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smileysuh · 1 year ago

Text

real talk

🌙 starring. Mark Lee x afab!Reader

🔮 preview.“You’re Jeno’s roommate, Jeno’s my friend- I know we’ve just met, but I know things about you.” Hyuck explains. “When you were with your last girl, Jeno used to come to the bar and bitch about you never coming out- he’s been wanting you to meet the rest of the boys for a while, but never wanted to invite us over cuz your last girlfriend had some supernatural cootchie-grip hold on you or something- point is, I know you’re a serial monogamist. Two long-term girlfriends. You like the domestic shit, and I get that- but if you want domestic, it’s not our little Miss Sunshine expo girl. She can’t even sleep next to guys she’s fucked- wakes up at five am, and dips out without a word. Trust me on this, dude, you wanna stay far away from that man-eater.”

tw/cw. Unprotected sex, multiple sex scenes, reader has a hard time cumming, oral (f/m receiving), Mark is a MUNCH, deep throating, fingering, masturbation, use of toys/vibrator, dirty talk, praise, Mark is a simp, sex realism, overthinking during sex, mentions of sexual favours in return for affection, a string of bad ex-lovers, breast worship, creampies, aftercare, finger sucking, drunkenness, etc… I pet names: (hers) sunshine. (his) puppy boy.

👹 rating.18+ explicit I wc. 19.4k

🍭 aus. Restaurant au, line chef!Mark, slow burn, coworkers to lovers, fuck girl who looks like sunshine meets a serial monogamist who looks like a fuckboy, etc…

☀️ mlist + an. I wanted to touch on some realism to kick off the year. Not everything is as easy during sex as it appears in fanfic/p*rn, so I wanted to make something that might be more true to the real experience of afabs who overthink and need extra help to cum- I hope maybe this fic can normalize girls who need some extra machine power to get off ;)

One:

Mark has only been working at his new restaurant for two weeks, but he’s already fallen in love with the place. Morning shifts have been good for him. With the help of his favorite expo girl - who always takes the time to explain small details and things he’s been messing up on - he’s already gotten used to the menu. Every day feels better and better.

“This tuna is looking so good, Mark,” you grin, inspecting the plate.

When he’d first been hired, the fish he’d cut had come out mangled, but after talking him through it, you’d both realized it had been a knife issue. Sharpening his blade had led to Mark perfecting his slices, and now, he eagerly awaits your praises when he puts his food up in the expo window.

Mark’s eyes follow you as you dart off toward the bar, the plate of tuna balanced perfectly in your hand. The new chef can’t help the smile that works its way onto his lips, and he leans forward, hand flat on the cutting board station in front of him.

“This tuna is looking so good, Mark,” Hyuck’s annoying voice snaps him out of his trance, and Mark turns to look at the man next to him. “God, can you two make it any more obvious that you’re into each other?”

“She’s just doing her job,” Mark assures the other line chef, but he can feel his skin heating at the idea.

“Sure she is. But she doesn’t compliment my cooking as much as she does yours.” Hyuck crosses his arms over his chest, letting out a sigh as his gaze shifts to the view through the expo line. You’re at the bar now, chatting with the man who you’ve just served. However, you’re taking longer than normal, and you’re smiling a lot too.

“No fucking way,” Hyuck breathes, leaning forward and narrowing his eyes. “That guy is hitting on her.”

“Is he?” Mark also dips his head toward the expo window, eager for a look.

“Yeah, mans just slipped her his number,” Hyuck laughs. “That’s our little Sunshine though, isn’t it? This restaurant is her playground.”

“What do you mean?” Mark asks.

“Just that she’s quite popular,” Hyuck brushes it off as you approach the expo line again. “Did you get a number, sweet thing?”

“Why, you jealous?” You grin, holding up the slip of paper with digits on it.

“You wish,” Hyuck scoffs, but Mark gets the feeling there’s something else going on between the two of you, something unspoken. He’s still getting used to the dynamic of the restaurant, and in work spaces like this, relationships aren’t uncommon. He wonders what history you have with Hyuck, wonders what chance he has with you- wonders if it’s even a good idea.

Two

“Luna never runs her own food,” Sumi notes, standing with you by the entrance to the restaurant while you watch the tall waitress lean against the expo window. “I know that our new chef is cute, but, damn.”

“She can do what she wants,” you laugh, wiping down menus. “Makes my job easier.”

“You know, it’s kind of felt like you and Mark have some sort of understanding,” Sumi grins, moving close enough that your hips touch by the host station. “He watches you a lot.”

“Does he?” Your gaze moves back to the expo line.

“Uh huh, almost as much as Hyuck does- which, by the way, you sure did a number on him.”

“Hyuck will get over it, he’s a fuck boy,” you wave your hand. “I’m great at attracting that kind of guy.”

“Do you get fuck boy vibes from Mark?” Sumi wonders, tapping her pen against the top of her Ipad thoughtfully.

“He’s definitely cute enough to be a womanizer, don’t you think?”

“Key word being cute,” Sumi points out. “I don’t know, he doesn't give me fuck boy vibes like the other line chefs do.”

“Well, he’s roommates with Jeno, isn’t he?” Your eyes move to the bar. Jeno’s a night bartender, but his close friend, Renjun is working today. “Jeno’s a fuck boy, he got Hyuck and Jaemin jobs here. They’re both fuck boys. It would make sense if Mark was that kind of guy too.”

“I’m still not convinced,” Sumi states, crossing an arm over her chest. “Speaking of men though- whatever happened to that guy who gave you his number the other day? Are you actually considering a date with him?”

“I already had a date with him,” you admit.

“Yikes, from the way you haven’t mentioned it at all, I’d guess it didn’t go so well?”

“Meh,” you shrug your shoulders. “He won’t be getting a second date.”

“How many first dates have you been on this year?” Sumi asks. “Didn’t you say it was like… a lot?”

“Too many to count,” you giggle.

“So what’s the deal with that? Like- what’s your type? I know you were seeing Hyuck for a little while, how come that didn’t work?”

“It just didn’t,” you say, looking down at the menus you’ve wiped clean. “I try not to think about my failures too much.”

“Really? But you could learn so much from them,” Sumi frowns. “I mean- look at me and Doyoung. I was never into the more serious types, always went for fuck boys and younger guys- but after some soul searching, I realized I needed someone older who had their shit together.”

“You also have a thing for guys in powerful positions, and Doyoung is literally one of our managers,” you point out.

“Well, I’m still a work in progress,” Sumi winks. “Anyways- think about it. If you look at your dating patterns, you might be surprised by what you find.”

Three

There’s nothing like the air outside after being in a hot kitchen for a few hours. The lunch rush is finally over, and after having a 20 top that ordered an insane amount of food with an even crazier amount of modifications and allergies, Mark is ready to take a massive puff from his vape pen.

He stands by the back exit to the restaurant, looking out at the cars on the street as he takes a long drag. As he inhales, the door behind Mark opens, and he turns to come face-to-face with you.

The shock of seeing you makes him choke a little, and he begins to cough out a large puff of smoke. Mark’s lungs burn, and his skin feels even hotter, enflamed by the embarrassment of you seeing him take a crappy hit when in reality, he’s a vaping veteran.

“You good?” you ask, reaching out and gently rubbing his back as you step past him.

“Yeah, I, uh-” Mark’s entire body tingles at the physical contact. “Sorry, you just surprised me.”

“Didn’t mean to scare you,” you grin, stopping in front of him. He notices the way your eyes go to his vape pen, and he immediately holds it out to you.

“Want some?”

“I mean, if you’re offering.” You reach out and accept the sleek black vape. “What’s the flavor?”

“Uh… cotton candy?” God, Mark feels like a fool, especially when you raise a brow at him. “I have a bit of a sweet tooth.”

“Didn’t peg you as a sweet tooth type,” you grin, bringing the refillable device to your lips. Mark watches you take a drag, focusing on your mouth and the way you look sucking on something- he starts to imagine what you’d look like sucking on something else, something substantially bigger.

As you exhale, you cough a little, and Mark wonders if you’re doing that to make him feel better about his screw-up a moment ago- or maybe you simply don’t vape often, he’s not too sure.

“Thanks,” you say, still coughing as you hand the vape back to Mark. Your fingers brush gently as he accepts it from you, and as Mark brings the device to his mouth, he’s extremely aware of the fact that your lips had just been where his now are.

He wonders if it means anything that you’d be so willing to swap spit like this, even on something as innocent as a vape pen.

“How long are you here till?” you ask, breaking him from his daze.

“Started at seven am, eight-hour shift, should be off around three when the night cross-over guys come in,” Mark explains.

“Any fun plans for tonight?” you continue to press. “It is a Friday after all.”

“No plans, will probably just go home, make some food, and watch Netflix all night… what about you?”

You sigh. “No hot dates, unfortunately. Will probably do the same as you. Do you have any good show recommendations? I’ve been looking for something new.”

“I mean, it depends, what are you into?” Mark asks, eager to hear more about your tastes, your likes and dislikes- he knows so little about you, mostly things related to work. He’s curious about what you do in your downtime, and he’s grateful he has an opportunity like this to get to know you even a little bit better.

As you part your lips to respond, the back door swings open, and Hyuck steps out, already mid-puff of his neon orange vape.

“Oh,” the line chef grins, exhaling through his nose and flashing a grin, “Am I interrupting something?”

“No,” you respond quickly, and Mark notes the shift in your energy, “I was just leaving actually.”

“See you later,” Mark offers, watching you hurry off.

“Classic her,” Hyuck sighs, coming to stand next to Mark.

“What do you mean?”

“She’s a runner, that one,” Hyuck takes another puff from his vape.

“So you two definitely used to date,” Mark states. The interaction he’s just witnessed verifies his suspicion, and since they’re technically outside of work/the kitchen, Mark feels able to actually discuss this now.

“I don’t know if I’d call it dating,” Hyuck cocks his head to the side, eyes still fixed on you where you’re crossing the street a couple hundred feet away. “Look, do you want real talk? You wanna know about your favorite expo girl?”

“Yeah, I wanna know.” Mark lifts his vape to his lips, readying himself for whatever is about to come out of Hyuck’s mouth.

“I know she looks like sugar and sunshine, but I hate to burst your bubble Mark- she’s a bit of a fuck girl, that one.”

“It takes one to know one,” Mark points out.

“Touche, but to be fair, I never claimed to be anything other than a guy who likes pussy, and little miss sunshine knew that when we started hooking up a few months ago.” Hyuck lets out another large puff of smoke into the air. “Look, I said I’d give you real talk so here it is. She’s got a lot of expectations. Girl reads those horny romance books-”

“Erotica.”

“Yeah, that’s it, erotica.” Hyuck nods to himself. “Well, she reads erotica, and her ideas about fucking are kind of hard to make real. She’s too in her head all of the time. Apparently - and don’t repeat this anywhere - but apparently no guy she’s fucked has ever made her actually cum. She has this thing where someone told her that if a guy doesn’t make you cum, he doesn’t add to your body count, so allegedly her body count is zero and she’s a virgin, but we both know it’s a lot higher than that.”

“The whole body count thing doesn’t phase me,” Mark says quietly, although the wheels in his head are spinning.

“Sure it doesn’t,” Hyuck scoffs. “Just listen, if you’re into her, it’s not going to work out. She’s not for beginners like you.”

“Beginners like me?” Mark side eyes the line chef.

“You’re Jeno’s roommate, Jeno’s my friend- I know we’ve just met, but I know things about you.” Hyuck explains. “When you were with your last girl, Jeno used to come to the bar and bitch about you never coming out- he’s been wanting you to meet the rest of the boys for a while, but never wanted to invite us over cuz your last girlfriend had some supernatural cootchie-grip hold on you or something- point is, I know you’re a serial monogamist. Two long-term girlfriends. You like the domestic shit, and I get that- but if you want domestic, it’s not our little Miss Sunshine expo girl. She can’t even sleep next to guys she’s fucked- wakes up at five am, and dips out without a word. Trust me on this, dude, you wanna stay far away from that man-eater.”

Four

“Mark?” you ask, looking at the takeout bowl in front of you.

“Yeah?” he leans forward, lips parting as he waits for your judgment.

“Didn’t they order the spicy yogurt on the side?” You push the rice bowl forward, pointing at the lines of orange tinted cream that cover the veggies.

“Shit,” Mark cusses, grabbing the chit-paper receipt and scanning it. “There were like, three other modifications, I didn’t even see the yogurt on the side.”

“It’s okay,” you assure him. “It’s takeout, and there’s pretty much no one in the restaurant, so you have time to make another… besides, I’ll just take this one as my lunch.”

One of the perks of the job is getting to take home the food that’s not correct. You’d been dreading going to the grocery store, your fridge empty of easy meals, but now you don’t have to make the trek, and you’re more than happy about it.

“You know, Mark, you’re my favorite new chef.” He’s also the only new chef, and you’ve been reaping the rewards of minor fuck ups the past two weeks.

Mark, however, doesn’t seem to note your teasing, and he offers you a genuine smile. “You’re my favorite expo girl.”

“Yeah?” you grin. “And why’s that?”

“You’re really nice about things I mess up,” Mark’s eyes shift to the dragon bowl you’re packing up. “Like, you point things out, and you turn them good. As you said, it’s an easy fix, I have the time, and now you get to eat that.”

“It’s a mutually beneficial arrangement, that’s for sure,” you laugh.

“You’re also pretty happy most days, always makes me happy to come in and see our Little Miss Sunshine.”

“Jeeze, not you calling me that pet-name too,” you roll your eyes. Hyuck had taken to calling you that a few months ago, and somehow the title had stuck. Mark was the only chef using your real name, but it looks like those days might already be behind you.

“It fits,” Mark assures you. “I think it’s cute.”

“Does it fit because I’m cute?”

You notice the way Mark immediately swallows thickly, his skin turning a pretty shade of pink. “Uh- I mean, yeah,” his voice cracks, and he fiddles with his sleeves, pushing them up to his elbows, “you’re cute-”

“Oh my God-” you stare at his forearms, which are usually covered by his chef coat. “Have you always had all those tattoos?!”

“Did you really never notice these?” Mark looks down at his arms, lifting them so you can see the details.

“I have never noticed them,” you confirm, leaning forward. “Damn, how many tattoos do you have?!”

“A lot?” Mark’s tattoos are patchwork style, all black. They litter his forearms, and you wonder how high up the markings go- you wonder if his chest is covered, or his back- what about his legs?

“I need a tattoo tour,” you insist.

“I mean… I can’t show you all of them-” Mark says sheepishly.

“Start with that one,” you point at a tattoo of three letters near his inner elbow, “What’s SSG mean?”

“So uh- the first restaurant I worked in, a few of us dishwashers worked our way into the kitchen with no formal training or anything- just started at the bottom, and went up from there. One of us came up with the idea of being the Soapy Suds Gang, like- dishwashers to chefs. Was at that restaurant from the age of fifteen to twenty, and when it closed down cuz the owners just didn’t wanna be in the business anymore, me and all the others got the matching SSG tattoo.”

Mark is adorable. Like, shockingly so. It’s such a stupid yet endearing story- and for some reason, it feels so on-brand for Mark.

He begins to tell you about a few other tattoos. There’s a shotgun to commemorate his years playing Call of Duty online with friends. A cartoon puppy because apparently his mom never let him get a dog - something about him not being able to handle it if the dog ever died - so when he turned eighteen, he got a dog that could never bite the bullet, etched into his skin with black ink.

All the marks have meaning, stories that make up the groundwork of Mark’s life.

“What about that one?” you ask, noting a King of Hearts tattoo that he’d skipped over.

“Oh, uh…” Mark rubs the back of his neck shyly. “My ex-girlfriend wanted a Queen of Hearts tattoo, so I got this one, and… I mean, I don’t regret it, I was with the girl for three years- but, it’s not a tattoo I talk about too often.”

“Three years?” you ask in shock. “You were with your last girlfriend for three years?”

“Why do you sound so shocked?”

“It’s just- I mean,” you lick your lips, leaning in so Mark’s the only one who can hear you, “I hate to say it, Mark, but you look like a total fuck boy.”

“I’m really not,” Mark admits.

“Even before your last ex?”

“Even before,” the line chef confirms. “I’ve got two ex-girlfriends. The last one ended about a year ago, dated her from age twenty-two to twenty-five. Had a girlfriend from when I was sixteen to twenty-one-”

“So a three-year relationship and a five-year relationship?”

This gossip keeps getting juicier and juicier.

“Yeah. The first one moved to another country to teach English, and I’ve never been that into long distance. We tried to make it work, but we agreed the best thing was to let each other go. Then the last girl decided she wanted more from life than some line chef so…” Mark trails off and you feel your heart hurt for him. “Anyways, what about you? How many relationships have you had?”

“A lot more than you,” you answer quickly, although, that’s only if you count one-night stands, flings, and situationships, but you won’t go into those details with Mark right now. “I mean… are you looking for anything right now?”

“What do you mean?” Mark cocks his head to the side.

“You didn’t hear it from me, but… a few of the waitresses are into you,” you whisper.

“Really?” he looks past you at the restaurant, and you see him trail Luna with his eyes. “That’s nice and everything, but waitresses really aren’t my type.”

“Then what’s your type?”

“Expo girls.”

His words hit you in your chest, and you can feel your pulse quicken immediately.

“I mean-” Mark’s skin has returned to that pretty pink colour. “My first girlfriend- the five-year one, she was the expo girl when I met her- we got close cuz we spent so much time together. I didn’t mean you- I wasn’t trying to hit on you or anything- not that I don’t think you’re cute, cuz you’re definitely cute- fuck.”

You watch him, smiling and completely amused. It appears you’d read the new line chef all wrong. He’s not a fuck boy, he’s a lover boy, and you kind of adore that about him.

“I should uh- I need to remake this dragon bowl-” Mark turns away from you, and you watch him scurry off to the fridge to grab vegetables.

You’re kind of hoping to tease him so more when he returns, but before he does, Doyoung appears from the back, and he waves you over. “It’s been dead for half an hour,” your manager notes, “you’re cut. Head home, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Five

Mark hasn’t been able to stop thinking about your conversation. All night, he’d had you on his mind- and he’d kind of been hoping to get to talk to you today, but you have the day shift and this is one of his first nights scheduled.

Even so, Mark arrives to work thirty minutes early just on the off chance he’ll catch you, and as he’s waiting outside the backdoor, hitting his vape, his hopes come true.

You step out of the back of the restaurant, looking down at your phone. The jacket you’re wearing today is vibrant in contrast to your all-black uniform, and the comfy sneakers you always put on after your shift in flats are beginning to look a little worn out now that winter is almost over.

“Hi,” Mark says, drawing your attention.

“Oh,” you put your phone into your pocket, offering him a smile. “Hey- you just starting?”

“In ten minutes or so,” the line chef nods. “I uh- I wanted to apologize for yesterday.”

“Apologize for what?” You cock your head to the side.

“All of it?” Mark suggests.

You laugh, and the sound does things to Mark that he’ll never be able to express. “Seriously, we’re all good,” you assure him. “I think you’re pretty cute too, so, don’t worry about any of it.”

Mark’s mouth feels dry, and it’s not just from the vaping. He fiddles with the device in his hand, working up the courage to say what’s on his mind. “I was wondering- I mean, it sounds like you’re still on the market and all- so I was thinking, maybe, if you’d like- maybe we can go out sometime, or something- but no pressure.”

Your smile widens, and you step closer to him. “What would going out with you look like?”

“Honestly…” Mark swallows thickly, “it would look more like staying in. Since we both work in a restaurant- or maybe it’s just a ‘me thing’, but I’m not super into drinks as a first date, or even food- I’m a bit of a homebody. I’d love for you to just come over, watch some netflix, talk- that sort of shit.”

You look him up and down, and Mark’s body tenses as he waits for your response.

“That actually sounds pretty nice,” you admit. “Here, give me your hand.”

Mark holds out his palm, watching you pull out a Sharpie from your pocket. You write your phone number across his skin. “Careful,” you say, as you draw the last digit, “Don’t wash this off or anything.”

“I won’t,” he assures you, already planning on taking a picture of it with his phone just in case.

“I should get going, but yeah- text me when your shift is over and we can figure something out.”

“You got it,” Mark grins, unable to hold in his excitement any longer. “Have a good night.”

“You too.”

With one final exchange of eye contact that makes Mark’s heart lurch in his chest, you walk off, the line chef’s eyes following you all the way out of sight.

As he turns to head inside, Mark bumps into Hyuck. “Don’t go in just yet,” Hyuck insists, “stay out here and vape with me for a minute.”

It’s hard for Mark to focus on anything Hyuck is saying about the afternoon rush, but he manages to nod and make sounds of affirmation while his coworker rants about some party of fifteen that walked in and only ordered appetizers.

“Mark, you’re not paying attention,” Hyuck sighs.

“Sorry, I’m just kind of-” Mark swallows the lump in his throat, “yeah, I’m distracted.”

“Got a hot date?”

“What?” Mark looks up.

“Someone wrote their digits on your hand,” Hyuck grabs at Mark’s wrist, “let’s see-”

Mark tries his best to pull away, but Hyuck’s already assessing the phone number. After a moment, the younger man lets go, his mouth forming a firm line. “I warned you about her.”

Mark’s surprised that Hyuck - who has the memory of a goldfish most days - clearly recognizes your phone number.

“I told you she’s not for beginners.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t have to listen to you,” Mark insists. “And not everything is about fucking. She’s gonna come over, we’re gonna watch movies- nothing has to happen. I just want to know her better.”

“Lover boy,” Hyuck scoffs, “she’s going to eat you up, and spit you back out.”

“And if she does, then that’s my choice,” Mark says firmly. “I know she fucked you over or whatever, but that doesn’t mean anything to me, Hyuck. I’m sorry, but I really don’t care about what happened between the two of you.”

“Ouch, dude.”

“If she’s as bad as you say, then you can say you told me so when this is all over. Deal?”

“Deal.”

Six

“So this is Jeno’s famous fuck pad,” you tease, stepping into Mark’s apartment and looking around.

“Uh, he doesn’t actually bring girls here that often,” Mark says, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “He likes to go to their place, makes it easier to run than kicking a girl out the next morning, you know?”

“I suppose that makes sense,” you nod… you usually fuck guys in their homes for the same reason. “It’s a nice place.”

“Thanks, my ex had a lot to do with the decor and shit.” Now that Mark mentions it, the vibe definitely doesn’t scream ‘boy’, and it especially doesn't scream ‘home of a line chef and bartender.’

The cream-colored couch in the living room has pretty sage pillows, there’s a tasteful rug under a circular coffee table. On the table are three candles varying in size, as well as a design book that you’d bet has never been opened or looked at in detail by the men who live here.

It’s a comfortable home, but you wonder what it feels like for Mark to live in a space that constantly reminds him of an ex who ditched him for not having his own shit together.

“I didn’t realize Jeno was a tidy guy,” you note, thinking back to the line of dirty cups he always allows to build up in the bar dish area.

“He’s not, but I am.” Mark enters the living room, and he takes a seat on the couch, kicking his legs up onto a small puff stool next to the coffee table. “I guess when you work on the line, you’re used to doing little clean-up jobs to keep everything smooth. I don’t mind moving two or three beer cans to the sink every day if it means there aren’t any piles building.”

So he’s a sexy line chef, with tattoos, who likes long-term relationships, and also cleans up his home? Mark really is a catch amongst flounders.

“Are you going to come sit?” Mark asks, noting the way you stand at the edge of the room. “Or, shit, should I offer you a drink first? We’ve got beer, or I could make you a cocktail or something-”

“I’m good, just… getting used to this.”

It feels kind of odd to be with Mark in a casual setting. You’ve only ever seen him in a professional manner, with an expo station between you both- now, Mark is right in front of you, and as you sit on the couch next to him, you’re hyper-aware of the way your thighs almost touch.

“So… Netflix?” you ask.

“Yeah,” Mark grabs the remote, the sleeve of his hoodie pushed up so you can see his forearms.

“You still haven’t given me a full tattoo tour,” you tease, reaching out to gently trace the puppy etched against his skin.

“Maybe that’s a date number two sort of thing,” Mark suggests, tugging the fabric down to cover his skin.

Your grin widens. “Do I make you nervous, puppy boy?”

“Definitely,” he lets out a shy laugh, and you watch his Adam’s apple bob with the effort of swallowing. “So uh… what do you wanna watch?”

You let out a sigh, relaxing back against the couch. “Surprise me.”

“Well, there’s this anime I’ve been wanting to get into-” Mark finds the show in his ‘to watch’ list.

“Let's do it.”

“Really? You’re down?”

“Uh huh, I’m not that picky,” you nod, offering him a smile.

“It can be…” he starts the first episode, “like- if you wanna keep doing this sort of thing, it could be our show.”

“That actually sounds nice,” you admit. You suppose it shouldn’t be a shock that Mark is thinking long term- you do work together after all, but when you’d been seeing Hyuck, every day was a question of longevity. Would he call? Would he not call?

Hyuck never talked in definitives. He never made promises. The only true thing you could count on was seeing him at work three of five days of the week when your schedules aligned, and he never locked himself in for any more than that.

“Should I-” Mark licks his lips, “I mean, finding a show was way easier than I thought it would be. Do you want a drink? I’ve got chips?”

“I’m okay, but if you want something, you should grab it.”

“I’m good if you’re good,” Mark mutters, leaning back against the couch. Your shoulders are touching, and you’re already finding it difficult to focus on the tv screen as the anime begins to play.

You’re aware of each breath, each slight shift of Mark’s body. “Are you comfortable?” he asks after a short while.

“I mean, we could probably find a more comfortable position than this one,” you note.

“Like… do you wanna cuddle?”

“If you want to, I’d be up for that.”

“Okay, one sec,” Mark turns, grabbing at the back cushion of the couch. He tosses it to the side. “I can big spoon you.”

In under a minute, Mark is settling behind you, pillows are adjusted, and a gentle hand finds your hip. You wiggle slightly, trying to get snug against the line chef’s chest.

“Is this good?” he asks, his breath ghosting by your ear.

“It’s nice, but let me just…” you grab his hand, threading your fingers and bringing it up to your chest, so you’re truly wrapped in his embrace. You can feel his heart against your spine, and you can hear the way his breath catches. “That’s better,” you let out a sigh of relief.

The anime is fun, but you’re much too focused on Mark. Something tells you he’s quite focused on you as well, and finally, your patience snaps. You roll onto your back, looking up at him.

“You good?” he prompts.

“Uh huh. Just thinking.”

“About?”

You shrug. “I guess maybe I’m just wondering what work is going to be like tomorrow.”

“Hopefully busy.”

You laugh at how innocent Mark can be. “I mean in terms of cuddling with you tonight, then working together in the morning.”

“I mean… how was it with Hyuck when you two were seeing each other?”

Your heart clenches. “Oh… he uh… he told you about that, huh?”

“Mentioned it once or twice.”

“All good things, I hope?”

“For the most part,” Mark nods. “But just so you know- I don’t take everything Hyuck says seriously. You two had something going on, but every relationship is different. I’m sure you have your own side to the story. I know you’re a good person - that’s what my heart tells me at least - so that’s what I’m going off of.”

You stare up at the line chef. The man you’d pegged as a fuck boy, who is turning out to be the farthest thing from a womanizer that you’ve ever met.

You can’t help but reach up and cup his face. There aren’t words that come to mind, but you hope your expression shows your gratitude for his kindness.

Mark’s gaze dips to your mouth, and you watch the way he sucks his bottom lip between his teeth, gnawing on his slightly. “So no pressure or anything,” he says, voice cracking, “but uh… can I kiss you?”

“You can kiss me,” you confirm, staying still and waiting for the precious man to make his move. Part of you is scared to take control- you’re worried about scaring Mark off, like you’d scare off a wild bird with one wrong muscle twitch.

You’re still cupping his face, and Mark mirrors the act, gently cupping your cheek. He looks down at you, searching your eyes for a moment. You wonder if he’s looking for any hesitation, any sign that you regret your affirmative answer. Then he looks at your lips, and you can see some of the tension leave his body.

In fact, you see the exact moment Mark decides to give in to his desires. His lips part ever so slightly, his brown eyes shyly meeting your own as he begins to move in closer-

As his mouth presses to your own, you realize this might be the softest kiss a man has ever bestowed upon you. He’s not trying to shove his tongue down your throat- not biting at your lip and asking for entrance. It’s a simple brush of lips on lips, and it leaves you wanting more.

Your hand finds the back of his neck, and you drag him closer, letting out a small mewl. You capture his bottom lip between your own, suckling on it gently-

Mark pulls away, and your eyes open. You’re disappointed, but when you notice Mark breathing heavily, your annoyance dissipates.

