#drunk flirting tw

[brandstifter-sys]

Hot Mess

@dukexietyweek 2025 Day 8 - Music

Word Count: 2626 (Ao3)

Rating: T+

Characters: All mentioned

Warnings/Content: Genderbend, sex mention, alcohol mention, drunk ree, song fic

Vi works at a night club as a DJ and bartender, and a certain repeat customer has her attention. Reina is a wily, untamed whirlwind of confidence and a knack for getting into trouble, and she wants the hot gothy bartender so bad

---

Sometimes Vi really hated her job, usually the days when she had to help at the bar instead of spinning discs. And it would be no different that night.

She was in her favorite coffee shop, enjoying a blueberry danish and an americano, just listening to her music. The seat in the back away from the windows was the perfect spot to relax and enjoy some time to herself with some not-so-calming Hawthorne Heights.

She was just finishing her treat when a group of women walked in, chattering away excitedly. She recognized them, they were from the only sorority she knew of that didn't party and never hazed pledges. They were nice enough, but Vi tended to avoid them, lest she get swept up into socializing.

There was Peyton Jones, the sweet adorable one who loved pastels and cozy clothes. She was adorable and kind, and she seemed to love wearing her textured hair in twin puffs on top of her head. Then there was Leila Darzi, an Iranian student who chose to study geology. She was well spoken and eager to impart knowledge, except for details about her religion and why she wore a hijab. Vi asked her once, respectfully, how she put it on and kept it in place. Her answer was curt and precise, but she didn't get angry, which Vi considered a win.

Those two were discussing a history assignment while two other women followed them inside. The twins, Romana and Reina Castille Fernandes. Romana was a boisterous theater lover with a soccer scholarship and an ego to match. She was the princess on campus and she wasn't so bad, even if she had a way of grating on Vi’s nerves. They were a trio of upstanding young women.

Which is why Vi was surprised to see Reina with them. Reina was a party animal with a taste for booze and random hook-ups, and she was taking full advantage of her freedom to indulge. It was a miracle that she still had her scholarship and that she wasn't pregnant. And here she was with her hair down, in jeans, a t-shirt, and leather jacket, hanging with the good girls.

Vi didn't bother wondering what was going on, she was sure she would hear all about it later. While she was working.

.

.

Vi was right to think she would be forced into bar duty. Apparently the club managers weren't looking to play any cybergoth beats on their busiest night. It was a shame that she bothered dressing for the occasion—a purple plaid skirt, her favorite hoodie, fingerless gloves, and a tank top with straps across the waist.. It wasn't like she wanted to look good, she wanted to blend in and hide in plain sight.

As the lights flashed and the music blared, Vi was busy making cocktails upon cocktails. But not even the sheer amount of work on her plate could distract her from the infamous duo that strutted into the club.

“What is up bitches!” Remy shouted above the music as she made her way to the dance floor, past the bar and seating area. The woman who was with her, immediately made her way to the bar, through the occupied tables.

Vi was so glad she had her hands full. Reina was back in her element, away from her sister and ready to steal the show. She was wearing the tightest black mini dress with a neon green, leopard print bodice, strappy platform heels, and her favorite leather jacket. Her makeup was bold with green eyeshadow and sharp eyeliner, and her hair was up in a wild ponytail, save for the front that framed her face with skunk flair.

Vi noticed her ordering two drinks from her coworker, and decided to keep her distance. She had a job to do and she could not get distracted by the gay.

She finished pouring the daiquiris she was working on and looked for the people who ordered them. To her dismay, they were right next to Reina.

She regrettably handed them their drinks and froze when a familiar hand grabbed her wrist.

“Hey, cutie,” Reina beamed, “I thought you were supposed to DJ tonight.”

“Plans change,” Vi shrugged, internally screaming. Reina called her cute—but that didn't mean she was interested, she was friendly like that with everyone. And she might have been straight.

“Aw, and I was looking forward to going all Eisenfunk tonight!” Reina pouted, “And you're so much better on stage than Randy!”

“You're just saying that because he sticks to basic bitch house music,” Vi scoffed. Before Reina could respond, another customer flagged Vi down. She had to make a living.

Reina pouted as she left and waited for her drinks. She would still have her fun, even if she wasn't getting the attention she wanted.

After a couple hours, the crowd had thinned out. It was an hour before closing and Vi was handling the bar solo while her coworker cleaned up. She was glad she didn't have too many people to tend to, mainly so she could keep an eye on the disaster a few feet away.

Reina was absolutely smashed, standing on one of the tables and dancing seductively. VI was surprised that she was able to stand, let alone flaunt her body without looking like she had too much to drink.

If she wasn't worried that Reina would get hurt or kidnapped, Vi would have enjoyed the show. There was something about Reina that drew her in. It wasn't her body, not that Vi wasn't interested, she was too interested. It could have been her laugh or impish grin, it could have been her warm brown eyes or her bubbly energy. But Vi knew better.

Reina was confident to the point of brazenness. She thought she was hot shit, the life of the party, the duchess of the club. She wasn't afraid to flirt with anyone in the building, even if they were spoken for or uninterested. And she could do it all despite having way too much alcohol in her system.

Vi spotted Remy leaving with a hot butch jock and sighed. She snuck her phone from her pocket and texted Romana. It was going to be one of those nights she had to take Reina home, or to her place, lest she take to the streets, drunk and still willing to party until dawn. Vi did not want to risk anything, including waking up at 5am to Reina shouting outside her window.

“Hey, Jacks,” Vi said loudly over her shoulder, “I think I might have to get a drunk skunk home.”

Her coworker came out to the front of the bar and wilted. They wanted to go home on time, and that was a challenge if Vi didn't count her till.

“Duchess?”

“Of course.”

“Fine, but next time, get her sister to get her, and don't make me count your stuff.” Jacks sighed. Vi nodded and went to her register. She was counting her bills and glancing at Reina, making sure she was okay. If she worked fast enough, she wouldn't have to fret.

She had to stuff the extra cash in the safe in the back, taking her eyes off Reina for a couple minutes. It was the most stressful few minutes of the night.

When she got back to wipe down the bar one last time, she was met with a cute little imp leaning over the bar. Reina was flushed and a little shaky, probably because she was on her toes so she could lean on her elbows and draw attention to her chest.

“Hey gorgeous~” she purred and blew a kiss. Vi exhaled through her nose and rolled her neck. She was drunk flirting, it didn't really count.

“I'm not pouring you anything else tonight,” she said firmly, making Reina shudder.

“I don't want a drink,” she muttered, “I want you to take me home tonight!”

“I’m clocking out now, so just wait here for a bit,” Vi said, getting Reina to grin. She punched her number into the register computer and tilted her chin at Jacks.

With a nod in return, Vi backed up as far as she could go and ran at the bar. She leapt over it, and stuck the landing on the other side. It would have taken too long to go around the back to meet up with Reina. She had a knack for wandering off.

Reina was gawking as Vi pulled her hoodie on and then pulled Reina to her side, away from the bar. Reina was lucky that Vi’s apartment was a block away, because there was no way she was walking to the subway and then to her dorm in those heels when she was liable to trip.

“You're sleeping over,” Vi said and led Reina to the exit. She hugged Vi around the waist and nuzzled her shoulder.

“I'm finally gonna get to suck Vi tiddy!” she giggled as the cool night air hit them. The city streets were mostly empty, with the occasional car passing by. It was safe enough to get Reina out of harm’s way.

Vi, however, was not safe. She had a bold, drunk woman trying to get under her skirt, and she didn't know if she would be able to handle rejecting the little imp.

“You're not doing that,” Vi sighed and led the way down the street. Reina pouted and whined.

“What do I have to do to get you to notice me?”

“Duchess,” Vi sighed, “If I didn't notice you, I wouldn’t be making sure you're safe.”

“No!” Reina whined and held her tighter, “You don't notice me! What do I have to do to make you want me?”

Vi stayed silent for the rest of the walk. She didn't have a good answer, not for someone who wasn't all the way there. How could she begin to explain that she was second guessing every hint, that she was not the type Reina went for, and that she didn't think she was worth the effort? At least sober Reina had a shred of a filter.

When they got into her apartment, Vi was beet red and flustered. Reina was casually groping her chest and butt, blissfully unaware that she was out of line. Vi had no qualms about throwing her on the couch to get some personal space.

Reina landed on her back with a giggle and sat up. Her smile fell when she realized Vi was walking away instead of joining her.

“Wait!”

“I'll be right back. I need to shower, and you need to rest,” Vi said and made her way to her room. She would be quick, and she would at least get Reina in some pajamas.

As soon as Vi went into her room, which was connected to the bathroom, Reina hiccuped and tears rolled down her cheeks. Vi didn't even want to cuddle her! What if Vi secretly hated her and only put up with her because Romana was making threats?

Reina brought her knees to her chest and sobbed. She really was drunk if she was getting this emotional, but it truly hurt.

Fifteen minutes later, Vi emerged from her room in an old band tee and pajama pants, holding a set of pajamas for her guest. Her hair was still wet, but she could dry it after Reina was in some pajamas and passed out, hopefully in that order.

To her dismay, she found Reina on the couch with bloodshot eyes and running makeup. She was on the phone and clearly upset.

“I'll get an uber—no, she doesn't, she's probably asleep—no, just let me in, I left my ID key!—Ro!” Reina babbled, sounding far less drunk. She huffed and pocketed her phone when she realized her sister hung up on her.

“Reina?” Vi asked hesitantly, getting Reina to jolt.

“I thought you were sleeping,” Reina grumbled. Vi sat next to her and set the pajamas aside.

“I said I was showering and I'd be back,” Vi said softly, “And that you need to rest.”

Reina sniffled and curled into herself.

“I'm sorry,” she breathed, “I'm just making a mess for you. I can go—”

“In the morning,” Vi cut her off firmly, “I don't trust the world with you like this.”

“You're just being nice because Romana’s threatening you,” Reina huffed, “You don't have to deal with me.”

“Duchess,” Vi said after a beat, “Romana won't threaten me, I have twice as many counter threats as her.”

“Then why!?” Reina shouted, “All I do is get in your way because I want you to like me back! I even tried getting help from those bitches and I still don't know how to get you to notice me!”

“You—You like me?” Vi squeaked.

“Yes! I want to cuddle and kiss and fuck you! I want you to be my girlfriend and hold me!” Reina pouted, “But you don't see me like that—”

Without thinking, Vi kissed her forehead and pulled her into a hug.

“All you had to do was get me alone and say it,” she mumbled and stroked Reina’s hair, “I overthink everything unless you're direct.”

“So you want to be my girlfriend?” Reina responded, in complete shock, “Even though I'm a hot mess?”

“You're a mess, you're a wreck. You are perfect,” Vi replied and pulled out of the hug, “But you need to change your clothes. You're not sleeping in that, and if you want to sleep in my bed you need to wear something.”

“Will you help me and ogle my half naked body while you dress me?” Reina asked, perking up a bit. Vi snickered and shook her head.

“I don't need any more excitement tonight,” she said and pulled Reina’s legs onto her lap. The shoes would go first.

“The thought of me in my undies gets you excited?” Reina jeered and giggled.

“Almost as much as the thought that a confident, sexy whirlwind like you would be into someone as bitter as me,” she answered and freed Reina’s feet, tossing the heels to the floor.

Before Reina could pounce, Vi quickly slipped the pajama pants over her ankles and held onto the waistband.

As expected Reina lunged at her and tackled her on her back in a hug. She was a giggling mess as Vi pulled those pants up to her hips.

“Once you're dressed and I dry my hair we can go to bed,” Vi hummed.

“And we'll be girlfriends!”

“Ask me out when you're sober, then we'll be girlfriends,” Vi countered as Reina nuzzled her chest.

Reina sat up and tore off her dress, not caring who saw, except Vi, she wanted Vi to like what she saw—she was proud of her boobies!

Vi, however, was quick to grab the shirt she brought and tug it over Reina’s head, covering her up as fast as she could.

Reina pouted at her. But she couldn't stay upset, not when Vi was blushing so cutely.

“Violetta,” Reina purred, getting Vi to swallow thickly. To be fair, pushing a horny drunk woman away from her probably was nerve-wracking.

“Is it bedtime?”

“Depends, what are you plotting?”

“Cuddles and boob squishes,” Reina giggled, “I get grabby in my sleep!”

Vi exhaled through her nose fondly and shook her head.

“Yeah, it's bedtime. You get settled and I'll join you when I'm done with my hair.”

Reina squealed and kissed her cheek before running to the bedroom. VI had a feeling Reina would be passed out by the time she got there. The Duchess was a hot mess, unstable and fun, obnoxious and beautiful, and she was Vi’s. Or she would be in the morning.

[sunnynwanda]

Hi! Ive been following you for a long while and I love your writing so much!

If you feel like it, could you write a hero x villain, one of which is the type to get touchy and playful when drunk and accidentally confesses to the other like that? With the other being surprised

Ofc you can take it in whatever way you want! :D

Do Your Worst

Warnings: intoxication, slightly suggestive (i guess?), bad flirting xD

Villain was stoic. Cold as ice, unmoving as a mountain. They never flinched, never winced, never recoiled. No matter how strong the blow was, no matter how bad it hurt. No muscle dared to twitch on their carved face, not one sound escaped their pale lips.

They were made of stone - Hero was sure of it. 

Here remembered their first battle with Villain, the power of their blows unmatched, rumbling in the emptiness of the building, concrete crushing under their fists as they chased Villain relentlessly. In retrospect, Hero knows they must have broken at least five ribs, if not more. Yet, the only reaction they got from Villain was a quirked eyebrow - a mocking challenge. A dare to keep going, to give more. Bring it on.

Do your worst. 

Hero hated those words despite having heard them a thousand times before. A spark ignited deep within, turning into lightning, rushing through their veins like a wave. Passion and power. Hero had no idea where to draw the line. Villain was insatiable in their hunger, unstoppable in their pursuit of a thrill. Yet there was no satiating Hero's thirst either - they wanted more. More fire, more freedom. More of Villain.

But Villain was the epitome of indomitable. Impassive. Equable.

All the more surprising was the state they found Villain in today. No, surprising was not the word for what they were feeling. They were struck dumb, astonished, speechless. Anything but surprised as they take in the look of Villain swaying on their feet and coming to a halt in front of them with the sweetest pout on their soft lips. 

"Baby-y," they exclaim, excitement colouring their voice in a way Hero has never heard before. "What are you doing here?" 

Hero staggers back, their eyes blown wide. Villain attempts a smile, their lips curling up to reveal the dimples on their cheeks. Hero feels their heart skip a beat at the sight.  

"Villain, are you alright?" They start cautiously, part of them suspecting that their nemesis has been drugged. 

Villain nods, failing to form a stern expression and setting on an adorable frown. "Mhm. Missed you. So much." Their words come out slurred but manage to send Hero's eyebrows up into their goddamn hairline. 

"You... what?" Hero mumbles out, breath hitching in their throat as they process the words. They are quick to react when Villain stumbles forward, gripping Hero's outstretched arms for stability. 

Except, they don't stop at that. Once Hero steadies them and lets go of their hands, Villain doesn't step back. Instead, they wrap their arms around Hero's waist and rest their chin on Hero's chest as they tilt their head up. 

"Hi, baby," they muse, their pupils dilated from intoxication. Hero's throat goes dry at the sight, their hands twitching to touch Villain's flushed cheekbones, brush their fingers over the sensitive skin, ignite them the same way Villain's words have them on fire. 

"Hi," Hero breathes out, their mind spinning. "You're drunk." They state the obvious, earning a deep rumble of a chuckle from Villain. 

"Mhm," Villain hums, leaning closer, their chest flush against Hero's. "And you're pretty." 

"I- w-what?" Hero stutters out, their brain short-circuiting when Villain's hand slides up their chest to their neck, their fingers brushing the side of Hero's neck. "What are you doing?"

"Hm?" Villain looks up at them, blinking innocently and sending a shiver down Hero's spine. Holy mother of god. 

Hero wants to remove Villain's hands from their body, they really do. But, the moment they actually try, Villain gives them the most adorably heart-shattering pout they have ever seen, and who the hell is Hero to refuse them? 

They sigh heavily, cupping Villain's jaw, their thumb rubbing soft circles into their cheek. "Shh, let me get you home, okay?" They ask, gazing intently into Villain's heavy-lidded eyes. Villain nods, leaning into their touch with unexpected desperation, their lips parted in strained pants.

Hero draws them closer, holding them upright, but almost drops them when their apathetic nemesis yelps. Hero stares at their enemy cradled in their arms when Villain does the unthinkable. They giggle. The sound rings through the air, and Hero all but dies on the spot, their mouth hanging agape for a moment too long, drawing another soft laugh out of Villain, who must have decided to break Hero's mind because they wrap their arm around Hero's shoulders, nuzzling into their neck. 

"I've wanted to do this for so long," they mutter against Hero's skin, sending a flood of lava down their throat. Hero lets out a guttural groan, barely restraining themself from lifting Villain's head from their shoulder and devouring them on the spot. 

"Villain, please," Hero whispers, unsure of what they are pleading for - for Villain to stop or to keep going. Keep ruining me.

Villain shakes their head, their lips brushing against the side of Hero's neck when they speak again. "I won't have the guts to say this when I'm sober," they confess, and Hero freezes, too stunned to move, speak or even breathe.

They can't remember what they need the air for when Villain's cold fingers trace the outline of their lips. They feel intoxicated, Villain's drunken state influencing them in the strangest way possible, making them feel lightheaded like no alcohol ever could. 

"Villain," Hero warns through gritted teeth, struggling desperately to maintain control and composure when Villain stands on their tiptoes, leaning on Hero's chest for stability. "One more word from you, and I won't be responsible for my actions."

They press their forehead to Villain's, their eyes meeting with scorching intensity, Hero's gaze glowing with insanity and desire.

Villain might be made of stone, but Hero isn't. 

Hero is on the verge of falling apart, crumbling under Villain's smouldering hands like they are made of clay. 

"Do your worst," Villain whispers against their lips, and Hero loses it, capturing Villain's mouth, crushing into them with a groan rambling in the back of their throat. 

No, Hero is not made of stone. And neither is Villain.

A/N: Hi, sweetheart! Oh my, thank you so much :) You have no idea what this means to me and how good it makes me feel to receive requests and notes like this! Love you with all my heart <3 xo Sunny

Masterlist

Taglist: @marvellousdaisy @alltimelowing@lateuplight @surplus-of-sarcasm@betwist@excusemeasibangmyheadonawall @enemies-to-idiots-to-lovers@miaowmelodie @thatonerandomauthor @hhabaddon@burningoutlikeicarus @daemonvatis @weepingcowboywolfbat @thelazywitchphotographer @kaiwewi @soul-of-a-local-bard @pigeonwhumps @aflyingsheepnamedrose @thatneptune @ohwellthatslifesstuff @worldsfromhoney@thiefofthecrowns @crow-with-a-typewriter @qualityrabbitsoup @stargeode@villain-life @villainsblood @whumpifi @glassthedumbass @silviathebard @misskowe @ayeshaturnedtoashes4444

[pisskuna]

how do we feel abt dubcon / noncon pissing in the mouth

[jokerislandgirl32]

Ziolet Songs: Day Fifteen

Day 15: APT.

Kissy face, kissy face sent to your phone, but I'm trying to kiss your lips for real (uh-huh, uh-huh) Red hearts, red hearts, that's what I'm on, yeah Come give me somethin' I can feel, oh-oh-oh

Don't you want me like I want you, baby? Don't you need me like I need you now? Sleep tomorrow, but tonight go crazy All you gotta do is just meet me at the

Apateu, apateu Apateu, apateu Apatеu, apateu Uh, uh-huh, uh-huh Apateu, apateu Apatеu, apateu Apateu, apateu Uh, uh-huh, uh-huh

It's whatever (Whatever), it's whatever (Whatever) It's whatever (Whatever) you like (Woo) Turn this apateu into a club (Uh-huh, uh-huh) I'm talkin' drink, dance, smoke, freak, party all night (Come on) Geonbae, geonbae, girl, what's up? Oh-oh, oh

I’m back with this series! So sorry for the wait! Feel free to check out the other installments by looking up #ziolet songs!

Well, I’ve figured out a crucial part of Zach and Violet’s relationship and this scene is the start of that facet of their relationship. They started having mutual feelings for each other the night of Violet’s prom, and they were on their way to becoming a couple by the time of Violet’s high school graduation (and community college since she got both degrees at the same time). But something happens (next post in this series).

Zach and her spend the night of her high school graduation together, having a wonderful time, and eventually alcohol is brought into the mix, causing them to get a little wild. So…warnings for alcohol induced antics. They are not raging drunk or unable to think straight, they are just silly and tipsy.

Zach loosened his tie and looked at me with a sly grin, “have you ever drank?”

I snorted in response, “uhhh, no…you know that…and besides my aunt is super against drinking. If I drank she’d kick me out of the house!”

Zach snickered taking off his tie, “no she wouldn’t.”

“How do you know?” I scoffed, “she’s not your aunt, you haven’t lived with her for the past seven years!”

Zach rolled his eyes, “your cousin, she didn’t kick Paige out when Paige was drinking, and failing classes, and fooling around with whoever she laid eyes on…she won’t kick you out, you haven’t done anything Paige did…”

“Hey! That’s my cousin you’re talking about, don’t judge her, especially not when you’ve done just as bad if not worse than her!” I reply defensively, but I couldn’t hide the smirk on my face.

He snickered, “You’re the one who told me about her…and I’m not saying I’m perfect…just that you don’t always have to be…but I know how much you love to strive for perfection. We both know you’d rather die not taking a chance than go crazy for one night.”

I felt a pout form on my face, Zach was right, I did strive for perfection, “I haven’t drank,” I muttered under my breath.

