#f: Spring's Whisper | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

barnesonly · 30 days ago

Text

Round Two

possessive!bucky barnes x reader

summary: Tension explodes in the training room when Bucky walks in on you sparring a little too close with Walker. He doesn’t say much but when he takes over the session… well. Jealous!Bucky Barnes it is.

word count: 3397

WARNINGS: 18+ explicit content, MDNI. curse words, dirty talk, degrading kink, dry humping, fingering, oral (f receiving), PiV, unprotected sex, rough sex, semi-public sex, breeding, overstimulation, possessive behavior, jealous af, fully consensual by both parties although not explicitly stated.

A/N: Sigh. I had this in my head ever since watching Thunderbolts* and recent work of @iamthatonefangirl pushed me into finally writing it down. Do not expect much plot from it… or any plot at all. Writer has no regrets.

The training room was filled with the rhythmic thud of your boots against the mat and the sharp, quick breaths you shared with Walker. His presence was overwhelming — tall, broad-shouldered, every muscle coiled like a spring ready to snap. You could feel the heat radiating off his body, mixing with your own rising warmth.

You circled each other warily, muscles taut, eyes locked like predators. Walker’s grin was cocky, but there was an edge of respect in it. “You’re stubborn,” he said, voice low and teasing.

“Yeah, well,” you shot back, dropping into a defensive stance, “you’re slow.”

His laughter was rough as he lunged forward, grabbing your wrist and twisting, forcing you down toward the mat.

You fought against him, every inch a battle — but he was strong, and before you knew it, your back hit the padded floor.

Walker was on top, chest pressing against yours. You could feel the solid heat of him, the strength beneath his armor. Your arms were pinned, but your eyes stayed locked with his, breaths mingling in the tight space between you.

“You holding back?” he whispered, his breath warm on your face.

You smirked, muscles flexing as you pushed against him, trying to twist free. “Not a chance.”

His hands slid down your arms, skin to skin, the contact electric, and for a moment, the fight faded into something else — a tension thick enough to choke on.

Walker shifted, lowering his mouth to your ear. “You’re playing a dangerous game.”

You swallowed hard, heart pounding loud in your chest, and the taste of his breath — spicy and close — sent a thrill racing through you.

With a quick movement, you twisted, trying to flip him off you, but Walker caught your wrist and held you fast.

His face hovered inches from yours, the faint scrape of stubble against your cheek making you shiver.

“Almost had me,” he murmured, voice rough.

Your fingers brushed his jaw, accidental but electric, and his eyes darkened, holding you captive in that intense gaze.

Neither of you moved. The room was silent except for your ragged breathing and the thudding of your heartbeats, syncing in the small space where your bodies met.

You felt the heat pooling low in your belly, the line between fighting and wanting blurring with every second.

Walker’s hand slid up your arm, fingertips trailing lightly, sending sparks where they touched.

Your lips parted, breath hitching.

The door slid open, and Bucky Barnes stepped inside. He paused, taking in the scene: you pinned beneath Walker, bodies close, breaths heavy and mingling.

His jaw clenched, but he said nothing.

You pushed Walker off with a quick grunt, breathing hard but flashing a grin. “Round two?”

Walker gave a lazy shrug, stretching one arm. “Wish I could, but I gotta run.”

You frowned in disappointment. “Already?”

“Yeah,” he said, smirking. “But maybe Bucky here can take over.”

Walker clapped Bucky on the shoulder before heading out, leaving the two of you alone.

Bucky’s eyes locked onto you, sharp and cold like ice cutting through steel. His jaw clenched so tight you could almost hear the grind.

“I guess I’m stuck with you now,” he growled, voice low and rough - no hint of warmth.

You blinked, caught off guard by how harsh he sounded. “Stuck? It’s just training, Bucky.”

He took a step closer, his gaze burning holes through you. “Yeah, well, sparring with him? That looked less like training and more like… whatever that was.”

You frowned, heat creeping to your cheeks. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Bucky’s lips curled into a bitter smirk, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Oh, come on. You don’t get that close with Walker — arms locked, skin on skin and expect me to not notice?”

Your heart thudded loud and fast. “We were sparring, Barnes. You’re reading way too much into it.”

Bucky scoffed. “Whatever.”

You barely had time to catch your breath before Bucky lunged forward, his movements sharp and aggressive — like a storm about to break loose.

His fist came at you harder than necessary, forcing you to scramble back and dodge. This wasn’t training. This was punishment.

“You getting cozy with Walker?” His voice was low, clipped, cutting like a knife. “Don’t think I’m just gonna stand here and watch.”

His hand shot out, grabbing your arm with a grip that was rough and unyielding. You winced but didn’t pull away. Not yet.

“Not on my watch.”

Bucky closed the space between you, chest pressing against yours, fingers digging into your arm like a silent command. No words explaining it. No apologies.

Just the cold, hard truth of his possessiveness, raw and undeniable.

He dropped back into stance, voice sharp. “You want to spar? Fine. But don’t expect me to be gentle.”

Every strike was laced with frustration and something harsher — a need to remind you who was in control, without ever saying it.

And the tension between you? Thick enough to choke on.

The second Bucky’s hands locked around your waist, pulling you flush against him, your breath hitched, heart pounding. His metal hand closed over your wrists behind your back, holding you captive with a grip that was equal parts demanding and possessive.

You could feel the hard, unmistakable press of him — his arousal, firm and urgent against your lower back, the weight of it making your breath falter.

“Thought you could get close to Walker and not have to deal with me?” His voice was a low growl, rough with something dark and dangerous.

His breath ghosted over your ear, warm and intoxicating, sending a delicious shiver down your spine. Your body burned where his pressed against you, every nerve screaming with need.

Without warning, Bucky’s metal fingers tightened on your wrists, tilting your hands upward so he could lean in, lips brushing over your neck, trailing a rough kiss down to your shoulder.

You gasped as his body pressed harder, hips grinding just enough to make it impossible to ignore what was between you — the undeniable proof of how much he wanted you.

“Not so fast,” he murmured, voice thick with desire. “You don’t get to tease me like that.”

His touch was rough, needy, his control slipping as his hands slid from your wrists to your waist, fingers digging in possessively. You could feel his arousal straining against the fabric of his pants, pressing into you with a hunger that matched your own.

Your skin tingled where his metal hand traced slow, demanding lines along your ribs, igniting a fire that burned hotter by the second.

You let out a soft gasp as his hips pressed into you again, the hard length of him undeniable. Heat flooded your core, your thighs pressing together instinctively. His breath was right against your neck, lips just barely grazing your skin.

You could’ve leaned into it, let him take what he clearly wanted — but instead, you smirked.

Then you twisted.

With a sharp pivot of your hips, you slipped out of his grip, ducking beneath his arm and spinning away. Bucky stumbled half a step, blinking like he hadn’t expected you to escape.

“Thought you were gonna teach me a lesson,” you said, breathless but smug as hell.

He turned slowly, eyes narrowing, jaw flexing hard. “You think this is a joke?”

You shrugged, backing into a loose stance. “I think you’re wound a little tight. What’s the matter, Barnes?” You tilted your head, letting your eyes flick deliberately down his body — right to the straining bulge in his pants. “Need a break?”

The fire in his eyes ignited.

He was on you in a flash.

This time when he moved, it wasn’t just precise — it was brutal, desperate, controlled only by the thinnest thread of restraint. His fists came hard and fast, forcing you to block, deflect, move. He wasn’t holding back anymore.

You ducked, landed a light kick to his thigh, then laughed when he caught your ankle mid-move and yanked, dragging you closer.

“Still think this is a game?” he hissed.

You were breathless, heart pounding, adrenaline and arousal tangling into one intoxicating buzz.

“Depends,” you teased, lips curling. “What do I win if I pin you?”

He growled and shoved you back, body surging forward to slam you to the mat. This time, it was no accident when his hips landed flush against yours.

No pretense. No holding back.

Just his hard cock pressing into your core, and his hand pinning both your wrists above your head.

His breath hit your cheek, ragged and heavy.

“You want to play?” he asked, voice low and dangerous. “Then fucking play.”

Your breath caught in your throat as Bucky hovered above you, pinning your wrists down hard against the mat. His chest heaved, muscles tense and trembling with restraint, but it was the weight of him between your legs that really made your head spin.

You shifted — just barely and that was all it took. Bucky’s hips snapped forward, grinding his cock against your clothed core with a force that stole your breath.

“You like teasing?” he growled, the sound rough, ragged. “Keep fucking squirming. See what happens.”

You did. Of course you did.

You tilted your hips up with slow defiance, grinding back against the thick heat of him beneath his tactical pants. The friction was maddening, perfectly filthy — your underwear soaked instantly as you dragged yourself along the length of him.

A dark, broken sound ripped from Bucky’s throat, and then he was moving — grinding into you with a rhythm that had your head rolling back and your thighs trembling.

His metal hand kept your wrists pinned above your head while his flesh hand gripped your hip, hard enough to bruise, dragging you into each thrust like he needed you to feel every inch of him through the layers.

“You don’t get to look at him like that,” Bucky hissed, rutting harder. “Don’t get to give that to anyone else.”

You gasped, back arching as his cock rubbed right where you needed it, again and again, pressure building fast and tight in your gut.

“Bucky—” you started, but he cut you off with another deep, grinding thrust.

“No.” His voice cracked, low and dangerous. “You wanna act like a brat, I’ll fuck it out of you right here.”

Your moan was shameless, head spinning as his cock rubbed against your clit just right, over and over, your core clenching around nothing, desperate and soaked and grinding back without shame.

His lips were at your jaw now, rough stubble scraping, breath hot as he fucked into you with relentless rhythm.

“You feel that?” he growled. “That’s what you do to me.”

And god — you could. Every thick, heavy inch of him dragging over your leggings and your throbbing clit, every possessive grind claiming you without a single word of affection.

Your back arched beneath him, body on fire, every nerve burning where his cock ground against your soaked leggins. The sounds you made — ragged, breathless, needy — only pushed him further.

“Fuck,” he growled, his lips grazing your neck. “You’re dripping. You wanted this, didn’t you?”

You nodded and before you could answer vocally, his grip shifted — your wrists still trapped in his metal hand as his other slid down, slow and rough, until his fingers curled beneath the waistband of your leggings.

And then — rip.

You gasped as the fabric tore in his fist, panties along with it, shredded like paper. Cool air rushed over your soaked pussy, your thighs twitching at the sudden exposure.

“Bucky—” you breathed, but the way he was looking at you — eyes dark, jaw clenched, starving— shut you right up.

“Look at you,” he muttered, fingers gliding through your wet folds, spreading the slick mess you’d made. “Grinding all over me like a desperate little thing.”

He didn’t wait for a reply. Two thick fingers slid inside you — deep. The stretch sudden and perfect, dragging a cry from your throat as your walls clamped down.

“Fuck, that’s tight,” he hissed, burying them knuckle-deep, his thumb brushing against your clit with brutal precision.

Your body jolted, legs shaking, and he just smirked.

“This what Walker gets?” he growled, curling his fingers just right. “Or is this all mine?”

You couldn’t answer — you couldn’t think. Every pump of his fingers sent sparks through your spine, your hips lifting, chasing more, chasing everything.

“Say it,” Bucky demanded, voice low and threatening. “Tell me who this pussy belongs to.”

He pushed in harder, rougher, hitting that spot that made your thighs quake.

Your moan broke into a whimper.

“It’s—” you choked. “Fuck—yours, Bucky—it’s yours—”

His thumb circled your clit, slow and punishing. “Damn right it is.”

His lips found your neck again, biting down just hard enough to mark you, all while his fingers fucked you open—relentless, possessive, and dripping with control he was seconds away from losing.

Bucky’s fingers pumped into you hard and deep, curling just right as your hips rolled helplessly beneath him. Your body was slick, trembling, pleasure coiling fast and tight in your belly. You were so close it hurt.

And just when you were about to fall apart—he pulled away.

“No—fuck, Bucky—” you gasped, reaching for him, hips twitching.

He didn’t say a word—just grabbed your thighs, spreading them wide, dragging you down the mat until your soaked pussy was right in front of him. You barely had time to breathe before—

His mouth was on you.

His tongue licked a long, slow stripe up your slit, collecting every drop of wetness before diving in, deep and hungry, like a man starved.

Your back arched, a cry breaking from your throat as he sucked your clit into his mouth, tongue circling with maddening pressure.

“Oh my god—Bucky—”

He groaned against you, the vibration sending a shock through your spine.

Then he pulled back just enough to speak, his voice low, dark, mean.

“Tell me,” he said, breath hot against your dripping pussy. “Could Walker ever make you feel like this?”

Your thighs trembled around his head, body burning with shame and arousal all at once.

“I—no—fuck, Bucky, no—”

He smirked, just barely, before burying his mouth between your legs again, licking and sucking like a man obsessed, like he was trying to drink every sound you made.

His hands held your thighs open, thumbs pressing bruises into your skin as his tongue fucked into you, slow at first, then faster, messier.

You were soaking his face, writhing under him, hips lifting off the mat in desperation.

“You’re fucking mine,” he growled, voice rough against your soaked heat. “No one else gets this.”

Then he sucked your clit hard and you shattered.

Your orgasm ripped through you, a scream tearing from your throat as you came on his tongue, thighs clamping around his head, whole body twitching uncontrollably.

But Bucky didn’t stop.

He kept licking, kept sucking, dragging every last wave from you until you were shaking, a broken mess beneath him.

Finally, he lifted his head — his mouth wet with your slick, eyes dark and burning.

“Next time you think about sparring with Walker,” he said, voice wrecked, “remember what I do to you.”

You were still shaking from the orgasm he pulled out of you with his mouth — slick, breathless, your body twitching as he rose up over you, his face glistening with you.

Bucky’s hands slid under your thighs, lifting them roughly as he shoved his tactical pants down just enough to free his cock—and fuck, he was thick, flushed, leaking at the tip, already hard and twitching.

He didn’t give you a second to breathe.

He dragged the head of his cock through your soaked folds, slow and deliberate, coating himself in your slick before lining up at your entrance.

“Walker wouldn’t know what to do with you,” he growled, dark eyes fixed on your ruined body beneath him. “He couldn’t handle this.”

And then he slammed into you — deep.

You choked on your breath, nails digging into the mat as his cock split you open, stretching you so full you thought you’d lose your mind.

“Bucky—” you gasped, but he just grabbed your waist, pulling you into another brutal thrust.

“Say my name again,” he growled, snapping his hips forward. “Let the whole fucking tower hear who’s making you feel like this.”

“Bucky—oh my god—”

He fucked you like he meant it. Like every thrust was a punishment and a reward all at once. Deep, fast, grinding into you so hard your whole body shifted up the mat.

One hand pinned your hip while the other—the metal one—gripped your throat, not tight enough to hurt, just enough to hold.

“Mine,” he hissed, thrusting deep and slow now, cock dragging over your g-spot. “You understand me?”

You were crying out with every stroke, legs wrapped around him, back arching as the head of his cock hit you just right again and again.

“I said—do you fucking understand me?”

“Yes—yes, Bucky, yours—”

“That’s right,” he grunted, voice wrecked. “This pussy, this body — all fucking mine.”

He pulled out almost completely — just the tip barely inside — then slammed back in with a growl that sounded like it came from deep in his chest.

You shattered again, coming hard around him, clenching so tight he cursed loud, barely holding on.

He dropped his head into the crook of your neck, fucking you through it, grinding his cock into your spasming walls like he needed to burn your name into his skin.

And then he snapped — hips stuttering, breath ragged, and with a broken, desperate grunt.

He came inside you. Deep and hot. Filling you up.

He didn’t pull out. He stayed there, breathing hard, forehead pressed to yours, cock still twitching as he spilled every last drop into you.

The mat beneath you was soaked. Your legs were trembling. And Bucky?

Still didn’t move.

Still inside you.

Still possessive as hell.

Your body was limp, fucked-out and buzzing, still quivering around the load Bucky had just spilled deep inside you. You were warm, stretched full, his cock still hard as he stayed buried in you for a few long, heady moments.

Then, finally, he pulled out with a thick, wet sound — your walls clenching around nothing, the sudden emptiness making you gasp.

You felt it almost immediately. The slow, sticky drip of his cum sliding out of you.

But Bucky didn’t move away.

His gaze dropped between your legs, jaw clenched, and you could feel the way he was watching it—the way he watched himself leak out of you.

And then he looked up at you. Eyes darker than sin.

“Not done,” he muttered.

You opened your mouth to ask what he meant — but then his metal hand slid down your stomach and between your legs.

Two fingers — cold, slick, thick — pushed into your still-sensitive cunt.

You cried out, hips jerking, but Bucky held you down, his flesh hand gripping your thigh as he pumped those fingers deep inside you, slow and deliberate.

“Keep it in,” he growled, curling his fingers. “You think I’m gonna let it go to waste?”

Your head dropped back against the mat, spine arching as he fucked you with his fingers, thrusting everything he’d spilled back into you.

“Made you take every drop,” he whispered, lips brushing your ear now. “And now you’re gonna hold it. You hear me?”

Your cunt fluttered around his fingers, overstimulated and soaked again already.

He pushed deeper, scissoring you open, fucking his cum back inside like it belonged there.

“You were made for this,” he murmured, tongue dragging slow and hot against your neck. “To take me. To be filled by me.”

You whimpered, trembling as his thumb found your clit and circled it — lazy, almost cruel.

“God, look at you,” he rasped. “Still so fucking tight. You think Walker could do this to you? Make you this full? This messy?”

You moaned his name, your legs shaking, your body giving in all over again.

“Say it,” he said, voice sharp against your throat. “Say who this pussy belongs to.”

“You, Bucky—fuck—yours—”

“That’s right,” he growled, fingers curling just right.

You came again — a raw, desperate sound tearing from your throat as you clenched around his fingers, body rocking helplessly as he fucked you through it, never letting a single drop escape.

He didn’t stop until you were crying — sobbing his name, broken and full and so far gone you didn’t even know where you ended and he began.

And even then, his fingers stayed buried in you, possessive and proud.

“Next time you even think about sparring with Walker, remember how I filled you first.”

3K notes · View notes

dakusan · 21 days ago

Text

BLOOM UNDER NEEDLES

Tattoo Artist!Hwang Hyunjin x Reader | he’s touched you five times. tonight, he ruins you

🔞synopsis: Tattoo Artist AU. You’ve been friends for years. He’s inked every part of your body except the one he’s dying to ruin. But the second you show up again, hips bare and eyes burning, asking for another piece? He doesn’t just mark you. He fucks it into you. This is possession. This is art. This is obsession.

💌a/n: This one’s for @bemyaehiweloveskz, who sang into my inbox the sweet sounds of "tattoo artist!Hyunjin x reader". You asked. I delivered. We’re doing this first come, first serve, so next Filthy Friday, it is Seungmin's time to shine. So buckle the fuck up. p.s. reblogging = mouth-to-mouth resuscitation p.p.s. yes, you can request the other members, please do. who do you wanna read after Seungmin? p.p.p.s. If this fic made you moan, clench, or whisper “jesus fuck,” you now owe me your spine, one (1) unhinged tag, and a slightly sinful reblog. That's the deal. I don’t make the rules. (I do.)

📌 Please read responsibly. Hydrate. Stretch.

📍credits: dividers by @cafekitsune

🎧 » Love Talk — WayV « 0:58 ─〇───── 3:53 ⇄ ◃◃ ⅠⅠ ▹▹ ↻

Seoul's early spring was always deceptive—sunlight soft on the surface but the air still kissed your skin cold when you walked too fast. Your coat’s too light, your hands half-numb, but the minute you step into NO SAINT INK, everything warms.

The scent hits you first: incense and antiseptic. Burnt vanilla over sharp alcohol wipes. Clean, familiar. The quiet hum of lo-fi beats weaves through the matte-black interior—half gallery, half hellmouth. Every wall is scattered with framed flash art—some crisp linework, others feral, chaotic sketches with phrases like “Bite Me” and “Pretty Hurts” etched beneath dripping roses.

The warmth isn’t just from the heater. It’s him.

Hwang Hyunjin is hunched over a drafting table toward the back of the studio, black hoodie sleeves rolled to his elbows, ringed fingers smudged with graphite. His hair is tied up—loose bun, strands falling across his cheekbones, lip bitten as he sketches something you can’t see. You pause in the entrance, watching him work.

God, he’s always like this. Still. Focused. A little too beautiful for a tattoo shop that’s home to chaos incarnate (read: Han Jisung) and Felix’s glitter-drenched custom piercings. Hyunjin feels like a walking contradiction—poetic and sharp, serene and volatile. An ink-stained symphony of clean lines and deliberate hunger.

He looks up.

His eyes meet yours instantly, like he felt you enter the room. Not surprised. Just… aware. Like you live inside a part of his brain he never locks.

“Hey,” he says, voice low, soft as velvet over bone. The corner of his mouth quirks—barely a smile, more of an acknowledgment. Like he’s happy to see you but won’t say it unless you ask.

“Hi,” you breathe, stepping inside fully, the door shutting with a soft chime behind you. “Still open?”

“For you?” His pen halts. “Always.”

You snort, dropping your bag onto the client couch. “That’s the cheesiest shit I’ve ever heard.”

He leans back in his chair, arms stretching over his head, hoodie rising to reveal the silver flash of his hip chain. “I save my best lines for Han’s clients. He likes to pretend he’s the shop flirt.”

“And you?”

“I prefer…” He pauses. Tilts his head. “Slow burns.”

There it is—that unspoken thing. You’ve known Hyunjin for years now, back when NO SAINT INK was just a cramped two-room hole above a bakery and he was still an apprentice shading roses on fake skin.

You were his first real client. Small piece. Inside of your arm. Something small.

Since then—five tattoos. All from him. All delicate. Personal. Quiet marks he made on your body with gentle hands and steady breath. And he never once crossed a line. But he always hovered near it.

The way his thumb would linger too long when wiping down ink. The way he’d mutter, “Hold still, pretty,” and your pulse would stutter like a skipped beat. The way he’d sketch flowers that looked suspiciously like the one he placed under your collarbone, and you’d find them in his book months later, unlabeled—but unmistakable.

Still, you stayed friends.

Coffee runs. Late-night ramen. Art gallery detours. Matching silver rings you bought at a flea market once and never really talked about.

And now, standing here again, watching him toss his sketch pad aside like it’s weightless, you feel it—that shift. The quiet knowing. Like the seed of something unsaid is finally cracking open.

“You working on a new piece?” you ask, nodding toward the table.

He shrugs. “Just sketching.”

“For a client?”

His gaze flicks to you. Unblinking. “Not yet.”

There’s something thick in the air now. Not awkward—just dense. Weighted. You clear your throat.

“I, uh…” You hesitate, fingers brushing your wrist. “I wanted to ask you for something.”

His brows raise slightly. “What kind of something?”

You pause.

Then you pull a folded sketch from your pocket. Smooth it out on the counter. His eyes drop to the paper.

It’s a flower. Hand-drawn. A Lily of the Valley—delicate, nodding petals arching off a thin stem. At the base of it, a faint phrase in cursive: “I bloom where I ache.”

He stares for a long moment.

When he speaks, it’s almost reverent. “You drew this?”

You nod.

His thumb traces the corner of the page. “Where do you want it?”

You swallow. “Right here.” You place your fingers at the sharp curve of your hipbone, just beneath your waistband.

Silence.

You can feel the air shift.

Hyunjin doesn’t move for a second. His jaw tightens. When he finally lifts his gaze, it’s slower. He looks at you like he’s taking you in all over again.

“You want me to tattoo you there?”

“Yes.”

A long breath. “Why me?”

You blink. “What do you mean?”

He steps around the counter. Closer. Close enough to smell the cedar on his hoodie, the faint scent of ink that never quite leaves his skin. “You could’ve asked anyone here. Jisung’s the wild one. Felix would pierce your entire soul if you let him.”

You shrug. “I don’t want chaos.”

He raises a brow. “And what do you want?”

You meet his eyes. Slowly. Gentle. “You.”

The pause between you is deafening. Then—his voice, low and frayed. “You can’t say shit like that when I haven’t even touched you yet.”

“You’ve touched me five times.”

“Not like that.”

Not yet, you think. And suddenly, the air feels even heavier.

But then he steps back. Just a little. Just enough to breathe. “Alright. I’ll do it.”

You nod once, pulse thudding.

“Tomorrow,” he says. “After hours. Just us.”

You try to play it cool. “For professionalism?”

His mouth twitches. “No. For focus.”

You arrive before closing.

The sun is already dipping past the horizon, casting long shadows across the alley where NO SAINT INK lives—half-sacred, half-possessed. The neon signs haven’t lit up yet, but the glow inside is warm. Low amber light spills from the studio windows, wrapping the interior in something softer than usual.

You knock once before nudging the door open, a little bell jingling above your head. Your hands are full—an iced Americano in one, a paper bag of pastries in the other.

“I brought bribes,” you call, stepping into the familiar scent of incense, ink, and disinfectant.

From somewhere in the back, you hear him.

“Depends,” Hyunjin says, voice echoing through the curtained hallway. “Are they sweet enough to justify me rearranging my entire night for your hipbone?”

You roll your eyes, smirking as you head toward the front counter. “Don’t act like you weren’t already gonna.”

He appears a moment later, pulling back the curtain with a casual flick—black long-sleeve pushed to his forearms, hair loose today, curling slightly at the ends. His silver earrings catch the light as he moves.