“Was that okay?” you ask, worrying that maybe you’d been going too fast for the soft man.

“Yeah- better than okay,” he assures you.

“Can we… can you kiss me again?”

“Uh huh,” he nods, leaning back down to press his lips against your own. His hand finds your hip, and you play with the hair at the nape of his neck. The kiss is just as gentle as the first, but the passion begins to burn brighter with each passing second.

No one has ever kissed you like this.

You can’t explain it- but in a matter of moments, your attraction to Mark has grown tenfold.

When he breaks away from you for a second time, you’re both breathing heavily. You open your eyes to stare up at the pretty line chef, watching him swallow thickly.

“Should we uh… should we keep paying attention to the show?” he asks.

“Yeah,” you say after a moment’s hesitation. “Yeah, we should.” You roll onto your side again, and Mark settles against your back. He tucks you closer, his fingers threading through yours.

It’s impossible to focus now, and you begin to wiggle slightly, pressing your ass back against the front of his jeans.

“Are you uncomfortable?” Mark asks, letting go of your hand to grab your hip, steadying you.

“I’m fine- I’m just…” - unbelievably horny - “you’re a good kisser.”

He lets out a small laugh. “Thanks. I liked kissing you too.”

“So…” you look over your shoulder at him, “wanna kiss me again?”

Mark grins, leaning forward to press a chaste kiss to your lips.

As with the first two times, Mark pulls away much too fast for your liking.

Your head is spinning. You’ve never experienced a situation like this. Mark is being respectful- he’s keeping his hands in PG locations, and the kisses have involved zero tongue- does he not like you as much as you like him?

How much do you like this line chef?

Do you like him because he’s not completely fawning over you like you’re used to?

What is going on?!

“I just want you to know,” Mark says, “it sounds like you’re used to fuck boys and shit, and I uh- well, I’m not like them. There’s no pressure to get naked or anything today-” his voice hitches, “in fact, Jeno will be home soonish so it’s better if we don’t-”

“You don’t want to fuck me?”

Mark tenses behind you. “That’s not what I’m saying.”

“If we move to your room, Jeno won’t walk in on us.”

“It’s not about that,” Mark assures you. “Look, I want to take my time with you. This is our first date. I want things to feel right. I want to do this right. Can you understand that?”

You think maybe you’re too horny to want to understand it.

You want to tear Mark’s clothes off. You want to push him down and ride him until he’s gasping your name and filling you with his cum. You want to feel him still dripping out of you when you go into work tomorrow morning-

No one has ever made you wait. You’re much too impatient for playing around- and your past lovers have been the same way.

Even so, you respect the boundary Mark has just expressed. “No fucking tonight,” you agree, “I get that. It’s for the better.”

However, it’s not for the better of your throbbing pussy.

Seven

God, Mark can’t take his eyes off of you. It’s been two hours since you arrived on shift, and Mark has been distracted for all of it.

You look adorable today. Your black outfit hugs your body just right, and Mark’s mind is consistently wandering to last night, when his hands had traced your hips before lacing your fingers-

When you speak, he finds his focus shifting to your lips- those pretty lips he’d kissed. The lips that had left him wanting more- the lips he’d thought about for hours after you’d gone home. He’d dreamt of kissing you, but it had fallen quite short to the real thing.

You’d sounded hurt when Mark had said you shouldn’t fuck last night, and part of Mark regrets drawing the line in the sand. But on the other hand, Mark had meant it when he said it wasn’t the right time.

He doesn’t want to bed you after watching a few episodes of anime. You deserve so much more than that.

Besides, if he had fucked you last night, Mark might have needed to take a sick day just to calm down. Even now, knowing he’s tasted your lips has his skin heating every time he looks at you.

God, you’ve got him practically bewitched.

As the lunch rush comes to an end, Mark finds time to go outside and vape. He watches the cars pass while he puffs on his device, closing his eyes and imagining your lips.

As his little break is coming to an end, the door hinges squeak behind him, and Mark turns to find you standing there.

“Oh, hi,” you grin.

“Hey.” He looks you up and down. “You leaving?”

“Doyoung cut me again, it’s been slow this week,” you nod.

Mark swallows thickly. He can’t help the way his gaze dips to your lips again.

You step forward, smiling. “You wanna kiss me again, don’t cha, Mark?”

He doesn’t even bother responding. He slips his vape into his pocket, grabbing your hips to tug you closer. As he brings his mouth down to yours, he pauses for a second, meeting your gaze. If you want to pull away, he gives you ample time, but instead, you wrap your arms around the back of his neck, closing the distance between your lips.

You take more control today than last night. You lick at his lower lip, not doing too much tongue, but providing just enough that it has Mark’s skin tingling with need. His fingers dig against your hips, pulling you tighter.

The kiss deepens, and Mark’s entire heart lurches in his chest when you let out a pleased mewling sound.

Fuck, he loves your sounds already- you sound so fucking pretty-

“Jesus.” Head Chef John’s voice makes Mark practically jump, and he tears his lips away from your own, eyes immediately finding his boss, who’s standing by the exit door. “Damn, newbie, you work fast, don’t you?”

Mark’s skin feels like it’s on fire, and he’s quick to let go of your hips, stepping away and running an awkward hand through his hair, “Chef-”

“Don’t tease him, Johnny,” you sigh. “You nearly gave Mark a heart attack sneaking up on us like that.”

“I’m shocked neither of you heard the door.”

“We were busy!” you insist, raising your voice in jest at the head chef.

Mark is shocked at the way you talk so easily with his boss. But he supposes you’ve been at the restaurant for over a year- maybe you’re closer with the tall head chef than Mark realized.

“Look, I’ll say what I said when Hyuck was trying to get with you, sunshine,” Johnny grins, reaching into his pocket to pull out a jacked-up vape pen. “As long as you use protection we’re good, I can’t have my line chefs becoming fathers and taking time off.”

“And I’ll say what I said last time you told me to wrap it: never gonna happen.”

“IUD’s aren’t a hundred percent viable,” Johnny points out, making Mark nearly choke on air.

“Mine has been so far, so stick it old man.” You turn to Mark, “Don’t mind him, he’s protective.”

“I was protective with Hyuck, because he’s a douchebag, but Mark seems okay,” Johnny laughs.

“Thanks?” Mark can’t believe what he’s hearing.

“Listen, I’ll text you okay?” You grab the front of Mark’s apron, pulling him in so you can press a chaste kiss to his cheek. “Have a good rest of your shift.”

Mark watches you dart off. He’s tongue-tied, skin still flaring, heart racing in his chest.

“She’s a good one,” Johnny muses. “Best expo girl we have. Don’t fuck it up, Mark, I’ll fire you before we get rid of her.”

“Trust me,” Mark coughs, “I wasn’t planning on fucking things up any time soon.”

Eight

In the year you’ve had your solo apartment, you’ve not had any guys over. Your MO is to go to the man’s place so you can dip out whenever you get anxious or tired. Inviting a man over to your safe space woman sanctuary is new. The nervousness is manifesting physically; you’re fussing over the overswept floor and the frill on your couch blanket when Mark texts you that he’s arrived.

With one final breath, you head down to the lobby to let Mark in.

He’s in blue jeans and a black hoodie that sets off the blonde tone of his hair. You’ve been meaning to ask him about who does his bleach out, but you know men can be touchy about their physical appearance and certain body modifications, so you’ve been holding yourself back.

He looks good. That’s all that really matters.

“Hey,” Mark grins as you open the door, pulling you into a hug.

“Hey, yourself,” you smile back, pulling away from the embrace to lead Mark to the elevator. You can hear the line chef following you, and you suddenly feel self-conscious about your building.

“It’s a nice place,” Mark notes, as if he can read your mind. “New build?”

“I think it’s been here like three or four years? I moved in last winter.”

“Right,” he nods, coming to a stop next to you as you hit the button to call the elevator.

You can feel him staring at you, and it’s making you even more nervous. “What?” you ask, letting out a short laugh.

“Nothing, you just uh… you look cute.”

“I’m literally in PJ’s.” Your gaze dips to your simple fuzzy purple shorts, and the tank top you’re wearing.

“But they’re nice. I’ve only ever seen you in work outfits, and when you came over last time you were in jeans. You look cute dressed down like this.”

You’d been worried about being so casual with Mark- dressing for comfort instead of the need to impress, but it seems you’ve succeeded in both comfortability and making a good impression.

“Thank you,” you smile, your insides practically glowing from the compliment. No other man has seen you this way and called you cute- it’s one of the reasons you usually dip out from a man after sex. There’s no comfort or getting comfortable- your other relationships have always been rigid, a push pull and need to be perfect at all times in order to be deserving of attention.

You make it up to your floor, and another wave of anxiety washes over you as you let Mark into your small apartment. “It’s not much,” you sigh, “but it’s home.”

Mark slips off his sneakers by your door, looking around. “No, I like it,” he assures you. “No roommates kicking around- I bet living alone is pretty relaxing.”

“It can be, but it’s also lonely at times,” you admit.

“Well, if you get lonely here, you can always call me and I can come entertain you.”

Mark’s words give an air of longevity. He sounds certain about this, as if it’s a given that he’s part of your life now, as if he’s not going anywhere.

You’re not sure what to make of Mark. You’ve never really had steady consistency from a man- but he seems so sincere, it makes you want to be hopeful, and hope can be a dangerous thing for a girl like you.

“So uh… can I get you something to drink?” you ask. “We’re just watching anime right?”

“I’m good. If I get thirsty, I’ll let you know,” Mark assures you, taking a seat on the couch in your living room. “Should we uh… should I move some of these pillows so we can cuddle again?”

You grin, pouring yourself a cup of water. “If you want to cuddle, we can cuddle.”

“I want to cuddle,” Mark states, immediately grabbing at the cushions and rearranging your space to allow for you both to lie down.

He’s adorable. Laying down in front of him already feels kind of natural. The way he grabs your hip and tugs you close to his chest has your heart singing, and his breath against the back of your neck is as familiar as anything.

Not much needs to be said as you start your anime. You’re simply enjoying the comfortability of companionship- companionship lacking any pressures or timeframes. You’re two souls sharing your moments together.

It’s a different feeling for your mind to go blank while you’re with Mark. You’re shocked by how safe you feel in his embrace.

You talk here and there, the two of you discussing moments in the anime, but conversation doesn’t get much deeper than that. You actually kind of enjoy not having to use your brain, and you’re definitely enjoying the warmth of the man behind you.

“I’m uh, gonna take my hoodie off,” Mark tells you, shifting slightly.

“Okay.” You give him space, turning to look over your shoulder as he lifts the fabric off his body, revealing the white tshirt below. “Wait, can you give me a deeper tattoo tour now?”

“Uh…”

“You said you’d give me a proper tour on the second date,” you tease, hooking your finger in the neck of his shirt and gently pulling, giving yourself a tiny peak of marked skin along his collarbones.

“I guess I did say that, didn’t I?” Mark laughs sheepishly. “Okay,” he takes a deep breath, sitting up again and grabbing the hem of his shirt.

As Mark reveals his chest to you, you’re a little taken aback by what you see.

Generally, you’re pretty good at guessing a man’s build under his clothing, but Mark is much more toned than you thought he would be. It’s clear he works out, and the muscles you see are amplified by tasteful placement of tattoos littering his torso.

“Where do I even start?” Mark asks, looking down at himself.

“Wherever you want to.” You turn to face him, anime forgotten in the background.

He brushes his own fingers across one of the ferns decorating his collarbones. “These are my mom’s favourite plant.”

“Her favourite plant?” you grin.

“Yeah, I know, most moms have a favourite flower, but my mom kind of really likes ferns.”

“Sounds like you’re close with her,” you note.

“I’m a complete mama’s boy,” Mark admits with a laugh, which is when your gaze lands on a heart with the word ‘Mom’ tattooed on his ribs.

“I see that.” You reach out and gently brush the mark.

The line chef shivers under your touch, the muscles in his abdomen jumping deliciously. You wonder how ticklish he is.

“Then this one,” Mark touches the moth blooming out from his sternum, “was just really cool and the artist needed someone to practice on, so I said, let’s do it, fuck me up.”

You grin at his choice of words. Mark can be kind of reserved at work, it’s interesting to hear his dirty mouth now that you’re alone.

You kind of love listening to him as he continues with the tour, tracing the lined patch work. Each mark is another story or detail about the line chef you’re starting to fall for, and you commit his words to memory.

He’s done the tour of his tattoos much too fast for your liking. You trace the last of the marks, a dagger on his bicep.

Laying on your back with Mark on his side next to you, things feel very intimate, especially now that his focus has shifted away from his tattoos and is solidly fixed on you.

His hand finds your abdomen, and he gently lines the curve of your hip with his fingers.

Neither of you say anything, caught in the peaceful quiet and moments of mutual discovery.

His fingers brush by your rib cage, and you’re struck by the need for more. Gently placing your hand over his, you prompt him up higher, until his palm is placed over your breast. You sneak a glance at Mark, noticing the way he swallows thickly.

“Are you a boobs man, Mark?”

“I mean… who isn’t?”

You grin at his answer. “Should I take my shirt off? It’s only fair, right? Yours is off.”

“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do,” he assures you.

“I want to take my shirt off.”

“Then take your shirt off,” he says quietly.

You sit up, quickly discarding the fabric before laying back down again. Now you’re just in a bra and PJ shorts. Mark sucks in a breath, his hand finding your bare hip. Once again, you have to guide his touch up to your breast. This time, when he squeezes you, his thumb rubs over the swell of plump flesh.

You can feel your nipple hardening with interest, pressing against the cup of your bra. “We should take this off next,” you suggest, grabbing at your strap.

“Yeah?” Mark’s eyes widen as he looks at you, his lips parting as he breathes heavier.

“I mean, unless you want me to keep it on?”

“Like I said,” the line chef brushes his thumb over your skin again, “do whatever makes you most comfortable.”

You sit up again, reaching behind your back to undo the clasp. For a moment, you pause. This is a line you won't be able to uncross. You’re about to show your coworker your boobs. Your sweet, honest, adorable, line chef coworker, who gazes at you with stars in his eyes- your fuck boy look alike secret softie-

You undo your bra, throwing it off the couch before laying flat again. This time, you don’t have to prompt Mark’s hand, he gently traces his fingers up your ribs until he’s cupping your breast. He watches you tentatively, sucking his lower lip into his mouth as his thumb brushes over your hardened nipple.

“You’re so pretty,” he whispers.

“You think so?”

“I know so,” Mark says, firmly this time.

“Come here,” you reach up to cup the back of his neck, drawing his lips to yours. He kisses you like he’s afraid you might break, but when you whimper, he responds with a groan, deepening the passion as his tongue glides against your own.

His hand kneads your breast, making you moan again, pushing up toward his palm. You can feel the desire growing between your legs as he kisses you, and you reach out to trace his chest. Your touch begins to lower, fingers grazing over his abdomen-

Mark breaks the kiss, nuzzling against your jaw to prompt your face to the side so he can access your throat. He peppers your skin in soft kisses, slowly descending until he reaches your collar bones-

You realize what he’s about to do and tangle your fingers through his soft blonde hair, pushing your chest up in silent affirmation. “Mark-” you whimper, rewarded when his wet lips wrap around your nipple.

Fuck, he feels so good-

Has anyone ever felt this good?

Maybe it’s the waiting- the going slow, or maybe it’s just the fact that Mark makes you feel safe, but regardless, each touch, each brush of his lips and tongue, has you mewling. You’re pretty sure you’ve soaked through your panties at this point, your pussy practically throbbing with each flick of his wet muscle against your pebbled nipple.

“Mark?” you whisper, tightening your grip in his hair. “Are you…” you swallow thickly. “Are you going to fuck me?”

The line chef pulls away from your breast, looking up at you with dark chocolate eyes. “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do-”

“What if I want this?”

“I usually don’t sleep with girls on the second date-”

“Make an exception?” you plead.

You haven’t been fucked in a few weeks, and you’re feeling desperate. You want to connect with Mark on that physical level, and sex is always the way you do that with men. You want him to feel good, to give him a reason to stick around like he says he will.

“But wait-” you feel your skin heat, “I have something I should tell you first.”

Mark cocks his head to the side, waiting for you to continue.

“I uh… I’m going to be super real with you right now.” You take a deep breath. “Look, I read a lot of smut? That’s like- I read a lot of erotica, written porn, I guess- and, in smut, and porn especially, girls always just cum so easily- and I wish I was that type of person, but I’m not. No guy has ever… you know, gotten me there. What I’m trying to say is, I can have fun even without cumming. So if I can’t get there with you, it’s not you, it’s literally me-”

“Hey,” Mark reaches up to cup your cheek, cutting off your rambling. “Thanks for telling me, but there’s no pressure. Whatever happens, happens. For some girls, you have to get more comfortable. My first girlfriend was like that too, and there’s never any judgement from me. I’m willing to wait for you to feel safe enough that your body relaxes.”

“You are?”

“I’m not going anywhere,” he assures you. “I mean, I can’t promise that I’ll be as good as the guys in your books or in porn. Dirty talk is something I have to get used to using too, but, if we give it time, I’m sure we’ll figure each other out.”

You search his eyes, processing what he’s just said. Then you give him a small nod. “That sounds good to me.”

“Good.” He leans forward, pressing his lips to yours. “But, if we’re going to do this, I’d like for us to go to your bedroom, if that’s okay.”

“Yeah, of course.” You sit up, getting off the couch quickly while Mark follows. As you get to the door of your bedroom, you look over your shoulder, snaking your fingers into your shorts and pulling them down.

“Fuck-” Mark groans, eyes taking in your body.

You can see a half chub pressing against the denim of his blue jeans, and your pussy throbs again. “Come on, puppy boy,” you tease.

He’s quick to catch you, wrapping his arms around you and pressing his chest to your back. His lips find your neck and you giggle, moving toward your bed while dragging the line chef with you.

“You’re so pretty,” Mark groans, tracing your curves with one hand while the other reaches to grab your breast.

Turning in his arms, you press your lips to his, enjoying the way each kiss gets deeper. He’s relaxing against you, his tongue exploring you more and more.

When you make it to the bed, he gently prompts you to sit down. You look up at Mark, watching him take in your form. “How did I get this lucky?” he asks.

“You asked me out,” you remind him. “So you did this all yourself, Mark.”

“Did I?” he grins, sinking to the floor.

You’re surprised by the new position, surprised by the way he gently parts your knees, his gaze finding your hot core.

“Can I take these off?” he questions, gently tugging at your panties.

“Yeah-” you whisper.

Most guys don’t eat you out as an appetizer. In fact, you have to ask most men to go down on you- but here’s Mark, doing it all of his own accord. And he looks so needy- in the best possible way.

Mark slips your panties down your legs, and then his lips find your calf. He begins kissing up your skin, spreading your thighs to accommodate him.

“You don’t have to-” Your words are lost when he presses a kiss to your clit.

“Don’t have to what?” Mark asks, looking up at you.

“Don’t have to eat me out-”

“I want to eat you out,” he confirms. “I’ll eat you out for as long as you want me to- but, when you need more, just say something, and I’ll give you anything you want.”

“Really?”

“Uh huh,” Mark hums, immediately pressing his mouth against your core again. He licks a wet stripe of your pussy, and it makes your legs twitch on his shoulders.

You relax against the mattress, closing your eyes and focusing on the feeling of Mark pleasuring you. Your fingers tangle in his hair, keeping him where you need him. He focuses on your clit, circling it and toying with it.

It feels amazing- it does, but there’s some sort of mental block in your brain. You wish you could just cum from this, but the more you think about that, the more you distract yourself from Mark. God, you almost feel bad making him eat you out like this- he’s not getting anything-

The overthinking is something you’re used to, and try as you might to talk yourself down from the ledge of sexual issues, you can’t relax. You can’t focus on Mark, and it frustrates you to no end.

Finally, after what feels like hours of him eating you out - although it must only be a few minutes - you gently tug his hair. “Want your cock now,” you tell him.

“Yeah?” Mark wipes his hand across his mouth, looking up at you with pupils blown from lust.

“Please,” you nod.

“Should I uh- should I grab a condom?”

You’re quick to shake your head. “We’re both clean right?”

“Yeah-”

“I have an IUD, remember? I want you to cum inside of me.”

Mark draws in a shaky breath. You watch him swallow thickly, then he stands up, undoing his blue jeans. When he pushes down his pants, he moves his underwear too, and just like that, your favourite line chef is standing naked in front of you.

He’s got a pretty cock. It’s girthy, cut, and must be around seven or so inches. The tip is curved slightly to his left, and it’s leaking precum even though you’ve hardly touched him.

Did Mark really get that turned on just from eating you out?

“Come here,” you offer him a small smile, shifting up your bed until your head reaches the pillows. You open your arms for Mark, watching him press a knee onto the mattress and approach you. Your legs wrap around his hips, and you drag him into a kiss.

The kiss is passionate, but there’s a tentative energy to it as Mark’s cock presses between your pussy lips, collecting the juice and saliva that’s congregated there.

“Are you sure about this?” Mark asks, panting against your mouth.

You open your eyes to look up at him, nodding.

“I uh… I need to hear you say yes.”

“Yes, Mark, I’m sure about this,” you say, trailing your fingers through his hair. “Please, I want you.”

He searches your eyes, then, with a final nod, he kisses you again. One of his hands slides between your bodies, and you feel him line his cock up with your core. Your legs tighten around his hips, and it’s something like a united effort when his length sinks into your pussy.

You both groan against each other’s lips. The kissing stops, but you remain close enough that your noses are touching. His breath is hot against your skin, and he begins to fuck you slowly, his cock filling you perfectly.

“You feel so good,” Mark groans.

All you can do is moan in response, drawing his lips back to yours while he fucks you.

You get lost in the feeling of him, and the kissing does aid in calming down your tumultuous thoughts. You can focus on the pleasure that thrums through you with each thrust, the way his cock glides against your inner walls and stretches you out.

Mark grabs your hand, interlocking your fingers and pressing you against the bed, his hips working faster. His tongue is eager against your own, and he eats up your soft whimpers. His groans and grunts of effort make your soul sing, your heart beating quickly in your breast.

“Shit,” Mark pulls away from the kiss, looking down at you. “It’s been a minute since I’ve- since I’ve slept with anyone,” he admits. “I’m uh… pretty close.”

“Want you to cum,” you tell him.

“Yeah?”

“Please- want you to fill me up-”

Mark groans, pressing his lips against your own. You kiss him desperately, tightening your legs around his hips. He squeezes your hand, his groans muffled by your mouth.

His hips work faster and faster- then, all at once, he kind of just stops. You can feel his cock throbbing inside of you, and his grip on your hand is tight as he coats your insides with his cum.

You hold him through his high, your free hand petting his hair while he brings his lips to your neck, panting desperately and kissing your skin.

He lets out a sigh of relief as he finishes. Mark pulls away from your throat, looking down at you. You can tell there’s something he wants to say, but it’s clear that he’s not able to find the right words. “I, uh…” he licks his lips. “Should I grab you a tissue or something?”

“Yes, please,” you laugh, letting go of him so he can get off the bed. You watch him look around your room, finding your tissues on the nightstand.

His legs are as covered in patchwork tattoos as the rest of him, and you’re pleased that the tour will continue another day. He hands you the tissue. “Do you want to use the bathroom first?”

“You can go for it, I just need a second,” you tell him.

Mark nods, pressing one last kiss to your lips before he leaves your bedroom.

You lay there in bed, holding the tissue between your legs to capture any of the cum beginning to leak out of you.

You’re glad Mark got to cum. You’re not surprised you hadn’t. You just hope maybe one day you will get there, and for some reason, you have a hunch Mark will be the one to achieve an orgasm for you. Or at least, you hope he will.

Nine

“So did you do it?”

“Hmm?” Mark looks up from the chicken he’s cutting.

“You had your second date with Sunshine last night, right?” Hyuck presses. “So…. did you do it? Did you make her cum, or what?”

“Why are you so obsessed with this?” Mark sighs, looking at the other side of the kitchen where John is working. “We shouldn’t be talking about this here.”

“Nah, this is the perfect place to talk about it,” Hyuck leans against the work station, his back to the head chef. “So I’m guessing you didn’t make her cum.”

“Is that all you were thinking about every time you fucked her?” Mark asks.

“Duh.”

“Did you ever stop to think that maybe that’s the kind of mentality that would make a girl overthink the situation?” Mark shakes his head. “I bet you would watch her super intently and then just ask her to cum.”

“That’s a move, Mark, it’s called having rizz.”

“But it never worked, so was it really rizz, or were you just fucking yourself over?”

Hyuck narrows his eyes. “So now you’re the expert on making girls cum?”

Over Hyuck’s shoulder, John stops what he’s doing and turns to stare at the line chefs. Mark can feel his skin heating, and he opens his mouth to rectify the situation, but Hyuck’s already speaking again.

“I bet you a hundred bucks you won’t be able to make her cum.”

“Fuck you, I’m not betting money on this shit,” Mark hisses.

“Sounds like something a pussy would say.”

“A pussy with a knife in his hand,” the line chef notes, his grip tightening on the handle. “Look, when I do make her cum, you have to stop bashing her like it’s her fault that you wouldn’t take the time to make her comfortable.”

“And when you don’t make her cum?”

“It’s not going to happen.” Mark’s not sure where his confidence is coming from, but something in his heart tells him to be firm about this. He’s going to get you there. It might take a few weeks, hell, it might take over a month- but he’s going to get you to the point where you relax enough to cum for him, or so help him God-

Ten

Mark had cum inside of you three times since arriving at seven, and at two am he had finally broached the idea of heading home. “I should probably go,” the line chef had sighed, holding you closer to his chest.

“I mean… you could always just stay over?” you’d suggested.

“Yeah?”

“It’s our third date, why not?” you’d shrugged, cuddling tighter against him.

You hadn’t planned this, it had just sort of happened, and that’s how Mark had ended up sleeping at your place for the first time.

He’d woken up half way through the night, voice raspy, hands grabby, moaning about how lucky he was to be here with you. Falling asleep again after he’d railed you had been as easy as breathing, and now, in the morning hours, you’re in the shower to wash off all the cum he’d left on and inside of you.

Neither of you have to be at work till the afternoon, and you kind of like the idea of lazing around with Mark, who’s still passed out in your bed.

You take your time with your skin care and hair, and when you finally enter your room, you’re intrigued to find the line chef still asleep. He’s quite handsome like this, all bundled up in your white duvet, blonde hair shining around him like a halo.

You try to be careful as you crawl onto the mattress next to him, but Mark immediately rolls over to pull you tight to his chest. He lets out a soft groan, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

God, why are things so domestic with this boy already?

His hands trail up and down your back, fingers stroking your skin. You’d put on his shirt, but other than that, you’re naked, and it doesn’t take long for Mark to realize that fact. His touch moves down to your hip, sliding under the shirt. His thumb draws circles against your bare skin, and he lets out another moan.

“Morning, puppy boy,” you laugh.

“Hungry,” Mark whispers.

“Hmm?”

“I said,” he leans down, pressing kisses to your throat, his lips brushing by your ear when he repeats himself; “Hungry.”

“I can make you breakfast,” you assure him.

“Don’t want food,” Mark says. “Want you.”

In one quick motion he pushes you onto your back, getting on top of you. His breath is hot against your neck, and he tugs on your shirt, pulling it up to reveal your breasts. His mouth wraps around your nipple, and he sucks on it gently, releasing sounds of pleasure.

You thread your fingers through his hair, letting out a sigh of relief. “Feels good,” you tell him.

One of his hands slips between your legs, his digits teasing your slit. “Always so wet for me,” he groans, releasing your nipple with a pop. “Can I taste?”

Mark is definitely getting more bold with you, but that’s what happens when you’ve fucked a handful of times, had three dates, and one sleep over.

“You can do anything you want to me,” you tell him.

The line chef kisses down your abdomen, pushing your legs open as he settles between them. You thread your fingers through his hair as he brings his mouth to your core, licking at your pussy lips.

Mark is really good at oral. This is the fourth time he’s eaten you out. With each time he presses his mouth to your pussy, part of you gets more and more convinced that you’ll cum this way. When he adds two fingers into your aching core, you’re pretty much sure that it will happen-

It feels so good, and the moans that escape you reflect that. Your hips buck toward his face, prompting Mark to press a palm to your lower abdomen, keeping you pinned.

But every time you think you’re close - every time you’re about to announce it to him - the feeling dissipates.

You can feel yourself getting more and more irritated with your body, and soon, you give up entirely. “Mark?”

“Hmm?” The vibrations against your clit have your thighs shaking.