Zach’s face morphed into an evil grin, “have you ever heard of the Korean drinking game called apateu?”

VvvvvvVvvvvvV

What couldn’t have been more than a couple hours later Zach and I were laughing our heads off and running around half drunk in the marshy land behind my aunt’s house. We’d been singing, dancing, making out, and finally hanging onto each other in a desperate attempt to remain upright, but we had sadly failed and ended up falling into the water and muck.

Zach’s suit was a disaster, and I was so thankful I’d changed out of the white dress I’d worn to my graduation. Eventually I fell and could not find the strength to get up due to laughing so hard, so Zach impressively scooped me up and tossed me over his shoulder, carrying me back to my aunt’s house.

My slurred words came out in a laugh, “Zach put me down! I’m gonna throw up if you keep moving! It’s too high up here and it’s making me woozy!”

“Of course it’s too high! You’ve never been this far off the ground in your life! I’m a whole foot taller than you!” Zach cackled, patting my butt, his other arm locked tightly around my thighs.

“It’s only nine inches!” I laughed, feeling the blood rushing to my head.

“Nine inches, whatever!” He scoffed, sitting me down in a chair by the back door, “we’re a mess,” he observed, looking at our physical states.

“I think I like being a mess with you,” I smiled, swaying slightly in the chair.

Zach quickly came to stand over me, his body in front of me, his arms caging me in, all in an attempt to keep me from falling face first into the concrete below us, “whoa, watch it varmint, can’t have you hurting that pretty face of yours.”

“You think my face is pretty,” I giggled, my head rolling back as I look up at him.

“All of you is pretty, brat,” he growled, giving me an evil grin as he lowers his face, his forehead pressed to mine, chuckling under his breath before he pressed his lips to mine in a gentle kiss.

[greg-montgomery]

.

[ducknotinarow]

🍷💖 ( gimmie drunken Usagi :' 3 Let's see 2k3 drunk uwu for Leo ofc )

| Send a "🍷💖" and My Muse will drunkenly flirt with Your Muse

Usagi eyes were lost to all the light of the city Leonardo called home. They were captivating his world didn't have anything even close to the bright lights of this city. Usgai did have to admit it had a draw back as he eyes flickered to the darken sky above him. It seemed the lights of the city drowned out the stars above. Something he felt his world had over the one Leonardo came from. Now his eyes fell to look at the turtle beside him. Seeming to also be taking in the stars of Usagi's home.

The rabbit loved when ever they came here, though he just loved being with Leonardo is what it came down to. More so when there was no urgency for it. Just so he could enjoy their company. As they called it a day and found a nice inn to rest in for the night. Sake given for them to enjoy but Usagi too advantage of the peaceful visit and let him self have just a tad more than usual.

"But neither really compare to how much I like looking at Leonardo-san" Usagi suddenly says breaking the quite between them. TO be fair he hadn't said anything till just then so the look on Leo's face was a fair reaction at the sudden statement. The rabbit seemed to catch that himself and merely offered a faint chuckle as his face easily gave away the blush on his face. "sorry I guess that was sudden of me?"

"Was just thinking about how nice those lights in your world look at night all bright and dazzling even. And how nice the stars are here. But neither is near enough to compared to you." Did explaining his thought process really offer much? Maybe. Or maybe not. "You might be my own personal starlight in fact Leonardo. It's a tad unfair of you to be that distracting but I don't mind at the same time. I've been all over my own world but all I tend to think back to? you." He confesses smiling more "I think how you may like a lot of what I see, or what you might say about it. I don't think turtles and being slow makes much sense seeing how you seem to run my thoughts all the time."

Turning to look down to his cup debating if he should have more or not before looking back up to the sky. "The moon is lovely tonight as well don't you think?" he asks the blush on his face going from the soft pink to a more crimson red. Yeah he should set his cup down he has had more than enough for tonight.

Wondering if Leo even catches on to what he said just then. He tends to forget how different everything between their worlds are after all. Hand set to rest on top of Leo's own. "It's why I want to show you all of it, may time a long time though. But I don't mind moving at a turtles slower pace if it means getting to spend all that time with you."

[shy9-29]

ONE NIGHT STAND ⟡ psh

professer sunghoon x collage student ୨ৎ

⟡ synopsis: You let a stranger ruin you one night — then he turned out to be your professor. Now every class feels like foreplay. ✉️ wc. 10350 ⚠️ tw smut, explicit sexual content, unprotected sex (wrap ur willies), professor/student relationship, one night stand, fingering, oral (m. receiving), spanking, dirty talk, handjob, overstimulation, spit kink, possessiveness, jealousy, public teasing, rough sex, aftercare, slight angst, emotional manipulation, implied age gap, power imbalance, strong language, alcohol use (basically just porn)

genre. smut, (mdni!) romance, drama, angst, forbidden love, slow burn, erotica, university au, power dynamics, emotional tension, secret relationship, student/professor romance

It’s your last night of summer. Tomorrow, you move into your dorm, trade your parents’ house for a tiny twin bed and a stack of syllabi. So tonight — just for tonight — you want to forget about responsibility. About expectations. About the version of yourself you’re supposed to become.

The club is loud and packed, the bass from the speakers deep enough to rattle in your chest. Lights flash red and purple overhead, casting shadows that move across the crowd like ghosts. Bella clutches your wrist, pulling you deeper into the sea of people with a giggle.

“You’re not allowed to be shy tonight,” she shouts over the music, leaning close so you can hear her. “It’s your last night of freedom. Go flirt with someone. Get drunk. Maybe get laid.”

You roll your eyes, laughing despite yourself. She’s already halfway to drunk, her glossy eyes and flushed cheeks proof of that. But she’s right. You didn’t dress like this to be a wallflower. You came out in a tight black dress that hugs your curves just right, your makeup smoky and bold, your legs aching slightly from the heels you swore you wouldn’t wear and did anyway.

You make your way to the bar to order something — anything — that’ll warm your throat and lower your inhibitions just a little. That’s when you feel it.

Eyes on you.

You turn your head slightly, pretending to scan the crowd, but you already know exactly where it’s coming from.

He’s sitting at the bar alone. A half-finished whiskey glass in front of him, one elbow resting lazily on the counter. His hair is dark and parted just enough to fall over one brow. Clean-cut, but not preppy. Dressed in all black — a simple shirt, watch glinting at his wrist, rings on two fingers. His posture is relaxed, but his gaze?

Intense.

You don’t know how long he’s been looking at you, but he doesn’t look away when your eyes meet. He doesn’t smirk, doesn’t wink. Just watches. Calm. Curious. Like he’s waiting for you to make the first move.

Your heart skips a beat.

You look away first, pretending to fidget with your phone as you wait for the bartender. But your pulse is racing, and you can still feel his gaze burning into the side of your face.

“Vodka soda,” you say when the bartender finally notices you. Your voice is slightly unsteady, and it annoys you.

You don’t look back until the drink’s in your hand — and when you do, he’s still watching. But this time, he’s moving.

Straight toward you.

You freeze. Instinctively fix your hair. Sip your drink too fast. Then he’s there, standing beside you at the bar like he’s been invited.

“First drink of the night?” he asks, voice smooth as silk, low enough that you have to lean in to hear him.

You glance up at him — and now that he’s close, you can really see him. Sharp cheekbones. Full lips. Eyes so dark you’re not sure where iris ends and pupil begins.

You try to play it cool. “Second.”

He nods once. “Good. First would’ve meant I was a little early. Second means I’m right on time.”

You raise a brow, trying not to let your smile show. “For what?”

He leans in slightly, and you catch the faintest whiff of cologne — warm, musky, expensive. “For meeting you.”

The line should be cheesy. It should make you roll your eyes. But it doesn’t. Maybe it’s the way he says it, like he actually means it. Or maybe it’s the way he’s looking at you, gaze flicking from your lips to your eyes like he’s cataloging the way your mouth moves when you smile.

You take another sip of your drink. “Do you always hit on girls at bars?”

“Not always,” he says, not missing a beat. “Only the ones who can’t stop looking back.”

Your cheeks heat instantly. He saw that?

Before you can come up with a response, he extends his hand. “Sunghoon.”

You hesitate — just a second — before slipping your hand into his. His grip is firm, but not too tight. Warm. Steady.

You tell him your name. He repeats it back to you like he’s tasting it.

And then he leans in again. “Let me buy you your third drink.”

You’re not drunk — not really — but there’s a buzz in your blood, a warmth that runs deeper than alcohol. It’s in the way Sunghoon keeps watching you, the way his eyes drop to your lips every time you speak. His voice is steady, smooth, but there’s something beneath it — a restraint. Like he’s holding himself back.

You talk. About nothing, mostly. Music, favorite cities, late-night cravings. You learn he’s a little older, but he doesn’t say exactly how much. You don’t ask. You don’t want to ruin the spell by making it real.

At some point, you end up on the dance floor. You didn’t plan to — you never really dance — but he takes your hand without asking, and suddenly you’re there, surrounded by pulsing lights and bodies and heat.

He doesn’t keep his distance. One hand finds your waist. The other drifts low, fingers brushing just beneath the hem of your dress. He moves slow, but deliberate — his chest against your back, his lips ghosting near your ear.

“You’re dangerous,” he murmurs, voice low, breath hot against your skin.

You laugh — breathless. “Why’s that?”

“Because I don’t usually do this either.”

You turn your head just enough to meet his gaze. “Do what?”

He leans in. His mouth grazes your jaw, then your cheek, then finally — your lips.

It starts soft. Testing. His hand slides around your hip, pulling you closer, and then he kisses you deeper — fuller — like he’s been waiting all night for it. You don’t even realize your fingers have curled into his shirt until he pulls back just slightly, lips still brushing yours.

“My place is five minutes from here,” he says. “Say the word.”

You hesitate for half a second. Not because you don’t want it — but because you want it too much.

“let’s go,” you whisper.

The ride to his place is a blur — fast, silent, electric. He doesn’t touch you in the car, but his knee brushes yours, and it feels more intimate than anything else so far.

His apartment is clean. Minimalist. Expensive-looking. You barely notice any of it.

Because the moment the door clicks shut behind you, he’s on you.

His hands cup your face as he kisses you again, harder this time. Hungrier. He backs you against the door, lips crashing into yours like he can’t get enough.

Your fingers slide into his hair. His hands drop to your hips, then lower — gripping the backs of your thighs and lifting you effortlessly.

You gasp against his mouth, legs wrapping around his waist. He carries you like you weigh nothing, walking you through the apartment until you’re in his bedroom.

He drops you gently onto the bed, standing over you for a second. His chest rises and falls with every breath. He’s looking at you like you’re the only thing in the room — like he’s starving and you’re the meal.

“Still okay?” he asks, voice rough.

You nod. “Please.”

He smirks — just a little. “Take off your dress for me.”

Your breath catches. But you do it — slowly, fingers slipping beneath the straps and easing it down your body.

Sunghoon watches the whole time, not blinking.

You’re left in nothing but a lacy black bra and matching panties. You start to reach behind to unhook it, but he stops you.

“Let me.”

He steps forward, kneeling onto the bed between your legs. His fingers find the clasp, and the bra falls away. His eyes darken.

“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath, leaning down to kiss between your breasts. His hands trail up your sides, thumbs brushing over your nipples, and you arch into him.

“You’re gorgeous,” he whispers, mouth dragging lower, tongue flicking across one nipple before sucking it into his mouth.

Your back arches, a soft moan slipping past your lips.

His hand moves between your thighs, fingers tracing over your panties. You’re soaked.

“You want my fingers?” he asks, voice low, teasing.

You nod — desperate now.

“Say it,” he murmurs, lips brushing your neck. “Tell me what you want.”

“I want your fingers,” you breathe. “Please.”

And that’s all it takes.

He pushes your panties aside and runs two fingers along your slit, groaning at how wet you are. Then he slides one finger in — slow, deep — and your body trembles.

“Shit,” he breathes. “You’re tight.”

He adds another, curling them inside you, hitting that spot that makes your toes curl.

Your hips start to move with his rhythm, grinding against his hand.

“Touch yourself,” he says suddenly. “I want to see you do it.”

You hesitate, flushed, but obey — hand slipping between your legs to rub slow, needy circles over your clit while he pumps his fingers in and out of your pussy.

The sounds — wet, messy, obscene — echo in the quiet room.

You’re close. So close.

“Come for me,” he says, lips against your ear. “Show me how pretty you look when you fall apart.”

And you do.

You’re still catching your breath when Sunghoon pulls his fingers from your dripping cunt, glistening with your orgasm. He brings them to his mouth, lips curling around them without breaking eye contact.

“Taste so fucking good,” he murmurs. “Could eat you for hours. But right now…”

His voice trails off as he sits back on his heels, tugging his shirt over his head in one fluid motion. His chest is toned, lean muscle carved beneath smooth skin. His belt comes next, then his zipper—

And when he pushes his pants down, your mouth goes dry.

Holy. Shit.

He’s big. Thick. His cock hangs heavy between his legs, hard and flushed, a single bead of precum glistening at the tip.

You stare, stunned for a second, and he notices.

His mouth curves into a dark smile. “Too much?”

You shake your head, eyes locked on his length. “No. Just…” Your voice trails off, and you bite your lip. “Big.”

He groans softly, palming the base of his cock. “Come here, baby. Let me feel that pretty mouth.”

You crawl toward him, sinking to your knees at the edge of the bed. He stays standing, hand stroking his cock slowly as you settle in front of him.

“Spit on it,” he says, voice rough. “Then use your tongue.”

You obey. Spitting into your palm first, you rub the wetness over the head of his cock, then down the shaft. He hisses under his breath, hips twitching.

Then you lean forward and press a slow, open-mouthed kiss to the tip.

“That’s it,” he murmurs, hand slipping into your hair. “Such a good slut.”

You wrap your lips around him, tongue swirling over the sensitive head before sinking lower. He’s thick — you can barely fit him in your mouth — but you try, inch by inch, letting your saliva drip down to make it easier.

Sunghoon groans, fingers tightening in your hair. “Fuck, just like that. You look so fucking good on your knees.”

You moan around him, and the vibration makes his hips jerk. You bob your head slowly, using your hand to stroke what you can’t fit, drool running down your chin.

“Look at me,” he commands, voice like gravel. “Eyes on me while you suck my cock.”

You lift your gaze, lashes wet, cheeks hollowing around his length. He growls.

“God, that mouth. I could fuck your throat all night.”

He starts to guide your head, setting a rhythm — slow but deep, letting you feel every inch. Your throat tightens around him, but you don’t pull away.

“You like this?” he mutters, voice ragged. “Like choking on my cock like a desperate little slut?”

You moan again, louder this time, and he groans — head falling back for a second before he looks down at you again.

“Bet your pussy’s still dripping,” he says. “Bet you’d let me bend you over right now and fuck you until you forget your name.”

You whimper, sucking harder, desperate for his praise — for more of that filth spilling from his lips.

Then suddenly, he pulls back. His cock slips from your mouth with a wet pop, and you blink up at him, confused.

“On your hands and knees,” he says. “Now.”

You scramble onto the bed, body aching for more, cunt still pulsing from your earlier orgasm.

Sunghoon climbs behind you, running a hand down your back, then up again — slow, possessive.

Then—smack.

You gasp as his palm lands on your ass, the sting sharp and sudden.

“Too much?” he asks, even as he squeezes where he just spanked.

“No,” you whisper. “Do it again.”

He groans. “Fuck, you really are perfect.”

Smack. Again — harder this time. Then he soothes the spot with his palm, leaning down to murmur against your ear.

“I’m gonna ruin you,” he breathes. “Stretch this tight little pussy open with my cock, fuck you so good you’ll still be shaking in your dorm tomorrow.”

You moan — loud, desperate — pushing your hips back against him.

“Please, Sunghoon,” you whimper. “Need you inside me.”

His voice is a low growl. “Beg prettier than that.”

You shudder. “Please. Want you to fuck me. Want your cock, please—”

He growls again — deep, raw — and grabs your hips, lining himself up.

You feel the head of his cock slide through your folds — slow, teasing — dragging against your already-sensitive clit before he lines up at your entrance. He pauses, both hands gripping your hips.

“Deep breath, baby,” he murmurs. “I’m not small, remember?”

You barely have time to nod before he pushes in.

Your gasp is instant. He’s thick, stretching you open inch by inch, and the burn is sharp in the best way — the kind that makes your back arch, your mouth fall open, your eyes roll back. He goes slow at first, letting you feel every inch, and your body clenches tight around him, trying to adjust.

“Shit,” Sunghoon groans, voice strained. “You’re so fucking tight—trying to suck me in.”

He bottoms out with one final thrust, hips flush to your ass. You cry out, gripping the sheets.

“Too much?” he asks, voice low.

“N-no,” you stammer. “Just—so full.”

He leans over you, chest pressed to your back, mouth right by your ear. “You can take it. And you will.”

Then he pulls back — just the tip — and slams back in, hard enough to make you moan. He starts moving, hips snapping forward, fucking into you with smooth, relentless strokes. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room, mixing with the filthy wet noises coming from between your legs and your own desperate moans.

Sunghoon’s grip on your hips is bruising. He fucks you like he owns you, like you’re his toy and no one else’s. He leans back just enough to admire the way your ass bounces with every thrust.

“Look at you,” he mutters. “Taking all of me like a good little slut. You were made for this cock.”

You whimper, trembling, already close again — the stretch, the pressure, the filthy words all pushing you toward the edge.

“You gonna come again?” he asks, breathless. “Already?”

You nod, too far gone to answer properly.

He slaps your ass again — smack. “Say it. I wanna hear you beg.”

“Please,” you gasp. “I’m gonna come, Sunghoon—fuck, please let me.”

He growls, pounding into you faster. “Come for me. Now.”

You break.

Your second orgasm crashes over you hard, clenching around him like a vice, and he doesn’t stop. Keeps fucking you through it, unrelenting, merciless. Your arms give out, and you collapse onto the mattress, trembling and whimpering.

But he doesn’t let up.

“Oh, we’re not done,” he pants. “Not even close.”

He pulls out suddenly, and you barely have time to catch your breath before he flips you onto your back. He grabs your legs, spreads them wide, and lines himself up again.

“Want to see your face this time,” he murmurs. “Want to watch you fall apart.”

Then he thrusts back into you, hard and deep, making you cry out. Your body is already too sensitive, your pussy still fluttering from the last orgasm, but he doesn’t care. If anything, he likes how overstimulated you are.

“You feel that?” he grits out. “How your pussy’s still squeezing me like it never wants to let go?”

You nod frantically, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes. “Too much—fuck—it’s so much.”

“But you’re taking it,” he says. “Taking it so well.”

He fucks you like a man possessed, like he’s trying to carve himself into your memory. Every thrust hits deep, the angle perfect, and your legs start to shake.

“I can’t—” you choke out. “Gonna come again—”

He grabs your throat — not hard, just enough to hold you in place. His other hand finds your clit, fingers rubbing fast, merciless circles over the swollen bundle of nerves.

“Yes, you can,” he growls. “You’re gonna come again. You’re gonna soak my cock. I want to feel you milk me.”

You shatter.

The third orgasm hits you like lightning — hot, electric, impossible. Your vision blurs, body writhing beneath him, voice cracking into a broken moan as your pussy clenches around him like a vice.

But he still doesn’t stop.

Sunghoon fucks you through it, hips slamming into yours, jaw clenched like he’s holding back everything.

“Fuck, I’m close,” he groans. “Wanna come all over this tight fucking pussy. You want that, baby?”

You nod, unable to speak.

“Where?” he grits out. “Tell me.”

“Inside,” you whisper. “Please—come inside me.”

His eyes darken.

He slams into you one more time and groans deep in his chest as he spills inside you — hot, thick, and endless. You can feel it, the way he pulses inside your overstimulated cunt, and it makes you moan all over again.

He stays there for a moment, both of you panting, sweaty, trembling. Then he leans down and kisses you — slow and deep, like he’s trying to remind you that he can be gentle, too.

When he finally pulls out, your thighs are sticky, trembling. You’re completely wrecked — legs spread, sheets soaked, lips swollen, hair a mess. And Sunghoon just looks at you like you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

“You okay?” he asks softly, brushing your hair back from your face.

You nod, exhausted. “That was… insane.”

You wake up sore.

Between your legs, mostly. Every shift of your thighs reminds you exactly what happened last night — the ache, the stretch, the way he didn’t stop even after your legs were shaking. You wince a little as you turn over.

The bed beside you is empty.

Sheets crumpled, slightly warm, but no Sunghoon.

You sit up slowly, the duvet slipping down your bare chest, blinking against the morning light that filters in through half-open blinds. The room’s unfamiliar. Sleek. A little too neat to feel lived in.

Strange. Isn’t this his place?

Your clothes are scattered across the floor, but none of his are. No signs of a toothbrush on the bathroom counter. No jackets hanging by the door. No photos. No clutter.

Airbnb, maybe. Just a place he rented for the weekend.

You frown as you rub a hand over your eyes. Your head is foggy, still wrapped in the lingering haze of alcohol and sex. You try to piece together last night — the way he looked at you at the party, the feel of his fingers, his mouth, his cock — and then… it’s all just heat and noise and black.

You don’t even remember falling asleep.

You sigh. Hard.

Your phone’s nearly dead, and the time glares back at you: 11:02 AM.

Classes start tomorrow. Perfect.

No note. No message. Not even a name.

You don’t even know his last name.

You pull your dress on — wrinkled and inside-out — and shove your heels into your bag. You call an Uber before you’ve even finished brushing your hair with your fingers.

The car is quiet. You don’t talk.

You lean your forehead against the window, eyes half-lidded, sore and still a little hungover, the ache between your legs throbbing in time with your heartbeat.

One night stand. That’s what it was. Nothing more.

