Bastard. Ughhh.

“She’s either blind or loyal to a fault,” Johnny agrees, sprawled out on the couch, looking far more despondent than usual. “Breaks ma bloody heart, lads. She’s makin’ us lemonade an’ cookies, an’ he’s aff canoodlin’ wiith some bloke under her roof.”

Simon grunts, his eyes narrowing as he joins Kyle’s side. “What kind of man cheats on her? She’s…” He trails off, unwilling to finish the sentence, but everyone knows what he means: She’s perfect.

Meanwhile, John leans back in his chair, puffing thoughtfully on a cigar. He’s been unusually quiet, though it’s clear he’s just as agitated, fist clenching on his lap. Finally, he speaks, his tone commanding.

“We wait until he leaves,” he says, much to the others’ dismay. “We don’t meddle now. If she finds out on her own, we’ll be there for her. Until then, we keep our mouths shut.”

The others grumble, but they nod in agreement. For now.

You, meanwhile, are oblivious to the internal warfare raging next door. Your days are filled with your usual routine of pretending to be the dutiful wife, gossiping with the neighborhood ladies, sweetly cooing about your hardworking husband, and pretending you don’t know they will gosspi about you after you leave. On the way, you also deliver a basket of homemade muffins to your handsome neighbors.

Such good men; they didn’t even yet know they were your little kitchen rats to taste-test everything you make for the annual baking contest. This year, that bitch Beatrice will not win and you swore it.

“Oh, these look incredible,” Johnny says when you hand over the basket. He flashes you a cheeky grin, and you can’t help but smile back, cheeks warm. “Y’know, if yer husband does not appreciate all this, I might just have ta steal ye away, lass.”

You laugh, waving off the comment as a joke, but the other three men go rigid. “Not the time, mate.” Kyle mutters, elbowing Johnny, though you really don’t notice. Their house is coming along so nicely and so fast; the perks of having handy men as its owners, you suppose.

Later that day, while you’re trimming the hedges of your precious little garden , you spot Simon working on their roof. You catch him staring at you- not that you blame him, you are wearing your one of cutest skirt and top- and you give him a small wave. He almost falls off the roof even if he does wave back, so you decide to just focus on the damned hedges and hopefully avoid any more incidents.

They’re so distracted by your lovely self that they almost forget their rage toward your husband. Almost. Because just as Price and Johnny are helping you carry bags of groceries back to your house, your husband- traitorous bastard- walks out of the house all patient and whistling.

“Be back soon, honey! You know how long my business trips take.” your husband calls over his shoulder, giving you a quick wink before he hops into a car and drives off.

Unbelievable.

The tension is palpable. John glares. Johnny looks like he’s seconds from sprinting after the car. Simon mutters, “Unbelievable,” under his breath from where he and Kyle are watching from the window.

“Oh dear,” you sigh, though on the inside you are very happy. You know your husband’s boyfriend has a nice surprise picked for him- you helped get it, after all- and now you have the house all to yourself again. Perfect.

You turn to John, batting your lashes up at him and it is as if all his anger melts away. “Be my guests this evening, John? I’d be terribly lonely, all by myself in this big house.”

John really, truly, fucking hates your husband for doing this to a precious, lovely thing like you. But at least it means they’ll be the ones in your company.

“Alright, doll,” he nods, fond as he watches the grin stretch across your face. “Let me just go tell the muppets, then we’ll come by and help.”

“There’s no need-“

“I insist, sweetheart.”

That evening, as promised, the four of them come by to “keep you company” and help. You’re in your element, flitting around the kitchen in an apron as you serve drinks and chatter away, oblivious to the tension radiating from the group. You are practically glowing; your pretty flowers were complimented and the food looks so good you can’t wait to post it on your instagram.

Simon leans against the counter, arms crossed, staring daggers into the walls- into the portraits of you and your husband. Kyle is poking at one of the cookies you made like it’s done something to offend him, his mind adrift. Johnny’s chopping away at vegetables, muttering under his breath and wishing it was something else under his knife. And John? He’s nursing his whiskey like it’s the only thing keeping him sane. It might as well be. You talk so nicely about your husband and what he’s customized for you in the kitchen, still so unaware of the truth.

John contemplates just telling you right then and there, but then it happens.

The front door swings open, and in strolls your husband, laughing loudly with none other than his boyfriend- the one the group saw kissing. They’re holding hands, both grinning like idiots.

“Sorry we’re back so soon!” your husband calls out, completely unbothered by the fact that your house is now hosting four very large, very angry military men. “I forgot my wallet-”

The rest of his sentence dies in his throat when he notices the four men staring at him, expressions ranging from pure disbelief to murderous rage. His boyfriend freezes too, glancing nervously between you and the men like he’s walked into a firing squad.

“What the bloody hell is this?” Johnny practically shouts, pointing between the two men with the knife. “You’ve got the audacity to bring him here? Here?”

Kyle crushes the cookie when he slams his fist on the table, standing abruptly. “Under her roof? After all she’s done for you? Again?”

Simon doesn’t say a word because he truly doesn’t need to- he’s just staring, fists clenched, practically vibrating with barely-contained fury.

John finally speaks, his voice low and dangerous, pulling your surprised self against his side protectively. “You’ve got some confessing to do.”

Your husband just… blinks, then glances at you. “Wait, you didn’t tell them?”

You sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose. “I didn’t think it would come up like this.”

“Tell us what?” John demands, his tone sharp. He is still glaring at your husband and the boyfriend

You wave your hand dismissively, like this is the most normal thing in the world with a soft sigh. “Oh, we’re not really married for love, John. It’s just for the benefits- y’know, keeping his parents off his back and mine off mine.”

The room falls silent. Dead silent.

“What?” Simon finally growls, his voice low and dangerous. All this time…

Your husband grins sheepishly, wrapping an arm around his boyfriend’s shoulders. “Yeah, I’m gay. This is my boyfriend. He’s great, isn’t he?” He says, kissing his boyfriend’s cheek.

Johnny looks like he’s just been hit with the frying pan the vegetables he’d been chopping was meant to go in. “Yer what?”

Kyle stares at you, wide-eyed. “You knew? This whole time?”

You shrug, popping a cookie into your mouth. Ohh, Beatrice should count her fucking days. “Of course I knew. We planned the whole thing together. It’s not that complicated, really.”

Simon mutters something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like a curse.

“Anyways, we do have places to be,” your husband sighs. “I’ll just get my wallet and leave you all be to your date.” When he returns with his wallet a few minutes later, he kisses your forehead. “Bye, love. I snuck some of the cookies too- Beatrice is absolutely not winning this year, trust me.” And then he leaves at last.

John exhales sharply, rubbing a hand over his face. “Let me get this straight,” he says slowly. “You’re married but it’s just… out of necessity, and you’ve just been… pretending to love him?”

“Exactly!” you say brightly, clapping your hands together. “See? Not so hard to understand.”

The four men just stand there, utterly gobsmacked.

“You mean to tell me,” Johnny starts, pointing an accusatory finger at you after placing the knife down. “that we’ve been stewin’ for weeks over a cheatin’ husband that doesn’t even exist?”

“Pretty much, yeah,” you reply with a giggle, pouring a drink. Your eyes widen then. “But you cannot tell anyone here, in this shitty town, about this!”

“We won’t, love, promise.” Kyle groans, slumping back into his chair. “I need a bloody drink.” And then he perks up when you slide him the drink you just made. “…fucking lifesaver you are, love. Thank you.”

Simon just shakes his head, muttering, “Unbelievable.” under his breath.

John sighs, downing the rest of his whiskey in one go. “You’re going to be the death of us, doll.”

You grin, completely unfazed. “Oh, come on, boys. It’s not that bad.”

The four of them exchange a look- one of disbelief, exasperation, and maybe just a hint of relief. Because as much as they’re reeling from the truth, one thing’s clear: you’re technically single. And that, at least, is something they can work with.

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cinnamorollcrybaby · 7 months ago

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Mama, I’m in love with a criminal

Tags: Sukuna x fem!Reader, no curse au, dead dove, violence described including murder, dark romance, use of y/n, descriptions of mental illness.

Synopsis: Sukuna’s talking to his therapist in jail about you. He’s incarcerated because of you, and his obsession is concerning.

An: Yeah idk i thought of this while I was driving to work one morning.

Session one. | Session two. | Session three. | Session four. | Termination session.

His large frame laid lazily over the couch, clad in an orange jumpsuit. He had his feet propped up on one side, and his head was propped up on the other side in a far too casual manner. His naturally pink hair pushed up near the front, messily so.

He was still cuffed and shackled, but the therapist was still afraid of him. To the therapist’s credit, he had read the warrant that went into viscous detail of Sukuna’s crimes.

Normally, the therapist wouldn’t read the inmates warrants due to situations like these. He liked going into sessions with an open mind, but he had gotten warnings about Sukuna… how the man can fly into a blind rage like a switch on the wall.

He was brutal, unforgivable, inhumane.

Simple counseling wasn’t going to “fix” a broken human like Sukuna. The therapist knew this, but the state mandated that Sukuna undergo weekly counseling sessions per his sentence.

Sukuna could taste the therapist’s fear, and he let out an earnest laugh. “You don’t even want to try to fix me, do you?” He asked tauntingly with a lopsided grin. “I don’t blame you. Don’t feel bad~”

The therapist swallowed the lump in his throat, and he adjusted in his seat. “I can’t fix anyone… Counseling isn’t about fixing.. It’s about moving forward and learning how to live.”

“Bullshit.” Sukuna spits with shrug. “Counseling is about focusing on the past and letting shit hang you up for far too long. I guarantee you that you’re going to ask me about how I got here, is that right?”

The therapist is shaking like a leaf at this point. “Our past can help us navigate to a better future.” He murmured out weakly.

Sukuna roars in laughter, causing the therapist to nearly jump out of his seat. The pink-haired felon doubles over as he laughs hysterically. “You’re a funny guy. Fine. You really want to know how I got here? I’ll tell you.”

After a deep breath and wiping away a fake tear, Sukuna goes on, “You know, teachers always believe that pairing the troubled kids up with the good kids will inspire them to act right. That shit never works.”

“I think that’s when my ‘type’ developed. My bitch of a second-grade teacher assigned me to sit next to this frail meek girl after I got in trouble one too many times for terrorizing the other kids. She was a real stick in the mud.” Sukuna laughs fondly, a rare genuine smile on his face.

“Y/n?” The therapist asks, remembering your name from the warrants.

Sukuna’s red eyes snap over to the therapist with an almost predatory gaze. His hands visibly curl into fists. “Say her name again, and I’ll splatter your blood all over this room. The officers won’t be able to pry me from you, deeming you to be a lost cause.”

The therapist freezes as the breath hitches in his throat. His eyes dart toward his panic button, knowing he should probably press it now, but he’s frozen in fear.

“We’ll call her mouse.” Sukuna goes on as if he didn’t just threaten the poor guy’s life in brutal detail.

“Mouse was a real challenge. I for some reason made it my mission to get her to talk to me, but she always stayed silent — only answering me with simple head gestures.” He laughs again, lying his head back further as he’s replaying the memories in his mind. He can remember you vividly and how you looked back then. He yearns for that feeling again. The feeling of seeing you for the first time.

“I can’t exactly tell you when the challenge started to border obsession, but she slowly slithered her way into my brain. Even when I wasn’t in school, I thought about her. I wondered what she sounded like, wondered why she wouldn’t talk to me, wondered why she looked at me like that.”

The therapist furrows his eyebrows. Even though he doesn’t feel safe in this session, and he doesn’t trust Sukuna at all, he has a hunger for knowledge, and he loves solving things that have to do with the human psyche.

“Looked at you like what?” The therapist dared to ask.

Sukuna stayed silent for a moment, and he tapped his finger against the back of his hand. His face hardened as he found the words he was looking for. “She looked at me like she had no preconceived notion of me. Her eyes… were so big and round. Even though she didn’t talk to me, it was like she accepting of my presence.”

The shackles jingled as Sukuna rubbed his face in a stressed gesture. Remembering you was like a double edged sword. He loved thinking about you, but he hated being reminded that he was without you.

The therapist eased in his chair. There was actual emotions underneath all those tattoos, thick skin, and muscle. The media had portrayed Sukuna as a complete narcissistic sociopath, but this was proof that diagnosis was false.

“I bothered the shit out of her for years, continually getting myself paired up with her.” Sukuna grinned, shifting the conversation back in a direction that he was more comfortable with, “I remember those asshole kids always called me her shadow because I followed her everywhere. Jokes on them.”

The therapist shivered as be remembered a chilling detail from the warrants. Each time a victim was found, a message was written in the victim’s blood.

-ʏᴏᴜʀ ꜱʜᴀᴅᴏᴡ

His victim’s - their deaths were like an homage to you.

“Were the kids ever… assholes to mouse?”

Sukuna’s jaw visibly tightened. He loathed this therapist’s questions… thinking he knew everything just because you and Sukuna were misunderstood kids.

“They called her weird for not talking.” Sukuna recalled as he bit his inner cheek. His eyes glared to the wall in front of him. “Now look at who can’t talk.”

Sukuna’s first victim. He didn’t start out with murder. He started out with stapling your bullies mouth shut for taunting you. Everything was for you. Everything.

He held a kid down to the teacher’s in third grade, grabbing a stapler, and he pressed it down one by one into the kids lips, binding them together. The kid couldn’t scream or cry for help, or else he’d risk ripping the flesh on his lips.

The teachers found the kid and immediately knew the only kid sadistic enough to go through with such an act was none other than Sukuna.

“Did mouse witness you do that?” The therapist asked, genuinely intrigued by Sukuna’s narrative. For being a ruthless criminal, he was a wonderful historian.

“No. Why would I scare her like that?” Sukuna’s voice was tense as he eyed the therapist carefully, as if he was waiting for him to say the wrong thing.

The therapist clicks his tongue in surprise, and he looks like a deer in headlights. “Scare? No.. no, I thought you’d maybe just show off what you did for her.”

“I’m not the type to show off.” Sukuna answers flatly, and the therapist wonders if that’s the first time Sukuna’s lied during this session. He knows that Sukuna likes to show off. The warrants prove it.

“Anyways, I wore her down over the years. She didn’t speak to me until we were in sixth grade.” An eerie smile curls on Sukuna’s lip. “I can still remember her first word to me and how she said it…”

The therapist leaned in, curiosity getting best of him.

Sukuna smirks, knowing he has the therapist interested now. “Her first word to me was a plea. A word to show her undeniable want. Her first word to me was please.”

Bang! Bang Bang!

The therapist literally flinches out of his chair from the heavy knocks at the door.

“Ryomen! Your time is up!” The officer yelled on the other side of the door.

“Pity. I was beginning to have fun.” Sukuna remarked as he stood up from the couch. The shackles jingled as he walked toward the door, and the door buzzed, letting him out. “See you next week, doc.”

#jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jjk fanfic #fanfic #drabble #jjk sukuna #sukuna x y/n #sukuna x you #jujutsu sukuna #sukuna ryomen #sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna #sukuna #jjk ryomen #ryomen x reader #jujutsu kaisen ryomen #dark romance

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hoshigray · 8 months ago

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𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐓𝐡𝐲 𝐃𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐧 𝐍𝐞𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐛𝐨𝐫! | fushiguro tōji

𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: Not only are you drunk on a Friday night, but you’re a drunk, closeted succubus who is, unfortunately, under the care of the hot neighbor under your roof! Would you ruin the mood if he found out about your little secret? You don’t even wanna know!

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬: Toji x afab/fem! succubus reader - explicit content; minors DNI - modern au! reader + Toji are neighbors - age difference; reader is in late-20s + Toji is mid/late 40s - crushing/mutual pining - drug/alcohol usage - fingering (f! receiving) - oral (f! + m! receiving) - clitoral play (swiping) - Daddy kink - sqǔitïng - anal play (m! receiving) - 69 + backshots + spooning + cowgirl positions - unprotected sex (psa: wrap it up, or get tf up) - creampies - praise kink - pet names (baby, doll, dollface, good girl, mama, princess, sweetie) - implied marathon sex - mention of drool/spit, tears, and cum - not proofread; will do l8r.

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 7.8k

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: pulled this story out of my ass; I literally spent a whole single DAY dedicating to writing it. please enjoy, and tysm for 11.9k loveliesss ☆ love and appreciate u all !!

“…shit.”

There’s no way.

“Shit, shit, shit, shit—”

Of all days for this to happen.

“Oh, my fucking God, not tonight!!”

Tonight was already an eventful night, with the full moon shining brighter than the stars. Life has put you so fast in a whirlwind that you can’t recall the last time you permitted your body to unwind. Can you blame yourself, though? From moving to a new neighborhood and scoring a new job, things have kept you undeniably busy for the past few months. And not too mention, it’s your fault for being a bit of a hermit and lacking a drive for social interaction.

That’s precisely why your old college besties – Shoko, Utahime, and Yuki – pulled you out of your hideyhole and encouraged you to join them this Friday night to have some fun! “C’mo~n, lighten up! No more thinking about work or whatever; have some fun!” “Yeah, y’know you’re my biggest drinking buddy. Now, hurry up and share this cocktail with me!” The ladies pressure you to relax and enjoy the start of the weekend with some good drinks and delicious food. And, you hate to admit, it worked like a charm – the longer the hours went, the more you felt free as if all the weight holding you down had been lifted.

The only problem is, like all good things, that it had to end and that you had to go home. Now check this out: 1) you left your car at home because, again, you were rigorously dragged out of your abode by your college companions. 2) You were all pretty much drunk, enough for neither one of you to drive on the road. And 3) you guys are in the city, and catching a lift is not only a gamble but SUPER expensive! Guess that’s what you get for choosing a Friday night to free-ball.

However, when hope was lost, and you wouldn’t be in the comfort of your bed tonight, you received a text on your phone, and you could practically hear the angels sing in the heavens above!

Recent Message from: Neighbor Fushiguro

Yo. You home? I’m out in the city picking up stuff for the house. Need anything?

Thank God for neighbors, am I right? The chances of someone you know being within the same vicinity of you may be low, but never zero! Did you feel bad that you texted back saying you needed a ride back to your house? Sure. Did you feel extra bad when you asked a huge favor for him to drop your friends off at the nearest hotel? …Yeah.

But luckily, he didn’t seem to mind. The only thing you had to endure was him teasing you about your little outing (with the help of your friends in the back of his truck) and your tipsy persona. “Never took you fr’ one who drinks.” He scoffs while putting you down on your couch after slinging you over his shoulder because you complained about your feet hurting. Damn heels! “Neither one who gets drunk.”

“It wasn’t my fauuu~lt,” you whine with a significant stretch while your neighbor roams around. “My fwiends, they forced me to–hic–to do it…”

“Mm, do your ‘fwiends’ always push you over to do things?” He shouts from the kitchen; you can hear cabinets opening and closing.

“When you’re the youngest of the group, they do.”

“Well, maybe I gotta get to know ‘em so they can push you into goin’ out more. And maybe you can quit avoidin’ me when I invite you over.”

“I don’t try to avoid you!” You sprout defensively. “And quit teasing me, Toji! You’re supposed’ta be on my side; I’m the victim here.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever ya say.” Heavy footsteps draw nearer to where you are, and your heavy eyelids open to see a hand stretching towards you with a glass of water. “I’m here takin’ care of ya now, aren’t I, lil’ victim?”

A smile pulls your lips as you take the glass. “Thank you,” you express before a sip, and your neighbor lifts your feet to sit on the cushion beside you.

“Y’re welcome,” he places your legs on his lap, grabbing the remote to turn on the television.

You haven’t been in this neighborhood long enough to say you have friends. Don’t get it wrong; everyone you contacted has been lovely and friendly, and some have opted to help with your move! But aside from the casual greetings in the morning or the nods of acknowledgment, you barely know people who scratch the surface of acquaintanceship. Not to mention, it’s your fault for being a bit of a hermit.

…But, there is one neighbor you could say you’re pretty close with. Someone nice. Someone dependable…Someone attractive that you’re on a mission not to stare too much.

Toji Fushiguro lives two houses down from you across the street. Remember I mentioned you had people assist with your move? This widowed, middle-aged man was one of the nice handymen who aided you and your friends with your boxes and heavy furniture. You remember it like yesterday, seeing this brawny man stroll up your driveway on the sunniest day of June. You nearly mistook him for an Olympic athlete.

“So, y’re the one movin’ ‘round here?” The calm baritone of his voice was unforced. “Nice to know there’s a cute face on the newbie. Need any help?” It’s how he asked – so sultry and alluring you almost spaced out before nodding absentmindedly to his request for aid, hoping he didn’t notice you watch how the scar of his lip moved as he spoke. “Welcome to the neighb’rhood, kid.” Rarely do you have butterflies running amok in the pits of your guts, but they were challenging to deal with that day.

And it doesn’t get any better from that day forward. No matter how hard you wished not to run into this immediate crush of yours, he would somehow wheedle his way into your path. It started slow, exchanging hellos or good mornings whenever he left for work or you took the garbage out. Then came the “Want me to do y’r lawn fr’ ya?” or the “House down the street’s havin’ a little barbecue, wanna get to know people?” You thought moving away from the busy city life would die things down. However, Toji making your head race every chance he gets wasn’t a move you could envisage. Think about how you felt the day he asked for your number to keep in contact “fr’ emergencies…or if ya need anythin’, shoot me a call,” how your heart jumped to your throat! Oh, the girls never stopped teasing you when you told…

Nonetheless, you can’t deny how much help he’s been. Well, outside of that, just being a great neighbor all around. Besides being an absolute succor, he’s an outlet you can come to for anything. Whether for the house, the community, or just personal conversations, Toji’s someone you can admitlingly say you’d depend on. With trust built from day one, sharing pieces of yourselves to break down barriers, it’s safe to say that he is undoubtedly a friend who made your decision to move a worthy risk.

…Yet, what’s even more risky is being alone with him, something you do everything you can to avoid. Why? Look at him! Would you trust yourself to be anywhere with this man alone? Of course not! This is why tonight is the riskiest night you’ve ever bestowed upon your drunk self.

“You got somthin’ to say?”

“Huh?” You perk to reality, anxiousness filling you once you realize you had been staring at the man. “N-No, I’m sorry.”

He stifles a snort, grabbing your feet to massage them from the pain. “Oh, wanna act quiet. You were all bubbly in the passenger seat with y’re friends. Now y’re all shy because y’re stuck with me, huh?”

“T-That’s not true!” A lie; he was right on the mark. Your heart has been beating nonstop once he sat next to you. “It’s just that…I’m sorry for making you drive and pick me and the girls up.”

“Nah, don’t apologize,” his focus is on your feet as he kneads and rubs the sole of your foot. “Told ya I was around the area doing some shoppin’, so pickin’ ya up on my way back was easy.”

You take another sip of your water. “Shopping?”

“Mm, my kids are down here for the weekend, so I had to go out fr’ a bit and grab shit fr’ my daughter.” Ah, yes, Toji is a father; you remember him telling you about his two children in college, a junior and a sophomore. “They’re at the house right now; saw ‘em after I dropped stuff at the house before bringin’ ya home.”

You hum. “Sorry for stealin’ you from them for a bit.”

He shakes his head with a humorless laugh. “Please, they probably don’t even know I’m gone. They’re big kids. Plus,” your breath hitches when emerald eyes trail to you. “Now I get to finally have you all to myself, no curvin’ me and whatever this time.”

“I’m not tryin’ to curve…”

“Yeah, yeah.” He goes back to massaging your feet.

“…Thanks again, Toji. I really appreciate it.”

“No problem, sweetheart.” Your abdomen flexes at the use of the nickname. “You know I always got you…Say, did you hit y’r head somewhere?”

You blink, eyebrows furrow. “No? Why?”

He points to his temple. “Because I see like a lump right here.”

You mirror his movements, your hand touching the spot he’s pointing. And your fingertips meet with a lump on a location that sparks too much familiarity. You gasp aloud and cover the lump with your hand, the other covering your other temple.

Oh, no.

Black eyebrows knit together. “You okay?”

Play it cool! “Y-Yeah, yeah, I’m fine! You’re right; I probably hit my head somewhere while out.” You take this time to remove your legs off the comfort of Toji’s lap and stand up from the couch. “I’ll put something on it to stop the swelling.” You can also sense something aching down your lower back at that moment. Oh, hell no!!

“Ya sure? Need me fr’ any—“

BZZZZ!! BZZZZ!!

Toji’s cut off from the vibration of his phone in his jeans, pulling the device out to see that someone called “Megumi” was calling. Good, a distraction!

“N–No, no, I’m good from here.” You say through gritted teeth, the alcohol taking effect and making your stance a little buzzy to uphold. “J-Just stay here, I’ll be back!” You don’t even wait for his approval, turning on your heel and heading out of the living room to the stairs. Your body feels wobbly with every step you take, but you don’t pay it any mind because you can feel the lumps beneath your palms increasing. “God, please, not now, not today…!”

You march as fast as you can to your bedroom, nearly stumbling on the floor as you haul ass to your bathroom door. You do a terrible job watching your footing fall after rushing to turn the lights on, and stuff from the counter falls because of the impact. But you didn’t care, shuffling up so you could look at the mirror. And the sight you see fills you with immediate dread.

Horns are the first thing you see from either side of your head; the tips curl as if to form a crown but point to the ceiling. Your eyes are no longer human-like, pupils shaped like slits as if morphing into a reptile. And your ears get horizontally pointier. “…shit.”

You then lift your skirt and tear a hole in your pantyhose above the hem of your panties, and your fear quadruples at the sight of something long and slithery protruding out of the hole. A long tail with a pointy end; you lose your mind. “Shit, shit, shit, shit—”

It’s then you realize why this is happening: you had forgotten to take your daily supplements that are meant to subjugate these features of yourself. You’ve been taking them for the longest time before you moved into this neighborhood, so you’re used to your typical human facade. Now, seeing these parts of yourselves is the very LAST thing you need right now!

And then something hits you, an unsettling feeling that you’re too scared to confirm. Your eyes travel down to your shirt, your hands hesitantly pulling the bottom tucked into your skirt and lifting to reveal your navel. You then tug the top of your skirt to expose a spot you’re honed in on the mirror. And the urge to scream grows tenfold once you see a black marking on the lower part of your belly.

A womb tattoo!?!?

“Oh, my fucking God, not tonight!!”

“YO, HEY!” And just when it couldn’t get worse, you hear Toji coming up the stairs and beelining for your open bedroom door. Wait, no— “I heard screamin’ and a big ‘boom,’ you alright? Where are y—“

Your neighbor stops dead in his tracks once he appears in front of the bathroom opening; his concerned expression shifts to an immediate neutral deadpan. He stares at you, and you stare back at him, the silence so thick you could cut it with a knife. A ring fills your eardrums, dissociating from this entire scene and all its complications.

You want to cry. Maybe scream, throw up, or just straight up die on the spot.

Because this wasn’t the night for someone to find out you’re a succubus.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

“…”

“…So, what are you?”

Not even concealing your face in your pillow can hide you from the eventual questions of Toji, who sits idly on the corner of your bed. You cringe internally, never thinking this dilemma would befall you. The point of moving was to turn a new page in your life and leave the past behind with the city. Now, you are shriveling on top of your bed like a moody teenager, and your neighborhood crush is here to witness your depression.

“…What happened to your phone call?”

“It was my kid. I told him to lock the door since I’ll be out a little longer. Don’t try and deflect,” his blunt answer has you descend further to your inner turmoil. “How come I never seen these horns before?”

You sigh heavily; there’s no point in trying to divert now. “…I take supplements that hinder any features of my succubus appearance so I can look like an average human for the rest of the day.”

“Daily?” He sees you nod through his peripheral. “Succubus…the hell’s that?”

“Basically, I’m a demon that…that…” Yeah, no, let’s not finish that. “Never mind.”

“Bullshit. Tell me.”

“D-Don’t worry about it, it’s not—“

“Look here,” he speaks to you with a stern tone, a hand coming to your waist to shove you a bit. “I went ahead and picked y’re drunk butt up, made sure ya don’t puke up a storm, and now y’re here looking way different from before. The least you could do is explain.”

God, to be lectured by a human – totally humiliating…! “…I’m a demon that gets energy from…se–….sexu, uhh………..sexualactivitywithhumanbeings.”

The silence that trails after your ramble is beyond awkward.

“Oh.”

…

“Oh.”

God, just kill me right now!

The older man forces a cough. “So, you…have sex every day?” You can practically sense the tiny hint of discomfort from prompting that question.

“W-Well, I used to when I was younger. But I haven’t really…done it in a couple of years.” Jesus Christ, why is it so embarrassing to admit to someone other than yourself? This is the literal worst!

“Is that bad?”

“It’s, uhh…It can be?”

“So, why haven’t you done it?”

“Because…!” You snap your face out of your pillow and finally allow yourself to breathe correctly. “I just…I don’t have time like I used to anymore, and using my powers to make people forget afterward can get tiring. Also, the more times I do it, the more my drive gets intense from the last. The desire of a succubus can be dangerous, you know? And since it’s been a while since I’ve let my powers out, I’m sure it’s nastier than ever…”

“…Well,” Toji turns to face you. “Have you ever had the urge recently?”

“I-” Woah. That question came out of nowhere, almost answering it without proper consideration. “Wh–What do you mean by that…”

He shrugs. “Like—you know what I mean—like, even though you try to suppress it, do you still have those urges to do…ya know, it?”

Things get a little uncomfortable here; now you wish you kept your face in that pillow. Tojo’s gaze on you is distinguished — gentle yet stern, matching his demeanor. He's calm and calculating and is waiting for your response to his strangely personal question.

“I…I, I don’t know.” It was another lie.

“Why’re you lyin’?”

“I’m not…!” Toji clicked his teeth with a face.

“Fine, answer me this then. Have ya ever thought of doin’ it since ya moved here?”

Yup, this question was far worse than the other. His words echo inside your noggin, bewildered with every syllable relaying. And the widowed man lifts his brow from the lack of an instantaneous answer. You open your mouth, but words fail to aid you, your tail shying away behind your shadow. “I-I…I don’t—“

“Ever thought of me?”

“Toji!” You shout defensively. Sure, it might’ve been out of line to ask. However, it’s the fact that he’s breaking your exterior with every question — because of how on-the-mark he is. You could never prepare yourself for that inquiry, the heat on your face growing more unbearable. How could he know of the frenzy he puts you through just for existing?

“I’m not dumb.” You peep Toji, turning his torso and facing his entire front in your direction. “You think I don’t notice how often you try to push me off when I invite ya over or know when y’re lookin’ at me when you think I’m not aware’?” He dents the bed with his added weight, and you forget to breathe, watching him inch closer. “Or act all shy and cute when I got you to myself?”

You gulp, your brain short-circuiting at the feeling of Toji’s palm on your thigh. There have been countless nights where you’ve thought of your neighbor more than once, indulging in fantasies you could never speak of to a soul, especially Toji himself. To let the man know of the dirty things you’d want him to say to you, the names you wish him to call you, the erotic things you’d like him to do to you — death is the only option necessary not to let that happen. Unfortunately, he seems to have a good idea now that he’s cornered you like this, and you’re too stunned to utter a word.

“It’s okay, though,” he whispers low now that he’s close to your face, and you have to hold back on letting out a yelp when his hand comes to hold your face, his index finger toying with your sensitive earlobe. “‘Cuz I love it when y’re all timid, can’t even look me in the face…Like now.”

You try to avert away from him, but his thumb brings your chin back to him. “Toji, please,” his name feels forbidden to say all of a sudden.

“Tell me ‘no’.” His nose brushes the tip of yours, and you chew your lip. “I’ll stop right now and leave, let you deal with this y’reself…Or,” he ghosts to your ear, and you quiver. “I’ll stay with you and treat you to what y’ve been scared to ask fr’.”

“Toji, wait,” Fuck, you can’t remember the last time you had your ears so keen, his breath brushing it enough to compel you to meltdown.

“Say ‘no,’ princess.” You’re locked under his forest-green orbs, and you swear you could hear your heart hammering your chest. “Or I’ll treat you right tonight.”

Perplexed eyes can’t move anywhere else, and your lips are wet from licking them without knowing. Is this really happening…? An inquisition you had no time to answer for yourself once Toji closes the gap, centimeters nearer with every millisecond.

I…can’t…

His face draws near, and your eyes reflex to close.

I don’t…want to…

Toji pulls you in for a gentle kiss; your thoughts radio silent after the contact of his scarred lips on yours. No shot. Your neighbor was kissing you right now — there’s no way!? This had to be a dream…! This is truly a wild night: not only are you tipsy to the noggin, but your neighborhood crush has found out your secret, and now you’re kissing that exact crush in your room?? Your muscles go tense at what is occurring.

He peppers your lips with kisses, forced to catch up with him as he claims your lips, a palm snaking to the back of your head to keep you steady. He licks your bottom lip, chewing gently to prompt the softest gasps out of your mouth. “C’mon, baby,” he coos to your sensitive ears. “Relax wit’ me.” You nearly melt at the lick of your helix as his free hand courses from your chest to your waist. The brush of his fingers onto your tail makes you jolt.

“Toji, wait,” you mutter under your breath as he nibbles on your pointy ear, your hands gripping the back of his black wife beater. “D-Don’t; I’m so sensi—Nmmm…!” Jesus, the moan you held back! Toji trails his mouth to your chin down to your neck to suck on your skin. And your lower half throbs harder. “Ahhh…hahhh…”

He returns his lips to yours; this time, his tongue runs on your teeth vigorously to seek entry. You submit after a chew to your bottom lip, whimpering as the older man inserts his wet muscle to greet yours. Surreal, isn’t it, to be tongued down by your neighbor? You don’t know whether it’s the alcohol, the twitches between your inner thighs, or the flick of his tongue and the sound of his purrs that have your face getting hotter.

And fuuuuuuck, he’s such a good kisser — scratch that, he’s an AMAZING kisser! You’re practically turning into putty in the palm of his hands as he lips you, tilting his head to a proper position with a soft push to your face as he deepens the kiss. He sucks on your tongue, and you mewl, helplessly quivering when he teases the muscle with nibbles. Your waist has a mind of its own while it sways involuntarily, rocking as you sink into the zealous kiss. He’s not overpowering you in any way; if anything, he’s so overwhelmingly comforting, his hand caressing your cheek tenderly, and soft noises of lips smacking and breaking apart bounce one after the other.

Then, you shrill unexpectedly. “…!! Mmahhh! T-Tojiii, d-don’t—don’t touch…Haahhh…”

“Oh? Well, lookie here.” Your ears perk at Toji’s chuckle. Unbeknownst to you, distracted by the intense kiss, your neighbor sneaks his hand under your skirt and touches your private zone shielded by your pantyhose, fingers pressing up on your vulva area. “All we did is kiss, and ya already got your panties wet?”

Embarrassed? Of course, it’s been so long since you were touched like this and out of practice. Now, your repressed emotions start to crumble out of their straightened form the more Toji’s middle finger rubs on your panties. And let’s not even mention your thighs motioning to ride on the digit, your dignity starting to disintegrate. “Ohhh, Toji…”

“Mmm? What is it, sweetie?” He nuzzles to your neck after licking and sucking on your chin. “Feelin’ good down there?” He curls his middle and forefinger to push. “Got ya all excited?” He receives a confirmed hum. “Tell me how y’re feelin’.”