“Can I just- can we just fuck? Please? I want you inside of me.”

Mark pulls away from your pussy, his fingers continuing in your hole. “Are you sure? You know I enjoy playing with you like this.”

“I know- but, I just- I’m in my head again. Want your cock in my pussy.”

Mark takes his fingers out of your core, bringing them to his lips to lick clean. Then he crawls up your body, kissing you so you can taste yourself on his tongue.

“I’ll fuck you,” he says, “but don’t ever think I don’t enjoy being between your thighs like that, okay? You don’t have to cum, I know from the sounds that you make that you enjoy it, and that’s enough for me until you get there, yeah?”

You swallow thickly, nodding. “I’m still in my head.”

“I get that, Sunshine,” he kisses you gently, cupping your cheek as he lines his cock up with your wet hole. “If there’s anything I can do to stop the overthinking-”

“Just fuck me,” you insist, wrapping your legs around his hips.

Mark laughs. “You got it.”

Eleven

“Dude, is that a hickey on your neck?” Hyuck’s annoying voice makes Mark flinch, and his hand immediately flies to slap against the side of his throat.

“What? No.”

“It totally is,” Hyuck laughs. “Damn, you two must really be going at it a lot.”

“We’re having fun.”

“Fun like two times? Three?”

“Fun like five times in the past twenty four hours.”

“Jesus Christ.” Hyuck’s eyes practically bulge out of his head. “Are you serious?”

“I don’t know what you were talking about with her not being able to sleep next to you. She passed out just fine with me last night.”

Hyuck lets out a deep breath. “Fucking Hell. Maybe I underestimated you. So… did she cum?”

Mark sighs. He hates to be talking about this while at work. You’re running food, but you could be back at any second, and Mark doesn’t want you to get the wrong idea about all of this. Hyuck is the instigator of these sexual talks, and Mark doesn’t know how much to keep to himself.

“So that’s a no,” Hyuck deduces. “Big ouch.”

“I feel like we shouldn’t talk about this anymore,” Mark says finally.

“Why? Is your pride hurt?”

Mark lets out another annoyed breath. “I just think it’s disrespectful. You’re an ex fling of hers, you don’t deserve to know everything about her personal life.”

“I don't want to know about her personal life,” Hyuck rolls his eyes. “I want to know about her sex life, there’s a difference.”

“I’m done talking to you about this,” Mark insists.

“Damn, someone is starting to sound like a protective boyfriend. Jeeze, calm down.”

Mark hates that there’s some truth in what Hyuck is saying. He already feels quite protective of you. He’s got dates planned, things that can make you smile. He pays close attention to you when you speak, looking for your likes and dislikes.

Mark is falling for you faster than he’d ever care to admit, especially not to Hyuck of all people.

Twelve

“Who does a staff Christmas party in January?” Jungwoo asks as a bunch of you take the big table after the restaurant has closed.

“We were all too busy at Chirstmas time, remember?” Jaehyun says, looking at his waiter friend. “And then there was New Years, and we closed early.”

“I agree with you Woo, a mid January Christmas party feels weird,” you grin, leaning against your favourite server.

In all honesty, it feels like your managers Taeil and Doyoung just wanted to give you all some time to relax and celebrate. January can be a slow month in the restaurant business, and you’d heard Jeno mention yesterday that there are four or five bottles of wine that no one has been ordering that have to be used up.

As you begin to drink the wine, the mid January Christmas party makes more and more sense. The chefs have finished their closing tasks, with John joining you first, followed by Hyuck, and finally Mark.

With Jaehyun across from you, Jungwoo on one side, and John on the other, you’re surrounded. Mark sits at the other end of the table, offering you a small smile. You give him a gentle wave in response, giggling to yourself over the rim of your wine glass.

“Gosh, Sunshine,” Jungwoo slides closer to you. “Are you drunk already?”

“You’ve been refilling my glass,” you point out, pouting a little.

“Because you’re a cute drunk,” he grins.

“A very cute drunk,” Jaehyun agrees, eyeing you from across the table.

The thing about dating a coworker and it being new means you can’t talk about it. Until there’s a label with you and Mark, you’re keeping your lips shut. As far as Jungwoo or Jaehyun know, you’re single, and the latter of the two has been hitting on you for months.

It feels odd to have Jaehyun calling you cute while Mark is just a few seats down. Your stomach twists into drunken knots, and you wish you could move to be closer to your new secret Boo-

In the periphery of your vision, you note Mark stand up and begin to head to the bar. It feels like the perfect excuse to get some time alone with him, so you hop off of your chair.

Mark’s grabbed a glass and is beginning to pour himself a beer from the tap by the time you reach him. “Hi, puppy boy,” you grin.

“Hey, Sunshine,” he laughs, looking you up and down. “Jungwoo’s been feeding you the wine, huh?”

“Just like… a normal amount.” God, you can’t help but smile constantly at the boy who has your heart twisting into love sick knots.

“Are you tipsy?” Mark cocks his head to the side as he finishes pouring his drink.

“Maybe…”

“Can I get you some water?” he suggests.

You lean forward over the bar top, lowering your voice so only Mark can hear you. “I’m thirsty, but not for water or wine.”

It takes Mark a moment to read the innuendo of your words, but then he laughs. “I should get you some water.”

“What if I don’t drink it?”

“What if I ask you to please drink it?” he counters, already filling a cup for you.

“Okay, fine. Just for you, though.”

Mark grins as he hands you the glass.

“Why do you take care of me so much?” you ask, as the two of you head back to the table.

“Because,” Mark pulls your chair out for you, “you’re my favourite expo girl.”

“I better be,” you say, teasingly narrowing your eyes at Mark before he walks back to his own seat down the long table.

You begin to nurse your water. Mark’s right about you needing it. The tipsyness has somehow intensified- probably because Jungwoo had insisted you finish your wine glass. You feel blurry as you sit there and listen to your coworkers chat.

“I just don’t like saying chicken breast,” Jungwoo states.

“But that’s what they are!” Yuta, one of the night line chefs, insists. “They’re breasts!”

“I just tell customers that the alfredo comes with chicken, they don’t need to hear me say breast!” Jungwoo fights back. “Jaehyun agrees with me, right Jae?”

“Yeah, I just say chicken,” the man across from you nods.

“Taeyong also just says chicken,” Jungwoo continues. “So right now it’s three to one.”

“Hyuck,” Yuta calls across the table, gaining the attention of the men at the other end. “Do you call it chicken breast, or just chicken?”

“Neither,” Hyuck says confidently. “Thems some chicken boobies.”

You can’t believe the conversation you’re hearing. “I think it’s time for me to leave,” you decide.

“What? Why?” Jungwoo whines.

“I can’t be here for a discussion about chicken.”

Jungwoo slams his hand on the table. “See, she said just chicken too!”

Yuta points his finger at you like you’re on a game show. “Is that your final answer?”

You lean forward, pretending his hand is a microphone. “Chicken titties.”

“Yeah, we’re cutting you off,” Jungwoo decides. “You need to go home and sleep.”

“Someone should make sure you get back to your place okay,” Jaehyun notes, standing from his chair.

“I’ll take care of her,” comes Mark’s voice from the other end of the table.

Jaehyun turns to stare at the line chef, who also stands up.

John is next to you, and you watch a knowing expression appear on his features, grinning as he sips his beer.

“You still have half your drink left,” Jaehyun insists, “And, I’ve known our little miss Sunshine for much longer than you have. I’m sure she’s probably more comfortable with me taking her home.”

A muscle in Mark’s jaw feathers. You watch him reach down and grab his beer, downing the whole thing in three large gulps before wiping the back of his hand across his mouth.

Fuck, the motion reminds you of what he does whenever he eats you out, and you feel almost dizzy thinking about it.

“Who’s it gonna be, Sunshine?” Hyuck grins. “Jaehyun, or Marky boy?”

“Let’s go, Mark,” you say, offering Jaehyun a small smile. “We’ll see all you guys tomorrow.”

Jaehyun looks pretty defeated, but you can’t even bring yourself to care as Mark comes around the table to offer you his arm. At first, you think you don’t his help, but when you stumble after one step, you latch onto his bicep.

“I was hoping you’d go home with me tonight,” you whisper as the two of you exit to the parking lot, where Mark’s truck is waiting. He helps you climb inside, smiling and shaking his head.

“Sunshine, if you ever want me to go home with you, you don’t have to get drunk, just ask.”

Thirteen

“I’m really not that drunk,” you insist, making your way over to the liquor cabinet again.

Mark sighs. You’re a grown adult, he can’t keep directing you away from the booze. “Okay, I believe you. What do you want? Let me make it for you.”

“I want…” you think about it for a moment. “An espresso martini.”

“It’s late, won’t the espresso make it hard for you to sleep?” You’re definitely drunk and you both know it.

“I don’t care. Want espresso martini.”

“Okay, Sunshine, you got it.” Mark moves through your kitchen, finding the espresso machine there. He slips a pod into the device, setting up a cup.

“Can you add honey?” you ask, already moving to the cabinet to grab a bottle. Mark takes it from you, squeezing some of the honey into the bottom of the cup as hot coffee begins to pour over it. “I also want Baileys.”

Mark laughs a little, shaking his head as you stumble to grab the large Irish Cream bottle from your cupboard.

“And also ice,” you declare. “Frothed.”

“This is a whole thing, huh?” Mark watches you fill the frother with Baileys.

“I like what I like,” you insist. “We’re gonna triple froth this.”

“You’re the boss.” Mark reaches into his pocket, pulling out his vape. You’ve been letting him smoke in here, and he appreciates the reprieve as the two of you make this very complicated espresso martini.

By the time you’re done with it, Mark’s not even sure you could call it an espresso martini. With the amount of frothed foam on top, this drink is something else entirely.

He watches you lift the cup to your lips, immediately getting foam on your face. You simply giggle and wipe it off, licking your finger clean. Then you dip your digit into the froth, scooping it up and popping it in your mouth.

Mark swallows thickly while watching you do this.

“Puppy,” you groan, “this is so good.” You offer him your finger. “Try it.”

Mark can’t say no to you, so he allows you to dip your finger into his mouth. He licks you clean, watching the way your breath catches. You bite on your bottom lip, swaying a little on your feet.

“Your turn,” you say quietly, holding out the cup.

“My turn?”

“I wanna suck on your fingers.”

Mark knows you're drunk. He knows this probably isn’t the best idea for either of you, but he simply can’t say no to you. Not now, not ever.

He dips his pointer into the foam, then presents it to you.

You grab his wrist, keeping him still while you move forward to suck on his finger, releasing a small groan. Mark can already feel the blood rushing to his cock, but he ignores it as he goes for another scoop of froth.

“Tastes better on you,” you tell him, licking his digit clean again. “More. Please.”

The way you look at him each time you suck his finger tells Mark that you’re as horny as he is. When he scoops with two digits, you practically mewl as you lick.

“I wanna suck on something bigger,” you state.

“Sunshine,” Mark sighs, “I really don’t want to take advantage-”

“You’re not. Mark, you’ve eaten me out so many times, please let me return the favour?” You’re already sinking to your knees on the kitchen floor, and the sight of you makes Mark’s cock throb in his jeans. “Please, I just wanna suck you off.”

“You know I can never say no to you.”

As the words leave him your hands find his belt. In moments, you’re pushing his pants down, your grip wrapping around the base of his cock. He watches you lick your lips, your gaze meeting his as you lean forward to take him into your mouth.

Mark immediately lets out a groan. “You feel so good, sunshine.”

You whimper around his length, and the vibration has Mark’s fingers twitching. He reaches for your head, cupping your face while you suck him off. His other hand places your drink on the kitchen counter before falling to his side. The line chef’s head falls back, his eyes closing as he eats up the feeling of you.

“That’s it,” he sighs, loving the way you twirl your tongue around his shaft.

You take as much of him past your lips as possible, the tip of his cock hitting the back of your throat. You gag around him, causing Mark’s eyes to fly open. He looks down at you with concern, but you keep sucking him.

“You don’t have to deep throat me,” Mark assures you, pushing some hair away from your face.

You let out a whine, sinking onto him again, only for your throat to constrict tight around his tip.

Mark groans. “Fuck, Sunshine, I’m serious.”

The line chef could never do what you’re doing right now. Not because he’s not into cock, but because he has the worst gag reflex ever. He knows what it’s like to choke, and he doesn’t want you sputtering on his cock in the name of pleasuring him.

When you try to deep throat him a third time, Mark simply pulls you off of him. He’s struck by the view of a string of saliva keeping you connected to his cock, and the way you look up at him in a confused daze has his heart thundering in his chest.

“Enough of that,” Mark says softly. “Let me take care of you.”

He reaches down, gently taking your hands so he can help you to your feet.

“Bedroom?” he suggests.

You nod, swallowing thickly and wiping at your mouth, then you dart off. You’re awfully agile for a drunk girl, and Mark smiles to himself before following you. By the time he’s made it to the bedroom, you’ve already stripped.

You’re sitting on the bed, grinning at him with a hint of mischief in your eye.

“Take advantage of me, Mark,” you say as he pulls off his shirt.

“Jesus,” Mark whispers. “I hate to say it, but that line is not enticing at all.”

He’s still kind of questioning if this is a good idea, but at the same time, you’ve already fucked on multiple occasions. He knows you want him sober, and especially - it appears - while drunk.

“Come on, please?” You pout out your lower lip.

Mark slips out of his jeans, joining you on the bed. You wrap your arms around the back of his neck, pulling him in for a kiss while your legs encircle his hips.

As his cock slips past your core, Mark is shocked at how wet you already are. Booze has really done a number on you, but neither of you are complaining.

“You sure you want this?” he asks.

“Don’t make me beg,” you laugh, “Cuz I will.”

“No, it’s okay,” Mark swallows the lump in his throat. “Just checking.”

Before he can reach for his cock, you beat him to it, grabbing the base and lining his tip up with your entrance. “Fuck me, Mark, I’m begging for it.”

He presses his lips hard against your own as he pushes into your wet hole, both of you groaning loudly at the feeling.

“Shit,” you whimper, breaking the kiss to look up at him, “I’m so sensitive today-”

“Alcohol does that sometimes,” Mark notes, bringing up a hand to cup your breast. When his fingers pinch your nipple, you let out a high pitched squeal, pushing your chest up toward his palm.

“Fuck, Mark-” Your pussy clenches tight around him, and the feeling makes Mark dizzy.

“You sound so good, Sunshine, and you’re gripping me so fucking hard-” Mark begins to fuck into you. Your nails claw at his arms, your head thrown back, eyes closed.

Mark reaches down to rub your clit. You shudder below him, legs tightening around his hips. “Fuck, fuck, fuck-” you moan loudly. “Just like that-”

He applies more pressure to your sensitive bud, making your hips buck toward him, your core clenching him in a death grip.

“If you keep squeezing me like this, I’m not going to last long-” he warns you, tension building in the base of his cock.

“I want you to cum,” you insist, opening your eyes to look at him.

“Don’t you want to try and get there too?” he asks.

“I don’t-” you swallow thickly, “I don’t think I’ll be able to.”

“Let me fuck you a little longer, yeah?” Mark prompts. “I can wait a bit. Actually, we should switch positions.”

“To what?”

“Can you get on your knees for me?” he asks.

“Yeah,” you nod quickly. As soon as Mark pulls away, you’re flipping over, pushing your ass into the air for him.

“Fuck, what a view,” he breathes, hands smoothing across your bum.

You whimper, and the sound encourages Mark to slip himself into you again. The sigh of relief that leaves you has Mark’s skin tingling, his grip finding your hips.

“It’s so deep,” you groan, tangling your fingers in the sheets.

You’re right about that- your wet pussy is taking every inch Mark has, and each smack of his hips against your ass has you getting even wetter. He’s pretty sure you’re dripping down your thighs at this point, and his fingers dig into your skin even harder.

The sounds you’re making are like music to his ears. Your grip on his cock is insane. Mark’s pretty sure tonight is going to be the night that you cum- but as he continues fucking you, it becomes more and more clear that only one of you is going to get there- and fast.

“Fuck,” Mark grunts, his heart racing in his chest as he picks up the pace of his thrusts.

“Cum in me,” you insist, reaching behind yourself.

Mark grabs your hand, lacing your fingers and holding you against the small of your back.

“You really want me to cum?” he asks, breathless.

“Please,” you nod, squeezing his hand. “Wanna be full.”

Again, Mark can’t say no to you.

“Okay, fuck, I’m gonna cum,” he whispers, fucking you even harder. “Shit-”

His orgasm hits straight on, tingling through his entire body like an electric jolt. He pushes his cock into you as deep as it can go, feeling it throb as he coats your walls in cum. Mark throws his head back, eyes closed, overcome by the pleasure that courses through him.

He’s not the type that can fuck someone through his high. When he cums, he has to stop, has to experience the feeling in full. His mind goes completely blank…

But his first thought when the words come back is that he should tell you he loves you.

Fuck. This is becoming a problem.

Every time he cums deep inside of you, his feelings grow. He’s overwhelmed with this sense that you’re meant to be, that he should just lock you down and let you know how much you mean to him.

But as always, that logical side rears its head, reminding Mark that it’s only been a few weeks of seeing each other. He needs to take things slow- for your sake. He doesn’t want to scare you away. Being a safe space for you includes watching his tongue, it means not putting pressure on you like this-

If there’s one thing that will pressure you, it’s the admittance that he’s kind of in love with you.

Instead of saying what’s on the tip of his tongue, Mark pulls out of you. He gets you a tissue for the cum that begins to drip out of your pussy, and a cup of water to make sure you’re hydrated. Once you’ve both cleaned up in the bathroom, he cuddles you close to his chest, stroking your back and listening to you breathe.

To Mark’s complete shock, you fall asleep on him within minutes.

It’s a sign that you’re truly feeling safe with him, and Mark thinks he must be going in the right direction. He’s careful not to wake you up, he simply enjoys the feeling of holding you close while you rest.

Fourteen

You wake up slowly, cuddling closer to the warmth next to you. It takes you a moment to realize that the heat is coming from Mark, and you open your eyes to stare at him.

“Morning,” Mark grins, putting down his phone to watch you. “Sleep well?”

“Shockingly well,” you grin, snuggling closer. “You?”

“I like sleeping next to you,” Mark muses, wrapping his arms around you. “You know, I was thinking I could make you breakfast or something. Neither of us have work today.”

“Breakfast?” You perk up.

“Yeah, I can cook most breakfast or brunch foods, but uh… don’t ask me to make eggs.”

“Eggs?” You raise your brows, looking at him with a laugh.

“I know, it’s stupid cuz I’m literally a line chef, but I never went to school for it, remember?” Mark grins, stroking your skin. “John tried to teach me during brunch last week but I just- don’t have the patience for eggs.”

“Poor John, hired a chef who can’t cook eggs,” you tease. “Are you sure you don’t want something else for breakfast?”

“Like what?”

“Like… me?”

Mark laughs. “As much as I’d love to fuck you today, I feel like- maybe it would be nice to not sleep together this morning... You know this isn’t just sex for me, right?”

“Yeah, but… sex is nice, isn’t it?”

Mark strokes your cheek, meeting your eyes. “Sex with you is always nice, but I think I kind of want to be domestic with you today instead, if that’s okay.”

Your heart clenches in your chest at his words. You can’t help but lean forward and kiss him gently. “That’s okay with me.”

“Good,” Mark grins. “Let's cuddle some more, and when you get hungry, I’ll take care of the food.”

As you slowly wake up next to Mark, you’re struck by how comfortable you are. Being with him like this feels natural. There’s no pressure to fuck, no need to suck dick in order to earn affection- Mark simply cares about you, and it’s clear in the way he holds you.

If you’re not careful, you could get used to this.

Fifteen

Since the ‘Christmas’ party, Mark’s been wanting to broach the subject of Jaehyun with you, but in the handful of times he’s slept over with you since then, it’s just never come up.

Today, watching Jaehyun talk with you by the bar, the question is fresh on Mark’s mind, and he only has one person he can justifiably ask about it.

“So… how close are Jae and y/n?”

“Hmm?” Hyuck looks up from the burger he’s stacking. “Oh, those two? Pretty close.”

Mark groans at the lack of detail. “Did they ever date?”

“I think she’s definitely his work crush. Pretty sure he’s asked her out a few times, but I don’t know if she realized it was a date sort of thing.” Hyuck laughs to himself. “I actually walked in on him asking her out around Halloween, but I think she thought it was a group idea. She rejected him though.”

“Looks like he hasn’t taken the hint,” Mark says, mouth forming a firm line.

“Nah, Jae has a pretty big ego. I mean, you’ve seen his face. He’s not used to rejection, it doesn’t compute for him.”

Mark doesn’t say anything, he simply goes back to the alfredo he’s cooking. But it becomes clear that Hyuck doesn’t want to let this go.

“You’re jealous, aren’t you, Marky boy?”

“No.”

“Yes, you totally are,” Hyuck grins. “How long have you and Sunshine been seeing each other now?”

“Like… three weeks? A month almost?”

“Have you talked about being exclusive or anything?”

“Not really.”

Hyuck rolls his eyes. “It’s a yes or a no, Mark. There’s no ‘not really,’ when it comes to ‘the talk.’”

“No, we haven’t talked about it,” Mark admits with a sigh.

“Sounds like something you want though, right?” Hyuck presses.

“I thought I said I wasn’t going to talk to you about this anymore.”

“You’re the one who brought up Jae,” Hyuck points out, raising his hands in mock defense.

Mark supposes Hyuck is right about that. He’s been considering defining the relationship recently- thinking about how a label could offer you safety, stability, things that are needed to help you relax.

But now, the label transcends the use for comfortability and cumming, it almost feels needed.

You’re hot. Mark knows that. He sees the way people hit on you every day while you’re working. At first, he’d been okay with it- but now, he thinks maybe he needs something more. Maybe he needs the comfort of knowing that you’re taken, by him.

He’s not the type to feel insecure, and he’s not even sure that insecurity is the right word for what he’s feeling.

All Mark knows, is that he wants to get to the next level with you, and he’s going to pull up his big boy pants to finally do it.

Sixteen

You’ve been at home for a few hours, having been cut from work early since it was a slow day, and you’re a little surprised when Mark calls you around dinner time.

“Hey you,” you grin, collapsing onto your bed to give Mark your full focus.

“Whatcha doin?” he asks.

“Just sitting here, was thinking of watching a movie. How about you? Just got off work?”

“Yeah, in a minute, just taking a vape break first. I was thinking maybe you’d let me see you when I’m off?”

“Definitely, you know my door is always open for you. But I should warn you, I have literally nothing in my fridge.”

“That’s okay, I’ll make your favourite and bring takeout,” Mark assures you. “See you in like… half an hour?”

That’s how Mark shows up on your home a short while later. You look him up and down, taking in his work outfit. “Didn’t wanna change after shift?” you grin, holding your door open for him.

“I uh, wanted to see you. Need a shower, so I figured I’d put on my fresh clothes after that.”

“Sounds good, you know that my home is your home. Go shower, I’ll put our food in bowls.” You accept the takeout from Mark, intent on turning to head to the kitchen- only for him to pull you back into an embrace.

“Hi,” he mumbles, kissing the side of your head and nuzzling against your hair.

“Hi,” you grin, turning in his arms to press your lips to his. “Go shower.”

“You got it.”

Mark goes into your bathroom, and a moment later you hear the water begin to run. You take your time in the kitchen. Mark has made himself alfredo, and he’s cooked your favourite rice bowl for you. You smile to yourself while plating the food, loving how domestic things have gotten with Mark.

Part of you is tempted to join Mark in the shower, but you’re not sure if you’re there yet, so you wait patiently for him to finish. This isn’t the first time he’s showered at your place, and you trust he’ll see his designated towel hanging on the hook behind your door.

You kind of enjoy that he’s gotten so comfortable at your home. You’ve been spending so much time with him here and at work that it feels kind of odd when he’s not around.

Soon, Mark is coming out of the bathroom. He’s in sweatpants and a tank top that shows off his tattoos. You have to actively stop yourself from drooling as you move to sit at the dinner table.

“So… did you need to talk to me about something?”

“Hmm?” Mark sits across from you.

“We didn’t have plans, you called and wanted to come over, I guess I’m just wondering if you had a specific reason.”

“Can’t I just miss you?” he grins.

Despite his words, it’s clear that there’s more to it, however you drop the issue. When Mark is ready to be real with you, he will be. You have time until then.

Mark begins to talk about work, how it had gotten busy after you’d left. You listen, happy to chat with him while you eat.

After food, the two of you move to the couch, cuddling up while Netflix starts.

You’re two seasons into your anime already, it’s funny how time flies. You can turn your brain off when Mark spoons you, his lips pressing soft kisses to your shoulder every now and again.

One episode in, Mark reaches over you for the remote, pausing your show.

“I guess there is a reason I wanted to come over,” he admits finally.

“Yeah?” You turn onto your back, looking up at him.

“I hate to say that I’ve been jealous, but uh… since the Christmas party, I’ve been a little jealous about you and Jaehyun.” Mark won’t meet your eyes, and you give him the space to continue. “I just… people are always hitting on you, and I don’t know, I think… I mean, I’m a serial monogamist according to Hyuck, and I know we haven’t been seeing each other for that long, but I only see you, in all ways, and I just… I don’t want to lock you down if you’re not looking for something serious, but I guess I wanted to know how you feel about exclusivity and that sort of thing.”

“With you? Mark… I’d love to be exclusive.” You let out a small laugh. “Don’t you realize that I have to watch girls flirt with you too? Maybe we’ve both been jealous. I think… locking each other down would be good for us.”

“Yeah?” Mark’s beaming now.

“You’re special,” you confess. “I’ve never been able to sleep next to a guy I’ve slept with, which feels like such a contradiction- but sleep has always come easy with you. I’ve never felt such a lack of pressure- such acceptance, for all of me, the good and the bad. I like you a lot Mark, and I’m sorry if I didn’t make that clear.”

“It’s not that it wasn’t clear,” Mark assures you, cupping your face, his thumb stroking your cheek. “I just… I know you have that wild side, which is totally valid, I just wasn’t sure you were a settling down type.”

“I wasn’t so sure I was either, and then I met you.”

Mark kisses you instead of responding, but you can feel the emotion in the press of his lips against yours. He’s elated by what you’ve just said, and you’re close to floating to cloud nine too.

Even so, there’s something else. You can feel it in the slight tension of his shoulders when your fingers brush over his skin.

“Mark?” you break the kiss, blinking at him. “Is there something else on your mind?”

“It’s just… I know I said there’s no pressure, but I really wanna help you cum. And I’ve been thinking maybe… maybe we could use some of your toys.”

“My toys?”

“Like… some girls cum better with a vibrator, and if you have one, I’d love to use it on you.”

“Really?” You’re shocked. Lots of men think their dick is good enough, they feel emasculated to bring sex toys into the mix- but here’s Mark, being as contrarian as ever.

“Even if it doesn’t help you cum, I still think it would be fun. I’m not trying to pressure you-”

“We can use my vibrator,” you assure him, heart thundering in your rib cage at the mere thought of it.

No man has ever used a sex toy on you- it’s probably one of the reasons you’ve never cum with a lover before.

“Come on,” you sit up, heading to your bedroom while Mark follows. “I keep my toys in the closet,” you explain, bending down to find the shoe box that stores your vibrator. You pull the device out, showing it to Mark. “Is this going to work?”

“Yeah, it will work.” Mark watches you stand up, and he holds out his hand for you to pass the toy to him. “I’m uh… I’m gonna put this down so I can get you naked.”

“Okay,” you grin.

He sets the vibrator on your bed gently, turning to you. Mark grabs your face first, pulling you in for a kiss. He’s gentler than you thought he would be, but you don’t mind it. You like getting lost in the feeling of Mark, allowing him to guide you toward the bed.

When you reach your mattress, his hands slip down to the hem of your shirt. He carefully removes it, and you lift your arms to help him with the task. Mark doesn’t immediately go for your pants next, he kisses you again instead, cupping your cheek with one hand while the other grabs the small of your back.

His touch is so gentle, smoothing across your skin. It’s making you even more eager, and you find yourself removing his shirt before he begins to work on your sleep shorts. Soon, you’re just in a bra and panties, but even those get taken off.

When you’re completely bare, Mark gently pushes you down onto your bed, eyes taking in your body.

“You’re so fucking pretty,” he muses.

Your skin heats at the praise, and you begin to close your thighs, only for Mark to gently prompt them open.

“Don’t hide from me, please,” Mark says softly, getting onto his knees at the foot of your bed. He leans forward, pressing a kiss to your clit before he pushes his tongue into your wet hole.