Still… you can’t help thinking about him. About the way he looked at you. The way he kissed you. The way he—

You shake your head.

It was one night. You’ll never see him again.

Tomorrow, university starts. Time to focus on new things.

You have no idea what’s coming.

You’re late.

Of course you’re late.

Your phone had died overnight, and you’d barely dragged yourself out of bed in time to throw on the cleanest outfit you could find and rush across campus with half-brushed hair and your coffee still in a to-go cup. Your legs are still sore, your thighs brushing uncomfortably with every step, and you haven’t stopped thinking about last night.

Or him.

The guy you let wreck you in a stranger’s bed. The guy who disappeared before morning. The guy you’ll never see again.

Right?

You shove open the door to the lecture hall, breathless.

“Sorry, sorry,” you mumble as you slip inside, your voice echoing faintly. The place is massive — a hundred seats, maybe more — and every single one of them is already filled with someone more punctual and better-rested than you.

You find a seat near the middle, head ducked, ignoring the stares as you slide your bag off your shoulder and collapse into the chair. You’re still trying to catch your breath, sipping your lukewarm coffee, when a voice carries from the front of the room.

“Glad you could finally join us.”

Your stomach twists.

That voice—

No way.

You blink.

Then slowly — so slowly — you look up.

And your heart stops.

There he is.

At the front of the room, standing beside the projector screen with a laptop open on the podium, is him. Black button-up, sleeves rolled just enough to show his forearms. Sharp jaw. Cold eyes.

Sunghoon.

Your one-night stand.

Your mystery man.

Your professor.

You blink again, hoping you’re hallucinating. That you’re still in bed. That you’re still dreaming.

But he just stares back at you — a flicker of recognition in his eyes, so fast and so subtle that if you didn’t know, you’d miss it.

He doesn’t smile. Doesn’t react.

He just says, cool and calm, “As I was saying — welcome to Modern Media Theory. I’m Professor Park. This semester, I expect you to show up on time, be prepared, and keep your personal lives out of my classroom.”

You go still.

The air in your lungs vanishes. Your cheeks burn.

He didn’t just fuck you.

He’s your professor.

And he’s pretending nothing happened.

You don’t hear a single word of the lecture.

Not a single one.

Your eyes stay locked on him the whole time — on Professor Park — trying to reconcile the man in front of the class with the man who had you bent over a bed less than twenty-four hours ago.

He’s even more handsome when you’re sober. Clean lines. Sharp cheekbones. That same deep voice, now filled with authority instead of filth. It should be illegal to look that good in front of a classroom.

And the worst part? He acts like you’re no one.

Not a glance. Not a flicker of amusement or recognition. Nothing.

You spend the next ninety minutes trying not to squirm in your seat — from nerves, from heat, from the dull ache still between your thighs. His voice carries over the room in calm, measured tones, talking about frameworks and theory and authors you can’t even remember, because all you can think about is his hand gripping your throat, his cock in your mouth, his voice in your ear telling you to beg for it.

By the time class ends, you’re practically vibrating with frustration. The students file out one by one, chatting, oblivious, until finally the room is empty — except for you.

And him.

You wait until he’s closed his laptop before standing.

He doesn’t look up. “Class is dismissed.”

“Yeah,” you say, voice tight. “I got that.”

That makes him pause. Slowly, his eyes lift, meeting yours. The coolness in them is surgical. Detached.

You swallow. “So… you’re a professor.” He doesn’t react. “Looks that way.” Your heart pounds. “You didn’t think that was something worth mentioning last night?” Sunghoon tilts his head, finally closing the distance with his eyes, not his body. “You didn’t ask.”

You laugh — sharp, disbelieving. “Seriously?” He slides his laptop into his bag. Calm. Controlled. Like this is nothing to him. You take a step closer. “You just left. No note. No text. You didn’t even tell me your last name, and now I find out you’re standing at the front of my class like nothing happened?”

He sighs — not guilty, not even annoyed. Just tired.

“Look,” he says. “Last night was a mistake.”

The words hit like a slap.

“A mistake,” you repeat, voice flat.

“Yes.”

He zips up his bag and slings it over his shoulder, then finally — finally — meets your gaze with something resembling emotion. But it’s not warmth. It’s not regret. It’s caution. “You didn’t know who I was. I didn’t know who you were. But now we do. And nothing else happens. Understood?” You blink at him. “That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

“Sunghoon—”

“Professor Park,” he corrects, firm. “From now on, in this room, on this campus — you will refer to me as Professor Park. You will not speak of last night. And you will not treat me like anything other than your professor.”

Your throat tightens. “So that’s all I was to you?” His jaw flexes. Just once. “I’m not here to discuss feelings,” he says. “I’m here to teach.” He moves to leave, but you step in his path.

“One night,” you say quietly. “That’s all it meant to you?” He pauses. Doesn’t look at you. Then—

“Yes.”

And then he walks past you, out the door, gone before you can even breathe out the response stuck in your throat.

You’re alone. In your first lecture hall. On your first day. Still sore. Still remembering. Still burning. And now you can’t stop thinking about him. Not because he touched you. But because now, he won’t.

You practically collapse into your dorm room chair.

The walk back from class did nothing to calm you down — not with your thoughts spinning and your thighs still sore. You’re halfway through Googling Is it illegal to hook up with your professor if you didn’t know he was your professor when the door swings open and Lily walks in, dropping her tote bag with a sigh.

“Please tell me you didn’t fall asleep in the middle of class like I almost did,” she groans.

You shake your head. “No. I… had Modern Media Theory.”

Lily perks up instantly, eyes wide. “Wait—wait—don’t tell me you got Professor Park?”

You freeze.

She gasps. “You got Park? Are you serious?”

You just blink at her, unsure how to answer.

Lily throws herself onto your bed dramatically. “Oh my God. Half the campus is obsessed with that man. Like, seriously. Even the guys think he’s hot.”

You say nothing. You can’t. You’re still trying to figure out if this is hilarious or humiliating.

“And people say,” she lowers her voice like she’s sharing top-tier gossip, “he’s huge.”

You sip your water slowly, hiding the way your breath catches. Yeah. You wouldn’t need rumors to confirm that. You still feel it.

You try to play it cool. “Huge how?”

Lily looks scandalized. “Y/N. Please. You know how.”

You choke on your water, coughing as Lily bursts out laughing. “Seriously! That man has big dick energy like—actual BDE. Someone in second-year swore he stretched her friend so bad she couldn’t sit for two days.”

You look down at your lap. Yep. Sounds familiar.

“Didn’t know the media department had this kind of drama,” you mutter.

Before Lily can reply, Kitty walks in with a protein shake and zero chill.

“Wait, are we talking about Professor Park?”

Lily lights up. “Y/N has him!”

Kitty gasps. “No way. The hot one?”

Y/N stays silent. Kitty throws herself into the chair across from you.

“I heard he’s really good in bed,” Kitty says casually, like she’s talking about the weather. “Like, life-changing. My cousin said her roommate slept with him at some faculty party or something—pre-semester—and she still can’t shut up about it.”

Your jaw clenches.

Yeah. He is.

Too good. Too cocky. Too unforgettable.

You cross your legs without thinking — a weak attempt to soothe the ghost of last night’s ache still pulsing between your thighs.

“Anyway,” Kitty says, oblivious, “you’re lucky. Most profs are ancient or weird. If I had Park as my first Monday lecture, I wouldn’t even be mad.”

Lily grins. “I wouldn’t even miss a class. Ever.”

You force a tight smile. “Right.”

They move on to some other topic — campus events, party rumors, who hooked up with who — but you barely hear it.

Your mind’s still stuck on his voice. His hands. The way he called you a good little slutand then looked right through you the next day like none of it mattered.

Your friends think he’s a fantasy. You know he’s a mistake. And yet, you can’t stop thinking about him. Still sore. Still remembering. Still wanting more.

“Y/N… can we talk?”

His voice is low, almost gentle. You turn around and he’s standing there — in the doorway of your dorm, hands in his pockets, eyes unreadable.

You don’t say anything.

Sunghoon steps closer, slow and careful, like he’s afraid you might run.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “For being so cold. Yesterday.”

You cross your arms over your chest. You want to be mad — you should be mad — but all you can do is stare at him. The way his jaw clenches. The way his voice dips when he talks to you, like you’re the only one in the world who can hear him.

He sighs and rubs the back of his neck. “I didn’t know what to say. I panicked.”

He’s inches away now. You can feel the heat of his body, the scent of his cologne — clean, warm, familiar. He reaches out slowly, fingertips brushing your wrist, trailing up your arm like he’s checking if he’s allowed to touch you again.

“I haven’t stopped thinking about you,” he murmurs. “About that night.”

Your heart pounds. His touch burns.

“I wanted to forget,” he admits, voice rough. “But I can’t.” Your back hits the wall. He cages you in without touching you — one hand braced beside your head, the other hovering just inches from your waist. His breath fans over your skin.

“I still remember how you sound,” he whispers. “How you taste. How your body felt under mine.” You shiver. Your eyes flutter closed, just for a second. “I should stay away,” he breathes. “But I don’t want to.” His lips are so close. His mouth hovers over yours, not touching, not yet — just letting the moment drag out, all heat and tension and want. You reach for him first.

Your fingers curl into his shirt. He groans into your mouth when you kiss him, slow and desperate, hands grabbing at each other like you’ve both been starved. His body presses against yours and you feel it immediately — hard, hot, eager. Just like before.

He lifts you easily, and your legs wrap around his waist like instinct. His mouth moves down your neck, sucking hard enough to make you gasp, and you tug his shirt up, frantic.

“I missed this,” he murmurs. “Missed you.” Your hips grind against his, and he groans again, rutting forward like he can’t help himself.

“I’m gonna take my time with you this time,” he says against your skin. “Gonna fuck you slow… make you cry for it…” He lays you down, starts kissing down your body, eyes dark with hunger. You moan his name.

“Sunghoon…”

But then—You wake up.

Your sheets are twisted around your legs, your body damp with sweat, and your hand is fisted tightly in the fabric of your tank top like you were reaching for something. Your chest rises and falls with shallow breaths. You stare at the ceiling.

He wasn’t here. He didn’t say anything. It was just a dream. And now you’re even worse off than before.

You don’t say anything the next time you walk into class.

But you don’t have to.

Your skirt is shorter than usual — just enough to ride up when you sit down — and your legs are crossed deliberately, slowly, as you ease into your seat near the front. No tights. No leggings. Just skin and confidence.

You feel his eyes on you the second you walk in.

He doesn’t look at you directly — of course not. He’s smarter than that. But you can see the way his jaw tightens. The way his fingers hesitate on the mouse before clicking to the next slide. The way his throat bobs when you shift in your seat and uncross your legs, only to cross them again.

You rest your chin in your hand, eyes locked on him like he’s the only thing worth watching.

Sunghoon keeps talking.

But now, there’s a pause between his sentences. A slight rasp in his voice. A subtle glance in your direction every few slides, never lingering too long — just enough for you to catch it.

You smile.

It’s not like you’re doing anything wrong.

You’re just a student in his class. Listening. Participating. Sitting there in a skirt that barely brushes your thighs, biting your lip every time he says something remotely commanding.

“Pay attention,” he says at one point, when a group in the back is whispering.

You straighten in your seat, lifting your eyes slowly.

“I am, Professor,” you say, soft and sweet.

His eyes flicker.

You don’t miss the way his grip on the podium tightens.

By the end of class, you can feel the tension radiating off him in waves. His sentences get shorter. His lecture speeds up. His eyes don’t meet yours again.

When the students begin to pack up, you move slower than the rest. You lean forward, elbows on the desk, letting your skirt ride up even higher as you adjust your bag. You can feel his stare this time — heavy, hot, lingering.

You don’t look at him. Not until the last of the students file out and the door swings shut behind them.

Then — and only then — you turn your head, lips curled into the faintest smirk.

“I liked today’s lecture,” you say, casual.

He exhales slowly, not moving from behind the desk.

“Did you.”

You stand, swinging your bag over your shoulder, stepping just close enough that the air between you feels like a challenge.

“I liked the way you said my name during attendance,” you murmur. “You sounded… tense.”

His eyes are sharp, unreadable. “You think this is a game?”

You shrug. “Isn’t it?”

He doesn’t move, but the heat in his stare makes your skin prickle. “You’re playing with fire.”

You take a step back toward the door, still smiling.

“Then burn me.”

And just like that — you’re gone.

Leaving him standing there, pulse racing, jaw clenched, hands braced on the desk like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded.

You can feel his gaze on your back the whole way down the hallway.

You don’t expect him to follow you.

You think he’ll stay behind like always — composed, in control, untouched by the things you do just to watch him flinch.

But the second you turn the corner into the empty hallway, you hear it.

Footsteps. Fast. Heavy. Determined.

Before you can fully register it, a hand wraps around your wrist and yanks you back — hard. You gasp as your back hits the wall, your bag slipping off your shoulder, your heart slamming against your ribs.

Sunghoon towers over you, eyes blazing.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

You blink up at him, playing dumb. “Walking.”

“Don’t,” he snaps. “Don’t play games with me.”

You tilt your head, letting your skirt shift just slightly higher as you shift your weight against the wall. “You’re the one who said it was nothing, remember? One night. A mistake.”

His jaw tightens. His hands are still gripping your wrists — not hard, but firm enough to make your pulse stutter. His body is so close you can feel the heat rolling off him in waves, caging you in.

“You wore that on purpose,” he mutters, eyes dropping to your legs.

“Wore what?” you ask sweetly.

He scoffs, low and dangerous. “You think I haven’t noticed? The skirts, the looks, the way you sit front row with your legs wide open like you want me to do something about it.”

You stay silent — because he’s not wrong.

Sunghoon leans in closer, voice like a growl in your ear. “You want to get fucked over a desk, is that it?”

Your breath catches.

“You want your professor to lose control,” he continues, his mouth just shy of touching your neck, “to bend you over the nearest surface and remind you exactly how good it felt to be ruined by me.”

You’re shaking now — but not from fear.

From how badly you want him to do it.

Your voice is barely a whisper. “Then do it.”

He freezes.

You swear you see the moment something in him breaks.

Sunghoon grabs your chin, tilting your face up to his, and crashes his mouth onto yours.

There’s nothing soft about it — no hesitation, no pretending this is still something he can control. It’s heat and teeth and frustration, his tongue sliding over yours with a groan like he’s been holding this in for too long.

You gasp as he lifts you, your legs wrapping around his waist instinctively.

“I shouldn’t be doing this,” he mutters against your mouth.

“But you are,” you whisper, tugging his hair, grinding down on him.

And fuck, he’s already hard — painfully hard, pressing against you like he’s seconds from snapping all over again.

“I tried to forget you,” he breathes, dragging your skirt up.

“You didn’t,” you whisper. “Neither did I.”

His mouth crashes onto yours again, more desperate now — hands sliding up your thighs, pushing your panties to the side like he can’t even wait to undress you.

“You think teasing me was a good idea?” he growls. “You think I don’t know what you’re doing when you act like a little slut in my class?”

You moan. “Then teach me a lesson, Professor.”

His eyes burn.

“Oh, I will.”

Sunghoon doesn’t take you to his office.

He doesn’t even bother finding a classroom.

He kicks open the door to the nearest supply closet — small, dark, barely wide enough for the both of you — and presses you against the wall before it even shuts behind you. His mouth is back on yours, rough and hungry, hands everywhere, grabbing and pulling like he needs to feel all of you at once.

“Turn around,” he growls against your lips.

You obey, chest heaving as your hands brace against a metal shelf full of paper and printer ink. He pushes your skirt up roughly, revealing the soaked fabric clinging between your legs.

“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath, dragging his fingers up your inner thigh. “You were dripping through this during class?”

You moan when his fingers brush your slit, teasing the soaked fabric. “I couldn’t help it.”

“You wanted me to see, didn’t you?” he says darkly, yanking your panties to the side. “Wanted me to lose it in front of everyone and fuck you over the desk.”

You whimper, pushing back against him.

“You have no idea what you’ve done to me,” he mutters, pressing two fingers inside you without warning.

You cry out, gripping the shelf tighter as he curls them deep inside you.

“So tight… shit, you’re perfect,” he groans, fucking you slow and deep with his fingers. “Still so wet for me. You missed this cock, didn’t you?”

You nod frantically. “Yes—God, yes.”

He spanks you once — hard — and you gasp, the sting sharp and delicious.

“Say it properly.”

“I missed your cock, Professor.”

He groans low in his throat. You hear the sound of his belt, the zipper, the shuffle of fabric. Then his hand returns to your waist, and the thick head of his cock presses against your entrance.

You barely get a breath in before he thrusts inside.

“Fuck—Sunghoon—!”

“God, you take me so well,” he hisses, slamming into you again, and again, until you’re gasping with every thrust. “This is what you wanted, huh? To be bent over like a bad student and filled up with my cock?”

You can’t even answer. He’s too deep. Too thick. Stretching you open so perfectly your knees almost buckle.

He grabs your hair, pulling your head back just enough to whisper in your ear.

“Not gonna stop this time. You’re gonna take it all.”

And you do.

Every thrust slams into you, the sound of skin on skin echoing in the tiny closet, filthy and raw. Your walls flutter around him with every stroke, clenching tight like your body’s desperate to keep him there.

You don’t even care that you’re in a damn supply closet — not when he’s fucking you like this, like he’s punishing you and worshiping you all at once.

“Can feel you squeezing me,” he groans. “You’re close, aren’t you?”

You nod, crying out when his hand slips between your legs and rubs circles against your clit, fast and unforgiving.

“Cum for me,” he growls. “Let me feel it.”

You break with a scream, your orgasm ripping through you like fire — legs shaking, walls spasming around him, soaking his cock as he pounds you through it.

But he doesn’t stop.

“Too much—!” you whimper.

“You can take it,” he growls. “One more. Be a good girl.”

You’re already too sensitive, your body twitching with every thrust, but the way he fucks you — like he owns you — has you falling apart again.

“Please—Sunghoon—!”

“That’s it,” he pants, thrusting even deeper. “Such a good little slut for me. Letting me fuck you where anyone could walk in…”

You cum again — hard, sudden, your moans cut off by the hand he slaps over your mouth as you scream into his palm.

His hips stutter.

“Fuck—gonna fill you up—fuck, take it—”

You feel him twitch inside you, hot and thick, and then he’s spilling into you with a deep, broken moan, his cock throbbing as he presses deep and stays there, panting against your shoulder.

You both stay like that for a moment.

Breathless. Sweaty. Soaked.

Then he pulls out slowly, and you both groan at the mess — his cum dripping down your thighs, your panties ruined, the air thick with sex.

He zips up without a word. You adjust your skirt with shaking hands.

“You’re a fucking menace,” he mutters, running a hand through his hair.

You smirk over your shoulder. “And you’re weak.”

He glares.cYou wink. And you leave him there — still flushed, still catching his breath, already addicted again.

The next morning, you walk into class like nothing happened.

Your skirt’s a little longer today. You’re not wearing lip gloss. You even show up on time, quiet and composed.

But nothing feels the same. Sunghoon doesn’t look at you once during the lecture.

Not when you raise your hand. Not when you bite your pen. Not even when you catch his eye on purpose and hold the stare. He acts like you don’t exist. But you know better.

You can feel the tension in the way he paces the front of the room. The way he rushes through the slides. The way he won’t call on you even though your hand’s been raised for five minutes. He’s avoiding you. And it’s almost funny, how obvious it is.

When class ends, you take your time packing up, but he’s already halfway out the door. He doesn’t wait. Doesn’t glance back. Doesn’t say a word.

Coward.

You don’t chase him. You don’t have to. Because two seconds after you step into the hallway, your friend Lily grabs your arm with a smirk.

“You look like you got wrecked,” she whispers, dragging you to the side. “Don’t even lie. You’re glowing.”

You roll your eyes. “I’m just tired.”

“Bullshit,” she grins. “Is this about Professor Park?”

Your heart stutters. “What?”

“You’ve been acting weird since the semester started,” she says, narrowing her eyes. “And don’t pretend you didn’t notice how he was looking at you the other day. I was two seats behind you. The man looked like he was about to explode.”

You say nothing. Your silence is enough. Lily’s eyes go wide. “No fucking way.”

“Keep your voice down.”

“You fucked him?!”

“Lily.”

“Oh my god,” she gasps. “Was it hot?” You hesitate. She laughs. “That good, huh?”

“I don’t wanna talk about it.” She ignores you. “Okay but like… is what they say true?”

You raise an eyebrow.

“I’m serious,” she whispers. “Is he… huge. Like huge. Like, wreck-your-life huge.”

You don’t respond. You don’t have to. Her eyes go wider.

“Wait. He is, isn’t he?!”

You just shrug, lips twitching.

“And really good in bed?” she adds. “Like, dangerously good. Like… ruin-you-for-everyone-else good.”

You don’t even try to hide the way your thighs press together.

“Jesus Christ,” she mutters. “No wonder you’ve been walking funny.” You slap her arm. She laughs louder. “You lucky bitch.” You groan, covering your face. “It was just a one-time thing.”

“Uh-huh. Sure.” You want to believe it.

But then you get to your next class and open your laptop, and the first thing that flashes through your mind isn’t the lecture — it’s the way Sunghoon’s hand had clamped over your mouth while you came around his cock.

And when you pass him in the hallway later — by accident, this time — he barely glances your way.

But his jaw clenches. His hand balls into a fist. And you know he remembers. You bite your lip as you keep walking, not looking back. You don’t need to. You already know he’s watching.

Class is halfway through when Sunghoon finally breaks.

You can feel it before it happens — the way he keeps glancing your way, how his words are sharper than usual, how his hand keeps flexing on the desk like he’s trying to hold himself together.

You’re sitting near the front again. Of course you are.