You offer him the coffee.

He accepts it without question, sipping as he glances at the bag. “What is it?”

“Strawberry scones.”

He pauses. Blinks once.

Then, soft and flat: “You’re trying to seduce me.”

You shrug, innocent. “You said you preferred slow burns. I’m just feeding the flame.”

He exhales sharply through his nose. Amused. Maybe impressed. Maybe ruined.

“Come on,” he murmurs, nodding toward the back. “Booth’s ready.”

You follow him through the curtain, until you reach Hyunjin’s space. It’s quieter here.

Dimly lit by a single lamp angled down over the chair. Black walls. Floating shelves with sketchbooks stacked high and carefully labeled bottles of ink arranged like altar offerings. A large framed print of a blooming rose leans against the far wall—your eye catches on the familiar linework.

One of his.

He gestures to the seat. “Make yourself comfortable.”

You do, settling your things on the side table as he rolls on a fresh pair of gloves. The snap of the latex still makes something flicker in your chest.

“Still want the Lily of the Valley?” he asks, voice calm but slightly huskier now. He hasn’t met your eyes yet. Too focused on laying out his stencil materials. Too aware of what’s coming.

You nod. “Still want you to do it.”

That makes his head lift.

His eyes find yours. And this time, they don’t look away.

Slowly, you reach for the hem of your sweatshirt. Tug it off in one smooth motion, leaving you in a cropped tank top and soft cotton shorts. No tights. No barrier. You watch his gaze dip—briefly—to the exposed skin of your upper thighs.

Then you hook your thumbs into your waistband.

“Here okay?” you murmur, sliding the fabric just low enough to reveal the curve of your hipbone—the exact place you want him to mark. The edge of your panties still covers what it needs to. Barely.

His inhale is so sharp you hear it.

“Yeah,” he says after a beat. His voice is quiet. Rough around the edges. “That’s… That’s perfect.”

You try to keep your tone light. “You’ve seen skin before, Hyun.”

“Not like this.”

Your breath catches.

He steps closer, holding the stencil between gloved fingers. His touch is steady when he kneels beside the chair, head tilting slightly to examine the space. But when his hand settles on your waist to hold you still, you feel it.

The difference.

It’s not professional anymore. Not strictly. Not the way it used to be.

His palm is wide. Firm. Anchoring you. But his thumb brushes the hollow just above your hip, a spot he doesn’t need to touch at all. His breath ghosts over your stomach as he positions the stencil, close enough that your skin prickles.

“Breathe for me,” he murmurs. The same words as always.

Only this time—you feel them in your thighs.

You inhale slowly. Exhale.

He presses the stencil gently to your skin. Smooth. Measured. His gaze flicks up once, meeting yours from below, and you swear—just for a second—he looks like he wants to bite.

“There,” he says softly, pulling back to admire his placement. “Check it in the mirror before I commit?”

You nod, rising carefully to your feet. His hand lingers a second too long before letting go.

You step over to the full-length mirror mounted in the corner. Turn slightly. Examine the stencil on your skin—delicate lines, tiny petals, soft cursive nestled against bone. It's beautiful. Quiet and aching and so personal it almost hurts.

He watches you from the chair, arms crossed now, gloves still on, forearms flexed just slightly as he leans back.

“Well?” he asks.

You meet his gaze in the mirror. “It’s perfect.”

“Then lie back for me, angel.”

You lie back on the chair, the black leather cold beneath your skin, even through the thin cotton of your tank. The lamp above casts everything in a halo glow—focused, intimate, like a spotlight trained just on you.

Hyunjin is quiet as he moves around the station. He preps with the same practiced rhythm you’ve seen five times before—ink cap, paper towels, sterile wipes, machine hum warming in the corner. But there’s something different in the air now.

A little too still. A little too loaded.

And then he turns.

Rolls his stool over beside you, knees brushing the base of the chair. He’s sitting close. Closer than he usually does when tattooing you. The heat of him radiates under the low light, hands gloved and resting on his thighs as he looks at you.

At your skin. At the spot where he’s about to mark you.

“You good?” he asks, voice low and a little hoarse.

You nod. “Yeah. Just… aware that I’m in my underwear in your lap basically.”

He snorts softly. “First of all, dramatic. You’re not in my lap—yet.”

Your breath catches. He doesn’t take it back.

You glance down. “I just meant, y’know. This placement. It's a little…”

“Intimate,” he finishes.

You nod once. Slowly.

He leans forward. Just a little. “Does it bother you?”

You blink. “No. Does it bother you?”

He tilts his head, mouth twitching like he wants to smile but won’t let himself. “You think I’m bothered?”

“I think you’re trying very hard to act like I’m just another client.”

That earns a quiet laugh. Low and sharp.

“You haven’t been ‘just another client’ since the first time you asked me to tattoo your collarbone with that stupid flower that made you cry.”

You shove his arm playfully. “It was a sentimental flower, not stupid.”

“It was both. And you cried like I stabbed you in the soul.”

“It hurt!”

“It was a two-inch peony.”

“Shut up,” you grumble, biting back a smile.

He smiles now. Full, real, warm. It fades just slightly as his gaze drags down again, returning to your exposed hipbone.

You feel your stomach tighten when he speaks again—softer now.

“Touching you like this… isn’t nothing.”

You swallow. “So don’t pretend it is.”

He nods. Silent agreement. Then slips back into motion.

He sanitizes your skin first. Cold alcohol on gauze. His fingers brush over your hip as he cleans the area, and even through the gloves, it feels like fire.

“You’re already warm,” he murmurs.

“You’re hovering,” you shoot back.

His laugh is quieter this time. “I have to. This is a sensitive area.”

“Mmm, right. Totally necessary to lean in so close your necklace is touching my stomach.”

He does not, in fact, move away.

Instead, his thumb brushes just below your waistband, fingers spreading gently across your hip as he holds your skin steady. “Stop wiggling.”

“I’m not wiggling.”

“You are.”

“You’re—” Your voice hitches slightly when his palm presses down with more intention. “You’re being a menace.”

“Always.”

He picks up the tattoo machine with his other hand. It buzzes softly to life, a familiar whir that still makes your nerves spike.

He notices. Of course he does.

“You okay?”

You nod.

“You always get twitchy right before the first line,” he says softly, like he’s reciting an old memory.

“You always hold my hand when I do.”

He pauses. Just a beat.

Then—he gently reaches up, slides his fingers between yours, and squeezes once.

You don’t let go.

And then—

“Here we go,” he says quietly.

The needle touches your skin.

Sharp. Hot. Deep. You flinch slightly, but his hand on your hip tightens instantly—not rough, but anchoring.

“There you go,” he murmurs. “Breathe. Just like that.”

The buzz continues, steady and rhythmic as he pulls the linework with impossible control. You force yourself to focus on the sound of his voice instead of the pain.

“You’re good,” he says again, thumb brushing a slow arc into your skin. “Taking it so well.”

You blink hard. “Don’t say it like that.”

“Say what?”

“‘Taking it so well.’ That’s porn voice, Hyun.”

He grins—sharp and unrepentant. “So?”

You glare at the ceiling. “You’re unbearable.”

He leans in slightly, still drawing. “You’re wet.”

Your whole body freezes.

“I—excuse me—”

“Your skin,” he says smoothly, as if he wasn’t just trying to end your life. “It’s damp. Warm. From the alcohol. What did you think I meant?”

“You know what I thought you meant.”

He hums, like he’s pleased with himself. “Interesting.”

You let out a long, slow exhale.

“Still doing okay?” he asks, voice back to low and sincere.

You nod, chest rising and falling. “Yeah. It’s just…”

“What?”

“Hard to stay still when you’re—” You cut yourself off.

His voice drops. “When I’m what?”

Your mouth feels dry. You look down at him. He’s crouched over you, hair falling forward again, neck bent in full concentration. One gloved hand spreads over your hip, holding you down, while the other guides the needle with ridiculous precision. He looks like he’s worshipping your skin. Like this act—this pain—is a form of reverence.

“You’re touching me like I’m yours,” you say before you can stop yourself.

The sound of the machine falters—just a fraction. He doesn’t speak for a second. Then, finally—his voice low and wrecked: “That’s because you are.”

Those words echo.

Not just in your ears—but in your bones. Your breath stutters. Your lips part. You watch him blink, jaw flexing like he hadn’t meant to say it out loud. Like he’s wondering if he can take it back.

You know he won’t. Because he meant it. Because it’s been there—under every lingering look, every playful comment, every time he touched you for just a little too long after finishing a piece.

This has never just been ink.

Not for him.

And not for you.

“Hyun…” you whisper, unsure whether it’s a warning or a surrender.

He doesn't answer right away. Instead, he sets the machine down—gently, slowly, deliberately—onto the tray beside him. The buzz fades into nothing.

His gloved hand is still on your hip.

Still holding you steady. Still not moving.

“I shouldn’t have said that,” he says softly, but his eyes never leave yours. “Not while I’m tattooing you. Not while you’re lying here half-naked and trusting me.”

“But you meant it,” you say.

His jaw tightens. “Yeah.”

The silence between you goes thick again. Almost unbearable.

And then—still seated beside you, still bent low enough that his breath brushes your stomach—he murmurs, “Do you want me to stop?”

You stare down at him. And shake your head. “No,” you breathe. “I want you to finish.”

It’s not just about the tattoo. It never was. Something changes in his face. His pupils dilate. His mouth parts slightly, like he’s tasting the weight of what you just said.

“Okay,” he murmurs.

But when he picks the machine back up, his hands aren’t steady anymore.

The lines are still perfect—Hyunjin doesn’t do less than perfect—but his breath is uneven. His gloved fingers flex harder on your skin, not quite possessive, but close. His knuckles brush the edge of your underwear again and again, and not a single one of those brushes feels like an accident anymore.

“You’re shaking,” he murmurs, like he’s talking to himself.

You’re not sure if he means you or him.

“I’m fine,” you manage.

He hums. Low. “You always say that. Even when I’m breaking you open.”

Your thighs press together involuntarily. You’re certain he notices.

“I’m almost done,” he says. “Just a few more petals.”

You nod, chest rising with shaky breaths. “Okay.”

Hyunjin works in silence for the next few minutes. Only the buzz of the machine fills the air. His jaw is tight, lips parted, eyes flicking from the lines to your face and back.

Your breath stutters every time his fingers press a little deeper into your skin to hold you steady.

He notices. He always notices.

"You need to stay still, baby," he murmurs after a minute, like it costs him to say it gently.

"I'm trying," you whisper.

"I know," he says. "You're doing so good for me."

The pet name lands hard. You bite your lip, trying not to squirm. He grins. Quietly. Like he’s winning.

Another petal. Another clean line.

Your skin stings, but his voice is soothing. Warm. Reverent.

“Almost there,” he breathes, wiping the fresh ink with gentle circles of gauze. “I promise.”

You nod, nails digging into your own palms.

And then—

He stops.

The buzzing dies.

You feel the soft click of the machine being placed down. The final swipe of his gloved thumb wiping excess ink. The moment his hand lingers too long, brushing up toward your waist.

“…Finished,” he says quietly.

You look at him.

His expression is wrecked. Dark eyes, blown pupils, the barest sheen of sweat at his temples. He swallows hard, blinking slowly like he’s holding back a flood.

He pulls the gloves off.

Snaps. Tosses them to the tray.

Then looks at you like he’s still starving.

“Let me clean you up,” he murmurs.

You sit up a little, and his hand immediately comes to your back to support you—too gentle, too familiar. The intimacy of it makes your stomach flip.

You watch him work.

He squeezes out clear cleanser onto a pad, drags it carefully across the ink. Wipes you down like you’re porcelain. Like you’re sacred.

You shiver.

“There,” he says, fingers resting lightly at your waist. “We should wrap it but…”

You blink at him. “But?”

His eyes flick to your mouth. Then to your thighs. Then back to your eyes. “…But I don’t think I can keep my hands off you long enough to give you proper aftercare,” he admits, voice breaking open.

But then Hyunjin blinks, jaw clenched, and suddenly he’s standing. Suddenly he’s all discipline again. You watch in disbelief as he turns, grabs a box of plastic wrap and surgical tape like he didn’t just tell you he wants to ruin you.

You blink up at him, chest heaving, as he cuts a clean piece and starts prepping like this is a normal day.

Is he seriously—

“Lie back,” he murmurs.

You hesitate.

“C’mon,” he says gently. “Gotta protect the art.”

You lie back, narrowing your eyes.

He crouches again, presses gauze delicately to your tattoo, then begins wrapping with the kind of precise tension you'd expect from a fucking surgeon. His fingers glide over your waist as he smooths the film into place—practiced, familiar, infuriatingly neutral.

"You're being professional again," you mutter.

His mouth twitches. “Would you rather I forget how to do my job?”

“I’d rather you remember what you said five minutes ago.”

“I remember everything I say to you.”

He tapes down the final corner of the wrap, hands steady even though you can see the vein twitching in his neck. You can see the way his mouth keeps parting like he’s holding back a groan. His eyes won’t meet yours for more than a second.

And then, like a fucking menace, he clears his throat and reaches for the aftercare sheet.

The goddamn printed paper.

“I know how to—”

“I’m required to go through it,” he interrupts, not looking at you. “So. No heavy workouts. No soaking in water. No scratching even if it itches. Moisturize gently once the wrap’s off—”

You sit up abruptly.

His words die in his throat.

You reach for the collar of his shirt, grab it, and pull him in. You kiss him like you’re done waiting. Like his little show of professionalism just lit a fire under your skin. Like you’re done pretending you’re not his.

His body reacts before his mind can catch up—he lurches forward into you, hands bracing behind your back, and kisses you back like he’s making up for every second he spent pretending he wasn’t about to come undone.

Your legs wrap around his waist on instinct.

He groans into your mouth, deep and unfiltered, like the leash he had on himself just snapped in two.

“You’re such a fucking tease,” you whisper against his lips.

He pulls back, just enough to rest his forehead to yours, breath heavy.

“You think I was trying to stop myself?” he says, voice rough. “No. I was trying to deserve you.”

Your breath catches.

He kisses you again—deeper this time, desperate.

Then he’s standing. Hands sliding under your thighs, lifting you like it’s nothing. You wrap around him, gasping into his mouth as he sets you down on the tattoo chair again—but backwards this time, so your back is to his chest, your legs spread.

“So,” he says low in your ear, voice gone completely to sin now, “how’s your pain tolerance, baby?”

“Why?”

“Because I’m about to fuck you without touching your new tattoo,” he growls. “And I’m not sure if that’s going to make you scream louder… or quieter.”

Your breathing’s uneven. Your skin still stings faintly from the tattoo. And Hyunjin—Hyunjin is standing behind you, hands gripping your hips like he’s trying not to shake.

"Stay still," he murmurs. “You’ll make me lose it.”

“You already have.”

He huffs a breath that sounds like a laugh if it weren’t laced with so much need. Then his hands trail lower—thumbs hooking into your shorts.

He pulls slowly. Too slowly. The fabric drags over your thighs, bunches at your knees. You shift, arching slightly without meaning to, and he groans low in his throat.

"Fuck," he breathes. "Look at this."

His palm smooths over the curve of your ass, fingers spreading wide like he’s cataloguing every inch.

"You’re unreal," he mutters. "Always knew it. But like this?"

The shorts hit the floor.

And you hear it—the hitch in his breath when he sees your panties.

Thin. Soft. Lace-trimmed. They’re slightly pulled up from your earlier writhing on the chair, and now they’re framed perfectly. Your ass is practically spilling out of them.

Hyunjin makes a sound that is not human.

“Oh, baby…” he murmurs, hand splaying fully across one cheek. He squeezes—firm, greedy. “You wore these for me?”

“I didn’t know I’d be bent over in front of you,” you say, voice breathy.

“Bullshit.”

He leans in, lips brushing your lower back, just above the wrap.

“You always knew where this was going,” he whispers. “You’ve been showing me this ass every time you walked into my shop with your little skirts, your cocky smirks—”

A kiss over the curve of your ass.

“I tattoo you with a straight face, and you sit there like I’m not fucking hard the entire time—”

His hand slides lower, palm pressing against your inner thigh. His fingers trail along the hem of your panties, teasing.

“I should rip these.”

“You won’t,” you gasp.

“Oh?”

“You like how they look too much.”

He chuckles—low, dark, reverent. “You’re right.”

And then he does something you don’t expect.

He kneels behind you.

Both hands on your thighs, spreading you gently. His thumbs drag upward, slow, until they reach the curve of your ass again. He groans softly under his breath—visibly, audibly, aching.

Then—

A kiss. Right on your left cheek. Then another. And another. Trailing closer to the centre. “You know,” he murmurs between kisses, “this view might actually kill me.”

His thumbs hook into the waistband of your panties, and pulls them down.

Hyunjin lets out a shaky, reverent breath. His hands grip your thighs harder. His lips are parted, his eyes wild.

“…Holy fuck. You’re dripping. Just for me.”

His voice is guttural—low enough to make your spine arch without thinking. You can feel his breath right there—hot, heavy, reverent.

Then—

Spit.

The sound is sharp. Obscene. You gasp as it hits you—warm and wet, mixing with your slick, sliding between your folds.

“Fuck,” Hyunjin breathes, watching it trail down. “You make me so fucking messy already.”

And then he dives in. No hesitation. No soft teasing. He licks you like it’s instinct, like it’s oxygen, like this is the first and last meal of his entire life. His tongue parts you, slow and deep. He groans into your pussy like he’s overwhelmed by the taste.

“Jesus,” he whispers between licks. “You taste like a fucking dream.”

His hands grip your ass, spreading you wider. His tongue flicks over your clit—once, twice, and you jolt, gasping into the leather chair.

“Keep still,” he mutters, voice wrecked. “Let me enjoy you.”

Then he sucks. Hard.

Your whole body shudders. Your knees nearly give. He doesn’t stop. Doesn’t even slow down. He alternates between long, deep licks and desperate flicks, burying his face in you like he wants to live there. Like he’s tattooing his tongue into your memory.

One of his hands slips down, fingers trailing to your soaked entrance. He groans when he feels how ready you are.

“Holy shit,” he pants. “You’re gonna let me fuck this perfect pussy, aren’t you?”

“Yes—god, yes,” you whimper, pressing back against him, dizzy from pleasure.

His fingers press in—two at once, slow but deep. Your walls clench around him, and he curses under his breath.

“Already so fucking tight,” he groans. “Can’t wait to stretch you out on my cock, baby. But first—”

He curls his fingers. Licks again. And you scream. It’s filthy. It’s divine. It’s Hyunjin with a mouth full of you, humming like he’s high off the taste, dragging you toward the edge faster than you can take.

“Don’t hold back,” he says against your cunt. “I want you to cum all over my face.”

You don’t even answer. You can’t. You’re too far gone. Your thighs start to tremble, hips twitching uncontrollably, and he knows.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, tongue relentless. “That’s it, pretty girl. Let go for me. Cum for me.”

And with one more curl of his fingers and one more harsh suck on your clit—

You do.

You break. Hard. Shaking, moaning, collapsing forward against the chair as your orgasm rips through you. You gasp his name, legs trembling, slick dripping down his chin.

But he doesn’t stop.

He keeps going. Licking you through it. Kissing you through the aftershocks. Fingers still inside you, soothing, teasing, owning every wave of it. When you finally lift your head, panting, dazed, and weak in the knees—he pulls back just enough to look up at you. His lips are slick. His eyes are dark. His chest is heaving.

“You’re even prettier when you fall apart,” he whispers.

Then he licks your juices off his bottom lip—

And stands.

You see the outline of his cock in his jeans—thick, hard, straining.

He steps forward, rubbing against your ass, groaning into your shoulder. “Now,” he says, voice wrecked. “I’m going to fuck you so deep, the next time you come in for ink, you’ll still be dripping from this.”

His hands fumble with the button of his jeans, curses falling from his lips like prayers.

“Fuck, fuck—why are these so tight today—”

You glance back, dazed and flushed, still bent over the chair, legs weak from his mouth.

He finally shoves them down, briefs included—and there he is.

Long. Thick. Red at the tip. Veins tracing the sides. So hard it curves slightly, twitching with every heartbeat. Your mouth parts involuntarily. He catches your gaze.

“You staring?” he says, breathless.

“Obviously.”

He smirks—then hisses when his own hand wraps around the base, pumping once to relieve the pressure.

“I’ve dreamed about this,” he mutters, stepping closer, cock dragging over your ass, your soaked thighs, your still-sensitive folds. “Bent over my chair… ink still fresh… wrapped like a fucking gift—”

You whimper as he grinds against you, the head of his cock smearing pre-cum along your skin.

“—and all mine.”

He strokes himself once more, then lines up—sliding the tip through your slick folds, teasing your entrance.

You jolt.

“Still sensitive?” he asks softly.

You nod.

He leans down, voice curling around your ear.

“Good.”

And then—

He pushes in. Slow. Deep.

Your breath catches hard. He’s thick—stretching you inch by inch, until the pressure is so full, so overwhelming, it blurs the edges of your vision.

“Fuck,” he groans, gripping your hips, fingers sinking into your waist. “You’re so tight I could die.”

You moan, forehead pressing into the leather. “Move, Hyunjin—please—”

He pulls out halfway—

Then slams back in.

Your cry echoes through the studio.

“Sound so pretty,” he pants, setting a rhythm—deep, deliberate thrusts that hit every nerve-ending you didn’t know you had.

Every time his hips meet your ass, your body jolts.

“You were made for this,” he mutters. “Made for me.”

One hand slips around your waist, sliding between your legs again, fingers finding your clit with pinpoint accuracy.

“Hyunjin—!”

“That’s right, baby,” he growls. “Take it. Take all of me.”

He pounds into you harder—louder now, the slap of skin on skin obscene in the quiet room. His name spills from your lips over and over, useless and raw and desperate.

The tattoo stings with every motion—but you don’t care. You’re fucked open and filled and god, he’s not stopping. You look back over your shoulder, dizzy, ruined.

And Hyunjin’s eyes are locked on your face—wild. Starved. Obsessed.

“I’m not done,” he says, voice barely human. “Not till you cum on my cock. Not till I fuck my name so deep into you it echoes.”

His fingers rub faster. His thrusts get rougher. And then—

Everything snaps.

You cum again—louder, harder, legs shaking, walls pulsing around him like a vice.

“Holy fuck,” he shouts, cock twitching—

And then he’s spilling into you, deep and hot, hips stuttering, breath caught in his throat.

For a moment, the only sound is your breathing. The ruin. The afterglow. His cock still buried inside you. His arms wrapping around your torso as he leans in and presses a kiss to your back.

“Worth every second I waited,” he whispers.

You laugh—wrecked and glowing. “Told you you’d break the chair.”

“Worth it,” he grins.

Then: “Round two?”

You snort. “Gimme ten minutes and a juice box.”

He kisses your shoulder. “Done.” He kisses again, again, and again. “You okay?” he whispers.

You nod slowly. “Better than.”

He chuckles under his breath, one arm tightening around your waist. “I could stay inside you all day,” he murmurs. “But we’d destroy the whole damn shop.”

You feel him pull out—slowly, carefully, letting you feel every inch retreat until your body clenches one last time in protest.

A gasp escapes your lips.

Hyunjin groans softly behind you. “Don’t do that,” he warns. “I’m already thinking about round two.”

You give him a breathless laugh and he grins. Now pulling up your panties, still bunched halfway down one thigh. He slides them up slowly, smoothing the lace back into place, pressing a kiss to your right cheek as he finishes.

Next come the shorts. He helps you step into them, then pulls them up gently, carefully over your still-tender skin. He pauses at your waistband. Fingers resting there. Holding.

“Let me see it,” he whispers.

You glance back, confused.

“The tattoo.” he clarifies, voice soft.

You shift your hip toward him, tugging the waistband down just enough.

He crouches again.

One hand cradles your thigh. The other touches just above the wrap.

His eyes go soft.

“I can’t believe I finally got to mark you,” he says, almost to himself. “Right here. Where no one else gets to touch.”

You watch him trace the wrap with two fingers, reverent. Then—

He kisses the corner of it. Barely-there. Sacred. You feel your heart stutter. He looks up at you—flushed, hair a mess, lips swollen, eyes absolutely feral with devotion.

“Come home with me,” he says.

Your breath catches. “Hyunjin—”

“I’m not done with you,” he murmurs. “I need to see that tattoo in the morning light. Need to kiss every part I didn’t get to tonight. Need you in my bed. On my sheets. Wearing nothing but your bruises and my name.”

You stare at him. Then lean down. And kiss him. Soft. Slow. Final.

“Yeah,” you breathe. “Okay. Let’s go.”

You wake up to the feeling of his fingers on your hip.

Not just touching—tracing. Careful. Curious. Worshipful.

The morning light spills through the blinds in lazy stripes, painting the sheets in pale gold and soft gray. You’re lying on your side, half under the duvet, one leg bare and bent—perfectly exposing your hip. The wrap is still on.

Hyunjin is shirtless, hair an absolute mess, lips kiss-swollen and pink. His chain dangles forward as he leans down to look closer, one hand brushing back your shirt to keep it out of the way.

You blink sleepily. “You’re staring.”

He doesn’t even pretend to deny it.

“Can’t help it,” he murmurs. “I know I just did this, but I still can’t believe it’s mine.”

You snort. “You mean mine.”

His gaze flicks up.