You gulped thickly, your breathing shaking. “I-I’m feeling—shit…” he laughs lowly at your swearing. “Nnnm! You’re making me feel…so hot.”

“I can tell, you’re twitchin’ like crazy right on my fingertips.” His fingers move into a circular motion, and your mouth goes agape. “Fuck, man…Hey, hold on, I wanna do somethin’.”

Toji removes his fingers from under your skirt before you can tell, the heat between your legs going tepid as he withdraws from your figure to lay his back on the bed. But before that, he unzips and loosens his jeans to his butt. A noticeable tent of his boxer briefs has your lips locked to each other, and your eyes widen when he subtracts the material. Just when you thought this night couldn’t get any more crazier, you are awake to witness the display of Toji’s erection in real-time.

How long has it been since you’ve seen a real-life, living, and breathing dick before your eyes? You honestly can’t recall that; the responsibilities of human life have made you grow numb to your demon necessities that it no longer feels innate. However, the sight of your crush’s solid, girthy, excited cock is marveling. How your mouth waters as you ogle at it is borderline humiliating, eyes glued to the uncut tip.

“Like what ya see?” He asks smugly, kicking his jeans and briefs off and slapping his thigh. “C’mere, mama.” Oh, fuck, the quirk of your insides was unavoidable at his comment, primarily as he guides you closer to him. “Let’s warm up.” You yelp as he effortlessly moves your legs to where you straddle him. He pushes your skirt up to your waist, and you can hear the tear from your pantyhose. His thumb comes to slide your panties to the side, and he whistles. “Damn, lookin’ all pretty and wet fr’ me.”

It’s either the fact that Toj’s dick is inches in front of your face or your bare pussy out in the air in front of him; either one of the two has your mind going in a whirlwind. And it all comes to a standstill the moment you sense something wet and firm glide across your labia, and it takes everything in you not to tremble. “Mmm, oh, fuck,” he groans after licking your cunt, throwing in another lazy one to have you holler. “It’s been so long…Shit.”Toji’s hands curl from your legs to cup your asscheeks, keeping your butt near him to lap his tongue around your chasm. You whine as he licks you down, your teeth clattering at the sensation.

Oh, my God, your head begins to ache. It feels so good, your body finally coming back to the groove of things as you move your butt around. The man under you quickly latches his mouth onto you, a firm grip on your ass to keep you in place for him to service you. Speaking of service, your eyes flick to the erect limb before you, your mouth salivating with the run of your tongue across your teeth. Fuck, it looks so good; you admire internally before inching your face close to the length, your head getting dizzier from the sheer size and musk. Damnit…I wanna taste him so bad…!!

“Go on, dollface,” Toji gives your butt a playful smack. “I know ya need this bad.”

God, he’s so right — you need this; there’s no point in denying anymore. You blow on it before placing a tender kiss, noticing how it pulsates as your hand wrings around the shaft. You lick your lips before pecking at the uncircumcised tip, and Toji’s hold on you goes tighter. He’s sensitive, you note. Adorable. You stick your tongue out to swirl around the cockhead, bathing it with your saliva before you inhale it with a delighted hum, gradually warming up your loosened jaw.

Fuck, the taste of a cock — something that felt nostalgic the moment he graced your tastebuds. Your eyes water a bit, trembles rocking your figure as Toji sucks on your wetness, and every inch you intake fuels the haze that fogs your brain. You stroke and suck him simultaneously, a forgotten method that rekindles now in this moment. You coat him with your spit the more you relax your jaw, slurping him unapologetically as if a different part of yourself takes over.

On the other hand, Toji feels the same way. It’s been way too long for the widowed man since the last time he has been intimate with someone, let alone have a bare ass right in front of him. It’s no secret that he’s had the hots for you once you moved here, but having you on top of him like this is like something out of his wet dreams. The way you murmur cutely as you suck his dick turns him on so bad, a guilty pleasure come true as he drinks your nectar off your damp naked folds. His tongue teases around the entrance of your vagina before pushing it in, fucking your opening with his wet muscle. You cry on his girth, your tail cringing in the air from the stimulation. He spots it and grabs it from the base; how your lower half jolts to the grasp is humorously darling to him. So cute.

The minutes go longer as you two keep pleasing each other, and a soft whimper escapes your lips when you release Toji from your lips, lips plastering long and sweet kisses on his shaft as you massage the tip. Your other hand palms and kneads his ballsack, the jerk of his thighs rewarding to see, so you increase the pace of your hand.

“—Thhh, nmm!” Toji curses from behind, sluggishly licking from clit to your slit while succumbing to your touch and mouth. “Shiiit, just like that, baby, suck me off like t—Mmngh! Christ, I’m gonna..fffuckin’ cum…”

But then, you remove yourself from Toji’s member, the cold air instantly blanketing him. Green eyes blink as you move off of his lying body, observing you bending over with your face to the cold sheets.

“Toji,” you plea to him desperately, hooded eyes shining eagerly. “Please, I need it…Here,” you spread your ass, fully exposing your slit wet from your fluids mixed with his saliva. Jesus, you were heathing as if you were in heat. “Do it here, I need it inside…!”

You had the man shook; the cogs in his mind stopped working briefly. The picture of you presenting yourself like this to him was unexpected, but goddamn, did it turn him on astronomically! Toji stands on his knees and advances to you, removing his tank top and discarding it to the floor. “Yeah? You want it that bad?” You nod impetuously. “Words, sweetie. Need you to tell me what to do.”

“Toji, pleeease…!” You wiggle your ass until he cusps it, kneading your flesh lovingly to the point that your tail curls around his forearm. “Please, put it in, I wanna feel it…!”

“Yeah, is that what my princess wants?” You and Toji bite your lips when he aligns his tip to your inner labia, teasing you with grinding motions. “Does my demon baby want Daddy to mess y’r insides that bad?”

Oh, we’re playing that card, too? Holy shit, you were getting so wet from this! “Yess, Daddy, pleasee! Mess me up with that dick, wanna be filled up right nooww…!”

He can’t hide the proud grin. “Good girl. Here,” Toji begins to push the cockhead to you, and your lips flatten at the wince of pain that accompanies the push. “Stay still, and lemme reward you,” his hips move slowly in your direction, you grip the sheets to prepare yourself, and your nerves are dialed to a plane of exhilaration you can’t regulate. Oh my God, is this happening? He’s gonna fuck me? So many thoughts cloud your mind, too excited and anxious for what’s to come because it’s been so. Damm. Long. How’s it gonna feel? Is your body ready enough? How does Toji feel about this; is he just as nervous as you a—

Your train of thought is brought to an abrupt halt at the sensation of Toji’s tip finally inserting itself into your vagina, too absentminded that your open mouth couldn’t say a word. Oh, fuck it’s in, it’s in! Your eyes widen, your muscles tense, and your voice struggles to cry. The older man continues to add himself leisurely, the length sundering your slit and stretching your opening as you take him inch by inch. Your back arches instinctively, wailing silently as you can feel the foreign limb intruding your tightness, quick quirks of your frame as he rubs your velvety texture. Ohhhh, my God…!!

When he slowly starts to rut into you, recurring waves of rapture hit your nerves every. Single. Time! You’re entire body is rocked to the core with every short yet gentle pound; the feeling of Toji’s veiny cock scrapping your channel has you shivering. And once he’s encouraged to push his entire member until the very hilt, you yelp aloud when the tip kisses your womb. “—Oooh??!”

“—Mmngh!” Your quick spasm surprises Toji. “Ohhh, shit, there it is. Hmm? Is this where ya want me, mama? Want me right…here?” He snaps his hips swiftly, the rushed movement and hit to your cervix knocks you winded. And another, you keep wringing his shaft acutely. “Ahhn, God fucking damn i—Iisshhffuck, fuck, I can’t, gonna…Hnghh!”

Toji’s body shudders above you, bucking into your warmth with a jittery pattern. The prolonged reaction of his orgasm claims him now, succumbing to the silky, tight texture and how well you’re grasping onto his girth. He comes inside you, moaning as he ejaculates earlier than expected. You sense it, humming to the immediate filling. So warm, so full of his cock already that your toes curl.

And Jesus Christ, it felt so. Fucking, Good! You were no longer drunk from the alcohol; now, you were intoxicated by the prowess and pleasure of Toji’s dick.

“Hah, haaaah, fuck,” he throws his head back with a hiss, his abdomen relaxing from the earlier flex. Then, your tail glides up from his abs, feeling up on his skin and roaming on his happy trail. He snickers at your feline-like comportment, “Heh, actin’ all cute now that you got what ya wanted, huh?” You say nothing, bashful to his words, while your tail curls up to his chin. “Don’t go quiet on me now, dollface; I heard you squeaking and moanin’ seconds ago.”

Toji then returns to rut into you despite recovering from his climax, furled to have you shrieking uncontrollably for him. The smacks of his pelvis recoil the flesh of your ass, his come stuffed inside you now glued to his erection as he rocks into you balls-deep. “Mmmm, yeah, that’s right, baby,” he grabs your tail and wraps it around his hand to pull; you scream louder, and your vaginal walls clamp tighter than ever. “Arch more fr’ me, enjoy me—nmm…!—fuckin’ you real good.”

The pull of your tail makes your senses hypersensitive, perturbed by the stress of it being pulled, yet the enjoyment you feel from it is too inexorable to comprehend. Coherent sentences double down to undecipherable babbles, “—Daahh, hoohhfuuc—D-Daddyyy, Daddyyy…!!” Tears well up in your eyes as he inflicts blows to your ass, the pain too quick to prepare for yet the sting enough to make you rigid. “—Too much, ish t’oo muuuch…!”

Another smack to your butt, and you howl once again. “Huh, ya say that, but y’re milkin’ my cock like crazy.” He bends down to remove your hands that try to hide your face and horns with the pillow. “What, ya don’t like this? Hmm? Want me to stop?”

“No, nooo!!” You shook your head immediately; your vision blurred for a few seconds. “I loveee iit, I love this, love Daddy’s diick—Ahaaa!! More…I want moreee!” Fuck, this is bad; any more than this, and you’ll be addicted for sure.

“Good,” he whispers to your ears. Good Lord, you weren’t going to survive. “Because I ain’t done wit’ ya yet, princess.”

Before you can register his sentence fully, Toji straightens and lays on his side behind you, lifting your leg to create a suitable angle. He then plunges into you harder and faster, the different positions helping the sporadic cadence achieve deeper penetration while scraping your upper wall with ease. At this point, your body is too hot and sticky to care about anything else outside this room; your head pounding and too misty, your senses corrupted by the constant pokes to your cervix and the increasing haze that you don’t feel human anymore. Your succubus roots flourish, drool escapes your lips, and wanting nothing but this feeling to remain ceaseless.

“Gahh, ohhhDaddyyy, ahhahh,” eyes roll to your skull at the brush of your sweet spots. “Shhoo good, I fweel shoo gooood…! Harder, hardeeerr!”

“—Khhck, goin’ as hard as I fuckin’ can!!” Toji kisses your cheek after a lick, chewing on it after hearing you mewl submissively. “Jesus, this pussy, out of this fuckin’—Nnngh…world.”

You turn to him and claim his lips, and he reciprocates into your steamy kiss. Vulgar tongues exchange spit and encroach on each other’s mouth, and you helplessly suck on Toji’s after he shoves it, your puffy lips intaking the attractive noises he makes. And you slither a hand down to your clitoris to swipe erratically while your tail goes around Toji’s waist and curves into the crevice of his ass. Suddenly, Toji stiffens at the pointy end of your tail, tickling his anus, and the raven-haired man gasps at the insertion. Too stunned to speak, he can only move his hips rapidly, his white-ringed shaft digging deep into you with the help of stimulating his prostate.

“—Taahhh, y-you, lil’ minx…!” He breaks the kiss and bites your lip to hear you whimper. “Tryin’ ta make me cum again?”

You nod, breathing heavily. “Ohhh, Daddy, I’m so close…! Gonna come!”

“Me too, mama, me too…”

Hot moans and groans fly out of each other’s mouths, bodies stuck to each other as you both chase for release. Everything feels so fast, so hot, happening all at once; all you can think about is the grinding presses you push up on your delicate clit. Fuck, fuck! It’s coming, it’s coming…!”

Then, it arrives. Your cunt, aching for the climax, receives the crescendo you’ve been aching for this entire time. The walls of your vulva contract around Toji’s member, milking and wringing him as you come loose to your grounding. A clear liquid exerts out of your urethra, showering out to stain your panties, torn pantyhose, and bedsheets, your breathing losing its steadiness and falling to a jagged tempo. The same goes for Toji, who falls into his peak along with you; your fluttering folds force him to submit and release his second load into you with a hiss. The older man’s heaving frame keeps bucking into you until every drop fills you to the brim, burrowing his face deep into your neck to rest as the shocks rock you both.

Finally, everything goes quiet. The cozy atmosphere pulls you out of your heightened elevation and lays you down with silent clarity. Both you and Toji, sweaty and sticky all over, are still linked to each other as the high dissipates. Shuddering figures begin to calm down and fall at ease with the tranquility.

Toji kisses your neck, and you croon until he comes to lay his lips on yours for a tender peck, then on your soft cheek and your temple. He then removes his flaccid bulge, white fluids oozing out of your hole. “Damn, that was good,” he mutters breathlessly. “Hmm, how ya feel—“

The onyx-haired man couldn’t finish his question because of the sudden change of positions you abruptly conducted. He now lays on his back with you straddling him; the calm tone switched to an unexpected spiking mood.

You then hand grab his dick and arrange it back to your raised hips. Viridian orbs widen. Wait. The tip meets your labia once more before you descend it down. What the f—hold on— And then, his cock is swallowed back inside your wetness, and Toji grits his teeth.

“Sh-Shit, sweetie,” Toji’s hands come to your waist. “What’s up, aren’t y—“

“Sorry, Toji,” the man surveys with confusion, watching you strip off and throw your shirt somewhere. Your naked chest is now out for him to see, and his breath hitches when you place your hands on his pectorals while a span of bat-like wings springs out from your back. “…That wasn’t enough.”

Wasn’t enough?? He repeats with furrowed brows, noticing the half-lidded, lustful expression and the sharp dents of your canines. Then, it hits him:

“The desire of a succubus can be dangerous, you know? And since it’s been a while since I’ve let my powers out, I’m sure it’s nastier than ever…”

…Oh, shit. “Wait, we can talk about—“ You get your answer once you bounce on his cock without notice, Toji nearly choking on his tongue. Nope, no room for prattling.

“You let out so much, made my mind go so crazy,” you grind your hips on his pelvis, squeezing his limp cock while it gets firmer and firmer. “Feel so good…More, I want moreee…”

“C-C’mon now, baby, can’t we take a break for a minute at least—“You bring your face an inch away from his.

“Daddy,” your neighbor shudders at the gentle kiss you place under his chin. “Please take care of me like you promised, ‘kay?”

Your gaze lured him in, a trap he was foolish enough to fall for. Because now, he’s stuck under your bow as you begin to inflict an inescapable rhythm, rebounding on his erection until the base meets your folds. Choked groans suppressed by Toji, but take his lips with yours, enforcing a loving yet salacious spell with your satisfied moans. Now, your crush realizes you weren’t the meek, adorable neighbor he dotes on.

Tonight, he was yours to play like a fiddle…And shame on him for getting way more turned on than he should be!

Wow. Guess I’m dyin’ tonight.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

I should be fuckin’ dead right now.

Toji knew something was up when his eyelids opened, and his emerald eyes scanned the ceiling, instantly recognizing that he wasn’t in his master bedroom. The rays of sunshine are blocked from the curtains, yet the light of day crawls in and basks the room in a low glow. Chirps of birds outside greet him on the basking of a new autumn day, lying comfortably in the cold, silky sheets of the bed.

He wakes to a bit of a headache, mentally and physically groggy. Attempts to move are already tricky and aches all over his body keep him grounded in the mattress. Ugh, feel like I’ve lost all feelin’ in my legs; the man can’t even lift one leg without a grimace. And even his arms are challenging, one so oddly heavy as if it’s nailed down.

“Fuck, man.” His first words of the day are a curse, irritated by the drum of his head. He tries to lift himself; again, it’s not possible, agitating the man even more. And why the fuck is my arm so hea—

He doesn’t finish his sentence — the answer reveals itself once he turns his head to the left.

He sees you, surprised to view you in your natural form still. Horns have grown a little larger, yet still small enough for you to rest your cheek on his shoulder. You were sound asleep, faint snores picked up by his ears as he examined your face at ease with a peaceful slumber. Nude, the both of you, a hand wrapped around his left arm to stick close to you while the other is stationed at his chest, your bat wings shriveled together to not get damaged. And judging by the snake-ish feeling, your tail was curled around his bare thigh.

Strangely innocent to see after the events of last night flash into Toji’s recollection, funny to match such a lewd scenario to such a sweet face. He stifles a laugh, placing his right hand on the vulnerable one on him, his thumb caressing your knuckles as he grasps your fingers. Suddenly, some of the soreness he harbors feels light — glad I ain’t dead, I guess.

Your eyes jit behind your eyelids, a soft groan as you suddenly move and scrunch your face. Finally, your drowsy eyes sheepishly flicker open. Lidded gaze fighting the spell of sleep with every bat of your eyes.

“Mornin’, gorgeous.” Toji greets you.

“…”

In real-time, Toji watches your somnolent morph into a gradual display of mortification. He’s a little envious to see you spring up with no strain on your body, wings batting out of their relaxed state, and your hand still with his. “T-Toji??” You question directly, eyes surveying the nude neighbor in your bed, doing everything in your power to ignore the fact that you’re naked as well. Speaking of, you notice the subtle pink glow of your womb tattoo, and anxiety spikes to a high. “I–uhh–I’m so so sorry for last night! Sorry you had to bring me back home, and I didn’t mean to act weirdly on you with—Ooof?!”

“Relax,” he cuts you off by pulling you back to his lying frame, his left hand now free to snake on your shoulder. “Don’t talk so fast; my head’s poundin’ like crazy.”

You blink aimlessly, awkward now that you’re fully aware you’re in this man’s embrace. You can’t help recalling what transpired last night, suddenly feeling squeamish. “…You okay?”

“I feel like my life’s been drained by my dick,” he answers bluntly, adding more weight to your embarrassment. “Wakin’ up to a pretty face who nearly killed me with their pussy isn’t somethin’ I’d expect.”

“……sorry.”

“It’s alright,” calloused fingers glide and intertwine with his yours, stroking your thumb with his. “Had a good time either way. Wild, but good.”

“Really…?”

“Really.” You probably shouldn’t have peered up to see him look your direction. Albeit exhausted, his handsome face and sleepy grin ignite the heat on your cheeks. And your stomach flips, hearing a laugh when you meekly avert your gaze away. “How many times did we do it?”

“…Not sure,” long enough for my womb tattoo to be blatant.

“Me either. Does that happen often?”

“Sometimes? I guess it’s because I haven’t done it for a long time, so I went…off the rails because of the intensity.”

“Noted, because I never felt so old until now. I probably pulled somethin’.”

“….Sorry.”

“Y’re good,” Toji scoffs before moving to place a soft kiss on your forehead, and your heart skips the tighter his hand holds your hand. “Tell ya what, I can help you with that cycle of yours, probably…twice a month, so it doesn’t get too crazy like last night. And don’t use y’re powers or some shit to make me forget, either. I don’t wan’ that.”

You lift your face from his shoulder, the heat spreading to your ears. “You don’t have to do that, Toji, I wouldn’t—“

“Nah, I’m down; it’s what neighbors for. Besides, it finally gives me a reason to make ya interact with me more.” Again, his smug smirk causes knots in your stomach. “Like the sound of that, mama? Let Daddy take care of you?”

Your lips quiver, and you hide your face back onto his shoulder. The rumble of his laughter worsens the butterflies in your stomach, and your tail squeezes on his thigh. “Don’t say it like that, Toji!”

“Y’r tail seems to like it.”

“Stop it!”

♱ 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

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frenchkisstheabyss · 1 month ago

Text

☆ ａｂｏｕｔａｇｉｒｌ☆

☆ Pairing: rockstar!best friend!mingi x chubby!fem!reader

☆ Genre: rocker au/smut/fluff/friends to lovers

☆ Word Count: 4.4k

☆ Summary: During a late night hang out session your innocent request to color in your best friend's tattoos leads to a revelation about the not so platonic feelings you've held for him. Mingi's a rockstar. One of the best guitarists there is. Every boy you know wants to be him and every girl you know wants to be on top of him. In your eyes, the odds that his feelings are mutual are slim to none but a girl's gotta be wrong sometimes.

☆ Warnings: heavily tattooed mingi, he has a tongue piercing too, bestie wooyoung pops in to stir shit up, drug use (just weed), body worship, dry humping, female masturbation, marking, some soft dom mingi moments, oral sex (m & f receiving), fingering, spanking, nibbling, scratching, unprotected sex, his dick is kinda (very) big, doggy style, squirting, creampie, pet names (baby, good girl), affectionate use of the word whore (towards Mingi).

☆ A/N: Rockerteez has a special place in my heart, especially rocker Mingi, so I absolutely had to write something for him. I hope this satisfies something for all of my chubby alt girls out there who crush on this man just as hard as I do. Love you guys xoxo byeee.

Mingi can’t say no to you. It’s been that way since the beginning of your friendship. Craving ice cream in the middle of the night? He’ll drive you to every convenience store in a 10 mile radius just to make sure you get the flavor you want. You want tickets to a sold out concert for your favorite band? He’ll pull every string he can behind the scenes to make sure you get them.

You’ve turned into a brat, spoiled rotten to the core, and he can only blame himself for it. Tonight might’ve been the night that he stood up to you if you didn’t look so adorable making the silliest request he’s ever heard.

You were standing at the edge of his bed rocking nothing but a baggy Linkin Park tee you stole from his drawer and a pair of black panties not meant to impress but cute all the same. Your cheeks were still stained with glitter from tonight’s concert and remnants of smeared mascara lingered in the wake of some discount makeup wipes that didn’t quite do the trick.

“Just let me color in your tattoos. Like this, see?” You held your phone up to his face, his nose a fraction of an inch from the screen where a girl was busy coloring in the free space of her boyfriend’s tattoos.

Mingi had been lying on his back, scrolling his own phone as he patiently awaited your return from the kitchen. Snacks. You were supposed to bring back snacks, not a fistful of random markers you found in the kitchen drawer and some impulsive idea you got from Tiktok.

“No. I’ll get skin cancer or something” he huffed, rolling his eyes and flopping back down on the bed.

“Oh, because you’re so concerned about your health” you teased, eyeing the shiny chrome vape pen perched between two plush rosy lips.

Mingi casually drew in a breath, letting the peach infused smoke fill his lugs. “THC is healthy. Whatever the fuck’s in those isn’t.”

Clearing your throat, you hopped onto the bed, spreading the markers out to inspect. “Actually, these are vegan markers so they’re safe. It’s basically the rules, so…let me do it.”

“No…” he started but you were already pouting, your eyelashes batting away fake tears. It was a cheap trick to pull, especially when you know how it always gets to him, but it worked.

“Fine but you’ve got 15 minutes. That’s it.”

You wasted no time climbing on top of him, popping the caps of the markers off and getting straight to work. Lucky for you Mingi has more tattoos than free skin on his chest. Even luckier, he has zero ability to track time.

An hour’s passed and you’re still here, straddling his lap and doodling away. You hum along to the song on his record player. It’s a vaguely familiar tune, some alt rock album that dropped before Mingi even hit middle school.

Mingi’s yet to admit it—he actually hasn’t said a word to you since you started—but this is the most relaxed he’s been in the longest time. Everyone thinks that being in a band is one big party. The tours. The magazine spreads. The concerts. The groupies. But there’s more to it than that. Being an artist takes from you in ways the rest of the world couldn’t imagine. Something about sharing this time with you gives a little bit of that back to him.

He steals a glance at you, eyes flicking back to his phone before you catch him in the act. You’re pretty. Not the disposable kind of pretty that you admire for one night and forget about when the alcohol wears off in the morning. You’re the irreplaceable kind of pretty. The kind that’s too pure to pursue but too precious to let slip out of his reach.

Your friendship’s never been for show. The bond he has with you—the love he feels—all of it’s genuine. But he can’t say there’s nothing else so he says nothing at all. He just lies here, your human canvas, enjoying the feeling of your weight in his lap and your soft hands brushing against his skin.

“I’m running to the store. You want something?” Wooyoung asks, bursting through the door.

It’s a house rule that all bandmates knock before coming in but Wooyoung’s never been one to care. His room is his room and everyone else’s room is his too.

“My bad, am I interrupting something?”

You and Mingi’s heads turn towards the door in unison and your reactions are are identical. “Something like what?”

Wooyoung cracks a smile, tickled by you two syncing up like bluetooth headphones. “You tell me. I’m not the one who has their best friend in cowgirl right now.”

A marker goes flying across the room at him and he dodges it like a pro. “It’s not like that and you know it’s not” you say, pretending not to know what a lie that is.

It’s not an outright lie. It’s nothing, it truly is, but you can’t ignore what this position’s been doing to you. Mingi’s a gorgeous man. Gorgeous enough to make you wish you were just another groupie some days. It’s inevitable that your vicinity to him might leave your pulse racing now and then. Maybe get you a bit wetter than anything the natural warmth of your body could do. You feel a twinge of guilt for it but not nearly enough to get up.

“If it’s not like that then what’s it like?” Wooyoung presses, paying no mind to the growing frustration on his bandmate’s face. Mingi’s pisssed but that’s never stopped Wooyoung before.

“It’s like you getting out of my room” Mingi snaps, “Where’s San? Doesn’t one of you die if you aren’t attached at the hip 24 hours a day?”

Wooyoung cocks an eyebrow, arms folded across his chest, “You should talk.”

“Woo, I’m serious. Mingi and I are just friends. That’s it. You see the type of girls who wait for him backstage. Do any of them look like me?”

Your question’s met with silence from both men. They share a knowing glance. Wooyoung knows something you don’t and Mingi dares him to open his mouth unless he wants to die.

“Didn’t think so” you gloat, getting back to your coloring, “I will take something from the store though. Some chips please. My usual. Want something, Min?”

“Just for him to get out of my room. Quickly.”

“Got it. Chips for the lady and for the gentleman…” Wooyoung flips Mingi off as he backs out of the room.

Mingi returns the gesture, “I love you too!”

You laugh to yourself, shaking your head at their immaturity. On stage all anyone sees are the piercings and the tattoos. They think that they’re edgy…bad boys. But they’re dorks through and through. Ones you’re happy to be around but dorks nonetheless.

“And what’s so funny?” he frowns, propping himself up on his elbows.

Tossing your marker aside, you trade it out for the vape resting at Mingi’s side. You take a puff, leaning forward to blow the smoke right into his face. “You.”

Mingi does nothing. He only sits there letting the smoke dance across his face. You’ve done a lot of hot things since the two of you’ve met and that was without a doubt one of them. You’re on top of him, your back arched, plush thighs caging him in on each side. No bra. No pants. And that face—those lips so dangerously close to his.

A long moment passes between you. The silence adds another layer of tension to what each of you has already been hiding.

“Just because they wait for me backstage doesn’t mean they’re my type” he says, catching you off guard.

It takes a second for you to register what he's said and when you do your brain short circuits. “Min, I mean…I wasn’t…it doesn’t matter.”

Mingi cocks his head, strands of platinum hair falling into his face. “What do you think my type is exactly?”

You sit back up in his lap, taking another puff to calm your nerves. “I don’t know but last I checked you didn’t have a fat girl fetish.”

“It’s not a fetish.” Mingi pushes himself up to face you, refusing to let you run away so easily. His gaze trails over you like fingertips tracing your curves. “I just like what I like and what I like happens to be girls with some meat on their bones. Is that okay with you?”

Brushing off his comment, you place a hand on his chest to push him back down. “You’re being weird.”

He doesn’t budge. He just stares into your eyes, searching for whatever it is that you’re fighting so hard to keep hidden from him. He knows it’s there. It’s in the way your black nails are nervously drumming against his chest. It’s in the shortness of your breath and the subconscious rocking of your hips in his lap. But he wants to see it in your eyes. He needs to.

“Is that the only reason then?” he asks, slipping an arm around you, “You think nothing’s happened between us because of your body? Which is beautiful by the way.”

You blush, playfully swatting him on the cheek, “Stop. It’s not just that. You and I, we're friends, that's it. Even when you say stuff like that to tease me, I know you only see me as a friend.”

“And what do you see me as?” His voice is deep on any regular day but the way it dips when he asks the question has a bass to it that has you sweating.

You stumble on your words, fighting to make sense of the alphabet soup that is your brain. You don’t work for the CIA. You weren’t prepped to hold up to interrogation. That’s exactly what this feels like because that’s exactly what this is. Mingi wants an answer, a clear one, and you know better than anyone that when he locks in on something he never backs down.

“You’re someone who means to me, Min. Someone I’d rather not lose by thinking something’s there when it’s not…”

You have more to say but you can’t for the life of you remember what it was after Mingi’s lips collide with yours. He lays back, finally, and he takes you with him, your body flush against his as he kisses you with a hunger you didn’t know he possessed.

It’s a wild, breathless kiss. It’s wet lips and little nibbles, tongues intertwining and fingers tangling in hair. There’s no more holding back. No reason to pretend that you don’t want what both of you have all along. It’s a relief for Mingi who's been quietly going through hell for the past hour trying not to get hard with you seated on top of him.

He thought of everything he could to ignore how good it felt to have you resting against his length but now all he can think of is you. It’s dizzying how quickly all of the blood in his body rushes between his legs, his length swelling as he takes greedy handfuls of your figure. You shiver the first time you feel him, a moan as light as air leaving your lips.

“Where’d that come from?” you giggle, hips rolling to chase the friction.

Mingi pushes you onto your back, lips latching onto your neck before you even hit the mattress.

His hands dip beneath your borrowed shirt. It’s one of his favorites but right now he can’t stand the sight of it. He needs to feel the smoothness of your bare skin…feel your curves give beneath his touch.

“You want some more?” he asks, dragging his tongue across your skin, igniting you like a match.

“Oh, fuck, yes…” you moan at the pressure of his fingertips massaging your breast.

He brushes his thumb across your nipple and it stiffens as if on command. Your whole body’s calling out his name—screaming it—begging for his attention. Mingi presses down onto you, his cock throbbing like a heartbeat against your core with every grind of his hips. Moisture trickles down your slit, soaking your panties to the point of uselessness.

You can’t say it's ever crossed your mind to dry hump a rockstar but thanks to Mingi it’s quickly become your new favorite thing. You could lay here all night moaning and whimpering, making a sticky mess all over his sweatpants while he marks your neck up like you’re his property. Well, maybe not all night. Your mind’s already flooded with thoughts of how badly you need him inside you. Good thing he doesn’t intend to make you wait much longer.

“This shirt, take it off” he demands, already tugging it up your figure.

Mingi climbs onto his knees, sitting back to give you the room you need to slip the shirt over your head. He can’t tell where it lands, he doesn’t really care. All that matters to him is that there’s a goddess lying between his legs, one ruined pair of panties away from being completely naked. He lights up like a kid on Christmas morning. You’re a gift so perfectly designed to suit his every desire that he must be dreaming.

“What’s wrong, Min? Never seen a naked girl before?” you tease, your nervous laughter triggering something in him.

Mingi’s expression darkness like you’ve only seen it when he’s deathly serious about something. “Not like this…” he says, his hands patiently exploring your body, savoring every part of you. “And you thought you weren’t my type? When you’re this pretty—your cute belly, those stretchmarks, these thighs—you think I haven’t worshipped you since the day I met you?”

He pushes your knees up just enough to slip your panties down, “I remember Yunho brought you backstage after the show. You had on those heels and that tiny leather skirt. You were so fucking pretty and all I could think was, ‘I wonder what it’d be like to have those thighs around my neck’. You gonna let me find out?”

Mingi spreads your legs, running his fingers through your glistening pussy. His fingers are coated in seconds, so shiny and wet with your arousal that they slip inside of you effortlessly. He crawls onto his stomach, licking his lips as his fingertips stroke your walls.

“Aah…mmph…Mingi” you whine, gripping the sheets as he adds another finger.

“I like the sound of my name but that’s not an answer, baby. I need you to tell me.” He licks the tip of your clit, his silver tongue piercing glinting in the light as he teases you, “Can I eat your pussy or you want me to beg for it?”

“No begging. Just fucking do it.”

Mingi doesn’t need to be told twice. He buries his face between your legs, suckling and slurping, eating you up like you’re the last meal he’ll ever have. Your thighs slip over his shoulders and he grabs onto them with both hands, kneading their softness as his tongue dips into you. You try to keep it together but you’re too sensitive to control how much you tremble when he laps at the ridges of your walls.

You grab him by the hair, not guiding him, just feeling him. You don’t know if it’s the drugs or the way his tongue’s swirling around inside you but it’s like you're floating. Your body’s buzzing with pleasure and when he reaches up to pinch your clit you’re on the verge of falling to pieces.

And that’s right where he keeps you, dancing on the edge of complete ruin. Occasionally he glances up at you, not caring now if you catch him looking. He wants to see you…wants you to see him. You lock eyes and he hums his satisfaction at every pretty face you make.

A mentor once told him that every girl’s a guitar. You’ve just gotta pay enough attention to know how to tune her. A skilled musician if nothing else, Mingi knows how to tune you just right. He knows which dials to turn to make you sing. He’s strumming every string, hitting every note that he needs to for that fullness to build in your lower belly. It’s never felt this good to be close before, it’s almost too much to take and you inch up on the bed, desperate for a break.

Mingi grabs you by the hips before you can get too far, dragging you back down onto his face. “No running” he grins, “Now be a good girl and stay still for me.”

There’s no time to be shocked by his boldness. You’re right back where you left off. Back arching, legs shaking, walls clenching. He takes your clit between his lips, licking circles around it as his fingers plunge back into you, tapping your sweet spot until you come undone.

He locks an arm across your waist, pinning you to the bed so that you have to take it. All of it. Your orgasm falls over you like a blanket, clinging to your skin, enveloping you in the overwhelming warmth of it. Your moans devolve into a low, broken whine as you lay there helpless. As if you’d want the help if there were any.

“Mmm” he hums, taking his last taste of you before his dripping fingers pull out, “I knew you’d taste good but that was…”

He swishes what’s left of your juices around in his mouth, making sure that it lingers behind long after he’s done. “Delicious.”

Pressing his lips to your inner thigh, he kisses his way up your body. Except for a few involuntary twitches from the aftershock, your body’s limp. Far too weak to stop him from teasing you with wet kisses to your curves. He whispers things to your body. Some sweet, some filthy, but the message is the same. You’re beautiful. You’re perfect. You’re everything he’s ever wanted.

A part of you wants to deny the truth of his words, shrugging them off as nothing more than lust. But there’s so much sincerity in them that you can’t fight them off. They soak right into your skin and, by the time his lips meet yours again, they’ve become a part of you.

Mingi cups your face, his thumb rubbing circles on your cheek. “You came so hard for me, baby. Think you can do it again?”