Legs crossed. Skirt riding just a little too high. Innocent face like you’re not begging to be noticed.

And he does.

“Y/N,” he says, voice casual. “Can you help me with something for a second?”

Heads turn. You blink up at him, playing your part perfectly.

“Sure, Professor.”

You rise slowly, adjusting your skirt with deliberate care, and walk to the front like you’re not already soaking through your panties. You can feel the stares on your back, but all you care about is his.

His jaw is tight. His eyes flick down your body once — fast, hungry, dangerous — and then he steps back, motioning toward his desk.

“Over here,” he murmurs.

You round the desk, heart pounding as he opens a drawer, pretending to rifle through it.

“I need you to grab—” he starts, but you cut him off with a look.

“Don’t lie,” you whisper, stepping closer. “You just wanted me near.”

His breath hitches. “You’re insane.”

“You asked for help,” you say sweetly. “I’m just being a good student.”

Your hand brushes over the front of his pants — and sure enough, he’s already hard.

He grabs your wrist. “We’re in the middle of class.”

You look up at him, eyes wide and innocent. “So stop me.”

He doesn’t.

Instead, he groans — low and harsh — as you sink to your knees behind the desk. The rest of the class is quiet, heads buried in their notes or staring at the projection screen. No one even notices you’re gone.

No one can see.

Your fingers undo his belt with practiced ease, and when you free his cock, you have to stifle a gasp.

You forgot how thick he is.

How heavy he feels in your hand.

How your mouth waters at the sight of it.

“You’re fucking insane,” he mutters again, voice strained now.

You pump him slowly, dragging your hand up the length of him, thumb teasing the slit at the top. He’s hot and pulsing in your grip, already leaking, and it takes everything in you not to take him in your mouth.

But you want him squirming first.

You tighten your grip slightly, stroking him slow — too slow — watching his stomach tense, his breath catch.

“You like when I touch you here, Professor?” you whisper.

“Fuck,” he mutters, gripping the edge of the desk. “Keep your voice down.”

“You like when your student gets on her knees for you in the middle of class?” you tease, twisting your wrist at the top just how he likes.

His hips twitch.

You speed up, stroking him faster now, loving how he’s biting the inside of his cheek to keep quiet. He looks down at you once — just once — and you see it in his eyes.

He’s right there.

You lean in, spit on your hand, and stroke him harder — faster — and he curses under his breath, head falling forward.

“Shit—Y/N—stop—gonna—”

You don’t stop.

You squeeze, twist, stroke him right through it, and he cums hard in your hand, biting his lip so hard you think he might bleed. His cock twitches as you milk every last drop, your hand warm and wet with him.

You look up at him, breathless.

“Still need help with anything?”

He glares down at you, chest heaving, eyes wild.

“You needy girl,” he whispers.

“And you’re obsessed,” you whisper back, standing and licking your palm clean with a slow swipe of your tongue — just because you can.

His eyes darken like he wants to drag you under the desk and fuck you right there.

But he doesn’t.

He swallows, adjusts his pants, and turns back to the class like nothing happened.

You walk back to your seat with your legs trembling — and the biggest fucking smile on your face.

He calls you to his office after class. Not right away — no, he waits a full ten minutes after the room clears, like that’ll somehow make this less obvious. You knock once, and when you step inside, he’s leaning against his desk, arms crossed, jaw tight.

“Close the door.”

You do.

“Lock it.”

You hesitate, then click it shut behind you. He exhales sharply. Doesn’t look at you.

“We can’t do this anymore,” he says, voice low. You blink. “Can’t do what?” He glares. “Don’t play dumb.”

“I’m not,” you shrug. “You’ll have to be more specific. Do you mean the part where I made you cum in the middle of a lecture? Or the part where you let me?”

His jaw clenches. “Y/N.”

You take a step closer. “Or do you mean the one-night stand? The closet? The fact that you begged me not to stop?”

“Stop.” His voice cracks on the word. You smile sweetly. “You dragged me into this. Not the other way around.”

“I’m your professor.” He runs a hand through his hair, frustrated, desperate. “This has to end before we get caught. Before I lose my job. Before—” You cut him off by sliding between his legs, standing so close your thighs brush his. His hands are still clenched at his sides, like he’s holding on to the last bit of control.

“Then why did you ask me to come here?” He says nothing.

“You could’ve ignored me. Failed me. Told me to stop. But you didn’t.” His eyes lock onto yours, burning with something darker than anger.

“Because you can’t,” you whisper. “You don’t want to.” His breathing is ragged. “That’s not the point.” You lean in, voice softer now. “So make a rule. Try.” You watch him fold, just a little. He grabs your waist and spins you — suddenly, roughly — pinning you between him and the desk.

“No more games,” he says, voice low, lips inches from yours. “No more teasing. You come to class. You do your work. You don’t speak to me unless it’s about the course. Understood?” You raise your chin, defiant. “And if I break the rules?” His grip tightens. “Then you won’t like the consequences.” You smile, slow and wicked. “I think I will.” He growls under his breath, turning away like he needs the space, like he can’t breathe when you’re that close.

You take one step toward the door. Pause. Glance over your shoulder. “Oh,” you add innocently, “I won’t be wearing panties next lecture.” He doesn’t move. But his fingers twitch. And when you finally leave the office, you know you’ve already won.

You knew he wouldn’t last.

Sunghoon made it exactly three days before he cracked.

You showed up to every lecture like the perfect little student.

Took notes, nodded along, answered questions.

Sat right in the front, of course — legs crossed, skirt a little too high, no panties underneath.

You saw the way his eyes lingered.

The way his voice faltered every time he called on you.

You didn’t even have to touch him. Just existed. And watched him unravel.

So really, you weren’t surprised when class ended and he barked your name in front of everyone.

“Y/N. Stay behind.”

You fought your smile. Nodded. Waited.

The second the last student left, he grabbed your wrist and yanked you toward his office — not saying a word, walking fast, grip tight like he was scared he might change his mind.

The door slammed shut behind you. Locked. And then he shoved you against it.

“I told you to stop,” he growled. You smirked. “But you didn’t want me to.” He kissed you before you could finish the sentence — all tongue and teeth and frustration, like he hated you for what you did to him. His hands were already under your skirt, shoving it up, confirming exactly what he’d been suspecting all week.

“No fucking panties,” he muttered against your lips. “You really are a little slut, huh?”

“Only for you,” you whispered. That’s what did it. He spun you around, bent you over the desk without warning, and shoved your legs apart with his knee. You gasped at the cold wood against your cheek, his hand pushing down between your shoulder blades to keep you there.

“No teasing this time,” he hissed. “You want to play games? Fine. But you’re not leaving this room until I’ve ruined you.” You whined when you felt his fingers glide between your folds — soaking wet, dripping for him already.

“Fucking knew it,” he growled. “You like being used, don’t you?” You nodded desperately. He spanked you, hard. “Use your words.”

“Yes, hoon, yes—!”

He groaned and unzipped his pants so fast it was like he’d been holding back for days. Probably had. You felt the thick head of his cock press against you, tease your entrance, and then— He rammed into you.

No hesitation. No warning.

Just one rough, brutal thrust that had you screaming his name against the desk.

“God—Sunghoon—”

“That’s Professor to you,” he growled, grabbing your hips and slamming into you again.

You were soaked, your body clenching around him like it couldn’t get enough — and you couldn’t. His cock stretched you so deep, so perfectly, it was like your body was made for him. He fucked you hard, fast, filthy — the desk creaking under the weight of it, your nails clawing at the wood, his name falling from your lips like a prayer.

“Thought you could tease me?” he hissed in your ear. “Sit in my class like a good girl and pretend you’re not dripping for me?” You moaned — helpless, breathless, aching for more.

“You don’t get to tease me,” he growled. “You don’t get to fucking win.” He fucked you harder, his cock slamming into your soaked cunt with punishing thrusts, the sound of your bodies echoing off the walls like it was the only thing that mattered. You could feel him everywhere — hands, hips, voice — all of him taking and taking and taking. And then his hand snaked around your front. Two fingers on your clit. Fast, rough, no mercy. You sobbed.

“Too much—!”

“Take it,” he snapped. “You wanted this.”

Your body was already on edge — too sensitive, too full, too overstimulated — and you shattered around him with a scream, legs trembling, pleasure ripping through you like lightning. He didn’t stop. He kept fucking you through it, not slowing down, not letting up, chasing his own release with the desperation of a man possessed.

“I’m gonna fill you up,” he growled. “So deep you’ll still feel me in the morning.”

You whimpered, overstimulated and aching and still somehow needing it.

“Beg for it.”

“Please—fuck—fill me up—need it, please—” That was all he needed. He cursed, shoved deep one last time, and came with a low, broken groan, spilling inside you so hard you could feel it flood your insides — hot, thick, endless.

You stayed there — bent over, legs shaking, completely ruined — as he caught his breath behind you. And then, when he pulled out, his cum dripped down your thighs and onto the floor, and you knew this was it. There was no going back now. He was yours. And you were so far from finished. 

It had only been three days. But you missed him like it’d been weeks.

He was sick — a bad fever, rough cough, too weak to teach, let alone sneak off to fuck you breathless behind his desk.

Still, you called. Every night.

At first, it was innocent. How are you feeling? Are you redtng enough? Do you need anything?

But tonight, something was different.

His voice was lower. Rough from congestion, but still laced with that dark, velvety tone that made your stomach flutter.

“I miss you,” he rasped into the phone. Your breath hitched. “I miss you too.” You were curled under your blankets, phone to your ear, nothing but a t-shirt and your own restless thoughts keeping you company.

“What are you wearing?” he asked suddenly, voice a little more awake now. Teasing. Familiar.

You bit your lip. “Just your shirt.” He groaned quietly. “Fuck.” There was silence for a beat — hot, heavy.

“Touch yourself for me.”

Your heart thudded.

“Sunghoon—”

“Please,” he whispered. “I need to hear you.”

Your hand slipped beneath the covers before you could think twice, fingers grazing your thighs, your core already warm and aching. You let out a soft sigh, just for him.

“That’s it,” he murmured. “Let me hear you, baby.”

“Are you…?” you breathed.

“Yeah,” he said, voice strained. “Got my hand around my cock right now. Thinking about how wet you probably are.”

You whimpered. He knew what to say. Even sick. Even over the phone. He had you melting with nothing but his voice.

“Are you teasing yourself?” he asked. “Or are you already fucking those fingers in deep like I would?”

“Just rubbing,” you gasped. “It’s so sensitive.”

“Wish it was my mouth,” he growled. “I’d suck your clit nice and slow. Keep you spread open and messy for me.” You moaned louder now, fingers working faster, thighs shaking.

“I miss your tongue,” you whimpered. “And your cock. I miss everything.” He groaned again, breath stuttering. “I’m close. Just thinking about you falling apart for me.”

“I’m gonna come,” you panted. “Sunghoon, I—”

“Do it,” he whispered. “Come for me, baby. Let me hear it.”

And you did — hard, trembling, breath catching as your orgasm crashed over you like a wave.

You heard him gasp, a deep, raw sound on the other end. Then silence. Just heavy breathing. You clutched the phone tighter, flushed and buzzing.

“I can’t wait to fuck you when I’m better,” he said finally, voice thick and low. “Gonna make up for every night I couldn’t touch you.” You smiled, cheeks warm. “I’ll hold you to that.”

“Good,” he whispered. “Now go to sleep, baby. I’ll dream about you.”

And you did — still aching, but content. Because even when he wasn’t here, he still was.

It didn’t happen all at once. It was little things. The way his voice softened when he said your name, even when he was pissed. The way he always made sure you got home safe, even if it was just a quiet Text me when you’re in bed.

The way he kissed you when no one was watching — not hurried, not hungry. Just… like he wanted to remember it.

You didn’t mean to fall for him. You knew what this was. A mistake. A fling. A secret that could ruin both your lives. But somehow, between the stolen glances and the late-night fucks in his office, you started to feel it. That pull. That ache. It wasn’t just lust anymore. Not for you. So when he texted you at 11:42 PM — come over. need to blow off steam — your heart stupidly fluttered.

And when you showed up at his apartment, when he pulled you in without a word and kissed you like he missed you, you let yourself believe, for just a second, that maybe… maybe he felt it too. You made love that night. Not rough. Not fast. Not like every other time. His hands were gentle. His kisses slow. His body moved with yours like you were something precious — not just a girl he wasn’t supposed to touch.

And afterward, when you curled into him, bare skin against bare skin, you whispered it before you could stop yourself.

“Sunghoon.”

He hummed, half-asleep, arm draped over your waist.

“I think I’m falling for you.”

Silence. Not a breath. Not a blink. Just… nothing. You turned your head to look at him. He was wide awake now.

“Y/N,” he said carefully. Too carefully. Your chest tightened. “Say something.”

He sat up, rubbed a hand over his face. “You weren’t supposed to—” You pulled the sheet up around your chest like it could protect you from the sharpness of his words.

“Wasn’t supposed to what?” you asked quietly. “Catch feelings? Think this meant more than just… late-night texts and quick fucks between lectures?”

His jaw tightened. “You knew what this was.”

“Did I?” You blinked at him, heart splintering. “Because it didn’t feel like just sex.”

He didn’t look at you. And that told you everything. You swallowed hard, throat burning.

“You don’t feel anything for me?”

He paused. And then he shook his head once. Quick. Cold.

“I can’t.”

It hit like a slap. You nodded slowly, forcing down the sting. “Right. Of course.”

“Y/N—”

“No, I get it,” you said, getting up and grabbing your clothes. “You’re just my professor. And I’m just the dumb girl who thought maybe this was something.”

You didn’t wait for him to say anything else. You didn’t look back. Because if you did — if you saw even an ounce of regret in his eyes �� you’d break. And you were already breaking. 

You didn’t go to class the next day. Or the next.

You stopped answering his texts. Left them on read. Blocked the number, even — not because you didn’t want to see them, but because you knew you would.

And you were done giving in.

He didn’t love you. He didn’t even like you, not really. To him, you were just a distraction. A body. A pretty little secret to keep him entertained. You weren’t going to be that anymore.

So you went quiet. Silent.

You didn’t show up to his lectures, didn’t sit in the front row in those too-short skirts, didn’t flirt with your eyes across the room. You handed your assignments in online. You stayed invisible. And for a while, it worked.

You didn’t cry anymore. You didn’t dream about his mouth on your skin. You didn’t ache at night thinking about the way he used to look at you like he needed you.

You even let Lily drag you to a party.

He wasn’t there. Of course he wasn’t. Why would a professor hang out with freshmen? But someone else was. He was tall. Soft brown eyes. Big hands. Good Looking

Nice.

You let him kiss you. Let him press you against the wall. Let him fuck you in some stranger’s bedroom with your skirt bunched around your waist.

It wasn’t like Sunghoon. Not even close. But it was something. And for a few minutes, it helped you forget. Until the next morning — when you checked your phone, and saw his name lit up the screen.

Park Sunghoon [3 messages]

Where are you?

You missed another lecture.

Y/N, please.

You stared at the screen for a long time. And then you deleted them. Sunghoon was losing his goddamn mind.

The first day you skipped, he told himself it was nothing.

Maybe you were sick. Hungover. Avoiding him. Whatever.

By the third, he was pacing in his office, checking the attendance sheet, rereading your last assignment just to see if there was a hint — anything — in your tone.

By the fifth, he was showing up to dorm buildings and walking past study halls just to maybe catch a glimpse of you. He didn’t know what the fuck was happening to him. You’d said you were falling for him.

And he’d brushed it off. Because he was scared. Because it wasn’t supposed to happen. I mean, what was he thinking? Fucking his student relentlessly thinking she wouldn’t fall for him? But now? Now he realized he’d been lying to himself the entire time. He missed you.

More than just your body. More than the games. He missed your laugh. Your attitude. Your soft little sighs when you fell asleep against his chest.

He missed you. And when he saw you again — two weeks later, walking across campus in a low-cut top and short skirt, laughing with some guy he didn’t recognize — it hit him like a fucking truck.

You were moving on. And he was still stuck in the night you left. He waited until the guy walked off. Then followed you.

“Y/N.”

You stopped. Turned. Your expression shifted from surprised to cold in half a second.

“I’m busy.”

“Can we talk?”

“No.”

“Please—”

“You made it clear how you felt,” you said, voice sharp. “Don’t backpedal now.”

“I didn’t mean it like that—” You crossed your arms. “You meant it enough to let me walk out.” He hesitated. “You blocked my number.”

“You said it was just sex,” you snapped. “So why would I stay?” He looked at you — really looked at you — and something in his face cracked.

“I was scared,” he admitted. “That’s not an excuse. But I didn’t know what to do. I’m your professor. I could lose everything.”

You stared at him, trying not to let your heart soften.

“And now?”

He stepped closer. Slower this time. Careful, like you might run.

“Now I don’t care,” he whispered. “I’d risk everything if you’d just look at me the way you used to.”

You looked away.

Because you still wanted to.

But he’d already broken you once.

And you weren’t sure you could let him close enough to do it again.

You lay there in the dark, chest heaving, body limp from everything he’d just taken from you — and everything you’d given him.

You didn’t speak. Neither did he. His hand rested on your thigh, thumb stroking absently over your skin like he wasn’t ready to let go yet. Like if he kept touching you, maybe you wouldn’t disappear again. You should’ve pulled away. Should’ve said this doesn’t change anything. But it did. It changed everything.

And when you finally found your voice, it was quiet. Fragile.

“You can’t keep doing that.”His thumb stilled. “Doing what?”

“Acting like it’s nothing one second, then showing up the next like you’d burn the world down for me.” He turned toward you, arm curling around your waist.

“I would,” he said simply. “Burn it all down.”

Your chest tightened. “Then why did you let me go?”

He exhaled, forehead pressing gently to yours. “Because I thought I had to.”

“But you don’t now?”

“I can’t let you go again,” he whispered. “Not after that. Not after this.”

You searched his eyes.

And this time, you didn’t find silence. Didn’t find cold. You found regret. Longing.

Something that looked too close to love to ignore.

“Say it,” you breathed. “Say it wasn’t just sex.” He didn’t even hesitate.

“It never was.”

The breath you’d been holding spilled out all at once, shaky and full of every broken piece you’d been holding in since the start. You closed your eyes, voice cracking.

“Me either.” He kissed your temple, your jaw, your lips — slow and reverent, like he finally understood what he’d almost lost. And when he pulled you against him, wrapping himself around you like a shield, you knew something had shifted for good.

This wasn’t a game anymore. This wasn’t a secret. This wasn’t a one-night stand stretched into months of denial. This was real. And this time, neither of you was running.

was so horny writing this (send req)

perm taglist 🏷️ @kristynaaah @firstclassjaylee @chvconn3 @wonzzziezzzz @sheseung @blvengene @gvtdoll @a3r4-for3ver @sunghoon-cam @luvksnn @aaaaarmiiiiin @blckorchidd @gyulune @zerere @marimariiisblog @pinknjm @bloomiize @flwwon @ziiao @heelovver @sxie-txt

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[yanderenightmare]

♡ TW: noncon, nsfw, morally grey reader

♡ FEM reader

Thinking about your loser colleague… He’s the nerdiest guy, and he’s got the biggest, fattest crush on you—and it makes him utterly blind to all your tricks and how you manipulate him to do your work around the office like your own personal errand boy.

You’re not mean. You swear it! You’re not mean—you know it’s wrong of you to enjoy and abuse his attention like this without any intention of ever reciprocating it! Of course, you know it’s awful of you to string him along, never telling him you’re not into him like that, that he’s wasting his time on you, that he should move on. You’re a nice girl! You promise! Of course, if he were to actually confess, you’d tell him the truth at once! You’d let him down easy. But as it stands right now, he hasn’t asked—and so it’s innocent—both his unworded crush and your unspoken flattery. Sure, it might be a little narcissistic, but it’s not a crime for a girl to bask in attention!

Do you lead him on? Mh… well… not exactly. You’re being nice, is all. Sure, some might call what you do flirting back, but you act that way with plenty of people, not just him. If he reads into it, that’s on him. Right?

Okay, fine, so you’re a little mean. So what? Is it really so wrong of you to play with him just a little bit? No. Or… at least not entirely. Think about it—in a way, you’re making his day with your little tricks. How you return his long longing stares with your own lingering looks and coy smiles—taking him outside with you to smoke during your break, talking to him in giggles over small inside jokes you’ve developed between just the two of you, applying your lipgloss all exaggeratingly as they do in the movies, borrowing his jacket when it gets too cold for you in your inappropriate tops, squeezing your arms tightly over your chest, making your tits squish up to meet him and his shameful leer.

Truly, adults shouldn't act this way—but you just can’t help yourself!

And it’s not as if he isn’t equally guilty! Looking at you like that! It’s not as if you don’t know exactly what perverted little thoughts go tumbling through his head—picturing you naked in compromising positions, probably playing with your image like a toy doll, dressing you up in kinky clothes to fit all his dirty fantasies, making you say all sorts of vile things for him.

You’re both awful! So it’s fine. A quid pro quo, as they call it. A tit for tat if you’re nasty.

And honestly, a nerdy guy like him should know better. A pretty girl like you—popular and a sweetheart, to top it all off—he can’t seriously believe he has an actual chance, can he? Of course not—that would make him delusional. You’re not torturing him. In any case, he’s torturing himself!

And you seriously think he might just keep it up forever.

But you might be going too far this time—laying it on too thick—stretching him too thin—asking him to drive you home after an office party, giggling and all but moaning all your words in the passenger seat next to him, wearing nothing but a short little black slip, no bra, no nothing except for a pair of strappy little heals. 

“Oh! What a night—these shoes are killing me!” you sigh while taking them both off as he drives. Even in your drunk state, you can see the way his hands tighten around the wheel and how he shifts all uncomfortably in his seat, breathing thickly—it makes you smile.