“No,” he says softly. “I meant what I said.”

He leans in. Kisses just beside the wrap. “You let me mark you,” he whispers. “Right where I’ve always dreamed.”

You feel your stomach flip, heat blooming down your spine. “You’re being sappy,” you mumble, hiding your face in the pillow.

He grins. “You love it.”

His fingers trail lower. Along your thigh. To the dip just before it curves into your ass.

You squirm. “Hyunjin—”

“Let me see how sore you are,” he says, voice suddenly lower, throatier.

He lifts the covers. Exposes both legs. His eyes darken at the sight—faint bruises from where he held you. Scratches on his arms from when you clung to him.

And then—he kisses your thigh. Slow. Open-mouthed. Lingering. “I want to put another one here,” he says.

You blink. “Another what?”

“A tattoo,” he says. “Something small. Hidden. Right where only I get to see it.”

He slides lower, kissing your inner thigh now. His hair brushes your skin. His breath is hot.

You shiver. “Hyunjin…”

His mouth pauses a breath away from your cunt. Then: “Or maybe I’ll just taste you again first. Remind you who you belong to before we start sketching.”

You moan—already soaked, already clenching.

But he just smirks.

“You want it, don’t you?” he murmurs. “Want to be mine in ink and sweat and everything else.”

You nod, voice wrecked. “Yes. Fuck, yes.”

He lowers his head again. “And you will be,” he whispers. “One mark at a time.”

#stray kids #skz #stray kids smut #stray kids x reader #hwang hyunjin #hyunjin x reader #hyunjin smut #filthy friday #skz smut #황현진

2K notes · View notes

rainy-day-gracie · 2 months ago

Text

mine

jackson!joel miller x reader

cw: holy moly uhhhhh smutty as all hell!! unprotected piv sex, oral f!receiving, rough sex, assplay, biting, daddy kink, breeding/bulge kink, 1 spank, begging, swearing, pre-established relationship (fwb but it's complicated), jackson!joel miller because i love him so much, joel calls reader baby and good girl, porn with feelings!!

*reader is able bodied, joel can pick her up (against a wall), has stretch marks on her thighs (joel likes to bite them haha)*

a/n: part 2 to jealous!! wrote this in the midst of spring finals so please don't be mad if it's a little over the top nasty, i haven't seen the sun in four days whoops this is therapy for me

read part one, jealous, here!

masterlist

wc: 1.3k

Joel laid a quick slap to your ass before reaching down your legs, pulling your jeans up to your waist. He didn't bother with the zipper or button, as both of you knowing they would be coming off the moment you went inside.

"You fucking prick," you whispered between breaths, waiting for your cunt to stop pulsing, clutching the wooden railing of the porch.

"I didn't go too far, did I?" Joel mumbled as you stood up straight on shaky legs.

You turned to face him, that handsome face and dark brown eyes that could see past any armor you had on.

A grin spread across your lips. "A fucking prick I want to suck. Get in the house, old man."

Joel's eyebrows shot up, a smirk rising to his mouth. "Yes, ma'am."

You giggled as he wrapped his arms around your waist, practically throwing you through the front door, into your small living room.

"I wanna taste you, baby," Joel whispered in your ear, spinning and pinning you against the closed door. You jumped, wrapping your legs around his hips as you clashed your lips together.

Hands gripping your ass, holding you firm against the cold wood, you kissed him with a passion, burning like a cigar or whiskey. His teeth sunk into your bottom lip, a whine ripping from your throat at the sting. You dug your fingers into his thick curls, grinding your clothed cunt against his tented denim in reply.

"Oh, fuck, baby," he groaned, ripping his lips from yours, dragging them down your exposed neck. The scruff of his facial hair had you grinning with pleasure, the rough scrape addicting. "Gonna have me creamin' my jeans if you keep that up."

"Good."

With a grunt, Joel pulled you from the door, all but tossing you onto the sofa in the living room. Kneeling at your feet, and prying your legs apart, he made quick work of your jeans, practically ripping them off like he'd done your panties.

"Oh, yes," he breathed, driving his nose into the bush of hair above your pussy. Inhaling your scent, he closed his eyes like he was dreaming. "Oh, just fuckin' perfect.”

You tossed your head back as he nipped lightly at the stretch marks of your thighs, a moan escaping you as he sucked a hickey into the soft flesh.

"Please, just fuck me, Joel," you begged, eyes pinched shut as he licked a lewd stripe up from your ass to your cunt. "Please-"

"Oh, good girl, gettin' all polite," Joel said, the words vibrating over your skin. "I just wanna kiss you for a little bit, baby."

His thumb teased at the hole below your cunt, making your breath catch in your lungs.

"You haven't had it back here before, huh?" Joel murmured, using his free hand to pop open the buttons of your shirt. He hummed with approval as he exposed your perked nipples to the cold air of your living room.

His spit on your cunt dripped down to your ass, and he chuckled at the ease the first knuckle of his thumb slid past the tight muscle. "Gonna feel so good, opening up this little virgin asshole."

You moaned at the vulgarity, and he licked at your soaked cunt as he slid in a bit further, and further, until you clenched around his tongue and thumb filling you.

"Doin' so good, such a good girl for me," Joel said into your cunt, his lips and stubble scraping against your clit as you tugged on his hair. "I'm gonna fill this ass one day. You want that?"

"Y-Yes," you whimpered, finding words difficult to form as he tugged his thumb out of your hole, all the way to his blunt nail, and thrusted in as he fucked you on his tongue.

In and out, he played with your ass, licking at your cunt like it was his favorite pastime. You grinded on his hand and mouth, vision going white.

"You gonna cum, baby?"

"Hmhmm," you whined, nails digging into his scalp.

His thumb was replaced by two of his fingers, stretching your hole wider, and rubbing his rough stubble against your clit. You cried out in pleasure at the sting, and he chuckled against your stretch marks.

"Go on then. Cum on my fingers in your ass."

Your back arched off the couch in a perfect bow, guttural moans ripping from your throat as you obeyed. Slick gushing from your cunt, Joel drank every drop like a dying man, and fucked your ass on his fingers as your arousal slid down your pussy.

"Such a good fuckin' girl, how the fuck did I ever leave this cunt?" Joel wondered aloud, pulling his fingers from you as the pulsing quit.

"Fuck me, please, Joel," you begged, reaching for his belt, and zipper.

Freeing his cock, it was almost painful how badly he wanted you. The tip was flushed with pressure, his balls tight by his base.

Pulling him down onto the couch, you switched places, straddling his hips with a greedy smile. Rubbing your soaked cunt against his hard cock, he closed his eyes, brows scrunched together.

"Are you okay?" You asked, pushing a curl from his forehead.

He chuckled softly. "I'm right as rain. Tryin' to not cum before I'm even inside of you."

You giggled, grinding your cunt down again. He clenched his jaw, a groan lost behind his gritted teeth.

Doing it again, he lost his patience.

Wrapping his hand around your throat, and gripping his cock in the other, he held your gaze with a wicked smirk as he sunk his cock into your folds.

You moaned, finally feeling full again.

"You wanna ride it, yeah?" Joel breathed, his whiskey breath warm by your face.

"Yes, daddy," you whispered, pressing a hand to his grip on your neck, encouraging the touch. "Yes."

Joel laid a soft kiss to your lips, your pulse thundering underneath his calloused palm. "C'mon, then, ride it for your daddy."

Letting go of your neck, Joel leaned back against the couch pillows, holding instead onto your soft thighs straddling him, his fingertips heaven against your skin.

You grinded down on his cock, no one ever reaching so deep inside of you before. The tip bulged at the bottom of your belly, and Joel watched it rise and fall as you fucked yourself on his cock.

"You feel so good, daddy," you whimpered, gasping as he pressed one of his hands against that bulge between your hips.

"Daddy's real deep, huh, baby?" Joel groaned, letting you ride him slowly, deeply. "You like it when I'm in your belly like that?"

You nodded, and he pressed down harder, his other hand palming your ass as you bounced on his cock.

Tears sprung to your eyes, a third earth-shattering orgasm coiling inside of you. You clenched around him, grinding your clit on his pelvis, on his dark hair above his base.

"You want daddy to put a baby in your belly?" Joel's voice was guttural, his eyes pinched shut. "Put a baby in your belly and everyone will know you're mine, all round and ripe with my..."

"God, Joel!" You cried, gripping his shoulders, pressing your chests together. He was still fully clothed, damp with sweat from your body heats.

He captured your lips in a fiery kiss, running his rough hands up your back, holding you against him with dark passion.

As you came on his cock with a moan against his lips, he thrusted deep, deep, inside of you until he hit your cervix.

Holding you down on his cock, he came violently, biting your lip as he emptied into your cunt.

You held one another on the come down, catching your breaths, kissing softly.

"Now I know what happens when I make you jealous," you whispered against his mouth with a wicked smile.

Joel grinned. "Lucky you.

everyone stay safe out there! read smut and fight facism :)

#joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal #the last of us #joel miller fic #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #pedro pascal smut #the last of us fic

2K notes · View notes

emisluvr · 2 months ago

Note

sucking off jake while hes tired from work

yes yes i love this idea anonn 🫶🏻 also can you guys tell i've been so horribly unmotivated.. i'm sawryyy agh

✧ tw. smut (18+ mdni!), praise, cum in mouth, oral sex, jake is rly whiny and lowk subby

jake's favourite way to wind down after a long day is for you to use him allll you want </3

he looks exhausted when he walks through the door—tie loose, tousled hair from running his hands through it, and an expression that screamed fatigue. he lazily walks to the couch, sitting himself down before resting his head down on the cushion and sighing.

you walk over to him, sitting on the edge of the couch, fingers brushing through his messy hair. "rough day, baby?" you ask softly.

he nods, eyes fluttering shut under your touch. "mhm. so tired, angel.."

"let me take care of you," you whisper, fingers already tugging at his belt. he opens one eye, and you see the corner of his mouth twitch like he wants to smile but doesn’t even have the energy.

you lift his dress shirt enough so you can press a few kisses to his abs, before trailing them down to his v-line that was peeking out of his boxers. you unbuckle his belt and slide his boxers down so his cock springs free. his cock is already half-hard when you free it, heavy and warm in your palm. "poor baby," you murmur, kissing the tip. "bet this has been aching all day, huh?"

"fuck," he breathes out, hips jerking slightly. "baby, please.."

your lips wrap around the head, tongue swirling slow and teasing on his tip, and he lets out the softest whine—high and broken like he’s already overwhelmed. "a-ahh.. y-your mouth’s so—fuck, i needed this."

you take more of him inch by inch, one hand stroking what you can’t reach as you bob your head, letting your spit drip down his cock and your chin. jake’s hand finds your hair, weakly tugging for support.

"please, please—don’t stop, fuck, i’m gonna—" he’s panting now, voice thin and whimpery. "feels too good, baby.. your mouth’s so fucking perfect.."

you hum around him, letting him slip deeper down your throat, your eyes all watery and locked on him while he completely falls apart. his chest is rising, abs flexing every time you swallow around him.

it doesn't take long before hot spurts of cum cover your mouth, hips bucking up slightly as he gasps your name, "nngh, baby—f-fuck, thank you.." — his voice so pretty yet desperate. he slumps back, breathing heavily, thumb brushing across your slick bottom lip.

"always take care of me, don’t you?" he whispers, eyes glossy as he pulls you up to kiss your lips. "my good girl.."

#‎ ♡ ◞ 𝓲.#enhypen smut #enhypen hard hours #enhypen scenarios #enhypen hard thoughts #sim jaeyun smut #sim jake x reader

1K notes · View notes

kookooluvr · 10 days ago

Text

MADE OF HONOR | JJK (fic announcement)

you gained a lot from university; a law degree catching dust in your attic, countless arguments with your roommate about laundry schedules, and a best friend whose biggest fear in life is commitment. in essence, jungkook's world gets flipped upside down when you take a trip to london and he finally realizes his feelings for you...only to find out you've come back with a fiancé.

pairing: jungkook x (fem) reader x namjoon

genre: fluff, angst, smut, f2l au, love triangle au, bestfriend!jungkook, fuckboy!jungkook, baker!reader, photographer!namjoon

rating: 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

w/c: tbc

warnings: tbc

a/n: my first one-shot woop woop !!!! i'm soooo excited to share this one with you guys because moh!jk is a menace and namjoon makes me swoon 😩😩 i didn't want to give too much away with the teaser so it's just jk and oc's meet cute (my namjoonie isn't in the picture yet). pleeease let me know if you'd like to be added to the taglist and i hope you are as excited as i am !! love you cuties 🫶🏼

main masterlist jungkook moodboard oc moodboard

namjoon moodboard spotify playlist

[Teaser]

It's Halloween night on campus, which means three things: a really loud, obnoxious party filled with really loud, obnoxious people, drunk hookups that no one will remember in the morning, and you've locked yourself in your room to avoid all of the above.

The entire university is pulsating with the energy of drunk frat boys in capes, girls dressed in skimpy lingerie calling it their costume, and at least three professors who are far too old to be dressed up amongst the students. You, however, are in your true element: a large hoodie, fuzzy socks, a half-eaten Snickers bar on your nightstand, and a thick law textbook open in front of you.

Parties aren't your thing. You'd rather be sued than make small talk with a guy dressed as a ketchup bottle. While your roommate, Jieun, spent hours hot-gluing rhinestones onto her platform space boots for her "sexy astronaut" outfit, you politely declined all invitations and instead declared war on your midterm readings. The only spooky thing in your life right now is the growing realization that you don't actually want to be a lawyer, the thought that you'll probably die single, and knowing you'll be buried in student debt by the time you graduate.

And honestly? That's still more appealing than the campus party.

You take a break from studying around 2am and finally decide to turn off the light and get some rest.

Until the door of your dorm room creaks open.

You pause, blinking your eyes open in the darkness of your room. Maybe Jieun forgot her phone. Maybe she brought back a stray alien from the party. Either way, you don't move, not until the unmistakable dip of the mattress under your legs almost sends your soul flying from your body.

Someone just climbed into your bed.

Your eyes widen to the size of saucers, your heart racing in your chest. It's pitch black, the only light coming from the little slit under the door.

"Jieunieee," the voice whispers, smooth and far too seductive. "Are you ready for the best dick of your life?"

That's it.

You scream as loud as you can, springing straight up. You grab the bottle of Channel perfume on your nightstand and spray it directly into his eyes.

"AHHH—WHAT THE F—!"

The stranger falls out of your bed with a loud thud, hitting the floor dramatically like he's been shot in a Western.

"What the hell?!" he groans, writhing on the floor with a hand covering his eyes and the other holding his head. "You maced me!"

"That was perfume!" you yell, feeling your heart in your throat, the perfume clutched tightly in your hand, holding it out in case you have to spray him again. "And why are you in my bed, you psychopath?!"

"I was looking for Jieun!"

"You can't just crawl into beds like a raccoon in the night!"

"I thought this was her bed!"

"Do I sound like Jieun?!"

He blinks rapidly on the floor, his voice strained through his agony. "I don't know, it's dark and I was promised a sexy astronaut!"

You switch on the bedside lamp with the force of a woman ready to kill.

And there he is.

Black leather pants. Tight black shirt. Fake bruises and cuts on his face, presumably made with makeup. An eyebrow piercing. Messy hair. Ridiculously attractive even while clutching at his eyes like he's just been gassed in battle.

Your brain fills in the blanks before he even says it.

"You're Jeon Jungkook, aren't you?"

He lowers his hand just enough to smirk at you. "And you're ___. The infamous roommate l've heard so much about."

You sigh, flopping back against your headboard in disbelief. "Of course she's hooking up with you of all people."

Jungkook is a campus legend. The boy whose reputation includes at least two streaking incidents, three girls who dropped out of the university due to their heartbreak, and a tongue that's done unspeakable things according to the word on the street.

And now he's on your floor, still very much looking like the kind of man your mother warned you about even after being sprayed in the eyes with perfume.

He sits up, rubbing his eyes. "For the record, l've had a lot of entrances, but that was definitely my worst."

"You scared the crap out of me!" you exclaim, tossing your pillow at him. "Who just walks into a dorm and climbs into an unfamiliar bed?!"

"I didn't walk," he scoffs, catching the pillow with an insufferable grin. "I strode."

You glare at him.

He grins wider. "Come on, that was funny!"

"You have a concussion, don't you?"

He wipes his eyes with the heels of his palms, settling on the edge of your bed. "Honestly? If you weren't so terrifying, I'd be impressed."

"Excuse me?"

"You're terrifying," he deadpans. "You sprayed me in the eyes and insulted me all within five minutes. That's worse than most of my Tinder dates. Not by much, but still."

You fold your arms over your chest, raising an eyebrow at him. "Maybe don't go crawling into beds with strangers."

"Technically, you're the stranger," he quips, pointing a finger at you. "And you've maced and verbally abused me. That's a lot for a first impression."

You sigh, rolling your eyes. "Unbelievable. Are you always this irritating?"

"I like to think of myself as…persistently charming," he smiles.

You give him a dry look, your eyes narrowing. "You're the human equivalent of an unsolicited dick pic."

"Oof," he winces, placing his hand over his heart. "Okay, that one hurt. But also...kinda hot that you're this mean."

You blink at him. "Do girls actually fall for this crap?"

"Usually," he shrugs.

"Well, congratulations," you scoff. "You've officially found the girl who's immune to your bullshit."

He holds up his hands in surrender, laughing softly. "Okay, you've made your point. I'm sorry I invaded your bed. I didn't mean to scare you like that. I apologize."

Your face softens ever so slightly, giving him a curt nod. "Thank you."

"But also," he adds, leaning back on his hands, "you're hilarious. And clearly not afraid to defend your space. We should be friends."

You stare at him. "What?"

"Friends," he repeats, like it's the most natural thing in the world. "You and me. I'm serious."

You narrow your eyes once more. "You literally came here to hook up with my roommate."

"Which clearly isn't happening anymore," he sighs, lounging on your bed like he's at the beach. "But now l've met you. And I like you."

You scoff. "You don't know me."

"I know you don't care about going to a hot party and hooking up on Halloween night, and would absolutely tase someone if you had the chance. Right?"

You pause. That...is not incorrect.

"I also know that girls like you usually avoid guys like me. Which is fair. But still.." He swings his legs off the bed, standing up. "I want to be friends."

"Why would we do that?" you ask, genuinely curious.

He grins. "Because you're the first girl who's actually told me I'm full of shit to my face."

You open your mouth, then close it again, and he takes that as a win.

"Anyway, I'll see you around," he smiles, walking toward the door. "If Jieun asks, tell her I tested positive for an STD or something."

You roll your eyes. "Get out!"

He's halfway out when he turns back and winks.

"Nice meeting you, ___."

"Likewise, Satan," you grumble, gesturing for him to shut the door.

He laughs, loud and boyish, and disappears down the hall. And just like that, your quiet Halloween night turned into something totally unexpected.

You met Jeon Jungkook. And he wants to be your friend.

God help you.

1K notes · View notes

jaysbaefie · 4 months ago

Text

perv | lhs

synopsis: in which you’ve finally had enough of heesungs lack of action, so you decide to take matters into your own hands.

genre: high-school classmates to lovers ?

pairing: loser!heesung x afab reader

warnings: perv!heesung, sub(ish)!heesung, softdom!reader, dubcon(sort of), up skirt picture taking, grinding, panty stealing, panty sniffing, theft lol, oral (f. rec), masturbation, riding, p in v (unprotected), titty sucking. i think that’s it…

wc: 2.9k

a/n: thank you for 150+ followers and all the love on my fics. ‘inmate 1697’ has almost 1000 likes and i couldn’t be more grateful. i’ve been posting a lot more shorter fics with 3k or less word counts but that’s because i have a bigger one coming soon! it should be out in a weeks time from now maybe less! for those of you who have been asking for pt2 for ‘noona’ and ‘inmate 1697’ they are works in progress don’t worry i see you lol.

anyways, enjoy <3

········

a smirk graced your lips as you slowly drop your hand from the desk and onto his knee. your smirk widening when you feel his leg twitch at your touch.

you could feel heesung stare down at you, his breathing getting heavier as his heart stutters in his chest.

you pay his looks no mind as you continue to stare up at the front, keeping your eyes glued to your teacher who was discussing who knows what on the board.

you slowly trail your hand up from his knee, inching towards his prominent bulge that his school slacks seemed to emphasize greatly.

you feel your thighs slacken when you realize how big he was, never noticing prior that he was hiding something much bigger than he let on.

"w-what are you doing?" he whispers harshly, his hand coming down to grip at yours, preventing it from moving up any further.

"what are you talking about sungie?" you whisper back innocently, now deciding to look up at the boy. you felt your breath hitch when you took in his state, his cheeks flushed a soft pink and his pupils dilated. he had his teeth holding his bottom lip hostage, his face having a slight sheen of sweat.

his face morphs into one of desperation, "you know what your doing, __. this isn't okay," he almost pleas, you could feel how sweaty his hand had become on top of yours which only made you feel giddier—he was nervous.

"and you staring down my shirt isn't? hm? or how about all the up skirt pictures you took of me? or my gym clothes that seem to go missing and end up in your locker instead?" you toss back, biting your lip to hold yourself from laughing when you see his face drop in shame.

"i-i'm sorry, i'll stop! i promise," he begs softly when he realizes that he had been discovered. he hopes that you don't take him to the deans office, he didn't want to be expelled for being a pervert.

"but what if i don't want you to?" and with that your gripping his bulge, a low whimper leaving his mouth before his eyes go wide—slapping his hand over his mouth. this catches the attention of the teacher who looks at the boy with concern, "are you okay, heesung?"

you squeeze him harder, stroking him through his pants before your thumb finds his tip—rubbing firmly against his slit. he shuts his eyes tightly at the feeling, his body twitching as you fasten your pace.

heesung shakes his head, "may i be excused, miss?" he barely musters out when he feels you stroke him over his pants harder. the teacher nods hesitantly, concerned for his well being.

heesung springs up from his seat, a small laugh escaping your lips as he looks down at you in shock. his hands immediately go to cover his hard on, before he's running out of the classroom.

this isn't over.

········

it in fact wasn't over, you had him cornered in the men's rest room. soon after heesung had made his grand exit out of the classroom, you too asked to be excused.

you hummed carelessly as you opened the door to the bathroom, you peered in making sure that no one else was in the room. after determining if it was clear to go in, you step in and close the door—jamming a wooden wedge in the door so no one would be able to get in.

"sungie.." you sing, walking down the aisle of stalls while you open each door you pass by. "i know your in here."

you hear a small gasp, your mouth stretching into a grin as you near the handicap stall. "the longer you play the game the harsher i'll be on you," you threaten softly as you stand in front of the door of the stall.

you peer through the crack, seeing heesung pressed against the wall with his hand against his mouth. you 'tsk' before your using your nails and pressing into the groove of the bathroom lock—twisting to open the stall.

heesung lets out a gasp when he sees the stall door swing open, pressing himself further into the tiled walls. you walk in slowly, your mouth pulled in a smirk as you lock the door behind you—stalking over to the quivering boy.

"sungie," you coo, now standing right in front of him with your hands on his chest. "why are you running away from me? i thought you liked me," you fake whine, your hands now running up and down his chest as you feel him shiver against your touch.

"i-i do like you," he stutters, his cheeks a bright pink as he lifts his hand to push his sliding glasses up.

"then why are you hiding from me?" your body pressed up against his so you could feel his dick push against your tummy.

when you don't get a response from him you decide to push harder, your hands now yanking his tie so he was leaning down with his face right in front of yours.

"answer me," you demand, your voice hardening as you stare him down. he swallows harshly, "b-because you m-make me nervous.." he finally answers, his voice cracking at the end.

your smirk widens at his confession, "i make you nervous? but not nervous enough to stop your perverted actions, right?" he grimaces at your words, "i-i'm sorry, __. i won't ever do it again.. i-i promise!" he exclaims his hands joining together as he pleas for your forgiveness.

"really? you're sorry?" you ask, a small pout on your face as you twirl his tie in your hand—looking up at him with big eyes filled with faux innocence.

the look you gave him was enough to make him cum in his pants, his dick twitching in his pants as he stares down at you.

heesung nods his head quickly, "i-i'm really sorry, __," he repeats, his tone genuine. "so you'd do anything to make it up to me?"

he nods his head again, "anything."

oh heesung, you fucked up.

that's how heesung found himself on his knees in the bathroom stall, his face under your skirt with one of your legs hitched over his shoulder.