You breathe a sigh of relief, threading your fingers through his hair. You adjust your thighs on his shoulders, trailing your toes against his well-defined back.

He eats you out for a little while, groaning as he goes. It’s clear to you now that Mark enjoys getting his fill of you, and it makes the experience ten times more enjoyable for you. You’ve been getting better at slowing your mind while Mark licks at your clit, better at focusing on him and not all the worrying thoughts that generally buzz around you.

You feel the bed shift, and you open your eyes to see Mark has reached for the vibrator. He turns it on, assessing the way the toy shakes on the lowest setting. “Do you wanna show me where to use this, sunshine?” he asks, holding it out to you.

With a deep breath, you nod, accepting the toy and bringing it to your clit. “I like… a good amount of pressure,” you tell him, showing him exactly where you like the vibrator to be held.

It feels kind of odd to be pleasuring yourself like this in front of Mark, but from the way his pupils are blown, eyes fixed completely on your core, you can tell that he’s enjoying the view. It makes you feel more confident, as you begin to drag the vibrator side to side, teasing yourself.

“This sort of movement is good too,” you tell him.

“Can I take over now?” he asks.

You nod, allowing him to grab the handle of the toy.

Now that you’re not the one holding it, you can focus completely on the feeling of your clit being vibrated. It feels amazing, your toes curling at the stimulus.

Mark’s free hand is on your inner thigh, smoothing against your skin, but soon, it joins the vibrator. He teases two fingers along your folds before pushing them into you, crooking them up to find the spongey spot that has you crying out.

“You make such pretty sounds,” Mark tells you, applying more pressure to your clit with the vibe. “Fuck, I could watch you like this all night.”

“Puppy-” you whimper, skin tingling at his words.

“You have no idea how good you look,” he continues. “I swear- I want you to cum, but even if you don’t, I’m not going to be able to forget about this. This view is- fuck, it’s the best view in the world. We’re going to be at work and this is all I’ll be thinking about. I won’t be able to get you out of my head.”

With each admittance, each uttered word of praise, you can feel the tension building in the pit of your stomach.

“Can you grind on this a little, sunshine? Grind on my fingers and your toy?”

“Yeah-” you whimper, hips moving as you try to follow with his prompt.

“That’s it-” Mark groans. “Fuck, you’re so perfect.”

His fingers work harder inside of you, and the added pressure makes you squeal. You can’t help the way one of your arms comes up to cover your face, muffling your sounds as your body moves on it’s own accord now. You’re grinding against his hand, grinding against the vibrator that sends tremors of pleasure through your entire form.

“I’m so fucking lucky,” Mark tells you. “So lucky that you’re mine- I could watch you like this for hours and not get bored.”

“Mark-” you groan. Usually, when you acknowledge an orgasm building, it dissipates, like some cruel trick of fate, a complete defiance of the laws of physics- but this time, when you whimper “I’m close” the feeling doesn't fade, it only builds.

“Yeah?” Mark sounds shocked. “All it took was a vibe, huh?”

“And… and your praise-”

“You like when I talk dirty to you, sunshine?” Mark asks. “Like it when I tell you how perfect and pretty you are?”

“Yes-”

“Are you going to be a good girl and cum for me? Or should I finger fuck this cute little pussy even harder?”

“Oh my God-” you whimper. Mark has truly gotten comfortable with you now- he’s not holding back with his sinful words, and they make your stomach pull into a tight knot. “Please, harder-”

Mark presses the vibrator against your clit, turning up the vibration with his thumb while his fingers continue their brutal pace inside your core.

You find yourself gasping, unable to speak as he works you closer and closer-

“Cumming-” you whisper, your orgasm slamming into you like a train.

Your breath catches, waves of pleasure surging through you. Your fists grip the sheets, your back arches, your thighs quaking around Mark. Whimpers and moans fill the room, your core pulsating around Mark’s fingers while he works you through your high.

“That’s it,” Mark groans. “That’s my good girl.”

“Puppy-” you breathe, the feeling almost becoming too much for you.

“What do you need, sunshine?”

“Your cock,” you blurt out.

“Yeah?” Mark’s fingers slow inside your pussy.

“Please, wanna cum on your cock-”

Mark lets out a breath. “Holy fuck.” He turns the vibrator off, taking his digits from your core. Mark licks them clean before he stands up, pushing down his sweatpants. “Move up the bed for me?” he suggests.

You wiggle up to the pillows, watching Mark get onto the mattress. He allows you to lock your legs around his hips, pulling him close while he crashes his lips to yours.

You tangle your fingers in his hair, kissing him deeply. He ruts his hips, allowing you to feel his cock dragging against your core.

Patience is a virtue, but you don’t have any left. You reach between your bodies, grabbing his hard length to line it up with your pussy.

Mark slides into you, and you let out an immediate sigh of relief. His fingers had been nice, but his cock is even better. It stretches you open, you can feel him deeper than ever. You gasp against his mouth, dragging him closer as he begins to thrust into you.

“You feel so good, sunshine,” Mark groans, breaking the kiss so he can press his lips to your throat.

“Puppy-” you whimper, arching your neck so he has better access to find your sweet spot.

Mark captures your hands, lacing your fingers and pressing you into the bed while he fucks you.

You can feel him everywhere. You’re completely bewitched by Mark Lee. Your core is practically dripping, each thrust made easy by the wet that exudes out of you.

Then Mark is reaching for your vibrator. He sits up slightly, looking down at you. “Missionary? Or maybe doggy would be better?”

“I wanna see you when I cum again,” you tell him, accepting the vibrator he holds out to you. “Want you to see me cum with your cock in my pussy.”

Mark lets out a low groan, pressing his lips to yours as you turn on the toy, adjusting it onto your clit.

“If you can’t cum, that’s okay-”

“I think I’ll cum,” you assure him. “Just fuck me hard, and I’ll get there.”

“I can do that,” Mark grins, immediately picking up his pace and adding more power to his thrusts.

“And… tell me I’m pretty again?”

“Fuck, you’re so pretty,” Mark groans. “I’m so fucking lucky- how did I ever get this lucky?”

“Puppy-”

“You have no idea how into you I am- I love your sounds, love your voice- love the face you make when you feel good- love your smile-”

Each admittance has your heart buzzing in your chest. It’s crazy how easy it is for him to praise you- it almost feels like all these things were built up inside, like he’s a dam that’s just been released, and God, you love the flood.

You press the vibrator harder against your clit, entire body surging with energy.

“You’re squeezing me so well, baby,” Mark groans, and the sound has your pussy throbbing. “Want you to cum with me so bad, do you think you can cum with me?”

“Yeah, just- kiss me?” you suggest.

Mark presses his lips to yours immediately, cupping your face with one hand. His tongue glides against your own. You eat up each other's sounds, getting completely lost in each other.

In no time at all, another orgasm is building in the pit of your stomach.

“I’m gonna-” you whimper against his lips.

Mark fucks you even harder in response, and the motion is dizzying.

“Please, sunshine, cum with me- fuck, I can’t hold it, cum with me-”

His words are your last straw as you explode on his cock. Your core clamps down hard, gasps of extacy escaping you.

To Mark’s credit, he holds off his own high long enough to fuck you through yours, and the moment you begin to be oversitmulated, he cums too. You can feel his cock throbbing in your pussy, his load spilling along your insides and coating your walls.

You kiss him deeply, enjoying his whimpers of pleasure.

You’ve never cum with someone balls deep inside of you before, and there’s a voice in the back of your mind itching for you to tell Mark that you love him- but you bite your tongue. You simply kiss him, holding him close while he finishes.

Finally, Mark lets out a small gasp, pulling away from your lips. His forehead presses against yours, and you’re both breathing heavily.

You’ve never felt this connected to someone in your entire life.

“Are you going to get us tissues?” you ask after a moment, letting out a small laugh.

Mark chuckles, pressing his lips against yours in a chaste kiss. “I just wanna enjoy you a second longer.”

“Puppy, you have literally all the time in the world.”

☀️ mlist + an. Thank you so much for reading! I really wanted to kick the year off with something more realistic. I wanted to write about a reader who over thinks, who doesn’t cum super easily like we usually see in fanfic. I wanted to touch on the realism of relationships, the use of sex toys, things discussed in the bonus like whiskey dick, domestic showers together and troubles sleeping next to someone new- I really hope you guys liked this even though it’s not as classic fanfic as I usually write :)

🍭 support me by. sending a tip here or here - or become a patron to access monthly bonus content and extensions for fics like this one :) find the Patreon teaser below!

🔮 preview. “I drank too much,” Mark admits. “Hyuck kept egging me on- I’m pretty sure he wanted to get me blackout so I couldn’t fuck you tonight- But I swear- whisky dick won’t last all night,” Mark tells you. “And, I mean, you know I love using your toys so it doesn’t even matter.” He’s adorable. Of course Hyuck wouldn’t take into account that sometimes Mark is perfectly happy making you cum with your toys and not fucking you at all. Mark truly is a man built for your pleasure, and you’re not surprised that ‘whiskey dick’ hasn’t phased him.

cw/ tw. drunk!Mark, shower shenanigans, fingering, pussy eating, use of toys/g spot stimulator, Mark has ‘whiskey dick’ and can’t get hard at first, unprotected sex, praise, dirty talk, munch!Mark, creampie/fullness kink, etc… I petnames. (hers) sunshine. (his) puppy.

👹 rating. 18+ explicit I wc. 2.3k I teaser wc. 250

🌙 starring. Mark x afab!Reader

bonus

“Puppy?” You sit up in bed, holding your phone close. Mark’s at some boys night thing, and you really hadn’t expected to hear from him, but here he is, calling you at midnight.

“Hi, Sunshine.”

“Hi Sunshine!” Someone else screams in the background.

“Oh my god, fuck off, Hyuck!” Mark yells back. “Not you, baby, I’m talking to Hyuck.”

“Yeah,” you laughed, “I gathered that.”

You’ve also gathered that your boyfriend is drunk. You can hear it in his voice, and when he begins to hiccup, it’s even more evident.

“So uh, I wanna see you.”

“You can see me tomorrow, we have dinner plans, right?”

“No, I wanna see you tonight and tomorrow,” Mark insists.

“You do, huh?” God, he’s adorable.

“Yes, please.”

“Don’t you want to finish boys night?” you prompt, not wanting to get in the way of his time with friends. You know Jeno would get mad about Mark spending time with his ex instead of his boys, and you don’t want to be that girlfriend who restricts her lover from his bros.

“Nah, fuck this,” Mark says. “Jeno went home with a girl, it’s just me and Hyuck and Renjun and Chenle and Jaemin and Jisung-” Sweet Jesus, he’s listing half of your work staff. “But I wanna be with you. I can call a cab and be at your place in like, fifteen minutes?”

“Whatever you want, puppy,” you grin. “I’ll be here.”

☀️ to read the full fic AND 2.3k bonus NOW, subscribe to my Patreon, then click here

👹 or check out what else is on my patreon here

🔮if nothing strikes your fancy, check out my m.list

general taglist

@gotshinct - @subhyuck - @fraechan - @learnthisfeeling

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#mark lee #mark lee smut #nct #nct smut #nct dream #nct dream smut #nct 127 #nct 127 smut #nct mark #mark nct #nct mark smut #mark nct smut #mark lee x reader #mark lee x reader smut

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sim0nril3y · 5 months ago

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Call from the Captain

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Civilian!Reader Scenario: Captain Price has to tick some boxes and make a call to the next-of-kin Warnings: No mask Simon (It's my personal headcanon in his regular life he probably wouldn't wear it), very soft, canon-typical swearing.

It had been a good couple weeks since Simon had been deployed. There was no denying that it was difficult to be away from him, but mixed with no contact it was miserable. There was only one thing for you to do and that was bury yourself in your art, fill the time with doing something creative as Simon would be entirely unimpressed if he’d found out you were simply moping around.

It was so difficult not to have your mind be occupied by him, worrying for his safety, worrying about his whereabouts, worrying that there were people out there that were actually shooting at your husband, aiming to kill. It made you sick to your stomach; it made you want to crawl under your duvet and not emerge until he’d returned safely… but for his sake you pushed on.

At the sound of your buzzing phone, you rapidly dunked your paintbrush into a jar of water and then reached over to snatch your phone from the table besides all your paints – the very same table that Simon had attempted to label and line up in colour order and much to his disappointment that hard work seemed to last for half a day before the labels were covered in paint and they were moved out of their places.

“Hello?” You asked then before sneering at the mess. “Oh bollocks – one second…” You requested your face away from the device as you used a nearby cloth to dab it down of the excess colours, then placing it on speaker before talking again. “I’m sorry about that. Are you still there?” You quizzed to the unknown person on the line.

It was then that your full name was asked back towards you, a rough yet authoritative voice. “Is that you?” He’d asked, wanting to confirm you were the correct person. “Oh, yeah. That’s me.” You answered easily, feeling anxiety building up inside of you, bubbling and mixing in your stomach as your brows etched together. “Who am I speaking to?” She’d asked.

“My name is Captain John Price and I’m the superior officer of Lieutenant Simon Riley?” Oh well, that made that bubble of anxiety burst as utter dread filled you. Why were you getting called by his Captain? What was this all about? “Is he okay?” The question slipped out before you could manage to alter the panic in your tone. “Simon is fine.” He answered with an ease then, his tone was soothing and utterly apologetic as he said. “I’m sorry for worrying you…” He understood how these calls to families could bring along a great deal of panic with them. “I’m actually calling as more of an administrative task. Simon filled out some paperwork and requested that we contact you as a next-of-kin if anything should happen regarding…” The words were caught in his throat. “Him.” You could understand entirely and it made your eyes water the thought of him not making it home. “I’ll just need your verbal confirmation that you are aware of this and that you agree to it.”

You voice was barely a whisper in return. “I wasn’t aware…” This made John chuckle in response. “Now, doesn’t that sound like a very Simon thing to do…” Then he let out a small joking tut which made you laugh wetly before replying. “I wasn’t aware, but I agree to it. Completely. I want to know… I need to know everything that is going on with Simon. Everything that I’m allowed to know anyway.” You spoke clearly with intent. “Will that be okay? Is that what you need?” “It’s fine, love.” John replied and you could hear the soft scratching of a pen jotting down some details.

There was a long beat before you finally built up the courage to finally ask. “Is he okay?” And without hesitation John answered. “He’s doing fine. I got report from him this morning.” He explained but that was the extent of the details he was allowed to give. “Simon may not have mentioned this, but there was support groups for partners in the services.” He explained. “To help you through this transition or with support for anything, or if you ever need anyone to speak with.”

“Thanks.” You answered with a little bob of your head, these were a lot of emotions to deal with alone. A moment later you blurted out clumsily. “Oh, and I’m really sorry for saying bollocks earlier.” Then you cringed in embarrassment as you made the realisation. “And for saying it again just then…” You grumbled out covering your face in horror. “Don’t worry about it, love.” John laughed, a true genuine moment. “Thank you for taking the time to speak with me.” He informed her. “Thanks for calling.”

Masterlist | Ask | 19-01-2025

#simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley #simon ghost x reader #simon riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley cod #ghost simon riley #simon riley x you #ghost call of duty #ghost mw2 #ghost cod #ghost x y/n #ghost x you #simon riley x y/n #call of duty mw3

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httpsxarien · 2 months ago

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THE BEST FRIENDS TO LOVERS TROPE

✰ pairing: clark kent x (y/n) (l/n)

sypnosis: clark kent as your best friend! and maybe something more…

xari's diary: author’s note: so i just started reading better than the movies as well as watching smallville for the first time & was inspired to write this !! gosh tom welling is so dreamy i might faint. reader is liz coded cus i love liz smm !!

"i just can't come between them, they've got their own thing!"

⌜ ⌝ ılı.lıllılı.ıllı. ᴺᵒʷ ᵖˡᵃʸᶦⁿᵍ; in between by gracie abrams

𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅ BEST FRIEND CLARK! Who you were inseparable with from childhood. You were always there for each other, whether it was climbing trees, sneaking into each other’s rooms, or just sitting on the front porch talking about your day. No matter what, you could count on Clark to always be by your side, the best friend you could never imagine life without.

BEST FRIEND CLARK! Who watched every romcom with you, pretending to hate rewatching Pride and Prejudice but secretly loving the smile on your face as you explained the hand touch for the thousandth time

“It’s not just a touch, Clark. You don’t get it!” You'd argue, and Clark would roll his eyes, but he’d always listen intently, enjoying your passion for the smallest of details. Those were the moments he cherished the most

BEST FRIEND CLARK! Who loves you for the way you carry yourself, the way you were just so... you. He had always admired you. Not t just for how you looked, but for the way you walked through life with such grace. You didn’t need to try hard to be noticed, because you naturally stood out. The ribbons in your hair, the soft colors in your wardrobe, the little things that made you, you. They were a part of you that Clark had loved for as long as he could remember. Every time he saw you, those ribbons were like a small piece of his heart, tethered to the memory of the girl who had always been there for him, no matter what.

BEST FRIEND CLARK! who melted the first time you ever called him sweetie, thinking it was just a one-time thing. He tried to brush it off like it didn’t mean anything… but felt his heart clench every single time the nickname slipped out of your mouth like it belonged to him. Now he wholly believes that his middle name is Clark ‘Sweetie’ Kent.

BEST FRIEND CLARK! Who has fallen deeply in love with you… It wasn't just friendship anymore. Every laugh, every touch, every look felt different. Clark’s feelings for you had evolved in ways he couldn’t ignore, but he was too scared to admit it. Every time you looked at him with those soft eyes, his heart raced. But he stayed quiet, always the loyal best friend, never wanting to mess things up.

BEST FRIEND CLARK! Who noticed how you started drifting away when you started dating your ‘boyfriend’ It was subtle at first. You’d still laugh with him, still talk, but there was this unspoken distance that seemed to widen the more you became involved with him. Clark couldn’t help but feel left behind, watching you change into someone else to please your boyfriend.

BEST FRIEND CLARK! Who sees you change yourself just for a boy... How you changed everything about yourself, everything you loved about yourself, just for a boy. He watched as your wardrobe transformed from those pretty pastel dresses and ribbons in your hair to a more “mature” style, more fitting for your boyfriend’s tastes. It hurt him to see you lose parts of yourself, parts that used to make you, you.

BEST FRIEND CLARK! who hated seeing you become someone you weren’t. Dulling your colors, dimming your light, turning down the volume of your heart just to please someone unworthy.ghed less and hung out less because your boyfriend didn’t like your “girly” side.

BEST FRIEND CLARK! Who despises your boyfriend but never says anything so he could keep your friendship. Every time you’d talk about him, how great he was, how you were so in love, Clark had to force a smile. He hated the way your boyfriend treated you, the way he made you second-guess your own self-worth. But he didn’t say anything. He couldn’t. He wanted to be there for you, even if it meant swallowing his pride and watching you go down a path he knew wasn’t right.

BEST FRIEND CLARK! Who is forced to see you distance yourself from him just for your asshat boyfriend. It was painful to watch, seeing you pull away, less and less time spent with him. You didn’t need him anymore. You had him, the boyfriend who didn’t deserve you. And Clark? He was left in the shadows, the friend who always would’ve been there for you, but it felt like you didn’t need him anymore.

BEST FRIEND CLARK! who bit his tongue when he overheard that same boyfriend brag to his friends, “Yeah, she’s totally my type. Chill, lowkey, not into all that love stuff.”

And Clark—Clark had to physically stop himself.

Because (Y/N) (L/N), unromantic?The girl who daydreamed entire love stories in class? Read and wrote fanfiction every time she watched a film with a conventionally attractive man? Who made scrapbooks for her dream wedding before turning 15? Who had polaroids of her friends and her dog taped to her wall like a shrine to every person she’s ever loved? Gosh, He must’ve gotten the wrong (Y/N)!

BEST FRIEND CLARK! who knew something was wrong the second he heard yelling outside your house.

He hadn’t even meant to stop by. He was just driving by — muscle memory from all the times he used to pick you up, walk you to your porch, wait until your light turned off just to be sure you were safe. He shouldn’t have been there. He told himself he was over it. That you had chosen someone else.

But then he heard your voice. Cracked. Shaky. Not you.

And then the thud.

Clark’s feet were already moving.

He saw it happen: your boyfriend’s hand against your face. Too fast. Too real.

You stumbled back, gripping your cheek, eyes wide. And the worst part? You didn’t even look surprised.

Clark didn’t think. He didn’t have to think.

His fist connected with your boyfriend’s jaw so hard the boy went flying into the lawn. Clark stood over him, eyes dark, fists clenched. “You ever touch her again—”

"Clark!" you cried, running up to him, grabbing his arm. "Clark, stop!"

Your boyfriend coughed, blood at the corner of his mouth. “The hell, (Y/N)? You letting your boyfriend handle your problems now?”

You froze.

He scoffed. “Guess you’ve been screwing him behind my back the whole time.”

And that’s when your voice broke.

"I never cheated on you," you whispered, eyes shining.

Clark took a step forward, ready to hit him again, but you pulled him back — voice trembling. “Clark. Go.”

“What?” His voice cracked.

You looked at him, tears threatening to spill. “Please. Just go. I—I can’t do this if you’re here.”

For a second, he didn’t move. He just looked at you and at the bruise already forming on your cheek, at the way you held yourself like you were trying not to fall apart. And he hated that he couldn’t fix it.

But he listened. Because he always did.

He nodded. Quietly. Left you standing on the porch as the rain began to fall.

And even though he left, he didn’t stop watching from the truck until you went inside, locked the door, and turned off the lights.

Because he couldn’t leave you completely.

He never could.

BEST FRIEND CLARK! who lost you slowly. To phone calls you didn’t answer. To texts left on read. To polite smiles instead of bright ones.

BEST FRIEND CLARK! who almost gave up hope… until one night, long after midnight, he woke to the sound of knocking and the soft patter of rain.

And there you were.

Soaked to the bone. Hair wet, leather jacket clinging to your frame. Looking small and broken on the Kent porch.

You whispered, “Hi,” then blinked up at him “Hey.” He smiled softly and god - did you miss that smile. He mentioned for you to enter, bringing a towel to cover your wet frame. It didn’t take long until.., “I’m sorry.”

You cried – sobbed – as you apologized for pushing him away. Told him how stupid you felt. How you let someone change everything about you. How it started when you were fourteen, and you thought it was love, but it was manipulation. Loneliness. Fear.

“He made me think I was too much. Like being me was something to fix. And I just… I didn’t want to lose anyone else. So I let him dim me. I let him turn me into someone I don’t even like.”

And you looked up at him, expecting him to be angry. Or disappointed. But he just-

He just pulled you into his chest, letting your soaked hoodie stain his shirt, and whispered: “I’m just glad you came home.”

BEST FRIEND CLARK! whose heart broke the night he heard your story. how you were only fourteen back when you met the guy and he was seventeen, turning eighteen that year, how that boy made you believe love meant shrinking yourself to fit inside someone else’s pocket, how he taught you silence was safer than honesty and that being chosen meant enduring instead of being adored, how you had to earn kindness like love was something to suffer through, how he never even gave you the dignity of a label and always said he was “waiting for the right time,” and Clark just sat there, fists clenched and throat burning, thinking how the girl who used to dream of love and fairytales had been tricked into thinking it had to hurt and all he could do was wrap you in his arms and whisper that none of it was your fault, that you were never supposed to bleed just to be loved.

BEST FRIEND CLARK! who never let go of you that night. Who sat with you on the couch, wrapped in blankets and safe, and let you cry until you were emptied out and finally fell asleep on his shoulder.

BEST FRIEND CLARK! who finally let himself hope again when he saw you the next morning - barefaced and blinking in the sunlight - whispering, “I missed you so much.”

BEST FRIEND CLARK! who went still when you reached for his hand and held it. Not like a friend would. But like someone remembering where they belonged.

BEST FRIEND CLARK! who helped you fall in love with yourself again, little by little. who told you he missed the smell of your perfume, the click of your heels on the driveway, the way your laugh used to echo across the barn when you told him about your latest crush.

BEST FRIEND CLARK! who wasn’t ready when you started calling him sweetie again, the way you used to, so soft and warm that it made his entire body go still.

“Sweetie, can you hand me the screwdriver?”

He fumbled it and nearly dropped the whole toolbox.

BEST FRIEND CLARK! who couldn’t stop thinking about the way your shirt rode up when you reached to change the lightbulb in the kitchen, the sliver of your waist exposed. He thought about it way too often.

BEST FRIEND CLARK! who laid in bed that night, hand in his hair and somewhere else.. sighing your name like a sin, whispering, “What the hell is wrong with me?”

BEST FRIEND CLARK! who daydreamed about how your skin would feel under his hands, how you’d sound whispering his name in the dark. How you’d look underneath him, flushed and smiling.

BEST FRIEND CLARK! who stared too long when you changed into one of your floral dresses again, the ribbon tied delicately in your hair.

“You look like… you again.”

BEST FRIEND CLARK! who can barely breathe when you start wearing your sundresses again. Who nearly passes out the day you show up with a yellow ribbon in your hair again—like it never left.

BEST FRIEND CLARK! who wanted to kiss you so badly it hurt. Who held back when you patched up the gash on his brow, your fingers gently brushing through his hair.

“You scared me, sweetie,” you whispered, dabbing at the dried blood.

His whole body tensed. That word again.

His name in your voice made him feel like Clark — not the alien, not the outsider, not the Smallville freak. Just Clark. Clark who still can’t believe he gets to wake up next to you.

BEST FRIEND CLARK! Who finally gets to tell you the truth, realizing he can’t hide his feelings anymore It was one of those walks in the farm and you were wearing a yellow cardigan under your white dress. And as he looks at you, he just can’t help but love you.. And in that moment, Clark couldn’t hold back anymore. He confessed. “I’ve been in love with you for years, (Y/N).”

BEST FRIEND CLARK! Who watches you look at him in shock, then smile softly, finally realizing what’s been there all along For the first time, you saw it. The yearning in his eyes, the desperation for you to finally see him, not as your best friend, but as the one who’d been silently loving you for so long. And when you smiled, his heart soared.

“I’ve loved you for years,” he told you, voice hoarse.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” you laughed, blinking back tears.

“Because you were happy… or I thought you were.”

“Clark,” you whispered, stepping closer,

“I am at my happiest when I’m with you.”

BEST FRIEND CLARK! Who feels you kiss him for the first time, his world crashing into itself with the force of it. The second your lips met his, all the years of longing, of silence, were gone. It was like he was breathing for the first time, drowning in you, in the taste of your lips, in the way your hands cupped his face like you’d always been meant to.

BEST FRIEND CLARK WHO BECAME BOYFRIEND CLARK THAT NIGHT.

BOYFRIEND CLARK! who was your first real boyfriend, he said it a hundred times. Called you his. Made sure you knew it, made sure to reassure you.

BOYFRIEND CLARK! who couldn’t get it through his head that he got to kiss you now. That he could touch you, hold you, worship you, and never have to pull away.

BOYFRIEND CLARK! who still fumbles and blushes whenever you flirt with him.

BOYFRIEND CLARK! who whispers your name into your neck like a prayer every time you fall asleep in his arms.

BOYFRIEND CLARK! who’s still your best friend. Who still watches Pride & Prejudice with you, who still kisses your hand like it’s sacred. Who still smells the soft floral perfume lingering in his room and smiles, because you’re back. You’re really back.

BOYFRIEND CLARK! now stands beside you as Chloe and Lana tease you both for being such a cliche. “A living romcom” they’d tease. the quarterback and the cheerleader, the slowburn everyone saw coming, the angst-ridden pining, undeniable love story that bloomed from long nights on the farm to whispered confessions and inside jokes only you two would understand to intimate conversations that only the two of you could hear. The both of you were like a matching heart necklace, the one where it’s another half of the heart and it will only connect once the other piece is there, as if the universe had always planned it this way.

“I saw it coming from a mile away!”

“You owe me 10 bucks, Chloe.”

BOYFRIEND CLARK! who takes you out on dates all the time, whether it's pretending to “study” at the Talon while sneaking glances at you over his textbook, driving you out to the barn just to stargaze in quiet comfort, or showing up outside your house with flowers and that crooked smile just to say, “I missed you, (N/n).”

BOYFRIEND CLARK! Who takes you in his arms again and again, unable to stop making up for all the lost time. Whether it was in his room, in the barn, or just in the middle of a quiet evening, Clark didn’t care. All he knew was he had you now, and he wasn’t going to let you go.