You throw your head back in relief once they’re both off—chest jutting forth as you rub your thighs together. And he swallows thickly—jaw clenched so tight, he couldn’t say anything even if he had anything to say. But you know he doesn’t—you, with your milky skin on display, have rendered him speechless. 

Your smile curls at the corners, and you know it’s cruel, but you have absolutely no idea how to reel it in anymore. He makes you feel like an untouchable goddess being worshipped—makes you want to laugh as he bows his head in the dirt and prays to you with all he has.

Oh, the poor boy, you’ve got him wound so tightly around your little finger—you don’t even know how to release him anymore. You’re both in way too deep, it’s getting hard for either of you to think clearly anymore.

“I’ll follow you in—just to make sure you get to bed safely,” he offers once stopping outside your place. And lost to the wine in your bloodstream, you haven’t the slightest little hang-up over how he knows your address without having asked.

Completely oblivious, you keep floating on cloud nine, smiling while murmuring, “What a nice guy~ How ‘bout you carry me up the steps as well—” 

You’d meant it as a tease, but he takes it in all manners of seriousness, rounding the car, opening your door, and then scooping you up before your bare feet even have the chance of meeting the pavement below—but you don’t complain.

Only cheering, “Oh~” 

It’s surprising, maybe even a little bit impressive. He’s tall, but he looks more lean than anything—like an overgrown boy—a far cry from a rugged man of strength, but here he is, acting just so, carrying you like a princess—with ease, you might add. But you suppose it’s been hard for you to tell his true build from beneath those big, cozy sweaters he always wears. Resting on it now, you can tell his chest is actually quite firm.

“I didn’t know you were so strong~" You keep flirting, paying no mind to how his hands grope into your exposed skin—you can allow him that much. Otherwise, feeling too swept up in your own feminine guiles—aroused by your sheer seductiveness—hot and bothered and thinking you’re going to touch yourself to yourself tonight and laugh about how you have the poor office loser waiting on you, hands and knees.

You find your keys in your clutch and unlock the door from the cradle of his arms—before you’re carried inside like a queen, all the way to your bedroom, where he lays you down gently on your bed. 

You sigh happily at the soft, nice embrace—feeling successful while melting into the cakey mattress—all but ready to find your vibe and ride the high.  That is, until feeling a certain pair of hands start undressing you.

“Hey—what’re you doing?” you jolt, gripping your dress in a panic—looking shock-eyed into his round ones.

“Just making you comfortable,” he says softly, looking a little bit like a kicked pup—making your nerves return calm. 

Oh, of course, he is—you can’t blame a guy for trying. However, there are limits to what’s allowed in this little game of yours. And you think that’s crossing one.

“Thanks, but…” You chuckle—faking being shy while batting your lashes. “That wouldn’t be appropriate. You see—” Voice sultry as you admit, “I’m not wearing anything underneath.”

How you have the gall to keep teasing him is beyond you, and so you keep blaming it all on liquid courage—otherwise, certain the devil is making you do it.

“Thanks for taking me home, though.”

You smile before turning to rest on your side, facing away from where he stands by your bedside with hope in his poor eyes—oh, you almost feel bad—if only your well-fed ego weren’t already making you feel on top of the world. 

“You can leave the key beneath the welcome matt. Drive safely. I’ll see you on Monday.”

Eyes closed in bliss while grinning from ear to ear, you’ve come to terms with your terrible nature and have found the perfect way of sleeping at night despite it. Your poor colleague, so hopelessly infatuated with you and such a sucker for it—making you relive your mean girl queen bee school days all over again.

It’s the drink! You swear! It makes you feel all types of demonic—wanting to play with your favorite toy—see just how far you can take it before making him break. But, as always, one should be careful what one wishes for.

“You know…” A dark voice occupies your bedroom. From behind you. You’d thought he’d left already—gone out to his car to beat his blue-balled cock to his fantasy of you, but no. 

“Playing hard to get is one thing…” he continues. “Being a stuck-up bitch is another.”

You try to whip around, but it’s too late by then.

“You’ve had your fun with me. It’s time I have my fun with you.”

Nothing could have prepared you for his sudden change—the moment when all your teasing and tricks finally made him snap! 

He’s on top of your back. Straddling you—a heavy hand in your hair, pushing your face back down into the soft mattress below, while the other hand picks your dress up, pulling over your butt and leaving it exposed.

“Hey! What are you—” You try to make him calm down—to stop—but it’s as though nothing you say has any impact—or, no—instead, it has the complete opposite effect of what you want.

A sharp feeling blossoms across your ass cheek. It takes a moment before you realize he’d hit you—spanked you.

His grip on your hair tightens, pulls your face up to meet him where he leans down to your ear—voice venom-laced and shy of unhinged, “You’ve enjoyed yourself tonight, haven’t you? Teasing and toying with me—thinking I’ll just sit back and take it.”

His hand digs between your thighs—slipping through despite how you mend them shut—now dragging his fingers through your puffy slit, forcing two inside your tightly needy hole, uncaring to the cry it reaps from you.

“I’m the one who made your pussy wet like this, so it’s only right I have my way with it.”

♡ BNHA – Deku, Shoto, Shigaraki, Shinso ♡ JJK – Nanami, Yuuta, Choso ♡ HQ – Kageyama ♡ CSM – Yoshida ♡ BLLK – Isagi ♡ WB – Sakura, Suo

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

[rosiereveries]

TW: age gap (John is in his late 40s and reader is in her early 20s), cheating, unprotected sex, slight breeding, reader cheating on her boyfriend with his dad

Imagine that you are dating a CEO!John son. He is an awful boyfriend who doesn’t take care of you, but he sometimes buys you gifts, and he pays every time you go out. He has his dad's money, and you are comfortable in that relationship. You don’t love him, but you're bored so you date him anyway.

When he invites you to his parent’s place for a party his mother is organizing you agree. You never met his parents, but you googled his father when you started dating. You saw the pictures of John in his expensive black suits looking like a god of sex. He is so attractive with his piercing blue eyes and silver in his hair and the body. He is built like a bear, with broad shoulders and muscles with a little layer of fat.

When you arrive John's wife greets you, and you start to see that your boyfriend is the exact version of his mom. She is the typical neurotic mother who is obsessed with her baby boy, who has everything in life but still shoplifts underwear and cheats on her husband with some Pilates instructor (because he reminds her of her son). It is very clear that your boyfriend's parents don’t love each other, and they stay together just because they don’t have time for a divorce.

Your boyfriend leaves you at the bar. He orders you a drink and tells you to stay here and wait for him. He must go speak with his boys, and he doesn’t want you to ruin their vibe. You know they need some bro time. You stay at the bar texting your friends, promising that you will break up with him the moment he comes back because you just got the biggest ick from his bro time.

That’s how John finds you, Alone, sipping on your sweet drink and paying no attention to the party. He sits next to you, and when he asks you if you are one of his wife's friends from the yoga group you tell him no. He is relieved because you look like a sweet girl. Then you tell him that you date his son, and he thinks that his luck just run out. What he doesn’t know is that it is your 3rd drink of the night, you’ve been waiting for your boyfriend for more than 40 minutes and you are so over him. So you start to complain, you say that he doesn’t spend time with you, he only wants to have sex and when you finally agree, he can't get his dick hard because he is drunk or high. You also think that he is cheating on you and you couldn’t care less about him.

When John asks you why you are still with him you simply tell him that you enjoy his money. John orders you a glass of water and makes you drink it, then another and another. He has plans with you and he needs you sober. He moves his chair, so he sits closer to you, and he starts to tell you that if you want man's money you should find someone who will treat you well. Not only on the financial side but on the emotional as well. He slowly starts to touch your hand, and he leans so close you can smell his cologne. You are intoxicated by his smell, the closeness, and the alcohol you drank. When you realize that your boyfriend's father is in fact flirting with you start to flirt with him too.

You ask him if he knows how to take care of women. He plays your game, and he tells you that if you want to know you have to find out by yourself. You sit at the bar for another half an hour, you’re not allowed to have any more drinks only water, but when you beg John for a sip of his whiskey he gives in. He finds in very sensual how you drink from his glass, your lipstick leaving a mark on the glass and he wonders how your lipstick would look on his dick.

When you see your boyfriend talking and flirting with some other woman you have enough. You get up from your chair and you stand between John’s spread tights. He puts his hand on your lower back and starts to gently touch you. When you get close to him, he thinks that you are trying to kiss him but you only whisper asking if you’ve been good girl and if he will finally take care of you.

He walks you to some bedroom on the upper floor when the guests are not allowed, and the moment he closes the door behind you, he pines you to the wall. He kisses you like a hungry man, he’s tongue is immediately in your mouth, and he lifts you, so your legs are around his waist. He gropes your ass, squeezing and slapping and you’re getting so wet. You start to grind on him, feeling his bulge through his pants. You can feel how hard he is getting and how big he is. After he is done kissing you, he moves to your neck. He leaves there so many hickeys and little bruises from biting, and you know that he is marking what is his.

John gently places you on the bed and he starts to work on undressing you. When you are only in bra and panties, he takes a second, like he is enjoying the view, imagining what will happen next. You beg his to not tease you, to already do something, and when he finally takes your underwear off he spreads you legs and looks at your pussy. He asks you if his son ever eaten you out, and when you tell him no, you hear him say that he will make it up to you.

You hear him say how nice and wet you are for him, and he starts to gently bite your inner thighs. He slowly works his way to your centre and when he licks your clit you know you wont last long. John sucks and licks and when he adds his finger, slowly pushing in you, you start to feel your orgasm approaching. He fingers you with one hand, adding another finger, stretching you and with the other one he starts to massage your tits and when he pinches your nipple you come.

After that he slowly unbuttons his shirt, he unzips his pants, and he takes his boxers off. He grabs your ankles, and he pulls you to the side of the bed. John touches your nipples between his fingers, pinching them hard, and when you gasp you hear him laugh and say “So fucking sensitive for me.” His hands then slips under your legs and he spreads you wider for him.

He wants to fuck you raw, he doesn’t care if you are on birth control or not, he needs to feel your wet pussy around his cock. He starts to slide his tip between your fold teasing you. Then slowly he pushes in. You feel the stretch and you are very glad that he took his time preparing you for this. You feel so full of him as he pushes his way deeper and deeper. Once he is settled all the way in, he starts to pull out. His trusts are slow but rough,

John puts almost all his way on you as he starts to kiss you again. His hands are holding your legs as he fucks you. He puts your nipple in his mouth gently sucking and biting while his cock is pounding at your cervix. You fell him so deep, and you know that he is ruining you for any other man. The sex with his son couldn’t compared to this.

It doesn’t take long for you to be approaching your orgasm again. His hands are on your hips holding you still while he fastens the tempo, and you can feel, that he is close too. “That’s it come for me, be a good girl” you hear him say as he starts to rub your clit again. That’s when you come again, spasming on his cock milking him dry.

He cum inside of you, you can feel him throbbing as he spills his load inside. He doesn’t pull out, he just shifts your position so now he is laying on the bed and you are on his chest his dick still inside of you. When you try to get off him, he grips you harder and you can’t move. “I may not be 25 anymore but I still can give you another round” you hear him say. You can feel him getting harder in you again and you know, that you will be here for quite some time. “Now be a good girl and show me how can you ride my cock”

You just hope that your boyfriend won’t come looking for you.

Part two Masterlist You can support my work here : ko-fi

[dinogoofymutated]

Jealousy headcannons! Multi/GN!Reader - Cable, Gambit, Nightcrawler, Quicksilver. Ok I know this wasn't on the schedule butttt Yeahhhh. Cable is going to have an extended version of his fic, and I might do the same for the others but no promises! Also I know that Cable's written half is literally just the snippet I shared with some minor edits but bear with me please his stuff is in the works!!! TWs: Jelousy. Barfights. No violence on Reader but men are creepy. Mentions of sex work. Cable and gambit make public spectacles it's just what they do. The return of wolverine and the X-men Pietro bc I love him

Cable

Look, any man who comes over to flirt with you after you walk in with a legit wall of muscle has to be either stupid or blind.

Cable is by no means a very jealous man. He's not gonna care if a man (or woman) approaches you and starts up a conversation. He might get a little frustrated if they start flirting with you, but he trusts you. He knows you can take care of yourself and he doesn't want you to feel like he's got you on a leash.

But when someone is being persistent, not taking no for an answer, and hell, putting their hands on you? He doesn't take it too well. He's more of an overprotective type when it comes to his flavor of jealousy.

    “That beer for me, Beautiful?” The voice of a stranger cuts through your thoughts, and to be honest, you don’t even think he’s talking to you until you realize how close to you he is. He’s sat on the barstool next to you, leaning towards you like he can’t quite catch his balance. You make a face at him, nonchalantly moving Cable’s beer closer.

    “Last time I checked it wasn’t.” You say curtly. The man has a smile hiding behind his pout as he leans a little closer to you, oblivious to the way you casually recoil from him.

    “Oh c'mon, don’t play hard to get. I’m chill!” You can tell this guy is most definitely drunk, and you find yourself trying not to roll your eyes at him. If only he knew what kind of trouble he was in.

    “Sure you are. But believe me, my Husband is not.” You tell him. You're not married, but to be honest, you knew this guy wasn't going to leave you be if you left him with some vague label. Didn't matter anyway, however, the stranger laughs in your face, and his breath smells like alcohol and cheap cigarettes, a nasty combo that repulses you. You point back at the corner booth where the cable was sitting just a few minutes before, hoping that he’d at least back off at the sight of the six-foot hunk of muscle you call a lover. Unfortunately, He doesn't. 

    “What Husband?” The man says mockingly, and when you look at the booth you find yourself pointing at an empty seat. The sight lights a small flicker of anxiety in you, and your face falls as the man sets a hand on your shoulder and squeezes. It’s not there for long before the weight suddenly disappears. You snap your head around, feeling relief when you see the man’s wrist caught in Cable’s literal iron-clad grip. 

    “This Husband.” Cable grunts.

    All of the blood drains from the stranger’s face in an instant, but it doesn’t take long for the attitude to come back. He tries to yank his arm out of Cable’s grip, but Cable’s arm doesn’t move an inch. To be honest, the sight kinda made you blush a little. Sure, you had seen Cable’s strength many times, but this… well. This was different. The guy starts to yank a little more aggressively, and all Cable has to do is clench his hand for the asshole to yelp and give up. You set a placating hand on his shoulder, and Cable glances back at you. His gaze softens, and he sighs before letting the guy go.

    “What’s your problem, man?” The stranger spits as he holds his bruised wrist. You had already gathered your things and were getting ready to get the hell outta dodge, giving Cable’s shoulder a hard pat as you desperately tried to keep him from getting in a barfight. Cable ignores the guy, walking close behind you as you start to walk away.

    “ -s’ an ugly bitch, anyway.” The stranger mumbles under his breath, but not nearly as quiet as he should’ve. Cable stops in his tracks, wheels around, and slugs the guy with his left arm. There's a sickening crunch and the bar goes silent as the drunken stranger is violently knocked from his seat. Your first instinct is to scold Cable, but the guy had it coming anyway. You look around, and with every eye in the bar squarely on you and Cable, you decide you’ve definitely stayed past your welcome.

Gambit

Gambit is probably the most jealous man in this lineup. Again, He will get fidgety and somewhat aggressive when someone approaches you and begins to flirt, but he trusts you. He doesn't want you to think he doesn't, and as a result, he tends to grit his teeth and bite his tongue to keep himself in check.

There's definitely a very, very thin line in between "I don't want to be overbearing" Remy and "This guy needs to take the fucking hint" Remy.

He's mostly fine with drunk bastards, He thinks they're funny, and as long as they're not bothering you for the most part he'll keep the aggression to a minimum. -But the one thing he absolutely cannot stand is snobby pricks who think they can steal you from him because he's a "swamp rat."

"It's a shame to see such a lovely creature like you standing here all alone." You try not to roll your eyes at the man that approaches you. You and Remy were supposed to have a nice, romantic night out. It was your anniversary, and Remy had told you that he wanted to pull out all the stops for this one. Unfortunately, fate wasn't on either of your sides today. The X-men needed Gambit, and you told him that the plans can wait for another time. Remy, in a very gambit fashion, told you to dress up anyway and he bet he would meet you there. Definitely a rather High-stakes gamble, but you loved him, so you said you'd hold him to it.

Unfortunately for you, it looked like the restaurant was hosting an event at the bar for what looked like a rather stuffy- sorry, High-end law firm. You had been content with waiting for Remy, even if the waitress clearly looked convinced he was standing you up. You had ordered something to drink while you waited, and caught the wrong kind of attention during your trip to the bar.

"I'm not alone, I'm waiting for someone." You say, flashing him an annoyed smile. He smiles back in a smartass kind of way, flashing you his Rolex as he pushes up his glasses. Great. He thinks you're a sugar baby- or maybe a sex worker. Either way, you really wished he was anywhere but here.

"Right. I'll be honest with you, I know you've been waiting here for what- and hour now? Hour and a half? Any guy that leaves you here for that long is not worth your time, sweetheart." You cringe at the nickname, but he clearly can't seem to tell. At this point, you start debating your options. You could run to the bathroom, but there weren't any windows you could crawl out of and he could wait at the door for you to come out. You could try to leave, but you didn't want Remy to think that you left him hanging. It's probably best if you stay and wait for him, but man was this guy getting on your nerves.

"Again, I'm waiting on someone. I'm choosing to wait on him, and frankly, I'm not interested in you." You say bluntly, getting more and more aggravated. The man only smirks at you.

"You're certainly a fiesty one. Don't worry, I like it when they play hard to get." He sends you wink that makes you want to sock him, and to be honest, you start to think about it. The bell at the door of the restaurant dings, and you glance over, face breaking out in a smile at the sight of the man you had been waiting on.

Remy was still in his x-men suit, obviously having come fresh from the fight. He's got some dirt on his face, and his hair is a little messier than normal, but you had never been so happy to see him.

"Well, don't you clean up well." You joke as Remy walks to your table. He chuckles, barely sparing the other man a side-eye before picking up your hand to kiss it.

"Sorry, Chère. Originally, I planned on changin', but I couldn't stand the thought of leaving you here for another moment." Remy's fond gaze turns into a bit of a glare when he finally looks over at the gobsmacked man across the table from you. "I see you've made a new friend?" You roll your eyes at that, shaking your head. Remy gets the message.

There's a gasp from the other patrons of the restaurant, as the sound the contact made was rather loud. There's already a red mark forming on the mans face as you take Remy by the hand and begin to lead him out of the restaurant. Remy is looking at you like he'd fallen in love with you all over again.

"You've been waiting all this time for some Cajun freak?" The man blurts out, finally having found his words.

"Watch it, Mon ami." Remy's shoulders tense as he snarls at the prick. You stand up, giving his bicep a reassuring squeeze before you walk in front of the man. The side of his mouth slightly upturns as you do so, right before you slap the everloving shit out of him.

"I know you really wanted for us to eat here, honey, but to be honest? I like your cooking better anyway."

Nightcrawler

Kurt? Jealous???

Absolutely. He absolutely gets jealous. Kurt is much more of a "cat" kind of jealous than a Guard Dog kind of jealous though. He's not going to do anything crazy like punch anyone, but he's gonna brush up against you, slide his tail around your waist, hold your hand. He wants reassurance from you more than he is angered by whoever is flirting with you.

That's not to say he's not angry. He doesn't like the way some people look at you like a piece of meat instead of the intelligent, beautiful person you are, and he's not afraid to call people out on it.

Kurt knew that the guy you were talking to right now was only stopping to ask you for directions, but he really didn't like how close to you the guy was. Kurt had gone off to get you something to eat from the street food vendor nearby, telling you to just relax and he would be back soon.

When he returned with food in hand, it was obvious to him what was happening, but he still couldn't help but frown. The man is leaning into your space as he shows you the map in his hands. It's fine. There was obviously nothing really going on, the stranger must have been simply touchy. He then watches as the man sets a hand on the back of your waist to point at a building up ahead, and Kurt's mind quickly changes.

Obviously, you had stepped out of the stranger's reach quickly, uncomfortable with the action, but Kurt still slinked up to your side like a cat, pulling you close with his tail as he hands you your food, resting his newly freed hand behind your back.

"There you are, Meine Liebe. I hope you didn't wait for too long." Kurt says sweetly, giving you a grin. You smile back at him, thanking him for the food. You felt relieved to see him. Sure, the stranger that had been speaking to you seemed to be a nice man, but there was a certain amount of comfort and security Kurt provided when he was near you. Kurt makes a show of leaning in and kissing you on the cheek that makes you giggle. The stranger clears his throat after a quick moment.

"-Sorry if I interrupted your date. I appreciate the directions!" He says quickly, face flushed red from embarresment.

"You're perfectly fine! I hope you're able to find what you're looking for alright." You respond sweetly, waving as the man walks off. Kurt is pouting again when you look at him, tail still wrapped comfortably around you. You can't help but giggle.

"You're so jealous." You laugh. Kurt gives you an innocent look as he brushes off the accusation.

"Whaaat? No. Ich habe dich vermisst. That is all!"

Quicksilver

I'm not even gonna lie the fic half of this is just part of that enemies to lovers hcs that I wrote

anyway!!

Pietro is a very pouty, bratty kind of Jealous.

Like sure he trusts you and all but you actually looked at someone else while they were speaking to you? >:[ Don't look at them. Look at him. Smile at him not them. You're laughing at something they said? Well, he's funnier than them!!

He's just, so pouty over the smallest, pettiest things. He just needs a smooch on the forehead and some reassurance and also possibly cuddles, and he'll be fine. God he's such a brat ILHSM

However, If someone is actually flirting with you or going too far and making you uncomfortable, he will in fact throw hands. Or do his speedster thing and find a way to embarrass them, like pantsing them or planting something embarrassing on them. One time he snatched a guy's cell and called his wife before planting it in the man's pocket so she could hear all the flirting he was doing. Now that was fun.