"never done this before?" you ask, cocking your head to the side as you. he moves your skirt out of his face, shaking his head 'no'. you get a strange feeling of satisfaction at his answer, "it's okay sungie, i'll teach you."

with that your hooking your panties to the side, exposing your aching and dripping cunt. heesungs breath hitches, his phones camera wasn't able to catch what his eyes were.

he thought he was slick with the way he'd take up skirt pictures of you, standing close to you in hallways or on the bus with his phone blindly taking photos of what he could. he was getting tired of using his imagination.

what he didn't know was that you were aware of his antics. heesung, to put it simply, wasn't the most subtle when it came to being a pervert. he was sloppy, obvious and a nervous wreck.

at first when you discovered his actions, you were disgusted. you were going to give him a piece of your mind and maybe drag him to the principles office, but soon decided against it. you discovered how cute he was, how flustered he looked when he'd be near you and how he seemed to follow you around like a lost puppy. it was easy to tell that he had a crush on you, so you let it continue.

however, you soon grew tired of his lack of action towards actually touching you. it was all staring and the occasional blurry picture, you needed more—and you knew he did too.

you started to push yourself up against him on the bus on purpose, your body moulding right into his. you could feel his hard on against your ass, or how he held his breath in when the bus would drive over a pothole or swerved to quickly—resulting in him grinding against you.

when you realized that he wasn't taking advantage of the situation, you changed your ways.

so, you began to leave your locker open in hopes of catching him snooping, but instead he shocked you even more. you watched him rummage through your gym bag, stuffing little trinkets into his pocket as he whipped his head around to make sure that no one was witnessing his act of theft.

at first he had started off fairly innocent, taking your lip balm or your hand lotions—but then he grew bolder.

you saw him hold your gym shorts up to your nose, scrunching the fabric in his large hands as he inhaled your scent. seeing this, you decide to test something else—you began to leave your panties in the bag.

heesung looked almost ecstatic when he saw the cotton or lacy material in your bag, biting at his lip before pulling the fabric up to his nose. he even slipped a few pairs into his pockets, shutting your locker and walking away as if he hadn't stolen your undergarments.

with all of this, he still hadn't made any moves to touch you—and you were getting impatient. you knew you had to take matters into your own hands, so you did.

"take a picture, it'll last longer," you snicker as you take in heesungs awe struck expression. he snaps out of it at your words, "can i?" he asks innocently, referring to touching your cunt. it was almost ironic that he was asking permission to touch you. you nod in response, jutting your hips out closer to his face so you feel his breath fan against you—a slight shiver raking your spine.

he sticks his tongue out to do an experimental lick up your slit, a small sigh escaping your lips as you lean into the wall. seeing your expression heesung assumed he was doing something right, so he repeated his actions.

"yeah, just like that sungie," you coo as you rut against him.

with each swipe of his tongue, his actions got firmer and faster. you bite at your lip to hold back the moans threatening to escape your mouth, peering down to see heesung already looking up at you. his big eyes stared up at you as he flattened his tongue against your clit, his fingers gripping into the fat of your thigh.

you do a double take when you notice that his other hand with preoccupied with something else. heesung had managed to unbutton his pants and was stroking his dick while his tongue dipped into you—making out with your pussy.

"you pervert, beating your pretty cock while you eat my pussy? do you like this? huh? like me using your mouth like this?" you grit out, your hands now weaving into his thick locks as you control his head. heesung nods against you, well, tries to.

he moans into your cunt when you tug and pull at his hair, his nose rubbing against your clit as he begins to stroke his cock quicker.

your hips twitch, "f-fuck, why are you so good at this?" you stutter out, feeling your high near. heesung hums into you, basking in the praise as he feels his own high approach dangerously quick.

"m'gonna cum, sungie," you squeak out, feeling the boy lap at your cunt like he was starving—desperate to taste every inch of you. "f-fuck, you want me to cum, yeah? cum all over your pretty face?" you moan out, grinding against his face.

heesung nods, moaning out desperately in response. "o-oh f-fuck..m'gonna cum," you squeal as you reach your high,your hips moving wildly as your grip on heesungs hair tightens.

heesung lets out a deep moan against you as he too cums, his hand stuttering when he feels his cum spurt over his fingers and thigh.

it felt surreal to him that any of this happened, here he was with his face between the thighs of the girl he had his eye on since the beginning of high-school.

your laughter makes him snap out of his thoughts, "you did good sungie, strangely good," you point out, your eyebrows furrowing. the thought of heesung having done the action with another girl sours your mood, "are you lying to me, sungie? have you done this before?"

heesung shakes his head quickly, his clean hand coming up to wipe his face shyly. "n-never."

you suddenly lean down, tilting his head upwards with two of your fingers under his chin so he's looking right at you. "better not have, you're only allowed to touch me. okay?" you instructed firmly.

he nods like a eager puppy, "y-yes, only you," he agrees.

you smile, "good," you look down to his cock still out and hard. you crouch down so your knees hit the bathroom floor, ignoring how dirty it probably is. heesung swallows harshly when he follows your gaze, seeing you stare intently at his dick.

"let me help you take care of this," you murmur, lifting yourself up so you were now sitting on his lap. you felt his dick brush against your sopping cunt, grinding your clit against him as you let out soft moans.

heesung watches you in awe, unfolding his legs so you could sit with more comfort on his lap. his hands holding him up as he watches you grind down on him, one of his hands moving up to plant itself on your waist.

his jaw drops when you begin to unbutton your school shirt, your baby pink bra on display. you smirk when you see his awe struck expression, "you want to do the honour?" you ask.

wordlessly, his hands lift up to remove your shirt—letting it drop onto the floor. he swallows harshly when he sees your breasts spill over the cup of your bra slightly, fingers twitching as they near the straps.

he pulls the straps down, shimmying down the bra so it was at your waist—leaving your tits exposed. your nipples harden when exposed to the cold air of the room, heesungs eyes zeroing in.

he silently asks for permission with his pleading eyes, almost letting out a moan when you nod. his lips attach to your tits instantly, sucking and nipping at your nipples.

you let out small moans when he alternates from side to side, moving your hips against his length causing him to gasp against you.

you lift yourself up for a moment before your lining yourself up, slamming down on him. your eyes roll back in your head as you try to accommodate to his girth. heesung on the other side had to hold himself back from cumming right then and there.

he lets out a deep groan when he feels your walls flutter around him, his eyes turning white as he puts all his weight on his elbows to hold himself up.

slowly, you begin to move. his thick cock dragging against your walls as you cry out in pleasure. your hands land on heesungs chest as you slam yourself down on him, "f-fuck, your dick s'good," you slur out, your head lulling back as you continue your movements.

heesung feels as if he was in a dream, his crush was fucking herself on his dick—what else could he want in life? he hisses when he feels you clench around him, "holy shit," he moans out, his mouth pulled into an 'o' shape as moves his hips to match up with yours.

eventually, heesung grows tired of not being able to touch you due to his hands being used to hold himself up. 'fuck it,' he thinks to himself before hes letting his back touch the floor—his hands coming up to grab at your waist.

he lifts his lower body up to pound up into you, a squeal leaving your mouth as you let yourself go on top of him. "sungie," you mewl, your tits bouncing wildly as he fucks up into you while he holds onto your waist to control your movement.

"m'gonna cum, shit," you squeak out, your body shaking as you feel your high approaching quickly. heesung feels his lower body tighten as he feels his own orgasm approach, his thumb coming down to rub firm circles on your clit as he watches you fall apart on top of him.

you drop down from your original position, your hands on either side of his head as your tits smothered his face.

"cum for me, pretty," heesung urges as he gasps, feeling you clench around him so hard that his one high came rushing along with yours. you feel his warm cum shoot into your cunt, mewling at the feeling of being filled up to the brim.

his hips stutter as his thrusts slow down, pumping you full while he takes one of your sensitive nipples into his mouth.

your body twitches as you slowly come off your high, occasionally clenching around his cock causing heesung to let out chocked moans.

"that was.." you trail off, slowly sitting up again causing heesung to twitch inside of you—giggling when you see his face flush red.

"..really good," you finish off, the compliment turning his face a darker shade of red as he tries to look anywhere else beside you.

before he could say something that would make the situation awkward, you interrupt him, "take out your phone, i'm going to give you some actual beat material."

— enjoy this fic? check out my other ones right here!

#enha imagines #enha x reader #enhypen #jaysbaefie #smut #enhypen heesung #lee heesung x reader #lee heesung smut #heesung enha #kpop bg #heesung imagines #heesung smut #lee heesung #enhypen smut #enhypen fic #enhypen x reader

1K notes · View notes

stllmnstr · 7 months ago

Text

starlight

pairing: yang jungwon x f reader

genre: soulmates au, university au

word count: 13.4k

warnings: swearing, angst (but a happy ending because I’m not a monster), soulmate lore, copious amounts of pining and yearning and sighing

soundtrack: crying over you - honne, beka / a world alone - lorde / this is me trying / invisible string / daylight - taylor swift / spring day - bts / so far away - agust d, suran

note: this was another find in my old drafts that I spent a couple of days editing/rewriting. I have very much been in a jungwon mood these days, and it was fun to venture into some more angsty stuff that I haven't written in a while. happy reading! ♡

⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖

There’s a word for it. Something that’s whispered behind closed doors, shunned like a bad omen you can’t quite shake.

Glitch. A cruel twist of fate. A failed soulmate match.

Something you’ve been marked as since the countdown on your wrist ticked to 00:00 two long years ago and left you lonelier than ever. Something you’ve been fighting since destiny carved itself into your skin with a dull, lifeless shade of gray.

But fate is a funny thing. And love, as you’ve learned, is often found in the most unexpected places.

or,

fate, with all of its cruel, incandescent scheming, leads straight to yang jungwon.

⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖

The overhead fluorescents in this particular lecture hall always manage to leave you with a pounding headache that even a strong dose of Advil can never quite seem to mitigate.

“And with time, these bonds only strengthen. Until a point is reached after which both parties would experience immense pain were they to be physically separated, willingly or not.”

Well, it’s either the lightbulbs or your professor’s droning.

Today, his words are slightly muted where they reach your ears, as if you’re underwater. Drowning in a topic that’s been beaten to death a million times over.

Still, this is information you should be taking in. Or, at the very least, jotting down notes of, since it’s all but guaranteed to appear on your final exam. But no matter how much you will yourself to focus, you can’t get your mind to cooperate.

After all, it’s bad enough that you’re forced to be here in the first place.

Sociology 112: Intro to Soulmate Theory. An absolute joke of a class.

The very foundation your society is built around. A nagging reminder of the grayscale deficiency that stains the skin of your left inner wrist.

Subconsciously, you tug the left sleeve of your shirt down a little further. There’s no need, not really. You made sure that your mark was fully covered before you left your dorm room this morning. Just like every morning.

But long standing habits are rarely broken, and the last thing you need now is another reminder of what makes you different. What makes you wrong.

At the front of the lecture hall, your professor pushes forward in that same, monotonous stupor. He’s either unaware or unconcerned by the fact that some of his students may be affected by his lecture on more than just a purely academic level.

Staring straight ahead, you distract yourself by scanning your professor, eyes taking in his appearance. At the very least, it will make it look as if you’re paying attention to what he’s saying.

With the signature graying hair most men in their mid-fifties carry, a pair of rather plain, slightly round eyeglasses, and neutral button-down appropriate for most professional settings, there’s nothing particularly noteworthy about your professor.

Like most people, he gets up in the morning, selects a plain shirt from his modestly sized closet. He enjoys a cup or two of black coffee before embarking on his morning commute to campus, leaving ten minutes earlier than strictly necessary, because he’s convinced it helps him avoid the worst of the morning traffic.

His life is one of normalcy, you imagine. Nothing that most people would find especially enviable or extraordinary.

But when he reaches up to point out an example on the lecture slide, the left sleeve of that beige button down lifts, just slightly.

You only catch a glimpse, a tiny fraction of a look, but you see it all the same. The glossy, shiny, red 00:00 inked into his skin.

You resist the urge to scratch your wrist. He clicks forward to the next slide. Life goes on.

“As per the syllabus, you’ll be completing projects with an assigned parter on a topic of your choice. Although I encourage you to consult a variety of resources and include several points of view in your project, the only firm guideline is that your topic relates to soulmate theory.”

Several points of view. You suppress the urge to roll your eyes. Yeah, right. In your experience, any arguments against the traditional soulmate model are scoffed at. Met with nothing but anger and ridicule.

Although it makes for a miserable life, it does make for a simplistic assignment. Assigned partners are usually the bane of your existence, but no matter how incompetent this one is, you’re sure it will be easy enough to meet up once or twice in the university library and regurgitate common sentiment on how the soulmate system is nothing short of a wondrous gift to humanity.

Glancing at the clock as your professor officially dismisses class for the morning, you suppose you do have something to thank the heavens for. He’s wrapped up fifteen minutes early, which means you’ll have enough time to grab a coffee before your shift.

Tucking a strand of hair behind your ear and once again checking that the fabric of your left sleeve covers your wrist, you slide your laptop into your bag and stand up from your seat.

No matter what particular strand of bullshit this class dragged you through, today will be a good day. Or at least a comfortingly neutral one. You’re sure of it.

With one final scan of your desk, you head to the exit at the front of the lecture hall without a backwards glance.

And in the very back corner of the lecture hall, tucked neatly out of both sight and mind, Yang Jungwon exhales a long sigh before gathering his things.

…..

“Oh, you are an absolute angel.”

Playful frown tugging at your lips, you ask, “Why is it that you only praise me when I come bearing gifts?”

Jake’s too engrossed with taking a long sip of the matcha latte you just handed him to concern himself with giving your question a real answer.

Despite his inclination to be most forthcoming with compliments when they’re a payment for caffeine, he’s hands down your favorite coworker. He’s genuinely kind, easygoing in a way that makes even the longest of shifts pass quickly.

Setting your bag down, you slide into the seat next to his, turning on your desk computer. “Any new applications to process today.”

“Nothing yet.” Jake glances at the empty inbox to confirm his answer. He shrugs, adding, “This time of year is usually fairly slow, though. We tend to get the most applications at the beginning of the semester and around the holidays.”

“Right,” you nod. “That makes sense.” Times when people are fresh on campus, away from home and exploring a new environment for the first time. And times when people are lonely.

It’s something you understand well. After all, you had been part of the latter group when you submitted your own application.

Last year was your first year of university, and although the numbers on your wrist had already faded to a dull, matte gray by the time you enrolled, living on campus put you far away from your support system for the first time in your life.

Even then, you avoided it as long as you could. It hurt something in your pride, felt like admitting a weakness, admitting a flaw. But the truth could only be avoided so long and on one cloudy afternoon in late fall, the loneliness crossed the line from painful to unbearable.

So, with a rain jacket pulled tight around your body, you made your way to the Student Support Center on campus and sought out help for something you’d been grieving in private for the better part of a year.

It had still felt like shame, to disclose the details of your condition. To tell another person about the cosmic cruelty etched permanently into the soft skin of your left wrist.

And then it was done. Your secret belonged to someone else, too. Pain was shared, and over time, started to feel less like a cut and more like a bruise.

It still ached when you pressed on it, of course, but you felt lighter. Able to breathe a little easier.

But even with all of the support, all of the work you’ve done to feel a bit more like yourself, pain is still a shadow that lingers at your heels.

Even now, months later, sitting next to a friend, you suppress the urge to tug at your sleeve again.

You’re able to see your actions for what they are now. And you suppose it’s the same thing – injured pride, a deep sense of shame, that has you wearing long sleeves even as the last days of late summer cling to the air with stifling heat.

It’s not as if your unfamiliar with the failure etched into your skin. You know what you would find, what everyone would see if you were to wear short sleeves for once.

A dull, matte gray 00:00. A reminder of what could’ve been. What should have been, if the universe had just been a little kinder to you.

Even as days and weeks and months pass you by, you still remember when there was a different number displayed there. One that got smaller with each passing second. One that, like your professor’s, like everyone else’s, glowed a bright, glossy red.

Just like everyone else, you were born with red numbers on your left wrist. There was no sign then, at your birth, that you were different. That you were a glitch.

Just like your family, just like your friends, just like every stranger you passed in the street, your number was normal. In fact, it was enviable. Mostly because it was so much smaller than average.

As a child, you’d reveled in it – the comparatively short length of your soulmate countdown. It wasn’t unusual for people to have to wait well into their twenties, thirties, or even forties to find their soulmate.

But a quick calculation had revealed that your countdown would tick to 00:00 just after your seventeenth birthday.

It feels stupid now, like some sort of cruel joke, that you ever thought of yourself as lucky.

You still remember it as if it were yesterday. Two long years ago, at the delicate age of seventeen. On the precipice of a life-changing revelation. A moment that was meant to mark the beginning of your forever. Your happy ending.

The air was clean that day. Lingering with the fresh scent of the earth after a rainstorm. Rebirth. A sign of something beautiful to come. Dew and humidity clung to you like a second skin as you raced towards the neighborhood park that had been haunting your dreams for the last few weeks.

Soulmates and the bonds that connect them aren’t magic, not exactly, but there was still something divine about it, the cosmic energy that sang to you. That told you that this particular park was where your life was destined to change. That it was where you were going to meet your soulmate.

The other person who felt the same gentle tug towards you, whose wrist was stained with a matching countdown, set to tick down to 00:00 at the very second your eyes locked with one another.

Your heart was racing, nearly beating out of your chest. Your fingertips thrummed with it, that overflow of energy that didn’t come from you but belonged to you all the same.

And like everyone else, your timer ran out.

He was there. He was there, and you knew it was him without having to say a word. Across the park, under the shade of an old sycamore tree, you could see it, feel it in his eyes.

Your soulmate.

Handsome and a year older than you, if you had to guess. A perfect stranger that you felt like you already knew. That already understood you without the need for words.

You had been too wrapped up in it, in him, to notice the one striking oddity. Because unlike everyone else, your completed countdown, that ever coveted 00:00, didn’t remain that gorgeous, shiny red.

No, while your eyes were locked on his, heart singing with unfulfilled dreams and visions of a future you’d never have the privilege of knowing, it had faded to that same dull gray that mocks you now.

It wasn’t the color that you noticed. It was the burning sensation that finally had you tearing your gaze away from him and landing on the skin of your left wrist.

Confused, your brow drew together as you tried to make sense of it. As your mind spun, searching for a plausible explanation.

And when you finally found it in you to look up at him again, the wrongness of it all began to sink in. The way he walked toward you with slow, reluctant steps. The way his mouth pulled tight at the corners, as if he wanted to prevent any words from escaping.

The wedding ring wrapped around the finger on his left hand. The already occupied space you thought would belong to you one day.

It was an accident, he told you. Even then, his voice had been steady. He wasn’t pleading for your forgiveness. He didn’t need it. He didn’t need you.

It was nothing more than a drunken mistake between him and a girl he met at university. One that he wasn’t serious about, but damage had been done nonetheless. A single night that was meant to be a blip, a passing moment in time, but had turned into a child. One that the two of them had already made the decision to raise together.

A child that had made them both decide to forgo the fate written on their wrists and forge a new life on their own.

It hurt, he told you, to see you, to know that he was causing you pain.

But one glance at him confirmed for you that his hurt was different from yours. For one, he could still speak, could form words with that same, even cadence that felt like knives embedding themselves into your skin.

You had wanted to beg, wanted to scream until your throat was raw. It was him. It was him. He was supposed to be yours, and you were supposed to be his. Wasn’t it the same for him? Didn’t he feel it too?

But his mind was made up and you knew better than to plead with a man who had fought and forsaken destiny itself.

It wasn’t your fault. He had told that day, and you’ve heard it countless times since then. From your parents. From your closest friends. From your own tear-stained reflection in your bedroom mirror.

But blame with nowhere to go always had a way of ending up on your shoulders, and empty reassurances never stopped your mind from spinning with painful possibilities on sleepless nights.

What if we had met sooner? What if he had never met her? What if they never had a child?

Or even worse,

What if I found him again? Begged him to reconsider? Convinced him to leave her?

In the end, it was pointless. Fate had been written and then rewritten. Would in a tight string and undone in one fell swoop. The stars had aligned and shifted and still remained so terribly out of reach.

There was nothing you could do, nothing to be done.

But it didn’t stop the loneliness from seeping in. It was always loudest in the quiet moments, but it never truly left. It didn’t matter where you were – in class, with friends, surrounded by people, or completely alone. There was always an overwhelming sense of loss, of loneliness that followed you wherever you went.

So last fall, when the burden of it felt too heavy to bear alone, you’d bitten the bullet and applied to your university’s support program for glitches. Although, of course, none of the staff dared to use that word.

It’s where you first met Jake. And the bright red number on his wrist still ticks evenly, he had a friend once, one that shared a fate similar to yours. One who let the loneliness consume her instead of accepting help.

Even though it wasn’t through firsthand experience, Jake knew the pain of a failed soulmate match intimately. And after a handful of weeks, you’d found genuine friendship in him.

After a few months of attending support groups, he was the one who suggested you for an open position on the support team. It was him that thought you might find a renewed sense of purpose, a distinct kind of empathy for the other students on campus with stories like yours.

You’re grateful beyond words for him, for all of it. For the people and the friendships and the small moments that remind you that life is worth living, even on the hard days. Even when you’re forced to sit through classes on soulmate theory and pretend like long sleeves are nothing but a fashion statement.

So you’ll take his compliments with a smile, even when they come at the expense of a matcha latte from his favorite campus cafe. You’ll take the hard days and the good days and all the little moments in between.

He knows it too, even if you don’t say it with words. Even if all you ask is, “The matcha’s good?”

But something in you still smiles, still feels a little lighter, when Jake turns to you with a grin and assures, “Of course.”

…..

If there’s one place you still find to be painfully devoid of optimism, it’s your damn Intro to Soulmate Theory course. Although it’s an important element of existing sociological systems and objectively relevant, it presses on your ever-lingering bruises more than just about anything else in your day-to-day life.

As if that weren’t enough, it’s a morning class. Which means you’re already in a dreary mood as the clock ticks painfully slow through yet another monotone lecture.

Thankfully, your professor’s cadence is beginning to slow, a surefire signal that class is drawing to an end. Again, you glance up at the clock, a spark of pleasant surprise flickering through your mind. Could you really be so lucky as to get out early two classes in a row?

At the front of the hall, your professor scans his notes one final time. Nodding slightly, you really think he’s about to let you go ten minutes ahead of schedule.

But then his eyes pause at the bottom of the page, a reminder he missed the first time.

“Before we wrap up for the day,” he says, and you suppress the urge to groan audibly. “As I mentioned last class, you’ll be completing your next assignment in partners.”

That’s right. You’d almost forgot. Ugh, as if the disappointment of a full length lecture hadn’t been bad enough.

“The instructions, rubric, and due date can all be found on your syllabus, and as always, you’re welcome to email me or attend office hours with any additional questions you may have. I’ve already taken the initiative to place you in pairs, so please listen for your name.”

Glancing down at his notes again, he reads out the first pair.

“Kim Sunoo and Lee Heeseung.”

As he moves through the seemingly endless list of names, you begin to tune out. Have there always been this many people in this class? Admittedly, this is not a lecture that often commands your attention, but it seems like something you should have picked up on.

A minute later, spurred by the sudden sound of your own name, your attention snaps back into focus.

“... and Yang Jungwon.”

Yang Jungwon.

It’s a name you’ve heard in passing, maybe. But it’s not one you’re familiar with.

Standing as the list draws to a conclusion, you begin to look around the emptying lecture hall. You figure it might be easiest to exchange information now, but you’re not sure if you’ll be able to find him with everyone else trying to do the same.

Sighing, you decide to try for a minute or two before just resorting to looking up his email on the online class list later and sending him a message there.

Ultimately, it’s him who finds you.

“___?” At the sound of your name, you spin around, looking back over your shoulder.

His presence, like his voice, is unassuming. Still, as your eyes land on who you assume must be Yang Jungwon, there’s something about him that makes you want to keep looking.

Dark hair falls over his forehead, framing equally dark eyes. Dressed in a baggy sweatshirt and oversized jeans, the attention doesn’t seem like something he’d seek out. Even now, he doesn’t quite match your gaze.

“Yeah,” you affirm, somewhat breathless. “Yang Jungwon?”

“Just Jungwon is fine.” He smiles, but it’s a tight, strained thing. Doesn’t quite reach his eyes. He’s pressing forward before you have time to linger on it. “Do you want to go ahead an exchange information now? I’ll get my final training schedule this afternoon, so I can message you when I have a better idea of when I’ll be able to meet up.”

Well, he seems competent enough. Or at the very least, willing to put in effort. It’s more than you can say for most of the assigned partners you’ve been given. And it’s pleasant surprise in a string of disappointments and what is surely going to be a miserable project to work on.

“That sounds good,” you nod, reaching for your phone. You open a new contact before handing it to him to fill out. As he types, you watch a strand of hair fall over his eyes. He doesn’t bother to brush it away, even as your fingertips itch with the sudden urge to.

Instead, you busy yourself with asking a question. “Training schedule?” you echo his earlier words. “Are you an athlete?”

If he’s put off by your probing, he doesn’t show it. Steady as ever, he continues typing. “Mhm,” he hums. “Taekwondo team.”

“Ah,” you nod. “That’s cool.” Accepting your phone back, you type your name into the newly created chat. “Here, I sent you a message with my name, so you have my information, too. I work in the afternoons, but I have a pretty consistent schedule. Once you have your training times, we can figure out when we’re both free.”

Glancing at the message that comes through on his end, Jungwon confirms, “Perfect.” Hiking his bag a little further up on his shoulder, he pauses for a moment before turning his gaze towards the door at the front of the lecture hall.

In the time that’s elapsed, most of the other students have made their way towards it. The room is significantly more empty than it was a handful of minutes ago. Still, Jungwon lingers for a moment.

Finally, he looks back at you. This time, he does meet your eyes.

You know it’s nothing but the overhead lights. The same obnoxious fluorescents that always give you a pounding headache. But reflected in his dark, searching gaze, they almost look like starlight.

“I’ll see you around, then,” he says before turning towards the door.

And if you let your gaze linger just a little too long on his retreating back, you’ll be grateful that no one is paying you enough attention to notice.

…..