You may be lying here with glossy eyes and pouty lips but you’re far from the innocent little thing he’s making you out to be. You slip a hand below his waist, palming his length through his pants.

“Get rid of them” you whisper, kissing him harshly, “Now.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

He pushes himself up from the bed, standing to the side of you to drop his pants. You crawl to the edge of the bed, settling on your knees to watch him. He makes a proper show of it, sliding them down at an agonizingly slow pace. Your eyes widen when his cock springs free, no boxers to hold them back.

“You didn’t have any underwear on. You whore” you tease, admiring his cock all the while. It’s much longer than you thought it’d be, thicker too, with pretty veins traveling up the side like rose vines and a nice fat tip leaking precum down to the rim.

Mingi tucks a finger under your chin, tilting your head up to look at him. “If I’m a whore, I’m your whore.”

“All mine?” you ask, popping the tip into your mouth. It’s a tight fit. Not easy in the slightest but you make it look like it is. You drag your tongue across the slit, collecting beads of arousal on your tongue.

His body shudders, knees almost giving out from the wispy motion of your tongue around the rim. “All yours” he groans, his voice growing shaky the further you take him into your mouth.

You take as much as you can before it taps the back of your throat and then you take a little more still. Bobbing your head back and forth, you drool down his length, sucking him like one of those long, twisty lollipops you get from the candy store. Mingi throws his head back, swearing he can see stars on the ceiling from how tightly your fluffy cheeks are suctioned around him.

Your tongue sweeps back and forth on the underside of his cock, your throat muscles flexing around the tip. Running your fingers down his stomach, you dig your nails in. Not enough to draw blood, just enough to get his attention. He looks down at you, a mixture of ecstasy and pain clouding his mind.

Leaning back from him, you let him slip out of your mouth. “If it’s all mine…” you sigh, sliding back on the bed and crawling onto your knees, “Then give it to me.”

You arch your back, ass poked out towards him, and he can see that you’re still dripping, your thighs soaked from your last orgasm. He slaps your ass hard enough to make all of you jiggle and you smile back at him, not minding the sting.

“You’re lucky you look so hot” he says, aligning himself with your entrance.

You wink, sinking back onto him so that the tip pops inside, “So are you.”

Mingi grabs you by the hips, slamming into you, and your arms give out in an instant, your cheek lying flat against the blanket as the next thrust sends shockwaves through your system. He pauses before the next to give you time to adjust. Really to give himself time to adjust.

The look on his face would make you think that he hates you—eyes narrowed, brows knitted together, lips tight—but it’s the exact opposite. Being inside of you is like dipping himself into a pool of honey. You’re warm and sticky, hugging him so well that pulling out feels criminal. Nothing has ever felt this good.

“Shit, baby, I can’t believe this is what you’ve been hiding from me all this time” he grunts, driving into you again and again.

The tears in your eyes are real this time. None of those play ones from earlier. You can’t help how they water as he bounces you on his cock, your quivering hole stretching a bit more each time to accommodate him. Music’s still streaming from the record player and the sound of your bodies slapping together matches the frantic rhythm. You have to give it to him. He’s good at staying on beat, even at a time like this.

Leaning forward, he nips at your side before grabbing your arm and guiding it between your legs. “Touch your clit for me. Wanna watch you do it.”

You do as you’re told, blindly feeling around to find your bud. Your fingers slip around, splashing in your own slick. They land right at your entrance and you can feel him pulsing as he disappears into you. You let them hover there, stroking him each time he pulls back, but Mingi forces your hand up to where he wants it.

“Aah, Min—fuck, so good…” you moan at the added layer of pleasure.

With his large hands splayed out on your ass, he sits back to watch you. Your arm’s shaky, mouth hung open drawing in sharp, jagged breaths. The curves of your body sit just right and each time you arch he finds a new way to admire them.

It’s more than enough to break him, your walls clenching and releasing, worsening the rising pressure threatening to ravage him. But he grits his teeth, suppressing his high until he feels your walls flutter off rhythm, legs trembling as your second orgasm of the night washes over you.

Mingi stills his movements, keeping you flush against him as you mindlessly ride his cock. “Good girl…” he coos, “Use me like I’m your fucking toy.”

Your whole world’s shattering and his words only make you come harder, juices cascading down your thighs, soaking the space between you. He follows close behind you, his swollen tip pumping you full of his seed until you’re drowning in the warmth of it. You bite down on the blanket, moaning his name into the thick cotton.

When your body finally collapses into the mattress, you’re on another planet and the feeling of Mingi’s arms around you are all that brings you back to earth. Cuddled up behind you, he sprinkles your shoulder with loving kisses, obsessed with the way you look even when you’re wrecked like this.

Minutes pass without a word spoken but nothing needs to be said for his admiration for you to be clear. It radiates from him, making your skin prickle.

Turning to face him, you brush sweat slicked strands away from his eyes, “You’re staring at me.”

“I like staring at you” he smiles, kissing your inner wrist, “I always have…always will.”

This is your cue to say something sweet back. Tell him how handsome he is—that in a room full of people your eyes will always find him. But the gravity of what you two have done sets in and with it comes the paralyzing fear that you’ve just made the biggest mistake of your life. When you were his best friend. You were special. Sacred in a way that made you different from all the other girls. So what are you now?

“What are you thinking about?” he asks, searching your expression for any small detail that’ll give it away.

“It’s nothing…”

Mingi frowns, knowing a liar when he sees one, “Nothing, huh?”

“Really, it’s nothing. It’s just—I don’t wanna be just like one of your little groupies, you know? I don’t want this to mean that you see me differently.”

“I see you the same way that I always have” he says, fingertips tracing your spine. “But I’d like to see you as something more, if that’s okay with you.”

The smile on your face is automatic. You can’t even begin to fight it. “Yeah, that’s okay with me.”

“Good. Not that you really had a choice. I can’t let go of a girl like you. Look at you” he growls, locking you in his arms so that you can’t get away.

He tucks his face into your neck, kissing and nibbling at you like a rabid animal. You kick your feet and giggle, hands pressed to his chest in a useless attempt to push him off.

Some things between you will never change. He’ll forever be a menace, always taking every chance he gets to mess with you, but in another sense things will never quite be the way they were before.

And, as you surrender to the relentless assault of kisses raining down on you, you can’t imagine ever wanting them to be.

#song mingi x you #song mingi x reader #mingi smut #mingi fluff #mingi x reader #ateez x you #ateez x reader #ateez x female reader #ateez x chubby reader #ateez au

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jaysbaefie · 1 month ago

Text

your honour | psh

synopsis: in which you push the judge too far, you learn that actions have consequences—and he always delivers the sentence himself.

genre: judge au

pairing: judge!sunghoon x troubled!reader

warnings: meandom!sunghoon, cold!sunghoon, horndog!reader, manhandling, cornering, degrading (holy fuck sm degrading), crazy dirty talk, gagging with fingers, hair pulling, choking, biting, spanking ass + pussy, rough p in v (unprotected), clit rubbing, creampie, bondage, fingering, overstimulation, orgasm denial and no aftercare. think that’s it…

wc: 6.3k

a/n: this is so filthy!!! yall im on a plot burnout i have so many ideas i just can’t bring myself to write a proper full length fic :[ anyways… notes, reblogs and comments are always appreciated. enjoy <3

═══════

your arms are crossed over your chest like armor. it's not foolproof—your wrists are still cuffed, and the bruises from last week's chase are still turning the edges of your skin a dull yellow with splotches of blue. you hold yourself steady anyway, like you've already survived worse.

you have.

the courtroom is too quiet for your taste. sterile walls, tired faces, and that rusted old flag in the corner drooping like it's had one too many years of watching justice be handed out unevenly.

there's a bailiff at your side, fingers twitching near their belt, as if they think you might leap over the railing and bolt. you don't blame them. you've done worse for less serious crimes.

but right now, you're not thinking about running—not even close.

you're staring straight at him.

park sunghoon.

honorable judge. esteemed in the district. untouchable. 'not for long,' you think to yourself, a small smirk gracing your lips as you hold your gaze.

his nameplate gleams under the artificial lighting, but it's not as cold as the look in his eyes when he glances down at you. black rob, pale hands, pristine posture like he's never once had a bad day, or at least never shown it.

he speaks your name like it tastes bitter in his mouth, his plump lips pursing in distaste.

"theft. trespassing. property damage," sunghoon reads, flipping through the paperwork like it's boring him. "and now contempt of court. again."

your smirk is the only weapon you have left, "that one wasn't on purpose."

his gaze doesn't flinch, "you were caught lighting a cigarette in the bathroom during recess."

"wasn't lit," you say coolly, his gaze now piercing into you. "i didn't even get to spark it," you almost whine out.

"because the officer stopped you."

"because the lighter was out of fluid," you shoot back, offended that he'd think that you'd let some officer stop you from lighting a spark.

for a moment, you think you see something twitch in the corner of his mouth—amusement? disbelief? but it's gone before it settles. he leans back in his seat, elbows on the armrests, voice clipped, "you don't seem to take this seriously."

you stare him down, your eyebrows raised, "you don't seem to live in the same world as the rest of us."

sunghoon says nothing at first, just studies you, eyes narrowing the longer the silence drags. he looks at you like you're a puzzle he didn't expect to come across and now he's trying to decide whether to solve you or break you apart and pack you away.

finally, he speaks, "given the repeated offences and your inability to cooperate with court proceedings, you are hereby found guilty."

your chest tightens—not because you're surprised. you knew this was coming, it was always going to come to this.

"you're to pay a fine of $5,000"

you snort, loud and messy which causes sunghoon to look at you with what you could only assume was disgust, "you might as well say 5 million. i don't have shit, your honour." your voice drips with mockery on that last part, but it's not like you can help it. titles mean nothing to people like you. not when the system's always rigged the same way.

sunghoon doesn't react the way you expect. no fury, no raised voice. instead, he rests his chin against his hand and stares down at you, thoughtful, composed—calculating.

"then perhaps we can make alternate arrangements."

you narrow your eyes. "like what? community service? sweeping the courthouse floors?" you had heard it all before, and you'd be damned if you did any of it.

he ignores your sarcasm. "i'm offering you a deal." you don't trust deals, especially not from men like him. but you're listening.

"you're clearly resourceful. difficult, but clever." his eyes scan your face like he's making a mental file, "if you truly cannot pay, then you'll work it off. under my supervision."

you blink up at him, dumbfounded, "what?"

sunghoon doesn't smile, doesn't even shift, "you'll report here. every morning, 6 am sharp. you'll handle clerical tasks, sorting files, transcriptions. menial work, mostly. i'll be watching."

you lean forward, just a little. "and if i say no?"

his voice is ice cold, "then you'll serve time."

you flinch at that, prison isn't unfamiliar—but it's worse this time. you're older now, tired and you know the kind of people they throw you in with.

your jaw clenches, "this some kind of power trip for you?"

his eyes glint, unreadable. "no. but it might be one for you. if you can handle being civil."

you hate him for that. for the way his words crawl under your skin, settle in your ribs like they belong there. you hate him for being calm, for not flinching when you push back. for the way he makes you feel cornered even when you're standing tall.

"fine," you spit. "i'll take your little deal."

sunghoon nods, finally. bangs the gavel once sending shocks through your body.

"court adjourned."

but as you're escorted out, you catch the way he watches you. slow, deliberate. like he's already plotting what to do with a fire like yours.

and you know this is far from over.

═══════

6 am comes fast, you show up at 6:17am.

your boots echo too loud on the marble floors of the courthouse as you stroll in like you own the place. hoodie unzipped, hands in your pockets, chewing gum with all the arrogance of someone who knows they're untouchable—or just wants to see how far they can push before they aren't.

sunghoon is already waiting, of course. seated behind his desk in his chambers, reading over a case file, all rigid posture and starched cuffs. he doesn't look up when you enter, but you feel the chill in the air shift the moment he registers your presence.

you lean against the doorframe, pop your gum, and smile sweetly, "morning, your honour."

he finally looks up, no smile—no greeting. just a flat, "you're late."

you shrug, "public transportation's a bitch. and my ankle monitor doesn't exactly come with wings."

sunghoon closes the file slowly, deliberately, "your sentence began at 6 am sharp. not whenever you decide to roll out of bed."

you wander further into his office, dragging your fingers across the edge of his polished desk. "well, maybe you should've sentenced me to something more exciting. i'd be more motivated to be punctual." you snicker softly, your fingers brushing against some books before landing on a small statue.

he doesn't rise, doesn't react. just watches you with that unreadable stare, like he's already dissecting your every move.

"sit."

you raise an eyebrow before looking around the room, no chair in sight, "where?"

he gestures with his pen to a wooden chair shoved against the back wall. no cushion. no wheels. no dignity.

you scoff, "wow. luxury accommodations."

"sit," he says again, this time lower—sharper.

you do—but not before you tip the chair slightly and drag it across the floor, the screech of wood against tile sounding loud and obnoxious. you plop down and swing your legs up onto the edge of his desk like it's your living room.

"so," you say, folding your arms behind your head. "what soul-crushing task do i get to do first? file your fan mail? shine your gavel?"

sunghoon doesn't flinch. doesn't blink. just reaches over and, without warning, shoves your boots off his desk with one smooth motion. hard enough to jolt the whole chair, causing you to hold onto the desk for support.

you laugh in surprise before masking it quickly with a silly remark, "ooh. touchy."

he leans forward now, voice calm but laced with threat, "i don't care how you've gotten away with things in the past. in this room, under my supervision, you follow."

"or what?" you bite, eyes narrowing. "you gonna slap another fine on me? lock me up again?"

"no," he murmurs, his eyes not leaving yours. "i'll break you without ever lifting a finger."

you go quiet for the first time because for some strange reason, you believe him.

but that doesn't mean you're going to make it easy.

by 10 am, you've misfiled at least four court documents on purpose, accidentally-on-purpose spilled coffee on one, and whistled a highly inappropriate tune every time someone passes the open door.

sunghoon doesn't snap. he doesn't yell, but the tightness in his jaw gets worse. his sleeves are rolled to his elbows now, veins taut, hand gripped around his pen like he's imagining stabbing something with it. you allow your gaze to wander over him, relishing in his cold presence as you eye-fuck him to oblivion.

you stretch lazily in your seat across the room, flipping through a file upside down just to be difficult.

"you always this fun at parties?" you ask, eyes lazily scanning the document.

"you always this exhausting when you're sober?"

you grin, "you should've sentenced me to something harder. i get off on discipline."

he finally looks up. eyes dark and voice low.

"is that what this is? acting out so someone will finally put you in your place?"

you blink, not expecting that.

sunghoon stands now, slow and deliberate, and crosses the room to tower over where you're still slouched in your chair. he leans down just enough to make your breath hitch, his minty fresh cologne invading your senses—sending your body into overdrive.

"you want someone to punish you, is that it?" he says, voice barely above a whisper. "because you're skating dangerously close to contempt again."

you swallow harshly but you hold the smirk, even if it's faltering, "you threatening me, your honour?"

his lips twitch, not a smile—something colder.

"no," he says. "just waiting for you to slip. and when you do—when all that bratty bravado cracks, you'll beg for someone like me to be the one holding the leash."

your throat goes dry.

he straightens and turns away, already done with you for the moment, and you're left there blinking like the ground shifted under your feet.

this was supposed to be fun. a game.

but now? now you think he's playing back.

and he plays dirty.

═══════

you should've gone home.

you were dismissed hours ago. the office lights are off, most of the staff gone, echoing laughter and jangling keys disappearing down the hallway.

but you stayed.

because you wanted to see what would happen if you crossed the line, alone—with him.

sunghoon's still in his chambers with his door cracked, light spilling out in a narrow slice across the floor. you lean in the doorway without knocking, arms folded, teeth sunk into the inside of your cheek just to keep from smiling too wide.

he doesn't look up.

"still working?" you ask, voice low and sugary.

he doesn't respond at first. then, without looking away from his file, "if you're still here, it's because you want something. so say it, and make it fast." you saunter in, drag your nails across his bookshelf, pull a file halfway out and shove it back in crooked just to be annoying, "just wanted to chat. you seem lonely."

his jaw flexes, but he doesn't rise—doesn't yell. instead, he sets his pen down, lifting his eyes to you slowly, deliberately—and lets out a low breath through his nose.

"you're a desperate little thing, aren't you?"

you blink, "excuse me?"

he stands.

you don't move. just watch him stalk forward, quiet, composed, eyes cutting into you like scalpels.

he stops inches from you, doesn't touch. doesn't lean in.

but his voice? razor-edged filth.

"you dress like a brat, talk like a slut, act out like a girl who's been begging for someone to spit in her mouth and call her worthless." your breath catches and your legs almost give out.

"you're not here to talk," he continues, voice lower, crueler. "you're here because no one's ever put you in your place and you're too much of a mess to admit you want it."

you flinch, lips parting, "you don't even know me—"

"i know everything," he cuts in sharply. "i've read your records. i've seen the trail of damage you leave behind just to get someone to notice you. daddy issues, authority issues, zero impulse control. you want men to hate you just so they'll finally touch you."

you gasp, cheeks flushing hot—but not with shame.

with need.

because he's right. because no one's ever talked to you like this.

"look at you," he sneers. "breathing heavy already, shifting your legs like you're not soaking through your little panties right now. you came in here thinking you could bait me with your bratty mouth, hoping i'd snap and pin you against the wall like some filthy fantasy you've cooked up in that head of yours."

you say nothing. you can't.

"but i'm not like the boys you fuck behind bars or in alleyways," he whispers, eyes boring into yours. "i don't play with trash."

you whimper.

his smile is slow and cruel, "oh? that got you wet, didn't it?" your thighs squeeze together instinctively, and he laughs—cold, low, unamused.

"pathetic. dripping just from being spoken to like the little cum-dump you are."

you try to speak, but your mouth won't work. you're breathing too fast, too shallow, clit throbbing through your jeans, nipples hard under your hoodie, and he hasn't even touched you.

he leans in, barely. his cool breath fanned against your ear causing you to shiver, "you'll come back tomorrow, won't you?" he murmurs against your ear. "all sweet and mouthy again, hoping this is the day I finally bend you over my desk and fuck your brains out like the filthy little whore you pretend not to be."

you whine—a soft, needy sound that makes his eyes darken just a little.

then he pulls back, his hands stay folded behind him. he steps past you, calm as ever, voice low and bored. "go home. you're dripping on my floor."

═══════

you start showing up on time.

5:59 am, hair damp from a rushed shower, hoodie half-zipped, eyes sharp with purpose. you slide into the office like you own the place—and every day, you find him already there, perfect as ever. sleeves rolled up, tie tight, reading over a file like he didn't just spend the last twelve hours thinking about the way you moaned for him without him even touching you.

you don't speak much now, you don't have to.

the first time it happens, it's barely a whisper of a moment—you walk past him to grab a stack of paperwork, and your hip brushes his hand resting on the edge of the desk. soft. slow. deliberate. and you don't flinch, don't apologize.

you smile.

his pen halts mid-sentence.

you don't look back.

the second time, you lean in close to hand him a stapled report—closer than you need to, your fingers brushing over his when he takes it from you. you let your thumb drag just barely over his knuckle before pulling away.

he doesn't speak, but his jaw's clenched so tight you hear it pop.

the third time, it's worse. you're leaning over his desk, too far, pretending to scan the page while your hips subtly roll back, brushing against where he's standing behind you. it's slow—not full contact but just enough pressure to feel the line of his thigh brush your ass.

you feel him freeze. you breathe out, soft and sweet, "oops."

he doesn't move. doesn't even blink. you can feel his restraint like a second heat, burning against your skin.

you straighten up with a grin and saunter off and for the rest of the day, you can feel his eyes on your back like a loaded weapon.

═══════

you live for the control—the knowledge that you're the one unraveling him now. no chains, no cuffs, no cell. just you and your filthy little grin in his clean little world.

every time your hand lingers too long on his wrist when passing him a pen. every time your fingers brush his thigh when you "accidentally" drop a file. every time you stretch beside him, moaning faintly when you reach your arms overhead like you're trying to kill him with your spine alone.

he doesn't say a word.

not one curse, not one command. but every breath he takes feels heavier. every time he adjusts his cuffs, it's slower. rougher. the one time he looks at you, really looks, while you're standing by the window with the light catching your smug little smirk and you swear there's murder in his eyes.

or maybe lust, or both.

you bite your lip and wink.

he goes back to reading but his knuckles are white around the edge of the page.

you don't stop, of course you don't. you know he's cracking. you just want to see how far before he breaks.

═══════

you don't knock today.

you walk in like always—mouth full of gum, hair half done, smirk locked and loaded.

but the outfit? oh, this is new.

short skirt, barely mid-thigh. skin-tight, no stockings. no shame.

your blouse clings to your chest with every breath, just one wrong move from spilling open—and you bend to pick up a file by the door the second you walk in, as if you didn't plan the whole motion.

you make sure your ass is pointed directly at his chair, you hear nothing for a beat. then the sound of a pen snapping in his hand.

you bite your lip to keep from smiling. "good morning, your honour," you say sweetly, rising slow, letting your tits bounce just enough. "got something for you to sign."

he doesn't answer. doesn't look up. he just sets the ruined pen down, stands in silence, and walks to the far cabinet—jaw sharp, back stiff.

he doesn't speak for an hour, but you don't stop.

you lean across the desk to file something, letting your breasts nearly spill out. you sit on the edge of the table too close, too comfortable, skirt hiked up high on your thighs. you cross and uncross your legs too slow. you sigh every time you shift, like the fabric's clinging to places it shouldn't.

and the worst part? you don't even look at him anymore.

you just know. you know he's watching. you feel his silence like a leash. and still, you test it.

again. and again.

until—

"shut the door."

you freeze, glancing over to see that sunghoon's still behind the desk, hands folded, gaze pinned directly to your face for the first time all day.

there's no emotion in his tone, just something dark.

you step back slowly, click the door shut.

"lock it."

you do, your pulse skips.

he nods once toward the chair in front of his desk, "sit."

you obey—this time, no sass, no roll of the eyes. he watches you for a long, heavy moment. then: "stand up."

you blink, but you rise. he leans back in his chair, eyes raking over you with undisguised disgust. "this what you wear to court? no wonder you can't stay out of handcuffs."

you shiver when his voice drops an octave, "i've let you act out. walk around my office like it's a runway. rub your filthy little body against me like a dog in heat. but today?" his tongue clicks, "today, you came here begging."

you bite your lip and he notices. "don't even deny it," he sneers. "you dressed like a fucking pornstar and shoved your tits in my face three times before lunch."

you blink fast, thighs press together. "you want attention so bad," he whispers, voice cold and cruel. "you'd crawl under this desk and suck cock just to feel useful for once."

you whimper causing his eyes to narrow "pathetic."

you take a shaky step forward, voice too soft. "so do something about it."

"no." the word is a bullet. sharp. final. you flinch, "what?"

"i'm not giving you what you want," he says, standing now—towering over you, eyes blazing. "not until you ask." you swallow, your breath stutters, "...i just did—" "not like that," he leans in close, still not touching, his breath ghosting your cheek. "i want to hear you beg. properly. filthy. on your knees if you have to."

your mouth opens but no sound comes out.

"c'mon," he hisses. "say it. say you're a dirty little whore who wore this skirt just to get her judge to ruin her."

your knees go weak.

"say you've been dripping for me for weeks. say you need to be put in your place. beg me to spit in your mouth and call you mine." you nearly drop right there while he watches you—smug, furious, and impossibly composed.

"but you won't," he whispers. "because you're a coward. just a brat with no bite."

you snap, you sink to your knees with your palms on your thighs. skirt riding high, head tilted up with your tongue caught between your teeth.

"please," you whisper, cheeks hot. "i wore it for you. i wanted you to see what you've been missing. i wanted you to lose control. i wanted to feel owned. like a fucking toy." his nostrils flare and you crawl forward. "i've been dripping for you since the first time you called me worthless," you breathe out shamelessly. "you don't have to fuck me. just—just say i'm yours."

his hand twitches at his side but still he doesn't touch you, he just smiles—slow and dangerous. "you're finally learning," he murmurs. "maybe tomorrow i'll reward you."

and he walks out, leaves you on the floor—aching, wrecked and obedient.

═══════

you show up like nothing happened, tight dress, high heels and no bra. you don't even bring a file, you just lean against the edge of his desk like you're here to ruin him.

sunghoon doesn't look up, not right away. but when he does—it's over.

his eyes flick up to your chest, then back to your mouth, and the moment your lips part to say something smart, he moves.

fast.

the chair scrapes back with a violent screech. you barely have time to gasp before he grabs your wrist and slams you against the desk, stomach flat against the wood, cheek pressed down by the weight of his hand. you yelp, breath knocked out of you—but it's not pain. it's heat, flooding between your legs in a dizzying wave.

"this what you wanted?" sunghoon growls, voice raw at your ear. "me snapping like some animal? you filthy, needy, shameless little—fuck." he yanks your arms behind your back, pins both wrists with one big hand and grinds you into the desk. "look at you squirming and wet. couldn't go one more day without getting manhandled, huh?"

you whine out when his free hand slides up your spine, griping the back of your neck, forcing your head to the side so your cheek stays plastered to the wood. your eyes snap open in shock when he pushes his thick digits into your mouth, forcing your mouth full.

"you've been begging for this," he snarls. "dressing like a whore. moaning when i speak. bending over like you want to get fucked in front of the whole court." you can barely breathe—your mouth opens, but nothing comes out.

he laughs—low and cruel, "what's wrong? mouth finally too full of regret?" he spreads your legs with his knee, lets his thigh press up between them while his grip on your wrists tightens.

you're soaked. dripping straight through your panties, probably smearing slick across his desk — and he feels it. his thigh twitches and he groans. "pathetic," he growls. "you're soaking my leg and i haven't even touched your cunt."

you whimper into the desk, legs trembling, thighs trying to grind down on his thigh—but he pulls it back with a smirk. "you think you run this game," he whispers in your ear. "you think a few bratty looks and slutty outfits make you powerful."

he yanks your head back by the hair and forces you to look at him—eyes wild, chest rising, jaw clenched.

"you don't run shit here." his fingers trail down your jaw, not gentle—gripping your face like he wants to crush it, "you're mine."

you blink fast. your lips part as he finally removes his fingers from your mouth.

"say it."

your voice shakes. "i'm—i'm yours."

"again."

"i'm yours."

"louder."

"i'm fucking yours," you scream—thighs shaking, cunt pulsing, wrists still pinned.

he stares down at you—flushed, dripping, ruined against his desk. then he leans in, lips just brushing your ear, "you're not cumming until i say so."

you whimper in response. "and when you do," he breathes, "you're gonna thank me for breaking you."

he steps back and lets you collapse to your knees.

undone.

and he leaves you there, again.

═══════

you should've ran.

the look on his face the second you step into his office—eyes cold, mouth tight, sleeves rolled up like he's about to sentence you to death, should've sent you crawling.

but you don't run, you smirk—and that's all it takes. he grabs you before the door even clicks shut—slams you against it, one hand fisting in your hair, the other squeezing your throat until your breath stutters.

"tired of you strutting around like you're untouchable," he hisses. "you want to be fucked so bad? fine. i'll fuck you like the filthy little criminal you are."

you whimper when his grip tightens—then he spins you, throws you against his desk. your hips crash into the edge, papers scattering, your hands scrambling for balance. he's behind you again, dragging your skirt up so high it tears, yanking your panties down and tossing them like trash.

you feel his palm ghost over your ass and you can't help but push yourself back against him in excitement. "already soaked," he mutters, disgusted. "fucking slut."

crack.

you yelp—the first spank makes you jolt. second makes you moan. third has your knees buckling. he grabs a fistful of your hair and yanks your head back, hissing in your ear, "say thank you."

"th-thank you," you pant.

crack.

"louder."

"thank you!"

he pulls your head back harder, exposing your throat—then his mouth is on you, biting, not kissing, sinking his teeth into the sensitive skin until you cry out. sunghoon groans when he feels you twitch violently in his hold, his teeth scraping against your neck as he continues to leave violent splotches on your skin.

"that's right," he breathes. "cry for me. scream if you need to. no one's coming for you." his hand slips between your legs, finally, and slaps your sopping cunt. you wail in response, your legs giving up on you as you rely on the desk in front of you and sunghoon as support.

"needy," he sneers. "dripping all over my desk like a goddamn animal."

his fingers slide through the mess—not inside, just over your clit, slow, taunting strokes that make you tremble, "you wanna cum?"

"yes," you gasp. "yes please—"

he pulls away, completely.

you sob—back arching, thighs clenching, breath broken.

"beg better."

"please, please—sunghoon, i need it, i need you, please—!"

he laughs. cold, "pathetic."

then he grabs your waist, slams you forward until your chest hits the desk with your hands flat, legs spread, back arched—and shoves his thick cock inside you in one brutal, single thrust. in the midst you hadn't even noticed sunghoon slip out his aching cock out of his dress pants, to busy fighting for your release.

you scream at the intrusion. he doesn't give you a second to adjust, he fucks you like he owns you—hips snapping, cock dragging deep, thick and brutal and perfect. one hand wrapped around your throat, the other gripping your ass so hard you'll bruise. your walls suck him in like a vacuum, refusing to let him go causing him to hiss.

you try to meet his thrusts — you try to grind back — but he slaps your ass again, harder, and hisses, "don't move unless i tell you to."

you go still, breathless and shaking. his fingers slip down again—circling your clit, slow, taunting and just as your body starts to tighten, just as your orgasm builds—

he pulls away. again.

you sob.

"not yet," he growls. "you think you've earned it? after all that teasing?"

his hand slides up, fingers wrapping around your throat in a punishing grip. "you're gonna take it," he breathes, "every inch. every slap. every denial. and you're gonna fucking thank me."

"thank you," you cry. "please—please, i'll be good—"

he leans over you, cock still buried, teeth sinking into your shoulder as he continues his pace and fucks you rougher, harder and crueler. you lose count of how many times he brings you to the edge—how many times he lets you feel it just to rip it away.

you're drooling. trembling. begging.

and finally—finally—when you're gasping, soaked, ruined—

"cum."

the word cracks through you like lightning. your body explodes in trembles.

you convulse around him, sobbing, screaming, cunt clenching tight as he chokes you through it —fingers digging in, cock pulsing deep inside you until he curses and spills inside, hips slamming once, twice more as he fucks it all into you.

then silence, just panting. shaking. his hands still on your hips as his cum dripping down your thighs.

you lay there lifeless but sunghoon has other plans, his hands grip you tightly as he contorts and pushes your body around—moving you from his desk to his chair.

you don't know how you ended up like this, but you're tied up in his chair and you're far to fucked out to care.

not just restrained—displayed. arms behind your back, wrists cuffed tight to the armrests. legs spread open and bent at the knee, ankles locked in place with thick leather straps he probably had custom made.

you can feel his cum leaking out of you and you can't do a thing about it. sunghoon leans back against his desk like he has all the time in the world—black dress shirt undone at the collar, sleeves rolled up, eyes drinking you in.

"look at you," his voice is low and cruel. you swallow hard, your cheeks are burning. your chest is rising and falling too fast.

he pushes off the desk and walks toward you, slow.

his fingers trail up your thigh, featherlight, and you twitch, already sensitive, already leaking.

"legs shaking," he murmurs in admiration. "pussy swollen. thighs sticky."

he crouches in front of you, one hand sliding under your ass, lifting you just enough to tilt your hips.

"still dripping," he sneers. "you're disgusting."

your breath catches as he drags two fingers through your folds—slick and soaked and overstimulated—and lifts them to your lips.

"open." you obey mindlessly.

he pushes them in slow, watches you suck them clean, jaw twitching with how filthy the taste is. "good girl," he mocks. then his fingers drop back down and he spits on your pussy and watches it drips down between your folds, warm and thick, mixing with his cum and your slick.

you squirm—but the cuffs hold you down, "don't move." his palm lands on your inner thigh, hard enough to sting. then he slides two fingers inside slow, unforgiving—and curls them just right.

your whole body jerks. "that's it," he breathes. "let me feel it. let me feel this tight little hole try to suck me in." he fucks you with his fingers like he owns you, thumb rolling over your clit. soaking the leather seat beneath you.

your eyes roll back and your moans turn desperate. "sunghoon," you whimper. "please, i'm—i'm gonna—"

he stops and pulls out completely.

you scream, your thighs tremble and your cunt clenches pathetically around nothing. you're left dripping, throbbing, aching for him—and he just leans in, tongue sliding up the inside of your thigh like he's taunting prey.

then he bites, hard.

you cry out and he slaps your pussy in response, watching you twitch.

he stands back up, looming over you. his hand curls around your throat, squeezing just enough to make your eyes flutter.

"you don't cum," he growls, "until i say you do." you nod, fast.

his free hand drags down the front of his pants—slow. threatening. you're his now. completely. tied to his chair, soaked with his cum, ruined from the inside out.

"we're not leaving this room," he says, leaning in close, "until you've screamed my name so many times you forget your own."

your arms are still pinned, your thighs are still open and your cunt is still leaking.

and sunghoon? he's sitting across from you like he's watching a show. shirt off now. cock out with one hand lazily stroking himself while the other rubs small firm circles on your clit.

you scream. your whole body jerks against the cuffs, hips snapping up, trying to run from the pressure—but there's nowhere to go. he hums, watching the way your thighs tremble, "this is what happens when you act out," he says calmly. "i could've been kind. could've been soft."

he presses his thumb hard against your sensitive nub. you sob out in response, far to overstimulated.

"but no," he breathes, eyes locked on your face. "you had to shove your tits in my face and moan my name like a fucking whore." you throw your head back, mouth falling open as he slides right against the bundle of nerves that are already so sore it hurts.

you're soaked, ruined, twitching. your legs keep trying to close, but the cuffs won't let you.

you cum again.

you scream—choking on the breath that never makes it out—your entire body jerking, wrists straining, tears spilling.

sunghoon finally moves, he kicks the chair until it swivels toward him, then straddles it—his knees on either side of yours, thighs wide, cock thick and leaking.

you cry in relief until he grabs his cock and slaps it against your overstimulated clit.

you howl in pain, he leans in close, lips at your ear, "don't pass out on me," he murmurs. "you're not done yet."

and then he pushes inside with no warning, no mercy.

just his cock slamming in deep, so deep—you can't even scream, just choke on the cry as your back arches, arms still trapped, legs locked wide open, cunt fluttering helplessly around the stretch.

"tight," he hisses. "fucking tight."

he doesn't ease in, he pounds you. the chair jerks with every thrust—your wrists slam against the armrests and your legs shake violently from the overstimulation, he grabs your throat to keep you still.

"cry for me," he pants. "let them hear you beg." you sob. scream. cum again and he fucks through it, groaning deep in his throat as your cunt squeezes him tight and refuses to let go.

"i should leave you like this," he growls. "cuffed to my chair. ruined. dripping. fucked open and forgotten."

you can't speak, you can barely breathe.

but then he leans in with his mouth pressed to your ear and growls, "but you'd like that, wouldn't you?"

you nod helpless and broken.