"So I heard you had dinner with the wolfie guy tonight." The sound of Pietro's voice makes you yelp in surprise. You whirl around to see him leaning against the wall of your room, arms crossed. You scoff, and pick a pillow off of your bed to chuck it at him. He catches it easily.

"His name is Logan, and No. Not really. All we did was happen to sit next to each other at dinner." You turn back around to sit at your vanity, but Pietro is already there, sitting on the stool with the pink pillow tucked into his arms.

"So you did have dinner with him?" He pouts. You roll your eyes at him, holding back a laugh as you shove him off the seat. He looses his balance for less than a second before there's a gust and he's sitting cross-legged on your bed, having tossed the pillow to the side.

"What does it matter to you, anyway? You're not even supposed to be here, Pietro." You tease as you sit down, unable to keep yourself from smiling. You comb through your hair as you ready yourself for bed, still grinning like an idiot as you hear Pietro huff and haw.

"Why shouldn't it matter?" He asks, watching as you complete your routine. "I- I have a reason to care." He stutters out cheeks flushing a light pink that reaches his ears. You cover your mouth to keep yourself from laughing.

"Don't laugh!" Pietro objects, and it sends you into a fit of laughter as you stand back up and flop onto your back on the bed next to him.

"He's not my type anyway." You say. It only takes a second before Pietro is leaning over you, caging you between his arms. There's the ghost of a grin beginning to form on his face, simply at the sight of your own cheesy expression.

"What is your type, then?" He asks, and you cock an eyebrow at him.

"Let's just say I prefer a man who can keep up with me." You say with a wink that may or may not have been the most terribly, corny action you could have done. Pietro doesn't seem to care as his face is split with an equally as corny grin.

Both of you are caught off guard by someone calling your same from the hallway, and then a knock shortly after. You take Pietro's moment of distraction and quickly lean up, placing a chaste kiss on his cheek. Pietro looks absolutely shocked.

"You better get going." You whisper. He smiles at you, almost in disbelief, and then he's gone, the window left open and the breeze catching on curtains, blowing gently.

[potchi-fics]

note: drunk again while making this. this bitch is yearning for you and not proofread, as always

tw: fuckboy ellie who turns out to be an awkward lesbian when it comes to you. faggots

      you hate ellie. god, you loathe ellie. the moment you saw her flirting with other girls right after she kissed you, you’ve never hated a girl so much in your goddamn life. she’s the biggest fuckboy you have ever seen in your life, too, and mind you, she’s a woman.

she’s been trying to get in your pants for weeks now; attending the same parties as you, annoying you when she spots you, or simply plain out asking you for a date. just like right now.

“one date,” she stares you down, almost pleading, almost, “just one date. why are you so uptight about giving me one date? you’ve never been in one or what.”

you give her a look, “if this is your way of asking me out on a date, i don’t think you’re pulling it off, seriously. and i’ve been to dates, i just don’t end up in bed with them like you do.” you push past her, your shoulder colliding with hers as you do.

“hey, hey, c’mon. just one date with you, pretty girl.” she rushes after you, talking while walking by your side. “aren’t you feeling bad for shutting me down multiple times now?”

“i just don’t want to be added to the list of the people you’ve slept with, williams.” the use of pretty girl flushes you, but you hide it, “leave me alone.”

“so you thought about sleeping with m–”

you let out an exasperated sigh, “not what i said, williams. shut the fuck up.” 

“look, look, listen.” she grabs your arm, halting you, you glare at her, “just listen, i’m serious, alright? just one date. i like yo–” you walk but she stops you again, “hey, i’m serious! i really like you.”

      your glance back at her, and you see ellie williams flustered. all blushing from her neck to her ears, eyes darting everywhere but you, she’s playing with her hands—oh my god, she is nervous. the ellie williams is all blushy and red-faced before you.

a soft giggle escapes your lips, and she’s immediately looking back at you, she covers her face.

“you’re serious right now?” you raise your eyebrow at her, amused at the state she’s in, “you’re not fucking with me?”

she clears her throat, scratching the back of her nape, “i am. i keep telling you, i am.”

      she’s starting to look like a kicked puppy when you don’t answer, only looking at her for a couple of seconds. 

and you utter the words she’s desperately yearning for.

“okay.” your voice cuts her train of thoughts, ellie perks up, “one date, williams.”

[couldeatthatgirlforlunch]

Nonsense

Synopsis: While on the brink of death, you confess your greatest burden to Rex. He always had a crush on you, so he decides that at his final moments, he should grant both of your last wishes… Until Invincible saves you.

You go on with your life, but Rex can't seem to forget what you did under that rock.

Pairing: Rex Sloan X Gn!Reader

Tw: Mentioned sex a lot, but no description, except a mention of multiple orgasms; Mentioned virginity loss; Mentioned dying; Mentioned self deprecation; Mentioned loneliness; Unrequited love on Rex's part until the end; Happy ending; Despair; Reader is a late bloomer, that makes them insecure, and their perception of dating is skewed because of that; Drunk confession; Mentioned past cheating (it's Rex guys); English isn't my first language.

Word count: 4,5k

Requested? Nope.

Extra notes: Imagine Rex singing Nonsense instead of Sabrina Carpenter. Divider

General masterlist

The urge to laugh is too strong, no matter how hard you try to hold it in, it bubbles from your guts until it's spilling from your mouth and echoing around the hole you're stuck in. It's inappropriate, you know it is, and you're not sure how your colleague might feel about that.

But it's your death too, so you think you can react however you want.

“What the fuck? Are you going crazy on me now?!” Rex, so eloquently, exclaimed. It just makes you crackle harder, tears swiftly starting to leak from your eyes.

“It's just- HAHA- it's funny! In- In a- HA- really fucked way… HAHAHA!” Rex stared at you with wide eyes, weirded out, and almost afraid of you.

“Hot stuff, hmm… I know I’m not the most gracious dude you know but…” He turned his head from one side to the other, looking around. “We’re about to die here, I don't think it's funny.” He crossed his arms. “And I’m trying to escape this shithole we’re stuck in. I’m gonna be pissed if you just keep sitting there and giggling.” He scowled.

You kept giggling.

“It's just… I’m a fucking loser!” You threw your head back, tears streaming down faster. “I’m about to die a virgin! HA!” You clapped your hands when your eyes started burning, trying to coax more genuine tears from laughing instead of crying.

Rex blinked.

“You… Uhhh…?”

“I’m about to die! And I never even had sex before! HA!” Suddenly, the giggles became so forced that the signals of an approaching headache made themselves known inside your skull. “I was just a lab rat! I’ve never ever lived anything! Never dated anyone…” The urge to cry got stronger as your heart constricted, and the situation didn't seem all that funny anymore. “And I’m still a virgin…” You sniffed, uselessly trying to wipe your face with both hands, a little too aggressively. Crying was no worth when death was knocking at your door. Rex winced.

“Oh man… I’m so sorry-”

“AND I’M STUCK HERE WITH THE BIGGEST WHORE I KNOW!”

Rex frowned and pursed his lips.

“Hey! That was not cool… Fair. I guess. But not cool…” Rex sighed, walked towards you, and dropped down to sit by your side. You giggled harder, clapping weakly, eyes closed.

“AND HE NEVER EVEN FLIRTED WITH ME! HAHAHA- HAHA- HA. Ha. Ha…”

Silence overtook the hole for a minute, broken only by you sniffing.

Getting buried to death by Doc Seismic would've been quicker. But getting stuck in a 8x8 feet hole after an earthquake he caused, not being able to get out despite both having superpowers, and then suffocating to death, was almost as humiliating as dying a virgin. Almost.

You were so far below that you couldn't even hear the fight anymore, you only could wish you wouldn't be dead by the time someone found you both. You knew having powers that need to be charged by sunlight would fuck you up one day. And of course Murphy’s Law would cause you to be stuck with a guy whose powers were also useless in this situation, because Rex either would've exploded you both, or caused the rocks above you to shift and crush you faster.

You snorted at the thought.

“Am I ugly?” You blurted out one of the thoughts that crossed your mind sometimes, when loneliness and self deprecation decided to torture your mind a little, and you found yourself getting jealous of people in positions you didn't even wanna be in. Because of course you didn't want to be Eve, and get cheated on multiple times by Rex, or Kate, and her dating dynamics that just weren't what you felt was for you, or even Amanda, that didn't even have to do anything to make a guy so whipped for her, that he decided to look like a kid just to be with her while her curse of forever looking like a child still had a hold over her life. But at least… At least they were wanted.

Rex's eyes widened again.

“WHAT? NO! What the hell? Of course not! You're hot. You're… Beautiful. Hey, don't feel bad about an asshole like me never hitting on you. Guys like me, we just… We never go for people we think are out of our league. We go for accessibility. And you're… Shit, you're the most intimidating person I’ve ever met… In a good way.” You rolled your eyes.

“Atom Eve is not ‘mid’, you jackass.” Rex shook his head.

“Didn't say she was, honestly she's not even my type. I mean, anyone could see that we weren't meant to be together. I just dated her because she came onto me first…” You deadpanned him, unimpressed to be hearing this during your final moments. “Don't look at me like that! We're cool now! We talked about it and she agreed we weren't good. Plus, she's with Mark now…” Your shoulders slumped, defeated, not a single ounce of fight left. “... And if we're gonna point fingers, she was into him while she was with me! So, I’m not totally guilty here…” You gave him the stinky eye, because he was cheating on her at the time. “... Just 98%...”

You sighed, looking away. Staring at nothing. Head empty. Just disappointed.

“Whatever…”

Rex cleared his throat.

“Why is it such a big deal anyway? Sure, you're kind of a loser. Not by my standards!” His voice raised at that. “I don't really care ‘bout that… Never heard anyone saying that sex is overrated? Because it is! Look at me. I used sex all the time just to feel better about myself. All in the past, of course. I’m a changed man.”

You huffed, almost bored, but thankful for the distraction. At this point, you felt hollow. Absolutely empty. Nothing could affect you anymore. For better or worse. You were gonna die anyway.

“Everyone says it's overrated, but that's because everyone has sex… I’m just… Touch starved, I guess. And lonely… I can't remember the last time someone hugged me. Or wanted to spend time with me. Or looked at me. I only held hands with someone, romantically, once. On a double date I was just because someone needed to bring a friend.” You sighed. “Everyone says I’m beautiful, but people don't try to talk to me. No one tries to get my number. And I’ve never even reached the talking stage. All my friends are dating, while I’m just the odd one out…” You pursed your lips. “And everyone tries to give advice by saying ‘the right person will come if you stop looking’, or ‘at the right time’, or ‘you don't need it anyway’. But that's not what bothers me. None of those things are problems to people who don't care. I live my life. I don’t search for it. I don't spend my days thinking about it. I’m not the most romantic person you’ll ever meet… But I’m horny. And alone. I don't need anyone interested in me. But it would be nice to have someone trying every once in a while…” You shrugged your shoulders. “And honestly, it makes me feel insecure. I feel bad thinking I might date someone in the future and they’ll say ‘I don't have a problem with (Y/N)’s exes, because I’m their first’ as if that's a prize, or a quality. No one is worth enough to be that important. But people who are in love say you don't regret those things if you're with the right person. Well, I’m a full grown adult now, and this person never showed up. Maybe they never will. And I’ll end up being a 42 year old loner who everyone pities, and no one understands why I’m alone. I know I would be great. I know I’m a keeper. But… When you get used to being alone, you don't know how to stop. So I guess my viewing on dating is also skewed from that.” You rolled your eyes when they burned again. “And people my age give me weird looks when I say I have so little experience. Because it's not normal. I’m not normal. That's how I feel. I'm weird. There's something wrong with me.” You blew a raspberry, contrasting to the tears rolling down your cheeks. “Not that it matters anymore. We're about to die… FUCK YOU SEISMIC!”

You slumped back against the wall so lazily that your body slid down the rock and dirt underneath you until you were laying down. Your eyes closed shut, ashamed at having vented to someone like Rex, who certainly didn't need to hear about all your paranoias caused by your own mind, and neither understood it.

You spent the few next minutes in silence, and it was horrible to find out that you at least could feel embarrassment.

Rex tugged his mask and goggles off, deposited them on the ground on his other side, took his gloves off and did the same. Then he ran a hand through his ginger and sweaty hair, before tying it in the bun he always wore.

“I could… Help you?” He asked, tentatively.

You whipped your head in Rex's direction, eyes wide, as if you just heard the most absurd idea ever.

“What?”

“Yeah… There's nothing wrong with you, (Y/N). Maybe you’re just unlucky, or maybe everyone is as afraid of you as I am… But, if you're up for it, it would be an honor to spend my last minutes tangled with you. And you would know what it's like to have sex. Not to brag, but I’m quite good at it too, I’m sure you've heard before, so you're in good hands.” He shrugged with a little smile. “No pressure.”

He said no pressure, but when he looked at you like that, it was impossible not to feel compelled. Tan skin, red hair in a slutty bun, thick eyebrows, wide and bright green eyes, meaty lips, each corner pointing up in a grin that assured you everything was going to be fine.

And that's how it happened. That's how you lost your virginity. Between a rock and a hard place.

Minutes later, Invincible rescued you both.

“What does he have that I don't?” Rex glared daggers at the random agent from the GDA you were talking to. Too flirty, in his opinion.

“Hm?” Mark asked, not really paying attention.

“That old geezer (Y/N)’s talking to.” The ginger pointed at him, obnoxiously as ever. Mark’s eyes widened and he begged at the other with his eyes to stop.

“Stop pointing! They’ll see!” Rex just brought his other hand up and flipped at the guy’s back with both hands. Mark groaned and grabbed his arms, forcing them down. “Maybe he's more polite?! I don't know. Why do you care?”

Rex groaned louder than him. Some people around turned their attention on the two of them momentarily, including you. But that was just for a second, before you shrugged your shoulders and you dismissed him. Again. The ginger deflated at losing your attention once more.

“Oh, so he's better than me because his parents raised him?! Nice one, Mark.” He scoffed. “He’s just a stupid fucking nerd cocksucker who works on finance, wears a toupee, lives with his mom and wouldn't even be able to get his micro dick hard on front of someone like (Y/N).”

“... Okay?” Mark crossed his arms. “I thought you were different now.” He lifted an eyebrow. Rex scowled.

“I am! I just- just…” Rex stuttered. “... It doesn't make sense!” He basically screamed, pointing again, exasperated, with both arms out. Mark face-palmed with a sigh, ignoring the eyes on them again.

“Rex… Do you like them?” Rex’s green eyes widened at that, his heart fell to his feet, his muscles froze for a second and a half.

“What? I- no. No, of course not.” His voice came out thinner and higher than usual. Mark tillted his head.

“Are you sure?”

“Am I sure? Yes! Yes, I am. Why? Does it look like I ain't?” He scoffed again with a grimace, crossing his arms protectively around himself.

“Kinda.”

“Well, you're wrong!”

“Mhm. Was it out of nowhere or did something happen between you two?”

“Pfff, fuck off.” Mark shrugged his shoulders.

“Okay.” He turned to leave, but Rex stopped him before he could.

“I can't say what happened, past me would, because I was a jerk, which I’m not anymore, but something happened, I just won't say what.” Invincible sighed and rubbed his face.

“And did you talk about it with them?”

“Of course not!”

“You should.”

Rex cried out.

“Terrible advice. Horrible. Shitty. You're the worst friend ever!”

Mark shook his head.

“Then nothing will change! Just think about it. Use your new maturity.” He raised his eyebrows to emphasize his point, while Rex pouted. “It's okay to be jealous, man. But to get them, you have to talk to them.” He patted his shoulder. “Took me long enough to understand that, but you’ll get there.”

Rex let out all the air on his lungs, staring at you with longing. He chewed on the interior of his cheek when he watched you write your number on the guy's hand with a pen you snatched from his chest pocket.

“... You're right. Thanks, man.” Rex mumbled with his jaw tense and fists closed tight. “I’ll talk to them.”

Mark watched wearily as the redhead stumped all the way down the room to get to you. He winced at the prospect of what would happen, but ultimately decided to give his friend a chance, and just wait.

“HEY JACKASS!”

“Oh no…” He mumbled, wincing.

You blinked as you looked up at your colleague approaching, looking furious.

“Oh hey, Rex, what's up?”

“You!” He shoved his pointer finger against the guys's chest. “(Y/H/N) doesn't like ugly bald assholes! Get out of here before I beat you and shove a bomb up your-”

“REX!” You slapped his chest, then watched, speechless, as the poor guy scrambled away from you. “Why’d you do that? He's not even bald…”

“Heh, cutie, you don't know guys like I do. You have a long way ahead yet. You started off just fine with me.” He pointed his two thumbs at his chest, proudly. “I get that it's hard to find someone on my level to compete with for your second time, but please, don't insult yourself by giving ugly losers a chance.” He puffed his chest out. You blinked, mouth falling open.

“... Okayyyy? That actually wasn't going to be the second? That time with you helped me a lot, thanks by the way, I’m way more confident now and I think it shows.” You shrugged. “I went on three dates already and two of them are obsessed with me.” You laughed easily. “Still weird to talk about it though, never thought I'd say something like that, but yeah. Thanks again.”

You patted his chest and walked away.

Mark walked in Rex's direction after he watched you distance yourself from him.

“Mark. That didn't work. You told me it would work.”

“... You look like a kicked puppy. It's… Weird…” He blinked, and crossed his arms. “Also, what you did, that's not what I meant.” He shook his head. “Definitely not.”

“... Did you hear anything?”

He shook his head again.

“Just the part where you screamed at that innocent guy, you should get sued for harassment.”

Rex huffed.

“What do I do now?”

“Try again. Nicer this time.”

“Here. Coffee for you.” Rex left a cup in front of you.

“But I don't drink coffee?” He blushed as red as his hair, so hard that the roseness showed through his tan skin.

“Since when?!”

“Since always?!” You stared at him, confused.

“... Okay. Noted.” You stared at each other in silence, for a moment. “... Let's go on a date!” He blurted.

“What? Why?” You jumped from your seat, shocked out of your sockets.

“Because we had sex!”

“You had sex with half the people you know!”

“Not anymore! Not- not since you.”

You sighed deeply, praying for patience, and holding your eyes from rolling inside your skull, purely out of the kindness on your heart.

“Rex, we can't go out.” Rex’s jaw fell, bewildered.

“W-W-Why not?”

“Because- Are you kidding me? Is this a joke?!” You gestured wildly, as if the answer was obvious. “Why do you want to go out with me?” You placed your hands on your hips and raised your eyebrows, inquiring for a logical answer.

“... Because I’m into you.” You rolled your eyes.

“Yeah, sexually. I know you are. We had sex under a rock, you came three times, it was kinda obvious you were attracted to me.” Rex shook his head hastily.

“No! Not like that. I… I think I’m in love with you…” Silence reigned over the room for a couple moments, that felt like an eternity for both of you. You didn't even want to give him an answer, because what do you say to something like that? To someone like him? As for Rex… “... Can't you say something already?!” He exclaimed while shaking his hands, sounding pissed off, but actually desperate.

“... You're not in love with me.” You stated.

“Yes, the fuck I am?”

“No, the fuck you aren't. You might be in love with my guts. Or with intimacy. Or the attention. Or you're having a trauma response to almost dying, and got emotionally dependent on me because I was there, and we kind of comforted each other. But you are not in love with me.” You shook your head, sporting a serious countenance and hugging your torso protectively.

“(Y/N)... That's what you think of me?” You blinked.

“... I don't know. Yes? No? Maybe?” You shook your head and shrugged your shoulders. “What I think doesn't matter. Even if you're a good guy now, I know my luck. You think you're in love with me now because I gave you some attention, and we had sex, and we were on the brink of death.” Rex tried to interrupt you, but you raised your hand, he took a step forward but you took a step back. “But it’s not real. You’ll be entertained with me for a while, then we’ll run out of things to talk about because you're not that interested anymore, and you're just gonna look for me for sex, and then I’m gonna feel like everyone pities me and thinks I’m stupid for being with you, for thinking I actually had a chance at a relationship. And I'll feel like that too. And then it's going to end.” You took another step back, and he took a step forward, his expression looking more crestfallen the more you looked bothered, hurt and defensive, while trying to hide. “You don't want me, Rex. You just want someone. And you might genuinely want someone else, one day. But that person is not me.” You straighten your posture, kicking your vulnerability away, and willing every ounce of determination to show. “Again, thank you for taking that weight off my back, and for making it fun, but don't think for a second I had any hope or intention that it would turn into more than just sex.”

“(Y/N)...”

You faked the same friendly smile you always give everyone, trying your hardest to pretend everything is okay, the future isn't weird, and nothing has changed.

“If you wanna be friends with benefits, that's cool with me.” You shrugged, and walked away to lock yourself in your room.

Rex didn't talk to you again for a while, and you were okay with that. If he was going to act like an idiot, then he could do it away from you. Meanwhile, you distracted yourself with training with the other Guardians, saving people, enjoying time alone — as you were used to —, and sometimes indulging in the attention of those guys you got out of luck, at least while it lasted. Good things were rare for you, so you usually just took what you could get. That didn’t mean you were going to humiliate yourself for crumbs, and that's surely what any ill intentioned person will try to give you

That is, until your peace was disturbed in the middle of the night. You had a hunch about who was knocking on your door, but you were rooting for the possibility that it was just Rudy calling you for an emergency.

But it wasn't, it was Rex. And he was drunk.