Your dinner is cleaned up, skincare is completed, and the events from your day are blurring into a sleepy sort of haze when his first message reaches you.

9:36 pm Yang Jungwon I got my final training schedule. Looks like I should be free Tuesday and Thursday afternoons after 4 if that works for you?

Double checking your work schedule, you type a reply.

9:38 pm You I work on Tuesdays until 6 but I can do Thursday at 4.

9:39 pm Yang Jungwon Let’s plan on Thursday then 👍 Meet you at the library? I’ll reserve a study room on the first floor.

9:40 pm You Sounds good, see you then!

With the semester well underway, Thursday is quick to roll around. Other than a quick wave and a small smile towards him during your last shared lecture, you haven’t had any contact with Jungwon since your last messages.

Even though it’s still only early afternoon, you’re already feeling the weight of a busy day weighing on you when you arrive at the library. A handful of minutes before four, you’re working to locate the study room Jungwon just sent you the number of.

Navigating your way through frazzled study groups and overworked, overcaffeinated upperclassmen, you finally find it with a few minutes to spare. Pulling the door open slowly, you’re half surprised to see that he’s arrived even earlier than you.

Early and straight from practice, you assume, if his still slightly damp hair is anything to go by. Freshly showered, the faint smell of his shampoo reaches you where you slide down into the seat across from him.

“Good call on the study room,” you add after your initial greeting. “I always forget how packed the library is once the semester really gets going.”

“Right?” Jungwon agrees. “I have a friend who swore by them last year, and now I’ll never go back.

“Letting you in on the study room secret,” you grin, pulling out your laptop. “That’s a true friend right there.”

“Yeah.” Something in Jungwon’s gaze softens as he nods. There’s a distinct fondness in his eyes, one that makes you think there’s a story there. One about more than just study rooms. “He is.”

When you finish settling in, you pull up your course syllabus again, clicking on the link to the assignment guidelines. “So,” you start, scanning the page one more time, “the instruction seem pretty straightforward. It looks liek we just need to pick a topic within the realm of soulmate theory and discuss recent research or developments.”

Swallowing the sudden lump in your throat, you suppress the urge to tug at your left sleeve. Eyes honing in on the screen in front of you, you force yourself into a practiced state of detachment. The one you always revert back into when discussing this particular topic.

“I don’t know if you have a topic in mind already,” you shrug, “but I’m pretty much open to anything.”

Across from you, Jungwon’s teeth start to worry at his bottom lip. He hesitates for a moment, the room suspended in silence before he ventures, “What about –” Shaking his head slightly, his words die on his lips. “Never mind.”

Looking up at him, you frown. “Is there something you’re interested in?”

“No.” Jungwon shakes his head again. “I doubt there would be any recent research, anyway.”

“Okay,” you concede. Part of you wants to push further, but you don’t want to make him uncomfortable. Instead, you type in a quick search. “I just pulled up some recent research topics, and it looks like there’s been development related to countdown colors and location based soulmate matches.” Ignoring the sudden slight burning sensation on your left wrist, you fight to maintain an even tone as you ask, “Do either of those sound interesting to you?”

Jungwon pauses for a moment, considering. “Maybe location based matches?”

Exhaling, you release a breath you hadn’t been meaning to hold. With a small nod, you tell him, “That sounds good. Let’s look for publications to reference today. We can divide them between us before we go and then take notes on them separately. We can meet up again next week at the same time to start an outline, if that works for you. We have a little over four weeks until the final paper is due, so that should give us a decent start.”

“Yeah,” Jungwon agrees. “That works for me.”

Returning to your computer, you fight the urge to steal small glances at him as he does the same. In the minutes that follow, a silence settles around you. It’s not horribly awkward, but you still find yourself itching to fill it with something.

Finally, you bite the bullet. “Would it be okay with you if I put some music on? Just something instrumental.”

Glancing up at you, your eyes meet. Again, you’re not sure how he does it. But tucked away in a library study room, his gaze reflects the lights above you in a way that looks all too much like starlight. “Sure,” Jungwon nods.

Forcing your gaze back to your screen, you navigate to your study playlist and put it on shuffle. The first handful of notes spill into the silence, a calm piano melody that cuts through some of the stagnance.

A handful of classical pieces and a dozen journal articles later, Jungwon breaks the easy rhythm the two of you have fallen into. “Clair de Lune,” he names the tune that has just begun to weave itself around the room. A small smile turns the corners of his lips upwards. “This is on my study playlist, too.”

You offer him a matching smile in return. A soft thing. A shared moment. “You like this song?” It makes sense. A boy with stars in his eyes listening to a love letter to the moon.

“Yeah,” he nods. The quiet melody sings through the air, floats around tentative glances, delicate breaths. Lands lightly on two sets of shoulders. “You know, you’re better than I am. I always end up turning on my regular playlist and then singing along to the songs instead of actually working on anything.”

That earns him a full blown smile. “Believe me,” you lean in like it’s a secret. Something meant just for the two of you. “I do that more than I probably should, too.”

A shared grin later, the two of you are back to your own laptop screens.

Even though it’s your study playlist that continues to filter softly through your speaker, you find yourself distracted for a different reason.

It’s all too easy to imagine.

Jungwon, alone in his room, eyes sparkling even as he fights off the clutches of sleep. A song playing through his speaker. An old favorite, maybe, or perhaps something he heard on the radio and hasn’t been able to get out of his head since. One that he sings along to softly, assignments lying untouched on the desk in front of him.

…..

Despite your newfound fondness of your project partner, you’re sure that Intro to Soulmate Theory will continue to be your most dreaded class until the end of the semester releases you from its twice-a-week morning monotony.

The universe, as always, seems determined to prove you wrong, though.

Just as your professor steps into position behind the podium at the front of the lecture hall, a person slides down into the usually unoccupied seat just to the left of yours.

Startled, you glance up .

“Jungwon?”

“Hey,” the boy in question smiles. Switching to a whisper as the professor begins his lecture, he adds, “I’m glad I made it on time. I thought for sure I was going to be late.”

Sliding his bag off of his shoulder, he pulls out his computer and finishes settling into the seat next to yours. Then, he sets something on the desk in front of you. “I brought this for you, by the way.”

Eyes landing on the iced coffee in front of you, you can’t find it in yourself to do anything but stare for a moment.

“I noticed you have one sometimes, in this class.” With your silence, Jungwon suddenly seems unsure of himself. “I wasn’t sure what your order was, so I just guessed based on color. And I mean, light brown can be just about anything with iced coffee, so I hope you like it. I probably should have just asked, but…” he trails off, and you don’t think you imagine the light dusting of pink that settles across his cheekbones. “But I thought it would be nicer as a surprise.”

“I – thank you.” The fondness that’s been growing since your time together in library study room begins to swell again.

You glance at him, and your heart gives a strange, unsteady lurch. Not entirely unpleasant, but disquieting all the same. For a moment, it feels like something bigger. Something more.

Something you haven’t felt since a humid afternoon in a neighborhood park that you’ve been trying to forget for a long time.

“You didn’t have to do that.”

Jungwon shrugs, but his cheeks retain their color. “I was stopping by the cafe anyway.” He gestures to the coffee on his own desk, proof of his claim. “Besides, it’s what a partner’s for.”

“Well, thank you,” you repeat. “I –”

“Again,” the sound of your professor’s voice, suddenly sharp, cuts through your words. “I’d like to give a firm reminder to you all that my lectures are not an appropriate place to carry on side conversations. Feel free to exit the room and forfeit your attendance points for the day if you are unable to refrain.”

Thoroughly cowed, you shrink back into your seat as a few wandering pairs of eyes land on you.

At your side, Jungwon shakes with a silent hint of laughter.

Despite the humiliation of essentially being asked to shut up in front of an entire lecture hall, the sight is enough to have you smiling.

And when the two of you part ways an hour later with matching smiles and a promise to see each other again Thursday afternoon, your heart feels lighter than it has in ages.

…..

When Thursday afternoon comes, it finds you and Jungwon tucked away in the same study room, sitting across from one another, laptops open, and outline for your project halfway formed.

This time, the drinks that sit on the table in front of you are courtesy of your wallet. The iced coffee Jungwon brought you a few mornings ago wasn’t your usual order, but it is what you’re sipping on now. You can’t quite decide what you enjoy more: the taste or the sentiment.

Either way, you have a feeling that a tradition of sorts may be blooming.

You can’t say that you mind. It’s nice to have something to look forward to, to have someone to share it with. It doesn’t matter that it’s small. It doesn’t matter that it’s just an unexpected coffee to help a study session pass by just a bit faster. It feels nice, to be considered. To be thought of. It feels… special.

With the same instrumental study playlist filtering through your laptop speaker, the two of you exchange a smile when Clair de Lune begins to play.

With startling clarity, you realize that you enjoy this. It’s pleasant. A project that you were dreading with dragging feet has become something you look forward to.

And you’re sure that it’s because of him.

Despite the fact that you’re poring over research that would sting like a slap to the face under any other circumstances, Jungwon’s presence has a way of soothing the ache. Even as you scan over another promising article detailing the current research on soulmate matches in various geographic regions, you find yourself fighting smiles. Stealing glances.

All Jungwon is doing is sitting next to you. Occasionally trading mindless conversations with you. But that’s enough to keep the reminders of a tragic fate lost to decisions and circumstances out of your control at bay for the time being.

You’re not sure what it is, not sure why it seems to reach you somewhere that’s remained untouched for years, but the more time you spend with Jungwon, the more you start to like it.

That odd sensation that almost feels like butterflies in your stomach. The stilted rhythm of a heartbeat that almost feels like it’s running a little faster, skipping a step every now and then.

The warmth that sits high on your cheekbones and heats almost like a flustered blush whenever he catches your eye for a little too long.

A million little almosts. A thousand little possibilities. The lingering ghost of a hundred somethings you thought you lost along with the dead countdown on your wrist two long years ago.

But you don’t let yourself voice these thoughts. You’re afraid to even let your mind linger on them for too long.

If it does, you’re worried that it will twist and tarnish whatever is taking flight into something ugly, something rotten. Will convince you that this glimmer of peace you’ve found is living on borrowed time and will only bring a future of misery in its wake.

Because the semester will end, the class will finish, and your project will be submitted.

Yang Jungwon will become nothing but a moment in time. A blip on a radar. A distant memory that you hope you’ll reflect on with fondness.

Time will continue on with its incessant march, and the countdown on your wrist will still be that ugly, faded, gray.

It doesn’t matter if the moments that pass between the two of you feel like almosts. Your fate was already written and unraveled by another man who didn’t want you.

You’re a failure. A glitch.

Pretty words and sideways glances and unexpected gestures imbued with kindness won’t change that. Won’t fix you.

Yang Jungwon will move on from this project, from this class, from you.

The countdown that you’re sure must tick bright red on his wrist will continue to get smaller and smaller, and you will be nothing but a forgotten memory.

You’re not sure why it’s so upsetting, here in the sanctity of the study room. Not sure why this series of truths you’ve always known is suddenly so devastating. But something about the way they swirl in the recesses of your mind had you flailing, desperate for air, for distance, for space.

Out loud, you choke out a halfhearted excuse about stepping out for a moment. The concern that immediately flickers across Jungwon’s features barely registers in your panic induced stupor.

You need to go. Need to get away. Need to find somewhere to be alone and away from all of it, from him. You can’t breathe –

“___?” You hear your name. You know it’s him. Hear him ask gently, “Are you okay?”

But it’s muffled. It’s all wrong.

In your haste to escape, you knock over the gift, your gesture of goodwill in the form of coffee you bought for Jungwon.

You watch, horrified, as it falls in slow motion. Hot, dark liquid spills over the table, narrowly avoiding his laptop and class notes.

Of course. Of course you ruined this, too.

“It’s okay,” you think you hear him say as he reaches for a spare napkin, dabbing at the growing puddle. But it’s not. It’s not.

He reaches for his bag, pulling out another handful of napkins from the front pocket. Instinctively, he rolls up his sleeve, the left one, to wipe up the rest of the excess liquid.

That’s when you see it. The inky 00:00 on the inside of his left wrist.

It’s not red. It’s not shiny. It doesn’t make sense for him. A boy with stars in his eyes should have love on his skin.

But even as you blink again, it remains unchanged. It’s a dull, muted, lifeless gray.

A reflection, a twin, a copy of your own.

A moment too late, his eyes fall to the skin of his wrist too. With the practiced reflexes of a trained athlete, he’s pulling it down just as quickly as he rolled it up. But it’s too late. You’ve already seen the truth.

Shared pain. Shared shame.

It grounds you. Reaching out a hand, you take a few napkins from the top of the pile.

“Here,” you offer, voice unbearably small. A million questions swim in your mind, none of which you’ll ask. “I can help.” Hollow words and a hollow sentiment. There’s nothing you can do for him, and he knows it just as well. As luck would have it, spilled coffee is the least of your shared concerns.

Nonetheless, the two of you wipe up the remainder of the spill in silence, a gentle piano melody still weaving its way around the space between the two of you. It wraps itself around both of your stained wrists, threads an invisible string between two lost souls, two shared fates.

Finally, after long minutes, you are the first one to speak. “It didn’t get on your computer, did it?”

“No,” Jungwon shakes his head. He reaches an outstretched hand towards you, taking the soiled napkins you still hold before discarding them in the trash can. “Just the table.”

“That’s good.” A moment passes. Two. And then, “I’m sorry.” You’re not sure what you’re apologizing for. You’re not sure what you should be apologizing for. In the end, you take the easy way out. “I should have paid better attention to where your cup was. You can finish mine, if you want.”

“That’s okay.” Running a hand through his hair, Jungwon explains, “I usually only drink it hot.”

“I can get you a new one –”

“Really,” he insists. “It’s okay.”

And it is. You can tell that he’s not upset, not about the coffee. But the tension is still there. Has yet to vacate the room. Has yet to drain from the tight line in his shoulders.

You saw it. You have the sinking suspicion that he knows you saw it.

That puts you at a crossroads. You can act as if nothing has happened, pretend that you saw nothing and do your best to return to your project.

But you’ve had friends and family tiptoe around you for the last two years, and it never left you feeling anything but empty. Even more unwanted, more of an anomaly. More of a glitch.

You don’t want Jungwon to feel those things. Don’t want him to feel as if he has to carry all of his pain by himself. So, you try your best, in a steady voice, hiding the shake in your hands underneath the cover of the table in front of you.

“You know,” you nod towards his arm, taking great care to keep any sign of judgement clear from your voice. “I actually work at the Student Support Center. I know it’s rare, but there are lots of people and resources there dedicated to helping people that… struggle with soulm–”

“I think we should just work on the project.” Jungwon’s lips are tight, drawn into a thin line. Avoiding your gaze, he sinks a little further into his chair. Even with his eyes trained on the floor beneath him, you can see the tension in his jaw, the uneasy tapping of his fingers against his leg.

The way he tugs at the sleeve that sits over his left wrist makes you want to press matters further, to push just a little more until he knows that he has you on his side, but you’ll respect his wishes.

You may have shared moments between the two of you, but you don’t know him, not really. The boundaries he sets are not yours to push. The lines he draws are not yours to cross.

The last thing you want to do is increase his discomfort, even if you have the sinking feeling that you’ve already done just that.

“Okay, yeah.” You take a deep inhale. “I overstepped. I’m sor–”

But Jungwon just shakes his head again. “Don’t worry about it.”

…..

But you do.

You worry about it when you head back to your down nearly an hour later, after bidding him a goodnight that was still riddled with tension.

You worry about it as you prepare dinner, accidentally leaving the stovetop on long after you’ve finished cooking.

You worry about it as you try to fall asleep, unsettling thoughts of Jungwon suffering from the same pain, the same shame you’ve been hiding for the last two years. Distantly, you wonder how long it’s been for him.

You worry about it when you arrive at your next Intro to Soulmate Theory lecture, two coffees in hand.

Your worry turns to dread when long minutes tick by and still, the seat on your left remains horribly unoccupied, coffee going cold where it sits untouched on the desk.

You worry when you arrive at work, the handful of messages you’ve sent still unanswered no matter how many times you check your phone.

10:47 am You Hi Jungwon, sorry if this is annoying but you weren’t in class today and I just wanted to make sure you’re okay

10:58 am You I’m really sorry about the other day at the library. I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.

1:32 pm You Hey let me know when you see this. I just really want to make sure you’re okay.

You’ve typed and deleted a million more, unsure of how to best approach the situation. You’re not close to one another, not really. You’re not even friends. You’re project partners, and not even of your own volition.

You can’t seek him out, because you don’t know where he lives. Who he talks to. What his schedule is.

The whole situation has you feeling a bit helpless. Your shift passes in an absentminded blur as you try to piece together some kind of solution, some way of making sure he’s okay.

In your daze, you hardly notice that the clock has ticked all the way to the end of your shift. Jake finds you, an apologetic smile on his features.

His voice sounds far away, muddled as he asks you for a favor, asks if you’d be willing to pull a double tonight since the person on the evening shift just called out sick.

Usually you’d be hesitant, but right now you’re desperate for a distraction. Something to take your mind off of the fear that gnaws at your gut.

But through the fog in your mind, you’ve forgotten one thing. In your old schedule, evening shifts were always your favorite. Primarily because they’re significantly slower than the daytime ones. Back then, the reprieve had been welcome, and you’d used the extra time to finish up assignments between tasks.

But now, every agonizing minute feels like an eternity.

And it’s an especially slow night tonight. From your office seat, you watch as the light rain showers outside turn into a torrential downpour. With a sigh, you resign yourself to the fact that no one will be visiting tonight. No one will want to leave their home in weather like this.

In the silence, you’re left alone with your thoughts. Again, you check your phone screen, hoping that sometime in the last three minutes since you last checked, there will be a notification to ease your worries.

But there’s nothing. The only thing that stares back at you is the time and the faint outline of your own reflection.

Frustrated, you set your phone back down. There has to be something you can do. You’re halfway convinced that you should just go through everyone on your class list and send emails until someone knows something when the sound of the chime that hangs above the front door to the center rings out against the silence.

Peering over your computer, you frown. Maybe Jake forgot something.

But as the person draws closer, a familiar shape begins to solidify. And it’s not your favorite coworker.

“Jungwon?” It’s him. You’re sure of it. Even if he looks more like a drowned cat than the boy you share a study room with.

Your brow furrows, a strange mix of confusion and relief coloring your features as you stand from your seat. A million emotions flicker through your mind, running too fast for you to fully keep up. Annoyance that he’s been avoiding you and your messages. Confusion as to why he’s here now. And above it all, cold, sharp relief that he seems to be okay.

But then you let your eyes scan him, falling from his dark hair to his soaked sneakers.

He’s absolutely drenched, down to the bone. Rain soaked hair falls over his eyes, stray drops streaking over his cheeks, his nose, his jaw. Dripping from his dark eyelashes. His clothes, usually baggy, cling a bit closer to his frame with the added weight of precipitation.

And his eyes. His sparkling, shining eyes full of starlight.

They’re frantic now, imbued with a panic you recognize all too well.

“Jungwon,” you repeat, letting your strides eat up the ground as you close the distance that separates you.

He’s shaking, you realize. His entire body trembles. Without thinking, without even really meaning to, your hands reach up to smooth some of his dark, wet hair away from his eyes. Your touch only intensifies his shivering.

He stands, motionless, dripping on the floor. He still can’t match your gaze, has yet to breathe a single word to you.

“You’re shaking.” You can’t help but state the obvious. Removing your hand from his temple, you reach for his hand. It’s cold, too. Raindrops melt against your skin as you touch your skin to his. Finding no resistance, you envelop his hand in your own.

Tugging slightly, you pull him into a nearby room, stopping only to grab a warm blanket. Guiding him gently into a chair, you drape it over his shoulders, let it cover his entire body beneath his neck.

Stepping away from him, you begin to brew a warm cup of tea. After another minute of silence, you hand it to him wordlessly.

You watch him take a tentative sip. His fingertips are red, evidence of the lingering chill in his bones, where he wraps them around the mug.

A million questions bubble in your throat. You breathe life into none of them. Silence settles around the both of you. Not entirely unpleasant, but brimming with something heavy.

You’re not sure how much time passes like that. It could be minutes, could be hours. Could be something not bound by the rules and restraints of physics at all.

But soon enough, the mug is empty. Jungwon sighs.

“I just,” he finally breathes, and you feel your heart clench in your chest. Seizing like his pain belongs to you. His voice is ragged, scraped raw. And so, so quiet. “I couldn’t be alone.” There’s a tremble in his fingertips when he adds, “Not tonight.”

“You’re not,” you assure him, shaking your head as you step closer. After a moment of consideration, you slide down into the seat next to him. “I promise you. You’re not alone.”

Jungwon closes his eyes, lets his head fall back against the wall. You watch as his throat works around a swallow.

“Okay,” he finally whispers.

You mean it. He’s not alone. You won’t let him be. Not for the remainder of your shift. Not when the early traces of dawn start to streak in through the windows, clouds parting in the morning sky as the rain releases its grip on the world.

Not as the sun starts to peek its head over the horizon, painting the sky in pastel watercolors and the promise of a new day.

Even then, it’s just the two of you. Jugwon’s head it still against the wall. His eyes are closed, but you know he’s not sleeping.

You don’t move until he does. Until he asks in a small voice if you’ll meet him at the coffee shop the two of you have started to become regular at.

Until you honor his request with a nod and a promise to see him again in an hour.

…..

The coffee shop is mostly empty this early in the morning. You watch, sipping absentmindedly on your iced coffee as a handful of patrons come and go, moving about their day blissfully unaware of the way your world feels a bit like it’s spinning on its axis.

But you feel distant from them, too.

The corner table you and Jungwon occupy feels private, secluded. A bit like the study room you’re also well acquainted with. A fitting place for revelations.

After a minute of baited silence, Jungwon begins all at once, coffee warm between his hands.

His match was supposed to be in a park, too.

It’s interesting – the research you’ve been reading on location based matches supports claims that soulmate bonds prefer open air, areas surrounded by nature. Ironic then, that both of yours should end like this.

Jungwon’s fate was set in stone later than yours. His match failed a year ago. Exactly a year ago. Today is an anniversary for him, a terrible reminder of your shared fate, shared shame.

It was supposed to be in a park. His favorite one. A place he went often, a place he loved. He hasn’t been back since.

Not when that eerie, cosmic, magnetic pull of destiny tugged at him until he was sitting on a bench, next to the rose garden that had just begun to bloom.

Not when his breath stopped the second she arrived, and he knew, he knew that it was her. He was looking at his destiny. His soulmate.

But she wasn’t looking at him.

Not when he stood up to greet her, to meet his future with a wide smile and a fresh bouquet of wildflowers just as the shiny, red numbers on his wrist drew closer and closer to zero.

Not when he watched, a distinct sort of dread building in the pit of his stomach, as someone emerged from the opposite side of the garden. He wasn’t carrying wildflowers, but he did hold a single, ruby red rose.

Not when time ticked on, revealing with every steady, agonizing second that this stranger had the same intentions, the same plan.

The same countdown. The same fate.

Not when he watched, motionless, helpless, as this stranger met her first.

Not when he watched in abject horror as both of their faces lit up with smiles. When she took the rose from him with care in her touch and love in her eyes.

Not when he looked down at his own wrist, vision blurring as tears began to gather in his eyes, as bright, shiny red faded to a dull, lifeless gray.

Not when he was a failure, a miscalculation. An unfortunate needle in a haystack of success stories. A glitch.

Not when he watched the woman that was meant to be the love of his life fall into the arms of another man and leave him standing there alone. Lonely. Forgotten.

Not when his fingers began to shake so bad that he couldn’t maintain the grip on the bouquet.

Wildflowers stained the earth beneath him in a garish array of too bright colors, and he knew, even then, that part of his heart would be left there to die, too.

Even now, in the seat across from you in the cafe, you can see the toll it takes on him.

So you strain for a fragment of twisted comfort in the only way you know how. A reassurance that this particular cruelty is not his alone. That somehow, in an unlikely twist of fate, your paths crossed.

Laying your left arm on the table between you, you slowly drag the bottom of your sleeve up. Only an inch. And only for a moment.

It’s not a lot. Against the tides of his own agony, it’s nothing at all. But for now, it’s enough.

…..

There’s an odd sort of balance, a distinct sense of comfort that comes from the simple act of understanding. Of being understood.

It’s not quite as easy, as lighthearted as it was before, but you and Jungwon are quick to fall into a new kind of simple rhythm with one another. One that saves space for the intricacies of your shared pain and shame while still keeping them at an arm’s distance.

It’s not solace. But it is something.

You’re off tiptoes and on solid ground. For the first time in your life, you don’t feel the need to constantly check the length of your left sleeve. At least, not when you’re with him. You don’t have to pretend that it doesn’t hurt to sit through hours of lectures on soulmate theory every week.

You don't have to explain any of it. Jungwon just gets it. He already knows.

But when you meet him for your next Thursday study session, two coffees in hand, Jungwon’s eyes aren’t sparkling with their usual stars. There’s something different there now. A kind of fire you haven’t seen from him before. One that glimmers with determination.

As you slide down into the seat across from him, he skips all pleasantries and says instead, “I think we should switch our project topic.”

It takes a concentrated effort not to knock over the coffee you set down in front of you for the second time in the span of weeks. “What?” At this point, your outline has long been finished and you’re well into writing your report. The thought of changing topics with barely a week left until the submission deadline is absolutely ludicrous. “Why?”