"filthy little thing." his hand slides to your face, gripping it—holding your jaw still as he fucks you rougher, meaner, hips snapping, chair rocking, desk rattling behind you.

you cum one last time your loudest scream yet—and he finally groans, curses, slams in deep and spills inside, so hard you feel it throb against your cervix.

silence, just breathing.

just cum, just slick and heat and soaked leather.

you're limp with his cum leaking out of you again. your wrists raw, thighs bruised and your head luls back.

your whole body is twitching. you're soaked. stretched. dripping down the legs of the chair, his cum leaking out of your throbbing cunt in slow, slick trails. wrists raw.

and sunghoon?he's already tucking himself back into his slacks.

not a glance spared, not a word spoken. just the quiet click of his belt and the sound of your ragged breathing. you whimper—a soft, broken little sound and try to shift, try to close your legs, but the cuffs keep them open. exposed. leaking.

"pathetic," he mutters, adjusting his cuffs. your lips part and you want to speak. to ask if he's going to untie you, if he's going to help you down—if this means anything at all.

but he cuts you off before you can even form the words, "that," he says, voice flat, "should teach you how to behave."

your stomach drops as he walks to the door. he doesn't touch you, doesn't untie you, doesn't clean you up or kiss your cheek or say anything kind. just unlocks the door, turns to look at you one last time—ruined, bound, soaked with his cum and shaking from everything he just did to you.

his expression is unreadable, cold. "next time you walk into my courtroom acting like a whore," he says, "you'll leave in worse shape than this." he pauses, walking back to you and you have a glimmer of hope that he'd untie you.

but that all comes crashing down when he reaches you and he leans in, mouth at your ear, voice dark and smug.

"court's adjourned, baby."

then he walks out, leaving you tied there, used, aching.

alone.

and still desperate for more.

— enjoy this fic? check out my other ones right here!

2K notes · View notes

sunniques · 9 months ago

Text

— 𝐬𝐩𝐨𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐟𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤 !

➺ PAIRING: choi seungcheol x female reader

➺ GENRE: stepdad au, smut

➺ SUMMARY: your stepdad goes to great lengths to spoil you.

➺ CW/TW: stepcest, infidelity, age gap, daddy kink, breeding kink, somnophilia, cockwarming, masturbation, oral sex (f & m), rimming, face riding, unprotected sex, creampies, squirting, cum eating, riding, shower sex, recording during sex, having sex while on the phone, reader can be carried by cheol

➺ WC: 8k

NOTE: don’t like, don’t read. thank you @wonustars for beta reading this for me <3

Seungcheol is the first to admit that he spoils you rotten. He can’t really be blamed for it since you were a spoiled princess long before he met you. Technically, it’s your mother’s fault for always indulging you every time you asked for something. He knows she only gave in to compensate for not being around as much as she should have, but now it’s a responsibility he’s happily shouldered.

That’s why when you tell him you want to fuck all over the house with no interruptions, he doesn’t hesitate to make that happen. It's not hard despite there being certain obstacles he comes across.

"I don't understand," his wife's voice wobbles just enough for him to realize she's going to push back. "If you're upset with me, what we need is to talk, not give each other space."

"I need time to think, and I can't do that with you here."

"Seungcheol," his wife's voice is tight with repressed emotion. "Don't be ridiculous. I'm not leaving my own house—"

"It's my house," he reminds her coldly. "You're hardly ever here, anyway. I know you'd rather be at work than spend time with me or Y/N."

Your mom flinches because his words are like ice, and because they're true. Still, the selfish part of her can't give him what he wants. Not when it feels like this will make her lose him forever.

"But giving you space for the entire weekend—!"

"Don't raise your voice," Seungcheol hisses, eyes dark and dangerous. "I don't want Y/N to hear."

He won't let her ruin your surprise. He wants to see your face when he tells you that you'll have the entire house to yourselves all weekend long.

Seungcheol doesn't feel bad even as his wife swallows thickly.

"Fine," she whispers, "I'll give you the space you want."

"Good. I want you gone before Saturday."

It's still early when you're gently pulled out of your wet dream by an intense pleasure. Through bleary eyes, you can see the sun still hasn't fully risen. You almost think you're still dreaming until you realize that your pussy being hot and wet is very real. Immediately, you recognize the situation and the pleasure clouding your senses.

You let out a needy mewl when you look down to see a head of hair between your thighs. Arousal rips through you when you realize you're completely naked, sleeping shirt and panties discarded beside your equally naked stepdad. Seungcheol groans into your cunt, pulling back a bit to gently suck on your swollen clit. The quiet whine you let out has his cock throbbing.

"Morning, princess."

"Daddy," you moan as you spread your trembling thighs.

"Shh, baby," Seungcheol gently shushes you while still lapping at your dripping cunt. "Your mom's still sleeping. You don't want to wake her up do you?"

More juices drip from your clenching pussy, and for a moment you wish he had crushed some of those sleeping pills in her drink again. But then again, if she slept in and missed her flight you wouldn't be able to have a cum-filled weekend with her husband like you planned. All you can do is hope she leaves for your grandparents' house soon.

"She's not gone yet?" You can't keep the whine out of your sleepy whisper.

"No," Seungcheol sighs in mutual disappointment before dropping his head back down to keep eating you out.

You toss your head back, mouth dropped open in a silent scream as he licks a broad stripe up your slit before sucking on your clit again. He repeats the action before forcing his tongue back into your slick pussy. Your clit pulses with pleasure as Seungcheol slowly eats you out.

"I've been feasting on your little pussy all morning," he hums against you, placing gentle kisses on your soft lips.

"Already got you to cream on my tongue twice."

He sounds so pleased that he got you to cum without waking you. The satisfied smirk on his shiny lips makes you moan and roll your hips into his mouth.

"You like that, sweetheart? Like that your daddy couldn't help himself?" Seungcheol's eyes are dark as he gently nips at your throbbing clit.

You give him a half-hearted nod, mind swimming with pleasure. Seungcheol's tongue smooths over your pussy and runs it up your slit to softly suckle on your clit, getting the sensitive bud messy with his spit. You grind your hips into his mouth eagerly, wanting to put on a show for the dark eyes that are watching you with molten heat.

Seungcheol pulls back, but not without pressing a quick kiss to your throbbing clit. "Roll over for me, baby. I want to try something."

You sluggishly do as he asks, rolling over until you're lying on your stomach. He grabs your thighs and pushes them until you're spread open, glistening cunt on display for him. Your stepdad's groan is guttural and makes you clench around nothing.

"Prettiest fucking view ever," Seungcheol hums to himself, cock throbbing at the erotic sight of you splayed out for him.

Seungcheol's hands grab your ass as he uses his thumbs to spread your pussy lips open. He's quick to dive back into your pussy like a starved man. Your eyes roll to the back of your head, back arching as arousal thrums in your belly.

"God, baby. Love eating this pretty pussy." Your stepdad groans into the wet mess he's created, fucking his tongue deeper into your tight hole.

You try to keep your moans quiet as your hips squirm against the wet tongue spearing you open. The way Seungcheol greedily eats your cunt turns you on even more, and just thinking about what he says gets you even wetter. Feeling his strong hands holding you open as he's fucking his tongue into your clenching hole over and over again is sending you closer to the edge.

You tense slightly when you feel the pad of a finger slide over the furl of your asshole. Seungcheol groans into your pussy making you clench and rock down on the bed. He doesn't move his finger, only rubs it softly back and forth over your asshole.

"Want me to eat this hole too, sweetheart?" Seungcheol pulls back with a wet sound, mouth dragging up to bite your ass cheeks. "All you have to do is ask."

You feel hot all over, loving how fucking nasty he is. How he doesn't hesitate to give you anything you want. All you do is hum, and in less than a second he's spreading your ass until your hole is completely bare for him to see. You wiggle your hips to further entice him. Seungcheol growls as he licks a hot, wet stripe from your cunt all the way to your asshole.

"Daddy!" You cry, pussy fluttering at how much you like it. "More!"

"Don't worry, brat. Daddy's gonna lick you clean," Seungcheol says before he spits on your puckered hole. "I'm gonna eat this cute little ass all morning."

You gasp and moan as he licks over your rim with his hot tongue. The sensation makes you squirm and rock your swollen clit into the bed. While you're distracted by his mouth, he slips a couple of fingers into your empty pussy making you squeal and buck your hips. Seungcheol hums and slowly slides his tongue into your ass, spit dripping down onto his fingers that are scissoring you open.

"Fuck, daddy." You choke out, feeling unbelievably turned on as Seungcheol fucks your ass open with his thick tongue.

He fucks his fingers into your pussy until he's rubbing against your g-spot. You whine and bite your pillow to try and stifle the filthy sounds you're letting out. His tongue greedily licks your asshole open, sloppy wet sounds echoing off your bedroom walls making you drip slick down his fingers. It all feels so good that you wouldn't care if your mom were to walk in on you and your stepdad like this.

You're so lost in pleasure that you almost miss the knock on your door.

"Y/N? Are you awake?" Your mom's groggy voice wanders through the door.

Seungcheol groans quietly and buries his tongue past your clenching hole. His tongue fucks deeper into your ass while he fingers your cunt. Your eyes roll to the back of your skull as your stepdad starts to eat you out with more vigor than before. His fingers curl into you, massaging that spot that has you mewling into your covers.

Seungcheol briefly pulls away to whisper his filthy desire. "Cream all over my fingers, sweetheart. Show daddy how much you love having his tongue in your ass."

You can't keep your moan quiet when Seungcheol fucks his fingers into your squelching pussy harder. The long digits brush against your spongy spot until your tight pussy is pulsing around his fingers.

"Y/N?" Your mom sounds a bit more awake now.

You grind your hips into Seungcheol as his tongue slowly laps at the rim of your hole over and over again. The sloppy wet noise fills the room, and you wonder if your mom can hear it. Not that you or your stepdad care.

"I-I'm getting up now," luckily, your fucked out voice can easily be mistaken for fatigue.

"I won't be able to make you breakfast before I go. Make sure you eat something before you go to class!"

She's never made you breakfast—not even when you were in grade school. Instead of pondering on why she was trying to act doting, you give her a shaky okay. All you really care about is the teasing kicks her husband is giving your clenching hole.

When her footsteps fade away, his tongue spears you open again. Seungcheol starts to roughly fuck his fingers into your sopping pussy. It all feels so good that you start to bounce back against your stepdad's mouth and fingers, a preening whine high in your throat. Seungcheol lets out a feral growl and pushes his mouth harder against the furl of your asshole to fuck his tongue deeper into your clenching hole.

"I'm gonna cum, daddy," you mewl softly.

Seungcheol hums and keeps eating your ass, his long fingers massaging your velvety walls. You writhe against your bedsheets, the friction allowing the fabric to rub against your clit. Your toes curl as the stimulation pushes you over the edge. With a muffled wail, you cum hard around Seungcheol's fingers. Your wet walls flutter around his fingers as you asshole clenches around his wet tongue.

Your stepdad pulls away once you come down from your high. He groans lowly in his throat before telling you to stay still. A familiar wet sound fills your ears, and when you look over your shoulder you see him jerking off.

"Gonna cum on your holes." Seungcheol groans, fucking his hand harder.

His fat tip bumps against your spread pussy as hot ropes of cum cover your skin. You moan when you feel him drag the head of his leaking cock up to your asshole to cover it with the rest of his seed.

"So fucking pretty," Seungcheol groans.

You lick your lips and blindly reach for your phone. "Want pictures, daddy."

Seungcheol's grin is devious as he takes your phone and does as you ask. He even gets your permission to take a quick video of your soiled holes. Once he's done, he tosses the phone aside and pulls you up to give you a filthy kiss. You moan into his mouth, knowing this is going to be the best weekend of your life.

"Come on, princess," Seungcheol coos adoringly after you pull away. "Let's go shower."

You lick your lips as your stepdad picks you up and carries you over to the master bedroom. It's thrilling for you, especially because you can hear that your mom is still downstairs. Seungcheol shares your uncaring attitude. He's too busy showering you with affectionate kisses to care that his wife might come upstairs and find you two naked.

The air between you is intoxicating, and you almost feel impatient when Seungcheol gently sets you down on the bathroom counter. You make a move to get off and go towards the shower, but your stepdad is quick to stop you. He places a sweet kiss on your lips, eyes shimmering with arousal and affection.

"Stay there and let daddy take care of you, sweetheart," Seungcheol says before going to start the shower.

He waits until the water warms before picking you up again and placing you under the soothing water. You let out a content sigh and lean against him as the humid air surrounds you both. Seungcheol kisses the top of your head before grabbing a clean washcloth and lathering it up with soap.

Seungcheol is gentle as he runs the sudsy cloth along your body. He takes his time, gently cleaning you while murmuring how pretty you are. You can't help but relax under his gentle touch.

"Cheol," you half moan, half sigh as he presses open mouth kisses on your clean skin.

Your thighs squeeze together when he slowly runs the cloth across your tits. He slowly circles your sensitive nipples over and over until you're mewling and arching into his touch. Seungcheol is quick to discard the cloth and goes to grab your soapy tits.

"Fuck," he groans as he pinches and tugs on your hard nipples. "You have the prettiest tits, baby."

Molten heat invades your senses, the praise making you keen. The way your stepdad is so rough with your nipples has your pussy leaking with a different type of wetness running down your thighs. One of his large hands leaves your soft flesh to turn your head so he can give you a heated kiss. His other hand slowly trails down your body until you feel his fingers swiping across your slit then back up to circle your slippery clit.

"Such a sexy little brat," Seungcheol groans fondly before he hooks his chin over your shoulder so he can watch himself play with your pussy. "Always so ready for me."

You cry out in pleasure when his hand comes down to spank your sensitive bundle of nerves. Your knees buckle, but luckily Seungcheol's arm is tightly secured around your waist. He slowly turns you until your back is against the cool tile. Your eyes follow the beads of water that run down his toned body. The water drip off his thick cock, and you feel white hot arousal consume you entirely.

"Daddy," you whine and reach out for his cock.

Seungcheol smirks and kneels down, ignoring your petulant pout, "Daddy's still hungry."

You clench around nothing as he rubs his large hands along your thighs before spreading them open. His grin is devious as he places wet kisses along your inner thighs. You can't contain your moan as his breath ghosts across your throbbing clit.

"Daddy!" You squeal when Seungcheol finally fucks his tongue into your wet cunt.

Your stepdad groans, the vibration stimulating you further as his tongue slides deeper into your pulsing cunt. It's impossible not to watch him as he messily eats you out, licking and suckling on your sensitive bud. His dark eyes are trained on you, loving the fucked out face you're making.

Seungcheol moans when you grind your pussy into his face. He eagerly laps up your juices, licking and tasing every part of you his tongue can reach. The way he places soft kisses between his licks and sucks make your trembling legs feel like they're going to give out. Your eyes roll back as he fucks his tongue deeper into your hole, slurping up every last bit of your arousal.

Seungcheol's cock throbs at the sweet sounds you're letting out. He smirks against your cunt when you arch up and press closer to his pouty lips.

"Gonna cum, daddy."

Seungcheol hums in approval, tongue relentlessly lapping at your clit. "Do it, princess. Cum on daddy's face so he can fill you up."

You cry out loudly and squirt all over his face.

Seungcheol groans in approval and slurps up everything you release. He's smug when fucking you through your orgasm, and he doesn't stop until your legs are shaking. Your stepdad licks his lips and slowly stands, picking you up in the process. He can tell his display of strength turns you on, and it makes his ego inflate.

"Fuck," you mewl when you feel his cock nudge against your pussy.

Seungcheol's gaze is dark as he rubs his throbbing cock along your messy lips. The leaking tip bumps your sensitive clit, making you arch your back and cry out for him. You're so needy and desperate for his dick that he can't make you wait any longer. Seungcheol grabs your ass, squeezing it roughly, before he sinks you down on his aching cock.

"Mmmh, fuck, daddy," your moans come out in a fucked out pants, arms and legs locking around his body.

Seungcheol starts to fuck you slowly, rocking his cock in and out of your pussy at a pace you're not used to from him. Hot water cascades over the both of you, and it makes you feel that much better as your tight walls eagerly suck him in. You feel his cock stretching you out slowly, making you whine into his wet neck.

"Fucking shit, Y/N," your stepdad's groan is guttural. "Tight little pussy feels too good."

It's like you both lose sense of time as Seungcheol slowly splits you open on his cock. The movement of his hips are slow yet deliberate. Every time his pelvis rubs against your clit you see stars. His throbbing tip brushes against the spongy spot inside you, barely kissing your cervix with every precise movement. Molten pleasure consumes you slowly, already making you feel cock drunk.

"Seungcheol?"

Your stepdad's hips stutter at the sound of your mother's voice, but one look at the pout on your face makes him keep going. Especially since you tighten around him at the same time his cock starts to throb and twitch inside you. You two share a filthy smirk, loving the turn of events. It’s so sick and twisted, but both of you are past caring.

"What is it?" Seungcheol calls, slightly annoyed as he starts to bounce you on his cock.

"I– Well..." your mom trails off, sounding completely unsure of herself.

You don't care that it's uncharacteristic of her because Seungcheol starts to press sloppy kisses on your neck. His thrusts have grown rougher, harshly pounding into your squelching pussy. Your eyes roll back as your toes curl. The feeling of your stepdad's veiny cock dragging against your slick walls have you gushing all over him, and the fact that your mom is standing right outside the bathroom door completely unaware only turns you on more.

"I hope giving you the space you want doesn't mean this is the end of our marriage." You can tell she's close to tears as she speaks.

"Cum inside me, daddy," you purr into Seungcheol's ear, wanting nothing more than him to stuff you full.

Seungcheol quietly groans into your neck, feeling your pulsing walls flutter around his cock. His grip on your ass tightens, and he starts to bounce you harder on his aching dick. He hears his wife holding back sobs, but he doesn’t feel bad. Not since he has her daughter’s tight little pussy wrapped around his cock.

"Such a nasty little brat," he hums against your wet skin, hips snapping savagely. "You want me to cream this cute little pussy while your mom is on the other side of that door crying for me?"

You mewl into his ear, pussy clenching around his cock and staining it with more of your cream. Seungcheol grunts, hips moving faster as he fucks into your hole deeper and harder. Your back arches as your cunt spasms around his dick.

"Want it so bad, daddy," you whimper into his ears, nails digging into his back. "Breed this little pussy. Stuff me full and knock me up."

"God damn, baby. You're such a dirty little slut," he whispers against your hot, wet skin. "What would your mom say if she walked in and saw you begging for my cum?"

You whine again, hips rocking into his as his thick cock pistons in and out of your hot cunt.

"What would you tell your wife?" You say through a fucked out giggle. "You'd have to tell her that you're bouncing her daughter on your big cock because you want to put a baby in her."

Seungcheol's deep moan almost drowns out your mother's voice.

"I know you're still mad, so I'll call you when I land. Please take care of Y/N while I'm away."

"Don't worry," Seungcheol growls, loud enough to be heard over the running water. "I'll make sure to take care of her."

You finally wail out in pleasure when you hear the footsteps fade away. Seungcheol savagely rams his cock against your sweet spot over and over until you're cumming hard on his throbbing dick.

"That's it, princess. Make a mess all over daddy's cock. Fuck. I'm gonna fill this cute little pussy all weekend long. Not letting you off my dick until I know you're carrying my child."

Your stepdad spears into your sloppy cunt harder, his leaking tip brushing against your g spot with every thrust. "Fuck, sweetheart. Little pussy feels too good."

With a loud grunt, he pushed his cock as deep as it'll go before thick, hot ropes of cum spurt from his throbbing tip. Seungcheol moans loudly, grinding his cock into your pulsing walls.

You smash your lips onto his, loving the feeling of his cum slowly dripping out of you.

The weekend is coming to an end, and true to his word, your stepdad has not let you off his cock. You've fucked all over the house just like you wanted. In the hot tub out back, then in the pool. On the billiards table and in the laundry room. Even on the kitchen counter and the dining room table. Every surface has been stained with you and Seungcheol's mixed releases. It thrills you because it feels like you're marking the house—your house—in the filthiest way possible.

Seungcheol has been especially doting, giving into every single one of your wishes. He even agreed to record the nasty things you do so you can watch it later on. The videos are mainly taken on your phone, but you have to insist that he take some on his too. After all, he should have some memories of the weekend he planned as well.

This is all so wrong. Seungcheol knows that, but he can't seem to make himself care. Especially when you look so beautiful underneath him, with your puffy nipples covered in his saliva and your fucked out expression of absolute pleasure. Especially when you moan and whimper the single word that makes him go insane every single time it falls from your pretty lips.

"Daddy!"

Fuck. To have his sweet little stepdaughter in such a filthy way is everything to him. His cock is buried so deep inside of you that he's certain he's in your guts. His teeth graze your neck as you cling to him. "Like this, angel? Like when your stepdad fucks you like this?"

A cute whine escapes you, but you can't answer because you're too far gone. Seungcheol thinks that you may be doing it on purpose for the camera, but either way, he loves it.

"Tell me, sweetheart. Tell me how good it feels," his whispered voice in your ear makes you shudder.

Your pussy clenches hard around his thick cock, wanting to keep him there forever.

"So fucking good. God, daddy. I'm gonna cum." Again.

You don't know how many times you've cum already, or if you've even stopped cumming. The entire weekend has felt like one prolonged orgasm for you.

You grab his hair and pull his face to yours, looking into his eyes. "Cum with me—cum inside me," you plead, your tongue flicking against his lips.

Seungcheol can't deny you anything. He never has. His hips speed up, his orgasm so close but he needs you to tip over first. The feeling of his stepdaughter creaming and making a mess on his cock is one he'll never get tired of.

"God, you're such a needy little brat," he groans against your lips. Words can't describe how much he loves you. How fucking thankful he is that you love him the same way. "Can't get enough of daddy's cum, hm?"

It only takes a few circles of his thumb on your clit and you're cumming with a loud whine.

"Daddy, please!" Your fingers dig into the skin of his back while you plead with him to fill you up. It's only a few seconds later that you're taking load after load of his thick cum.

"Mm, yes!" You mewl, closing your eyes, savoring the feeling of it.

Seungcheol kisses your lips, not daring to pull out. He doesn't want a single drop to escape.

"You got all of daddy's cum. Is my sweet girl happy now?"

You smile into the kiss as you catch your breath, looking at him adoringly, "Yes, daddy."

Seungcheol licks his lips hungrily and reaches for the phone propped against the nightstand. He points it at your stuffed cunt, groaning when he sees his cum running down the length of his cock and down to his heavy sack. Just as he’s about to end the video, you buck your hips with a needy whine.

“Want more, daddy!”

And so, ever powerless to your desires, Seungcheol positions your phone in the same spot before giving you exactly what you want. He’s not soft like he was earlier—not that you want him to be. You always act like a greedy brat when you want him to be rough with you.

“What a greedy fucking brat!” He punctuates every word with a rough thrust, eyes rolling to the back of his head as your sloppy hole keeps sucking him in.

“Fucking shit. You need it that bad, baby? Need daddy’s cock to stuff you full until you’re dripping in his cum?"

Seungcheol doesn't realize just how badly you do need it. Your hands reach down to squeeze his plump ass, dragging him as far into you as physically possible. “Yes, daddy, yes! Need your cock, need your cum! Need it so fucking bad!”

Your needy moans only drive him to fuck you harder. Seungcheol feels fucking insane. This is undoubtedly the best sex of his life, and he can’t remember ever fucking anyone so passionately. Fuck, you feel so good.

He’s so addicted to your sweet little cunt that he thinks he might go crazy without it. You just have a molten little pussy that’s sucking and wetting his cock so deliciously, dragging his cum right out of his heavy balls, and he’s powerless to it. All he can do is groan and bury his face in your neck as he pulses warm and hot inside you.

“O-oh fuck, baby!” Seungcheol moans against your skin as he spills his thick load inside you. “There you go, princess. Take all of daddy’s cum.”

Your sweet moans sound like heaven, and he has to smash his lips on yours as he fucks his cum deeper into your pussy. “Fuck. Such a tight fucking pussy.”

Seungcheol’s heart nearly bursts when you give him a fucked out smile, eyes full of adoration. “It’s all yours, daddy.”

If there's one thing you've come to learn about your stepdad, it's that he's unexpectedly clingy. Honestly, you love that side of him, which is why you can't say no when he asks you to cockwarm him. You're both sitting on the couch with some movie playing softly in the background. Seungcheol is on a business call while you shop online.

All the pretty things you have in your cart are courtesy of your doting stepdad, and as you go to check out, you feel yourself slowly drifting into a peaceful haze. Seungcheol keeps talking, running a soothing hand up and down your back while periodically placing gentle kisses on your head.

You bask in his warmth and the floaty feeling taking over your consciousness. Seungcheol's cock feels so big and thick inside you that it's all you can think about. The delicious stretch it provides is driving you crazy in the best way, and it only gets worse when he trails his free hand down to squeeze your ass. You mewl into his neck, loving this dreamlike state his cock has you in.

"Feel good, princess?"

His soothing voice is like honey, and it has you sighing against his neck, "So good, daddy."

Seungcheol's smirk is smug, "Yeah?"

You hum with a halfhearted nod, still too lost in the feeling of his cock filling you up.

"Spoiled little brat likes being stretched out on this big cock, huh?"

You whine cutely, pussy clenching down on his thick cock, "Yes, daddy."

"Fuck," Seungcheol grunts, pressing his hips up into you further. "I think it's time to fill this needy cunt."

You roll your hips down with a moan of agreement. It's just like him to give you what you want before you ask for it, "Daddy's the best."

Seungcheol's smirk is unbearably attractive as his hands tighten on your waist. He wastes no time in fucking his cock up into your soaking pussy, making sure to go as deep as possible. You come back to life as his big dick hits your sweet spot immediately. With a loud cry you lift yourself off of his chest to take off the large shirt you're wearing. Your stepdad groans when he sees your pretty tits bouncing in his face, cock twitching inside you.

After several skin slapping thrusts, he slows down to deep rolling grinds. His eyes are dark as he reaches for the buzzing phone he discarded just seconds ago.

"Be quiet for me, baby."

Your eyes drift down to the phone in his hand, smirking when you see it's your mom calling. Seungcheol picks up and put it on speaker, setting the phone aside so he can grab your bouncing tits.

"Hello?"

"Hey, honey." Your mom sounds deflated. "How... How are you?"

"Fine," Seungcheol grunts before he starts to thrust deeply into your dripping cunt while pulling and pinching your pretty nipples. "How's things over there?"

Your eyes roll back as you hear your mom go on about how happy your grandparents were to see her. Molten pleasure licks up your spine as you start to meet Seungcheol's rough thrusts. His mouth drops open as your pussy pulses and clenches around his cock.

"How's Y/N?" Your mom asks, but there's something off about her tone.

Immediately, you can tell she's not really interested in what you were up to. It's a tactic to keep him on the phone longer. Not that you care. You know she's not all that concerned since you're an adult and have your own life. It's why she only texted you once after landing.

"She's fine. We spent some time together earlier—just like I promised you." His voice drips with honey as he watches you fall apart on his cock.

You grin impishly as he drills up into your squelching pussy with his thick, heavy cock. Part of you wonders if she can hear the sound of skin on skin or the lewd squelching coming from your stuffed pussy. The thought turns you on so much that you have to tamper down the moan climbing up your throat. You feel like screaming because of how good you feel, and your stepdad just smirks at you like he isn't making a mess of you.

One of Seungcheol's hands slowly trails down your body to where you're connected. His thumb circles your clit slowly, barely giving you any stimulation. You buck your hips and push yourself harder into his hand, ever the impatient brat. He loves it, and yet he ignores your silent plea. Your stepdad stops teasing your sensitive bud and moves his hand to guide your hips into a rolling grind. The other goes to the fat of your ass, roughly squeezing and kneading the soft flesh.

"Thank you, honey," her tone is love stricken, and you wonder how she could easily fall back into his trap just like that. Part of you finds it funny while the other part of you feels disgusted.

"It means a lot to me that you care for her even when I'm not there."

Seungcheol smirks at you, leaning back to focus on your bouncing tits, "Of course. I have to care for our little princess even when you're not around."

You bite your lip when Seungcheol aggressively thrusts you down on his dick.

"So fucking tight." He hisses through clenched teeth.

"Well I'm grateful, even though I sometimes think she's a little too spoiled."

Both of his large hands are now cupping your ass, helping you bounce on this aching cock. His hungry gaze stares at the way your pretty pussy swallows his cock so perfectly. By now, he's sure your insides are shaped like him, and it just makes him twitch and throb inside you. He's so focused on watching his cock piston in and out of your tight hole that he almost misses his wife's question.

"Honey, are you done thinking now?"

Seungcheol doesn't answer her, instead choosing to spit on your sloppy pussy. You slow your bounces, tight cunt clenches at the action. Your stepdad smirks and does it again. He watches, completely satisfied as you shudder and roll your eyes to the back of your skull.

"No," He admits as you start to bounce on his dick again, "I'm still a little angry."

"Really?" Your mom can't hide her disappointment.

Seungcheol nearly loses it when you start to roll your hips sensually, fucking his cock exactly the way he likes it. Your thighs are starting to stick to his from the amount of wetness between you two. With a smug grin, you lean forward to give him a sloppy kiss.

"Let it all out, daddy," you whisper against his lips, "fill my pussy with your cum."

"Seungcheol?"

That annoying voice makes your stepdad fuck you harder, eager to give you what you both want.

"It's going to take some time. Some things don't just go away overnight."

Your stepdad keeps talking to your mom like you're not grinding your needy cunt on his fat cock. It's just making you more wet, and you can feel your arousal dripping down his balls and onto the nice couch. You have no doubt that it'll leave a stain, but that's the least of your worries right now. It turns you on so much to know that Seungcheol is fucking you while he's talking to his wife. You feel like such a slut, but you can't deny how much you like it.

You've never been so wet, and it makes you want to ride your stepdad harder, maybe even get caught. Your pussy spasms and clenches down on him at that thought, making him flinch and bite his lip.

Seungcheol slaps your ass with both hands and cages you against his chest. You muffle your cry of pleasure in his neck as he savagely starts to thrust into you like you're nothing more than a hole. His leaking cock is hitting inside you so deep and hard that it's not long before you cum all over his big cock.

The room smells of sex as he starts to bounce you on his sensitive cock all over again. Loud squelching and quiet whimpers fill the air as your stepdad helps you ride him. One last, milking compression of your silky pussy has him emptying his balls inside you. Seungcheol groans into your shoulder, hips never stopping.

"Okay. I understand," your mom sounds close to tears.

You don’t care. Instead, you start to move your hips to help her husband fuck his cum deeper into your fertile pussy. Your wetness and his cum seeping between your folds and down his veiny girth turns your skilled movements sloppy.

“Give me more, daddy,” you mewl, batting your eyelashes in that coy way he loves.

Seungcheol raises his body into more of a sitting position and roughly pulls you up and off of his cock. You watch dazedly as his dick drools with the remnants of your orgasm and his cum. You lick your lips at the filthy sight of his wet cock.

“Honey?”

Your mom’s voice sounds distant as her husband positions you over the armrest of the couch. He only hums in response as he slowly slides his fat cock back into your messy pussy. Your mouth drops open at the feeling. Once again he’s stretching you out so good that it has your pussy clenching down on him compulsively.

“Do…” She pauses. “Do you still love me?”

Seungcheol can’t focus on her pathetic words as he slowly starts to fuck your sloppy pussy. He can see the remnants of his cum being pushed out of you as his thrusts start to get rougher. Your warm walls cling to his cock desperately, wanting to milk him for all he’s worth.

“How could you ask me that?” Seungcheol mocks her dejected tone, though she doesn’t notice. “You’re the one that’s never home anymore. I’m starting to wonder if you still love me?”

It’s sick how good he is at gaslighting, but you don’t feel bad. In fact it turns you on. Like really fucking bad. Your pussy tightens around your stepdad’s cock which makes him angle his hips to have you biting down on the armrest to stifle your filthy moans. He fucks into your sweet spot as pleasure whites out any coherent thoughts you have.

“Of course I do!” Your mom sounds shrill and distraught, so much that she can’t hear how good her husband is fucking you. How he’s splitting you open on the nice couch she picked out when they first got married. “How could you think—?”

“Let’s talk about it when you come home,” Seungcheol says through gritted teeth, eyes focused on how your pretty ass is bouncing back on his pelvis. “You’re upset, and this is a conversation we need to have in person.”

The pathetic okay sounds distant, and you vaguely catch her saying I love you to Seungcheol before he abruptly hangs up the phone without saying it back.

“Goddamn,” Seungcheol groans as disregards his phone, “trying to suck me in, sweetheart? Greedy little pussy needs daddy's cock that bad?"

He pounds into your sloppy, squelching hole when you loudly moan and nod. Your juices are dripping everywhere, and he fucking loves it. The swollen tip of his cock hammers against your g-spot until you’re screaming for him. Seungcheol smirks, knowing you were just waiting to let it all out.

"I fucking knew it," He groans with an endeared laugh.

"Don’t worry, princess. Daddy’s gonna cream this sweet fucking pussy. Get you all dirty so I can eat you out."

You whine and claw at the couch, clit rubbing against the rough material and pushing you closer and closer to orgasm. By now your legs are shaking from the sheer pleasure his big cock is giving you.

"Should I make you squirt on my cock, sweetheart? Get the couch all dirty?"

You start to bounce yourself back on his cock eagerly, "Daddy, gonna cum!"

Seungcheol grins and affectionately squeezes your sides before his hand slips down to your clit. He tugs your hips back just a little and lands a hard spank across your swollen bud. You squeal loudly, body trembling at the mean action.

"Daddy!"

"Oh, I know,” His voice drips with lust, "you know daddy can’t help but be a little rough with your little pussy."

Your stepdad smacks you again catching your clit on his wedding ring making you scream as your orgasm rushes over you. Slick drips around his cock as your cunt clamps down on his dick. You whine and move your hips in tandem with his, loving how intense this one is.

"Fuck!" Seungcheol growls, hips pistoning harder into your fluttering walls.

“Such a good girl. My good little brat—fuck!"

Your cunt milks his cock as he fills you with hot sticky cum. His thrusts start to get sloppy as he spills rope after rope into your hot cunt.

"Take it," he hisses, biting down hard on your shoulder causing you to moan, pussy clamping down even harder on his dick.

You’re crying out loudly from how good it feels, hole still gushing slick from his fat cock bullying into your pussy and cumming deep inside you. This load is the biggest he’s ever given you. Somehow he doesn’t stop cumming. It feels like stream after stream of his hot seed paints every inch of your fluttering walls white.

"Gonna eat you out after this," Seungcheol groans in your ear, "need to get my mouth on your messy little pussy."

You whine as he pulls out, cum and slick oozing from your hole to drip all down your thighs and onto the couch. Without moving you, Seungcheol lays on his back and shifts until he's underneath your splayed legs.

"Sit on my face, baby," he guides your hips down, “let your stepdad clean the mess he made.”

With a harsh tug, your cunt presses down on his awaiting mouth. His nose bumps against your clit as his eager tongue licks into your sensitive pussy. You feel him moan against your wetness, wasting to time in lapping up the cum he’s left inside you. The filthy action makes you rock against his soft lips. You grab onto his hair and start riding his face gently since you're still reeling from your previous orgasm.