BOYFRIEND CLARK! who pressed you into the wall, lips hungry and hands curling around your thighs, lifting you up effortlessly

BOYFRIEND CLARK! who moaned your name like he was starved for you, whispering, “You don’t know what you do to me”

BOYFRIEND CLARK! who paused just long enough for you both to laugh in between kisses because god, you were still best friends, and you always would be

BOYFRIEND CLARK! who couldn’t stop kissing you.

BOYFRIEND CLARK! Who makes love to you tenderly, slowly, letting you feel how much he cherishes you. The first time you made love wasn’t rushed or frantic. It was soft, full of tenderness and reverence. Clark treated you like you were something precious, something irreplaceable, and for the first time in a long time, you felt like you belonged.

BOYFRIEND CLARK! Who laughs with you, still best friends, even as lovers. As the two of you lay together, breathless and tangled, you couldn’t help but laugh. You were still you, still the same goofy best friends who watched movies and got into trouble. Only now, everything felt different in the best way possible. “Can’t believe we waited this long,” Clark said, and you grinned. “Yeah, well, I guess we were a little slow.”

BOYFRIEND CLARK who knows he didn’t save you but helped you save yourself.

BOYFRIEND CLARK! who made you believe in love again, as the two of you lay in his bed, you never belonged anywhere else but here,with him. He was daylight, the boy who had always been your home; he was warmth, he was daylight,and then he leaned in..

“I love you."

#clark kent #kal el #superman #superman comics #tom welling #tom welling x reader #smallville #smallville x reader #lana lang #clark kent x reader #clark kent smallville #smallville clark kent #superman x reader #best friends to lovers #slowburn #romcom #dc x reader #dc comics

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mononijikayu · 6 months ago

Text

fairy of shampoo — ryomen sukuna.

“No, I doubt that.” he murmured, his voice dropping further as his eyes trailed over you, taking in every detail of his creation on your body. “I didn’t outdo myself. You did. You made it come alive. Well, you always have.” He reached out, his fingers brushing the edge of the fabric near your shoulder, the touch light yet searing. “This was always meant for you. No one else could’ve worn it like this.” There was a beat of silence, heavy and charged, before he added, “Do you know how hard it was to sit out there and watch everyone look at you like that?” You raised a brow, your smile teasing now. “Jealous already, ‘kuna?”

GENRE: alternate universe - fashion world au!;

WARNING/S: afab! reader, love at first sight, co-workers to lovers, romance, nsfw, rated 18 and above, explicit content, kissing, making out, rough sex, fingering, p to v sex, backstage/greenroom sex, orgasm, humor, pet names (angel, sweetie, etc), devotion, possessiveness, jealousy, characters speaking in sexual innuendo, mention of sexual euphemisms, depiction of explicit sexual content, fashion designer! ryomen sukuna, super model! reader;

WORD COUNT: 5k words.

NOTE: i wrote the first part of this while on instagram live and continued to write, but then i forgot to do a live about this again and passed out from more cold medicine. the cold weather isn't really helping my case either. but im feeling much better now!!! though, i kept changing titles too, cause im indecisive. but of course txt saves the day with fairy of shampoo.

i adore this song a lot. also, if you are curious, this was something i was imagining for a while as an au to concubine reader and sukuna. like in another live, he would be a former underground fighter who fell for model reader. in any case, i hope you enjoy it. i love you all!!! see you on the 10th!!!

masterlist

if you want to, tip! <3

HE DOESN’T THINK HE’S EVER SEEN SOMEONE LIKE YOU BEFORE. He felt his breath hitch, the steady rhythm in his chest faltering as if the very air had thickened, demanding more effort to draw in.

The crowd was roaring around him, but the noise seemed muted, far away, like a distant wave crashing on an unseen shore. All he could focus on was you, the commanding force you carried with every step.

It wasn’t just the way you moved — it was the raw, magnetic energy emanating from you. Each step struck the floor like a declaration, a drumbeat echoing through the cavern of his mind, drowning out every other thought.

He tried to remind himself to blink, to exhale, to ground himself in something other than the overwhelming pull of you, but it was no use. When it comes to you, there was no winning.

When you reached the center of the stage, you turned slowly, your gaze sweeping over the audience like a stormfront rolling in. Then, for the briefest moment, your eyes landed on his.

He felt like a man struck by lightning. The fire in your gaze seared through him, sharp and unyielding, leaving no room for the walls he’d so carefully built. He was laid bare, every defense stripped away, and for the first time in his life, he didn’t mind.

As quickly as it had come, the moment passed, and you turned your attention elsewhere, leaving him in the wreckage of his composure. His heart was racing, pounding against his ribs like it was trying to escape, and he could only wonder how someone could hold so much power without even trying.

Control? Composure? He realized now how fragile those concepts truly were.

Everything about you screamed majesty. It was obvious you knew what you were doing and it was obvious that you were doing it with so much passion, so much pride, so much expertise. If it was not clear now, it would be obvious to all now that it was you who ran this world.

And you had no problem trying to show that to everyone. Everything about what you were doing could only exude wonder people cannot explain. Especially when you walked. Ryomen Sukuna knew this from the first time he saw you walk.

He could somehow remember the first time he’s seen you walk on a runway. He wasn’t yet the person he was at this time. Ryomen Sukuna remembers that he was a rough man, a brutish man. Someone whose hands were at one point made for destruction more than they were for anything relating to creation.

These hands were born for nothing good at all. These were born from nothing and then for violence. For most of his life, he was sure that they were made for nothing else but pouring blood on the concrete in rough fistful bouts than they were for wanting to understand the language of fabrics and colors.

Sukuna was all too certain that he wasn’t someone who he himself thought was even worthy of being in your presence then. You wouldn’t have liked the man he was then.

If he didn’t, then you would certainly not like him too. But he liked to think that this was the moment his life changed. He could remember it so very clearly, that moment.

He could recall it all, if you asked. Every little detail. His bloody hands fumbled with the remote control, the echo of his fingers pressing the buttons whiplashed as he tried to find something worth watching. Nothing was worth watching, nothing was worth looking forward to. One after another, the button pressed only to lead to disappointment.

Then, he stopped.

You were the first thing he saw. He blinked as he found himself staring at this moment. It was like you owned the runway. Your long silver stilettos click and clack across the steps,the fine texture of the shimmering silver dress blossomed like moonlight right in front of him. It was like an epiphany when he watched you come towards him through the screen.

Your bright blossoming eyes narrowed sharply as you stopped at the center, posing masterfully for the audiences and then for the cameras. He could feel the hairs on his body stand up as he walked closer to the screen. Almost a second after, you had smiled at the crowd.

For a moment, Ryomen Sukuna had thought that this belonged to him. Your smile, your gaze, your pose. He had felt like you had been longing for him. Calling for him to come and join you. Beckoning him closer by your side. Almost as though you were commanding him like the goddess of the moon you were in that moment.

He wished that moment had lasted much longer. But as you finished your moment, it was your turn to walk away. Disappointment slowly seeped into him as he watched you go, the train of your metallic silver gown flowing behind you like moonshine withdrawing from the slithering darkness.

You were so beautiful, so bright and gorgeous. For a moment, he didn’t even think you were real. He couldn’t believe that such a being like you could ever exist. He couldn’t believe that such a being like you could ever bless him with your wonders, even for just a moment. From that moment, he was awestruck.

But it’s not like Ryomen Sukuna could not help himself in wanting you. You were life itself for him from that moment. And he couldn’t help but live in the world you made. He could not help but want to know you. To know more of your wonder. To be there in the room where it happened, watching you command the world with each and every step only you could make.

One could call him insane for believing that this was the moment that changed his life. That you, who he had never known, would ever change his life. Yet, it was true. You had made him your most adoring servant.

And he had made you his master, his lifelong muse. He knew that he didn’t have any skills to dress you, his goddess, just yet. But if there was something Ryomen Sukuna knew, it was that everything can be learned. And you would guide him how.

He could recall how he stood up from his couch that night and washed his bloody hands on his sink. He cleaned every bit of it. By the time he finished, he found his hands clean enough. And with that he felt satisfied.

He dried his hands with the dry cloth, watching the bloody water drain down the sink. He knew that he had to have clean hands, for you. He can’t dress you if his hands are dirty with blood. He won’t soil you. No, he won’t soil his goddess.

The click of the cameras brought him back to reality. You stopped at the center of the runway and posed. You look at the side dramatically, your jaw sharp against the glow of stage lights. You had fun as you brushed the loose hair back on your ear, trying to showcase the fine sapphire earrings encrusted with diamonds.

People were in awe as you stood there, the leather covered fingers tracing your beautiful face as you showcased the fine red silky flow of the shimmering strapped dress bejeweled in fine rubies and sapphires and its majestic slit at the hem forcing your fine leg forward, the heel of your shoe just as magnificent with its intricate design.

Everything about it was a perfect fit — as it should. Ryomen Sukuna could only think to himself about how proud he was that it looked good on you. Red was certainly made to be your color. The color he had so loved, the color he knew you had come to love just as much when you looked into his scarlet eyes too.

Sukuna’s smirk deepened as he watched the crowd, their collective awe painting a smug satisfaction across his sharp features. They didn’t just see a veteran model on the catwalk; they saw his vision, his devotion, his muse brought to life. They saw life form before their eyes.

It wasn’t just about the clothing, no. It was about you, his precious muse. You carried his work like no one else could, not just wearing the piece but embodying it, giving it a presence that no other model could match. Every step you took whispered of elegance, screamed of confidence, and radiated the unshakable power he had designed into every stitch.

He leaned further back in his chair, one leg draped casually over the other, his fingers tapping a slow rhythm against his arm. Sukuna’s mind flickered back to the nights spent creating the masterpiece you now wore. The hours he poured over sketches, fabrics, and details, all with you in mind. The fire in his chest when inspiration struck, always tied to the thought of you — your silhouette, your essence, your wonder.

It was a dangerous thing, he knew, to let himself feel this much for anyone. It was even more grievous when one thinks about how crazy he is, obsessed with you. But as he watched you claim the stage as though you owned it, as though you owned him, he couldn’t bring himself to care. If anyone deserved his best, it was you.

And now, seeing you carry with pride what he had envisioned, the culmination of his work, his smirk twisted into something softer, something almost reverent. His scarlet eyes could only glint with a mixture of pride and possessiveness.

Because this wasn’t just a fashion show, not to him. This was his world laid bare, his unspoken devotion stitched into fabric, and you, his muse, standing at the center of it all. And he could care less about anything else. This was what mattered. Nothing more will satisfy him than you.

Let them look. He thought, his scarlet gaze darkening further. Let them be captivated.

But they should know this — the vision, the brilliance, the art?

It was his. And so were you.

And you just as well knew it too.

He was yours too, after all.

The moment the show ended, Ryomen Sukuna slipped through the mass of the crowd, his stride purposeful as he made his way backstage. The buzz of the event, the voices, and the clinking of glasses faded into white noise as he navigated through assistants, models, and photographers.

They all parted instinctively for him — whether out of respect, fear, or both, he didn’t care. Why should he care at this moment? He had something else much more important in mind, after all. Nothing can compare to that, to you.

He found you standing alone, the chaos of the backstage swirling around but never touching you. You were a picture of composed beauty, your magnificent features illuminated by the soft backstage lighting. The masterpiece you wore still clung to you, the fabric shimmering as though it held its own light.

You didn’t notice him at first, too engrossed in adjusting one of the intricate details of the outfit, but the shift in the air told you he was there. You looked up, your tender gaze locking with his, and in that instant, the world seemed to narrow in this cage you had always made for just the two of you. Your lips perk up into a small sly smile.

Sukuna let the door swing shut behind him, the sound muffled by the hum of the outside world. The room felt smaller now, the space between you crackling with an intensity that mirrored the one you’d commanded onstage. He leaned against the wall, crossing his arms casually, though the smirk on his lips betrayed the hunger in his gaze.

“Stunning, as always.” he said, his voice low and deliberate. “But then, you already know that.”

You tilted your head, meeting his smirk with a soft smile of your own. “The design does most of the work. You outdid yourself, Sukuna.”

His smirk deepened as he pushed off the wall, closing the distance between you in a few slow steps. You shake your head at him, your smile getting bigger too. He was about to have another one of his antics, for certain.

He reached out, his fingers brushing the edge of the fabric near your shoulder, the touch light yet searing. “This was always meant for you. No one else could’ve worn it like this.”

There was a beat of silence, heavy and charged, before he added, “Do you know how hard it was to sit out there and watch everyone look at you like that?”

You raised a brow, your smile teasing now. “Jealous already, ‘kuna?”

His chuckle was dark and low, the kind that sent shivers down your spine. “Jealous? Maybe. But more than that…” His hand slid from the fabric to your jaw, tilting your beautiful face up to his.

His scarlet eyes burned with something raw, something possessive. “I just wanted to remind you to come by and tell you, like I always do. All of this, the applause, the stares, the admiration... none of it matters. Because at the end of the day, you’re mine. No one else can have you but me.”

The air between you thickened, you could feel your pulse quickening as his blunt words hung in the space. His thumb brushed against your tender cheek, and soon enough, his face echoed a small smirk against his beautiful lips, one that you were certain was softer this time. But of course, you were just as certain that it wasn’t less intense.

“And don’t you dare forget it, hm?” he added, his voice barely above a whisper, before leaning in to close the distance between you.

“I will never forget.” You hummed back to him, just as sweetly. Just as venomous. “Just as you never forget that I am the only muse for you, hm?”

He laughs, the tone rich and eager as his eyes narrowed at you. “And when have I ever forgotten that, hm? Ten years of my life given to you so far, and you’ll have the rest of it too. You don’t have to worry about me leaving you.”

You couldn’t help but laugh aloud this time. “Hm, then you are my prisoner now.”

“I always have been….. I am always willing to be, sweetie.”

He grabbed your hand, his grip firm but not forceful, and guided you through the bustling backstage chaos. You followed without question, the dress flowing into the brush of wind as you made your place elsewhere. You could feel your heart racing as he weaved through the narrow halls with singular focus, while still holding onto you, no matter what.

He didn’t stop until the two of you reached your green room. With a swift glance to ensure no one had followed, he shut the door behind you, the lock clicking into place with a finality that made your breath hitch. You looked at him and then he looked back at you, almost as though time had frozen between the two of you.

The room was quieter here, dimly lit and far removed from the noise of the show. The faint hum of the loud music leaked through the walls, but it only added to the charged atmosphere between you. Ryomen Sukuna took a breath before starting to get closer to you, his intense scarlet gaze pinning you to the spot.

It was as though your throat had all but closed. You felt yourself standing there as he made his way to you and then stopped. The space between the two of you had all but evaporated into nothing. You pursed your lip into a line and then shook your head into a small smile.

His scarlet glint lingered, locking with your gaze, a mischievous gleam dancing within his eyes. Slowly, he lowered himself before you, hands deftly reaching for the ties that bound you to your heels. The heels he had designed just for you.

You knew you could do it yourself. But he refused to let you do it, even when he has to get to you later on, he would get some sort of way when he didn’t do it for you. For so long now, you have never been able to take your shoes off by yourself. He wouldn’t allow it.

After all, it was a ritual he insisted on. It was something he had done even when he was first designing clothes tailored just for you. And you had long stopped having any qualms about it.

Every time he did this for you, whether after the runaway or some time else, there was always this calm. It was always a quiet moment of devotion woven into the fabric of your bond each and every single time.

An angel like you shouldn’t have to stoop to something like this, sweetie. He had said back then, his lips curving into a playful smile as his attention remained on your feet. Only devils like me should kneel, taking on tasks as lowly as this.

Now, as his fingers worked to free you from the delicate binds, he couldn’t help but hum. You could feel his mumblings be rough and edged with something untamed and all at once, the warmest of spring days and tenderest of breaths. You obediently look upon him as he carefully removes them from your feet.

“You’ve been driving me insane all night, sweetie.” He set your shoes aside, tucking them where they wouldn’t catch another soul’s attention. His scarlet eyes roved up to yours, filled with longing. “Everything you do, even now... You just woo me to no end.”

You shivered under his gaze, feeling the intensity of his words wrap around you like a warm, intoxicating haze. His hands, calloused yet deliberate, brushed against your ankles as he adjusted your footing, ensuring you could stand without strain. Even in such a simple gesture, his care for you felt all-consuming.

“You have always imprisoned me, you know that? But tonight…..you really have mastered it.” he snickers, his tone dipping lower, velvet and gravel in equal measure.

“I have.” You muttered back at him, smiling at him as sweetly as you could. “Don’t you like it that way? Your muse gives you everything, artist of mine.”

“I did. I always do. I loved tonight most, I should say.” His lips curled into a smirk that sent a rush of heat through your chest. “Every glance, every move—it’s like you’ve cast some wicked spell. And here I am, completely at your mercy.”

He leaned in closer, his breath warm against your skin, his hands still lingering just a moment too long on your legs. The proximity was enough to make your heart race, yet he stopped short of closing the distance, his teasing nature keeping you on edge.

“And the worst part?” he added, his voice softening but losing none of its weight. “I don’t even mind. Your devil craves more—he begs, over and over, to be your fool willingly.”

He stood, fluid and graceful, the motion commanding yet intimate. Your eyes blossomed as you looked towards him, unable to move. You felt as though you were being consumed by him. You felt like you were consumed by his wonder, by his soul, by his everything. Like you always have been. Like you always want to be.

His fine lips hovered near yours, daring but unyielding, as though he relished the tension he had so masterfully wrought. Every second seemed to stretch into eternity, leaving you breathless, waiting, wanting—until finally, he whispered back to you.

“Tell me, my angel... How long are you going to keep me like this?”

Before you could respond, his calloused hands were on you. One sliding around your waist, the other cradling the back of your neck. His precious lips crashed against yours with a hunger that left no room for hesitation. It was a kiss that demanded everything from you, one that poured out all the frustration, admiration, and possessiveness he’d kept in check throughout the show.

You melted into him, your tender hands finding their way to his chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his coat and then his shirt as you kissed him back with equal fervor. His touch was everywhere, his hands tracing the curve of your waist, the line of your back, pulling you closer as though he couldn’t stand even an inch of distance between you.

The kiss deepened, his lips parting yours as his tongue sought entry, exploring, claiming. You gasped against him, and he took the opportunity to tilt your head back, giving him better access as he pressed you against the cool wall, pinning you against it.

“You were perfect, sweetie. You truly are.” he muttered against your lips, his voice a gravelly whisper. “You have no idea how you burn me alive.”

Your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling slightly, earning a low growl from him that sent heat pooling in your stomach. “I think I’m starting to get the whole of it, ‘Kuna.” you teased breathlessly, your words cut off as he captured your lips again. “But….I wouldn’t mind knowing more about it.”

The air around you was thick with the scent of him, a mix of that one of a kind expensive mint cologne and a little bit of cinammon, something he had become fond of because of you. Everything about it was unmistakably your Sukuna.

The world outside the green room ceased to exist — no crowd, no cameras, no responsibilities to the world. It was just the two of you, tangled together, consumed by the fire you’d stoked in each other. Consumed by the very word that both of you couldn’t fathom saying to the other.

When he finally pulled back, the string of your connection bellowed you in parting. You looked at him intently as you gathered yourself. Both of you were breathless, wanton in your desire. You found your lips swollen and your heart pounding to no end.

Soon enough, he drew you closer and let his forehead rested against yours intently, his hands still firmly on your waist, holding you as if he feared you’d vanish.

“You’re so ardently beautiful, angel of mine.” he said again, his voice a husky promise. “Always. My only muse.”

“And you’re just as cunningly sweet, devil.” you replied, your voice steady despite the whirlwind of emotions coursing through you. “You’re the only one who can be my artist.”

“You’re quite possessive tonight, aren’t you?”

You hummed back to him. “Don’t you already know that I am vile when it comes to you and smiling at other women?”

His smirk returned at your words. You rolled your eyes at his smirk, but your own eyes were too playful to suggest anything else. Your lover’s smirk turned softer soon, as your hands rested around his neck. But it was obvious that it was just as dangerous. Soon enough, he leaned in to kiss you again, passionately slower this time, as if savoring the moment.

The green room felt impossibly small, the charged energy between you crackling like a live wire. Sukuna’s hands roamed your body with a confidence that left you breathless, his touch igniting a fire in your veins. His lips trailed from your mouth to your jaw, down the curve of your neck, leaving a heated path in their wake.

Your back pressed against the cool wall, a small breath releasing from your lips. You could feel the difference when you pressed against his body, though. Now more so when he had all but taken everything off, naked as the day he was born. It was truly a stark contrast to the endless heat and pleasure just radiating from his body and onto yours.

He held you firmly, his strong calloused hands gripping your voluptuous hips closer as though grounding himself in you. His hot breath was heavy against your skin, his sharp teeth grazing the sensitive spots on your skin that made you shiver and arch into him.

"’kuna, you….." you whispered, your voice trembling with both anticipation and need.

He chuckled darkly, his lips curling into a wicked smirk against your neck. "Say it louder for me." he demanded, his voice dripping with authority and raw desire. “I love hearing from you.”

You barely had time to respond before his hand slid lower onto your body, finding the silky fabric in his way. His brow raised for a moment. He had put himself in a conundrum, at times. He likes dressing you in everything he thinks of and creates. And yet, he just as much loves to see it off your body.

With a swift, deliberate motion, he tugged at the silky material, his eager movements ever so impatient yet precise. When your lover found your bare skin, you couldn’t help but gasp, throwing your head to the side slightly, clutching onto his shoulders for support.

It didn’t take long before your lover found himself pressing himself closer, the thick heat of his touch teasing at the warmth of your entrance. He paused, his warm scarlet eyes locking with your own, searching for permission in your gaze. Even when he leads, he knows an angel will always be the one on top, not him, not the devil.

You nodded, your bruised lips parting as you whispered back at him. "Please. Please, my devil."

From there, you could only find that the tension had all but snapped. He pushed into you with a slow, deliberate force that had you throwing your head back against the wall. A loud pleasured cry escaped your eager lips as his throbbing tip pressed against your walls with such a mean, unrelenting precision.

You could only ever feel so full with the way he was easily stretching you in a way that was both overwhelming and intoxicating. He always knew too well how your body would react to him, wantonly eager to capture him in this desire. Just as much as it was willing to follow him, like he was its very own pied piper.

His rough and yet gentle hands gripped your hips tighter against him, steadying you as he slid into you deeper, filling everything inside to the brim. Your lover’s breath could only feel ragged, his jaw clenched and tightened as he fought for control, his sweating forehead resting against your own, now too drenched in desire.

"You take me so perfectly, don’t you?" he growled, his voice low and filled with unrestrained hunger. “Too good.”

Your fingers found their way to the small of his back, nails painted crimson now stained deeper as they dragged across his skin, leaving raw, bleeding trails in their wake. You clung to him desperately, adjusting to the fullness of him, each deliberate motion sending shockwaves through your body.

The initial sting of his girth soon melted into a searing pleasure, a molten heat pooling deep within you as he buried himself further, again and again. Each thrust forward in this pandemonium of pleasure was deliberate, unyielding, designed to elicit the loudest, most unrestrained cries from your lips.

Even against the sound of music outside these walls, your pleasure was even louder. Not that Sukuna minded. If anything, that had just made him more eager for more. The air in the green room grew dense and feverish, charged with the mingling of your ragged breaths, the rhythmic slap of skin meeting skin, and the guttural curses that spilled freely from Sukuna’s lips.

He shifted slightly, tilting your hips with a nearly brutal precision, each movement driving him deeper and deeper into you. It was raw, primal—his intensity teetering on the edge of brutish animalism. The cool wall at your back pressed harder against you as he pushed closer, his heat overwhelming, searing into your already burning skin.

From then on, your lover found himself thrusting against you in a new angle. Almost instantly, you found yourself unraveled entirely, tearing cries of unrestrained ecstasy from your lips over and over again, layered in different pitches one after another. Your body arched instinctively, meeting him halfway, desperate for more as he kept you teetering on the precipice of bliss.

Again and again, your lover gleefully pushed you closer to that feverish edge, his swift movements unrelenting, even as his own breaths grew rough and uneven, the sound of his hunger matching the rhythm of your shared passion. You could feel your slick sliding down your crevices, as much as drool was falling from your lips.

“You feel that?” he growled, his voice low and ragged, thick with possession. His lips found the curve of your neck, teeth grazing your skin before biting down lightly, claiming you in a way that sent shivers down your spine.

You groan against him. “You take me so perfectly… even now, in this dress I made just for you. Look at how it clings to you, ruined. It’s just like I wanted.”

The shining silk fabric of the dress bunched at your hips, a masterpiece he had poured his craft into, now crumpled and wrinkled between your sweating, mangled bodies. It was too intoxicating, the way that the waves of wrinkles formed on the fabric as you moved against him just as intensely. It was such an art. It was an art that only belonged to you and him. No one else can ever see such marvels like this.

The bright satin straps had all but slipped from your shoulders, exposing more of your gleamingly red and marred skin to his roaming calloused hands and greedy scarlet eyes. His long fingers gripped the delicate material, rough and unapologetic, as though the dress itself was just another part of you to dominate.

Your response was but a strangled moan as his brutishly eager hips snapped forward, the force of him driving you harder against the wall. The burn of skin against skin, the body against the cool wall — it has overtaken you whole in many fits of groans in pitiful harmonies of pleasure.

The cool surface contrasted with the molten heat coursing through your body, heightening every sensation. Your nails could only continue to claw at his shoulders, leaving streaks upon streaks of your touch across his skin, marring him, as you fought to keep yourself grounded. He could only smirk at that.

“Look at you now.” he murmured darkly, his scarlet gaze piercing into yours. “Still wearing this dress like a goddess, and yet, you’re falling apart for me. Do you have any idea how maddening you are? How irresistible?”

His hand slid between your bodies, teasingly brushing over the intricate folds of the fabric as his fingers found the heat pooling between your thighs. “Tell me, angel… do you want me to ruin this dress too? To ruin you completely, so no one else can ever have you?”

“Yes, my devil.Yes.” you gasped, your voice shaky but unyielding, the word spilling from your lips like a prayer. “Only you.”

His chuckle was dark, wicked, and utterly consuming, the sound of a man reveling in his victory. “Just how I love it, then.” he whispered, leaning in to brush his lips against your ear, his breath warm and teasing. “Because I’ve made you mine in every way that matters.”

His pace quickened, the power of his thrusts leaving you breathless, and yet, the dress still clung to your frame, a tattered proof to his desire and your surrender. Every stitch, every detail he had meticulously crafted was now a witness to the unrelenting passion that coursed between you, its perfection crumbling just as you were under his touch.

“You’re so beautiful like this.” he rasped, his voice thick with emotion, even as it trembled with raw hunger. “My perfect angel. My creation. Mine.”

The dress clung to you, its delicate fabric now rumpled and damp with sweat, a stark contrast to the pristine masterpiece it had been when he first slipped it into your body hours earlier. His hands roamed freely now, rough fingertips tracing the paths of the seams he had stitched with care.

Each touch of his ignited sparks across your glowing skin, a searing reminder that every detail of the garment was crafted with you burning the thoughts he had mind—and now, every thread bore witness to how completely he had unraveled you bear to him.

“Do you feel how perfect this is?” he murmured, his lips brushing the shell of your ear as his voice dropped to a rasp. His hips surged forward again, drawing a gasp from your lips that echoed in the small room.

“Every part of this, of you, was meant to drive me insane. The heavens planned for that, don’t you think? An angel to save the devil from sin.” He lets out a small choked chuckle, feeling sweat permeate from his neck.

His words were almost worshipful, though they carried the dark edge of his hunger. One hand slid down, gripping your thigh through the bouncing fabric, pulling you impossibly closer as he pressed harder against you. His other hand tugged at the hem of your dress, teasingly smoothing it back down only to push it higher again.

“You don’t even know, do you?” he continued, his scarlet eyes locked onto yours, holding you captive as easily as his body did. “How beautiful you look like this—wrapped in something I made, only to have me ruin it.”

His lips curled into a smirk, wicked and proud, before he leaned in, capturing your mouth in a searing kiss. The kiss was all-consuming, his teeth grazing your lower lip, his tongue invading with the same urgency as his movements against you. When he pulled back, leaving you gasping for air, his forehead pressed against yours, his breath mingling with yours.

“Say it again. I wanna hear it again.” he demanded, his voice thick with need. “Tell me you’re mine.”

You could barely form the words, but they tumbled from your lips without hesitation. “I’m yours. Only yours.”

His eyes darkened further, a victorious glint sparking within them. “That’s right.” he growled, his pace quickening, his grip on you tightening as he drove you higher and higher. “You’ll always be mine, angel. No one else will ever have you like this. No one else will ever love you like I do.”