“Look… I don't care what you think…” The redhead was so out of it that he needed to hold on the threshold so as not to fall, while the other held his beer and pointed a finger in your general direction. “If I said I’m in love with you… I’m in love with you…” He lost balance for a second, but got a hold of it soon enough. “I’ve never said that to anyone… Anyone… You can… Ask around…” His eyes closed, surely heavy.

“Rex, go to your room.” You mustered all the patience in the world to utter those words as calmly as you could manage.

“No… Now you're gonna… Hear me…” He opened his eyes and chugged the rest of his drink, shooking you to your core. “You blame me… You blame other people… You blame yourself… You blame everyone…” You crossed your arms and tapped your foot at how long it was taking him to formulate sentences. “But the truth is… You can have everything you’ve ever wanted…” He tilted his head, probably because of how heavy it felt. “With me…”

You sighed, exasperated.

“Go to sleep!” You insisted.

“With you?” He giggled, and before you could say anything, he somehow managed to stumble inside your room. You guess it would be the easiest thing to push him out, but you were too nice to watch him fall in the middle of the corridor, despite having too little patience to take care of him throughout the rest of the night. The goal was to get rid of him as soon as possible.

“No, not with me! In your own room! Alone!”

“You're jealous baby? You shouldn't be… I only have eyes for you…” He fell on your bed, basically dead weight, and you wondered if he passed out. “My body is yours…”

You huffed, uncrossed your arms, and tried to pull him out of your bed by pulling on one of his arms, but he was too heavy, and not even in the slightest controlling his weight to help you. You don't even think it's out of pettiness, just drunkness.

“Shut up and get out of here.” You rolled your eyes.

“I’m not perfect… I’m not the best you could get… But I want you… You can…” His face was planted in your mattress, causing his Voice to come out muffled. “Gimme a chance… You're hot…”

“Tsk.”

“But not only that…” Rex turned his head to the side to look at you, looking more awake now, just a little. “You're way, waaayyy out of my league… You're smart and… A-And great…” He blinked slowly. His face was squished against the mattress, causing his full lips to pout, while he stared almost dreamily at you. “Y-You asked me… T-That day… You asked me why I never hit on you… You came straight out of my dreams… And I… I didn't want to get rejected…” He groaned, closed his eyes, and scrunched his face, as if having a bad memory, or a migraine. You hoped he wasn't getting sick. “But then w-we had sex… And it was fucking amazing!” He blew a raspberry. “Just to reject me later.” He sighed deeply.

“And?” You rolled your eyes.

At this point, you just gave up on lifting him for now, and sat down next to his torso on the bed, wondering how to convince him to fuck off out of your room

Sitting down proved to be a bad idea when he inched closer to lay his head on your lap, nuzzling your thighs.

“Don't run from me, baby… I know I’m an idiot… But I’m trying my best to change… Taking constructive criticism and… Respecting opinions… And all…” He left a delicate, barely there, but reverent nonetheless, kiss on your thigh. “And you deserve only the best… Of the best…” He sniffed. “D-Don’t go for a dick l-like Immortal…” Rex lightly nibbled on your flesh, on the same place he left that peck, so delicately that he was basically running his teeth along your skin. “You deserve someone like Mark… And I’m trying to be more like him…” He pouted and frowned as if you had given him an answer he didn't like, but his eyes were still closed. “One chance… Just… You deserve to be loved… You're… The exact opposite of the old me and everything I did… I never wanted to hurt you with that… You're… A constant… You're… Safe… You're… Reliable… You're just… Genuine, and special like that…”

He fell silent suddenly, and you sighed, not really sure which course of action you should take, and even thinking he fell asleep. Until he spoke again, spooking you even.

“Just because it didn't happen yet… Doesn't mean you can't be loved…” He slowly cracked his eyelids open and, with great effort to balance his head, looked up at you. “Please baby, don't say something like that again, it's just… Not true… And I’m gonna… Beat anyone who made you think that…” You let out a weak, wet laugh you didn't even know was on your throat, and swallowed, suddenly finding yourself emotional, while amused, just because of his last words. He looked like a puppy, looking up at you like that. Damn pretty boys. “I know you're lonely… I’m lonely too… We can be… Lonely together… Or whatever cliche shit people say to something like that…” He closed his eyes again, and nuzzled his face on your skin once again, seemingly satisfied to stay there.

Rex let out a soft, happy hum, when you, hesitantly, lifted your hand from the mattress to his mess of red hair, and started rubbing your fingernails against his sensitive scalp without damaging his bun. Sending tingles through his nerves and warming his insides more than the heat from his explosions ever could.

“Rex…”

“Let's just try… Please… If it doesn't work out, that's okay… But… We’re both… Tired of being alone…” You felt your eyes sting. “I know I’m an idiot… But we have to… Try…”

You felt the moment he actually fell asleep, dozing off on your lap, leaving the both of you in a literal and metaphorical uncomfortable position, that would surely leave you regret and pain the next day.

But as you looked down at him, it was just like that day again. Dark and uncomfortable. You feeling desperate while focusing on his stupidly handsome face, with his tan skin, aquiline nose, messy red hair, full lips, dimpled chin, thick eyebrows and long lashes. Part of you wished he would just open his eyelids and look at you with those innocent, sad green orbs again.

And just like that day, you decided to give him a chance.

Like, comment and reblog 🥰

[matchpointfaist]

super rich kids with nothing but loose ends

art donaldson x pr relationship! reader

tw for drinking, drug usage, smut, might split into two parts

art donaldson had a tiny image problem. okay, maybe tiny wasn’t the right word. according to his team, and grandmother, he was on a downward spiral headed nowhere. he was at the height of his career, fresh out of stanford and in with the pros, perpetually gearing up for his next tournament, always running on as little sleep as possible. he had more than he knew how to handle; more money, more alcohol, more parties, more people offering him coke and more of a reason to finally try it. when he was younger, 16 or 17, he’d preached about his body being a temple, he’d never have dreamed of putting anything harmful into it. but now? now, he was living in a free for all, and he just kept coming out on top.

you, on the other hand? the media loved you. you were riding a high from your US open win straight out of college, on a winning streak that was finally being recognized as more to do with skill than luck. your team was a tight ship, constantly keeping tags on you, making sure nothing undesirable slipped through. it wasn’t just about winning, for you. it was about being the best, and that meant every aspect of your life revolving around getting people to like you. behind closed doors, though? that was a whole different story.

you could, and often did, keep up with art and all of his friends. you weren’t close, really, but you ran in the same circles, always running into each other at parties, occasionally flirting. he’d run into you once at some magazine launch, making small talk, already half drunk. “how do you do it?” he’d let slip through, watching you with hazy eyes. “do what?” you’d laughed, brows knit. “keep it together. you’re always more fucked up than i am, but you go out and win the next day like nothing happened,” he’d sounded frustrated, like he was holding it against you. “i just do it,” you’d shrugged, knowing fully well it was a blatant lie. every moment of your life was choreographed and orchestrated- you never just did anything. “bullshit,” he’d said under his breath, turning away before you could ask him what he meant. he’d avoided you after that, watching from afar as you drank the other girls under the table, as you stayed out even later than he did despite having a 8am match. he didn’t need to know how you did it. he could figure it out himself.

six months later, he found himself sitting in his manager's glass office, getting scolded for what felt like hours, lectured endlessly about his problematic behavior. "we need to rehab your image," his manager told him, leaned over his desk, "you need a girlfriend, someone to soften your appearance, make you more favorable to brands," "i'm a tennis player," art sighed, sinking down in the crinkling plastic seat, "i didn't sign up for all this shit, honestly, and i'm certainly not gonna go date some random girl just so a brand will sponsor me," "you don't need a random girl," his manager smiled, paging his assistant, and before art could ask him to clarify, you were strolling through the door. "oh, fuck no," he shook his head, standing without hesitation, "no. i don't need tennis' golden girl to tidy up my image, okay? this is bullshit," "if you want to stay signed on here, you'll sit down,"

art sat back down with an agitated huff, crossing his legs, trying to keep his eyes off of you as you sat down in the chair just beside his. "you need to understand that the two of you are not just tennis players anymore, alright? you're celebrities. my firm represents both of you, and i have zero intention of letting my investment go to waste because you can't get a grip, donaldson. we've drawn up contracts-" the man slid two folders across his desk, rigid with tension, "the two of you will maintain a stable, healthy relationship for a minimum of six months, until the buzz about art's recent escapades dies down. if, for any reason, this relationship ends before the six month term, both of your contracts with this firm will be terminated. got it?" a handful of mumbled expletives and messy signatures later, you were following art out of the office, the tension palpable.

"i think this is all bullshit, for the record," he told you as the elevator doors closed behind the two of you, "i don't need this. i'm doing perfectly fine for myself," "you're an alcoholic who sleeps his way through whichever city he finds himself competing in, don't be stupid. i know you, art. or were you too fucked up to remember all the times you hit on me at parties?" "i'm not an alcoholic," he scoffed, running a hand through his hair, "and that's rich, coming from you. you drink more than half the guys there," "and yet i still show up and don't make an ass out of myself!" you laughed incredulously, "face it, art, really. you need this,"

the elevator dinged and he watched as you stepped off, hesitating before following after you. “we might as well make the best of it,” he finally sighed, rubbing a hand over his face, “we need to be seen out together,” “just call me when you set something up,” you told him, smoothing out your skirt, “see you around, art,” and then you were gone, slipped out the door and into the back of some dark suv, just casual enough to get under his skin. he waited a week before calling you, finally deciding just to take you to dinner, try to at least be friends if you were stuck together for 6 months. he picked the restaurant, insisting on picking you up himself- he had a new sports car he was itching to drive- and sent you the details. he pulled into your driveway 5 minutes late, debating if he should get out and come to the door before changing his mind. this wasn’t a real date, after all.

you walked out after a moment, a vision of long legs and a sleek dress, your hair falling in loose curls down your back. “rude to make a lady come to the car alone,” you told him as you slid into the passenger seat, “i’d prefer if you didn’t do it again,” “do forgive me,” he rolled his eyes, raising his hands in mock surrender before putting the car back in drive, pulling out of your driveway, “you look nice,” “hm, you do too,” you smiled just slightly, eyes raking over his blazer and slacks, the shining watch on his wrist. he reached over to turn the music up, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel. “we need to talk about how we want to come across," you said over the song, "like what do we want the public to think about our relationship?"

"i couldn't give a fuck less," he laughed, shrugging one shoulder, "as long as they think we're together, who cares about specifics?" "well you can't be seen with anyone else," you frowned slightly, irritated by his nonchalance, "you know that, right?" "getting jealous already?" he flashed you a grin, one hand coming to rest on your thigh. you jerked away immediately, glaring at him from the corner of your eye, but he just waved it off, pulling you back towards him. "relax, i'm just getting in character," he smiled, more like smirked, his eyes gleaming with mischief, "you want it to come natural, don't you?" you tried to relax, ignoring the way his thumb rubbed circles on the skin of your thigh, the way his hand felt warm against you. it wasn't real, so it didn't matter that the simple touch had your heart racing.

the dinner went smoothly, the two of you falling into practiced touches easily, your hand lingering on his arm and his eyes lingering on your lips. by the end of the night, you had a near perfect rhythm. "you're good at this," he mumbled as he walked you down the crowded sidewalk back to his car, his hand on your low back, "guess you get used to that, being the golden girl of american tennis," "that's funny coming from you," you laughed slightly, "you're number one in the country, damn near in the world. you should be used to it by now," "never get used to having a beautiful woman on my arm," his voice was dangerously slow, suspiciously genuine. "bet you say that to all the girls," you rolled your eyes, attempting to brush off the way goosebumps dotted along your skin. "you're naive if you think i care about the other girls enough to flatter them," it sounds too easy to be a lie, "they throw themselves at me, i don't really have time to try and impress them,"

"you're an asshole," you laughed, shocked at his bluntness, "i thought you were nice, you're always so soft at parties," "soft?" he repeated, like he'd been scorned, "i am not soft, i just try not to be as aggressive as some of the other guys," "well i'm glad to discover you're actually exactly the same as they are," you rolled your eyes, "frat boys are all the same anyway, i'm not surprised," "i'm not a frat boy!" he argued, "i graduated last year, thank you very much," "once a frat boy, always a frat boy," you grinned, looking up at his flushed face. he looked down at you, the tension melting away as a boyish smile spread across his lips, "god, should've known you were just fucking with me," he laughed, nudging your shoulder. "i have no room to talk," you laughed, running a hand through your hair before letting it fall to his shoulder, looping your arm through his as you walked, "guess we're not too different,"

the drive home was quiet, his playlist playing idly in the background as he drove, your eyes glued to your phone so you wouldn't look at him for too long. he walked you to the door when you got there, smiling apologetically, "hopefully this makes up for earlier," "i guess so," you grinned, leaning against your doorway. "so we won't see anyone else," he said after a moment, "what about affection? i know we have to sell it, but are you okay with kissing in public? i don't want to take it too far," "wow, a frat boy who cares about consent," you teased, "why don't you come inside? we can sit down and talk about everything,"

you shouldn't have invited him in. you knew it as soon as you actually saw him in your space, sitting on your couch like he belonged there, his dress shoes by the door right next to your discarded heels. it made it all too real, his sobering presence casting a light on your home. "your place is so nice," he said, standing from the couch to run his fingers along the frame of a painting, "i'm surprised you don't have all your trophies out on display," "oh, they're out, just not in here," you assured him, "i have a room for that," "can i see?" he sounded genuinely curious, bordering on excited, and you cursed yourself for being so stupid before pushing it down and leading him through the house.

you opened a door along the main hallway, hesitating before letting him step inside after you, the only person you'd ever allowed inside besides your parents. "jesus," he said under his breath, glancing around. you knew you must look insane to a normal person- there were trophies and medals littering the shelves, plaques displayed, framed photos of winning shots or of you posing with coaches. there was a small tv against the wall, only used to watch back matches, and a loveseat for when you spent hours locked in the room, examining your every played back movement. you watched as he studied each trophy, his eyes lingering on the US Junior Open cup, the first one you'd ever won. "you were 15," he finally said, his fingers tracing the inscription in the copper, "weren't you?" "yeah, i was," you nodded, surprised that he even knew that, "why?" "that's fucking incredible," he continued on over the awards, "this is all fucking incredible,"

"i thought you'd think i was crazy," you admitted, "like this was some kinda shrine or something," "i think this is the hottest thing i've ever seen," his voice was hoarse, his eyes on the photo of you just after your most recent win, kissing your trophy. "what?" you almost laughed, to diffuse the tension if nothing else. "you're so fucking talented," he turned to face you, and your breath left you, your cheeks flushing. he looked undone, pupils dilated and cheeks tinged pink, "do you just sit in here and look at all you've done?" "i only come in here to watch matches," you felt suddenly embarrassed, like you were admitting some weakness, baring some part of your soul to him, "that's really all," "oh, god," he ran a hand through his hair, "you're so intense," "is that a bad thing?" you asked defensively, crossing your arms over your chest. "no, god no," he said quickly, shaking his head, "this whole thing is just- you're just insanely talented,"

a mental alarm goes off as he crosses the room, standing just in front of you, brushing a lock of hair from your face. “you make all those other girls look like a fucking joke,” he murmured, “you know that? wouldn’t even bother playing against you if i were them,” that does it- ignore the voice in your head telling you this is wrong, that this isn’t real- and kiss him, feverish and hot, rough and quick. he grabs hold of your hips, tight and greedy, with an intensity you’d only ever seen on the court. “we shouldn’t,” it comes out in a pant between kisses, your voice heady, “art, wait-“ “fuck waiting,” he mumbles, pulling you back to kiss you again, your back hitting the wall behind you. he tastes like vodka and redbull and mint gum, your lips tingling against his. a startled gasp leaves you as he halfway picks you up, your shoulder knocking a trophy from the wall with a clang. “shit, i’m sorry-“ “bedroom,” you cut him off, sliding out of his arms to pull him down the hallway, stumbling steps taken between messy kisses.

he laid you back on your bed, his kisses getting sloppier the needier he got, his hands anywhere he could reach. “these fucking legs,” he choked out, his hands grabbing at your thighs, lips trailing down your neck, “gonna be the death of me,” “shut up and fuck me,” you pulled his lips back to yours, eager for more. your body was taut with need by the time he finally rolled on a condom, ignoring your chastising remark when he pulled it from his wallet, and fucked into you, stretching you out more than you’d expected. “art, fuck,” you moaned against his lips, back arching. “oh,” he pulled away just enough that you could see the moment his eyes rolled back, his lips swollen and red, all blissed out as he rolled his hips. “oh, fuck me, that feels good,” his hands came to your thighs as his thrusts grew faster, his fingers leaving little marks across your skin, roaming pointlessly until he stretched your legs up, holding them above you, the new angle making you squeeze him even tighter. “oh, right there,” you were breathless, reaching between your parted thighs to circle your clit, desperate for your high. “you like that?” he panted, pressing a kiss to your calf, “tell me, baby,” in any other situation, you’d have rolled your eyes at his cockiness, but it only served to bring you closer. “yes, feels so fucking good,” you nodded, shameless and eager, “oh! oh, art, right fuckin there-“ he fucked you even harder, your muscles burning as he held your legs higher, a scream nearly leaving your throat as you came, trembling beneath him. “oh, jesus-“ he followed you almost immediately, filling the condom with a moan, his hips stilling slowly, “god, that was good,”

he slowly pulled your legs back down, pulling out of you and disposing of the condom as he caught his breath. your eyes were heavy with exhaustion, a serene feeling enveloping you as you curled up into bed, yawning quietly. “you can stay over,” you offered- something you never did- “if you want,” “yeah, okay,” he nodded, curling up behind you, his hands resting on your waist, “g’night, then,” “mm, night art,” you hummed, eyes closing.

you woke up only a couple of hours later, blinking into the darkness of your room, the spot beside you cold. your brows furrowed as you sat up, glancing around, only to find art gone, as well as the pile of clothes he’d shed earlier that evening. “what the fuck?” you mumbled to yourself, checking the time on your phone, rubbing your eyes. just under the 3:14am, there was a text from art. ‘sorry i dipped. don’t think we should do that again, wasn’t in the contract and all that. night!’ your face stung, anger and humiliation filling your veins. you slammed your phone down on the nightstand, pulling the pillow over your head and trying your best to get some sleep. he was right, you thought. it wasn’t real, so why pretend? only five months and 29 days to go, anyway.

[queenie-the-court-jester]

break up with your boyfriend

Yandere trans!fem cheerleader x fem reader

It was so shittily made but I need to pump out more fics or else my blog will die. Thank you all for 1k followers though! I'll rewrite this in the future maybe

Tw: mentions of blackmailing, nsfw, slight breeding kink, batshit crazy girlfriend,not proofread, another oc mentioned!?🌺

💄Eva saccharine has been your girlfriend since she first started transitioning. You helped her style her hair, do her nails, pick her clothes, find good makeup, anything she needed to feel like the real her. So when freshman year rolled in, it came as no surprise to you she fit right in with the clique.

💐Ofcourse you had your fears she'd choose them over you but that wasn't the case, because she'd make you eat lunch with them and sit on her lap, not so subtly humping your ass while talking all about cheer practice

🛍️boys wanted to date her, girls wanted to be her. She just wanted you, to just be the two baddest bitches on the block. It didn't matter if you were just like her or the complete opposite, she gushed over you. Praising you for being her good girl, her sweet little princess, her obedient pocket pussy-

💄but at this current moment? She was busy bullying your insides, forcing her fat cock into your slippery hole as she held you steady by your waist. Biting and groaning everytime she'd feel you squeeze that certain spot on her dick

"fu-uuckkk.. baby cakes, 'yer squeezin' me so goood.. ah.. hah.. you wouldn't mind if I pumped a few babes into your tight cunny right? Wanna be my baby mama?"

💐that made you squeeze tighter, holding onto the bedsheets for dear life. She had you face down, ass up and damn near breaking your back with how hard she was going. Hearing the normally composed and playful eva turn into a drooling pussy-drunk mess had you feeling butterflies, just going plap play plap-

🛍️let's just say, by the end of it, you couldn't walk for days afterwards. But no amount of hickies and perfume would be able to scare away a rather persistent guy. He was on the football team, star quarterback, rich asshole. sam white. Eva hated his guts, he thinks he can just waltz in and steal her bitch? Not on her watch.

💄this little feud had been going on for a while, and more times than you could count you've been caught in the crossfire. Though it was kinda funny, seeing them screeching insults at eachother and bickering. Eva would sassily flick her blonde hair and grab you by the collar of your neck, Dragging you away while Sam hooted and hollered at your retreating form

💐you never questioned her morbid fascination with anything horror or paranormal related. She was just obsessed with regular girl things. wanting you to help her summon a demon once, but you aren't that stupid, making blood pacts with them could result in very unsavory ending's and you quite cherished your soul and body

🛍️Eva has more than one account on different social medias, pretending to be multiple different people and Stalking your posts. She'd slide into your dms and flirt, seeing if you'd really cheat on her. She's so happy when you instantly block the account, guess you'll survive not being sent to her basement for another week

💄she has the audacity to grab a frilly pink pen and make you wear clothes that purposely shows off what she wrote. In bright bold lettering, Eva's little cum dump ♡ . Maybe she'll let you bring a jacket, only if you beg her really hard with those big doe eyes she loves. She put a collar and leash on you too

💐don't try breaking up with her, she takes 'they go low, I go lower" to another level. Threatening to post pictures of you in rather compromising positions. When did she record all of this? Who knows. She won't refrain from spreading nasty rumors of you that just force you to come sobbing into her arms, if you try and get comfort from somebody else she won't hesitate to eliminate them. Don't you see? She's the final girl, and you're her love Interest

"I told you not to run pretty baby.. now look what you've done. I gotta fix your mess up~.."

moral of the story: be a loyal loving girlfriend and she'll spoil you rotten with her daddy's black card ♥️

[misahyochaeng]

Candy

(Fem!Reader x Poly!Samo)🔞

tw: Dom!Samo, Sub!Reader, Club/Stripper!AU, Dancer!Samo, Slight CnC, Drunk sex, Threesome, Food play, Exhibitionism, Shy!Reader, “Unexperienced" Reader, Fingering, Body worship, Mentions of liquids or spit of some sort, Backstage sex (REPOST FROM MY WATTPAD!!!!)

a/n: this is an old chapter i’ve decided to repost, im sorry if the writing style is off.