"Daddy!" You cry out as he fucks his tongue deeper into your hole. "Feels so fucking good! Fuck—mhm."

You trail off with a whine as he sucks on your pussy lips and nips at your clit. He greedily eats all the cum out of your messy cunt. Mewling, you press yourself harder on Seungcheol’s face. He groans gutturally when you settle further onto his mouth. Your stepdad grinds his mouth against your puffy cunt making you whine louder, clit throbbing with arousal. He rubs his nose against the sensitive bundle of nerves making you buck into the feeling.

Arousal gushes out of you as your stepdad continues to eat your pussy, and you don’t realize you’re on the verge of another orgasm until you’re squirting all over his face. Seungcheol groans in satisfaction, lapping up every stream that gushes out of your hot little cunt.

“Daddy! Daddy!” Your back arches in a perfect curve as Seungcheol laps up all of your creamy slick.

Of course, Seungcheol only moans along with you and presses even further into your cunt, practically suffocating himself to taste you more. He’ll never get enough of your addicting taste, and you looked back to see his cock hard and throbbing, leaking with so much precum that it looks painful.

When he finally finishes, you don’t let him get up despite the fact that your legs are too shaky to hold your weight. Seungcheol lays back, curious about your next moves. He moans loudly when you crawl down his sweaty body and take his aching cock into your soft hands.

“My turn to have a taste, daddy.”

You don’t give him a chance to say anything before you push the drippy tip of his cock past your swollen lips. His loud moan makes your cunt pulse. It makes you swirl your tongue around his sensitive head before licking down the rest of his dirty cock. You can taste yourself, and that just turns you on even more.

"Gonna make me cum in your mouth, sweetheart," he groans, watching your lips stretch around his hard cock.

You keep your eyes on him as you sink your hot mouth on his pulsing cock. He’s so big, too big to fit all of him in your mouth. Not that you care. Sucking him off always gets you so wet. Especially because you can tell how much he loves it.

"Fuck. You gonna swallow the rest of daddy’s cum, baby?" Seungcheol grins at you as you moan around his dick.

“You like that? It’s gonna feel so good, baby. Daddy's hot cum pouring down your slutty throat."

You whine, reaching down to your sore cunt to rub your clit. His filthy words always turn you on so much, and he fucking knows it. You can tell by the way he smirks.

"That turn you on, sweetheart?" He chuckles as you slide his cock deeper into your mouth. Seungcheol pulls out a few inches and sinks back down into you making you moan as he fills your throat.

"Play with that cute pussy. I want you to cum all over your fingers while I fuck your mouth."

You continue to moan as you take his cock further down your throat.

"God, baby, I'm about to cum," his hips stutter, "Be a good girl and swallow every last drop for daddy. Milk my cock just how I like."

Your fingers circle and rub your clit faster until you're moaning uncontrollably around his length. Seungcheol’s eyes roll back at the vibrations he feels on his dick. He moans your name, and that’s all it takes to have you cumming, hole clenching down on nothing as slick drips from your pussy.

With a low groan, Seungcheol eases out of your mouth until you can only suckle on the fat head of his dick. Hot sticky ropes of cum fill your mouth and the back of your throat in the next second. Your stepdad grins when you take his cock and slowly sink it further into your mouth. You moan at the feeling of cum dripping down the back of your throat. Eagerly, you swallow and milk his throbbing cock for all it’s worth.

Seungcheol pulls out of your mouth completely but leaves his swollen tip pressed to your lips, “finish cleaning daddy’s cock, sweetheart."

You press a gentle kiss on his sensitive head before giving it a shy kitten lick that drives him crazy. After he’s satisfied, he pulls you off his cock and sits back on the couch before pulling you into his lap.

Seungcheol kisses you, tongue sloppily licking into your mouth. You moan happily, unable to get enough of him.

"You’re so good for me, baby," your stepdad mumbles after he pulls away, "always such a good girl."

After you’re done, Seungcheol carries you to your room. He cleans you up in your bathroom, tenderly cleaning every part of your body before washing himself. Once he’s done, he makes sure to dress you in your favorite sleep shirt before joining you in your bed.

“Daddy,” you hum as he nuzzles his face into your neck, “love you.”

“Me too, princess,” he hums, arms tightening around you.

“Don’t want this to end,” you say sleepily before finally drifting off into a lovely dream.

Seungcheol hums in agreement, staying up longer to contemplate.

Now that he’s had a taste of what it would be like to have you without anyone getting in the way, he knows he won’t be able to go back. And so, in his deeply twisted mind he starts to plot how he’s going to make that happen. Of course, he’ll have to run his plans by you before attempting anything, but he knows you won’t have any objections.

Seungcheol drifts off to sleep, happily dreaming of a life where it’s just you and him.

#seungcheol smut #choi seungcheol smut #svt smut #seungcheol x reader #seventeen smut #choi seungcheol x reader #seungcheol x you

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fairyofshampgyu · 18 days ago

Text

Now Live ! Stream: 9

Genre: camboy au, college au, smut, crack, ongoing series

Paring: camboy! Beomgyu x gn reader (afab when smut)

Warnings: emotional distress and regret following a consensual sexual encounter, sub! beomgyu, dom! reader, top! gyu, crying, hand job, dry humping, tit sucking, nipple play, possessiveness, overstimulation, use of butt plug, spanking, dacryphilia, strap sucking, beomgyu wears lip gloss, praise, degrading, use of pet names, dollification, choking, slut shaming,

Synopsis: Every Thursday night at 8pm, you tune into your favourite camboy: Angel313. What you don’t know is he goes to the same uni as you, is even in the same class as you and is Choi Beomgyu, the campus fuckboy but will you keep his secret?

Word count: 8.4k

You feel sick.

you've been pacing around your dorm relentlessly for 20 minutes now, gnawing at your fingernails, because right now, at this exact moment, beomgyu was streaming. Without you.

And not just without you, but with one of the biggest camgirls in the community: Winter01.

You tried to remain unbothered, unfazed, unaffected, at least, that’s how you acted when, beomgyu, unsure and sheepish, had asked you whether he should go for it. It made sense, she had specifically reached out only to beomgyu and had asked to collab, and that was a great opportunity since she was so well known. If he appeared on her channel, then you’d both gain more popularity and traction on your channel too and make even more money. He should totally go for it. It made perfect, rational sense. It shouldn't feel this serious. it's just a stream. Just a collab.

Except, the thought of beomgyu doing a stream with someone else, being fucked by someone else, someone else making him feel good…it just made this nasty, terrible, inexplainable feeling occur within you. That’s what you do with him. That’s your thing. No one else has ever touched him on stream, not ever, not until now.

You collapse onto your desk chair in frustration, only to shoot up a second later. You stand back up. You open your laptop. You close it. You go back to the tab of the website. You close that too. The endless back and forth, making you go insane.

The notification still glows at the top of your laptop screen like a slap to the face.

@Angel313 is now live with @Winter01 !

You battled with yourself, conflicting thoughts on whether you should click on the stream, see what’s going on. Because, a part of you was dying to know. What was she doing with him? Did he like it? Did the viewers like it? Were there even more views than normal? What if it becomes super trending? Was she better than you at fucking beomgyu? What if beomgyu likes her way more than you? It was genuinely eating away at you from the inside.

But at the same time, you didn’t want to see. It’s best to not know at all. What you can’t see can’t hurt you, ignorance is bliss, you know, all that stuff. Because once you click on the stream, there’s no going back. Did you really want to see all that? You could remain peacefully unaware, let the imagination torment you with glimpses only in your mind, not in high definition, in real time.

But, maybe it’s best to know actually.

Maybe the not knowing is worse. What if she’s touching beomgyu the way he likes? What if he likes it better? At least you’ll know and then you can be prepared if he decides he wants to switch partners and toss you aside because winter was way better.

But can you blame him? Winter is beautiful. And she’s popular for a reason. Even you’re familiar with her, you’ve watched some of her streams before. She’s good at what she does. You like her too. What if it does go viral? What if they have insane chemistry and the chat explodes and people beg for more and they're all like ''holy shit, this is the best collab ever" and they make so much money and everyone likes them both together so much and they collab even more in the future and then he just starts streaming with her altogether instead because she’s so much better? She is a professional camgirl, you were just a viewer, a fan for a faceless pretty camboy named angel313. Do you even know what you’re doing?

You suck in a breath. Alas, the curiosity gets the better of you though, and hesitantly, you click on the stream. It loads slowly and you can hear the imaginary countdown in your head, body buzzing with dread at what you might see.

You get what you went searching for. You’d opened the pandora’s box.

You see it as soon as it loads—Winter’s pretty manicured hand wrapped around beomgyu’s flushed cock, pumping him up and down as he stiffly sat on her pink gamer chair, she’s whispering things you can’t decipher, giggling and she looks so pretty, glossed lips brushing over his reddened ears, you see beomgyu who looks like he’s freaking out over all of this, his eyes squeezed tightly shut, embarrassed, cheeks all pink, shaking slightly, biting his lip. Then you hear it. His voice. He lets out a small quiet, shy whimper and a "P-please...!" That does it.

You switch the stream off instantly, slamming your laptop screen down like it had burned you. You don’t want to see anymore. You wished you hadn’t seen at all, but it’s too late to unsee, the image now fully engrained in your head. You feel even more sick than you did before.

Curiosity really does the kill cat, you guess.

You hate how your chest aches. And it feels far too much like the feeling of heartbreak for your liking. Which is dumb. Why did you care so much anyway? In the past when you didn’t know who Angel was, you would have absolutely loved to watch him get fucked on camera by someone else. He only ever used to do solo streams. Hell, if you knew it was Winter, you probably would have been even more overjoyed and excited to watch your favourite pretty camboy get ruined by another pretty camgirl. You probably would have lost your mind. A small part of you almost misses back when you were just a viewer, when you didn't know Choi Beomgyu, the supposed campus fuckboy was Angel313. When you used to just watch him unknowingly through a screen.

Your nerves are tripled as you wait and brace yourself for beomgyu to return.

You don’t know exactly what you expected when Beomgyu finally walks through the door, but it wasn’t this.

He’s quiet. Too quiet. No grinning, smug from ear to ear, enthusiastic and blushing. No giddy, boastful oversharing of how amazing everything was, like you’d thought. Like what he usually does when he finds something exciting or funny about his day and rambles about it to you for so long with shiny eyes because he can never really contain his emotions when he feels happy and it's always endearing and he always kind of resembles a puppy when he’s like that. Beomgyu doesn’t even meet your eyes.

You get off your bed with wide eyes immediately at the sight of him, standing straight in anticipation way too quickly. Your heart is hammering in your chest, all the questions you wanted to ask blowing up in your mind, but getting jumbled and stuck in your throat.

What was it like?

How did it go?

Was she good?

Do you want to stream with her again?

“Beomgyu.” You start frantically, “How did it—?”

But before you can finish the question, he wraps his arms around you. Tightly. Practically collapsing against you. He presses his entire body into you, hugging you like he’s desperate to melt into your skin and he buries his head deep into your shoulder.

You gasp and freeze, deeply confused, and brows furrowed. Beomgyu is tense, his breath is warm but shaky against your bare neck. Still, your arms move slowly, hugging him back. You hold him, gently at first, then a little tighter. That seems to ease him slightly. His shoulders loosen a fraction. But his grip on you stays firm.

“...Gyu?” you ask, quieter, softer now.

He doesn't answer. You try to pull back slightly to look at him, but he just clings tighter, arms winding more secure around your waist and burying his face impossibly deeper into your shoulder and neck, shakily inhaling and exhaling.

“Hey…what’s wrong? Did something happen?” You run your hand gently up and down his back. Could it be winter? Maybe something happened?

“No.” Beomgyu mumbles finally as if he could read your mind, voice muffled against your hoodie. “She was…really nice, actually. Nothing happened.”

You blink at him, even more lost. “Then…?”

Beomgyu sighs. “I don’t know. It just- It didn’t…feel right.”

He pulls back from your shoulder, facing you now and you see how glossy his brown eyes had become. He looks at you like he’s trying to explain something he doesn’t quite understand himself, like he can’t figure why it’s having such an affect on him either. “Thought it would be like all the other streams, but it didn’t feel the same. At all. I don’t know, maybe I’m being dramatic. But it made me feel... weird. Not like, bad. Just…sort of, empty? Dissociated? I couldn’t stop thinking about—” Beomgyu pauses, eyes squeezing shut for a second before opening again, unsure. “It-it wasn’t…” Beomgyu sighs again. “It wasn’t you.”

Beomgyu frowns at you with a pout, bottom lip almost wobbling as his mouth becomes heavily downturned, and then he hides his face into your shoulder once more, gripping onto you harder.

That stuns you into silence.

It wasn’t you.

“Sorry. It’s weird, I know.”

“It’s not.” You say firmly. You cup the side of his face without thinking, brushing your thumb over the soft skin beneath his eye. He leans into it immediately, almost instinctively, eyes fluttering shut, relieved.

Beomgyu continues to hug you silently in that spot for a while. After a long, moment, he gently nudges you backwards guiding you to the bed and lowering both of you down onto it. He flops on top of you, his cheek pressed right against your chest as if you’re his pillow, arms wound tightly around your waist, cuddling you. A content sigh escapes him when you start slowly carding your fingers through his soft hair, stroking through the strands. His body is warm and so are is slow breaths against your skin, legs tangled with yours and he’s soo clingy.

You don’t know how long you just lie there. But you wouldn’t have been able to get up even if you wanted. You’d attempted to get up earlier to go to the bathroom, but beomgyu hadn’t let you, furrowing his brows in offence and whining annoyed at you loudly, refusing and clinging to you somehow even more.

Despite him restricting you from pissing—it was quite sweet, the way he was acting right now, wanting to be close to you the whole time and latching his limbs onto you like an octopus that won’t let go, making your heart flutter.

And then, after what felt like hours, he moves. Beomgyu slowly lifts his head from your chest, eyes fluttering open and he blinks at you. His gaze roams your face, slow and searching, and his hand comes up, delicately brushing some hair away from your face. There’s something quietly desperate in the way he looks at you. And then he leans down, soft lips grazing yours and he kisses you.

It starts slow at first, his lips moving against yours gently. He pulls away a little, gazing at you again, then he surges forward, kissing you deeper this time, hands moving to cup your face. His lips are plush and hot, moving with increasing fervour, breath hitching as he starts to get needier as time goes on. His tongue slips past your lips and he groans softly into your mouth, kissing you deeper, messier, more desperately like he’s been starved of it.

His hands trail down, grabbing at your waist, your hips, pushing himself even closer to you until there’s no kind of space left between you. His eyes are half lidded by now, lips so swollen and parted. One hand pushes your hoodie up, exposing your tits, lips kissing the space in between your breasts, then kissing all over your chest eagerly and brushing his mouth over the expanse. And then his pouty lips wrap around your nipple, hand groping and kneading the other, moaning at that.

You gasp as he continues to suck your tits blissfully, flicking and swirling his tongue harshly around your nipple that has you squirming, mouthing at you hungrily. He’s drooling and your chest and his lips are all shiny and slick with spit and drool. Then he switches to the other nipple. You feel him humping you by now, rocking his hips against yours, muffled desperate whines eliciting from his stuffed mouth, continuing to rut against you like a dumb, dirty dog.

He looks up at you innocently through his pretty lashes and doe brown eyes, plump lips still latched and wrapped around your tits, sound of him avidly sucking and slurping and moaning, evident around your dorm. He finally lets go with a wet pop, so drooly and messy and then he kisses you again, sloppily making out all wet, still humping you, breath ragged, eyes half lidded.

“I need you.” Beomgyu says when he pulls away from your lips, looking at you so intensely, so gravely. He sounds so wrecked. And he’s not just turned on, although that’s apparent too, but so wrecked and frenzied and needy already. “Pleaseee. I need to be closer to you. Wanna feel you. Please, I wanna fuck you so bad right now, I can’t” He sounds like he’s going to cry. “Let me, let me, baby, please…” He keeps kissing you between every plea, your mouth, your neck, your collarbone, any part of you he can kiss.

You let him because after everything that’s happened today, you want him just as badly, you’re just as desperate for beomgyu. His hands are already fumbling to rid you of your clothes and then his own, desperate and shaky and clumsy with urgency.

You stroke him a few times his cock twitching in your palm as he lets out a broken, pretty moan, “You want it that badly, hmm?”

Beomgyu nods frantically, his hips twitching forward like he can’t help himself, pupils dilating just from thinking about it.

You laugh, “You're so needy.” You bring his dick closer to you, dragging his tip through your slick folds, moving yourself against him, watching the way beomgyu’s face scrunches up, and then beomgyu does too, sliding his cock against your folds up and down until you say he can fuck you.

“Y/n…” He whines, “please, please. Can I be inside?” Beomgyu begs and implores, like not being inside of you right now is the most unbearable thing ever possible for him, like it physically hurts him, shaking and trembling just at the feeling of his wet dick sliding on your folds.

“Go on, baby.”

Beomgyu does not need to be told twice, he wastes no time, lining himself up and burying his swollen fat tip and the rest of his length t the hilt inside your warm, wet pussy. “O-oh, god…” Beomgyu squeezes his eyes shut, not even being able to open them, he throws his head back, pathetically moaning out long and loud, gasping for breath, trying to calm himself down, he could cum already.

Just as he starts to move, you stop him with a palm to his chest. You suddenly get an idea, “Wait, gyu.” He stops, whining in confusion, just blinking at you, too dazed.

You bring your phone out and start a stream, filming beomgyu. There wasn’t supposed to be a stream but you feel the urge. You want everyone to see, you want them to know at the end of the day, he’s yours, feeling possessive. You want them to see how he acts when he’s with you.

All the comments are flooded with talk of the stream beomgyu had done with winter previously, but the general consensus seemed to be that most were confused and asking of your relationship with beomgyu, some also debating on who they liked seeing beomgyu more with.

@angelsfav: Wait so you guys aren’t dating ????

@luuvsubs: I always thought they were dating. From their dynamic and everything they did and acted, it seemed like they were.

@31333_fan: seeing angel’s dynamic with two different partners was really interesting and stark haha. I like both so much ! 🩷

@ilovewiinter: I preferred angel and winter. She’s my favourite camgirl!

@freakyyes : winter >>> sorry not sorry 😋

@heartgel: Nahhh he has so much more chemistry with who he usually streams with. He’s wayy more into this 😭 look at him 🫠

“Are we dating?” you repeat to the screen. “No. We’re not.”

You place the phone on your table so they can properly see you both. Beomgyu really doesnt care about anything at all at the moment, he just wants to fuck you. You tell him he can start again and beomgyu begins to move.

Beomgyu fucks into you slowly at first, trying to control himself with desperate, restrained, shaky rolls of his hips like he wants to feel everything, every inch of you, eyes focused and obsessed, entranced with the lewd sight of your pussy slowly swallowing him in. He moans every time he bottoms out, eyes fluttering shut, mouth slack and cute, deep, breathy little cries. You can’t tell if he’s going so slow, moving like this and holding back because he’s waiting for permission, to tell him he can go faster, or he’s desperately trying to savour it, but you want more.

You wrap your legs tightly around his waist, pulling him closer and deeper into you and hands sliding up his back, clutching at the muscles there, moving and rolling your own hips to meet his as well, guiding him to fuck into you more. Beomgyu yelps, his eyes nearly rolling to the back of his head at that, a choked moan slipping past his lips, hands placed on the mattress on either side of you, faltering, “S-sshit...!”

"Does it feel good, puppy?" You coo at him, one of your hands coming to tangle and caress his messy, long hair, loving how he's already falling apart because of you.

Beomgyu nods like a brainless baby, eyelids drooping with pleasure, slurring his words, his tiny lisp becoming slightly more evident, drool dribbling down the corner of his mouth, watching your tits deliciously jiggle with every thrust, "Ss-so goood-ughh. Pussy feels s’ good, so perfect...mmm-ah."

It’s not long until beomgyu completely loses himself in the feeling of you, his thrusts quickly building up in speed, slamming his hips harder and deeper, erratically. “Wanna be inside you forever…wanna be—ahh this close t’you all thetime...” Beomgyu is just blabbering random shit by now, deliriously slamming his cock into your now soaked pussy repeatedly. Beomgyu holds onto you tightly, face falling into the crook of your neck, utterly wrecked, his drool all on your neck now, his moans and groans spilling into your ear.

“Yeah? You’re all mine aren’t you?” You coax him, your own eyes glazed up at this point, your puppy fucking you so well, such a good boy.

Beomgyu’s hands scramble for yours blindly and desperately, interlacing your fingers together, squeezing hard, holding your hands and refusing to let go. He’s still clinging so close to you like a lifeline, like he can’t bear not to, like he wants to dissolve into you completely, all so sticky and hot, you hold onto him tightly too.

“Yeah. Yours. ‘m yours…” He lifts his head from your neck, bringing his forehead to yours, looking at you like you hung the stars.

“Only I can make you feel this good right?” So maybe you are trying to stroke your own ego a bit by now, but you need him to say it, need everyone else to hear it too.

Beomgyu nods and hums, giving you a dreamy look, pathetically whimpering and whining, face contorted in overwhelming bliss, “mmh. Only you.” He squeezes your hand tight at that, nuzzling his nose with yours, forehead still touching yours, peppering sweet kisses all over your face. Your heart feels like it might give out.

Your pussy clenches tightly around him and beomgyu looks genuinely so far gone, so dumbed out, so fucked out from your pussy, his face the most debauched you’ve seen him, groaning, “baby…ah ‘m so close” Beomgyu’s cock plows into you so sloppily, squelchy wet slaps of skin when he fucks your hole feverishly and uncoordinated, continuous strangled moans leaving his mouth by now.

Beomgyu is so incredibly sweaty, messy hair wet and falling into his half lidded eyes, sweat dripping down his sharp jaw, nose and forehead, you’re probably just the same too, if not worse. But beomgyu just looks so good and so hot, so sweaty and so sexy. The sweat makes his whole body glow and shine under the dim light, and god, does he truly look like an angel right now. It’s ironic, so on-the-nose. Angel313. His username. It’s unfair how unreal, how ethereal beomgyu looks.

And beomgyu is so loud, unable to contain his noises of pleasure, he should probably keep it down but you don’t want him to, you adore hearing the sounds he makes because of you. The moans loud and relentless, tumbling out of him uncontrollably, reverberating around the room as well as the slick sounds of his cock moving inside you.

He’s shaking with the effort not to cum too soon, not to fall apart so fast that it embarrasses him. But it’s useless. You know him way too well by now, you’d watched all his streams before, streamed with him too much by now to know exactly when he’s close even when he tries not to, you know what makes him twitch, what makes his eyes roll back, what makes that pretty, loud mouth of his go slack and dumb.

“Cum for me, pretty angel. Show them how good you are for me.”

One of his hands goes down to your pretty folds, thumbing over your clit fast, rubbing in frantic little circles, desperate to have you cumming on his cock too, the other still interlocked with yours needily. Beomgyu ruts into you helplessly like a wild, panting dog, slamming his stuttering hips relentlessly with yours.

“I-I’m gonna c-cum—“ He chokes and stutters out. You bring your hand to thumb at his sensitive nipples, playing with the buds harshly and that brings him to the edge, “F-fuck, baby I-I’m cummingg I’m cumming…!” Beomgyu wails, crying out, he feels his orgasm build in his stomach and so do you, both of you letting go and cumming together, so intense, it almost feels spiritual.

You grab his face, smacking your lips with his, kissing him and swallowing down his moans so hungrily, kissing so deep it steals the air from both your lungs but neither of you pull away, his forehead still rests softly against yours, his sweat sweat dripping onto you. You feel so much of beomgyu’s hot, sticky cum spilling into you continuously, completely milking him and his body jerks, shaking violently. Beomgyu cums so hard he genuinely sees stars, just feeling pure ecstasy and fully, utterly spent.

When you both genuinely need to breathe, you pull away, lips parting with a wet, thin pull, a sllippery, slivery string of saliva still connecting your swollen mouths. Your breaths are ragged, chests heaving against each other, your skin damp and flushed. You reach out blindly, fingers fumbling over the desk until you finally manage to end the stream with a click, not really bothering to look at the donations or comments.

“Holy fuck…” Beomgyu shuts his eyes, breathing out, holding onto both of your hands.

“Quite literally.” You pant, dazed.

You both giggle at that, lightheaded, beomgyu shaking his head with a breathless laugh, grinning tiredly at you, forehead dropping to yours once more.

Beomgyu starts to pull out but you stop him, “keep fucking me, beomie. Isn’t that what you wanted? Said you want to stay in my pussy forever hmm?” Your voice teasing, brushing his sweaty bangs out his face, grinning wickedly. But he doesn’t complain.

“Y-yeah.” Beomgyu just nods, moaning weakly, already fucking and stuffing his cum back into you again with gasped whimpers and whines and wincing of overstimulation, trembling. You really don’t know how long you guys go at it for, all blurry and dizzy, just remembering beomgyu’s loud cries of your name and cumming again and again and again, clutching and grasping onto you.

Beomgyu🪽: did you want to hang out? me, tae and kai are gonna play tekken !! 😋

Y/n🎷: nah can’t sorry. I’m REVISING in the library with a friend. 🤓📚Which YOU should be doing too btw…🤨🧐🫵

Beomgyu🪽: but can’t you just come? Can’t you do that later? I need to beat you in tekken again. 👉👈 And I don’t need to revise, I’m naturally talented in mewsik >_< 🎤🎸🎶

Y/n🎷: what kind of spelling is that. Tell Kai he should be revising rn too wtf it’s literally exam season

Beomgyu🪽: Kai said you’re a neek. Are you really not coming ??☹️☹️🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺

Y/n 🎷: I’m literally at the library rn, no.

Beomgyu 🪽: who are you with anyway? Music practice room guy?

Y/n 🎷: yeah

Beomgyu🪽: cool, have fun revising.

Beomgyu’s stomach twists. He scowls at your message for a little longer, fingers lingering on the keyboard like he wants to type something else but then he doesn’t. With a little too much force, he places his phone on the table face-down, knitting his eyebrows in a frown, arms crossed, grumbling to himself.

He kinda hates that you’re not coming over. He kinda really hates that you’re hanging out with that other guy instead of him too. Do you not like his company anymore or something?

He really, really wanted to see you today. He’d even gotten extra snacks for you, the ones he knows are your favourite and cleared the space on the floor so you could sit next to him. He didn’t think you wouldn’t come. Is he being dramatic right now? You’re just studying in the library, it’s probably what he should be doing too. But, you’ve never said no to hanging out ever before…you’d still come, just for a bit even if you didn’t want to.

Well, at least he still gets to see you today, because there is a stream later tonight.

“What? Y/n’s not coming?” Taehyun asks from where he sits, crosslegged on beomgyu’s bed, controller in hand, starting the game.

“No.” Beomgyu sulks, sounding very much like a kicked puppy. “They’re too busy studying with this guy they met in the music practice rooms. They’re always hanging out with him lately…” The last part is said with so much bitterness in his voice, muttering and complaining.

Taehyun raises an eyebrow. “Do you know who this guy is?”

“No.”

“Have you asked?” Huening Kai chimes in, sat on the floor, back slumped against the bed a controller also in his hand and munching on a packet of crisps.

“No.” Beomgyu huffs. “Anyway. As I was about to say before, I’ve had a really, really big revelation, something highly important.”

Kai gasps, eyes wide. “You’re pregnant.”

“I’m not a fucking seahorse.” Beomgyu rolls his eyes, “I was going to say…” He closes his eyes, inhales and exhales dramatically and finally declares, “I think…I like y/n more than IU.”

They’re both silent for a second but neither of them seem particularly shocked to hear that. Then, kai resumes munching on the crisps loudly again, unfazed.

“That’s your big revelation?” Taehyun asks, incredulously.

Beomgyu takes offence. “I think it’s really shocking. Why are you not shocked? I’ve liked IU since I was nine! She’s my first love.”

Huening Kai gasps dramatically, mocking him. “Even more than Park Boyoung?!”

Beomgyu hesitates. He takes a moment to really think, deeply in thought, as if that was the hardest question he’s ever had to answer, like those moralistic ‘would you rather change the track to the baby or kill 5 people’ dilemmas. “Possibly… yes.”

“Okay wait, no.” Kai sits up, “This is serious.”

“I was saying this was serious before! So, like what should I do? Do you guys think I’m going insane? I’m going insane. I’ve lost it.” Beomgyu grabs a fistful of his own hair, pulling at it and groaning. “I feel like…i feel like the tragic second male lead in a kdrama right now who like, watches the main couple get together in the rain with an umbrella in his hand, smiling even though he’s dying inside.” He doesn’t know exactly when it happened but after he came back from doing that stream with winter, it all became so very clear to him, suddenly crashing down on him. He thinks it’s been happening for a while. And it’s very serious.

“No, I think it was just inevitable from the start.” Taehyun replies calmly, eyes focused on the menu screen, clicking a few buttons, “I think it’s hard not to catch feelings given your situation. It makes sense. I’m pretty sure y/n likes you too.”

“Just tell them bro.” Huening Kai adds, his mouth disgustingly full of crisps as he spoke.

Beomgyu’s head shot up. “Tell them? Ew. Gross. No. I’m not doing that.” He comes closer to where Kai sat, reaching for a crisp in the bag himself, eating it with a pout. “They don’t even like me. They like him. That annoying practice room guy, whoever he is. Ugh, whatever. Maybe I’m just getting really confused because of the nature of what we do. Maybe, I don’t even like y/n. Yeah…yeah.” Beomgyu nods conspicuously, agreeing with himself with narrowed eyes, stroking his chin slowly like an old, beared man, except, he doesn’t have a beard.

“You’re so full of shit.” Taehyun throws a pillow aggressively at beomgyu’s head.

“Oww!”

Taehyun and Kai exchange a pointed look, shaking their heads, maybe it wasn’t going to happen sooner than they both were beginning to think.

Beomgyu huffs in defence, “Say if I did, even I did…tell them. It could jeopardise everything! We’re supposed to be professional partners. If I say something and it gets weird between us, what then?” His chest tightens a little at the thought. You could stop streaming with him, what was he supposed to do then? Continue solo again, find someone else? He already knows now he wouldn’t want to be streaming with anyone else if it wasn’t you. And if he went solo, it’d be boring again, he’d get less money. But it wasn’t even about the streaming anymore, he’d gotten so close to you in a matter of a few months. You’d become such an important person, a staple in his life so naturally, that he couldn’t remember what it was even like before you had entered it. He wants to be close to you all the time. Days without you are weird now. When you’re not around, he’s always missing you. He’d rather it stay how it is now than not have you in his life at all. So no, he’s not going to risk it.

“You should at least find out who this guy is.” Kai yawns, tossing the bag of crisps to the side, taking the controller in both his hands, ready to play now.

“Why?” Beomgyu asks suspiciously.

“To see if he’s way hotter than you.”

Beomgyu gasps, scandalised, beginning to spiral. “What if he is?”

You sat hunched in the computer lab of the library, all your notes and books and manuscript paper sprawled madly on the desk as you desperately tried to learn about advanced music theory and Schenkerian analysis, you have no idea how kai and beomgyu aren’t stressed out right now, your head beginning to hurt as you sat besides haechan who was also studying, a lot more calmly than you.

The library and computer lab was pretty packed and alive since it was exam season, being able to see other stressed out uni students fighting the same losing battle, and groups of friends who were gossiping about their latest traumatic situationship of the semester—very entertaining to eavesdrop on, though distracting as you were supposed to be revising, both you and haechan giggling at the outrageous things you hear.

Haechan glances at what you’re attempting to revise at the minute and pitifully shakes his head at your screen, “Man, I’m so glad I didn’t pick Music.”

You groan, head on the desk, “I can’t do it.”

“Wanna go for a walk around campus instead?” Haechan offers.

You laugh, “you know what, yeah.” Both of you leaving all your possessions on the desk with blind trust, wandering out the library into the late afternoon sun.

Before the walk properly began, you both made a detour to the campus cafe, purchasing a drink to cheer you up a bit more. You think you deserve a little sweet treat, having been at wits end to warrant one.

You laugh and walk around with haechan, drinks in hand and sipping on them, the campus golden and bathed in soft amber light, a pleasant breeze that wasn’t too hot or too cold. The cherry blossom trees lining the main path had all burst into full bloom by now, their pretty pink petals littering the ground you walked on, falling elegantly. Some students were already sitting on the grass, chatting away like it was summer already. It was so peaceful to see, and a great breath of fresh air from studying in the library.

You stop to stare at the cherry blossom trees, pointing excitedly, because no matter how many springs have come and how many cherry blossom trees bloomed when the time came every year, it never failed to always leave you in awe at just how beautiful they are. “Look at them. It’s so pretty!”

Haechan nods in agreement. The temptation of taking a picture overcomes you and you bring out your phone, taking a few shots of the cherry blossoms and the sunset behind, then holding your phone out to show him, proudly.

He leans closer, squinting at your screen, smiling. “Okayy, photographer. You should post those.”

PING !!

Suddenly, you get an extremely loud buzz on your phone.

@Angel313 going live soon !!

Shit.

The notification lights up your entire screen so obnoxiously.

You freeze for a second, trying not to visibly freak out or act suspiciously, yanking your phone away from him and fumbling to switch it off, putting it back in your pocket.

Obviously haechan saw it too, you saw how his eyebrows had creased in slight intrigue. But it’s not like it’s some promiscuous username, it wasn’t like it screamed ‘porn!’ it could be anything for all he knows. How would he know that was a camboy, that could literally be a youtuber, gamer or anything else? Yeah, It’s really not that deep, he wouldn’t think it was deep.

He doesn’t say anything about it, which means he probably didn’t think much of it, he just continues casually walking and talking again, changing the subject and you’re very thankful he never asks. Your heart still thudding in your ears for the rest of the stroll.

Beomgyu sat pliantly beside you on the bed, legs folded, hands resting in his lap, eyes following your movements with curiosity, your hand was on his chin, tilting it up, the other intimately applying coats of your lip gloss slowly onto his lips.

“Ow. It burns! What the fuck.” Beomgyu furrows his brows, hissing. He could feel the tingling sensation on his lips right now and it was deeply uncomfortable.

You chuckle, amused. “Yeah, it’s a plumping lip gloss. And it doesn’t even burn that much. Why are you being so dramatic?” Dragging the applicator across his bottom lip in a deliberate motion.

Beomgyu wrinkles his nose. “Whatever that means.”

You roll your eyes, deadpan. “It’s in the name. It plumps your lips.”

“Well it feels really weird.”

“It’s alright, it’ll go away.” You, apply one more coat then pull back, looking satisfied. You take the phone in your hand, filming beomgyu’s lips up close, “Look at the pretty doll.” Needless to say, the chat is blowing up at the sight of angel in lip gloss, the comments lighting up with strings of hearts and emojis.

ANGEL IS TOO PRETTY WTF JDJDJ

LOOK AT THOSE LIPS ?!? 😩 he has the prettiest lips ever

RUIN HIM PLEASE 💕

You’d even done beomgyu’s hair, putting it into a half up poinytail and adding one of your clips in his hair.

Beomgyu looks so good with your lip gloss on, his lips tinted, glittery, sparkly and even plumper than they usually were. He looked so kissable. God, you wanted to kiss him immediately, ruin him, wreck him. But you stop yourself, you were going to ruin him in a different way.