The intensity of his words sent you over the edge, your beautiful cries mingling with his animalistic groans as he followed you into an oblivion together. The air around you was heavy, thick with the scent of desire and the echoes of your shared release.

For a moment, neither of you moved from the bliss of the high. The only sound that mattered to the two of you was the ragged cadence of your breaths. His hands, once rough and relentless, now moved with never ending tenderness, smoothing the crumpled fabric of your silk dress as if trying to restore its dignity.

As if trying to hide the ruin and depravity that he feels only belongs to you and him. No one else can see it, no one else can know about his depravity. Only you, only you were the spectacle of any wrinkle in his composure. Your lover smiles at you. His lips brushed your forehead, a soft contrast to the ferocity of moments before.

“You’re perfect, as always.” he whispered, his voice low but steady, carrying a rare, vulnerable warmth. “In every way.”

You couldn’t help but smile at him. “So are you.”

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esouliie · 6 months ago

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DECEMBER MIRACLE

(wanda maximoff x fem!reader)

summary | wanda buys you a puppy for christmas

tags | a short christmas drabble yay, fluff and cutesy things bc we deserve more of this, lowkey inspired by lady and the tramp!

notes | i’ve always wanted a puppy for christmas and i can 100% confirm wanda is the type of wife to convince you to not get one bc she wants to surprise you! #lovemyevilwife :3

The air is crisp with the scent of pine needles and cinnamon, the fireplace crackling softly in the corner of your cozy new living room. It’s your first Christmas as a married couple, as the Maximoffs, and the house you moved into over the summer is finally starting to feel like home. The walls are adorned with twinkling lights, the first presents stacked gracefully along the fireplace, and the tree glows warmly in the corner, bedecked with ornaments you’ve both collected over the years.

Wanda has been running around all morning, fussing over every little detail for the holiday party. She’s been uncharacteristically anxious about hosting, insisting that everything must be perfect for your first big event as a married couple. You didn’t understand considering you guys had been hosting Christmas in your shared apartment in the Tower for years now without a fuss. But despite her nerves, you can see the joy in her movements. She hums softly to herself as she adjusts the table settings, her cheeks rosy from the cold weather and holiday cheer.

Nobody loved Christmas more than Wanda.

For weeks, you’ve been teasing her about what she might have gotten you for the holiday. Wanda is notoriously — and frustratingly — good at keeping secrets, which only makes your curiosity worse. She’s batted away your questions with a smirk every time, reminding you to "wait and see." But there’s something else you’ve been pestering her about for months now—a dog. Not just any dog, but a Cavalier King Charles Spaniel, just like the one you had as a child. You’ve spent hours showing her pictures, telling her stories about your old dog, Marley, explaining how much it would mean to you. She lived a long, happy life, passing away in her sleep just before Christmas a few years ago. Every time, Wanda has firmly said no, listing all the reasons why it’s not a good idea. “We’re still settling into the house,” she’d said, her tone patient but firm. “A dog is a lot of responsibility and we’d have to train it, walk it, make sure it doesn’t chew on the furniture,” or, “we’re already busy with work,” she’d added another time. “We travel so much, it wouldn’t be fair to the poor thing. Who’s going to take care of it when we’re gone?” You’d groaned dramatically each time, accusing her of being worse than Scrooge and The Grinch combined. But deep down, you understood her concerns. You didn’t want to push too hard—mostly because you knew Wanda’s stubbornness was unshakable once she’d made up her mind.

By the time the Avengers start trickling into your home that afternoon, the excitement of hosting had distracted you from mourning your puppy dreams. Natasha is the first to arrive, punctual as ever. She steps inside, a bottle of wine in one hand, gifts in the other which she had rushed to put down under the tree, before pulling you into a quick, warm hug. “You two have really outdone yourselves,” she says, glancing around at the decorations. Her gaze lingers on the stockings hung above the fireplace, each bearing the embroidered name of an Avenger that Wanda had made many years ago. “We had to,” you reply with a laugh. “First Christmas in the new house. It’s all about setting the tone dude.” She scoffs, unwrapping her scarf from her neck. “Yeah well leave it to you two to make the rest of us look bad,” she adds, before handing the wine over to Wanda.”

In all honesty, you’d spent weeks decorating—Wanda with her meticulous approach and you with your love for the slightly over-the-top and ability to do whatever your wife wants. Your pièce de résistance sits proudly on the dining table: a centrepiece you’d made yourself years ago, which had endured years of abuse from being hastily stuffed into storage. For some reason, you attempted to fix it this week, adamant it must be apart of the Christmas display.

“Nice touch with the themed centrepiece by the way.” Natasha nods towards the table. You don’t miss the sarcasm in her voice. “Oh shut up! I worked really hard on that!”

You shove her in the direction of the kitchen, “Tell her Wanda.”

There was a moment of silence from your wife, who was arranging appetisers. Then, in her deadpan voice, she replies, “Yes, she worked really hard on it.”

It didn’t help.

Natasha erupts into laughter, glancing back at you while Wanda stifled a smile. “You are both rude!” You exclaim dramatically, stomping off toward the door as more guests arrived.

The banter continues as more of your friends showed, each one laden with infamous dishes, gifts, or, in Tony’s case, stories that have grown increasingly exaggerated since you moved out of his Tower. You could tell the old man missed you. He had always been like a father to you. The house was buzzing with life, laughter, and the sound of clinking glasses.

Within the hour, the party was in full swing.

It’s mid-afternoon, almost evening, when the doorbell rings again. You had somehow lost Wanda and Natasha in the midst of the chaos, balancing a plate of cookies as you step around Thor currently arm wrestling Tony with the glove of his suit on, when Yelena calls out, “I’ve got it!” She opens the door, immediately letting all the cold air in as she swings it fully open. “Oh my God,” you hear her say, her voice uncharacteristically soft, before she explodes, “What did you do?!” You turn, curious at all the commotion, and then freeze. Standing in the doorway is Nat, holding the tiniest Cavalier King Charles Spaniel puppy with a big red bow tied neatly around its neck. The puppy is wriggling excitedly in her arms, its big brown eyes scanning the blonde Russian, as it shook of the light dusting of snow that had fell on its coat.

“Nat,” you gasp, your eyes wide as you made you way over. “Did you—did you get this for me?” She shakes her head, her smirk deepened at your expression. “Not me,” she says, holding the puppy out to Yelena, all the while side stepping into the house, revealing your wife stood sheepishly behind her. “This is all Wanda.”

You whip back around to look at your wife, who’s standing before you, her hands nervously twirling her rings. Her lips curve into a small, shy smile, and she shrugs. “Merry Christmas, darling,” she says softly, her voice barely audible over the light buzz of the party. Your eyes fill with tears as you take the puppy from Yelena, her tiny body warm and wiggly against you. “Wands,” you whisper, your voice thick with emotion. “I thought you said—”

“I know what I said,” she interrupts, walking closer to you. “But I’ve seen how much you wanted this, how happy it would make you. And... I wanted to give you that happiness.” She reaches out to scratch behind the puppy’s ears, her green eyes gentle as they flicker between you both. “I may have gone overboard with the excuses but that was only to throw you off our scent,” she admits. “Nat helped me find her. We’ve been planning this for months.”

The tears spill over as you wrap your free arm around Wanda, pulling her into a tight hug. “I can’t believe you did this.” You murmur into her damp hair. “You bloody witch!”

You both share a laugh before she replies, “I’d do anything for you, love. And her now, I guess.” The puppy lets out a soft yip, wriggling once again in your arms, and you both giggle. Wanda leans in to kiss you, her lips cold and tingling against yours. “You know, you’re going to be the best dog mom.”

“No, we’re going to be the best dog moms.” You reply, pulling her through the threshold.

Wanda closes the door behind you as you practically ran into the living room. “Everybody look! Wanda finally made me a mommy!” You joke, lifting the tiny puppy high enough for everybody to see. The room erupts into cheers and laughter as the Avengers take turns fawning over the puppy. Tony is the first to chime in, of course; “I give it two weeks before that thing destroys your furniture. Three if you’re lucky.”

“Don’t listen to him,” Pepper coos, leaning down to pet the puppy. “She’s adorable. What’s her name?”

“I don’t know yet,” you admit, looking at Wanda. “We haven’t decided.”

“We haven’t?” Wanda arches an eyebrow, obviously teasing. “I thought this was your Christmas miracle. Naming her is your job.”

You cradle the puppy close, overwhelmed with joy. “Hmm she looks like a… Sadie.”

“Sadie it is,” Tony says, scratching behind the puppy’s ears. “A very fitting name for the newest member of the team.”

Thor, ever the dramatic, raises his glass. “A toast! To Sadie, the cutest yet fiercest warrior of all Cavaliers, and to the greatest union of Midgardian love I have ever seen!” The group echoes his toast with playful enthusiasm, clinking glasses and adding their own dramatic declarations. You roll your eyes but can’t suppress your laughter as Sadie barks, seemingly agreeing with the sentiment. Amid the noise, Wanda moves closer, her hand brushing your arm. You turn to her, and the world seems to quiet. Her eyes are fixed on you—on the way your face lights up as you cradle Sadie your chest, on the soft laugh that escapes your lips when she licks at your nose.

“I love you,” she murmurs, so softly that only you can hear it. Your eyes meets hers, and you know she’s not just talking about today. You see it in the way Wanda loves all of you—your quirks, your persistence, your endless enthusiasm for life. The way she wants to give you everything, even the things she swore she wouldn’t, everything and more. “I love you,” you whisper back, leaning in to kiss her.

As the night goes on, and the party has fizzled out, you catch Wanda watching as you dote on Sadie on the floor. Her red bow had been replaced by a pink collar Wanda had stuffed into one of your gifts from under the tree. When you finally sit on the couch, bringing along little Sadie who’s managed to work her way into your wife’s lap, she finally leans in and whispers, “Best Christmas ever, right?”

You beam from ear to ear, tears stinging your eyes, as you take in the sight of your little family— of your true Christmas miracle.

“More than you’ll ever know.”

#my fics! ꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱₊˚⊹#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x y/n #wanda maximoff x you

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tokoyamisstuff · 7 months ago

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A/N: guys pls tell me the exact names if you request sth, there's so many of those men and I don't wanna accidentally leave out those you want🙈

gn! Reader I no warnings

Anderson - Words of Affirmation

Being the well read man that he is - plus the fact that too much physical intimacy makes him uncomfortable - he prefers showing his love through words, both written or voiced.

Since he's away on missions more often than not, he'll remind you of his undying love in other ways. You'd spend hours on the phone talking about everything from trivialities to deep conversations.

He's pretty repressed and secretive about his inner world, but always has a quote from the bible or any other literature ready to put his feelings into words.

Letters are his favourite way of showing how he feels about you. It just comes easier to him than in person. They're very poetic, and even when he's not abroad he tends to leave some for you to find.

Alucard - Quality Time

Compared to his own, your life is just so painfully short that he wants to savor every single second of it. Mostly it's not even about doing something special, just simply being together.

The relationship will progress very fast due to the same reason. For him there's no way you shouldn't be living with him as soon as things get serious. Will accomodate to your mortal needs as good as he can, of course.

He's the kind of man that would always be present, even if away on missions he'd still have a familiar nearby for your protection (and simply to feel close to you).

Your humanity is way too precious for him to take away for his selfish desire of having you forever, but he'll eternally be grateful for the brief time with you and the impact it made on his life.

The Captain - Physical Touch

What this man can't tell you through words he'll express in other ways - and damn he's addicted.

Always has a need to be close to you, and as soon as you're in range he needs to feel you somehow: A hand on the small of your back, his chin atop of your head, his fingers intertwined with yours. No matter what you're doing or who might see, he doesn't really care. Most of the time it's subconscious either way.

He's surprisingly innocent and careful with his touch, as if you're a porcellain doll that might break under his strenght. Adores things like brushing your hair or simply tracing the lines of your face when you sleep.

On the other hand your touch is so balmy to him that this man will practically melt under your fingertips. Every second he cannot feel it is sweet torture.

Walter - Acts of Service

Do I even have to explain? It's literally what he was made to do. Hard to outgrow things you're used to ever since childhood.

There's nothing he cannot do - and if there is, he's willing to learn. Over time he'll know all of your likes/dislikes, habits, etc. by heart and through sheer observation alone. He is also very eager to help you achieve your goals through any means necessary.

He's a man with love for detail, putting in effort even in the smallest daily gestures. With him even the most trivial day will make you feel like royalty, and he is very mindful to support you in any way he can.

Sadly he tends to overextend himself in an anxious endeavour, so you really need to remind this man that he is loved and appreciated even without being 'useful'.

Maxwell - Receiving Gifts

The whole 'affection' thing is new territory for this sociopath, and he has absolutely no idea how to approach it. So he goes about it the way he always does to cover up for what he lacks - overcompensating!

Deep down he's a very insecure man that feels he needs to prove being worthy of your affection, but he also simply thinks you deserve nothing less.

His gifts will always be very personal and thoughtful, trying to show you just how much he cares without actually having to say it. He also loves planning special dates for the two of you to make the most out of the little free time he can spend with you.

Ironically he is very humble when it comes to receiving any kind of affection from your side. He's not used to anything but crumbs, and needs a while until he learns allowing someone to love him properly.

#hellsing #hellsing ultimate #alucard #alexander anderson #walter c dornez #the captain #enrico maxwell #alucard x reader #alexander anderson x reader #walter c dornez x reader #the captain x reader #enrico maxwell x reader #reader insert #writing #headcanons

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oceandolores · 11 months ago

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𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫'𝐬 𝐝𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐫 | chapter 7

Dbf! Joel Miller x female reader

"𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘢 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬 𝘮𝘦 𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘯𝘰𝘸?"

summary: you can't get enough of him, and he wants more of you

warnings: 18+ only, Minors DNI, AU, No outbreak. (TW) mentions of substance abuse/alcohol use disorder, adult content, religion abuse, violence, blood gore, mentions of death, sexual abuse, sexual content, domestic violences, ped0ph!l1a, cann1bal!sm, human traff1ck1ng, dad's best friend!Joel, HUGE age gap (i will not specify her exact age, but she's legal and Joel is 49), daddy issues, mentions of toxic family dynamic, Joel is widowed, Ellie is 16, angst, smut A LOT, forbidden relationship, soft and protective Joel, innocent and pure reader. your last name is Gibson. any other details will be explain throughout the story. inspired by the album Preacher's daughter by Ethel Cain and also mix with lana del rey vibes.

CHAPTER 7

masterlist of the series!

previous | chapter 6

next | chapter 8

The days after you and Joel finally crossed that line were a blur of stolen moments and lingering touches. You found yourself craving him in ways you hadn’t before, your thoughts constantly drifting back to the feel of his hands on your skin, the warmth of his breath against your ear. Every moment spent apart felt like an eternity, and you wondered how you’d ever managed without him.

For Joel, the realization that he had given in to his desires was both exhilarating and terrifying. You were like the forbidden fruit—sweet, tempting, and utterly irresistible. He knew the danger of indulging in something that was not meant to be his, yet every time he thought of you, he felt a pull that was impossible to resist. You had become a part of him, woven into the fabric of his thoughts and desires, and he was powerless to fight it.

The guilt gnawed at him, whispering that this was wrong, that he should be stronger, that he should protect you, not give in to the very thing that could destroy you both. But like the serpent in the garden, you had offered him a taste of something he had long denied himself, and now that he had taken it, there was no going back.

You were his Eve, the one who had tempted him to take a bite of the apple, and now, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t get enough. Every touch, every kiss felt like a forbidden indulgence, and yet, the more he had, the more he wanted. He was a man who had long believed himself to be beyond redemption, and yet, in your arms, he found a kind of salvation, even as he knew it might be the very thing that damned him.

The nights you spent together were filled with a passion that neither of you had ever known before. Joel was gentle, always so careful with you, as if you might break under the weight of his desire. But there was also a hunger in him, a need that seemed to grow with every touch, every whispered word. You were like a drug to him, intoxicating and addictive, and no matter how much he had, it was never enough.

But as the days passed, that small voice in the back of his mind grew louder, reminding him of the consequences, of the pain that could come from this, the inevitable fallout when the world discovered what they had done. He knew he was in deep, that this wasn’t just a fling, that his feelings for you ran deeper than he had ever expected. He had been so careful for so long, keeping everyone at arm’s length, building walls around his heart to protect himself from the hurt he knew too well. But with you, those walls had crumbled, and he was exposed, vulnerable in a way he hadn’t been in years.

You were like a flame, drawing him closer, even as he knew it could burn him. But he couldn’t stop himself. He couldn’t stay away. You were everything he had ever wanted, everything he had ever needed, and now that he had you, he wasn’t sure he could ever let you go.

The dance troupe’s performance was just two days away, and you were supposed to be focused on your routines, on perfecting every move. But all you could think about was Joel, about the way his hands had felt on your skin, the way his lips had tasted against yours. Every time you closed your eyes, you saw him, felt him, and it was driving you wild. You wanted him, needed him in a way that was almost painful, and the thought of going even a few hours without him seemed unbearable.

Joel felt the same. He knew he was playing with fire, that this couldn’t last, that something would have to give eventually. But he didn't want this to stop. And now, he was willing to let it consume him, because the thought of losing you, of going back to the way things were before, was too much to bear. You were his forbidden fruit, his secret sin, and he was addicted to you. No matter how wrong it was, no matter how much he knew he should stop, he couldn’t.

Because you were everything he had ever wanted, everything he had ever needed, and now that he had you, he couldn’t imagine his life without you.

Today another dance practice, as the music filled the church building, you let the rhythm guide your movements, your body swaying gracefully with each note. Jem and Ben watched your group practice from the pews, but your focus was elsewhere. The melody transported you back to the nights you spent with Joel, the memories flooding your senses with a mix of desire and longing.

You closed your eyes, letting the music and the memories intertwine. The church faded away, replaced by the familiar setting of Joel’s house in Houston. You could almost feel the creaking of the bed beneath you, the sounds of your shared passion echoing through the room. His rough hands moved over your skin, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. His beard grazed your neck, sending shivers down your spine.

Each thrust he made was a reminder of how deeply you were connected, how perfectly you fit together. The world outside ceased to exist; there was only Joel and the overwhelming pleasure he brought you. The biblical teachings of your father and the church labeled this as sin, an ultimate transgression before marriage. Yet, in Joel’s arms, it felt nothing like sin. It felt like a divine ecstasy, a taste of heaven.

"If this is the consequence," you thought inside your head, moving with the music, "if this is what sends me to hell, then why does it feel so heavenly with Joel?" The thought was intoxicating, the juxtaposition of sin and salvation blurring in your mind. You couldn’t get enough of it, of him.

The memory was vivid, each detail etched into your mind. You danced faster as the music quickened, your movements becoming more fervent. The tambourine shook in your hand, its jingle a counterpoint to the imagined sounds of your intimate moments with Joel. The sensation of his touch, the heat of his body, the way he made you feel utterly cherished and desired – all of it played out in your mind like a sacred ritual.

Your eyes remained closed, lost in the reverie. You no longer cared if your friends noticed your entranced state, or if Jem and Ben watched with puzzled expressions. The rhythm of the music intertwined with the rhythm of your memories, transporting you back to the nights with Joel.

In your mind, you were back in Joel’s house. His hands were on you, their roughness a stark contrast to the gentleness of his touch. He moved with a deliberate slowness, as if savoring every moment. “You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “I don’t deserve you.”

You shivered at his words, your body arching into his touch. “You do, Joel.” Your voice was breathless, filled with the intensity of your feelings.

Joel’s response was a deep, satisfied groan. “I need you,” he said, his words a command and a plea. “Let me show you how much.”

The memory of his lips on your skin was almost tangible. You could feel the warmth of his breath against your neck, the way he kissed you with a mixture of passion and reverence. “Yes, Joel,” you murmured, your hands finding his shoulders. “Show me.”

As you danced, the sensations became more vivid. You could feel the weight of him above you, the way he moved with a careful precision, ensuring your pleasure with each thrust. “You’re so good,” he would say, his voice strained with his own desire. “My good girl.”

Your own voice echoed in your mind, a litany of need and surrender. “Please, Joel,” you would beg, your body responding to his every touch. “Don’t stop.”

The music swelled, and your movements became more frenzied, mirroring the crescendo of your memories. You could hear the bed creaking, the sound a testament to the intensity of your passion. Joel’s hands were everywhere, his touch branding you as his.

The heat of his body, the strength in his arms, the way he looked at you as if you were his entire world – it was all-consuming. Each thrust was deliberate, sending waves of pleasure through you. “You’re everything to me,” he whispered, his breath hot against your ear. “I’ll never let you go.”

Your body responded to his every move, the sensations overwhelming. “Joel,” you gasped, your nails digging into his back as the pleasure built. ”Oh, I'm close,"

He groaned, his pace quickening. “I’m here, baby. I’ve got you.” His words were a lifeline, anchoring you in the midst of the storm of sensations.

Your response was a moan of pure need, your body arching into his touch. “Joel, please,” you begged, the words spilling from your lips without thought. “Don’t stop.”

He answered with a deep, throaty groan, his hands gripping your hips as he drove deeper. “Never,” he promised, his voice thick with emotion. As you neared your climax, the world seemed to blur, the only reality being the intense connection between you and Joel. With a final, powerful thrust, you both shattered, your climax washing over you as Joel found his own release, his warmth filling you.

The music in the church reached its crescendo, mirroring the peak of your shared passion. Your body responded to the memory, your movements becoming more fervent and impassioned. And then, as the final notes played, you felt the echo of that release, a sense of completion washing over you.

The music ended, and you heard clapping, pulling you back to the present. The applause was a reminder of where you were, and you opened your eyes, the church coming back into focus. You saw Jem and Ben watching you, their expressions a mix of admiration and curiosity. Your friends were smiling, their faces glowing with the shared joy of the dance.

You took a deep breath, grounding yourself in the present moment. The vivid memories of Joel still lingered, the intensity of your connection with him a comforting presence. As you looked around, you realized that your dance had been more than just a performance – it had been a celebration of the love and passion you shared with Joel.

Jem approached you, a knowing smile on his face. "That was incredible," he said, his voice filled with genuine appreciation. "You really put your heart into that dance."

You nodded, a soft smile tugging at your lips. "Thank you," you replied, your voice steady despite the turmoil within. As you stood in the church, the sacred space, you couldn’t help but think about how your mind had been filled with memories of the unholy. It was as if you were standing in the Garden of Eden, yet your thoughts were consumed with the forbidden fruit.

You couldn’t escape the feeling that your passionate moments with Joel were both a sin and a salvation, a paradox that left you breathless. The church, with its stained glass and solemn aura, was meant to be a place of purity and worship. But here you were, having indulged in the carnal, the profane, and it felt as if you had brought a piece of hell into heaven.

Ben noticed you, his eyes locking onto yours. He gave you a smile, but there was something in his gaze that unsettled you. It was as if he could see through you, as if he knew the unholy thoughts that had been consuming you. Your breath was still ragged, your chest rising and falling with the effort to regain composure.

He approached slowly, his expression curious and knowing. "You were really into that dance," he said, his voice gentle yet probing.

You swallowed hard, nodding. "Yeah, I guess I was."

Ben’s eyes didn’t leave yours, and for a moment, you felt exposed, as if he could see every sinful memory, every intimate detail of your nights with Joel. "You seem... different," he observed. "Like something’s changed."

Your heart pounded, guilt and desire warring within you. "I’ve just been... thinking a lot," you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

Ben’s gaze softened, and he leaned in slightly, his voice low and almost conspiratorial. "We all have our moments of doubt and temptation," he said. "It’s human."

His words were a balm to your troubled soul, but also a reminder of the duality you lived with. The sacred and the profane, the pure and the sinful, all intertwined within you. You were a creature of both light and darkness, standing in a place that demanded only the former.

As Ben stepped back, his eyes still holding that knowing look, you felt a surge of determination. You could balance these two worlds, find a way to reconcile the love you had for Joel with the faith you were raised in. It wouldn’t be easy, but you were willing to try.

After the practice ended, Emma and a couple of your friends said goodbye and left, their laughter and chatter fading as they walked away. Jemima and Ben approached you hand-in-hand, Jemima with her ever-kind smile.

"You did a great job today," she said warmly. "You were really into it. Don't forget tomorrow is our last practice before the big performance on Sunday. I can't wait to see you on stage."

"Thanks, Jem," you replied, trying to muster enthusiasm despite the turmoil within.

They both said goodbye and left, driving away in their car. You stood outside the church, waiting for Joel. Usually, he would be waiting for you, but he had texted earlier, saying he would be late due to work. You were planning to spend the night with Joel, taking advantage of your father's absence. If he were home, sneaking out would be nearly impossible.

As you waited, a sudden voice startled you. "Hey!" It was Jamie. You sprang up from where you were sitting and took a step back, your heart pounding in your chest.

"Wait, please, just listen to me," Jamie called, taking a step towards you.

"Get out of my face, Jamie. I don't want to see you ever again," you snapped, fear and anger mingling in your voice. The memory of what he had done to you, the trauma he had caused, still haunted you.

"Please," Jamie pleaded, his voice desperate. "Just listen to me for a moment. I swear I won't hurt you."

You hesitated, knowing that if listening would make him go away, it was worth it. "What do you want?" you demanded, your voice trembling with suppressed rage.

Jamie took a deep breath. "I'm sorry," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I regret what I did. Please, don't tell anyone. It would ruin me, ruin my family."

"Sorry?" you echoed, your voice rising. "You hurt me, Jamie. You fucked me over, mentally and physically! You think sorry is going to fix that?"

"Please," Jamie begged, his face a mask of fear and desperation. "I know I messed up. Just don't tell anyone, please."

Your anger flared. "Get out of my fucking face or I'll fucking scream," you threatened, your voice low and deadly. For the first time, Jamie saw the seriousness in your eyes, the fury that had been building up.

Jamie stumbled back, fear evident in his eyes. Without another word, he turned and ran. Moments later, Joel’s truck pulled up. You quickly got into the passenger seat, your body still trembling with anger and fear.

Joel glanced at you, concern etched on his face. Before he could say anything, you leaned over and kissed him hard, your lips crashing into his.

Joel was taken aback but responded instantly, his arms wrapping around you to steady your trembling form. The kiss was a mixture of desperation, anger, and a need to feel something other than the fear Jamie had instilled in you. You pulled back, your eyes meeting Joel’s, and in a voice that was barely a whisper, you said, "Just take me away from here."

Joel nodded, his expression serious, and without another word, he put the truck in gear and drove off. As the town's familiar streets blurred by, you tried to calm your racing heart, but the proximity to Joel only heightened your senses. The tension from your encounter with Jamie slowly eased as you focused on Joel, his presence a comforting anchor.

Unbeknownst to either of you, Jamie had hidden behind some nearby bushes, watching the entire exchange. His eyes narrowed as he saw you kiss Joel passionately before driving away. Jamie’s mind raced with thoughts of revenge and use this against you if you ever tell anyone about him and you.

He got you.

***

Finally, Joel pulled into a secluded spot just outside of town, a place where the stars were visible and the world seemed to stand still. He turned off the engine and looked at you, his eyes filled with concern. "Are you okay?" he asked softly, brushing a strand of hair from your face.

You were confused about why he stopped. "Why are you stopping?" you asked, a hint of frustration in your voice.

Joel sighed, still caressing your cheek. "I just want to make sure you're alright," he said gently. "You look pissed,"

"I'm fine," you insisted, trying to push the memories of Jamie away.

As Joel continued to caress your cheeks, you felt a familiar warmth growing inside you, a need that was becoming impossible to ignore. You leaned closer, your lips brushing against his neck. "I need you, Joel," you whispered, your breath warm against his skin. "I need to feel you."

Joel's breath hitched, and he shook his head. "No, not here. Wait until we get home."

But you were determined. Ignoring his protests, you unbuckled your seatbelt and began massaging his erection through his jeans. You could feel him getting hard, and it fueled your desire even more. "See, you're hard," you murmured, your voice low and teasing.

Joel's breathing grew heavier. "Doll, not here," he said, his voice strained. "Just wait."

You didn't stop. You unzipped his pants, your hand slipping inside to free his erection. Joel groaned, his resolve weakening as your touch sent shivers down his spine. "Relax, Joel," you whispered, your fingers wrapping around his length. "Just enjoy it."

He let out a shaky breath, his head leaning back against the seat. You lowered your head, your lips wrapping around him, taking him into your mouth. Joel's hands gripped the seat, his hips involuntarily thrusting towards you as you pleasured him.