Jungwon doesn’t miss a beat. “I think we should do our project on glitches.”

You recoil as if you’ve been slapped.

Glitch. It’s a word people usually tiptoe around, whisper behind closed doors. Not meant for respectable society and certainly has no place in a university research paper.

You don’t even take a second to consider. “No.”

“What?” Now Jungwon is the one who looks surprised. Brow creasing, he presses. “Why? I mean, we’re both gl–”

“I said no.” You can’t hear him say it again. Features falling, Jungwon’s confusion begins to mingle with hurt at the sound of your sharp rejection. This might not be something that you’re willing to compromise, but your intention was never to hurt him, either.

Sighing, you explain, “Look, I’m just not comfortable with it. Besides, we’ve done so much work on this topic already. It doesn’t make sense to switch so close to the deadline.”

Only a fraction of what you’ve said seems to resonate. After a pregnant pause, Jungwon echoes. “Not… comfortable.” His tone is flat, as if your words are indecipherable to him.

He doesn’t continue, but you can tell that he has more to say. Can sense the words bubbling on his lips, begging to drip from his tongue. This is already a sensitive subject, and it’s made even more so by the way he tiptoes around it.

Across from him, your cross your arms across your chest. “I can tell that you have something else to see.” You don’t mean to be combative, don’t mean to start anything. But annoyance is starting to creep in. It’s dragging dread along with it, like an old friend, like a dangerous reminder.

“It’s nothing.” Jungwon shakes his head. “I guess I just don’t…” He trails off for a moment, deciding how best to tread treacherous territory. “How can you not be comfortable? I mean, you’re a glitch like me. Aren’t you curious at all? About why we glitched? If there’s anything we can do to fix it?”

And there it is. The lingering fear you’ve been working for two long years to overcome. The deep, aching insecurity that beneath it all, this is all your fault. That something is fundamentally wrong with you. “Fix me, you mean.”

Jungwon frowns. “I mean, I guess you could look at it that way, but I’m more curious about what kind of solutions there are.” He presses on, oblivious to the way every word sounds like nails on a chalkboard to you. The way every syllable pierces like a knife against your skin.

He’s not overflowing with hopelessness where he sits across from you. No, he’s enthusiastic as he tells you, “I did some research the other day, actually, and there’s this one scholar who thinks that all glitches happen for a reason. He thinks that you can still meet your soulmate and get your countdown to turn back to red if–”

“Stop.” Your voice is too loud, too sharp, too much, for the scant space of this small room. “Please,” you’re whispering now, but Jungwon flinches all the same. “Just stop.”

Jungwon’s eyebrows draw into a tight furrow. You thought he understood, but he doesn’t. He still doesn’t get it. He tells you as much. “I don’t understand why you’re so against it. I mean, we finally have a chance to look into why we gli–”

“I said, stop.” Jungwon looks as if you’ve pushed him. Dumped ice cold water over his head and left him out to dry.

But now he’s angry, too. There’s an accusation in his words when he says lowly, “I thought you would understand.”

And you do. You know how flowers wither when they’re left to die without any water. You know how love blossoms and blooms and dies all within the span of a single breath. You know what it feels like to carry a constant reminder of your most intimate pain seared into your skin, your soul.

There was a time when you wanted to be fixed, too. When you would have given anything to have a second chance at that day in the park two years ago. When you were sure if you could just do it again, you would walk away with a different fate. A red countdown. A soulmate.

But the longer you spent with your grief, the more you realized that it didn’t matter. The what ifs didn’t matter. The maybes didn’t matter. The almosts didn't’ matter.

You can’t reverse time. You can’t turn back the clock until your countdown glows red again. You don’t get a second chance at that afternoon in the park.

All you get is the life you have now. And you can grieve for what you’ve lost. Part of you always will. But if you spend the rest of your life lingering on it, obsessed with it, trying to fix it, then that’s all your life will be.

You won’t just lose a soulmate. You’ll lose yourself, too.

You’ll lose new friendships and favorite coworkers and every goal and dream you’ve ever had. You’ll lose quiet moments in secluded study rooms, trading smiles and sharing coffee. You’ll lose every shred of happiness in search of something that never really existed.

Sitting here now, across from Jungwon, you’re not just angry. You feel stupid, too. Ridiculous for ever thinking that maybe, just maybe, butterflies bloomed in the pit of his stomach when he looked at you, too.

That maybe, just maybe, when he matched your gaze, your eyes turned ordinary things into starlight, too.

But even with gray on his wrist and pain in his heart, the distance between the two of you has never felt wider.

Jungwon won’t even match your eye now. He aims for the heart instead. “You know, you’re the only person I’ve ever met who I thought would understand. Who knows what it’s like. To lose the only thing in life that really matters.” His voice is small, but it’s teeming with frustration, with misplaced anger. There’s an unmistakable fury in his eyes when he finally lets his gaze land on yours. But you know him now, even better than you thought. You see the pain just as clearly. The confusion, the hurt.

And where he expects to find an apology, or perhaps some sort of agreement, he’s met only with a rage to rival his own.

“Fuck you.” It’s barely decipherable under your breath, but he catches it, even if just barely.

“What?”

You double down. “I said, fuck you, Jungwon. How dare you. You think you’re the only one who’s ever been hurt, the only person that this stupid fucking system screwed over?” And now your anger has been let loose, the floodgates opened. It rises, ebbs and flows like waves against a shore. Weathering over all the sharp pieces and jagged edges that time hasn’t yet managed to erode. Spills over onto the table like his forgotten coffee from weeks ago.

“Why do you think I work at the support center? Why do you think you’ve never seen me in a short sleeve shirt?”

You’re angry and you’re hurting and you understand his pain. But it’s worse this time. You don’t know why his determination to fix his failed soulmate match stings like rejection. You can’t figure out why it burns in a way that’s all too reminiscent of that afternoon in the park two years ago.

You feel it all, under your skin like an itch you can’t scratch, an ache you can’t get rid of. You don’t know why he didn’t just stop when you asked him, why he won’t just listen to you.

“At least you get to wonder what might have happened.” You don’t mean to do it, to throw his hurt back in his face. To compare pain, to stack your scars against one another and measure them like there’s a winner in this game. “I met my soulmate. I met him and talked to him and fell in love with him and he still didn’t want me. It doesn’t matter what some scholar says. You can’t fucking fix that.”

You’re standing before you know it, heading to the door before you mean to. But you can’t stay here, can’t watch him look at you like that. Not when every word that passes between you opens wounds you’ve spent ages trying to clean.

Not when you know that none of it, even the parts you’d hoped you’d remember fondly, were ever done intentionally. He didn’t mean to hurt you. Didn’t mean to give you butterflies or look at you with starlight in his eyes, and that only makes it worse.

You’re already beneath the doorframe when you find it in yourself to add, “You’re hurting and you’re lonely and I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry. You don’t deserve that pain, and you never will. But I refuse to do this again, to spend the rest of my life thinking there’s something wrong with me. That it’s my fault, that I can fix everything, fix myself, if I just try hard enough. My matched glitched.” You still can’t quite say the word without flinching. “I’m a glitch. But I refuse to let that be the only thing I am.”

When the door shuts behind you, it echoes, even in the crowded hallway.

Your footsteps feel too heavy as they eat up the ground between you and the front door of the library. The late autumn air feels too cold as you walk back to your dorm, enveloped in the quiet of the evening, mind screaming with misplaced rage.

The silence of your dorm room is too loud as you sit alone in it.

And the mark on your wrist is too gray, no matter how you look at it.

…..

Jungwon is antsy.

Even with the space of a day between him and your argument, he’s brimming with a sort of uncontained energy that will only spell trouble if he doesn’t find a way to channel it.

Taekwondo practice helps, albeit only slightly. Physically, at least, it grounds him. There’s a solace to be found in the repetitive motion of his well aimed kicks.

He welcomes the familiar ache in his muscles like an old friend, sweat building on his brow as he lets the calm, flowing energy guide his powerful movements.

But even after two hours on the mat and a long, overly warm shower, Jungwon’s thoughts are still spinning in circles, still doing cartwheels through his mind. He needs to talk, needs to process everything that’s happened, everything that he’s feeling.

But save for one person, he’s not sure who to go to.

It’s then, the last member of his team still towelling off in the locker room, that he realizes that under any other circumstance, the first person that he would want to reach out to, to spill his heart and guts and soul out to, is you.

It’s been weeks, a handful of days, a smattering of hours, since you became a name in his mind. A person with an identity other than the pretty girl that sits in the sixth row of the lecture hall, and yet.

And yet.

Jungwon is suddenly overcome with the urge to reach for his phone, to send a message, make a phone call. His better judgement stops him before he can.

Mostly because he has no idea what he would say. An apology is in order, surely. He still sees the look on your face against the backs of his eyelids. The way pain etched itself into your features, the way your shoulders never quite relaxed after he suggested the topic change on your project.

He’s not sure if this is even something that can be remedied with words, but he is absolutely certain that he never wants to see that look on your face again.

So an apology it is, then. But for what, exactly?

If he’s honest with himself, he still doesn’t fully understand.

He let his anger, his frustration, his pain get the best of him, yes, but it was more than that. He’s not sure why you seemed so personally affected by the idea of exploring research around soulmate glitches. Why that word seemed to eat at you so much.

So he lets his confusion carry him to the only place where he thinks he just might find an answer.

The Student Support Center looks different in the daytime. Jungwon still feels that nagging sense of discomfort as he forces his feet through the front door.

His shame feels most prominent here, in a place where admitting that he needs help still feels like weakness to him.

Swallowing his pride, he forces his footsteps forward. The desk he found you at a handful of night ago is empty. But the one next to it is occupied with another student, a boy. One that looks a couple of years older than you, if he had to guess.

He smiles when he sees Jungwon, offering a generic greeting before he takes another look at him.

Jake, he thinks it must be, if your descriptions are anything to go by. Another person that Jungwon has begun to become familiar with in the past few weeks, albeit only by your secondhand account.

And you must have done the same for him, because Jake is quick to mask his shock with something careful, guarded.

“Hi,” he repeats, standing from her seat. “I’m Jake.” Looking him over once more, something akin to a sigh escapes his lips. “You must be Jungwon.”

Jake, as it turns out, is surprisingly easy to talk to. He understands why you like him so much.

In a matter of minutes, a fairly abridged version of your last library session has been reconstructed, laid bare in front of eyes that know you best.

Jake is silent for a moment, turning over thoughts in his mind before he finally says, “It’s not my story to tell.” Jungwon figured as much. “But I think she would, if you asked.”

Jungwon nods. It’s permission. From an indirect source, maybe, but hope flutters through his chest all the same. He has a goal now, something to work towards. Something that he hopes will fix whatever has shattered between the two of you.

There’s a brief pause before Jake speaks again. “What I can say is that she’s done a lot of work to move on. To find meaning in her life outside of the number on her wrist. To stop feeling incomplete, like a burden, like a problem to be solved.”

And I threw those fears back in her face, Jungwon realizes, something twisting unpleasantly in his gut.

The despair must play out on his features, because Jake is gentle when he says, “I won’t pretend to know what it’s like, but I do know how it feels to grieve for what could have been. It’s easier, sometimes, I think, to let that consume you. To spend your life trying to get as close to that lost future as you can, even though you know it will never be quite right. Even though you know you’re chasing ghosts.”

Jake folds his hands across his lap, lacing his fingers together.

“She made the decision to let those ghosts rest, to let that part of her life go. To find something else worth living for instead. For the small moments, maybe. For joy, for love. All those things that she still gets to feel.”

That you still get to feel. Jake doesn’t say it, but Jungwon hears it all the same.

“Those things that nothing, not even fate, gets to take away.”

Jungwon glances down at his wrist. It’s covered, but he can feel the ever present weight of it. Of the gray mark that he knows, deep down, will never fade. Will never change.

And for the first time in a long time, that truth doesn’t feel quite so heavy.

“I…” Jungwon isn’t sure how to wrap his gratitude in words. “Thank you.” For telling him. For helping you. For being here. “For all of it.”

“Of course.” Jake smiles. Lets his fingers fall to his sides as he stands, brushing invisible dust from his lap. “Joy is even better when it’s shared, no?”

Joy is even better when it’s shared.

For the first time in a long time, Jungwon smiles. A real smile, a face-splitting, toothy, uncontrollably wide smile. One that hurts his cheeks and reaches all the way to his eyes.

It’s still there when he’s walking back to his dorm.

It’s still there when he sits down at his desk, reaching for his computer and turning on the last playlist he was listening to earlier, just for something to fill the silence.

After a handful of moments, a familiar melody begins to lilt through his speaker.

Clair de Lune. It’s a tune he would know anywhere. It reminds him of moonlight, of starlight, and everything in between. It reminds him of long study sessions and stolen glances and tentative whispers.

It makes him smile even harder.

Looking at the computer in front of him, Jungwon thinks fate just might be a tangible thing.

He feels it in the back of his throat first and then the base of his nose. The telltale stinging sensations that always comes at the first sign of tears.

He lets it. Welcomes it. Allows them to fall.

Alone in his room, hard, long sobs wrack his entire body and leave him gasping for air. Sorrow and grief and anger and joy all tangled together in one.

Because Jungwon is done mourning himself, the ghost of a life that has haunted him for the last year. The future that was never his to begin with. The weight of possibilities that time cannot undo, that sheer will alone cannot change.

Joy is even better when it’s shared.

And he thinks he’ll start with himself.

…..

The knock on your front door is unexpected. And it comes just too late at night for you to feel comfortable opening it without a second thought. Footsteps padding as silently as possible towards the entrance to your dorm, you run through the short list of people you think could possibly be knocking at your door at this hour and come up blank.

Against your better judgement, you undo the latch, opening the door slowly as if that will be enough to deter any unwanted visitors.

Thankfully, the sliver of space doesn’t reveal a threat. But it does have your brow furrowing in confusion.

“Jungwon? How did you–”

Explanations for how he found your address are not at the top of his priority list. “I’m sorry,” he breathes, words tumbling out all at once. “I don’t…” A pained expression crosses his features. “I’m not good with words, and I don’t always know what the best thing to say is, but I’m sorry. I never should have said those things about you, about us. I – we’re not glitches.” He pauses, frowning. “I mean, we are, but that’s okay. We’re okay. There’s nothing to fix, and I’m sorry that I made it sound like I think otherwise.”

He trails off again, jaw working as he swallows the lump in his throat. “I… You have to know that I think the absolute world of you, ___. I would never, ever want to say or do something that makes you think otherw–oof.”

Jungwon’s words die with the sudden impact of your head against his chest, arms wrapping tight around his torso. Shock renders him immobile, just for a moment, before he’s melting into your touch. Returning your embrace as his arms twine around your back, fingers settling against your spine.

It’s all there, wrapped up in this moment. A solid foundation. A warm place to land. Things that futures can be built upon. Things that can breathe life into possibilities, into almosts, into maybes.

“Thank you,” you whisper, and it’s lost somewhere against the skin of his neck.

“For what?”

“For everything you said.” You melt a little further into him, and Jungwon hopes that he never has to move. “For being here.”

You mean it. He knows it.

He lets his cheek rest against the crown of your head. You feel the movement of his jaw when he tells you, “It’s the only place I wanted to be.”

He means it. You know it.

…..

epilogue.

“Where are you taking me?”

“You know,” Jungwon rolls his eyes, but there’s a smile on his lips, too. “The more you keep asking that question, the less inclined I am to answer it.”

Huffing, you argue. “We’ve been walking for thirty minutes.” With still no destination in sight, mind you. “Don’t I deserve some kind of explanation.”

“That’s what the coffee was for.” Jungwon’s smile turns into a grin, one of those real ones that lights up his eyes. That has starlight reflecting in them. One that has you returning a smile o your own, despite your complaints. “To distract you from the physical labor.”

“Well, we can’t all be on the taekwondo team.”

Jungown just rolls his eyes again. “We’re almost there. I promise.”

And despite it all, you believe him. Because it’s been six months since you were first assigned as project partners and nearly two since your shared class ended. And he’s still here. Still a permanent fixture in your life. Still responsible for so many moments you’ve come to look forward to, so many memories you know you’ll cherish forever.

Because despite the gray numbers on your wrists, you’re both dressed for the activity. It’s nearing winter now, but it’s unseasonably warm. With the physical exertion included, it’s weather that calls for short sleeves.

Because there’s no one else you’d walk thirty minutes towards an undisclosed location for.

Because there’s no one else that understands you the way he does, not just from shared circumstances, but also as a result of effort. Of honest conversations and the genuine desire to listen. To learn you. To know you like the back of his hand.

Because to him, you’re just you. A person capable of joy and anger and grief and love and all of the beautiful, wonderful, messy things that comes with being a human. You’re not a failure, not something to fix. Your identity isn’t constrained to the gray mark on your wrist.

Because you think you might love him for it.

Because you know that you do.

And when you finally arrive at the small neighborhood park ten minutes later, the only thing you’re thinking about is how beautiful the lake looks bathed in the glow of afternoon sunlight.

Later, sprawled on a picnic blanket underneath the shade of an old sycamore tree, overlooking that same lake, you’ll turn to him and whisper some nonsense about recent studies claiming that soulmates often find each other surrounded by nature. Particularly in the presence of a body of water.

Jungwon will roll his eyes, will brush a strand of hair away from your forehead while he tells you that he doesn’t care, that it doesn’t matter, that it’s all a bunch of nonsense anyway.

His smile will be soft, as he hands you the small makeshift bouquet of wildflowers you hadn’t noticed him collecting on your journey here. You’ll tuck your favorite one behind your ear before you lean back against his chest.

And it will feel a little bit like coming home, like resting after a long day, like basking in the first rays of sunshine as winter finally releases its grip on the world and blooms into a glorious spring when he intertwines his fingers with yours and whispers against the shell of your ear that he thinks you’re beautiful.

Fate is a funny thing, you’ll think as his breath tickles the skin of your neck, sends a shiver down the length of your spine.

And no matter how many nights we’ve spent berating it, cursing it, resenting it, I’ll always be glad that it has led us to this. Or maybe, you’ll wonder as he presses a gentle kiss to the curve of your cheekbone, the space between your eyebrows.

Maybe we led it. Grabbed fate by the collar and forced it to bend to our whims like that masters of destiny we are.

Whatever it may be, I’m glad that it brought me here.

To joy. To love.

And most of all, to you.

⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖⋆.˚⟡ ࣪ ˖

note: Thank you for reading!! I hope you enjoyed. As always, I love hearing your thoughts. All the best ♡♡

#jungwon fanfiction #jungwon fanfic #jungwon x you #jungwon x reader #jungwon angst #jungwon fluff #enhypen fanfiction #enhypen x reader #enhypen x you #enhypen fanfic #enhypen angst #enhypen fluff

2K notes · View notes

straykidsmedia · 26 days ago

Text

#stray kids #250531 #kim seungmin #seungmin #mt: dominATE #e: dominate world tour #e: dominate in los angeles #e: concert #p: fantaken #f: Spring's Whisper

148 notes · View notes

societyfolklore · 18 days ago

Text

That Was Mine

Title: That Was Mine

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: You’ve held it together all day. The final straw? Someone stole your snack. Bucky makes sure you know you’re still allowed to fall apart - but only for him.

Word Count: 3k

Warnings: / Explicit Content /18+, Minors DNI, established relationship, comfort sex, soft dom!Bucky, oral (f receiving), praise kink, emotional softness, body worship, panties pushed aside, slow grind to ruin, smutty kitchen sex.

A/N: my entry for @avengers-assemble-bingo for Spring Bingo Sorry I'm late to start this! Will have them all up in June! :)

Square: A4 - Stolen Snacks

Card Number: AAS001

You stared at the empty space in the cupboard like it had personally betrayed you.

You’d held it together. Through the botched recon brief that ended with you getting shoulder-checked into a wall. The two-hour debrief with Fury that circled the same five points and still managed to assign you clean-up duty. Through training drills with Natasha that left your muscles screaming, a cracked tablet that shorted out mid-field report, and a stray pulse round from testing Tony’s gear that seared through your glove. Through trying to calm a panicking rookie in the med bay and brushing off Steve’s attempt to talk about team morale while your ribs throbbed from the fall no one noticed.

But this?

This was too much.

Your last chocolate bar. The one you’d shoved to the back of the shelf, behind the rice cooker like a goddamn dragon hoard, and even labelled.

Gone.

You felt the tears before they came. That tight, angry pressure in your throat. The prickle behind your eyes. It was more than frustration, it was the weight of everything you'd swallowed down all day finally pushing up from your chest. A battle cry turned into a whimper.

You hated it.

Hated crying over something so stupid, hated how this tiny, ridiculous moment had cracked the dam you’d patched together with stubbornness and caffeine.

Your breath hitched. The cabinet blurred. You clenched your fists tighter. Maybe if you stood still enough, quiet enough, you could push the feelings back down where they belonged. Somewhere deep. Somewhere no one could see.

That’s how Bucky found you. Still standing there like a statue in mourning, shoulders drawn tight, fists white-knuckled, eyes locked on that empty shelf like you could will the universe to give you one goddamn break. Just one.

“Doll?” His voice behind you was soft. Careful. Like he already knew something wasn’t right.

You blinked, throat tight and eyes burning. “Fine.” It came out too fast, too brittle.

He stepped closer, his footsteps quiet on the kitchen tile. “Sweetheart…”

“They took it,” you whispered, voice barely audible.

“Took what?”

You sniffed and gave a shaky little laugh that didn’t reach your eyes. “My chocolate.”

He paused, one long second where you could feel him processing that. Then, with a low, understanding note in his voice. “Oh.”

You still didn’t turn around. Couldn’t. The heat in your cheeks was too much, and the tears were already pushing harder. “I just wanted one fucking thing today,” you said, the words gaining a tremble. “One thing. And someone… I don’t even know who, but someone went in and…”

Your voice cracked. A tear fell before you could catch it. You scrubbed it away with the back of your hand, furious at yourself for crying over something so small, but it wasn’t just the chocolate. It never was.

His body pressed in close, not just touching but anchoring, like he was stitching you back together with every inch of contact. You felt the brush of his stubble as he dipped his head closer, his breath warm against your ear.

“I got you,” he murmured, voice low and sure like it was a promise. “I got you, baby. Just breathe.”

You turned into his chest, burying your face in his shirt as more tears spilled free. His arms wrapped around you without hesitation. No teasing. No judgment. Just strength. Steady, unshakable warmth. You could feel his heartbeat through the fabric, solid and calm, syncing with your own stuttering rhythm like it was trying to coax you back to yourself. He smelled like leather and soap and something uniquely his. That grounding, familiar scent that always made you feel like home was wherever he stood.

He didn’t rush you. Didn’t ask what was wrong or try to fix it yet. He just stayed there, solid as ever, letting you feel every heartbeat in his chest and the slow, steady rhythm of his breath like it could replace the storm in your own.

He held you there for a long moment, rubbing his hand up and down your back, pressing a kiss to the top of your head without needing to say anything more yet. Just being held like that made your chest ache in a different way, an ache that felt like the release you'd been holding back all day.

“You wanna yell?” he asked, finally, his voice light but sincere. “We’ll go down to the training floor- think most of them are there- you can scream at every single one of those snack thieves until you feel better.”

A wet laugh hiccupped out of your throat. It surprised you, but you didn’t fight it. “It was probably Peter.”

“I’ll drop-kick him. Promise.”

That earned another laugh, softer now, your fingers curling in the fabric of his shirt. You could feel his smile against your temple before you even looked up. And when you did, you caught the full picture- his brows drawn with worry, his jaw tight like it physically hurt him to see you upset, and his eyes so full of quiet love it made your knees go weak.

Every inch of his expression said it plain: You are safe. I’ve got you. I always will.

“You’ve had a hard day, huh?”

You nodded, swallowing back a fresh wave of emotion. Your lip trembled again, and this time you didn’t fight it. It felt like if you said even one word, everything would crack wide open again. Maybe you didn’t have the energy to pick the pieces up this time.

Bucky saw it. He always did. He didn’t push, didn’t fill the silence. Just stayed steady and warm at your side.

“Then let me fix it,” he said gently, brushing your hair behind your ear. His voice dropped even lower, like he was speaking to something raw in you. “Let me take care of my girl.”

You expected another hug. Maybe a kiss on the forehead. Maybe for him to lead you to the couch and tuck a blanket around your shoulders, like he sometimes did after a mission that ran too long or left you rattled. You expected soft words and gentler hands. The kind of quiet that didn’t ask anything from you.

But what you got was more. A presence that didn’t just hold you together, it reminded you that you didn’t have to be perfect to be loved. That your breaking point didn’t scare him away. That he’d carry it all if you let him.

You didn’t expect him to grip your hips and lift you onto the kitchen counter.

“Bucky- ” you gasped, palms braced against his chest, heat flushing up your neck. The cold countertop under your thighs only made his warmth feel more intense, more consuming. Like a fire had started under your skin and only he knew how to tend it.

But he was already stepping between your knees, lifting your skirt with slow, deliberate care. His fingers skimmed your thighs like they were something fragile, like he had all the time in the world to unwrap you, gaze locked on yours with a hunger that sent sparks straight through your core. Every brush of his knuckles sent goosebumps racing up your legs.

“You think you gotta hold it all in,” he murmured, lips grazing your jaw, his voice like velvet and smoke. “But you don’t. Not with me. You don’t have to be strong right now. You just have to be mine.”