“On your knees, pretty.” Your voice sweet but commanding. Beomgyu does what he’s told and moves immediately, dropping from the bed without hesitation. His knees hit the floor with a soft thud, looking up at you with his sparky brown, innocent, doe eyes, thick doll lashes fluttering like butterfly wings as he looks up at you.

You bring the strap you were wearing to his mouth, tapping his lips with it a few times, watching the strings of the thick sticky gloss connect to the top of the strap.

“Open your mouth, baby.”

Beomgyu slowly opens his mouth wider, still not breaking eye contact with you. You slowly push the silicone into beomgyu’s pretty mouth. He begins to suck soft and slow without even being told, rocking his head, wrapping his shiny lips around it.

“Yeah, that’s it,” you murmur at the sight, hand stroking over his cheek, “So pretty for me, babe.”

He moans at that, spurring him on, looking up at you desperately. Beomgyu’s hands move to eagerly hold onto your hips, but you swat them away, “No touching.” Beomgyu whines in protest but keeps his hands on his lap instead, balled into fists to stop himself from touching you. His poor dick, hard and leaking in his pants by now.

Beomgyu is so into it by now, focused, bobbing his head earnestly, trying to take more, wanting to please you like he’s really making you feel good as if it’s actually your real body, moaning loudly around the strap. When beomgyu moves further on the faux cock, the harness begins to bump against your clit and you try chasing the sensation by pushing more of your strap down beomgyu’s throat, grasping onto his hair and little ponytail to guide him more harshly. He softly gags, tears springing in his eyes as it hits the back of his throat but he doesn’t stop.

“God, you’re so hot like this pretty doll face, taking my cock so well.” You moan from the feeling of it hitting your clit but also at how pathetic beomgyu looks right now.

"Mmph—mmmghd.” Beomgyu garbles and moans around the silicone in response, drool slobbering all on his chin and wet mouth, spit mixed with the gloss, creating a slick shiny mess on his mouth and the toy, teary, pleading puppy eyes blinking up at you.

But you continue to ignore his gags, forcing him to deepthroat the strap, hands roughly pulling at his hair.

You then bring his face all the way down to the base of the dildo, his nose pressing into your lower abdomen and you hold him there. His body shakes, wide panicked eyes, muffled chokes and cries. But you still keep him there. There’s tears streaming down his face, helpless, cheeks hollowed.

After a while, you let go, he pulls himself completely off and splutters as thick strings of drool connect his lips and chin to the tip of the dildo. Beomgyu gasps for air, choking and coughing and crying, wiping at his chin.

You bring him up, seeing how you’d ruined the pretty doll, his cute hairstyle now all messy, clip half loose and slipping from his bangs, eyes glassy, lashes prettily clumped with tears, tears stream still evident on his rosy cheeks, his lips utterly wrecked, puffy, red, slick and wet and swollen, lip gloss and spit all around and smeared. It’s gorgeous.

You kiss him before he can even properly catch his breath, not giving him that much time for air but he melts into it, kissing you back desperately as if you were the air he needs to breathe, spit and gloss smearing onto your own mouth, all tongue and sloppy, whimpering in your mouth.

Pushing him onto the bed, you straddle him as he lays with breathless anticipation underneath you. You’d agreed to peg him today and he’d sucked your strap so well, with such dedication, being so good, you wanted to give it to him already, wanted to make him feel so good.

You throw his shirt off him, pierced belly comes into view. That iconic little hello kitty charm glinting at you from his navel, rising and falling with every shaky inhale as his tummy trembles underneath your touch. Placing your hand on his tiny waist, you marvel at how he is beneath you. You kiss him everywhere, down his neck, chest, tummy, marking him, sucking soft hickeys as he lets out soft little whines, tugging at the sheets.

You move further down, leaving him in his underwear, spreading his legs apart, kissing the soft unblemished skin of his pretty plush thighs, sucking his inner thighs as his breath hitches, so sensitive there, biting, licking, covering, littering and painting them in purpley and pink splotches. Beomgyu squirms and shivers, restless as your mouth gets so close, too close to his aching, hard cock but not enough. “Pleasee.” He’s breathless, legs spreading even wide for you, “just—touch me, already.” Beomgyu whines and pouts. “You’re teasing me. I’m dying over here.”

You roll your eyes but tug his underwear down and it’s like he suddenly remembers something, panicked, horrified. He shuts his legs, hands instantly flying to cover the area. Beomgyu is blushing furiously, face and ears flushed, his cheeks blooming a pretty shade of pink, pinker than the cherry blossoms you’d seen earlier today. He avoids your gaze, looking anywhere but you, so incredibly embarrassed, so shy.

That’s weird. Beomgyu was rarely ever this shy anymore. He hadn’t got this embarrassed since the first time he streamed in front of you.

You narrow your eyes suspiciously at him, opening his legs and pulling his hands away nonetheless.

That’s when you see it— a pretty little bedazzled heart shaped, pink gem, resting snugly in beomgyu’s hole, catching the light like treasure in a chest. What the hell.

You’d never seen it before and it was driving you crazy, in a good and bad way.

“Oh my god.” You gasp, dramatically, scandalised. “You whore! Have you been wearing this all day?”

“N-no! Just a few hours before you came!” Beomgyu squeaks and splutters, face buried in his hands, trying to explain himself as if he’d committed some atrocious, heinous crime. “Couldn’t help myself…and, and—I missed you.” Beomgyu mumbles, sulky, “You didn’t even come today! Too busy with that guy.” He suddenly furrows his brows at you, glaring, indignant, petulant, as if it was your fault.

You gape at him. “You couldn’t even wait? Didn’t ask me, didn’t even tell me, touching yourself without me there…you brat.” You spit out and tut, shaking your head at him. In hindsight, it wasn’t even that bad. You just wanted any kind of excuse to punish him now. In fact, you’re almost salivating at the sight of beomgyu wearing a pretty pink jewelled butt plug.

He lets out an offended noise, protesting. “I just warmed up a little. I was being…” He almost laughs, playing coy, then looks back up at you innocently, “…proactive.”

“You were being an impatient whore.”

Your eyes drag slowly over to the plug again, taking in how pink and sparkly it is, how snug it looks, how his cute tiny hole must’ve adjusted to it, gently stretched and waiting for you, squirming for hours. God. Beomgyu looked so good with it. It suited him so well.

Beomgyu studies your face, searching your eyes and his face slowly turns into a satisfied grin, regaining some of that usual bratty confidence. “You love it. I know you do.”

You ignore him, watching the screen on the phone, turning to the live chat, smiling cryptically. “What do guys think? Should we still fuck him? Or should we punish him?”

Beomgyu’s smug little smirk falters instantly replaced with a dreaded look. But the chat is already flooding in.

Punish him.

Spank him till he cries >_< 🌸

Slap him until he’s really sorry ! Make sure you don’t fuck him at all.

You grin. Almost everyone says to punish him, that he deserved a spanking instead.

Beomgyu’s eyes widen, shaking his head devastated, mortified. “No.” His voice breaks, “Don’t listen to them—please. Please fuck me.”

“They’re saying you should get spanked instead.” You shrug as if it’s all out of your control.

Beomgyu whines again, more pathetic this time, distressed, trying to bring your hand to his dick, grinding up against your hand. “Please—please, baby, I need it so bad, I-i’ve been good-”

You swat your hand away in disgust. Instead, You grip his face roughly, forcing him to look at you, “Do you want to get punished even more?”

Beomgyu recoils like a dejected helpless puppy, knowing he can’t do anything anymore. He slowly flips over onto his stomach and you bend him over your lap.

“You guys are evil.” Beomgyu comically mutters bitterly, casting a betrayed glare at the camera to the viewers before turning it on you. “And you—you’re so mean.” He pouts but accepts his fate.

SLAP !

Beomgyu opens his mouth to say more but his words dissolve into a loud, startled moan as your palm lands on the curve of his small ass with a sharp, echoing smack.

SLAP !

You strike again, spanking beomgyu continuously as he sucks in air loudly, biting his lip, gasping, back arching, trying to hold in the desperate pained whimpers, dick twitching uncontrollably with every smack, thighs quivering.

You spank him again, impossible harder this time, each hit ringing out obscenely, his cheeks painfully reddened and crimson and burning. Sight so pretty with his ass marked and red and the sparkly pink gem nuzzled in between. Your handprint is evident on his ass by now and beomgyu begins to let out muffled cries at your unrelenting slaps, his cock hurting so bad and leaking, rubbing against your thigh from your smacks, smearing his precum there.

“B-baby! Please! S-stop, please fuck me!” Beomgyu mewls and shudders as you still strike him violently, “I-it hurts!” You’re not sure whether he’s talking about his dick or his ass.

“You should’ve thought of that before you decided to be a needy little slut without permission.” You spank his angry scarlet skin again.

Slap !

Beomgyu full on sobs, tears spilling freely from his eyes, hiccuping, wailing loudly, legs thrashing and shaking his head, “S-sorry, ‘m sorry, ‘m s-sorry!”

You gently knead the sore flesh of his ass, then let your fingers toy and play with the plug, slowly, teasingly, you ease it out until the widest part stretches him, then pushing it back in his pretty hole with a wet pop, taking it out and thrusting it fully back in his hole, doing that over and over again, fucking him with the little toy, moving it around in circles.

“Ah-ahh—fuck- baby—” Beomgyu gasps, and jolts at the little pleasure, desperate for anything. He lets out the loudest whorish, slutty moans, mewling high pitched, eyes half lidded. He’s such a terrible, weepy mess.

"Baby...you're so pretty like this,” you coo, sweetly, still continuing with your ministrations of moving the jewelled butt plug around in his ass, grinding it in circles and spanking him raw, “you’re such a slutty whore.”

“O-only for- ah! you.” Beomgyu weeps.

You giggle. “Not for your viewers? You’re so ungrateful, angel.”

“Can I cum? Please, please, please. I’ve been good. Pleaseplease” Beomgyu moans.

“Should we let the poor puppy cum?” You glance at the screen, checking what they’re saying, “…sorry baby, they’re saying no.” You tell beomgyu pitifully, feeling slightly sorry for him.

Beomgyu shakes his head wildly, whole body wracked with sobs, shedding so many tears, heart broken. “No! no no no ! I can’t-”

But he doesn’t even listen, it becomes too much and he can’t hold it in, doesn’t even care, in fact, he’s annoyed at you and viewers for being so cruel to him, defiant. The slapping and playing with his hole and the small rubs against his poor cock makes him lose it, spurting and splattering helpless thick hot creamy copious amount of cum all on your thighs as he shudders, whole body convulsing, still crying and sniffling, his pretty legs trembling delicately like a baby deer.

You blink at him. “Did you just cum anyway?You’re so disobedient!”

Beomgyu whimpers, nervous. And there goes the endless punishments beomgyu receives.

You give beomgyu the best aftercare you can after that, praising him and promising to actually peg him next time.

He doesn’t let go of you, insisting on you both showering together, holding onto each other as the warm water sprays on you both, steam rising around, beomgyu groans at the sensation, head looking dramatically on your shoulder, his hair all damp and the bangs attractively in his eyes as he clings to you even when you try to massage his scalp with shampoo, head hiding in your neck, kissing your shoulders and neck soft and tender, making your heart flutter.

Both of you now lay in his bed and you cuddle him, skin still warm and clean from the shower, wrapping your arm around him, bringing him close your side as you play with his damp hair, whispering sweet things in his hair as he sleepily hums, snuggling closer.

Then beomgyu speaks up suddenly, “Hey,” his voice low and soft.

You tilt your head to look at him. “Hmm?”

Beomgyu shifts to face you, head propped up on his elbow, brows slightly furrowed. “Who is he?”

You blink, confused. “What? Who?”

“Music practice room guy.”

You raise your brow, then answer casually. “Oh, his name is Haechan.”

Beomgyu’s eyes suddenly widen, entire body tensed, getting up instantly, “Haechan?! As in cello playing Haechan?”

You sit up too, utterly confused by now and nod then remembering, “Oh yeah, he actually said he knew you.”

“Y/n.” Beomgyu’s voice is sharp, incredulous. “Do you even know—”

But a loud buzz cuts through the room. His phone screen lights up on the nightstand. Beomgyu frowns and picks it up.

Haechan: I know you’re a camboy, beomgyu. I always knew you were a fucking whore. Just wait until I tell everyone 🤣🤣.

Please actually reblog !!!!!! and leave comments !!!! guys 😭 if you like the fic. It’s really appreciated and so nice tysm !<3🙏💕🌷🌷! It’s incredibly discouraging and disappointing when fics have such little reblogs ☹️ At least send an anon in the inbox if you don’t want to rb, don’t just like. Feedback is always appreciated it makes writers want to actually write more :)

A/n: yipppiiieee !! It’s finally 😭😭 sorry if the smut is just really badly written and messy I was lowkey not there when writing it. Also there’s probably only one chapter left ! So tell me if there’s certain scenes or stuff you wanted reader and beomgyu to do in terms of sex 🤔 Also you maybe confused about the plot twist but there was kinda a poorly excused hint in one of the earlier chapters on who haechan could be and why 🤔 also someone tell me if I need to add more warnings idk what I missed 😭😭

Taglist: @pogigyu @denleave1088 @mashimarshmello @cha0thicpisces @soobsfairy444 @lcvetyvn @1ummcalhoody6 @imrllytootiredforthis @bjttersweets @aliceoracleollormusic @yongboksgf @daniarafid @nyanggk @aggiebackstage @qluvr @artypjmlbss @dickdeprived @lilactangerine @kissmeow @katsukeis @shutupheathersorryheatherr @mastergibbs93 @tae-ology @lynanist @guavagyu @soobhns @mikeeel @multistansimp4life @goquokka @scarfac3 @roses-for-my-love @maxismp1 @peachenle @i-loved-you42 @vampcharxter @th3-3d3n-g4rd3n @yuhjoeyuh @ren-junwrld @eggeutarteuu @staurdvst @vivioluh @itbtoblikethatsometimes @nct-dreamteam @ixayjun @beomgewwwwww (Ask to be added to the taglist !!)

#beomgyu smut #txt smut #sub!beomgyu #beomgyu hard hours #beomgyu x reader #sub!idol #beomgyu hard thoughts #kpop smut #sub beomgyu #sub txt #sub! beomgyu #sub! txt #sub!txt #choi beomgyu smut #txt x reader

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starmapz · 4 months ago

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what you know - ch12: too sweet || r. sukuna

❦ ryomen sukuna x f!reader [college au] [ongoing series]

❝ you've heard his reputation and you've seen first-hand the way he's late to class if he even bothers to show up. paired with him for the most important project of the year, you choose to give him the benefit of the doubt- but maybe that's more than he deserves when your perfect grades depend on him, or maybe there's more to the aloof and irritable sukuna than meets the eye. ❞

❦ cw ; mdni, 18+ only. contains explicit sexual themes and content. use of alcohol. use of cannabis. use of nicotine/cigarettes. angst. hurt/no comfort. hurt/comfort. minor injury. family trauma. smut. slow burn. anxiety. panic attacks. mentions of difficulty eating. tags will be updated as series continues.

❦ additional tags ; college parties and themes. sukuna ooc warning as this is a realistic take on modern sukuna. reader is fairly preppy and implied to be smaller than sukuna, but he's 6"11.

❦ words ; 19.2k.

main masterlist || series masterlist || previous chapter || next chapter

With a resounding slam, the hood of a newly-serviced Nissan latches shut. Stepping over a dirty rag and a wrench, Sukuna wipes his forehead with the back of his arm and makes his way across the shop to his boss. With a flick of his thumb to point back to the little silver hatchback, he mutters an “it’s good,” before trudging back across the shop and ducking under a half-open garage door.

His breath billows out in front of him, the chill of the air frigid on his sweat-laden skin. Fumbling in his pocket, he pulls out his lighter, rubbing his thumb over the engraved last name across the metal. It’s only his father’s last name carved into the silver, yet he swears yours is written across it too, in the way that the former scrapes and scratches once littering the surface are now gone.

Blinking out of the trance he’s found himself in, he reaches back into his pocket for a cigarette, flipping the cardstock top open, only to be met with an empty box. With a sigh, he grinds the back of his wrist into his temple, attempting to keep grease and oil away from his face by using his wrist, only to look down at his wrist and see it, too, is covered in oil.

Shutting his eyes, he leans back against the smooth concrete of the building, letting his head fall back on the wall. Letting out a breath, he blinks and watches the warmth swirl into the air, not unlike smoke. He has half a mind to try to placebo himself into believing there’s nicotine running through his system, calming his rampant thoughts.

Letting the empty box hang at his side, he stares at the overcast sky. You had been so uncharacteristically cold this morning that he finds himself going over the barely-ten-minute coffee meeting as though it’s a script reading and he forgot every single one of his own lines. Swallowing hard, he contemplates what he could have said or done differently, but at the end of the day, one thing is painfully clear to him.

You have no trust in him.

He can’t be upset with you for that.

He wasn’t in a good place when you’d gotten into an argument, but a few weeks of hovering over your contact every time his chest tightened gave him a lot of time to consider things.

It took him too long to come to the conclusion that if he’d just shut his damn mouth, maybe you would have come to him first for this job. He wonders how many people you contacted before coming to him for something that’s right up his alley. Something that he might even like.

He watches his breath billow above him again with another long exhale.

He’d tried to blame it on the alcohol, on the weed, on his stress, on the hurt you’d caused that had caught him off-guard and pierced him when you’d accused him of being inebriated in front of the kids. He’d looked to blame anything or anyone but himself. No matter how many times he tried to find blame in something else, at the end of the tunnel, it was always him, a decision he’d consciously made.

If he’s about to let you down, then he’ll dig that grave himself. He won’t let you put him there at the cost of what’s left of his dignity.

He remembers the thought running through his head. He’d been so caught up in his own anger, pain, and hurt, that he’d actively made the decision to double-down. He’d gone too far.

It’s not like Sukuna wasn’t accustomed to looking after his brothers on his own, but he’d grown so used to having you around that he hadn’t realized just how much you did for him. It was never just about the kids, or studying, or classes. It went beyond that. You went beyond that.

You made him feel sane.

“Ryomen, the Ford’s ready.”

Crimson irises slowly slide towards his co-worker, a head of raven hair peeking out from under the half-open garage door. “Be there in a moment,” Sukuna grumbles, pushing off of the wall and tossing the empty cigarette box into the trash at the corner of the building before hunching to fit under the garage door. Setting his gaze on a red F-150, he sighs as he falls into familiar motions of servicing the truck.

The next few hours pass by in what feels like a slog of sweat and unwelcome stray thoughts, but before he knows it, he’s opening the door for Uraume back at his apartment. He’s not sure he remembers the last time he saw them, a scowl drawn across his brows as they slip into his home.

“Rume!” Yuji excitedly calls, running straight into Uraume’s outstretched arms.

“I owe you,” Sukuna sighs, running a hand through his wet hair.

Uraume takes a moment to evaluate Sukuna, a frown pulling at their lips. “You don’t,” they shake their head as they always do, pulling Yuji easily into their arms. “I’m happy to help.”

Sukuna swallows hard, nodding. “Right. Thanks.”

Satisfied with his reply, Uraume nods, taking a step towards Sukuna. Little Yuji clings to their shoulders, playing with the collar of Uraume’s shirt. “So, do you want to tell me what this is all about? All of this?” The motion they make with their chin towards- well, all of him- has Sukuna’s scowl deepening.

His gaze lowers to Yuji, before flickering towards Choso fiddling with his GameBoy on the couch. It doesn’t look like the system is even on from what he can tell. He’s listening in, Sukuna’s almost sure of it.

Choosing to leave out the details surrounding the argument he’d had with you, dropping out of school, and anything else that could concern his little brother, he runs a hand down his face. “Got an interview,” he sighs, explaining that it’s at your publishing house.

Uraume’s brow lifts, as though they’re surprised. He wonders if you mentioned the argument to them, but he doesn’t have the time to ask.

“I gotta shave,” he mutters to excuse himself, his footsteps heavy with the weight of responsibility and exhaustion as he makes his way to the washroom to clean up.

Once he’s satisfied with his gelled hair and shaved face, he tucks the black button-up dress shirt clinging to his biceps into his slacks. He doesn’t exactly have the luxury of buying a shirt that doesn’t look like it’s about to burst at the seams, so it’ll have to do. Maybe it’ll work to his advantage, as egotistical as it is to think. With one last onceover of his appearance, he flicks off the lights and makes his way back out to the kitchen.

Yuji and Choso are watching Uraume intensely as they teach the two boys how to fold paper shurikens. His eye involuntarily twitches as he envisions himself getting hit by a stray flying star when he gets home tonight. Yet another way for the boys to pester him.

“I’m headin’ out,” he grumbles, grabbing his keys and throwing his coat and boots on. Before he can slip out the door, Uraume grabs the back of his jacket, stopping him in his tracks.

Sukuna turns on his heel to face Uraume with frustration flickering in his gaze, but they interrupt before he can snarl whatever meaningless words were about to spill in his irritation. Their voice is low enough to keep out of earshot of his brothers as Uraume sternly tells Sukuna they won’t leave until he’s told them what’s going on, really. “You look like shit,” they add. “And not in the usual way.”

“Ouch,” he mumbles, but there’s truth behind their words that he can’t deny. He simply nods and pulls from their grip with a hostile tug, shutting the door behind him.

He remembers you being grateful that your office is on a bus route, and now he’s grateful for it too, given that it’s not exactly within walking distance and he’d prefer not to take a cab to work every day if he gets the job. As the bus comes into sight, he boards it, popping some change into the box at the front before taking a seat with his portfolio in hand.

He winces as the bus hits a pothole, the sudden realization of an oncoming headache spreading a grimace across his lips. With everything and nothing on his mind all at once, he supposes it only makes sense.

Taking a step off the bus into the brisk air, he follows the route on his phone down a block and a half before finding a small unmarked office building. Standing at three stories tall, the building sports a faded ivy green roof that doesn’t fit this decade, or even the last one, for that matter. The windows are all covered in a layer of mud and snow, while the walls of the building themselves are weathered from the elements quite harshly.

His eyes scan the blank sign at the entrance, before falling to a buzzer. A wavy paper with smeared ink is taped to the edge of the box with the names of eight businesses and the numbers to dial to reach them spread across it.

Dialing the number of the publishing house, Sukuna buries his hands in his pockets. There’s no noise as he waits and he finds himself nearly punching in the number again when a cheery voice picks up, inquiring how they can help.

“Here for an interview,” Sukuna states simply, his eyes sliding to the door as the lock pops. Following the signage, he makes his way up a set of stairs to the second floor, pushing his way through the corresponding door.

Within the office, everyone seems to be in somewhat of a mad dash. He’s sure there’s lots of work to be done, but it has an air to it of being amiss. He supposes that’s likely the impending loss of a client you’d mention hanging over the heads of the employees.

The publishing house isn’t particularly big, focusing primarily on local authors and young readers’ books. Despite the run-down appearance of the outside of the building, there’s a homely feel to the office itself. It’s well-lit with a bright oak floor sprawling beneath his feet into a combination of desks strewn across the floor, printers, stacks of paper and filing cabinets, and a few offices along the walls away from prying eyes. Plants line many of the desks and the far wall is covered in a mural of art from books that Sukuna can only assume the business has published. He’s pretty sure he even recognizes a character or two from books Yuji’s brought home from the school library.

Taking a step towards the reception desk, Sukuna shrugs his coat off in an effort to make a good impression with his outfit.

A woman with curly black hair looks up at him with a grin, using what could only be described as a customer service voice as she tells him to take a seat and she’ll inform Maya of his arrival. He can only assume Maya’s your boss, so he quickly shakes his head, asking for you, instead.

The receptionist eyes him curiously before rolling her chair back a few feet to poke her head into an office.

“Someone’s here to see you.”

The look on your face as you peek out at him in your usual pencil skirt and white blouse nearly kills him. Your eyes don’t light up as they once had, your face neutral for the split-second you actually meet his gaze, only to look away as though you can’t bear to keep eye contact, turning back into your office for a moment.

Swallowing feels like an effort with the way his throat tightens.

He hears a chair rolling and chatter from within the office you’d disappeared back into before the clack of your black heels across the floor makes its way to him. Getting to his feet, he’s forced to wonder what’s going through your mind as your eyes scan him, but apart from the obvious discomfort on your face as you continue to avoid eye contact, he can’t get a read on you. His heart sinks as you greet him in a tone that speaks strictly of business.

“You look nice,” Sukuna attempts to break the ice, but the twitch of your brow as you glance back at him doesn’t instill confidence.

“Thanks…” You whisper, beginning to lead the way towards the back of the office. You thread around a number of desks, greeting a few colleagues on the way before finally turning towards him in front of a door labelled Maya.

“So listen,” you begin with a sharp inhale, turning to face him and steeling yourself. “My boss values experience above everything else, which I know you don’t have in the industry, so put your focus on your portfolio, okay?”

Sukuna nods, opening his mouth to thank you, but you’ve already turned away to lead the way into the office. Fuck, if you’d just give him one goddamn moment. He follows after you, his eyes scanning the office for anything to help him with the interview itself.

Light shines onto the desk in the center of the room through the large window in the back, while books with colorful spines line the shelves pressed against the walls. An old typewriter sits on one of the higher shelves, a few plants dotted here and there for some added flair.

What really catches his attention is the photo of your boss kneeling down in front of a lake with two kids with bright smiles. They look about the same age as Yuji and Choso, and Sukuna has to tear his gaze away, blinking as he’s reminded of the life and experiences his brothers never got.

Running his tongue over his lower lip, he sets his attention on your boss. She’s older, with long, straight black hair and curtain bangs. A pair of glasses sits along the bridge of her nose, while a sleek gray suit-jacket is fitted perfectly to her form. She sits at the desk with an air of perfect control in spite of the underlying issue that Sukuna knows plagues the office.

As he approaches with a dossier filled with his portfolio and resume tucked under one arm and extends his other in greeting, he watches the judgment pass over her features. Sukuna’s come to expect it these days, the way eyes will roam his tattoos, silently coming to conclusions about him.

“This is Sukuna,” you introduce him as Maya takes his hand.

“It’s nice to meet you, Sukuna.” She takes a seat, motioning to the chair opposite her, while you sit at his side. There’s something comforting in knowing you’re there with him, even if the feeling is fleeting as you straighten, a smile that doesn’t meet your eyes plastered to your face.

The interview is fairly standard, though Sukuna clearly doesn’t have the experience that your boss is looking for. Still, he sets the dossier on her desk in hopes that she’ll reconsider. If he’s lucky, between his portfolio and the possible loss of a client, she’ll give him a shot at the job anyway.

Maya pulls the folder towards her, flipping it open and pulling out a mix of anatomy pages, sketches of characters his brothers like, inked cleanly in fineline, and the real standouts, the fully realized characters within worlds. The first page has Alice in Wonderland characters, while the tail of the Cheshire Cat curls neatly around the image as though it belongs on a book cover. The second has the Hungry, Hungry Caterpillar in a more crafty style crawling up a tree. He’d pulled the drawings together late last night in an effort to impress her.

Your boss’ brows raise, clearly more impressed by Sukuna’s actual work than either his standard interview answers, or his underwhelming resume. Her reaction, although minute, makes the extra few hours he’d spent awake working on those spreads worth it.

“These are great,” she compliments, leafing back through the pages until her finger catches on a page, separating two pages that had stuck together. Sukuna’s eyes widen slightly as he realizes the Sonic drawing that Yuji had colored with the half-finished Shadow had somehow made its way into his portfolio.

“That’s, uh, not meant to be in there,” he gruffs, his brow furrowing.

But it’s caught your boss’ attention in a way the rest of the art doesn’t. The scrappy way that Sonic is colored in comparison to the rest of his sketches that use primarily charcoal and graphite, tells of only one thing- a kid. Her whole demeanor shifts as she evaluates the way the cheap marker bleeds through the paper.

“Do you have kids?” She asks genuinely, backtracking quickly as she realizes that’s not exactly the kind of question you ask during an interview. “Sorry, don’t feel obligated to answer that.”

Sukuna sucks in a breath. “No, but I look after my brothers.”

Something softens in her eyes, as though memories of her own children- the ones in the photo Sukuna spotted- are running through her mind.

“May I ask how old they are?”

“Five and twelve.”

Sukuna wonders if you know that none of his employers knew about the kids until he had to get the letters from them for the case. He wonders if you know that by divulging his part of his life to your boss, to someone who doesn’t know him, he’s trying to show you that he’s changed. He’s trying to put in more effort, trying to give more of himself to you.

Maya simply smiles, a warmth held within her features that Sukuna’s not generally regarded with. “Do you have any experience working digitally?”

No. “Yes.”

Maya nods. “Did she fill you in on the deadline for the first seven projects?” She queries, shooting you a quick glance.

“She did.”

“Do you think it’s a possibility to have them done by tomorrow?”

Sukuna’s gaze slides over to you briefly, admiring the way the sun seems to make your skin glow. Swiping his tongue briefly over his lower lip, he nods. He’ll have to work through the night, but it’s not like he hasn’t done that before.

In his periphery, your shoulders sag in relief, grateful that all of your hard work won’t be for nothing. He knows he’s lost your trust, but even so, seeing your relief makes this all worth it.

Maya excuses you to discuss details of the arrangement with Sukuna, so you slip away with a nod. Shutting the door behind you, you let out a breath, making your way back to your office. Well, if it can even be called that.

The room is decorated to the nines with Yuki’s favorite books and photos of her and her partner at pretty much every huge travel destination you can imagine. It’s hard to believe she’s not even that much older than you, yet she’s got so many more life experiences. At least, ones worth hanging photos of.

A table that acts as your desk is pushed up to the front of hers, with an extension cable running up onto the table to plug in your monitor and the laptop the company had provided you. It’s nothing fancy, but you prefer it to being at one of the open desks littering the center of the office space. It gives you a semblance of privacy and some silence to work in, apart from Yuki’s occasional humming.

The blonde’s head raises as she spots you, a hopeful glimmer in her eyes. “Puh-lease tell me it went well.”

“I think so,” you sigh, plopping down in your chair and letting it roll back a bit as you stare at the ceiling.

“Thank god, I swear Ayana just didn’t work on our books on purpose,” she groans dramatically, following suit as she pushes away from her desk, her chair rolling back until it hits the wall. “So who is he, anyway? Doesn’t seem like you know him well,” she comments, pointing the tip of a pen in your direction.

Momentarily forgetting about your makeup, you shake your head before pausing, staring down at your fingers that now glimmer with the makeup you’ve smudged. Doing your best to salvage it without being able to see your appearance, you wipe your pointer delicately around your eyes with a long sigh. “He used to be a friend,” you explain, deciding to leave it at that. It’s easier than over-analyzing the way he looked at you as you led him to your boss’ office.

For all your time spent keeping a straight face around him, you feel like you need an entire month-long vacation just to recover. And that hardly added up to twenty minutes. You know it’s for the best, but it’s hard not to give in when your heart still aches for him, even if your mind holds onto his misgivings still.

“Oh? Ohhh?” Your colleague pushes herself towards her desk, leaning over it and clasping her hands together eagerly. “Girl, spill.”

In hindsight, you probably shouldn’t have mentioned that you knew him.

“It’s not a big deal, we just had some disagreements and grew apart,” you shrug, feigning an air of nonchalance that clearly disappoints Yuki, but at least she believes you. You’re not sure you can bear the thought of picking at your wounds that had only just begun to scab over and heal. Especially not with Sukuna only a couple of offices away.

It’s not a case of being civil, you’re more than capable of being mature, and you’re sure Sukuna is, as well. That doesn’t mean you forgive him though. After all, you need to protect yourself first and foremost.

Yuki pouts, staring in disappointment at the colorful arrangement of books on one of her many shelves. “I was hoping your story would be at least a ten minute distraction from work,” she grumbles.

Shaking your head with a smile, you chuckle at your colleague. “Come on, your projects aren’t even that bad.”

In a fit to prove you wrong, Yuki is quick to pick up a stack of paper, wiggling it in the air. “Do you want this pile of knock-off Baby Shark books?”

Your eyes scan the name when she quits waving the paper around. Little Whale. Huh. With a shake of your head, you point to your own pile. “I’m good,” you chuckle, about to comment on some of the strange publications sitting in your own to-do list when someone clears their throat at the door to your office.

A painfully familiar ex-friend is leaning against the doorframe to your office, an iPad and laptop in one hand, with a pile of paperwork in the other. You assume that’s a good sign.

Good for your work, anyway.

And, if you’re being honest with yourself, there’s a part of you that hopes he enjoys the job, given that he’ll have the opportunity to do something he may actually enjoy for a living. No matter how much pain the thought of all your arguments brings you, you don’t think there’s a world where you don’t care for him, so you force a tight-lipped smile as you face him.

“Looks like it went well. Congratulations, Sukuna.”

His brow twitches, but he nods. “Appreciate you thinkin’ of me.”

You can only nod. “Um, yeah… Let me know if you need a hand with anything.”

Sukuna opens his mouth to say something before deciding against it and nodding. He pokes his tongue into the side of his mouth, pushing off the doorframe. “Have a good day, prin-” He catches himself, feigning a cough to cover up his slip. If it can even be considered that. He repeats himself, this time finishing his sentence with your name.

“Yeah, you too, Sukuna,” you wave him off quietly, turning back to your desk and burying your face in your hands.

Yuki fiddles with her pen, simply staring as she waits for the sound of the front door closing. “Soooooo… Are you that awkward with every person you just grow apart from?” She pushes, nosy as ever.

“It wasn’t that awkward,” you grumble, rolling your shoulders as you sit up and attempt to ward away the fact that Yuki is painfully right, and it’s probably for the best that things stay that way.

“Girl, everything about that was painful.”

With a sigh, you let your head hang.

You’re in for an interesting ride at work from here on out.

–

Sukuna shoves his front door open with his foot, his hands otherwise full. Shutting the door with his shoulder, he kicks his shoes off and dumps the laptop and iPad onto the table, alongside the printed client instructions for the covers and the paperwork he would need to formally fill out- all before going in tomorrow. His eyes slide across the apartment to Uraume scowling in concentration at the TV as they lose brutally to Sukuna’s brothers in MarioKart.

“Kuna!” Yuji cheers excitedly, shooting him a glance despite the fact that he’s effortlessly destroying Uraume.

“Winning, Yu?” Sukuna asks in a mild tone, though Choso isn’t too far behind Yuji. Even so, Choso doesn’t seem all that interested in playing. But lately, when does anything interest him?

Still, he’s also still beating Uraume, who can’t even spare a single word towards Sukuna, lest they get beaten by more computer players.

Which is saying something, given that they’re in sixth place in the race.

Out of eight.

“Loser,” Sukuna snorts, completely breaking their concentration as Uraume falters going over a jump and lands themself in last place as they fall off the stage.

“You’re a menace, Sukuna,” they huff as the podium comes up on-screen, entirely devoid of Uraume’s character.

“I don’t think that was my fault,” he comments with a sly smirk, though his eyes are clouded with stress. It’s strange how hardly an hour with you has him completely and utterly exhausted, where once he used to find comfort. Now, he’s stepping on eggshells around you, trying to find an opening where you might give him a chance.