"Fuck," he groaned, his voice thick with desire. "Keep doing that,"

You hummed in response, the vibration sending waves of pleasure through him. You moved your head up and down, taking him deeper each time. Joel's hands found your hair, pulling you suck his deeper as he lost himself in the sensation.

You hollowed your cheeks, increasing the intensity of your movements. Joel's breathing grew ragged, each gasp and groan driving you further. His taste, the warmth of his skin, and the way he responded to your touch fueled your own desire.

"God, you're so good," he murmured, his voice barely more than a whisper.

His words spurred you on, and you took him even deeper, your tongue swirling around him. Joel's grip on your hair tightened, and he let out a series of low, guttural moans, his hips thrusting up to meet your movements.

"Fuck," he hissed, his control slipping. "I'm close."

You didn't stop, your pace quickening as you pushed him towards the edge. Joel's entire body tensed, and with a final, deep thrust, he came, his release filling your mouth. You swallowed, savoring the taste of him, before finally pulling back.

Joel looked down at you, his eyes dark with a mixture of love and desire. "You're incredible," he said, his voice hoarse with emotion.

You smiled, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. "Well, what are you waiting for? Drive! Do you want more or not?" you teased him, your voice a sultry whisper.

With a final desire glance, Joel started the truck again, his hands gripping the wheel with a mix of anticipation and restraint. The drive to the house was charged with a palpable tension, every touch and glance between you intensifying the connection.

When you finally arrived at the house, the world seemed to fall away, leaving only the two of you and the quiet sanctuary of the night. Joel led you inside with a sense of urgency, his touch a blend of tenderness and raw desire.

The door clicked shut behind you, and the sound amplified the charged atmosphere between you. Joel’s hands roamed over your body with an assertive grace, his touch igniting a fervent passion that mirrored your own. His eyes were dark with longing as he took in every curve and contour of your form.

"You’re so beautiful," Joel murmured, his voice a low, husky whisper. His fingers deftly tore at the fabric of your dress, a playful glint in his eyes. "Looks like you’ll owe me a new one."

You laughed softly, the sound mingling with the crackling tension in the air. His lips descended on your neck, trailing kisses that were both tender and intense. Each touch, each kiss, was a promise of the desire he felt for you. As he made his way down your body, his lips moved with a fervor that left you breathless.

When he reached your breast, his tongue traced delicate patterns over your skin, his touch sending waves of pleasure through you. The heat between you was palpable, a tantalizing dance of need and connection that drew you closer together.

"Joel, I need you now,"

Joel’s breath hitched at your words, a mixture of desire and affection deepening in his eyes. His hands, now firm and steady, guided you gently yet purposefully. Every touch was a deliberate exploration, a testament to the yearning that had built up between you.

He lifted his gaze from your breast, locking eyes with you. “Are you sure?” His voice was a low, husky whisper, filled with an intense sincerity. The warmth of his breath mingled with yours, creating an intimate cocoon around you both.

You nodded, your eyes never leaving his. “Yes, Joel. I want you,” you whispered, your voice barely audible but filled with longing.

With a deep, appreciative breath, Joel's hands continued their journey with an almost reverent touch. His lips followed the path his hands had traced, moving with deliberate care. As he kissed his way down your abdomen, his touch was both urgent and gentle, a contrast that only heightened the sensation.

Every kiss, every touch, seemed to create a delicate tension that made the air between you crackle with anticipation. The world outside faded into insignificance as the two of you became enveloped in this intimate space.

As Joel guided you gently to the bed, his touch remained tender despite the urgent desire that fueled both of you. He moved with a deliberate calmness, his actions conveying both care and intensity. The soft rustle of the sheets contrasted with the fervor of the moment, creating a sense of serene anticipation.

Joel's hands were steady as he reached for the condom from the nightstand. You watched him with a mixture of excitement and affection, your breath catching slightly at the sight. The preparation felt like a final step in a journey that had been building with every touch, every kiss.

Joel’s movements were careful as he opened the condom, his focus entirely on you. The contrast between his urgency and the meticulousness with which he prepared was a testament to the deep respect and care he had for you. As he rolled the condom on, his eyes never left yours, each motion filled with a deliberate tenderness.

As Joel entered you, the sensation was a blend of gentle pressure and overwhelming pleasure, each movement an expression of deep connection and longing. The rhythm of your breaths, mingling with the soft sounds of your shared pleasure, filled the room, creating a melody of intimacy that made every moment feel profoundly significant.

With each thrust, Joel's intensity matched the rising tide of your shared desire. His growl of approval mingled with your moans, a symphony of connection that built to a crescendo. You whispered for him to move faster, and his response was immediate, increasing the pace with a mix of urgency and care. The world outside seemed to vanish, leaving only the two of you in this sacred space of mutual adoration and longing.

"Fuck," you cursed, for the first time Joel heard you cursing.

Joel grinned, feeling the heat rising between them as he took control. He reached out, gripping your hips firmly and flipping you onto your stomach with ease, like a seasoned wrestler tossing an opponent in the ring.

"Now, be a good girl," he growled huskily, his voice thick with desire, his large hands moved deftly along your curves, pulling you up onto all fours as he positioned himself behind you. With a powerful thrust, he entered you from behind, eliciting a sharp gasp from your lips.

The sound echoed through the room, bouncing off the walls and filling the air around them with lustful energy. As he began to move, his strong arms wrapped around your waist, holding you close while he fuck you in this unfamiliar position.

"You feel so fucking good," he groaned, each word punctuated by the rhythmic slapping of their bodies colliding together.

Sweat dripped from his brow as he increased his pace, driven by raw animal instinct. "Oh God, Joel, yeah, keep doing that," you moaned, your voice dripping with desire.

The intensity of his movements caused the bedsheets to slip from beneath you, leaving you grasping at nothing but thin air as he continued to thrust into you. "You're gonna make me come so hard," he growled, his breath ragged and uneven. His powerful arms tightened around your waist, pulling you closer still as he ravaged your body mercilessly.

The force of his penetration shook the very foundations of the bedroom, creating a symphony of primal passion that seemed to shake the world around them.

With a final, powerful thrust, Joel released a primal roar that echoed throughout the room. His warm seed filled the condom completely, spilling deep inside as he collapsed onto your back, panting heavily from the exertion. As both of you lay entwined on the bed, their bodies slick with sweat and passion, he gently pulled out of you and rolled onto his side, cradling you in his strong arms.

"Fuck, baby," he whispered hoarsely, brushing a stray lock of hair from your forehead, "That was one hell of a ride." he said.

You couldn't help but smile weakly at him, feeling an overwhelming sense of satisfaction and exhaustion wash over you. "I love you," you said.

Joel’s eyes softened, his usual guarded expression giving way to something more vulnerable as he looked at you. His thumb gently traced the outline of your jaw, his touch warm and reassuring. “I love you too, darlin’,” he murmured, his voice low and sincere.

You felt a warmth spread through your chest at his words, the connection between you both feeling deeper than ever. The room was quiet now, the only sound was your breathing as you lay there, tangled together. It was a moment that felt almost surreal, like something out of a dream, yet it was very real and very much yours.

Joel leaned down, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead. “You’re somethin’ else, you know that?” he whispered, his lips brushing your skin with each word.

You giggled softly, the sound light and content. “You’re not so bad yourself, Miller,” you teased, earning a playful nudge from him.

He chuckled, a deep, rumbling sound that you could feel in your chest. “I’m serious,” he said, his tone becoming more earnest. “I never thought I’d find this again, not after everything. You make me feel...alive, in a way I didn’t think was possible.”

Your heart swelled at his confession, and you reached up to cup his face, your thumb brushing over the stubble on his cheek. “You make me feel the same way, Joel,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. “I can’t imagine my life without you now.”

Joel’s eyes locked with yours, and for a moment, it was as if the world outside ceased to exist. There was only the two of you, and the unspoken promise of more moments like this, of a future that was suddenly bright with possibility.

He pressed his forehead against yours, his breath mingling with yours in the small space between you. “Then we’ll make it work, no matter what,” he said softly, his words filled with determination. “I’m not lettin’ go of this, of us.”

Tears prickled at the corners of your eyes, but they were tears of happiness, of relief. “Me neither,” you whispered back, sealing your promise with a tender kiss.

As you lay there together, wrapped in each other’s arms, the world outside could wait. For now, it was just you and Joel, and that was all you needed.

269 notes · View notes

kiskyz · 3 months ago

Text

head empty just the police overall not caring or acting on your reports about gojo

warnings: kinda mean gojo (maybe a bit ooc as well?) mentions of physical and sexual assault, general yandere shit

the police are aware of spirits and sorcerers, they’re the ones who keep it all under wraps and control. so much coincides with the police; the the missing people reports, the damage these fights cause, the need for more resources, and so much more. the cover-up is important.

gojo satorou is undoubtedly the most famous and well-known sorcerer. the police are quite grateful to him—with him there, they know the case will be finished. he may not always be clean with his fights, but he gets it done thoroughly and fast.

without gojo, the authorities' jobs would be much, much harder.

so when you come crying to them about how your ex, a man named satarou gojo, sexually and physically assaulted you a week after your break up, the cops ultimately dismissed it after learning who, truly, the culprit was. a certain blue-eyed man also gave them some “motivation” (money) to sway their decision.

the police are corrupt and gojo is able to take advantage of that weakness.

the worst part was that when you first described the events, the police reacted with conviction and seemed to hold an actual intent to help you. when you gave the name “satarou gojo” the officer typing your words, shifted in his chair and called someone over who left. when the officer finally came back in, he whispered to the one at the desk whose expression changed to that of pity.

you stayed the night at the police station but an officer offered to take you home, to which you initially refused. you didn’t want to go home, he knew where you lived. you weren’t going to be safe. despite your refusals, the cop insisted and you eventually gave in.

you didn’t want to go home. as you sat in the car, dread filled you and you thought of the way the police treated you. it had seemed your case was initially treated very seriously, but then something changed. you felt in your gut that they weren't going to help you, although you didn't understand why. you don’t know want to go home. you can’t go home.

when you finally left your thoughts you realized that the cop never asked for your address and you hadn’t told her. you laughed out awkwardly and finally did. she didn’t reply and continued driving. ah! she must’ve just used the paperwork for you’re addresses. you looked at the gps to verify you’re suspicions but, that’s when you realized.

that’s gojos address.

you grabbed the door to the car, it was locked, you reached where the unlock button should be, but it wasn’t there.

“the backseats of most police cars don’t have locks” the police officer spoke up.

you slowly turned your gaze to the officer and your lip quivered as you spoke, “w-what…?”

why was a police officer taking you to the man you who you just explained with every little minute detail, how he brutally assaulted you? why did the police officer have his address? why is she taking you to him? why is this happening?

“your supposed to… help me..” you spoke up again.

the officer remained silent.

you finally realized you were crying, you didn’t know when it began, but you were now. your body shook and your breathing became ragged. you turned your eyes frantically around the car, maybe there was a way to get out.

“please… please… please!” you yelled hysterically.

out the window, you began to recognize the area. you were close. very close.

everything was spinning and your heart felt like it was about to burst from the speed it was beating at. you grabbed your arms, squeezing hard. you couldn’t focus, you needed to escape! you couldn’t breathe. it's so suffocating.

his house is so close…

you grabbed the officer’s shoulder—why hadn’t you thought to do so earlier?! you weren’t locked up. you could fight back. she reacted immediately, taking one hand off the wheel to seize your wrist in a firm, unyielding grip. the car swerved slightly before she steadied it, pulling over to the side of the road. your heart pounded. this was your chance.

you balled your other hand and went at her face. you didn't know where you were aiming specifically, but that didn't matter. she dodged with ease, her sharp gaze locking onto you. before you could react, she reached toward the door. your breath caught when you saw what she pulled out.

handcuffs.

panic surged through you. you wrenched your hand from her grip, pressing yourself against the car door to create distance. she unbuckled her seatbelt, leaning forward over the center console to grab you. you used all your strength and kicked her in the face. she yelled in pain, and you climbed over the center console to the passenger side, still kicking, though it was difficult. she held her face and grabbed in your direction, but since she couldn’t fully see you, you could evade her hand.

“stop being so difficult!!” she yelled angrily.

you unlocked the door, but as you began to climb out, she finally successfully grabbed your leg with a strong grip. you frantically used your strength in your other leg to push off the console and consequently lessening her grip on your other leg. she refused to let you go, moving with you as you finally were able to fall onto the ground outside the door.

you couldn’t scream for help.

she was the help and gojo’s residence was close.

police officers are strong and your occupation doesn’t require much physical labor, causing you to be a bit weaker. you understood your strength difference but hoped the pain you inflicted could lessen it. she finally moved one of her hands away but managed to grab your other leg. you gave up on fighting her away, just intent on using your upper body to just get away.

you were moving slowly forward, it wasn't like the officer was trying to keep you in the car, more like just hold onto you. at this point, your whole body was out of the car, hands on the ground, while she was now in the passenger seat. you finally turned back to her, grabbed the door with all your strength, and pushed it shut on her arms. she obviously screamed out in pain and let go of you.

you finally had a chance to escape and you weren't about to fuck it up.

you shakingly stood up and began running in the direction you came from. you understood your general location, having been to gojo's house many times before. the officer took back roads, so you hadn't realized sooner.

you knew she had probably gotten out of the car a bit ago, but you didn't seem to hear her behind you, and you refused to turn around to see. you just focused on in front of you, freedom was so very close.

the road was two-way and rough; pot holes were seen with frequency and rarely did cars use it.

a gunshot echoed through the surrounding forest from further down the street, you instinctively tripped over your feet from the sudden incredibly loud sound. you hadn’t fallen, you just kept running. just keep staring in front. it had to have been a warning shot…

you have always hated running but now you wished that wasn't the case as your lungs burned and your legs tensed. you ignored the pain and allowed adrenaline to control you. you didn't know exactly where you were going. if you thought about it, nowhere was safe, but you just wanted to be away.

your ears picked up a sound, different from your haggard breaths and stomping feet. you couldn't make out what it said—if it even said words for that matter, but you knew you recognized it and you refused to accept it. there was just no way nor would it even be logical.

but really, was he ever logical?

soon you felt an arm wrap around your neck, throwing your force back against a large object, and another arm wrapped around your waist. you knew it wasn't a large object, but you refused to think.

"you gave the dear office quite lot of trouble, though I'm glad you weren't harmed." the familiar voice spoke in your ear, a head having come to rest on your shoulder. he took in a deep breath against you.

his words were so demeaning. it seemed he was making your fight for your life, a silly tantrum.

you couldn't let this be the end. the fact that this may really well be the last time you are "free." this was the moment before the end. you didn't wish to accept it.

your breathing was still unstable from the overexertion and now his--albeit light--grip on your neck, but you finally made out the words, "let go..."

"aw~ you're so cute when you're trying to be assertive, especially when your barely even standing up!" he laughed at your shaking legs. it all was finally taking its toll on you.

your face burned in embarrassment at his words, and anger sparked up, but it was soon replaced with fear. he was terrifying.

you remembered what he did the last time you saw him. you remembered your intuition alarming. the pain and utter violation you were forced to endure while you were helpless. you remembered how easily he did it all. you remembered the words he left you with on the night you broke up with him.

"you wanted it. you just don’t want to admit it."

his arms around you lessened their grip slightly just as your legs finally gave in, knees locking, falling to the ground. he looked down at you with a condescending smile, crouching down to your height.

"sorcerers are real important, you know? it's a truth the authorities are forced to face." his laugh tickled your ear.

ah, so that's why you're here. that's why your case seemed to lose importance after just an hour of you reporting it. that's why the officer seemed to have a bit of a guilty look in her eyes and another emotion you ignore but were now faced to confront. a face everyone gave you.

pity.

#yandere jujutsu kaisen #yandere jjk #yandere jujutsu kaisen☁️💕#yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere x gn reader #yandere gojo #yandere satoru x reader #yandere satoru gojo #male yandere #yandere x yn #yandere gojo x reader #ramble turned fic lowkey

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yanderestarangel · 2 years ago

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HEADKANONS MK1 | TRIO LIN KUEI | "HOW WOULD THEY REACT TO YOU SAYING YOU HAVE DADDYKINK?"

A/N: I'm working on all the requests and doing kinktuber, lots of horny stuff ahead.

TW: Daddykink, vaginal sex, sex without a condom, daddykink, sub!reader, headcanons in general, afab reader, pet names.

✧ TOMAS VRBADA ✧

He would be a little confused at first, like: "-Why do you want to call me Daddy? I'm not that old-". However, he would soon get used to it and would ask to be called that in everyday life, but with no one around, as our boy is very shy, and being called that certainly makes him hard instantly. He would love to fuck you hard while you moan for him to go but quickly rolling on his dick hard, he would soon grab your chin making you look into his eyes while he fucked you on your back.

Seeing your sweaty naked body in the lilac LED light of your shared bedroom, he would take his cock out of your dripping pussy and rub his cock against your clit, back and forth as he watched you writhe beneath him, and he wouldn't put it back in again, until you call him Daddy again and cum on his dick making your pussy turn red and completely full of his semen. -Fuck babyboy/babygirl, you're a mess, aren't you? Wanting Daddy's cock like that."

✧ BI HAN ✧

He would sit calmly and listen to everything you say without saying anything in return, just listen detail by detail. When you finished explaining he would say that he wasn't used to it but he wouldn't suppress his desires, and soon after he would call you "my good little boy/girl" while you were on his lap, making you blush and feel the wetness on your panties, Soon your boyfriend would notice and you both knew where this was going. But please don't call him Daddy while you're in public or with someone from the Liu Kuei clan, he would get angry because in his mind it's just your secret, if it happened he would have one of two reactions: or just get angry at you for having "dirtyed" his reputation as a feared grandmaster or would look at you at the same moment and punish you after arriving home - you would be unable to walk for a long time.

And there you were again on the sofa in the living room in front of the television that was showing some random Saturday night program, only the light from the electronics illuminated the room while you rode his dick ferociously, the big man was totally naked showing his entire body defined and now sweaty from sex, but you hadn't cum yet and he was going to fuck your pussy until he felt his hot cock. Bi Han looks once again at your bouncing breasts and you with your pussy moving back and forth on his thick cock and pulsing veins, calling "Daddy" with a tired voice full of desire, making the man moan hoarsely as he looked at you, he really loved it. have a good little slut like you. "Fuck little one, so hungry for cock, aren't you? cumming with that slutty pussy on Daddy's cock, holy shit, I love you so much, being a good boy/girl for me... let's go dirty now Daddy's cock with your whore pussy."

✧ KUAI LIANG ✧

He would get horny at the same moment, he would admit that he always wanted to be called that, that it was always something he wanted internally but he never knew how to say it, he would be the type to research beforehand, everything he needs or doesn't need to do and would ask everything what you discovered, whether you like it or not. Kuai Liang wouldn't mind being called that on the street or in the Liu Kuei clan, in fact he would even be proud, if you accidentally called him Daddy in front of one of the Liu Kuei or his brothers, he would just smile seeing you realize what did you just call him, giving a roguish smile as he hugged you and continued talking as if nothing had happened. Kuai would fuck you from the front, as he watched his cock slowly enter you, splitting you in half, your tight pussy felt the man's big cock hitting your womb slowly as he smiled sideways seeing you so submissive to him, his big hands passed over your thighs as he brought you even closer, sinking even deeper inside you.

The moans were loud enough to be heard outside the room, only the orange light of the sunset illuminated your bouncing breasts while Liang put them in your mouth, running his tongue and biting lightly on the nipples. He looked at your face while you repeated like a mantra "-Please fuck me more Daddy--Please I-" while the fire ninja put his two fingers in your mouth making you suck them, you weren't going to leave until he let you Your Daddy Kuai Liang's dick is all dirty with cum, after all, your pleasure is a priority for him. "-Yes, you are a such good boy/girl, taking my dick with that beautiful tight pussy, scream my name (Y/N), scream your Daddy's name."

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demialwrites · 1 year ago

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FF7 x Reader

Annoying things about being in a relationship with them

Rufus Shinra

He knows how to clean surprisingly decently because of his time confined to Turk HQ in Before Crisis but stubbornly refuses to do certain things. It's 'beneath him'

Even if you're on birth control or otherwise can't get pregnant, it doesn't matter. He's wearing a condom and how dare you suggest otherwise

He takes up all the space in the closet because of all the layers he insists on wearing

He insists on taking his dog everywhere, even if you explain it terrifies some people. For example: your poor parents

Rude

There's a third wheel in this relationship and his name starts with a Re and ends with a No

Rude is very romantic. However, he only barely has time so his gestures happen spontaneously and it's hard to plan around his schedule

Often comes home with injuries and you're the one who has to patch him up and worry about him. He doesn't worry about himself

He prefers to show not tell. You have to learn how to read him with a glance

Reno

There's a third wheel in this relationship and his name is Rude

His insecurity randomly spikes and he gets mega jealous, sometimes with threats at the offending party

Very loud. All the time

Gets broody about things he has to do at work and sometimes nothing you do will help

Gets whiney when you don't have the stamina to have sex all damned night

Cloud

Cannot communicate his needs. Does not know what his needs are. WHAT ARE NEEDS?

Everyone flirts with him but if you try to talk to him about it, he never noticed the flirting in the first place

Sometimes cute animals follow him home and oops, one day you have seven cats, fifteen chickens, four dogs, several chocobos, and one of those giant elephant fiends because it was injured and alone. You didn't sign up to live at a zoo but here you are, shoveling elephant shit every day

Occasionally, one of his hair spikes stab you straight in the eye when he's being the little spoon

Barret

Thinks he can fix everything himself when sometimes you just need him to listen

Like Reno, Barret can be quite loud. If you like peace, sometimes you have to take some space. It makes the big guy sad

Not very detail-oriented. Leaves little things like ammo all over the garage/shed floor and small bits of trash all over the house. He meant to pick it up, honest!

Occasionally breaks the bed

Tseng

You can't be spontaneous for shit because he anticipates everything

He has certain cleaning standards but he doesn't always tell you. He just redoes it himself

Must be the one to clean and iron his suit himself or he will get annoyed

His handwriting is annoyingly perfect and it makes you feel bad about your chicken scratch

Elena

Puts herself in danger way too often. She doesn't understand your horrified reaction to her story of how she jumped out of a helicopter onto a moving dune buggy in the middle of the Corel desert

It can be hard to tell if she's actually angry or just venting

You know more about her work than is probably safe for you

Too spontaneous. She sometimes makes important decisions without consulting you first

Reeve

Main bad habit: he is a workaholic

Sometimes puts others needs before yours. He's just trying to help

Doesn't take good care of his health

Uses the sad puppy eyes to get out of arguments more often than he should

Sometimes leaves spare cait siths and his parts all over the living room

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cherry-holmes · 2 months ago

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From Salt, Iron, 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓵𝓪𝓬𝓮: A Supernatural Series

(Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader)

Part 8: Heat of the Moment

MAIN MASTERLIST

Summary: If the Impala could talk…

SERIES MASTERLIST

Previous chapter

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader

Word count: +7.1K

Warnings: I prefer to not give details to prevent spoilers. You’re on your own, kids.😉

A/N:🫣

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For the next three months, your life with the Winchesters and Castiel had settled into something that felt truly belonging.

And the family just kept growing around, when you finally met Bobby. He welcomed you into his house and the family business. He gave advices, lectured you on everything he knew, and gave you the confidence to reach for him whenever you need something.

Sammy was patient, endlessly. He would sit with you at the library for hours, explaining how the world had changed since your time: technology, laws, gender roles and equality, and modern slang. He was the one who taught you how to use a laptop, though he sometimes had to hide his laughter when you got frustrated and poked the screen like it might obey you faster.

Castiel, though, became something else entirely. A best friend. Maybe because, in his own way, he was just as out of place as you were. He didn't judge when you marveled at microwaves or stared too long at the flashing lights of a city skyline. He answered every one of your endless questions without growing tired, or if he did, he never showed it.

Sometimes, you and Cas would just sit together in silence, sharing a kind of wordless understanding that didn't need to be explained. He was your anchor on the days when the world felt too loud, too fast, too unfamiliar.

And Dean... he was something different.

He took it upon himself to introduce you to 'the important stuff.' Rock music: Led Zeppelin, AC/DC, Metallica, Bon Jovi. Movies: Star Wars, Die Hard, Back to the Future. You name it. He was there, more than excited and willing to show the new world to you.

Late nights would find you both sprawled on the worn motel beds or the bunker couch, Dean grinning like a kid as he watched your reactions.

"You've never seen this? Oh, sweetheart, we're fixing that right now," he'd say, popping in a VHS tape or queuing up something on an DVD player.

And you soon discovered that you also had your own stuff to share.

One day, Sam found you curled into the far corner of the bunker's library sofa, knees drawn up beneath you, entirely absorbed in the worn pages of Pride and Prejudice. The copy had a cracked spine and yellowing edges, but you cradled it like treasure.

Sam's voice interrupted the silence, warm with surprise. "Didn't know we had that one in here."

You looked up, startled, but smiled. "I used to read this by candlelight... I never thought I'd hold it again."

Sam's brow quirked. "You know it's a movie now, right?"

Your eyes widened. "A movie?"

He chuckled. "Several, actually. There's the BBC miniseries and the 2005 version."

You blinked. "People still know this story? They watch it?"

"Yeah," Sam said, amused. "It's kind of a big deal."

And it was the end of Dean Winchester's movies era.

That night, Dean was sprawled across the bunker couch, TV remote in one hand, a beer in the other, deciding if he wanted you to see Lethal Weapon or Terminator when you bounced into the room, clutching the DVD case Sam had handed you.

"Dean," you said brightly, "we're watching Pride and Prejudice tonight."

Dean froze. "We're what now?"

You held up the case with the same reverence he reserved for classic rock vinyl. "It's a book I love. Sam told me it's a film now. Will you watch it with me?"

He looked at you, hopeful, radiant, practically glowing with excitement.

Dean groaned dramatically. "Fine. But unless there's a car chase, I'm gonna need extra pie for this."

You sat beside him, barely breathing as the film unfolded. His initial jokes dissolved somewhere around the proposal scene, and he started commenting about the movie like he was getting really interested in the story.

You glanced at him with a triumphant grin.

Later, as the credits rolled, he leaned back with a long exhale. "So... when Darcy said, 'You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you'—that was smooth. I might use that."

You laughed, giving him a playful shove.

Dean nudged you with his shoulder. "Hey, don't look at me like that. If I'm gonna suffer through 19th-century foreplay, it might as well be with you."

Your laughter softened into something warmer as you rested your head on his shoulder.

"I'm glad you liked it."

He tilted his head, voice low. "Yeah... me too."

He was close. Always close: an arm thrown casually around the back of the couch, a shoulder brushing yours when you laughed too hard, a hand steadying you when the crowd of a new town felt overwhelming.

You didn't stay behind, either. After the incident with the creature by the motel pool, you had insisted on joining them on more hunts as an active member, and to your surprise, they had agreed.

Maybe it was your bravery. Maybe it was the fact that you refused to be treated like something fragile.

But little by little, you became part of the team.

You trained harder with Sam and Dean, practiced with Castiel, learned everything you could about the monsters that haunted the modern world.

At first they gave you easier tasks: research, backup, lookout. But it wasn't long before you were right there in the thick of it: salt rounds loaded, blade steady in your hand, heart pounding in rhythm with theirs.

The adrenaline, the fear, the victories—saving people and hunting things... it bonded you even tighter to them.

Especially to Dean.

You didn't sleep together at the bunker, it would have been too much, maybe, to cross that invisible line there. But during hunting trips, as the motels usually had only two beds, it became natural for you to share one of them.

At first, Sam felt like the most awkward third wheel, and insisted on take his own room. But neither you or Dean seemed to make it look like a serious thing. So you both will just justify it saying there was no need to waste money resources on a second room, and Sam wouldn't push anymore.

Dean would kick off his boots and fall onto the mattress with a groan, then look over at you with a smirk and say, "C'mon, deer, I don't bite."

The first few times you stayed stiff and awkward on the edge of the bed, afraid of getting too close. But Dean never pressed, never teased, he just offered his quiet presence, and somehow that was enough.

As time passed, you grew comfortable. You stopped worrying about the way your arm brushed his when you shifted at night. Stopped pulling away when you woke up with your legs tangled loosely under the covers. Stopped pretending you didn't notice the way your heart sped up when he was near.

There was tension, of course. But Dean never pushed. Never crossed a line. And somehow, that made it worse: made you ache for him even more.

You didn't know exactly when it happened, maybe it was one night when he stayed up until dawn patching up a cut on your forehead, hands trembling slightly; maybe it was the way he remembered you liked your coffee sweet and loaded with cream in the morning.