He kissed the corner of your mouth, then lower along your jaw, down your throat- each press of his lips a quiet promise. You could feel the devotion in each one, like he was spelling out his love with his mouth, soothing away the hurt one kiss at a time. His hands moved under your underwear, warm and certain, fingers spreading you open with aching care, reverent like he was learning you all over again and loving every second of it.

“You’re tense,” he murmured, voice lower now, thumb brushing slow, perfect circles over your clit. “Let me take care of that. Let me make you feel good, baby. Just let go.”

“Bucky, someone could- ”

He dropped to his knees.

Right there- like it was the most natural thing in the world. His broad shoulders framed by the spread of your thighs, his blue eyes already locked onto your face with that look that always undid you. Soft hunger. Absolute focus. The kind of reverence that made you feel like a temple he’d worshiped at a thousand times before and still found holy.

He pushed his hair back from his face with one hand, jaw tense, a little smirk curling one corner of his mouth like he knew exactly what he was about to do to you. Like he was proud of it. Of you. Of how wrecked you were about to be.

“You didn’t get your chocolate,” he said, breath hot and heavy against your soaked folds. “So I’m giving you something sweeter.”

Then his mouth was on you.

Hot. Wet. Filthy.

His tongue dragged upward in one slow, claiming stroke that had your head knocking back against the cabinet. Then he did it again, circling your clit like he had all the time in the world, savoring every reaction. His lips wrapped around you and sucked with the perfect amount of pressure, after all, he’d memorized the way your body begged to be touched.

You gasped, legs trembling, one hand flying to the edge of the counter, gripping it for balance as your other dug into his hair. He groaned at the contact, the sound vibrating straight through your core. The smirk you’d seen moments ago returned against your skin, devilish and pleased with himself.

“God, look at you,” he murmured, pausing only long enough to drag his tongue flat over your slit. His lips brushed your clit again as he grinned. “I know you wanted chocolate, but fuck- you taste like candy.”

Then he dove back in.

He devoured you like it was his sole purpose in life. Like your pleasure was his mission and he had no intention of failing. His metal arm wrapped securely under your thigh, holding you wide and open for him, while his flesh hand slid up your stomach to your breast, fingers curling over it possessively as he groaned against your cunt.

Tears blurred your eyes again not from grief this time, but from how completely he meant it. From the way he worshipped you with his mouth, like this was his heaven. Like he needed this more than breath.

You couldn’t stop the sounds spilling from you, gasping cries, sharp breaths, needy little sounds you didn’t recognize as your own as his tongue worked you harder. Faster. Each stroke more precise, more demanding. Your hips tried to jerk away from the intensity, but he growled and tightened his grip, locking you down.

“Uh-uh,” he rasped against your swollen clit, slick with spit and need. “You take it. Take what you fucking need. Let go for me, baby.”

And you did.

You shattered for him; loud, messy, legs shaking as your orgasm tore through you, slick flooding over his mouth. He didn’t stop. He moaned like he was the one coming, mouth locked to you as he coaxed every last aftershock from your body.

Only when you sagged back, breathless and twitching, did he slow down. His lips softened their rhythm, moving with care now, peppering soft, open-mouthed kisses along your inner thighs, the kind that made you shiver from tenderness rather than urgency. He murmured praise between each kiss, like he couldn’t help it, like worship was the only language he knew.

“So fuckin’ sweet,” he whispered, licking his lips with a slow, satisfied drag of his tongue. His face glistened with you, and he wore it like a badge of honor.

He kissed your thighs again, then trailed up to your hips, stroking your sides with reverence. He nuzzled your skin like it was his safe place, his temple, murmuring against the shell of your hip, “Could stay here all day, baby. Right here, tasting how good you are. You don’t even know what you do to me.”

His hands never left your body- constantly caressing, grounding, reminding. His metal fingers curled around your thigh possessively while the other swept gently up and down your waist. You felt utterly surrounded by him, like there wasn’t a single part of you he hadn’t claimed.

He looked up at you then, pupils blown wide, lips swollen, his expression dazed with devotion. Like he hadn’t just eaten you alive but knelt at your altar and meant it.

“You’re mine,” he whispered, voice ragged and thick with love. “No one gets to take from you. Not while I’m here. Not ever.”

And you believed him. Because when Bucky touched you like this- held you like this- he didn’t just give you pleasure. He gave you proof.

Proof that someone saw you. Fought for you. Loved you enough to hold the pieces no one else knew were broken.

Because when everything else went wrong…Bucky always made sure you still felt right.

When you finally blinked through the haze, he was standing again, unzipping his pants with that same look in his eyes.

Oh- Bucky wasn't through yet.

He leaned over you, kissed you slow, then deeper, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. His cock pressed hot and heavy against your thigh, and when his hand gripped your jaw, his voice came low and reverent.

“Wanna fuck my sweet girl now. Gonna fill you up slow…make you feel everything, baby.”

Your breath caught as he guided himself between your thighs. Then he placed one firm hand on your ass and slid you forward across the counter, dragging you closer to the edge until your legs dangled more, your core perfectly aligned for him. The sensation of the heat of him pressing forward made your head spin.

And when he pushed inside, slow, stretching, claiming- you swore he moaned louder than you.

“That’s it,” he groaned, forehead to yours, hips rolling deep. “Just like that.”

He rocked into you with slow, sinuous thrusts, hips rolling in smooth, deliberate motion as if he had no interest in finishing quickly, just in working you open, keeping you full, keeping you right there on the edge. Each pass stroked that aching place deep inside- your thighs tightening, breath catching, every nerve singing like it had been tuned to his rhythm.

“Right there, yeah?” he rasped. “I feel it. You clench so good when I hit that spot.”

His hand smoothed up your spine, the other gripping your ass to keep you pinned just where he wanted you. He didn’t pound, he rolled, deep and deliberate. Deep and slow, hips pressing tight against yours with each drag of his cock, like he wanted to replace every ache and frustration you’d carried today with the stretch of him.

“You don’t need a sweet treat now do ya?” he murmured against your cheek, voice thick and low. “Not when I can get you high like this. Give you every endorphin your pretty little body’s been begging for.”

And when he pressed into that spot again- again- until you panted and quivered for him, you stopped caring who might walk in. Stopped caring about anything except the wet, slick sound of him inside you and the way he whispered, "Gonna wash all the bad day away, yeah? Gonna let me do that for ya, doll? Gonna let me take every ounce of tension and fuck it right outta you?"

The rhythm of him built gradually, rising like a wave pulling you under- his hips rolling, staying deep, making your breath stutter and your nails curl into the strong slope of his shoulders. Each drag of his cock pushed you higher, stretched you further, until all you could do was cling and shake and feel.

When he adjusted his angle, grinding down into that tender place inside that had you gasping every time, the one that made your legs twitch and your stomach tighten, dragging a helpless, high-pitched whine from the back of your throat- you broke. The orgasm crashed over you, hot and sudden, your body pulsing around him in tight, desperate waves.

Bucky swallowed your cries with his mouth on yours, kissing you through it, devouring every sound you made like it was his favorite dessert.

“Good girl,” he growled, voice shaking. “Just like that. Fuck- gonna give it to you, baby. Gonna fill you up nice and warm, yeah?”

Buck jerked, moaning into your mouth as his hips snapped once, twice, before he spilled into you, thick and deep and perfect. You both shook, breathless in the kitchen, bodies slick with sweat and love and everything unspoken.

His hand brushed your jaw as he whispered soft words against your lips. “So good for me. My perfect girl. Took all of it.”

Then he stepped back just enough to grab a paper towel, cleaning you up with gentle care.

You stayed on the counter, legs still trembling, smiling and a little fucked-out, watching as he fixed his pants with that stupidly smug grin like he’d just won something sacred and maybe he had.

“I’m sure I’ve got one of your snacks in my room,” he said, voice still husky but playful. “Let’s get you back there… we can shower and snuggle, and you can tell me everything- or we can just watch a movie. End the day right.”

He stepped in close and lifted you easily off the counter, one arm under your thighs, the other around your back like you weighed nothing. You curled instinctively into him, nuzzling into the warm crook of his neck, your breath still uneven, your heart still stuttering from everything he’d given you.

“Bucky Barnes,” you murmured, your lips brushing his skin as you smiled, “better than chocolate.”

He chuckled low, chest vibrating against yours. “Damn right I am.”

800 notes · View notes

strawberrystepmom · 2 months ago

Text

dante x f!reader. established relationship, fluff. | wc 807, reading time: less than 5 minutes.

“Oh shit!”

You exclaim too quickly as you walk into your kitchen after tossing your keys and bag aside and taking your shoes off. The wall between the entryway and the kitchen is a blind spot, leaving you unprepared to walk in on a towel clad, still dripping from the shower version of Dante who grins and points at you.

“Welcome ho-o-o-me.”

He sings his greeting while you press your hand against your chest, trying to catch your breath and slow your heart rate from the surprise of seeing him. It’s never that shocking that he makes his way into your apartment, he does know where the spare key is. A spare key that is just the one you had made for him he insisted that he couldn’t take so you hid it in a place you knew he’d find it.

Clearly it has been used.

You eye him up and down though it’s playful, folding your arms over your chest while approaching him.

“Let me guess. You used the good stuff in the shower and have finished off the last of the juice by now too, right?”

Dante shrugs in response, turning the shrug into a shimmy that gradually becomes something more frenetic, his whole body moving in response. The ends of his hair drip onto your floor yet it’s impossible to do much but smile sweetly at his rolling chest and shaking hips.

“Is this your version of a mating dance?” Whispering out of the corner of your mouth, you raise your brows while wrapping an arm around his moving hips. “I feel like a girl bird or something right now.”

“Dunno, is it working?”

Shaking your head, you grin up at him. Distraction successful, he notes to none but himself.

“Hi handsome,” the words are muffled while you press a kiss to his smiling mouth.

Dante’s hand naturally falls to the small of your back and he pulls you against him, chest to chest, and swaying softly in place with you. You look down to check on your feet, quickly returning them upward to glance at him. Those pretty blue eyes stare down at you, his lips curling into a fond smile when his eyes fall upon the crinkle of your nose.

You lean against his bicep, letting him rock you at a rhythm nobody but him can hear.

Copying the little sing-song in his voice from earlier, you raise your eyebrows expectantly while asking. “Seriously, what are you doing?”

He pulls you tighter against him and you place your feet atop his, letting him take full control of whatever is happening. A big hand slides from your lower back to your ass, cupping it gently. The damp towel over his thighs gets the front of you wet but whatever worry it causes fades away while you let him step you around, holding onto you and swinging you in a makeshift circle. He indicates he’s about to dip you and you giggle, bending backward over his arm and wrinkling your nose again while he leans in to collect a small kiss.

“Making myself at home just like you always tell me to.”

Grinning, another giggle springs out of you.

“You mean it this time?”

A stronger man would stick to his values and say no. He’d avoid this - the domesticity that makes a wild man tame and lazy. He’d decline the comfort of your shampoo and sheets, the fridge that’s always semi full, the pleasure of seeing the owner of his favorite pair of lips and hands and other things in her natural habitat.

A man is only as strong as his biggest weakness. Dante’s fortunate that his weakness possesses so much strength of her own, enough to keep pushing the issue until you knew he’d eventually give in.

He nods, his amused-at-your-surprise smile fading into something fond. A knowing smirk perhaps, always certain that you knew he’d end up giving in eventually. A simple bow of his head puts it just above yours.

“Yeah,” he kisses you and you greedily allow it, the dancing pausing while his towel slides a little lower on his hips. Both of you burst into a fit of childish giggles, the arm you have slung around his waist pinning the towel in place to keep him decent.

“Think I’d have to be an idiot to keep leaving such a good thing.”

His lips barely part from yours yet he continues to speak, the dancing paused in favor of touching, hand sliding across every still clothed part of you they can touch. Lost in the moment, you slide your arm upward and the towel wrapped around his hips falls to your feet.

“Yeah, I think so too.” You whisper, lifting a foot to kick the towel aside while he reaches to grab your thigh and wrap your leg around his waist.

Never one to miss a signal, you hop up and wrap them both around him, resuming your giggling and kissing while being carried off to christen the couch like it hasn’t been done a thousand times before.

At least it’s a couch you technically share now.

#dante x you #dante x reader #dante sparda x you #dante sparda x reader #dmc x you #dmc x reader #kendall writes #danken #canon au

868 notes · View notes

okwonyo · 3 months ago

Text

LIKE I LOVE YOU ⟡ when they are jealous𓈒

𝗦𝗢𝗕𝗥𝗘──── 𝗂 𝗐𝖺𝗇𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗇𝗍𝗅𝗒, 𝖾𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗇𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗒, 𝗎𝗇𝖼𝗈𝗇𝖽𝗂𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗒.

【 𝐄𝐍𝐕𝐈𝐃𝐈𝐀 】 𝑑’── enhypen & f!r 12OO fluff established relationship ˊᯅˋ kissing skinship

骚人 ܃ this is so silly ..

reblogs⠀｡｡ feedbacks please

HEESEUNG

he wouldn’t lie, especially not to you, by saying that he is not the jealous type. he already knows how obvious it is, at least to you, that’s for sure. when he has a woman as pretty as you are by his side— of course, he doesn’t like whenever someone try to take what is so pretty and so his.

he tries to stay discreet about it, however. he is not the kind to make a scene or pull you out of this conversation with the man that is obviously trying to hit on you. he thanks the deity that made him lucky enough to be loved by you. he loves to see a man getting rightfully rejected.

he can’t help the smile from creeping on his face when you come back to him. he tries to play it off, like he doesn’t care. “was that a good conversation?” he asks, eyes fixated on the man you were talking to earlier.

he knows he miserably failed at playing it cool as soon as the words leave the barrier of his lips. he closes his eyes and mentally slaps himself while you wipe your head towards his direction, with a wide teasing smile, “lee heeseung, are you jealous?

JAY

this further proves a point you established a long time ago— which is that your boyfriend should have never downloaded any social media in the first place. but especially tiktok should be banned from his phone.

“is this seriously how you would answer?” crossing his arms, the man asks. his raised eyebrow gives him a serious look that shouldn’t be funny, but desperately is to you. his expression slowly turns from an annoyed one to the slightest and most lovely pout you have ever seen.

you weren’t aware of how upset he could get over roleplaying fake scenarios he made in his head. all of them starring you getting hit on by a guy he made up in his head. it surely comes from a trend he saw on tiktok and thinking about the current situation makes you giggle even more.

in the middle of the mall, with the chips’ alley on his side and the soda’s one on the other, he looks too cute for you to make fun of him. you whisper as you kiss his pout lovingly, “no, ‘m sorry.” and it immediately turns into a smile.

JAKE

he is not the jealous type. he doesn’t get annoyed at guys that hit on you nor at the ones that stare at you in public—because he would do the same, honestly, if he didn’t already have you. and even if you are dating already, staring and flirting at you, he really does it a lot.

but, if there is one thing he is possessive about, it’s your attention. he loves to have your eyes on him, he loves when you laugh at his jokes, he loves when you don’t pay attention to anyone but him.

therefore, he almost feels like crying when he watches you study. your eyes won’t leave you laptop, and you look so pretty under the spring’s sun rays shining through the windows — he wants to have your attention on him.

from his position on the bed, laying on his side has he looks at you next to him, he pokes your arm cutely. “babe,” he calls you, a gentle pout on his lips when you look at him. “can you give me attention, please?”

SUNGHOON

he never says it. whenever he is jealous, he never talks but it shows through his moves, through the way he acts. with how much of a fan of public display of affection he already is, it gets worse whenever he gets jealous.

all it takes is a single thing, something that you might almost miss— but he doesn’t. he notices right away, whenever someone is looking at you a little too much. with that gaze that says that they want a taste of what is his.

“what is wrong with you?” you laugh quietly at the way your boyfriend pulls you close to him, at how he wraps his arms around your waist from behind and hides his face in the crook of your neck. here, as you are in the queue for the movies.

you may look like those annoying couples that can’t stay away from each other in public spaces, but he doesn’t care. he hums against your skin, “nothing, i just want you close.”

SUNOO

“are you talking to you boyfriend?” his voices appears behind you out of nowhere. you wipe your head to the voice’s direction, just to see him peek over your shoulder.

saying that your heart jumps out of your chest is an understatement. the surprise his voice created in you is ridiculous, confirming that you almost forgot he was there.

you push his shoulder playfully, “don’t do things like that?” you laugh and he rolls his eyes. he doesn’t stop trying to find something in your phone, looking at it like it personally offended him. you chuckle out of disbelief, “don’t tell me you were getting jealous.”

he doesn’t answer, still looking at your phone screen to see that you were on a clothing website. one look through your showed basket to tell that you were one click away from buying all the items. “and don’t tell me you were going to buy this without my card.”

JUNGWON

there is nothing that makes him more happy and proud of himself than making you happy. he adores how joyful you are, how your smile shines so bright whenever he gives you something you love.

he was beyond happy. until the human sized hello kitty plushie you just got became his rival. ever since you kissed him as a thank you, your eyes have not left the cartoon cat. you have been holding it as if it was your lifeline for a while now.

his eye twitch when hello kitty follows you to your shared bedroom, “your boyfriend is here,” he says, a little sulky when he watches you put the plushie between your side of the bed and his. “can you give him cuddles too?”

you don’t even have the time to put the plushie on the side nor to think about doing it before he does it for you. then in a instant, all his warmth and weight is pressing you into the mattress.

RIKI

he doesn't like it when it happens, he doesn’t like it all. he feels it, blossoming in his chest and creeping through his throat as flowers in the beginning of spring. he tries to not let jealousy take over him so easily.

but sometimes, he just can’t— and it’s always over the smallest things, about the silliest situation. it’s not like he can help it, especially right now. he knows you have been friends with that guy for a while, it doesn’t make him less jealous, however.

he stands with his hands in his pocket while you and the guy whose name he forgot are talking. he towers over you both and stands tall as he stares down at the man in front of you. your boyfriend is intimidating, he knows it, by the way the other’s eyes shoot towards him. good.

he wants to show off even more, to let his presence known. so he slides his hand out of his pocket before wrapping it around your waist. then he pulls you closer in a swift mention as you giggle.

taglist open + net— @sgz-net

921 notes · View notes

rbfclassy · 1 year ago

Text

QUICKIE! — TOJI FUSHIGURO

SYNOPSIS...toji just can’t keep his hands to himself after not fucking you for a week...which results in a quickie

INFO...toji x fem!reader, reader and toji have kids, toji calls reader mama, doggy, groping, spanking, missionary (?), praise, cream pie, not proofread

OTHER...likes and reblogs are appreciated

“Hey do you have anything to wash?” You walked up to Toji holding the laundry basket in your hands as he played with your two kids.

He looked up at you from the floor. “Nah, I’m all set, mama.” He smiled, handing your son his favorite toy. With a nod, you walked away with the full basket, heading towards the laundry room. You sighed at the clean pile of clothes that you had to fold, rolling your eyes in annoyance.

You threw the dirty clothes in the wash before grabbing the detergent. You let out a small squeak at the feeling of your husbands hands snaking around your waist. “You scared me,” you chuckled.

“Sorry,” he responded, pulling you against his chest, sinking his head into the crook of your neck. He placed a small kiss on your skin, hands rubbing up and down your waist. “Should’ve asked me for help.”

You closed the detergent, placing it back on the shelf as you started the washer. “It’s fine, I got it,” you replied. Toji hummed in response, his hands moving lower and lower down your body. “Toji, what are you doing?” You giggled.

You tried to turn and face him but he kept you from doing so. “Uh uh, stay just like this for me,” he whispered. He pushed his hips against your ass, his cock semi-hard. “We haven’t been able to do anything for the past week. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a little pent up, and you walking around with these shorts and tank top isn’t helping one bit.” He smacked your ass before giving it a harsh squeeze.

You bit down on your bottom lip, feel him grow more hard as you moved your against him. It was true, you and Toji haven’t had sex in the last week or so. Both of you so tired from work and the kids, running errands, it always got in the way of your sex life. You hadn’t really thought about it much before, but now that Toji brought it up, you were feeling quite pent up too. “So, what’re you gonna do about it, hm?” You asked, teasingly.

A low chuckle left his lips, his fingers grazing over your skin, making their way under the fabric of your clothes. His hands came up to your chest, cupping your tits and squeezing them, groping them. Your skin started to heat up and arousal pooled in your panties. Just his touch alone was enough to get you all hot and bothered. “We gotta be quick.” He hurriedly bent you over the washer, a swift hand pulling your shorts and underwear down. “I’ll never get tired of seeing this ass…fuck,” he groaned. He palmed himself through his sweats, admiring the view of your dripping cunt.

Toji wasted no time in pulling his sweats and boxers down, cock springing free and leaking pre cum. He let out a shaky breath, rubbing his tip up and down your slit, mixing his arousal with yours. He could already feel how warm and wet you were, cock throbbing at the thought, anticipating how you feel around him. Slowly, his head pushed past your entrance, your lips wrapping around him, sucking him in. “Ohhh fuck, baby—mmm shit,” he breathed. His hands grabbed your hips, pulling you back on him, going deeper to reach your sweet spot.

“Ah, oh my god.” The stretch was so deliciously intoxicating, sending your brain into a spiral and he’s barely moved yet. “Baby, we gotta be quick, please,” you begged, afraid that one of the kids might knock on the door and interrupt. You felt him thrust slowly, letting you get used to the feel of his cock before going any faster.

“Shhh, it’s fine. They’re watching a movie.” He began pulling you back against his hips so you met his thrusts, your walls clenching around him each time he threatened to pull out. “This pussy is so wet for me, goddamn,” he grunted, moving faster.

“F-fuck!” You stammered, feeling how hard and fast he was going. “Feels so fucking good!” Your eyes rolled to the back of your head, hands gripping onto the edges of the washing machine as you tried to hold yourself stable. “Nnngh! You’re so deep! Oh my god!” You squealed.

Toji pulled you up, your back pressed against his chest as he continued to pound into you. “Shh, mama. I know it feels good, but you gotta keep quiet for me, okay?” He placed his hand over your mouth, his arm wrapped around your waist to hold you steady. Your eyes fluttered shut, the tip of his cock kissing your cervix with each thrust. “Ohh fuck yes. Shit, this pussy feels so fucking good.”

Your muffled moans fell upon deaf ears, your legs felt like they were jelly. Pleasure clouded your mind, all you could think about was him fucking you until you came over and over again. Suddenly, he stopped. He grabbed your hips, turning you around and lifting you on top of the washing machine. He pulled you close to the edge, your arms instinctively wrapped around his neck. Both watched as he slowly slid back inside, a shaky breath leaving his lips as he felt you wrap around him again. “Look at me, don’t take your eyes off me,” he demanded.

You stared back at him with lustful eyes, bottom lip caught between your teeth as you fought so hard to hold back your moans and whimpers. Your brows furrowed in pleasure, feeling how close you were to cumming. Your jaw dropped, head falling back as he grazed over your g-spot. “Oh fuck you’re gonna make me cum!” You cried, gasping for air. “Fuck! Fuck! Baby!” You whimpered.

“I know, mama. Let it all out for me. Cum on this dick.” He kept his pace the same, feeling you clench around him, a sign you were close. His hand wrapped around your neck, pulling you in for a sloppy kiss, tongues messily moving against each other as he swallowed your moans. Finally, the coil snapped. You pulled away from the kiss, eyes rolling back, body quivering as you came. Toji covered your mouth again, muffling your curses and moans. “There you go, that’s my good fucking girl.”

He pulled his hand away, staring back at you with half lidded eyes, loving the cum drunk look written all over your face. “Cum in me,” you spoke.

“But, your not on—”

“I don’t care, cum in me,” you said with desperation.

“I fucking love you,” he chuckled with a smile, his thrusts growing sloppier. He was fixated the way his cock disappeared in you, each time he pulled back out he could see your cum at the base. It only drove him more crazier. “Nnngh, ah! Oh, baby I’m gonna cum!” His hips stuttered against yours before he buried himself deep inside of you, feeling him coat your walls with his sticky cum. “Fuck!” He grunted. “Ah, yes!” He breathlessly chuckled.

“I think we both needed that,” you laughed.

“I agree.” He smiled, pulling you closer to place his lips on yours. He slowly pulled out, his cum slowly dripping out of you. “We made quite a mess.” He looked down between your legs and then back up at you.

“We’ll clean it up—”

A knock on the door startled both on you, thankfully Toji had locked the door. “Mommy, daddy, the movie is over! We wanna watch another!”

“It’s your bedtime, sweetheart! Maybe tomorrow!” Toji shouted back. Both of you looked at each other, sharing a few seconds of silence before laughing. “I think we might have to start doing quickies more often, yeah?” He whispered.

“Once you put the kids to sleep, meet me in the shower.” You kissed his lips, entangling your fingers in his hair.

“I just can’t get enough of you, mama.”

6K notes · View notes

ariestrxsh · 4 months ago

Text

olderbrothersbsf!matt x innocent!reader

જ⁀➴ ♡ content warning: smut, public, praise, teasing, begging, finger sucking, oral (m & f!receiving), fingering, unprotected car sex, getting caught, forbidden love, age gap (both characters are adults)

જ⁀➴ ♡ summary: matt takes you out for dessert and a movie for your first-ever date together, but the two of you can't keep your hands to yourselves, even if you're out in public

dividers by @/roseraris

Young God

chapters: | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 |

Matt drove a little too fast, his hand resting on your thigh with the windows down, the breeze dancing in your hair, and your heart pounding in your ears. You were high on adrenaline from how you had taken off, leaving your brother in the dust after blatantly rebelling against his wishes to stay away from his best friend.