Ignoring him, Uraume gets up from the couch to take a look at the iPad and laptop on the table. “You got the position?” They ask, smiling as they face him. “Congratulations, this looks right up your alley.”

“Yeah, they were pretty desperate,” he hums, running a hand through his hair. “Got a long night ahead of me, though. Seven covers due tomorrow morning, then I gotta head to the auto shop.”

Uraume’s brows draw together in concern. “Please tell me you plan on quitting a couple of those jobs.”

“I already sent a text to the supermarket, I got one more shift. Gonna talk to the shop tomorrow about changin’ my hours.”

Uraume frowns, though. “Don’t you think that’s still a bit much?”

“Need the money,” he shrugs simply, casting a glance at his brothers.

Uraume sighs, relenting to Sukuna’s stubbornness as they follow his gaze. “Can I have a word with you?”

Sukuna hums in acknowledgment. “Cho, homework. Yu, brush your teeth and get in your pajamas.”

“But it isn’t even late!” Yuji whines, whipping around from his place on the couch like this is the ultimate betrayal.

“I’m not asking ya to go to sleep, just get ready.”

Yuji groans dramatically, throwing his head back as he trails after Choso.

“What’s up?” Sukuna asks, turning back to his friend.

“You look like shit. What’s going on?” Uraume finally has the opportunity to confront him.

Way to sugarcoat it. Sukuna lets out a long sigh, running his hand through his hair as he plops down on the couch. A few stray pink strands fall down into his eyes, his hair having grown painfully long. The couch dips as Uraume takes a seat beside him, sitting with their hands on their lap. They push their snowy hair behind their ear, patiently awaiting Sukuna’s response.

“It’s nothin’. Just having a tough time with the brats lately,” he brushes them off, eager to bury his racing thoughts in the seven novel covers he had to put together.

“And the fight?”

Sukuna huffs, pressing the ball of his palm to the bridge of his nose. “Did she tell you?”

“No,” Uraume shakes their head. “But it’s pretty obvious.”

Dragging his hand down his face, Sukuna mumbles, “great.” He leans against his fist, his elbow propped up on the arm of the couch as his gaze shifts towards his friend.

“Will I need to keep pushing, or are you planning on telling me what happened?” They ask, their tone hardening.

“It’s not a big deal, I’m fixing it.”

Uraume lets out a prolonged sigh, crossing their arms in exasperation. “I’m not leaving until you stop bottling everything up. The last thing either of us needs is a repeat of when we first met. I can’t be here to peel you out of bed every time you need it.”

Sukuna’s jaw tightens. “Shit’s not that bad,” he gruffs, keeping his gaze fixed on the coffee table. He reclines into the couch, continuing to lean on his bent elbow as he kicks his feet up onto the table.

“Maybe not now,” Uraume shrugs, “but that doesn’t mean it never will be again.” Shuffling closer to him, Uraume’s voice softens. “Mental health isn’t a straight line, Sukuna. You can’t expect to always be fine just because you are now.” This garners Sukuna’s attention as his gaze shifts to examine his friend, frustration glimmering in the crimson of his irises. “And for the record,” they add, shrugging. “You still look like shit. So I don’t believe you, anyway.”

He grits his teeth, irritation flashing in his eyes, but he knows better than to push Uraume away, keeping his frustrations contained as best as he can. The last thing he needs is to lose the last person who doesn’t resent him.

“Yeah, fine. Fine.” He drags his hand down his face, sinking further into the cushions and crossing his arms as he explains the fight he had with you. He remembers it all too well. Remember the words that cling to the outer edges of his mind, taking root like the prettiest of flowers that he could never bear to pluck.

Uraume listens with an increasing frown, blinking a few times as Sukuna recounts the events of the last month, still choosing to leave out the details of the lawsuit. He doesn’t need Uraume, Toji, or anyone treating the kids with pity. At least, he convinces himself that’s the reason he won’t tell anyone.

Withholding what may be their tenth sigh in simply the last few minutes, Uraume rubs at their temples. “I understand that you were hurt, Sukuna, but she didn’t deserve that.”

“Don’t tell me shit I already know,” Sukuna hisses, having slumped back so far into the couch that he’s staring at the ceiling.

“If you know that already,” Uraume continues, unphased by his frustration. “Then why didn’t you reach out to her?”

With a drawn out inhale, he rolls his eyes. “Broke her trust. That was my last chance,” he mutters, his words dripping with irritation. Between this conversation, his own actions from a month ago, and his growing frustration with his current day, he’s becoming more and more desperate for a cigarette. He should have stopped to grab a box on his way home.

“You’re dense.”

God, he really needs that cigarette. He lifts his head from the cushion, scowling at his friend. “What?”

They sigh again. “Sukuna, you know I have a great deal of respect for you. I don’t want to downplay just how far you’ve come from when we first met and just how much you do for your brothers. So with that out of the way,” their face drops as they deadpan, “you’re an idiot.”

Sukuna huffs, diverting his gaze from Uraume. He already knows he’s about to be pissed off.

“She said you weren’t being yourself, correct? That she likes the ‘you’ that she got to know?”

“Yeah, and?” Sukuna pushes, irritation now pumping through his veins as he careens towards flat-out anger.

“It isn’t my place to air out someone else’s business, but I want you to think about that, Sukuna,” Uraume speaks with an air of earnestness that Sukuna isn’t accustomed to. They may have a more formal way of speaking than Sukuna, but they tend to keep their tone fairly lighthearted and casual most of the time, especially with him.

“Think about what?” Sukuna’s brow furrows in vexation.

Uraume’s already on their feet, tossing their coat over their arm. They cast a glance at him, briefly shaking their head. “Think about what she meant when she said that.”

He shakes his head, his mind racing to catch up to the meaning behind Uraume’s words as they head for the door. “The fuck do you mean? Uraume-” Sukuna pushes to his feet, catching up and reaching over them to keep the door shut. Their brow raises as they crane their neck to look up at him. “What the fuck do you mean?” The air of desperation in the usually low and disinterested timbre of his voice is unbefitting of him, causing Uraume to raise a brow.

“You know exactly what I mean, Sukuna.” They can only watch as Sukuna straightens, searching their face for any sign of a lie. When he doesn’t find anything, he scowls at the floor in thought. “Go get your work done.” They turn back towards the door, shoving his hand aside and slipping out without another word.

With his jaw hanging slightly ajar, he feels his heart accelerating.

I’ve seen the real Sukuna, and I like him, I- I like you.

That’s what you said. There’s no way he’s misremembering that. It’s replayed in his mind too many times to be wrong.

He blinks, staring at the door. Absently reaching into his pocket for a cigarette, he shuts his eyes at the realization he hasn’t magically come up with a box in the last five minutes.

With a sharp inhale, he walks slowly to the back of the apartment, pushing his hand across the paperwork he’d set down earlier. The papers slide across the smooth wood of the table, everything within his portfolio, alongside instructions and HR paperwork for the position now spread across the table in no particular order.

His heart pounds in his ears as he picks up the page he was searching for, something his gaze had ghosted over only for a moment while he’d gone through the paperwork with Maya after you left. Towards the bottom of the page is a category with a box titled ‘referral’, alongside your signature. His tongue runs over his bottom lip as he’s left unable to do anything but stare.

You like him. He knows that. You’d been close for a while, able to bounce off of one another as though you’d known each other for an eternity. You’d stuck by his side through his worst days, calming him down and picking him up when he needed it.

You were his closest friend. Maybe even closer than he’d ever been to Uraume or even Toji back in the day. Of course you like him. Is he dense for assuming that’s all you meant? He wants to believe the answer is no, but Uraume is rarely wrong, as much as he hates to admit it.

Bringing a hand up to scratch at his chest, he tears his thoughts from their spiral as something moves in his peripherals. Yuji runs over to tug at Sukuna’s dress shirt sleeve, putting the full force of his tiny frame into pulling at Sukuna.

“Kuna, come look at our shu- um-” he pauses, though his attempt to tug Sukuna along doesn’t cease. “Our sh- our shu… our ninja stars!” He finally settles on a word.

“Shurikens,” Sukuna corrects him with his usual mild expression plastered on his face. He humors his brother, finally allowing the little boy to pull him into the kids’ room. Choso is blankly working on math problems at the desk, but before Sukuna’s given the chance to make a comment about the origami stars, Yuji lets go of his sleeve, picks up a shuriken, and whips it at his oldest brother with the full force of a five-year-old.

Sukuna scowls as the paper hits him square in the abdomen, causing little more than a wrinkle in his shirt, but the older brother snarls regardless. “Cut that out, brat.”

Yuji’s eyes light up at the sight that’s so startlingly normal for their house, that you’d almost forget about the lawsuit, or Choso and Sukuna’s plummeting mental health. Hell, for a moment, even Sukuna briefly forgets as he gives chase to his brother, who slips between his legs back into the living room where he can run around the couch.

The little boy doesn’t anticipate Sukuna simply running over the couch to get to him, shrieking with wide eyes and thrilled giggles as his brother scoops him up off the ground, holding him like a limp sack of potatoes.

“Nice try, brat,” Sukuna huffs, his voice surrounded by amusement that thrills Yuji. The boy laughs in delight as he wriggles around in an attempt to free himself, though it’s completely fruitless against Sukuna’s bulk.

Heading back to the boys’ room, Sukuna tosses Yuji onto his mattress, watching as the boy laughs in delight. Choso doesn’t share the same amusement, but something familiar flashes through his eyes as a hint of a smile pulls at his lips.

In an attempt to capitalize on the moment, Yuji tries to hop off of his bed to make way for another ninja star, when Sukuna lifts his foot to block the kid. “Later, Yu. Your brother’s gotta focus. Can you read a book or somethin’?”

Yuji pouts, staring back at the bookshelf that separates the boys’ beds. “But I’ve read them all.”

“I gotta get some important work done, can you read Dragonology again or somethin’? I’ll get you a new book soon if you can do that for me.”

Yuji glances back at the large red spine with gold sparkling text across it at the bottom of the book shelf, weighing his options. A new book must appeal to him, as he seems to decide it’s worth it, much to Sukuna’s relief.

As the boys quiet down, Sukuna lets out a sigh, changing into a hoodie and returning to his own work. Momentarily forgetting his previous train of thought and conversation with Uraume, he packs all the paper together, tapping the stack on the table to straighten it out before he grabs the laptop and iPad, heading for his bedroom. He leaves the door open a crack for his brothers as he begins leafing through the client requests.

The first one is for a children’s horror novel with animatronics, which he can certainly work with. Sliding a paperclip off the first request, he boots up the iPad, getting himself set up for the first design. The first animatronic is a bear with a hat, which Sukuna realizes is strikingly similar to a character he’s seen from Choso watching YouTube.

Scowling, he takes a look at the second request. A group of kids solving mysteries with a cat in a big van. Huh.

Another flip of a page to the third request. A series about a girl who tames dragons. Tames, not trains. Otherwise, that would be copyrighted. Sukuna chuckles at the realization that everything seems to be a knock-off. He wonders if his brothers would like this sort of shit. Maybe someday his brothers would be able to bring home something he illustrated.

Legally Nondescript Monsterology. It’s not catchy, but he thinks he can make it work.

Regardless, Sukuna works hard putting together the covers in a timely manner, while trying to retain quality. They may be knock-offs, but he still wants to give it his all given that he just quit one of his jobs. Not to mention, you recommended him, and he can’t let you down. Not again.

It’s then that his thoughts come racing back to him suddenly. You like him. He scowls down at the screen of the iPad, staring at the first cover with a glower that isn’t meant for the mildly creepy animatronic bear peeking around a corner in a small diner.

As if on autopilot, he digs through his pockets to pull his phone out and snaps a photo of the nearly-finished cover on the iPad he’d barely figured out to send to you. His fingers hover over the keyboard for a moment, before sending the photo with the caption ‘do you think your boss will approve’.

He can’t think of a time, even over email, that he ever waited much longer than a few minutes for you to reply, though he doesn’t get that luxury this time around. Do you reserve that for friends? Or was that a side of you that only he was privy to?

Is he so dense, even now, that he’s unwilling to admit the fact that you might have had feelings for him?

Setting his phone down on the drawing table, his leg bounces relentlessly as he leans back in his chair.

Had he unknowingly led you on when he kissed you? He couldn’t have. You’d gone for chicken strips at a little diner after talking through that, you were both just horny and confused, he was sure of it.

Strip Joint. The diner you visited that night. The background of the art for the first novel is a carbon copy of it, he realizes. A complete accident, but it’s exactly what he pictured when thinking of a diner. He blinks at the drawing, so caught up in wondering how he hadn’t realized what he was doing that he nearly misses the vibration of his phone.

7:49 PM Princess || She’ll like it! Looks good.

His head falls forward against his phone with a sigh. You’re using periods at the end of your texts with him. Great.

Looking through your message history with him, he scrolls until he finds the night you stayed at his place, in his bed. Your texts were so bubbly, so full of life. Did you like him, then?

Did you have feelings for him?

Why does that knowledge make Sukuna’s arm hair stand on end?

Setting down his phone, he runs his hands through his hair in exasperation. He’s in for a long night, but the light at the end of the tunnel is the knowledge of how much he’s getting paid. Not just as a salary, but upfront for the overnight covers. Enough to cover whatever fees he was worried about with the lawyer, and whatever book Yuji decided on, as well as something for Choso. Maybe even a dinner at a restaurant.

And maybe, if he’s lucky, an ounce of your trust back.

–

The text you receive from Yuki the morning following Sukuna’s interview has you reeling in relief, thankful that Sukuna pulled through, and not only that, but your books are being pushed through the rest of the publishing process, and Sukuna is onboard full-time.

Well, that last part may not be something to be relieved over, but at least your hard work wasn’t for nothing.

Besides, there’s no way everything with Sukuna will be completely and utterly weird, right?

Your first Tuesday working with him, he was only able to make it for half of the day, so your paths only crossed a handful of times. Still, every time you came across one another seemed to have you both walking on eggshells. It’s not like you can’t both be civil and professional, sharing a wave or smile here and there and discussing business when necessary, but you can’t help but feel like he shouldn’t be coming to the intern when his iPad won’t connect to the company’s file cloud.

“Can’t you ask Felix?” You ask as Sukuna pokes his head into your office for the second time just since you arrived.

Although he remains stoic at your response, something flashes in his eyes. “He’s not at his desk.”

“He’s out this week,” Yuki comments with a yawn, giving you the bare minimum of her attention as she works on another Baby Shark knock-off book.

“Right,” you mutter under your breath, shooting Sukuna a tight-lipped smile as you get to your feet. “Let me see,” you hold your hand out expectantly, pulling up the cloud service’s settings on the iPad to see if you can find the issue.

After tapping through it a few times, you chew on your lip. “Did you try… turning it off and on again?” You’re met with silence from Sukuna, and when you tilt your head to look up at him, you find him staring at you with raised brows and a look that says that he absolutely already did that. “Sorry,” you murmur, going back to tapping at the screen somewhat aimlessly. You hum in thought as you click through the settings, tapping your manicured nails rhythmically along the back of the iPad as you hold it. “Hold on.”

Leading the way out to the admin computer, you login and search through permissions, before finding that Sukuna’s account simply hasn’t been added to the cloud function yet. He’d likely only submitted through Maya so far.

“That should fix it.” You offer the device back to him with a neutral smile.

He types in his password and nods. “Yeah, I owe-” He pauses, examining your expression with an intensity that has your hair standing on end. “Thanks.”

You nod, turning to head back to your office when Sukuna hesitantly spits out an “I’m sorry”.

Blinking, you pull your lower lip between your teeth once more, only halfway facing him as you wait for him to elaborate.

“For-” He pauses, shutting his eyes, before shaking his head. “For bothering you.”

And with that, he just walks away. You stare after him for a long moment, but the feeling of your heart slowing to a normal rate in your chest is a relief as he gets further away. The feeling that replaces the pounding in your chest is equally unpleasant though, as something akin to yearning wraps its claws around you.

You can try all you want to convince yourself that it’s just because he looks painfully attractive with a black button-up and sleeves rolled up to his elbow in the sluttiest way imaginable, or the way that it hugs his biceps so tightly that you can practically see every vein in his arm, but you’re not ignorant to your own emotions.

No, it’s not the damn shirt, or the slacks that hang low on his hips. It’s not the fact that he cleans up well when he needs to, or the way he’s got his hair pushed back with gel to keep it in place. It’s not even the way he seems to put you on a pedestal, as though no one in this office is capable of anything but you.

It’s the fact that something is clearly different now, and you’re not oblivious to the fact that he’s trying to show you that. He’s still as stoic and mild as ever, but he’s sharing more of himself. Even little things, tiny corrections, little changes in the way he talks not just to you, but to everyone, none of it is going unnoticed.

Does it really make a difference, though? Can you even forgive him after everything?

As he sits down in Ayana’s old office, now his, you shake that thought from your head. That’s not the question you need to be asking yourself. It’s whether you should forgive him.

At the end of the day, you need to make yourself your priority, and you’re not sure if that includes him.

–

The office is fairly quiet as you slip past reception after your morning lecture on Thursday. Yuki isn’t at her desk as you drop your bag alongside the table that’s pushed against her desk for you. Getting yourself set up for work for the day, you pause at the sight of a warm drink at the corner of your desk.

Smiling to yourself, you get to work, pulling the cup towards you.

“Hey, girl,” Yuki greets you, making her way around the room to her chair.

“Hey, thanks for the drink!” You beam at her.

She shakes her head. “Wasn’t me. I just got back from a meeting.”

Turning the cup towards you in search of a name, you come up blank, finally taking a sip of it.

Your exact order.

“Huh, I wonder who it was,” you shrug, feigning nonchalance as though a certain tattooed man isn’t the only thing occupying your mind, causing your heart to somersault in its cage.

“Ooh, do you have a secret admirer?” She leans in with a curious grin, tapping her acrylic nails on her desk. “I bet I could do some digging-”

“I’ll ask around at lunch,” you interrupt, taking another sip of the drink in an effort to dissuade her. The last thing you need is the queen of office gossip herself digging into your business with Sukuna. Yuki’s a sweetheart and you love her for that, but there’s nothing that she loves more than gossip, and as the intern, the last thing you need is to be at the center of it.

She groans dramatically. “You’re no fun.”

Playfully rolling your eyes, you point at her stack of paperwork. “Go back to Adolescent Shark or whatever you’re editing.”

She wrinkles her nose in mock offense. “I’ll have you know it’s Baby Whale.”

The small office is filled with your collective laughter as you fall into the familiar routine of work. You hardly get much of a chance to really begin digging into work before Yuki’s dragging you along to the break room for lunch, though.

The break room is fairly gray compared to the rest of the office, the only real hints of color being the plants that line the top of the wooden cabinets that hang along the far wall. A stainless steel fridge and microwave sit at the far end of the cabinets and counter, housing most of the staff’s meals.

“What’d you bring?” She asks curiously, peering over your shoulder to the tupperware you’re putting in the microwave.

“Just stir fry,” you dismiss with a wave of your hand. “Nothing fancy.”

She hums as she takes a seat, beginning to recount how her meeting this morning went. You take a seat shortly after with your food warmed, looking up to find Sukuna across the room, a few tables away.

He’s gripping a matching paper cup to the one sitting on your desk barely an hour ago, his gaze trained on it. Faint stubble dots his chin and his hair hasn’t been styled, but otherwise you’re reminded that he still cleans up fairly nicely, a new-looking red collared shirt hanging over his frame that fits him better than the black one from Tuesday. It’s still pleated across the sides, as though he didn’t iron it, though you don’t exactly take him for the kind of guy to do that.

As if sensing you looking at him, his eyes flicker upwards, meeting yours with an expression you don’t recognize. He blinks a couple of times, examining you before tearing his gaze away as he evaluates the room full of your co-workers. Casting you one last glance, he silently returns to staring at his coffee cup.

You shut your eyes for a moment as your heart twists at the sight of a very obviously dejected Sukuna, who, as usual, has no lunch. Staring down at your stir fry that’s beginning to look less and less appealing, you find yourself prodding at a pepper. Why do you so badly want to give him your lunch? How is it that your mind is telling you over and over how bad of an idea it is to let him back in, while your heart hollows itself out for him again, reopening old wounds?

You continue to prod at your lunch while Yuki fills you in on her day, eventually leaving for a meeting, alongside everyone else until the room is silent and near-empty.

Near-empty.

Sukuna fixes you with an intense gaze, that same unreadable expression drawn across his features.

“Thanks for the coffee,” you spit out in an effort to fill the air, rife with tension.

“Anytime.”

The silence hangs heavily between you both, weighing down on the man who can’t even seem to bear to look at you. The weight of the settled quiet, once filled with so much comfort, presses down around you suffocatingly as Sukuna finally meets your gaze with a scowl. It doesn’t carry anger or irritation as it usually does, but something else. Something different.

“I’m sorry,” Sukuna gruffs, his voice raw with emotion.

You pull your bottom lip between your teeth, fixing him with a look of uncertainty. The distance between your tables feels so painfully real, wedged between you like a chasm, unable to cross it.

“Fuck, I’m sorry,” he continues, his eyes flitting desperately across the table as though he’s searching for words he’d rehearsed, only to watch them scatter across the surface.

If he’s being honest with himself, that’s exactly what’s happening. He’s watching uncertainty and hurt spread across your features and everything he’s spent the weekend putting together for this moment is falling to pieces in front of him. Every rehearsed and well-thought-out phrase falling to pieces. He swallows hard in an effort to stop his throat from tightening, anything to keep his voice steady.

He grips his empty cup harder, the frail paper bending beneath his fingers as he grows frustrated with himself.

“Fuck,” he hisses, mostly to himself as he scowls down at the empty cup. His grip tightens again and the lid pops off, rolling across the table and down onto the floor, drawing your attention to it as it collides with the leg of a chair near yours, tumbling to a halt. “Had all this shit I wanted to say, and it’s all fuckin’ gone,” he grumbles, huffing in exasperation.

Taking in his words, you nod slowly. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry too.” Your voice is mousey as you fiddle with your fork.

The tattooed man scowls deeply at you, shaking his head. “Why?”

You sigh, attempting to gather your thoughts as everything within you races. Your mind, your heart, your nerves. You’re not sure which one’s winning, but you’re damn-near desperate for your mind to slow down, if nothing else. You can live with your heart pounding in your ears and the slight tremor in your hands, but it would be nice to at least think straight.

“I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions. I shouldn’t have accused you of… Of being drunk and high around your brothers.”

And damn it, Sukuna’s envious that your words come across so eloquently, even as you chew on your lip and avoid his gaze.

“I don’t care,” he mutters in a barely masked huff of frustration.

Straightening your posture, you tilt your head in confusion. That isn’t exactly the reaction you were assuming you would get to an apology, at least not with the way he’s been seeking you out at every turn.

Finally catching on to your confusion, his eyes widen. “No, fuck, I don’t mean it like that.” He pushes to his feet, leaving his cup behind as he shuffles past the chairs haphazardly tucked under the tables between you, until he can find a spot across from you at your table. “I just meant- I mean- it doesn’t matter.” He scowls at the table. “What you said that night. It doesn’t matter. I don’t care anymore.”

Your eyes narrow as you try to make sense of the man who, for as long as you’ve known him, has never been good with words. “You forgive me?”

“Shit, yeah. That’s what I mean.” The burly man scratches the back of his head. “Look, it hurt n’ all, but I’m over it.”

You set your fork down in your stir fry with a sigh, absently chewing on your nail. The sleeve of your blouse falls down your arm to the elbow with the movement. “Still, I never meant-”

“You kept them.” Sukuna interrupts, stopped dead in his tracks by the sight of two woven bracelets around your wrist. His brow, raised in shock, slowly twitches into a furrow.

Humming, you follow his gaze to the bracelets tied to your wrist. “Oh,” you whisper, fiddling with the frayed end of a red piece of twine on your wrist. “Yeah, I didn’t have the heart to cut them off.”

Sukuna swears it takes the breath straight from his lungs.

Shit.

He always knew you loved his brothers, but it’s been a month now since you’ve seen them. A month of lies telling his brothers you’re busy, a month of expecting never to see you again. A month of thinking any care you once had not only for him, but also for his brothers is gone.

Now, every single one of his thoughts and expectations are muddled all because you didn’t have the heart to take off a couple of bracelets. Maybe to anyone else, it would be an act of clinging to something that isn’t there, but to Sukuna, he wonders if maybe, just maybe, if he plays his cards right, he can fix what he broke.

If only he wasn’t so shit with his words.

“Why?” He gruffs.

Why?

It’s almost as though he’s outside of his own body, watching some idiot fumble with words.

“Oh, um- I don’t know,” you mumble. “I guess it just felt too final, and your brothers are so sweet.”

Felt too final? Did you not want things to end?

“They miss you.”

Oh, great. And now the same dumbass is using his brothers to guilt-trip you.

Your lips twitch into a frown. You’re not sure what you’re meant to do with that information when he knows you still care for them now, just as well as he clearly knows that you’ve been avoiding him.

“Listen, I’m fucking sorry,” he begins, balling his hand into a fist in his lapp as he repeats himself again. “I was drunk, and high, and hurt, and I took that out on you. It was a mistake. I never meant any of it, I was…” he leans on the table, rubbing his eyes with the balls of his palms. “I was just tryin’ to hurt you back.”

You take in his words, nodding slowly as you try to understand where he’s coming from. “Why?”

Sukuna shakes his head, not quite sure himself. He raises his hand in a loose shrug, letting it fall onto the table with a thud. “Fuck if I know. Guess I just thought that if I was gonna waste my last chance with you, then…” he trails off, realizing just how stupid he sounds. “I dunno, princess.”

Your heart slams itself at full force into your rib cage, giving you whiplash as his nickname for you hits you like a truck. In truth, there’s a part of you that had expected him to move on like nothing had happened. Sukuna may be a more vulnerable person than he lets on to most, but you were there when he fought with Toji. How many years were they friends? So, why did your four months with him make his reaction so different?

At a loss for words, all you can do is blink at him, your jaw ajar.

Clearing his throat, Sukuna lets out a frustrated huff. “Guess I just thought that if I was going down, I was bringin’ you down with me.”

Rubbing your hands down your face, you narrowly avoid smudging your makeup. “That’s… dumb, Sukuna,” you mumble, your voice muffled behind your palms.

He waves his hand through the air again in some form of a frustrated shrug, letting it fall hard against the table. “Yeah, well.” His leg bounces beneath the table as he examines the wall. “You know I’m a dick.”

You exhale through your nose in something akin to a wry laugh. It’s a start, and Sukuna will count that as something of a win.

Silence settles between you both again, and Sukuna doesn’t know how to get his point across. He doesn’t know how to fix things because that’s not what he does. He leaves a path of destruction wherever he goes and lets down everyone he knows.

“Let me make shit up to you,” he offers, wincing when you visibly hesitate.

Your heart pounds in your ears, practically begging you to give in, and you’re thankful for your mind finally catching up to feed you reasonable doubt. “I don’t know, Sukuna. If that’s how you act the moment something goes wrong, how am I supposed to trust you?”

He nods, his leg bouncing impossibly faster beneath the table as his blunt nails dig into his palm. Scratching harshly at his chest with his other hand as though it might dull the ache, he considers leaving you be, but Uraume’s words hang above his head, pinning him to his seat.

Did you really have feelings for him? Do you still?

“Gimme another chance,” he pleads, tone laced with desperation. He wipes the back of his arm across his forehead, the room feeling a good ten degrees too warm as he considers what he can do, if anything, to get you to forgive him.

Your lips press into a thin line as you stare down at your uneaten lunch. “Sukuna, I…” you trail off, inhaling a long, deep breath. “You can’t ask me for that, you know that was your last chance. It’s not fair to me.”

Sukuna leans his full weight onto the table, sick to his stomach. Bile rises in his throat and he’s forced to swallow hard in an effort to keep himself in check, but it only makes him want to throw up more.

“Shit,” is all he can mutter, harshly rubbing his eyes. Maybe he should have done this after the trial, waited until he could really get his thoughts in order. Would it change anything? He’s not sure, but he supposes there’s no real point in filling his mind with ‘what ifs’ that make him feel worse.

His stomach churns as he watches you hesitantly begin to stand.

“Just… Let me prove myself,” he begs, standing up as well.

“Sukuna…” You sigh as he unknowingly tugs at your heart strings. You care about him a great deal still, but you can’t abandon a month’s worth of rationale just because you’re clearly not over him.

“I’m not askin’ for things to go back to normal, just… stop avoiding me.” He swallows hard, coughing into his elbow as his throat dries at the mere concept of you saying no. “Please, princess. I’m beggin’ you, here.”

Glancing past him at the office that you need to get back to in order to get some work done, you find yourself sighing. “I can do that,” you agree with a forced tight-lipped smile.

Sukuna lets out a breath of relief, shutting his eyes. “You won’t regret it,” he breathes out, running a hand through his locks to push stray strands of pink from his sweat-laden forehead.

You can only shoot him a wary look as you put your fork in the sink along the wall of cabinets. Returning briefly to your seat, you push it in and contemplate something, before sliding your tupperware across to him.

“Please eat something,” you murmur, slipping past him as quickly and quietly as you can manage.

He knows he won’t be able to eat anything, but as he stares down at the stir fry you’d clearly made for yourself, he finds his heart rate accelerating further, only it’s not from stress. No matter how small, some part of you still cares about him.

–

Your first week working with Sukuna had been… a lot. A lot to handle, emotionally, and a lot to process, and your second week only left you further confused. Although there were no emotionally charged discussions about your falling-out, he seemed to be trying anything that might get him an ounce of trust.

A warm drink sat at the corner of your desk once again when you arrived on Tuesday, still warm, still your exact order. You forgot your charger? Take his. It’s not overbearing, by any means, he gives you space and respects your privacy, but he jumps at any opportunity to help. It’s startlingly kind, maybe even sweet, and you’re not quite sure what to make of that.

It’s not as though his personality has changed, he’s still stoic and mild as ever, he’s just… listening. Paying attention.

And maybe it makes you a sucker, or naive, but it warms your heart.

Still, you remind yourself this is just one day. Things could change when he grows tired of putting in effort.

Thursday rolls around to the same series of events, although you remember your charger. The difference this time is that a pastry accompanies your drink.

Blinking once, you realize you��ve been staring at your monitor in thought for longer than you’d care to admit, letting time get away from you. With a small shake of your head in an effort to regain your focus, you manage to get in a solid hour of work and complete the short young adult novel you’re working on.

Hitting print, you push up from your desk, your heels clacking across the wooden floors as you make your way to the printer, standing in line behind one of the senior editors waiting for his work to print. He pulls up a stack of paper, moving aside as he checks the pages over. Picking up the first page in the printer, you eye the number in the corner.

“Oh, um, I think you might have my first couple of pages,” you smile kindly as you turn towards him. Dressed to the nines in a full three piece suit (a bit much, really), he raises a brow at you, flipping to the last couple of pages.

“Looks like I do,” he agrees, though his eyes rove the page rather than handing it back. His brow twitches, a hint of a smirk pulling at his lips as he continues reading through your work. “I’m seeing a couple of errors here, intern. Tell you what, you go get me a coffee, and I’ll work through your mistakes.” He tilts his head, a strand of long blonde hair slipping from his loose bun.

“Thank you, Reggie, but that’s Yuki’s job, we can manage just fine,” you dismiss him, outstretching your hand expectantly.

His smirk grows, his eyes trailing the length of your body. “I think it would be valuable to learn from a more senior editor than Yuki, don’t you think?”

Keeping your composure, you shoot him a kind smile. “I’ll let Maya decide that.”

“Don’t you wanna learn from the best?” He takes a step forward to nudge you, your first two pages held firmly within the stack of paper he’s keeping in his hand opposite you in an attempt to purposefully rile you up. “C’mon, I’ll do you a favor, and you can do me one. Just go grab me a coffee,” he insists.

Putting some distance between you, you stand your ground. “That’s not my job, Reggie.”

“You’re an intern, aren’t you? ‘Course it’s your job,” he grins, bringing a hand up to scratch at the unkempt facial hair on his chin.

Heavy footsteps fall in quick succession across the floor in your direction, just as you’re about to give up on dealing with Reggie and simply reprint the first couple of pages of your document.

“Is coffee outside of your skillset?” Sukuna gruffs, his sharpened gaze set on the printer as he waits for something as well.

Reggie grins in agreement. “Ooh, can the intern not figure out the machine?” He chides, chuckling to himself.

Straightening, Sukuna turns to face him, towering over the blonde in both height and stature. “Wasn’t talkin’ to her,” he grunts, crossing his arms over his chest. This shirt may not look like it’s about to burst at the seams as he makes a display of showing off his muscles, but it still does him a lot of favors.

Reggie’s brow twitches into a scowl, his attention flickering between you and Sukuna. He scoffs, rolling his eyes as though he can’t possibly believe that someone like Sukuna would be siding with you. “Whatever, man. I can make my own coffee,” he grumbles, turning away.

“I need those pages, Reggie,” you remind him before he can get far. He pauses, fighting with himself for a moment before shoving them into your awaiting open palm and turning on his heel to walk away.

With an exasperated sigh, you turn back to the printer to grab the remaining stack of paper. “Thanks, Sukuna. He thinks he’s better than everyone just because his job title has ‘senior’ in it.”

Sukuna grunts, shooting a glare at the back of the blonde’s head as he disappears into an office. “Fuckin’ prick,” Sukuna grumbles under his breath, turning back to the printer. “Just needed to print somethin’ anyway. Not a big deal.”

As the printer doesn’t seem to have anything queued, you check the bottom of your stack, pulling out the one page that doesn’t belong and raising your brow in a challenge. “You needed to print the cloud storage login?”

Sukuna’s cheeks dust in a faint red as he jerks his hand forward to pull the paper from your grasp. “That was an accident,” he grumbles quietly, staring at the page like it’s betrayed him. “I meant to print a different tab.”

You can’t help the way your lips quirk upwards into a hint of a smile at his obvious white lie. “Right. Well, thanks anyway.”

“Mhm.”

You shoot him a thankful polite smile, stepping backwards a couple of times before turning back to your office with your paperwork clutched to your chest.

His chest rises and falls slowly as he takes in the scene, considering a polite smile another win. At least he had some sort of highlight to his week before his meeting with his lawyer tomorrow.

–

Thankful for Friday’s arrival, you, Shoko, Uraume, and a couple of classmates you’re less familiar with all decide to spend one final night relaxing before you would need to focus on studying for midterms. One last night of relaxing and self-care before the onslaught of exhaustion and cramming began.

Popping a piece of popcorn into their mouth, Uraume sighs. “I took way too many classes this semester,” they groan, seated cross-legged on the floor between you and a close friend of Shoko, Iori Utahime. From what you can tell, she’s friends with Uraume as well, and they share a handful of classes.

“How many did you take?” Iori asks, leaning back against her palm on the floor of Shoko’s place. She uses her spare hand to toss her long brown hair over her shoulder, keeping it out of her face as she takes a long drag of a blunt, passing it to Uraume.

“Six,” Uraume chuckles to themself as they take the blunt while Iori gapes in disbelief.