But somewhere between the laughter, the long looks, the soft silences... You realized you were falling for Dean Winchester.

Or maybe it was there from the beginning. Even before that very first kiss.

And even though the thought scared you, it also felt like the most natural thing in the world.

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"Oh my goodness," you laughed, your face lighting up with amusement as you clicked through your own laptop.

Of course, you had your own now. The Winchesters had bought it for you after you accidentally stumbled upon downloaded porn on Dean's. Sam was really pissed at him.

"Dean, you've got to see this!"

He looked up from where he was cleaning one of his knives, arching a brow. "What now? Another animal video you think might change my life?"

You turned the screen toward him with a grin. "Nope. Almost better. A pie convention two towns over this weekend. Apparently it's like, the 'pie event of the year'? There's a cherry pie competition, a blindfold taste test... It's like Disneyland made of pies."

Dean stood up so fast he nearly knocked over the salt canister on the table. "You're not messing with me?"

"Would I lie about pie?" you teased, and his grin stretched wide, boyish and awed.

"We're going. You and me. Sam can handle things here, he won't appreciate it."

Right on cue, Sam strolled into the room, coffee in hand, and Dean spun toward him. "Hey, Sammy. Claire and I are taking a little road trip. Couple days. Important business."

Sam raised an eyebrow. "Let me guess, pie?"

Dean didn't even bother denying it. He just smiled and shrugged in a funny way.

Sam rolled his eyes, but there was something fond in the way he glanced between the two of you. "Fine. I was planning on heading out with Charlie and Cas anyway. They roped me into some kind of lore convention... don't ask. Just don't die in a pie-eating accident."

Dean clapped him on the shoulder. "No promises."

You caught Sam's gaze as he turned to leave, and he gave you the tiniest smirk and wink before disappearing down the hall.

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Next weekend, the pie convention turned out to be everything Dean dreamed of and more. Booths stretched for blocks, each one offering free samples, contests, and flavors that had Dean acting like a kid at Christmas. You trailed behind him, your fingers sticky with berry filling, laughing as he tried (and failed) to talk a judge into giving him an extra slice of bourbon pecan. So he stole it from him, anyway.

By the end of the day, you both collapsed into the Impala parked just off a quiet country road. The sun was setting behind the trees, golden light spilling through the windshield, painting the car in a soft, amber glow. Dean handed you a beer, and you took a sip, still not convinced of the taste.

"I'm not sayin' it was the best day of my life," he said, eyes closed. "But if I die tomorrow, I'll go with a smile."

You laughed, turning in your seat to face him. "You really love pie that much, didn't you?"

He cracked one eye open and smiled at you. "I love anything that makes me forget the crap for a while."

There was a long pause then, not awkward, just quiet. The kind of silence that let you feel things you didn't know how to name yet.

Dean rubbed a hand over his face, suddenly more serious. "Y'know... back there. All those people. Families, couples, kids..." He glanced at you. "Sometimes I wonder what it would've been like them. Normal. If I hadn't grown up the way I did."

You tilted your head slightly, sensing the heaviness behind his words.

"My dad... he trained us to hunt before we even knew how to live. And I... I did things. Made choices that stick with me." He let out a shaky breath. "It's hard not to think I've screwed everything up."

You didn't say anything, just let your fingers gently brush the back of his hand resting between you. He didn't pull away.

You knew some things about their past: their family, the hell they'd been through. Dean was the one who told you, bit by bit. Glimpses of what they had done, what they had survived. The people that had lost. It was hard not to cry when you saw the hurt, the pain, and sometimes even fear in his eyes.

It made you want to free him from all of it... to lift the weight off his shoulders and make him feel safe. Cared for. Loved.

After a while, he looked down at your touch, then back up, his voice quieter. "Don't you ever want to know more about where you come from? About who you were before all this?"

You hesitated, eyes flicking to the windshield, watching the fading light turn to dusk.

"I used to," you said softly, that British accent sending shivers down his spine. "But it frightens me. What if I find out I was someone I wouldn't even like? What if I came from a world that wouldn't let me return here?"

Dean looked at you, listening intently, his breath caught in his throat.

"If I'm here now, it's for a reason," you continued. "And I don't want to waste time chasing shadows when I have a real life now. With Sam, with Castiel, and..." your voice faltered for a second, but you met his gaze steadily, "with you."

Dean didn't say anything at first, just stared, something unreadable in his eyes. Then he let out a quiet, breathless laugh; not mocking, just overwhelmed.

"You're something else, deer," he murmured.

And maybe it were the stars beginning to blink into the night sky above, or just the mere heat of the moment, but you felt the urgent desire to kiss him.

Dean's eyes were still on you, something soft and stunned flickering behind the green of them. For a moment, neither of you spoke. Just the low hum of cicadas around you, the distant rustle of trees in the night.

You swallowed hard.

"I mean it," you said, voice quiet but certain. "This... all of this. It matters to me."

Dean gave a small nod, but his expression was unreadable. Maybe he didn't know what to say. Maybe he didn't believe it, not really. That someone like you could want someone like him.

So you kissed him. To proof that for you he was worth of love as much as anyone else.

You weren't even sure what possessed you. Maybe it was the moonlight, or the pie, or just the way he looked at you like you were the one thing he didn't want to break. Your lips brushed his, tentative at first, barely more than a breath. But he didn't pull away.

He stilled.

And then he kissed you back.

Slow, warm, reverent... not like the rushed, careless kisses you'd seen in films. Not like the ones full of teeth and tongue that made you hide your face behind a pillow when they played on motel televisions. This was just different.

But still, your thoughts wandered to those scenes. The ones where the characters ended up tangled in bedsheets, breathless. You remembered the way Dean's jaw would tense slightly when those parts came on, how he'd glance over at you to see if you were watching. You always were.

So am I doing this right? Was it supposed to feel like this... like my whole body was trembling, but not out of fear, but something raw and primitive?

You didn't know, but you wanted to.

You pulled back slightly, breath hitching, your hand resting against his chest. "Dean..." you whispered, nerves tightening your throat. "I... I don't really know how this works. I've never..."

Dean's eyes widened a fraction, and you felt him tense beneath your hand. But not in a bad way, more like he was trying very hard to stay still. Just like you.

You cleared your throat. "But I... I want to."

He blinked at you, processing that. "You mean...?" His voice cracked just a little, and for the first time, Dean Winchester looked genuinely nervous.

You nodded, cheeks flushed. "I trust you."

Dean exhaled, slow and careful, and then gently squeezed your hand. "Okay. Then we're gonna take it slow. Real slow, alright?"

You nodded again, heart pounding.

He looked around, then jerked a thumb toward the back seat. "Gimme a sec."

You watched as Dean opened the back door, and started rearranging the Impala's interior with almost military precision. He took off his jacket, folded it into a pillow, pulled a blanket from the trunk, then ducked back inside to make sure the door locks were set.

When he was done, he opened the door for you like it was the most natural thing in the world. No pressure, just patience. Just Dean.

And before he could say more, you reached for him. Your hand curled into the collar of his flannel, tugging gently, and then your mouth found his.

It was clumsy at first, more instinct than anything, but it was yours. Hungry in a way that surprised even you.

Dean froze for a heartbeat, caught off guard, then responded with a low sound in his throat that sent a rush through your body. His hands came to your waist, steadying, anchoring.

You broke the kiss just enough to whisper, "I want this, Dean. I want it with you."

That was all it took.

He helped you into the backseat carefully, never taking his eyes off yours, and shut the door behind him. You settled back against the makeshift bedding, nerves fluttering wildly in your belly. He joined you, hovering above, and you welcomed him between your thighs.

It was overwhelming in the best of the ways: his breath against your face, his fingers brushing your temple like a question. And you answered by reaching up to guide him down to you.

Dean kissed you again, slower this time. His lips moved gently against yours, coaxing rather than taking, and the warmth of him poured over you like sunlight after a long storm. His hand cradled the side of your face, thumb brushing your cheek in a touch so tender it made your chest ache.

You clung to him, not just from inexperience or nerves, but because it felt like the only place you wanted to be. His weight above you was grounding, protective, and arousing.

"Tell me if anything feels wrong," he murmured, voice barely above a whisper against your skin. "We stop the second you want to, I swear."

You nodded, your breath shaky, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. "I trust you, Dean."

Dean lowered his head to kiss your neck, his pelvis already pressing yours into the seat. Your hand slipped inside his shirt, caressing the warm skin underneath.

He groaned softly against your skin, the sound rumbling through your chest as his lips traced a slow path along your throat. Your fingers explored the curve of his ribs, the rise and fall of his breath under your touch grounding you more than anything else ever had.

Then he straightened up, managing to pull off his shirt.

You sat up slightly, breath catching in your throat as your eyes traced the lines of his body: the muscles beneath his skin, the constellation of old scars scattered across his arms and torso. Each mark told a story, and though you didn't know them all, you wanted to.

Your gaze lingered on the tattoo over his chest, the black anti-possession symbol, bold against his skin. Your fingers brushed it gently, the warmth of his slightly tanned skin beneath your touch. A few freckles dusted his shoulders, unexpected and endearing.

Dean leaned in and started with your boots, crouching low in the cramped space of the Impala's backseat. He unlaced them slowly, then slid them off one by one, his touch warm and steady.

Next, his fingers moved to the hem of your shirt, peeling it up gently, lifting it over your head, careful not to startle or rush you. When your skin met the cool air, you shivered, and he immediately reached your arms, caressing. His hands paused, reverent, before moving to the button of your pants.

He undid the button, then the zipper, moving slowly, giving you every chance to stop him. But you didn't. The fabric slid down your hips, tugging carefully until the pants pooled at your ankles, then helped you shift to pull them free.

And there you were, semi-naked beneath Dean Winchester. Trapped in his car while he just looked at you with a quiet awe in his expression that made you feel more beautiful than you ever had before.

He guided you onto your back again with a soft kiss. His hands didn't waste time, caressing your exposed skin, tracing a delicate path along your shoulders, down your breasts, your ribcage, and over your hips.

"Tell me something, baby," his voice was a soft, warm whisper. "Have you ever touched yourself?"

"Touch myself?" you asked shyly, like you weren't sure what he meant—but deep down you had an idea. You flushed, like you'd just been caught in the act.

"Yeah," he purred. "You know, when you're in your room, alone, and you get that feeling right here." One of his hands caressed the soft flesh of your tummy, just above the hem of your panties. "Like you're feeling now. Have you ever tried to ease it, baby?"

"I might have," you confess in a whisper. You had, maybe. In your bed, when the thought of Dean was too loud, too overwhelming to ignore. You'd tried to soothe the instinct.

"Then show me."

Dean took your hand in his, guiding both into your cotton panties. You let out a gasp, a sound of surprise and pleasure, as he pressed your whole palm against your core.

"Move your fingers, sweetheart. Show me what feels good."

Your breath caught in your throat as you began to move, slow and uncertain at first. Dean stayed close, his palm pressed against the back of your hand, mirroring every motion, feeling every hesitant stroke.

"That's it," he murmured, his voice low and full of heat. "Nice and slow. Let me feel you, baby."

Your fingers explored with timid curiosity, guided by instinct and the memory of lonely nights. But this time, it felt different. This time, Dean was watching. Feeling you. Breathing with you. Encouraging you.

His hand never left yours, he followed each movement, memorizing the rhythm of your touch, the little shifts that made your breath catch.

"You like it right there," he said, more statement than question. He could feel it in the way your hand paused, circled, lingered. "Show me everything, sweetheart. I wanna learn what gets you off."

He tightened his fingers just slightly, applying the gentlest pressure behind yours, enough to remind you he was right there.

"Feels better when I'm here, doesn't it?" he whispered.

You nodded, barely able to form words. "Y-Yeah..."

Dean's smile was slow, wicked, and full of adoration. "Then take more. Go deeper. You know what your body wants, baby. Don't be shy."

You obeyed, breath hitching again as the sensation intensified. Dean kissed your shoulder, his touch reverent, worshipful.

"That's my girl," he murmured. "So damn beautiful when you're like this."

You moved with a little more confidence now, spurred by his praise and presence. The heat between your legs was pulsing, building, and the knowledge that Dean could feel every tremor, every stutter in your motion, only made it burn hotter.

"You gonna come for me, baby?" he whispered. "Wanna feel you fall apart in my hands."

You felt his fingers taking the lead, thicker and rougher, parting your wet folds with ease, quickly finding al the perfect spots that he just learned, making your whole body tremble under his touch, utterly at his mercy. Your sticky fingers clenched into the muscles of his arm, seeking for relief.

Soft circles, and up and down, teasing your entrance like a menace. But he didn't push farther yet. No, he wanted you dripping, begging, ready for him first.

After a few more movements, you finally came undone with a soft cry. You felt your honey dripping thick out of you, and your whole body trembling beneath his.

He kissed your neck and collarbone, his fingers still working you—softer now, but still making you squirm beneath him, your hips shifting, chasing his touch.

"...Dean... more..." you moaned right into his ear, and you felt his still-clothed pelvis brush against the bare skin of your thigh, seeking friction, seeking release.

So your hands moved downward, searching for the buckle of his belt. Your fingers worked quickly, and you felt his body shift, helping you along, letting you work him open.

Dean's breath catched the moment he felt your delicate, tentative hand find him inside his boxers. He never left his place there, though.

You were amused by the expression on his face: his eyes fluttering shut, jaw tensing, and body surrendering over you.

He hardened in your hand, thick and warm, and the reaction made you even wetter around his fingers.

"Holy shit... deer," he groaned, low and rough under his breath.

Your hand started moving on his length— clumsy, inexperienced — but he seemed to like it. A lot. He started moving his fingers again, sinking both of you into a mess of hands, moans, and whispered names.

After a few minutes, he looked up at you, breathless. "Wait..." he growled. "If you keep going, I'm..." He couldn't even finish the sentence, the mere thought made him shudder.

"You what?" you asked, the almost innocent tone in your voice making him twitch in your palm.

"Oh, sweetheart," he groaned, "you're gonna be the death of me."

A shaky breath escaped your lips at the unexpected sight of Dean bringing his slick-coated fingers to his mouth, savoring your taste.

"You taste so sweet, baby," he whispered. "If I had more space, I swear I'd eat your pussy out right here."

You didn't quite understand what he meant, but God, you wanted to find out right now.

He made room to work on his own jeans, pushing them down along with his boxers. And once he was completely naked in front of you, the sight made your face flush an impossible shade of red.

You couldn't help but look away. You thought about his size... which definitely left your mouth dry.

For the first time that night, real nervousness settled in. Reality hit you, mixing with anticipation and desire. You wanted to feel him, but the thought of what it might be like to have him inside you made your stomach twist with nerves.

He noticed your wide eyes and gave you a soft, crooked grin. One hand reached up to gently brush your hair behind your ear. "You okay?" he asked, voice low and tender.

You nodded, even though your heart was pounding. "I just... I've never done this before."

His expression softened even more. "Don't worry. I'll take good care of you," he promised.

Then he leaned down and kissed you gently, while his hands slid under your back to work the clasp of your bra.

His green eyes darkened the moment he saw your breasts for the first time. One of his broad hands cupped one, squeezing gently, his thumb tracing slow circles over your delicate nipple. You moaned, feeling heat pool between your legs, your thighs instinctively pressing together.

"You're so damn beautiful, deer," he whispered, warm and sincere. "Fuck, you're more perfect than I imagined..."

Then his hands moved to the last piece of clothing still on you. You lifted your hips, letting him slip your panties down and off, leaving you completely bare beneath him.

Dean sat back for a moment, just looking at you, jaw slightly clenched like he was trying to hold himself together. Then he reached over to the glove box, flipped it open, and pulled out a small foil packet.

You blinked. "What's that?"

He paused, smirking a little. "A condom."

"...A what?"

Dean's brows shot up, amused. "You've never seen one of these?"

You shook your head slowly, eyes fixed on the tiny package like it might bite.

His grin widened as he tore it open. "Damn, sweetheart, you really are from another time."

You flushed, but the way he looked at you, warm and patient, made it hard to feel embarrassed. He held it up like he was giving a lesson. "This goes on me. It, uh... keeps things safe. And clean. You know, in case of babies, diseases, apocalypse-related mishaps..."

Your eyes widened even more. "Oh. That's... practical."

Dean laughed softly, low in his throat. "Very."

You watched, curious and fascinated, as he rolled the condom on. Once he was done, he looked at you again, his smile softer now.

"I didn't know there were tools involved," you breathed, heart pounding.

He kissed your temple, chuckling. "There's a lot I want to teach you. But tonight? Just this. Just us."

Your nod was soft but sure. Dean leaned over you, supporting his weight on one forearm as his other hand slid carefully down your side.

His lips found yours, slow and deep, and he whispered against them, "Listen, this might hurt just a little. I can't help it, but I promise it'll feel good soon after. Just tell me if you want me to stop, okay?"

You whispered a shaky "Okay," and wrapped your arms around him, grounding yourself in the steady beat of his heart against your chest.

Then, with a patience you hadn't expected, and a tenderness that nearly broke you, he began to guide himself against you.

You felt his tip brushing against your core, drawing soft whimpers from your lips, especially when he took his time to caress your most sensitive spot.

Your body responded instinctively, already stretching around him, a reaction born purely from need.

"Dean..." you breathed, almost desperately. You didn't even know exactly what you were asking for, just that you needed something, anything, to ease the ache burning inside you.

"I know, babygirl," he murmured gently. "I'm just making sure you're ready for me."

And then, after a few more heartbeats, you felt him shift, lining himself up at your entrance, and slowly begin to push into you. You gasped, fingers clutching at his shoulders as a deep stretch filled you, unfamiliar and overwhelming. It didn't exactly hurt, but it wasn't easy, either. Your body trembled beneath his, adjusting to him inch by inch.

Dean kissed your jaw, your cheek, your lips, whispering praises in between: "You're doing so good... I've got you... just a little more..."

Finally, he was fully inside, still and patient, his forehead resting gently against yours.

"You okay?" he asked again, his voice strained now, clearly holding back for your sake.

You nodded, breath shaky. "Yeah. Just... don't move yet."

He smiled faintly, brushing your hair back. "Take all the time you need. I'm not going anywhere."

It didn't take long for him to start feeling you moving your hips. Timidly at first, just a small shift, testing how your body responded to the fullness.

Dean froze, groaning softly into the crook of your neck. "Fuck, sweetheart..."

The sound of his voice sent a spark straight through your spine. Encouraged, you shifted again, a little more this time, and his hands immediately found your waist, steadying you with a reverence that made your chest tighten.

Slowly, carefully, he pulled back just slightly and eased forward again, watching your face the entire time.

"God, you feel incredible," he whispered, kissing your temple. "So damn perfect around me..."

His hands gripped your hips, guiding your rhythm, matching your pace with slow, deliberate thrusts. It was overwhelming: his body, his heat, the way his mouth found yours between soft curses and whispered praises. The way he held you, like you were something precious.

"Dean... Dean..." You couldn't do anything else but say his name like a prayer, especially as he teased your limits, pushing harder, deeper into you.

The sound of skin against skin, moans, and whimpers from both of you soon hushed even the rain tapping on the roof of the Impala. Every improper, filthy sound you made only encouraged him to take you rougher... yet he still held back, still careful, still trying not to hurt or scare you.

Dean was also trying to keep himself from finishing too soon. You didn't know it, but he hadn't been with anyone in months. Sure, the need had been there, but his mind always betrayed him, because if it wasn't you, he didn't want it. It wouldn't make sense to be with someone else while thinking of you.

And now that he had you, it only confirmed that he didn't need anyone else.

"It feels so good," you breathed out, voice trembling. "Dean... please! Don't stop..."

Dean buried his face in the crook of your neck, his breath hot and ragged against your skin. His movements grew more intense, more desperate, until you could feel every tremble in his body.

His mouth traveled to your breasts, taking one of your nipples, his tongue tracing soft circles around it, his mouth leaving sucking marks on your soft flesh. Marking you as his. Your own breath hitched, the pleasure building to a crescendo that made your fingers dig into his back.

"C'mon, deer, cum for me," he groaned, feeling your pussy clench harder around his cock. "Feels so good, baby..."

You clung to him as the waves crested, your body tensed, then unraveled all at once, a soft cry escaping your lips as your world seemed to splinter in the most beautiful way.

Dean wasn't far behind. You felt him still, groaning your name like it was the only word he knew, holding you so close it was hard to tell where he ended and you began. His whole body shuddered against yours before he finally collapsed, breathing hard, his forehead pressing gently to yours.

For a long moment, there was nothing but the sound of your breaths and the distant patter of rain against the Impala's roof.

Then, softly, he smiled. "You okay?"

You nodded, still dazed, your voice a whisper. "I've never felt anything like that."

"Me neither, baby." Dean kissed you slowly, tenderly, like a promise. "You did amazing."

For a long, long time, he had wanted you. You were the one who lived in his deepest dreams, the one he whispered about in the solitude of his bedroom. Having you beneath him felt like the most natural, meant-to-be, thing in the universe.

And for the first time in what felt like a lifetime, he realized he might actually be feeling something.

Not a whim, not just a fleeting attraction, or a desperate lifeboat he clung to just to keep from drowning in his own misery.

No, this was real, and raw, and pure.

For the first time in his life, he knew that if you asked him to, he'd leave everything behind just to be with you.

He kissed you again, slow and sweet. "I'm not letting you go, deer."

"I'm not going anywhere, Dean," you promised back.

«»«»«»«»«»«»«»«»«»«»«»«»«»«»«»«»«»«»

The sun was already high when you stirred, warm light pouring in through the fogged-up windows of the Impala. The air around you was heavy with the scent of wet earth, leather, and lingering sex. You couldn't tell where you ended and he began, limbs tangled in the sweetest kind of chaos.

You blinked, the world slowly coming into focus, and that's when you realized three things in quick succession:

1. You were still naked.

2. Dean was still naked.

3. Someone was knocking on the window.

A loud, authoritative knock.

Dean groaned, half-asleep, and shifted against you under the thin blanket. "Five more minutes," he muttered against the top of your head.

"Dean," you hissed, your heart sprinting, trapped between the seat and his body, "Someone's at the window!"

"What!?" he sat up too fast, the blanket slipping off his shoulder.

Then came the knock again, louder this time, followed by a voice: "Sir? Ma'am? Step out of the vehicle. Now."

Dean swore under his breath. "Oh, son of a bitch."

You scrambled to clutch the blanket around you, and Dean fumbled to cover both of you with the rest of it, twisting around to squint through the window. Sure enough: a very unimpressed-looking sheriff, mirrored sunglasses and all, stood outside with a notepad in one hand and what looked like a ticket book in the other.

"Oh God," you whispered. "Dean... what do we do?"

"I got it. I got this," he said, trying (and failing) to sound confident. He rolled the window down two centimeters. "Morning, officer."

The man stared, jaw tight. "Morning. We got a call from the farm owner. Said he found your car fogged up and occupied. You do realize you're trespassing, right?"

Dean cleared his throat. "Right. Yeah. Look, uh... there's a very romantic explanation for this."

The officer looked pointedly at the crumpled clothes in the front seat and your sock stuck to the gearshift.

Dean winced. "Okay. Not a great explanation. But I swear, we're consenting adults. Nobody's in danger here."

"You're also naked in public," the officer said flatly. "Which puts us in indecent exposure territory."

"Okay, okay... technically, we're in a car..."

"You're not helping," you whispered.

Eventually, the officer gave five awkward minutes to "dress and compose yourselves" standing with his back turned. Dean struggled to get his jeans on while still inside the cramped backseat. You accidentally elbowed him in the ribs trying to find your bra. And your dignity.

"Romantic night under the stars, huh?" he muttered, wincing.

"Romantic until the part where we get arrested."

Once (mostly) clothed, you were herded into the back of a patrol car like a couple of teenagers caught skipping curfew. You just wanted to cry, humiliation creeping up your whole being.

At the station, Dean was allowed one call. Of course, he dialed Sam.

"Yeah?" Sam answered, groggy.

"I need you to come to the county sheriff's office."

Pause. "What did you do?"

"It's not... okay, yes, technically it's public indecency, but..."

"Oh my God," Sam groaned.

"Also, bring bail money. And pants. Mine have a strange stain on it."

"Dean, I don't wanna know..."

By the time Sam arrived, looking smug and far too well-rested, you and Dean were sitting in plastic chairs, trying not to make eye contact with anyone.

"So," Sam said, barely suppressing a grin, "Romantic getaway, huh?"

Dean glared at him. "Shut up and pay the damn fine."

Sam turned to you. "You okay?"

You buried your face in your hands. "I don't want to talk about it."

"Fair."

As Sam paid the bail and the receptionist handed over a brown paper bag with your boots inside, Dean leaned toward you with a sheepish smile.

«»«»«»«»«»«»«»«»«»«»«»«»«»«»«»«»«»«»«»«»«»«»«»«»

The door to the bunker groaned open as you and Dean stepped in, both red-faced, tired, and still vaguely humiliated from the morning's events. Sam followed behind, biting his tongue to keep from laughing out loud for the hundredth time.

Castiel looked up from the map table as you entered. He tilted his head, his brows furrowing at the sight of you two slinking in like teenagers caught sneaking in after curfew.

You passed him by, unable to even look him –or Sam, or Dean– to the face, and go sit down in a chair. Castiel sat across from you, watching you with intense curiosity as you shifted on the hard wooden chair, trying not to wince. "Claire, are you injured?"

Instinctively, your eyes turned to Dean, who somehow seemed to read your mind: you were sore. His gaze softened, a silent apology in his eyes. Cheeks burning, you quickly shifted your gaze to the table.

"No, Cas. Just my dignity."

"What happened?" Castiel asked, his voice low and steady, like the head of a household demanding the truth from his daughter.

Sam, already sipping coffee and waiting for the explosion, said casually, "They were caught... romancing in the back of the Impala. By the police."

Castiel's gaze snapped to you. "You were compromised in a vehicle?"

You sank lower into your chair. "It's not..."

"I trusted him," Castiel said solemnly, pointing a very slow, accusatory finger at Dean. "I left you alone for one evening and this is the result?"

Dean held up both hands. "Whoa, okay. Let's not go full Puritan ghost here."

"She's from 1815, Dean. That is practically the Regency era. Have you any idea what this would do to her dowry?"

You choked. "I don't even have a bank account, Cas."

"And now your reputation is in ruins," he added gravely, looking mildly offended on your behalf.

Dean, trying not to lost control of the situation, ran a hand down his face. "Cas, I didn't seduce a nun. I took Claire stargazing and then... things happened."

Castiel turned to you, eyes softened but authority still on them. "Did he declare his intentions? Did he offer marriage, or at the very least a respectful courtship letter?"

Dean choked on his own saliva the moment the word "marriage" reached his ears.

"I don't think people write letters anymore," you mumbled.

Castiel's jaw tightened. "They should."

"Cas," Sam said, nearly wheezing, "You're reacting like she was ruined in the middle of a ball."

"She was ruined in a Chevrolet, Sam!"

"Okay, that's it. It's enough, dude," Dean replied.

But Castiel wasn't done. He stepped in front of you and placed a hand on your shoulder. "If you are with child..."

"CASTIEL!" The three of you shouted at unison.

He blinked. "Then I shall smite him accordingly."

"No one is smiting anyone, Castiel," you intervened, somewhere between a nervous laughter and wishing the floor would swallow you whole.

Dean stood up. "Listen, Cas, I really appreciate your concern about my girl, believe me, I do."

Your cheeks burned and your heart flipped at the expression he used to refer to you: my girl.

"But this is the 21st century, and she's a grown, consenting woman. We don't need divine supervision every time we get a little close. So, now I'm going to take a shower, and when I come back, everyone's going to pretend this never happened."

Castiel tilted his head, visibly processing the statement.

Sam cleared his throat and stood as well. "Alright, I think that's our cue. C'mon, Cas. Let's give them a little privacy."

Reluctantly, Castiel nodded. "Very well. But if she is harmed..."

"She won't be," Dean cut in gently, but firmly. "Ever."

The angel gave Dean one last glare before walking out of the room in a swirl of dramatic disapproval. Sam snorted, giving the both of you a knowing smile before following Cas to the kitchen.

Dean turned back to you, that cocky little smirk softening as he approached.

"Except you, sweetheart," he murmured low, only for you to hear. "I want you to remember everything."

Dean brushed his knuckles gently along your arm. "So... shower?" he offered, a glint in his eye that made your stomach flutter.

You nodded, smiling, heart thudding when his fingers laced with yours. He led you to the bathroom, and the door clicked shut behind you.

NEXT PART

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