It wasn't like you to do things without permission or do anything that would cause controversy or stir up conflict, but there was something about Matt.

The truth was, Matt was all those things your brother said that he was - perverted, manipulative, arrogant, a player - the list goes on. However, he was also determined and passionate, and there was something about you that softened him.

"What do you want for dessert? Hmm? Just tell me what you want, and I'll take you there," Matt told you in a sweet voice, his fingertips softly brushing over the smooth flesh of your freshly shaven legs. "I want a strawberry milkshake," you told him without hesitation, your eyes lighting up. Matt smiled at you as he revved his engine and drove the two of you to a small ice cream parlor.

He held the door open for you, he ordered for you, and he even paid for you. The two of you cozied up in the booth beside each other, Matt sitting way closer to you than he needed to be.

"You're really pretty, you know that?" Matt told you in a soft voice just barely above a whisper. You blushed, trying to hold back your laughter, a nervous response to Matt's compliment. You watched his gaze travel to your lips as you plucked the cherry from your strawberry dessert and popped it into your mouth, sucking off the whipped cream. Matt felt his cock spring to life as he watched your tongue swirl around the fruit.

"Wanna know how to find out if you're a good kisser?" Matt wondered, picking his own cherry from atop his milkshake. "How?" You asked, giving him a skeptical look. "Can you tie the stem into a knot with your tongue? If you can, it means you're a good kisser," he informed you, popping the cherry into his mouth.

You were now determined to try. Once you'd swallowed the cherry, you pushed the stem between your lips. You started contorting your tongue, trying to fold the stem over onto itself with a silly, concentrated look on your face. Matt had his gaze locked on you, admiring how adorable you looked.

While you were still maneuvering your stem, Matt gave you a smug look before sticking out his tongue to reveal his perfectly tied knot. "No way!" You said, giggling and pulling out your own that was bent and misshapen. "For the record, I still think you're an amazing kisser," Matt winked at you.

You giggled, discarding it in your napkin and glancing back up at Matt, who was swiping his finger through the whipped cream on his milkshake. He smirked over at you, extending his hand for you to lick it off. With your eyes on his, you took his finger into your mouth, slowly licking off the whipped cream, the sweetness flooding your senses as you slid your lips over his knuckles with a soft hum. Blood rushed to his tip, his cock twitching at the sensation.

"That's it," he encouraged you, pushing his finger back into your mouth, savoring how good your tongue felt brushing against it. "Good girl," Matt whispered to you, his stare lingering on your bright red lips wrapped around his digit.

Matt didn't care that there were people around. All he cared about was your mouth and all the different fashions he was going to use it in tonight. The way he looked at you sent a throbbing between your legs, desire burning through your core, and an electric current of energy rushing through your whole body.

When he was finally satisfied with how well you'd sucked on his finger, he let you get back to your milkshake. "You didn't tell my brother where you were taking me on a date, did you?" You asked, stirring your shake around with your straw and mixing it with the whipped cream that was beginning to melt. "Hell no. He's crazy enough to show up here," Matt chuckled.

"You're right," you giggled. "You know, he complains about how overprotective our mom is, but he's even worse," you told Matt in a hushed voice as if your brother were around to hear you. "Yeah, but it's just because he cares about you, you know?" Matt replied. "He wants to protect you from guys like me."

"Guys like you?" You wondered, furrowing your brow. "Well, you know, when we got together, I was no virgin. I drive too fast, listen to my music too loud, and party a little too hard," Matt admitted in a very self-aware manner. "But you get to see a side of me that no one else sees, and I like that," Matt told you, reaching up and tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

You wondered for a moment if he meant all the things he was saying or if he was just saying them to get into your pants. It honestly didn't matter much to you because either way, you craved him.

Matt's hand traveled to the hem of your dress, and he discretely pushed the fabric up, revealing your red laced panties. "Matt!" You exclaimed in a hoarse whisper as you pushed the hem back down. "You know where these would look even better?" Matt cooed, leaning in and whispering into your ear as he dipped his hands between your thighs and started rubbing your clothed clit. "Where?" You asked, trying your hardest to keep your composure.

"On the floor of my mustang," Matt told you, his lips curling into a devilish smile as he planted a kiss on the side of your neck, inhaling the floral notes of your perfume. You bit down on your lip to stifle your moan. "C'mon. Be a good girl and finish your dessert," Matt said, withdrawing stimulation and scooting back over to his side of the booth. He certainly knew how to tease you.

The two of you finished your milkshakes and then walked hand-in-hand to Matt's car. He opened the door for you, admiring how pretty you looked in your little black dress one last time before he was going to get you out of it. Matt cranked the key in the ignition, the engine turning over as you settled into the seat beside him and clicked your seatbelt closed.

The two of you had decided to go to the drive-in, which was only a couple blocks away, to see the new Captain America movie. After a few moments of navigating through side streets and parking lots, Matt pulled into a spot near the back.

"Do you want anything from the concession stand?" Matt sweetly asked, glancing over at you. You flicked your eyes up at him with a smile on your lips like you did want something, but you were too afraid to say it. "Come on, sweetheart. Tell me what you want, and I'll give it to you," Matt replied in a sultry voice, his gaze dancing between your red lips and your big doe eyes.

"A coke, please," you told him. "I'll be right back," Matt said, leaning in and kissing you before he reached for his wallet and got out of the car. Your stomach was swarming with butterflies, an effect that Matt had had on you since you were kids. You still couldn't believe you were out on a date with him.

You opened your phone, making sure to shut your location off. The last thing you wanted was your brother rolling up to your date and ruining everything - especially if the date was going to go the way Matt had alluded to earlier in the evening.

I'd ask what movie you wanna see, but I have a feeling we won't be watching much of it, you remembered him saying. You squeezed your legs together, feeling yourself instantly getting wet as you recalled the texture of his voice and the way he had pinned you down as you said it. Just as you were losing yourself in your fantasies about him, the driver's side of Matt's door opened, startling you and making you jump.

"You good?" Matt asked, shooting you a smile. "Yeah, you just scared me," you laughed, placing your hand on your heart that was still beating quickly. "What? Were you doing something in here you weren't supposed to be doing?" Matt gave you a smirk, setting your drink in his cup holder. "No, it's not that," you giggled, picking it up and sipping from it.

"What is it then? What were you thinking about?" Matt wondered, looking you and up down skeptically as he got into the car and shut the door. "I was just thinking about how you said we weren't gonna be watching much of the movie and what we are going to be doing instead," you quietly replied, peering up at him as you adjusted your straw in your soda.

"Having naughty thoughts about me, hmm?" Matt cooed, running his fingertips along the hemline of your dress. You slowly nodded, staying silent. "I've been having naughty thoughts about you, too. Can't stop thinking about your pretty mouth and all the things you can do with it," Matt purred, bringing his hand up to your face and gently brushing his thumb against your bottom lip. "Why don't you show me again, hmm?" Matt asked, smirking at you.

"Right now?" You asked, raising your eyebrows. "Yeah, I've been thinking about it since you licked that whipped cream off my finger. I've got tinted windows, you know," Matt flirted, his seductive blue eyes scanning you up and down, fucking you in his mind. "Meet you in the back seat?" Matt requested, his lustful stare lingering on your mouth.

You slowly nodded at him. You kicked off your heels and climbed over the center console, nearly spilling your coke to get into the back seat. You felt a light swat on your ass as you did so, causing you to squeal.

"Hey!" You exclaimed, glancing back over your shoulder at Matt, but you secretly loved the attention he gave you. "Wasn't me," he shrugged with a smug grin on his face. "Yeah, sure," you rolled your eyes, trying to conceal your smile.

Matt climbed into the backseat shortly after you and brought you closer to him by your waist. "C'mere," he whispered before he tilted your head towards him and pulled you into a long, deep kiss. His mouth was sugary and sweet like the dessert the two of you had earlier. You moaned against his lips as he reached for your breasts and started squeezing them through your dress.

His tongue explored the inside of your teeth, his saliva mixing with yours as he slipped out of his black, leather jacket and discarded it on the floor of the car. Before pulling away, he trapped your plump bottom lip between his teeth and gently sucked on it. He was certainly messing up your lipstick, but neither one of you cared.

His lips traveled along your jawline, and he subtly tipped your head to the side with his nose. "Mmm.." you hummed, enjoying the feeling of his tongue pressed up against your neck. He started gently working his teeth along your soft flesh, gently biting down and creating a lovely sensation. "Oh, Matt," you whimpered quietly. The lovely sounds you were making encouraged him to keep going.

As the sounds of sloppy kisses filled the car, you heard another sound - a slow ziiip - and you peered down at Matt's hands that were now undoing his jeans. "Come on, sweetheart. I've missed your mouth so much," he whispered, gently placing his hand on the back of your head and pushing you down towards his lap.

You opened your mouth for him, allowing him to tuck his cock between your pillow soft lips. Your taste buds were immediately filled with a saltiness as you gently sucked the precum from his tip. "Fuck. That's it. Keep going, pretty girl," Matt groaned, involuntarily tightening his grip on your locks of hair.

He gently bobbed your head up and down, feeling the soft, wet feeling of your lips wrapped around him and the incredible sensation of your tongue massaging his length. He screwed his eyes shut and let his head fall back against the headrest of the car. "Oh, fuck," the words tumbled out of him in a sexy, low rasp as you worked your mouth on his most sensitive nerve endings.

The two of you were so enthralled by what you were doing that neither one of you noticed that the movie had started or what was going on at all. "Good girl," Matt purred as you started bobbing your head faster. Your mouth felt like a hedonist's heaven - warm, wet, and velvet soft.

Matt slowly slumped down in his seat as you cleaned the clear liquid seeping from his tip again. "That's it. Don't stop," Matt directed you, more satisfied sounds pouring from his mouth as he lifted his hips off of the seat. He drove his cock a bit further, hitting the back of your throat, which elicited a soft gagging sound from you that drove him wild. His breathing grew jagged as his fingers became entangled in your hair.

He was getting so close, his cock throbbing against your lips that were stretched around it. "Gonna be a good girl and let me cum all over that pretty tongue?" He sweetly cooed. Pleasure surged through his body and flooded his system as you hummed against the base of his shaft, "mhmm." You could feel every vein as your tongue wiggled over them, and Matt could feel every delightful subtlety of your mouth.

Suddenly, Matt's whole body tightened, and he let out a loud guttural moan with his hand eagerly pushing down on the back of your head. Your jaw was growing tired, but the sounds he made inspired you to keep going.

Shortly after, his cock twitched between your lips, hot spurts of cum squirting down the back of your throat. "Oh, fuck. Good girl. Good girl," Matt praised you, smoothing down your hair with the soft caress of his hand. You swallowed what you could, and the bit that you couldn't pooled at the corners of your lips and slowly spilled out of your mouth and down his shaft.

Matt picked your head up, his dick falling flat against his stomach as the sounds of his panting filled the car. "If I didn't know any better, I'd swear you'd have done that a million times," Matt complimented you, his blue eyes glazed over as he stared straight ahead at Captain America playing on the projector.

"Really? You think so?" You giggled, wiping the mixture of spit and cum from your mouth. "Yes. You're so fucking good at it," Matt whispered, tucking himself back into his boxers and zipping up his jeans.

"Do me now. Do me," you pleaded, unable to ignore the wetness pooling in your panties. "Hold on, sweet thing. You sucked the energy right out of me," Matt weakly replied, still trying to regulate his breathing and collect his thoughts. "I just want it so bad," you told him in a needy voice, tugging on the hem of his shirt.

Matt chuckled, and a devilish smile made its way into his expression as he started to push up your dress, revealing your red panties and your perfect tits. "No bra, hmm?" He asked, brushing his thumb across one of your nipples and causing it to stiffen under his touch. Waves of pleasure rippled through you, making you shiver and gasp before shaking your head no.

"What do you want, sweetheart? Gotta use your pretty words," Matt softly replied, leaning down towards your chest and closing the space between his lips and your breast. "Oh, Matt.. you know.." you whimpered in a shy voice, running your fingers through his hair as he circled your sensitive nipple with his fluttering tongue.

You leaned back against the window, your thighs splaying out as Matt maneuvered himself between them. You had one foot planted on the seat of Matt's car and the other leg hanging over the seat with your foot on the ground. "C'mon, sweet girl. Tell me what you want," Matt hummed against your breast before moving to the other. "I want you to kiss me down there."

"Kiss you right here?" Matt asked, his voice thick with lust as he moved his lips down your ribs, placing delicate kisses on your stomach, his stubble tickling you. You giggled and writhed around beneath him. "Lower." You were getting more impatient by the minute. You knew that Matt knew what you meant, but he loved relentlessly torturing you.

Matt trailed down to your hips, leaving you hanging once again. "Here?" He pressed his lips just above your panty line. "Noo," you whined. "Here." You finally pushed his head between your legs, encouraging him to kiss you through your panties that were drenched in your arousal at this point. He skipped over your cunt again, grazing the insides of your thighs with his scratchy face.

"Here?" He asked, placing a kiss on your soft flesh about an inch away from where you wanted him to. You whined in frustration, lifting your hips off the back seat and attempting to grind against his mouth. But Matt roughly gripped your thighs, spreading your legs open as far as he could.

"Stay still. Tell me what you want," Matt demanded, his tone laced with dominance. "I w-want you to eat my p-pussy," you whined in desperation, tripping over the words that you never thought would leave your mouth. Matt's lips curled into a smile at your filthy requests. "Yeah, why didn't you just say so, hmm?" Matt whispered, hooking two of his fingers into your panties and pulling them to the side.

His tongue darted out and gently grazed your sensitive bundle of nerves, sending goosebumps across your skin. The next time his mouth made contact with your heat, his lips engulfed you, and he softly hummed against you, sending vibrations through your clit.

You whimpered his name, gently grinding against his tongue as your heartbeat thumped away in your chest. He'd kept you waiting so long that you were already on the verge of falling apart, but he abruptly stopped.

"Lets get you out of these," Matt whispered, hooking his fingers into the waistband of your panties. You lifted your hips to help him remove them. He tossed them carelessly somewhere in the car and nestled himself between your legs again. Matt took two of his fingers and started gently rubbing your entrance with them while he lapped away at your pussy, dipping his tongue between your folds.

"P-please," you begged, your legs started to quake from the anticipation building. He smirked against your heat, gently running his digits up and down your slit while ignoring your pleas to put them inside you. You felt so shy, embarrassed every time you had to admit to Matt what you wanted from him, but you knew he wanted you to practically spell it out. It was the only way you were going to get it from him.

"P-please put your fingers in my pussy," you managed to squeak out. Matt chuckled against you. "Good girl. Knows exactly what she wants," he mumbled into your heat, pushing his fingers inside your hole. They were finally where you wanted them, but Matt kept them still inside of you, teasing you even further.

"Matt," you whimpered, beginning to ride his fingers. "What's wrong, sweetheart? Is this not what you wanted?" Matt mumbled against your pussy. You started to fuck yourself on his fingers even faster, the car starting to subtly rock.

"Fuck, Matt -" you started to say, but your voice cracked and you cut yourself off with a strangled moan. "Fuck me with your fingers," you demanded in a shaky voice, chasing sweet release as you pushed his head down. He did just as you said, his digits picking up momentum.

Just as you were about to finish on Matt's face and fingers, you looked up with wide eyes to see a car parked across the way that looked just like your brother's.

"Shit!" You exclaimed, throwing your hand over your mouth as if the people outside of the car could hear you. Matt continued eating you like a man starving, exploring you with the flick of his tongue and pistoning his fingers into your hole.

"Matt! My brother's here! Look! He's parked right over there!" You yelled, starting to push him away, but he responded by licking you more aggressively and chuckling against your pussy. "So?" Matt mumbled against your heat. "What if he comes over here?" You asked, your voice trembling.

"He won't do anything in public, sweetheart. And the windows are tinted. Just sit back and enjoy the way my mouth feels," Matt told you, coming up for air. You knew he was right. Your brother wasn't a fan of making a scene in front of others regardless of how angry he was, but you knew you were gonna get it when you returned home later that night.

Although it was dark, you could still make out his features. It was definitely him. You could see him waiting in the driver's seat, looking directly over at Matt's car. You tried to remember that you were completely hidden behind the illegal shade of the windows that you were all around you.

The look of concern started to fall from your face, your muscles relaxing as Matt latched back onto your clit and rolled his tongue over it in a rhythmic pattern. "Oh, Matt," you whimpered, your legs beginning to tremble again as you started combing through Matt's hair with your fingers. "Good girl," Matt hummed against your warmth.

You started humping his face again, grinding your clit against his tongue as you swiveled your hips on his fingers. You couldn't take it anymore. You let your head fall back against the window, profanities falling from your lips that Matt had never heard you say before as the knot in your stomach snapped.

Your legs shook, your thighs trapping Matt's head between them as he slurped up your juices. "Holy shit, sweetheart. You're making the whole car shake. You trying to get us caught?" Matt asked, finally poking his head up. "I-I'm sorry. I couldn't help it," you nervously laughed, pulling your dress back down over your body. "I'm just really that good, huh?" Matt arrogantly asked, wiping your arousal from his face.

He craned his neck around in search of any evidence of your brother, and that's when his gaze landed on him sitting in the front seat of his own car right where you said he was. "Shit. He's such a psycho. But don't worry. He's not crazy enough to confront us here," Matt told you, trying to subtly crawl back into the front seat.

He took your hand as you followed closely behind, nearly knocking over your coke again. The two of you chuckled. "And as long as we don't tell him what we did on our date, it's like it never happened," Matt replied. "Just reapply your makeup and fix your hair, because you look crazy right now," Matt laughed at you, admiring how pretty you looked with your smudged mascara.

You chuckled along, turning on your overhead light and pulling down the sun visor so you could fix it in the mirror. You reached into your clutch, pulling out your lipstick and your mascara and touching it up so that it looked relatively the same as how it looked when you left.

"So, let's get our story straight. I took you out for a milkshake. Then we went to the drive-in. I was a perfect gentleman. We did nothing more than kiss and hold hands, got it?" Matt told you. "Got it," you confirmed.

The two of you were discussing the details of the version of the date you were going to tell your brother when you looked up and realized his car was gone. The end credits were rolling, and Matt was firing up his engine again, ready to pull away before the traffic getting out of there got too intense.

Your heart was pounding again, and your mind was flooded with how your brother was going to react to you storming out on him and going on a date with his best friend even though he'd spent years of your life warning you not to fall for Matt's charm.

The two of you drove in silence, both secretly dreading going back to your house and preparing yourselves for your brother's wrath. However, there was also an unspoken agreement between the two of you that your date was very much worth it, and for a moment, you both had the same thought - why not make it even more worth it?

The two of you exchanged a glance, a primal look in each of your gazes. "You wanna make the night last a little longer?" Matt asked, peering up into the rearview mirror and making sure your brother hadn't found a way to follow the two of you. "I don't know. I should really get home. It's almost midnight. My brother's gonna be pissed," you sighed, glancing at the clock on Matt's dashboard that read 11:38.

"I thought you were gonna stay out as long as you wanted to and come home when you feel like it," Matt replied, smirking over at you as he recounted how hot you looked when you'd openly defied your brother and told him that exactly. A smile tugged on the corner of your lip as you mulled over his suggestion. "I did say that, huh?" You answered, nibbling on your lip and clenching your thighs together.

Matt pulled off onto the shoulder of a dark road, killing the engine and cutting his lights. You each had the same exact idea. The two of you ended up in the backseat again. He was on top of you, nudging your legs open and unfastening his belt while you laid down on your back. He pushed your dress up, his hands running across your warm skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake.

"You never put your panties back on?" Matt smirked, his voice drenched in desire as his fingertips danced across your soft inner thighs. "I don't know where they are," you softly giggled. "We'll find them," he half-heartedly mumbled as he guided his cock towards your heat. Your breath caught in your throat as you felt his tip press up against your folds.

He held your hips in place and slowly slid into you, relishing in the sweet whimpers that you made while he breached your entrance. You could feel his dick, swollen with desire, throbbing inside of you. "Good girl," he whispered into your ear as you wrapped your thighs around his waist. Both of your breaths quickened as Matt started to rock his hips back and forth, trailing kisses down your jawline.

His strokes were slow and gentle at first, but the louder you moaned, the faster he went. His soft lips were attached to your neck, your fingernails digging into his shoulder blades. His name tumbled off the tip of your tongue over and over again as he pistoned his cock inside of you.

"Good girl. Take it," he purred into the crook of your neck. His praises excited you even more, filling the car with the soft sounds of your pussy squelching around his every thrust. You were a babbling mess beneath him, the knot in your core threatening to come unraveled.

You couldn't control the lustful sounds cascading from your lips or the way your legs began to tremble as Matt took you in the backseat of his mustang. His thrusts were steady and powerful, driving into you with all the force he could muster while you were using all your willpower to keep yourself from coming undone.

"C'mon, sweet thing. That's it. Cum all over my cock," Matt softly rasped, encouraging you through his jagged breaths.

There was no going back. His words hit you hard, tipping you over the edge and sending ripples of sheer pleasure through your entire body. Your cunt throbbed around him, sucking him in and causing him to finish shortly after. Your shared moans of ecstasy filled the tight space between you as you each climaxed, and every time Matt propelled his hips forward, the sound of skin slapping against skin rang in your ears.

Your orgasm felt like it lasted several minutes, wave after wave of satisfaction washing over you. Matt pumped you full of his warm, sticky load, filling you to the brim and whispering sweet nothings in your ear as you each came down and his thrusts slowed to a halt. "Wow," you sighed, wiping a drop of sweat from your brow as you tried to call your breath back to you.

Matt chuckled, pulling out of you and leaning in for another kiss. The two of you laid there for a few minutes, waiting for your hearts to return to a normal pace before finding your way back to the front seat once more. You smoothed out your dress, touching up your lipstick once more and making sure there was no evidence of what you and Matt had done tonight before he dropped you off at home.

When the two of you pulled up to your house, your brother was outside waiting for you with his arms crossed and a stern look on his face as he stood blocking the front door. "Shit," you mumbled to yourself, looking for your panties that were somewhere in Matt's car.

Both of your hearts were racing as your brother started to approach. You paused your search for your underwear when you realized your brother was outside of the window. You slowly rolled it down and gave him an innocent smile, but he wasn't buying any of it.

"It's 12:30," he calmly stated. "So?" You shot back with a bit of attitude. "So the movie ended almost an hour ago," your brother responded.

You threw open your car door, nearly hitting him with it. "Yeah, and you would know, right? Since you followed us on our date?!" You shouted at him, getting into his face. Matt scurried out of the driver's side of his car, ready to deescalate the situation. "You're my baby sister. I couldn't let anything happen to you!" Your brother raised his voice.

"I don't need you to follow me around on my dates! Matt does just fine protecting me," you exclaimed, crossing your arms. "Yeah, does he!? Is that what he was doing when he was shoving his whipped cream-covered fingers down your throat?" Your brother scoffed, making big hand gestures to convey his anger.

Your cheeks grew warm, realizing he'd witnessed such an intimate moment between the two of you and wondering how much more he'd seen. "Shut up!" You shouted back as you pushed past him, your heels clicking against the pavement of your driveway.

"You're such a slut!" Your brother called after you. "Woah! Hey! Cool it!" Matt intervened, defending you. "Don't call her that," he said in a softer voice. "Well, if she isn't one, then I'm sure she watched the whole movie and she'd have no problem telling me what happened in it," your brother answered with his eyes locked on yours, raising a brow.

Matt started to speak for you, but your brother cut him off. "I said she can tell me what happened in the movie. Come on, sis. How did it end?" Your brother smugly asked, knowing damn well you couldn't tell him. You stared silently at your feet for a moment.

"You know.. Captain America killed all the bad guys," you responded, unsure. You didn't know how the movie ended. You didn't even know how it began or anything that happened inbetween because you were preoccupied the whole time with Matt's cock. And his tongue. And his fingers.

Your brother scoffed. "You are a fucking slut," he told you, reaching out and touching the dried cum stain on the front of your dress.

Your gaze dropped to the small, white, unmistakable mark on the black fabric. So did Matt's. The two of you were speechless. Your eyes widened as you peered over at your date, searching for some kind of excuse, but he was just as stunned as you were. You nearly choked on your words as your shaky voice broke the silence. "It's whipped cream.." you softly answered, unconvinced of your own lie.

"Sure it is," your brother said in an unamused tone as he rolled his eyes. You were frozen in embarrassment, unsure of what to say next. You felt hot tears welling in your waterline as your brother glared disdainfully at Matt before strolling towards the front door with both of his fists balled up at his sides.

#sturniolo triplets #sturniolo smut #sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo #matt sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo smut #matt sturniolo x you #matthew sturniolo #matthew sturniolo smut #ᴀʀɪᴇꜱ' ᴡᴏʀᴋꜱ .ᐟ ✮⋆˙#ᴍᴀᴛᴛ ꜱᴇʀɪᴇꜱ .ᐟ ✮⋆˙#ʏᴏᴜɴɢ ɢᴏᴅ .ᐟ ✮⋆˙

918 notes · View notes