“I thought four was a lot,” you comment with a shake of your head.

“I just wanted to be done this year,” Uraume sighs. “Toji, Atsuya, and I wanted to graduate at the same time.”

You’re sure Sukuna was included in that group once, but Uraume’s refrained from mentioning him since the argument. Although you never spoke to them about it, you’re fairly sure they’re aware of it. They are Sukuna’s closest confidante, after all.

“How’ve you been managing?” You ask, dunking your hand into the popcorn bowl sat between the three of you. Uraume offers you the blunt, but you shake your head as you toss more popcorn into your mouth, dragging the bowl a bit closer.

Uraume pauses for a moment, in thought. “Let’s just say that if I could go back in time, I would definitely give myself a lecture for thinking this was a reasonable amount of courses,” they chuckle, shaking their head.

“At least we can study for a few of them together,” Iori offers, met with a cheery nod.

As they discuss something to do with a science course, you glance down at your phone as it vibrates, expecting a message from Kento, or maybe Satoru or Suguru.

You tilt your head at a text from Sukuna, simply saying ‘hey’. Deciding to focus on the here and now, you shut off your screen and tune back into the conversation, even if it’s a bit beyond what you ever learned in any science course.

Your phone vibrates again as you nod along to something Uraume is saying, barely a moment passing by before it’s vibrating once more.

Your brows pull together as you glance down at the preview for the texts. ‘could you do me a…’ and ‘please’ are the previews for the following two texts. There’s a strange sense of uncertainty held within the idea that Sukuna’s pleading with you over text that makes your stomach churn. Finally unlocking your phone, all three messages come into view.

9:43 PM Kuna || hey

9:44 PM Kuna || could you do me a favor

9:44 PM Kuna || please

Tilting your head at the message, you glance up at your surroundings. Shoko is sitting cross-legged a couple of feet away chatting with a couple of her classmates as she pours herself a shot of vodka while Uraume and Iori continue to pass a blunt. You’ve been hogging the popcorn for a bit and your mind is lightly buzzed from the shots you’d shared with Shoko. Surely whatever Sukuna needs can wait, given that you aren’t exactly fit for doing anyone any favors.

Not to mention, although you’d agreed not to avoid him, this feels as though it’s crossing the barrier of proving himself into territory you’re not ready for.

But then again, maybe he just needs a hand with something work-related when you have a moment.

Shaking your head to keep yourself from overthinking, you shoot back a message.

9:47 PM You || I’m busy right now, can it wait until tomorrow?

His response is immediate.

9:47 PM Kuna || ya no provlem

9:47 PM Kuna || sorry

Shrugging, you lock your phone and toss a kernel of popcorn at Shoko to get her attention. “Pour me one too?”

She grins, pouring you both shots. You clink the glasses together and tip your heads back, enjoying the familiar sensation of the burn of alcohol running down your throat. It simmers in your veins, your buzz becoming more comfortable as the world around you dulls. Shuffling closer to Uraume and Iori, you join their conversation as it shifts from physics to gossip surrounding one of Toji’s teammates. Toji had been filling Uraume in on every little detail, enthralled in the drama himself.

It can’t even be twenty minutes later when your phone is vibrating in your lap again. Mindlessly unlocking your phone without looking at the message previews or who sent it, you read the new texts.

9:59 PM Kuna || im sorry

9:59 PM Kuna || i lied

9:59 PM Kuna || it cant waut

10:00 PM Kuna || please cab u just text back when u see this

Your brow furrows again as you read through the texts that carry a strange sense of urgency. Your fingers hover over the keyboard as you contemplate what to say.

“Everything alright?” Uraume queries, nudging you. Your scowl dissipates as you stare up at them questioningly, having missed their question. They tilt their chin at your phone. “Is something wrong?”

“Oh,” you glance down at the screen, shaking your head as you shrug. “I don’t know, maybe.”

“Is it Satoru?” Iori chimes in. “I swear every time he texts me, he makes it sound like it’s the end of the world,” she groans, throwing her head back.

Chuckling, you shake your head. “He’s like that,” you agree, “but no, it’s not him.”

“It’s Sukuna,” Uraume states matter-of-factly. You wonder for a moment if they saw your screen, but the grimace they sport as they continue tells you otherwise. “Isn’t it?”

“Yeah… How’d you know?”

Uraume shrugs. “You get this look when it comes to him.”

Your jaw drops. “What look?”

“Like-” Uraume tries to mirror your worried scowl, covering their lips in laughter when you shoot them an irritated look.

“I do not!”

Uraume puts their hands up in surrender. “Don’t blame me. Toji pointed it out.”

Groaning, you drag your hand down your face. “I’m gonna kill him next time I see him,” you grumble, your attention returning to the lit screen in your hand when Uraume’s laughter dies down. You read back over the messages, sending the most direct response you can, although you get the sensation you know the response already.

10:03 PM You || Is something wrong?

It’s mere seconds before his reply comes across.

10:03 PM Kuna || no

10:03 PM Kuna || yes

Scowling at your phone in confusion again, Uraume spots your expression and shuffles closer to you. “Is everything okay with him?” They ask, keeping their voice down.

“I’m not sure. He’s acting a bit weird,” you whisper back to them.

Uraume frowns, their earlier teasing tone now turned to completely serious concern for their friend. “Truth be told, he hasn’t been doing very well. He seemed off the last few times I saw him.”

“Distant?” You question.

Uraume tilts their head in thought. “Yeah, distant. Not all there.”

Tapping your thumb along the side of your phone, you stare at the date. The court date is quickly approaching, and as much as he likes to think he can handle things on his own, you know better. Even Choso knows better.

And Choso is twelve.

10:04 PM You || What’s wrong?

10:04 PM Kuna || i need help

Staring at your phone in bewilderment, genuine concern settles in. The world must be ending for Sukuna to be asking for help. Not a favor, not something he’ll find a way to pay you back for. Help.

10:05 PM You || What’s going on? What’s wrong?

You attempt to repeat your question, hoping he’ll give you some sort of explanation.

10:05 PM Kuna || call me

Your heart begins picking up its pace as you push to your feet and move to the back of the room in an effort to keep the call private. Hitting the phone icon, you’re connected to Sukuna almost instantly, but you don’t hear anything over the line.

“Hello? Sukuna?” You cover your other ear with your palm, wondering if maybe your connection is weak.

“Hey. Can you talk?” He croaks out. Each word is pushed out as though it’s a hurdle, his breath coming in pants and wheezes.

“Sukuna, are you having a-”

“Yeah,” he interrupts before you can finish your sentence.

Your entire demeanor softens, unable to be upset with him.

“I know you’re pissed at me,” he struggles through his words, inhaling sharply. “But I didn’t know who else to ask.” He exhales shakily.

You cast a glance at Uraume, who’s watching you intently. Though you know they helped Sukuna a few years ago to work through his mental health, they don’t strike you as a particularly gentle person. A good friend, but maybe not the person you’d call while struggling with anxiety.

“It’s okay, I’m here,” you soothe, tucking your phone between your ear and your shoulder in an attempt to make a motion resembling a steering wheel convey a silent message to Uraume. They tilt their head, so you point at the phone and mouth the word ‘Uber’ to them. Their brow raises as the same urgency in your eyes transfers to theirs. They’re on their phone in an instant, ordering an Uber for you. “Breathe in and hold, I’m grabbing my jacket and I’m on my way.”

Slipping over to Uraume, you whisper a ‘thank you’, and walk past them and Iori on the floor, headed in a rush towards the door. “Breathe out.”

“Do you need me to come with you?” Uraume asks urgently, following after you, but you shake your head, making a motion that you’ll text them. They nod solemnly, leaning over to Shoko to fill her in on your sudden departure as well.

“Breathe in and hold again,” you instruct softly but firmly, wrapping your arms around yourself as you wait for the Uber. Pulling your phone away from your ear, you check the text Uraume sent you with the Uber’s license plate, sharing your location with them just in case.

“Breathe out,” you murmur over the phone, “I’m on my way.”

You hear his shaky exhale, and the hoarse croak of his voice as you crawl into the Uber.

“Just need you to talk, I know you’re busy-”

“Just let me help, Sukuna,” you insist, interrupting him. He doesn’t reply, relenting as you continue to walk him through his breathing. “Can you get to the door to unlock it?”

He grunts, and you hear shuffling on his end for a moment, continuing your breathing instructions until the shuffling comes to a stop. “It’s open.”

“Keep breathing for me, okay? We’re just pulling up.”

Thanking the Uber driver, you keep the line open as you dial up to his apartment. You hear the buzzer ring for a split second on his end, before the door clicks. Making your way up to his apartment, you jog through the door quietly and carefully, shutting it behind you and dropping your boots and coat off in a pile at the door.

The apartment hasn’t changed much since you were here, though there’s paper all across the house and it seems the boys have been dabbling in origami based on the paper ninja stars and what you can only imagine is meant to be a crane sitting on the coffee table.

Padding quietly through the living room, you hold the phone up to your ear. “Are you in your room?”

“Washroom,” he grunts before hanging up.

Shoving your phone in your pocket, you carefully open the washroom door, shutting it quietly behind you. The fluorescent overhead lights are on, illuminating Sukuna leaning against the wall near the bathtub at the back of the room. His knees are bent to his chest, his elbows propped up on them, his hands burrowed in his tangled hair. The landline phone used to let you in with the buzzer is discarded on the floor to his right.

The sound of the door quietly clicking behind you catches his attention as he peers past his wrist at you. His skin is gaunt, his appearance unkempt and jaw rife with tension. He looks downright exhausted, and you can only guess how long he’s been sitting in this position alone, debating whether he should reach out at all.

You may not know it, and there’s a high likelihood that Sukuna will never tell you, but he’s been in this position before. On the floor, in a washroom that no longer feels like home with a crushing weight pressing down on him. The difference this time around is that when he calls the one number that may numb his pain, he’s not met with a voicemail.

While that voicemail may be dear to him for reasons he can’t bear to think about, the gentle reply of your voice on the other line brings relief that the voicemail never could.

His dad would be proud of him for reaching out.

No matter how upset with him you still are.

“Hey,” you softly greet him, kneeling down until you’re perched on your knees. Your breathing instructions must have helped a bit, because he’s not as bad as he sounded earlier. His chest rises and falls a bit too quickly still, his skin clammy with sweat, but he’s more present than the day outside his building.

Gingerly, you reach up to move his hands from his hair. He doesn’t protest, his jaw slightly ajar as though the air is physically seeping from his lungs.

“Keep breathing deeply,” you murmur, letting him hold one of your hands as you use the other to move his sweat-drenched hair from his forehead. “You’re burning up, give me a moment, okay?”

Running your thumb gently over the back of his hand a couple of times, you push to your feet and slip into the hall, grabbing a hand towel from the linen closet. Slipping quietly back into the washroom and shutting the door behind you, you turn on the tap, running the towel under cold water and wringing it out.

Sukuna blinks his eyes open, desperation and guilt swirling within the crimson as he watches the way you wipe his forehead. Moving the hood of his black hoodie away, you rest the towel around his shoulders, pressing it against the back of his neck.

His eyes raise to stare at the ceiling as you plop down onto your knees in front of him and shoot him a reassuring smile. “Keep breathing for me,” you encourage him, taking a hold of his hand again and rubbing soothing circles into his knuckles. “In… and out.” You continue to encourage him, keeping as calm as you can despite your own concern and uncertainty.

Your gut twists in pain at the sight of him so vulnerable, so genuinely hurt that he’s willing to ask for help. You care too much to deny him when he’s clearly in pain, even as you struggle with thoughts of the complicated relationship you have with this man. No matter how upset you are with him, you can’t bear the thought of him suffering alone.

Sukuna’s head falls forward, his eyes on his knees as his breathing finally begins evening out, the room no longer feeling claustrophobic.

Giving him a moment to catch his breath, you remain silent as you rub his knuckles. Once he seems more present, his gaze flickering around the room and taking in his surroundings, you finally speak. “What happened?”

“Had a meeting with the lawyer,” he rasps, shaking his head as he flips it back in an effort to keep his hair off his forehead.

“It didn’t go well?”

Sukuna inhales sharply, holding his breath for a moment. “Went fine. Just need to see if I can get a letter from Maya, have her sign off on my salary n’ shit.”

“That’s good,” you nod along. “What happened after that?” You push him for details, hoping he’ll get whatever’s on his mind out into the open.

He slides his hand out of yours, running it through his hair with a sigh. “The kids overheard me askin’ if I would have any more time with them if I lost.”

Your brows tie together in sympathy. “Choso…?”

Sukuna shakes his head, throwing his hand through the air in an exasperated shrug. “He shut down. I dunno how to help him, I-” he pauses, dragging his hand through his hair again. A stray strand of salmon falls down over his forehead and into his vision. He likely hasn’t had a chance to get his hair cut in a while, and it seems it’s bothering him as much as Choso’s is, though you can’t imagine Sukuna will let you put his hair up like his little brother does. “You’re so much better with them than I am.”

You blink, your lips parting at his confession. “You’re good with them, Sukuna.” Before you can continue, he interjects with a snarl.

“Keepin’ a roof over their heads isn’t being good to them!” He growls, teeth gritted in frustration. At the sight of your dejection, he backpedals quickly. “Fuck, fuck, I’m sorry, I didn’t-” He throws his head back in frustration, hitting his head on the wall hard enough to wince. “Shit-” He mutters, rubbing the back of his head.

“Sukuna,” you get his attention with a soft smile, pulling him from his spiraling frustration.

He fixes you with a scowl, his eyes flitting around your face. His shoulders fall as he relaxes, leaning his head against the wall gently this time. “Sorry, princess.”

“It’s okay. Just talk to me,” you encourage him, watching as he reaches out to fiddle with your fingers. Biting your lip, you will your heart to relax, grateful he can’t feel your pulse as it skyrockets from his touch.

You’re not as over him as you thought, but you suppose you knew that already.

“Cho locked himself in the brats’ room and Yuji wouldn’t stop crying. Don’t think he knew what was goin’ on.” Sukuna sighs, rubbing his free hand harshly over his face. “Cried until he fell asleep. Choso’s probably still awake, but I can’t get into his room without pickin’ the lock,” he mutters, scratching at his chest as the familiar weight of guilt and stress begin to press down on him again, his breathing growing somewhat erratic.

“Where’s Yuji asleep?” You whisper softly.

“Moved him to my room.”

God, no wonder he was struggling. “How long has this been going on?”

Sukuna’s thumb runs over your nails, focusing on the glossy finish of your manicure. “The lawyer left at six.”

You blink at him, your lips parting. “And Choso locked himself in his room right away?”

Sukuna nods, the tension in his shoulders rising again. “Couldn’t get Yuji to stop crying, couldn’t get Cho to open the door.” He scratches at his chest, stress settling deep within him once more as the room begins to close in on him. He lets his head hang, his hair falling down over his forehead once again. “I dunno how you got Cho to open up a bit, but I fucked shit up again.”

You press your lips into a thin line, comfortingly squeezing the tips of his fingers before pulling your hand from his. His eyes dart towards you, watching intently as you grab the towel from the back of his neck, heading back to the sink. Wetting the towel with more fresh, cool, water, you wring out the excess and kneel back down in front of him.

He doesn’t protest as you run the towel over his forehead, replacing it over the back of his neck. He rolls his shoulder as water rolls down his spine, but the sensation is somewhat welcome as a distraction from the tightening in his chest.

“You know,” you begin, adjusting the towel in an attempt to keep the water from running down his chest too. “You may not realize it, but you are good with them.” Sitting back on your heels, you evaluate your work before meeting his eyes, which are watching you intently. “You know their favorite foods, what they need when they’re sick, what they like to play and watch.”

“That’s surface-level shit,” he grumbles.

Reaching out softly, you let him fiddle with your fingers again. He doesn’t even seem to notice he’s doing it.

“You might think so,” you shrug, “but I bet those things mean a lot to them. You’re encouraging Yuji’s love of sports, and Cho’s passion for cooking. You can’t tell me the gifts you got them for Christmas didn’t mean anything to them, or you.”

Sukuna blinks, glaring at the bathtub to his left like it’s personally offended him.

“Do you know how carefully Yuji colored that Sonic you drew? Or how excited they got when you played Nerf with them?”

He doesn’t reply, his jaw tightening as he recalls the Christmas eve spent with you and Uraume. Slowly, his hand moves to engulf your much smaller one, squeezing. Your heart is in your throat at the feeling of his thumb smoothing over your skin. There’s no world where this is good for your progress in getting over him, but it doesn’t matter, so long as he isn’t struggling on his own.

“I know you’re trying to be their parent, but that’s not what you are, Kuna.” He jerks his head towards you, his stomach fluttering as the nickname he’s grown more fond of than he’d previously realized slips so effortlessly from your lips. “I know you have the responsibility of a parent, and they realize that too, they’re smart, but they also need their brother.”

His tongue slides across his lower lip as he listens intently.

“They need the Sukuna who can turn off ‘parent mode’ and toss a basketball around with them, or beat them in MarioKart because that Sukuna can’t bear to lose to a five-year-old.”

Sukuna rolls his eyes dramatically as though you aren’t right.

“They love you, Sukuna.”

He inhales sharply, clinging to the deep breath like a lifeline. He knows his brothers care, but it’s hard to feel that it should be him taking care of them when he can’t even get his little brother to stop crying.

It stands as a cruel reminder of the question he couldn’t answer all those years ago from the social worker.

How the hell was he supposed to provide emotionally for his little brothers when he can’t even handle his own emotions? He’d had to call someone in a desperate attempt to escape the pain.

Not just anyone, but you, who he’s already feels an immense amount of guilt towards.

Sukuna leans his head back, staring at the ceiling. “Is that enough?” He mumbles, more as a rhetorical question than something he expects you to respond to. Yet in your infinite wisdom and kindness, you have an answer for that, too.

“You don’t have to be the only person they can turn to. It’s okay to need help, Sukuna.”

Tired pupils with dark circles weighing them down fall to his knees. He reaches up to scratch his chest with his spare hand, inhaling deeply. “I can’t just call you every time Choso’s acting off,” he mumbles, pulling his hand back to rest on his knees as he withdraws into himself at the idea of calling on the one person who doesn’t want to hear from him.

Well, one of the two. He can’t imagine Toji is his biggest fan either.

Pulling your hands back into your lap, you stare at your manicured nails, as though they might hold the answer. “Maybe not,” you agree, “but you don’t have to try to figure it out alone every time.”

He glances at you through his peripherals, dragging his fingers through his sweat-slicked hair. His lip curls in disgust at the feeling.

“Why’d you come in the first place?”

“Here?” You query, tilting your head.

Something flutters in Sukuna’s stomach, threatening to eat him from the inside out, leaving a taste on his tongue that’s so sickly sweet he thinks his body is tricking him into thinking he’s about to upheave the contents of his stomach. Yet, there’s no bile at the back of his throat, this is something different entirely. And that thought makes his chest tighten again.

Clutching at his chest, he nods in response, fighting to keep his breathing even.

“Just because I haven’t forgiven you doesn’t mean I want you to go through this alone.”

Somehow, that makes this hurt even more for Sukuna. He can’t help but feel as though he’s manipulating your overwhelming kindness, although that’s not the case. You’re too sweet for him, too sweet for the world he comes from and lives in.

Clutching the edge of the bathtub, he feels his heart accelerating, his breathing following shortly behind.

Catching a glance at the way his chest is rising and falling faster, you step in to stop his panic before it gets unbearable. “Talk to me, walk me through your thoughts,” you speak gently, running your palm back and forth along the length of his forearm.

Staring at the ceiling with a lidded, exhausted gaze, he shakes his head. “Just tryin’ to catch my breath,” he croaks, unwilling to admit that he has half a mind to kick you out if it only means he won’t be fucking up the strange agreement that’s settled between you both like a rickety bridge, as though your hand isn’t already outstretched to him on one end of it.

But Sukuna’s nothing if not dense.

“I think some fresh air would do you good,” you suggest, pushing yourself up off your knees. You extend your hand, but he doesn’t take it, opting to use the leverage from pushing his hand against the edge of the tub to get to his feet. He throws the towel in the sink on the way out.

The tattooed man trudges after you as you lead the way to the balcony, peering outside at the snow covering it. Jogging to the front door, you grab your boots and coat and Sukuna’s, offering them to him as you throw your jacket on. He slips his feet into the shoes in a half-assed fashion, leaving the coat unzipped as he keeps his focus on breathing evenly.

Heading out first, you use your boots to shove some of the snow aside. Sukuna follows after you, leaning over the railing. As he does that, you grab a couple of chairs from the kitchen, placing them facing one another on the balcony, before shutting the door.

The cool air on his skin is refreshing, the bite of the faint breeze seeming to lessen the weight on his chest, just a little bit.

Tugging on his jacket sleeve, you point to the chair behind him. “Take a seat.”

Grunting, he slides down in the chair, shoving his hands into the pockets of his coat.

“Any better?”

He nods, staring up at the sky as he slumps back in the chair. It’s faint from the city’s light pollution, but a few stars twinkle at him in the distance. You follow suit, sliding down in the chair to rest the back of your head against it, staring up at the few visible stars. Your foot brushes against the tip of his boot, nudging it a few times as you shuffle in your chair to get comfy, zipping your coat up.

“Can you believe those are all stars?”

Sukuna clears his throat, his breathing evening the longer he spends out in the frigid night air. It’s warmed up enough over the past week that it’s bearable, though he does run warm. He hums in agreement, letting out a long, and surprisingly steady breath.

“How far away do you think that one is?” You point at the brightest one in the sky. Sukuna cranes his neck to see what you’re pointing at, serving as a great distraction from his thoughts.

His voice is still hoarse as he replies. “I think that’s Jupiter. Maybe Venus.”

You raise your head to look at him, curious. “It’s a planet?” As you watch his eyes dart around the night sky, you’re grateful to find that he seems more at ease. His features are only illuminated by the dull glow of the light from the entrance of the apartment that you’d flicked on upon arrival and whatever lights decorate the street. The dull yellow glow makes the darkened circles beneath his eyes painfully obvious, though you notice they actually seem a bit better than when you’d met him at the coffee shop last week. Maybe the new job is doing him good.

“I think so. It’s been a few years since I took Astronomy,” he shrugs in his seat, nudging your foot. “The ones that don’t flicker are planets.”

“Huh, I never knew.”

Sukuna hums, pulling his hands out of his pockets to fold them over his chest. As your eyes return to the sky, he lifts his head. You haven’t changed much in the time since he last saw you, though you don’t look as worn thin as you had been when you were helping him. He wonders if maybe your life is better with him sidelined, where you can focus on yourself.

Yet, he knows that it’s that mindset that landed him in this position, staring at a crater that separates you both where once he could reach for you freely. He’s not enough of a fool to let himself think that again. Uraume’s words still ring in the back of his mind, serving as a constant reminder that he might not know you as well as he once thought.

He remembers thinking once that you were a sun, while he was little more than a star about to burn out. Maybe he had run his course already with you, and if that was the case, he supposes that’s fine, but if a planet that produces no light can shine brighter in the night sky than the stars themselves, maybe he does stand a chance at standing alongside you again.

He’s not really sure what he means or wants by that, either. He just knows he longs for your presence. Longs for this, whatever it is. This sense of tranquility with you.

As the silence stretches on with Sukuna quietly observing you while untangling his thoughts, your eyes fall from the sky to meet his, a small smile gracing your lips. You tilt your head questioningly, a familiar feeling of warmth flooding through Sukuna. Cute.

“You didn’t deserve all the shit I said.” It comes out in a flurry, before Sukuna has a chance to mediate his own words.

You avert your eyes, your smile dissipating. You know this conversation is a long time coming, and the one in the break room was only the beginning, but it doesn’t make it any easier.

“I… Appreciate that,” you tread carefully. Sukuna can see your walls coming up, carefully guarding your heart where once there were none. Walls erected to guard you from him.

“I know you didn’t see me as a project, or whatever the hell else I said,” he adds, staring down at his forearms. He takes in a long breath, watching it billow out in front of him. “I shouldn’t have used your scholarship, or all that Prom Queen shit against you. You work fuckin’ hard, I was just trying to hit where it hurt.”

“Because I hurt you?”

He shrugs. “Guess so. It’s a shit excuse, though.”

You examine his expression, taking a moment to take in his words. There’s a level of maturity held within his tone that you don’t recognize, though it suits him. He’s still the same Sukuna, with serrated edges and bared teeth, ready to leap at the opportunity to jump into a fight, but he’s quick to reel himself back and approach things just a bit more level-headed.

Scratching at the stubble that dots his jaw, giving him a five o’clock shadow, he sighs. “I know I said it the other day or whatever, but I’m sorry. I was an asshole.”

You nod a bit, taking in his apology. “I’m sorry for making you feel like I was trying to fix you. I shouldn’t have been so hard on you about little things, and I shouldn’t have accused you of endangering the kids. I was out of line.”

Sukuna just shrugs. “I know you meant well. Don’t think there’s a mean bone in your body.”

You crack a hint of a smile. “Well, it wasn’t very nice of me.”

Sukuna shrugs again, looking back up at the sky. “You’re fine, princess. Don’t worry about it.”

Your heart betrays you, flipping in your chest as he calls you princess again. Chewing on your lip, you stare at his sharp, stubbled-dotted chin. Disheveled beyond belief after his long and shitty day, he still looks handsome as hell. You can’t deny just how attractive he’s always been.

“What do I need to do?” Sukuna gruffs, clearing his throat as it tightens with the fear that you could shoot him down in only a couple of words. Less, if you wanted.

“What do you mean?”

“To get things to go back to normal.” His gaze shifts to a car pulling into the parking lot below the balcony.

You take pause, considering for a moment what’s good for you. The man sitting before you, though still stoic and rough around the edges, has clearly come a long way. Whether that earns him a second last chance, you’re not sure. You don’t expect things to go back to how they were right away, but forgiving him feels like a step in the right direction. Maybe that’s the final step you need to allow yourself to heal.

Even as you think that, your pounding heart betrays those thoughts.

Maybe it’s just what your longing heart wants you to think.

But if you want it so bad, can it be so wrong? Could you be thinking about things the wrong way? Maybe you don’t need to get over him to heal. Maybe he can be a part of the process.

“I don’t know,” you admit, wrestling with your own thoughts. “I can’t say for sure if things will ever be the same, but it means a lot to hear you apologize.”

He hums, shaking a stray strand of hair from his eyes. “Do you forgive me?”

“I…” you trail off in thought, chewing uncertainly on your lip.

“Do I need to get down on my knees and beg?” He raises an eyebrow in challenge.

A smile pulls at the edges of your lips. “Now that I’d love to see,” you chuckle wryly, shaking your head as you shuffle in the dining chair.

“Tough luck,” he scoffs, a hint of a smile playing on his lips for what feels like the first time in ages.

Shrugging, you tuck your hands under your thighs, staring down at the parking lot as a white rabbit darts out from snow-covered brush to erratically hop across the lot under the cover of a truck. “A girl can dream,” you mimic his lighthearted tone.

Sukuna observes you for a long moment, crimson gaze darting across each of your features. He caught your impish tone, but something in your eyes, a glaze of underlying sadness, tells him there’s a level of sincerity to your request.

At least, he thinks.

With a huff, Sukuna slides down off his chair onto his knees before you.

“Oh my god, what are you-?”

“You wanted me on my knees, or whatever,” he grumbles like it’s normal, though his tone is earnest.

A giggle bubbles in your throat that you attempt to stifle, sitting up. “I was joking, get up,” you plead.

“Does saying I’m sorry from down here make it more serious?”

“Sukuna please, oh my god, this is embarrassing-” You bite down on your lip, taking in your surroundings as though someone might see you.

“For who? I’m the one on my fuckin’ knees-” he points out with a brow raised, mild irritation crossing his frown and interrupting your rambling.

“Your knees are gonna get all wet, please get up,” you beg, unable to hold in your laughter any longer as you tug at his bicep, getting to your feet to attempt to pull him up.

Sukuna can’t help his smirk, any irritation dissipating at the sight of your laughter. It brings a sense of peace to his life that he hasn’t felt in a long time. Even in the midst of all the issues plaguing his life, you still brighten it so much that he doesn’t mind being on his knees. Even if he’s giving up some dignity to appease you.

“Kuna, cut it out!” You giggle, tugging on both of his forearms with as much strength as you can muster.

His eyes crinkle a bit at the corners at your use of his nickname, but he stays put, insistent on earning your forgiveness in any way he can. When he doesn’t budge, you cover your face, though your muffled laughter still rings out in the open winter air. “Please get up, oh my god,” you giggle, peeking through your fingers.

“Alright, alright,” he relents finally, pushing up to his feet with a grunt.

“Your knees are soaked,” you murmur, brushing his sweatpants off for him, though his knees have two darker gray patches decorating them.

“My knees will live,” he gruffs, his adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows.

You raise a hand up to your lips, stifling your giggles as you turn back towards the parking lot. Sukuna joins you, brushing the snow off the railing so that his forearms don’t suffer the same fate as his knees.

Silence settles over you as you follow suit, leaning against the railing beside him. The rabbit you’d caught sight of earlier darts out from under the vehicle it had chosen, leaping up onto the sidewalk, camouflaged in snow. The light breeze rustles your hair, blowing strands of Sukuna’s salmon hair into his eyes. He shakes his head, his locks falling out of his vision.

The city is mostly silent at this time of night in the middle of winter. There’s no one out wandering at this time, even close to the college, with the cold. The distant sounds of cars driving across packed snow and thin layers of ice serve as little more than white noise.

“I forgive you.” You murmur, penetrating the comfortable silence.

Sukuna’s head whips towards you, as though in disbelief. He doesn’t say anything, blinking down at the rabbit sitting directly below the two of you. He’s never exactly been great with words as it stands.

“’Cause I got down on my knees, huh?” He settles on a teasing reply.

“God… no,” you giggle, craning your neck to look up at him. “Please don’t do that again.”

He huffs in amusement, nudging your shoulder.

“That doesn’t mean things are back to normal,” you warn more seriously, but he’ll take what he can get. He already knows he lost your trust and he doesn’t expect to get it back in what was just a desperate plea for help to pull him from the hole of doubt he’d dug himself into. After over an hour of working himself up and struggling to breathe, he’d felt out of options.

“I can live with that,” he mumbles, the breeze cutting through to his knees as it becomes increasingly clear that there’s wet patches where he’d been kneeling. The back of his neck is fairly chilly too from the towel. “Come inside,” he grunts, turning away from the railing to slide the door open.

Slipping your boots off, you attempt to shake some of the snow off onto the balcony before carrying them to the mat at the front door. Pulling your phone out, you glance at the message previews from Uraume checking in, shooting them a quick text to let them know everything is okay.

Sukuna drags both chairs back inside and casts a glance at the two room doors that are shut in the hall before meeting you at the front entrance with his own boots.

“What are you gonna do?”

Letting out a breath, Sukuna shakes his head. “Dunno. Sleep on the couch ‘til Yuji wakes up, try to get him to stop crying.” He shrugs. “I don’t think the kid’s gonna unlock the door.”

“Do you need a hand?”

Sukuna reaches up to scratch his jaw. “Nah, I’ll figure it out.”

Shoving his chest lightly, you fix him with a scowl. His head whips around to meet your gaze with equal disdain.

“The fuck was that for, brat?”

“How many times do I need to tell you to ask for help?” You groan, narrowing your eyes as you point at his chest.

Smacking your pointed finger aside with relative mercy, he rolls his eyes and crosses his arms over his chest. “Don’t fuckin’ shove me.”

“Sukuna. Focus.”

With a half-hearted sneer, he grumbles out a “fine,” giving in with little dramatism.

But it is Sukuna, so he does have to make a bit of a show of it.

“I’ll text ya when Yuji wakes up if shit’s bad, alright?”

Nodding, you cast a glance towards the back hall. “Uraume wants to help, too. Just… ask, when you need it.”

He regards you with his usual stoic expression. “Mm,” is his only reply, a silence settling between you that doesn’t quite feel as comfortable as you’d grown accustomed to with Sukuna so long ago. It isn’t even the same comfortable silence that you’ve felt with him tonight. There’s something unspoken, something hanging in the air, settling on the tips of your tongues that remains a talking point, but before Sukuna can voice his question, you glance at your phone.

“I should call an Uber.”

He hums once more, shoving his hands in his pockets as the opportunity passes. “Drink some water.”

You tilt your head questioningly, and fuck, Sukuna has no right to find it so sweet, so… attractive?

Clearing his throat, Sukuna scowls as his surroundings become increasingly more interesting. “I can smell vodka.”

“Oh. Right, I was with Uraume and Shoko,” you explain simply, hitting a couple of buttons on your phone to call for an Uber. Satisfied, you nod to yourself. “They’re a minute away, I’m gonna head downstairs.”

Sukuna hums again, his usual guarded personality having completely returned now that he’s neither having a panic attack, nor physically begging for your forgiveness.

“See you tomorrow?”

“Probably, yeah.”

Shooting him a polite smile, you put your boots back on and turn towards the door. Only moments before it shuts does Sukuna find his voice again.

“I owe you.”

“Just say thank you, Sukuna.”

“Thanks, princess. Text me when you’re home.”

With a more genuine smile and a small wave, you head out the door, letting out a breath as you consider the weird limbo you’re in with Sukuna now. Forgiven, able to jest and connect on some level that never quite disappeared, but it’s as though there’s a thin, near-invisible barrier that still separates you. Something unspoken, hanging over your heads like a condition of sorts.

Yet you can’t quite place the uncertainty. It’s as though you’re both holding back, holding onto something that the other can’t place.

Crawling into the back seat of the Uber, you stare out the window at the passing lights, all blurring into one another as you lose yourself in thought.

You want to tell yourself you’re letting him back in as nothing more than a friend, that you’ll keep your walls up and let him in bit by bit as he earns his place within your life again, but that would disregard everything that took place tonight. Try as you might to keep him at arms’ length, he has a way of slipping through your defenses and tugging at your heart strings.

You want to give him the benefit of the doubt that this time will be better, though. Maybe it’s naive to expect that the Sukuna that you’ve seen over these past couple of weeks is here to stay, but you can’t deny that there’s been a shift.

You can only hope things stay this way, and if you’re lucky, maybe the distance between you that you can’t quite place will begin to crumble.

You can’t say for sure if it’s what you need, but your erratic heart has a funny way of telling you that it’s what you want.

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❦ a/n ; in case you missed it, my best friend did some absolutely gorgeous and adorable art for the series here! can you tell i was listening to hozier when i wrote this LMAO anyway hiiii my loves, thank you sm for reading as always <33 i really hope you enjoyed it, that last scene has been on my mind for a couple of chapters and i couldn't possibly end the chapter without it, so uh 19.2k words it was LOL i expect the next chapter to most likely be longer as well, and it may take me a bit more time going forward since i have some research to do on legal proceedings and whatnot (you know what that means 🤭) so bear with me on that, i want to make sure i do everything justice. i also just want to mention that i do really appreciate each and every like, comment, reblog, and ask, it genuinely means the world to me and i read each and every one and love chatting with y'all <33 aaaanyway i'm yapping again so i'll stop LOL but thanks for sticking with me for my fave extremely slow burn couple 🫶

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