—

—"Come on, Y/N, stop being such a sore loser!"

Nayeon mocked as she gave you a light shove on your shoulder. Jihyo looking at you with furrowed eyebrows as she crossed her arms.

—"All you do is play games at home, go out with us for once!!"

Your roommates complained, they were usually party people, often out drinking or clubbing; you on the other hand were completely opposite.

You preferred to stay in, sure you liked to go out from time to time and have fun, but you didn't see the need to do it all the time, you'd rather stay home and have your alone time.

Though the nagging was getting on your nerves, and you knew it wasnt gonna end any time soon, so you gave in.

—"Alright, Alright.."

You groaned, standing up from bed, running a hand through your messy bed hair.

Before you know it, the girls pulled you into your vanity for a "makeover".

Nayeon did your makeup, while Jihyo chose a proper outfit for you, and in a matter of seconds, you were fully dolled up.

They both checked you out, smirking a bit.

—"Not bad, Y/N.. you should thank us."

Jihyo remarked in a slightly cocky tone.

You looked in a mirror and was a bit taken aback from your appearance, you were wearing a short, dark red bodycon dress, topping it off with black heels and a leather jacket, and your makeup was dark yet femenine; it was obvious you were gonna catch some looks in the club.

—"Oh wow,"

You mumble as you stared brainlessly at the mirror,

—"Yeahh, yeahh.. we know, you look stunning."

Nayeon said in a bit of a sultry voice, creeping up behind you and hugging you, hands on your waist and squeezing your sides, she smiled as she leaned on your shoulder.

—"Let's get going."

Jihyo replied as she dragged you both into the car, drifting away to the club.

The club was packed when you got there, visible for a weekend, you let out a shaky sigh as Nayeon held onto your arm and led you to the club, showing your ID to the bouncer as you finally reached inside.

After a while, you lost the girls, they had downed so many drinks down your system that your head was pounding and everything felt like a slight blur.

You stumbled around trying to find them until you bumped into two girls, groaning as you fell hard on your bottom.

—"Fuck, i'm sorry."

You rubbed yourself softly before looking up, jaw falling open and eyes widening at the sight.

There hovered two dancers, you'd been observing their entire performance before and having them this close felt surreal.

—"Wow... i mean, sorry, did i say that out loud?"

You stammered, eyebrows furrowing and cheeks flushing slightly in embarrassment,

The dancer with black hair and bangs stared at you with amusement, the latter next to her giggling a bit and reaching her hand out to you.

You finally realized you'd been on the floor the whole time, taking her gentle hand and standing up.

—"I-i'm really sorry about that."

—"It's okay honey."

The girl with bangs replied, eyeing the girl next to her, it was like they were communicating with just eye contact.

—"Say, you seem nice.. you alone? how about a drink with us."

—"No I' should get going to my frie—"

—"Whatever, come on let's go."

The two well dressed dancers grabbed you and pulled you into their own backstage room, you passed by bouncers, dancers and even pimps flirting with girls.

As you crashed on the couch, the girls began pouring pure alcohol.

—"Loosen up, sweetheart, let's have some drinks, no?"

The brown haired girl handed you a shot, your hand a bit shaky as you took it gently.

—"I'm Sana by the way, and my little companion there is Momo."

She said as she pointed at the cold looking girl with bangs mixing up the drinks, you weren't gonna lie, her presence was scary.

—"And you are?.."

—"Y/N."

You replied quick, bringing a pillow to your lap, covering your revealing outfit.

—"Great, Y/N! Well.. how about we play some drinking games, loosen up a bit. hm?"

Sana appealed as Momo quietly brought over the multiple shot glasses and cups.

—"Alright.."

You blurted awkwardly as you began playing.

—"Okay, the games pretty simple, we'll flip a coin and the player has to guess if it's head or tails, whoever loses has to be given a shot by their opponent, alright?"

Sana inquired, eyes staring at you with a slight glint; you nodded.

—"Alright! I'll do it with my dear Momo so you'll visualize the game a bit better."

Sana smiled, scooting over to Momo who was staring at you both with an unreadable expression.

Sana pulled out a coin and flipped it, covering it with her hand after taking a peek.

—"Alright Momoring, heads or tails?"

Sana said in a cheeky tone, a mischievous smile plastered on her face.

There was a moment of silence as Momo thinked, the bass of the music outside the backstage only being heard.

—"Tails."

Momo replied, smirking softly as she read Sana's face for a response.

—"Dangit!"

Sana groaned softly, a pout evident on her face.

Momo chuckled as she stood up and picked up a shot glass, pushing Sana down gently on the couch next to you, her eyes darkened and dominant, she lifted Sana's chin up and forced her mouth open, pouring the shot glass into the latter's mouth.

The sight brought a feeling to your stomach, you didn't know if it was Momo's hand placement and her cocky smirk as she hovered and poured the alcohol down Sana's mouth; or if it was Sana's beady eyes, staring up at Momo as the intoxicating liquids fell in her mouth, plump lips shining as a bit of the liquid dropped down her chin.

Sana swallowed and knocked you out of your trance by speaking up.

—"Alright, you see? nice and simple! Now it's Momo's turn."

She smiled as if she wasn't looking up at her friend needily just seconds ago.

—"U-uhmm.."

—"Alright, Y/N, heads or tails?"

Momo bluntly interrupted, arms crossed as she looked down at you, a competitive smile on her face.

—"Heads?"

Momo nodded, flipping the coin swiftly and taking a look at it, she giggled before exchanging a look with Sana.

—"Wrong!"

She began approaching you even more, shot glass in her hand, but this time it was different, Sana began slithering over to your direction too.

They both had test tube shot glasses in their hands, as they got closer, both Sana and Momo straddled each of your thighs, practically pinning you down as Momo forced your mouth open.

—"Spice things up a bit, no?"

They both put the tubes in their mouth, leaning in, lips practically brushing as she both passed the liquid into your system.

—"Fuck.."

You groaned as you swallowed, the alcohol burning your throat.

—"We're gonna have a lot of fun with you."

They said in unison.

Hours passed and you played even more games, though for some reason you kept losing and drinking more and more, over and over again.

—"You lose again, Y/N"

Sana said in a teasing tone, straddling your lap as Momo handed her another shot glass, a lollipop inside the glass, adding a sweet cherry flavor to the alcohol.

—"A-again... thiss iss unfair—ugh..."

You slurred over your words, you were drunk out of your fucking mind from the amount of drinks the girls had made you take, and the amount of times you lost.

—"Shh, i know, i know, princess, just take it."

Sana glided her thumb across your lips, parting them open, taking out the lollipop, taping out the excess liquid from it before making you suck on it.

—"Fuck.."

She cursed under her breath before pouring the alcohol into your mouth, the cherry liquid dripping from your lips down your chin.

Sana couldn't resist any longer, glueing her mouth onto your bottom lips, sucking and licking up the spilling liquids.

You hummed against her lips, too drunk out of your mind to even acknowledge what was happening.

Your kisses began getting sloppy, small moans escaping your lips as Sana toyed with your chest, Momo slowly creeping behind.

—"Took you fucking long enough, how about we take this off?"

Momo laid behind you, hands massaging your shoulders and kissing your neck while Sana went to work on your lips and chest.

—"I could practically rip this dress off you, babygirl, but you look so pretty, want you to wear it for us next time you come see us."

Momo whispered in your ear, kissing your earlobe before biting it gently.

Sana began lifting up your short dress up to your hips, your arousal evident in your lacy underwear.

—"Fuck, you're soaked."

Sana bit her lip at the sight, collecting your wetness with her finger before tasting your arousal, eyes practically rolling to the back of her head as she tasted you

—"Gosh, fuck.. were gonna make a mess of you, make such a big fucking mess of you, princess"

Sana rubbed you through your underwear, teasing your slit and occasionally pressing down on your clit, while Momo payed attention to your neck and tits.

You threw your head back in ecstasy, leaning back onto Momo as Sana finally took off your underwear.

—"Such a pretty fucking pussy, just for us, right?"

You nodded, body barely conscious as they had their way with you, Sana's fingers now knuckle deep inside you.

You whined weakly, the feeling was so good yet you felt so flimsy and tired to even form basic words.

—"Gosh, been fucking eyeing you since you walked into this club. Yknow, this whole fucking thing was rigged, yeah? Just wanted you all nice and intoxicated so we could fuck till you're unconscious."

Momo whispered in your ear, her hands shoved down your dress as she toyed and played with your nipples.

The stimulation was overwhelming, you threw your head back further in search for Momo's alcohol stained lips, your lipstick was smudged and you had hickey marks all over, mascara running slightly on your cheeks.

—"You like this, no? getting used by pretty girls like us, hm?"

Sana interrupted, as you were about to speak up, you were cut off short by Momo's fingers rubbing on your clit, one hand still kneading and groping your breast.

Those loud noises were also cut short though by Momo's slightly large hands covering your mouth, suppressing any noise coming out from you.

—"Be fucking quiet, gosh.. you need it so badly don't you? it's pathetic."

You squeezed Momo's thigh as you felt yourself coming closer to the edge, your inner walls clenching on Sana's curled fingers, they knew you were near.

—"Gonna cum, baby?"

Sana said in a tone laced with a facade of pity, she twisted and curled her fingers even deeper, hitting your G-spot, the feeling backing you arch your back.

—"So pathetic, you naughty fucking girl, i bet it turns you on when i watch you get fucked by my co-worker, hm?"

Momo bit your neck, one hand still on your mouth as the other rubbed your clit even faster.

—"Come on baby, cum for us, you've been so fucking good."

As those words left Momo's mouth, you practically came undone, your juices coating both Momo and Sana's fingers, body falling limp against Momo, she gently held you and rested your weak body on a pillow.

—"Shhh, it's okay.. it's okay."

Momo soothed you into a passed out state, the alcohol in your system being too much.

While you were out, the girls tasted your juiced on their fingers and groaned in unison.

—"Fuck, we might need you to visit more often."

[dumbgoondog]

Jealous Much?(p3)

Cw/Tw- possessiveness, slight threats

Tags- GN!Reader, Pre-established relationship

Ft. Yuta, Inumaki, Megumi, Yuji

First chunk is exposition, then it’s the boys. What happens when your man sees you being flirted with?

PRELUDE

When a guy slides up next to you at the bar, grinning like he’d just won the lottery, you didn’t immediately brush him off. Mostly because he wasn’t annoying—yet—and partly because you were curious to see how far he'd go before he took the hint.

“Did it hurt?” he asked, eyes gleaming with anticipation.

You blinked. “Excuse me?”

“When you fell from heaven,” he clarified, finger-gunning with zero irony. You actually laughed—not with him, more at him, but he didn’t seem to notice the difference.

“Wow,” you mused. “That’s vintage. Do you dust that one off for special occasions?”

He chuckled like you were flirting back. “Only when I see someone who makes it worth it.”

You rested your elbow on the bar and gave him a look, still smiling. He wasn’t threatening, just... kind of ridiculous. He probably meant well. Or maybe he was just drunk enough to think he stood a chance. Either way, it was easier to play along with a few sarcastic quips than to go full shutdown mode. You figured he’d get bored eventually… He didn’t.

“I’m serious,” he went on. “You’ve got this whole mysterious vibe. Like... someone with stories. I could listen to you talk all night.”

“You don’t even know my name.”

“Then tell me.”

You tapped your fingers on your glass, swirling the last bit of your drink. “That’s usually how conversations go, huh? I tell you my name, then what? You try to guess my favorite color?”

“Let me guess—black,” he said confidently, eyes flicking to your outfit.

You snorted. “Wow. You cracked the code.”

He leaned in a little closer, clearly not getting the hint—or maybe refusing to. “You’ve got a great laugh, y’know that?”

You smile and roll your eyes, your boyfriend should have been here by now, and glancing to the clock? Oh he should’ve been here 10 minutes ago! Where is that-

YUTA OKKOTSU

A hand settled gently but firmly on your lower back. Familiar. Warm.

“I’m late,” came a voice that made your spine relax and shoulders drop. “Sorry baby, Gojo called me last second.”

The guy at the bar looked up at the newcomer, clearly sizing him up. You didn’t have to look—you already knew who it was.

“Yuta,” you greeted, the relief in your tone not even masked. You leaned slightly into his touch, subtle but clear.

Yuta Okkotsu didn’t smile back. He was watching the man beside you with calm, unreadable eyes, the kind that always seemed a little too soft until you realized they weren’t blinking.

The guy laughed awkwardly. “Oh—this your boyfriend?” He looked between you and Yuta, as if waiting for confirmation that might absolve him of guilt.

You didn’t have to answer. Yuta stepped forward, just enough that his body angled between the two of you. Not aggressive, but definitely there. His fingers flexed just a little against your back, grounding.

“Yeah,” he said, voice low and even. “Who are you? Pretty sure I know all their friends.”

The other man raised his hands in mock defense. “Hey, wasn’t trying to step on anyone’s toes. We were just talking.”

“Right,” Yuta said, with the kind of smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Well. You’ve talked enough.”

There was a beat of tension, silent and still, like the air before a lightning strike. You could almost feel cursed energy humming beneath Yuta’s skin—not outward, not obvious—but present. Barely leashed.

The guy took the hint this time. “Alright, alright. No harm meant.” He slid off the barstool and disappeared into the crowd looking back judging the two of you before shaking his head.

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. Yuta clicked his tongue and turned to face you fully now, his hand still at your back, the other coming up to brush a loose strand of hair—or was it just an excuse to touch you?

“You okay?” he asked, eyes scanning your face like he was looking for microfractures, like he wanted to repair any damage before you could even feel it.

“Yeah. I was fine,” you replied, meeting his gaze. “But I’m glad you showed up when you did. He was persistent.”

Yuta frowned, and for a moment, the softness in him warred with something else—something sharper. “If I’d known he was bothering you, I’d have gotten here much faster.”

You touched his chest lightly. “I handled it. But thank you.”

He leaned down, forehead briefly resting against yours. “You shouldn’t have to handle guys like that alone.”

A pause.

“And I don’t like anyone else making you laugh.”

You smirked. “Even when I’m laughing at them?”

“Especially then,” he muttered, sliding an arm around your waist as he pulled you into him fully. “Come on. Let’s get out of here before someone else gets ideas.”

You followed without protest, letting Yuta guide you out into the cool night air, a small laugh escaping you that made Yuta relax and smile more finally.

TOGE INUMAKI

“Excuse me,” said a voice to your left. “Is this seat taken by your incredibly handsome, mysterious boyfriend?”

You blinked and turned—only to find Toge standing there, expression calm. He was trying very hard to look suave, leaning his elbow on the bar like he was in a shampoo commercial.

You blinked again. “Toge?”

“Salmon,” he said, giving you a small smile—then side-eyed the guy sitting next to you with not-so-hidden suspicion.

The guy raised an eyebrow. “Who’s this?”

“My boyfriend,” you said quickly, sliding off your barstool and moving closer to Toge, who straightened like a victorious game show contestant.

The guy laughed, clearly not getting the hint. “Really? Huh. You don’t talk much, do you?”

Toge’s smile twitched. “Tuna mayo,” he said, which you knew meant I am choosing not to curse you today, but I could.

You tried not to laugh as you reached for his hand. “Don’t worry, he’s just shy,” you told the guy. “But dangerously adorable.”

Toge’s ears turned red. He still held your hand though, squeezing it a little tighter.

“Anyway,” you continued, sipping the last of your drink, “we were just about to go.”

“We were?” Toge asked, his voice lifting with the tiniest hint of panic.

You leaned into him. “Unless you want to sit here and have a three-way conversation about my laugh and whether or not I fell from heaven.”

He blinked. “...bonito flakes.”

The guy chuckled like he still didn’t get it. “Hey, I didn’t mean anything by it—just having a friendly chat.”

Toge nodded slowly. “Friendly.” Then after a pause, he added with absolutely no menace, “Bonito flakes.”

The guy frowned, finally catching on. “Alright, alright. You two have fun.” He stood up and disappeared into the crowd, mumbling something about “weird couples” under his breath.

As soon as he was gone, Toge exhaled dramatically and dropped his forehead to your shoulder. “Mentaiko.”

You laughed. “What does that one mean?”

“Annoyance,” he mumbled, his voice muffled by your jacket.

You ruffled his hair. “You did great. Very mysterious. Very intimidating.”

He peeked up at you. “Salmon?”

“Yes, cool,” you translated with a grin. “Now c’mon, Smooth Criminal. Let’s get out of here before you spontaneously combust.”

Toge took your hand again, this time lacing his fingers with yours and giving you a sheepish but satisfied smile. He didn’t look back once as you both headed for the exit—though he did whisper “Spicy cod roe” under his breath.

You just squeezed his hand and laughed.

MEGUMI FUSHIGURO

“Is he bothering you?”

You turned to see Megumi, standing there in a black sweater and dark jeans like he’d just walked out of a noir detective movie and into the bar where he gets the evidence he needed. Hands in his pockets. Hair slightly windblown. Entire presence radiating ‘please test me, I’m so tired’ energy.

Your eyes lit up. “Hey, you’re late.”

“That guy,” he said. Then, cutting a look to the guy next to you, “...And apparently, fate.”

The guy squinted at him. “Who are you, exactly?”

Megumi blinked. “Their boyfriend.”

There was a pause. The guy stared, clearly recalculating his odds. “Oh. Right. Didn’t take you for liking emos Angel haha.”

Megumi didn’t blink. “Don’t call em that.”

He stepped closer.

“Can’t take a hint huh? Beat it.”

The guy snorted, attempting to brush it off. “Relax, man. We were just talking.”

Megumi tilted his head slightly. “Were you.”

There was something about the way he said it—toneless, unimpressed—that made even you want to stand up straighter. The guy, sensing whatever this was, raised his hands in surrender.

“Okay, okay. I’m out.” He slid off the barstool and disappeared into the crowd. Huffing as he went and Megumi watched him go with a lazy glare. You give a small chuckle smiling at him and reach to take his hand.

Megumi watched until he was gone, then turned back to you, frowning faintly.

“You let him monologue at you for that long?”

You shrugged. “He wasn’t threatening. Just painfully committed to the bit.”

“‘Did it hurt when you fell from heaven’ level committed?”

“You heard that, huh?”

Megumi sighed. “Unfortunately.”

You bumped your shoulder against him. “C’mon, it was funny.”

“It was tragic.”

You grinned. “Jealous, much?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Of that guy?”

“Well, you did show up looking like the human version of storm clouds, so... maybe a little.”

Megumi stared at you for a beat. Then, deadpan: “You like that.”

You laughed, grabbing your drink. “You’re not wrong.”

He took your hand, a quiet gesture—just enough pressure to say mine, not enough to make a scene. Then he leaned down and muttered near your ear, voice soft and dry:

“If one more guy tries to flirt with you when I’m not around, I’m bringing one of the dogs next time.”

You snorted. “Like that’s not just going to make me more popular.”

“Not when they lose their balls.”

You snort and he smiles relaxing in the stool beside you.

YUJI ITADORI

“Baaaaabe!”

You turned, barely catching your breath before Yuji practically tackled you into a hug from behind, arms wrapped around your waist and chin landing on your shoulder like he lived there.

“Sorry I’m late!” he grinned, not loosening his grip. “You look amazing by the way. Is that new? Did you do something with your hair? I missed you so much—it’s been like, a full day.”

You snorted. “It’s been six hours.”

“Felt like a year.”

Meanwhile, the guy you’d been talking to was still right there—watching the scene unfold with a confused little squint.

Yuji didn’t even notice him.

Instead, he was nuzzling your cheek. “Also, I brought snacks. I mean, I already ate most of them. But you can have, like, one mochi.”

“Generous,” you said, smiling despite yourself.

At this point, Yuji had not let go of you. One arm was still tight around your waist, the other now casually resting on your thigh as he leaned in way too close. If this was a romcom, you’d already be making out over the cocktail menu.

The guy next to you cleared his throat. Loudly.

Yuji looked up, blinking at him like he was just now noticing a human was standing there.

“Oh hey, dude!” Yuji said brightly. “Did you already order? The nachos here are insane. Seriously, they’re, like, life-changing. Do you want me to move? Wait, am I in your seat?”

The guy frowned. “No. I was talking to them.”

Yuji tilted his head. “Oh cool! They’re super fun, right? I mean, like—kind of mean sometimes, but in a hot way.”

You buried your face in your hand.

The guy looked back at you, then to Yuji, then back again. “Wait… are you two… together?”

Yuji blinked.

Paused.

Then slowly looked down at how he was currently wrapped around you like an over-affectionate octopus. “…Oh.”

You stared at him. “Seriously?”

“I didn’t say anything!” he defended. “I just assumed it was obvious from all the touching!”

The guy stood up, clearly annoyed. “Right. Okay. This whole thing’s weird anyway.”

Yuji waved as he walked off. “Nice meeting you, man!”

You turned back to Yuji, exasperated. “You could’ve just said ‘I’m their boyfriend.’”

“Yeah, but then I’d have to stop kissing you long enough to talk,” he said with a grin, already leaning back in. “And I had priorities.”

You sighed, but you didn’t stop him as he hugged you again, dramatically laying his head in your lap this time.

“…You’re lucky you’re cute.”

He grinned up at you. “That’s the idea.”