#Classy Banter

[nanamineedstherapy]

Velvet Sin & Clandestine Vows - Getting *ahem ahemed* by Nanami in a bathroom at a billionaire's party!

Minors DNI/Implied Cheating but not really/Shameless Smut/My First Smut

Summary: Nanami X F!Reader Porn with plot if you squint Nanami at a bougie party? Weird. Nanami getting dragged into a bathroom with a woman who isn't his wife? Even weirder. What’s hotter than luxury, mystery, and terrible decision-making? Spoiler: nothing. Let the chaos (and a closet with better taste than Gojo) ensue. Or Getting Railed by Nanami in a bathroom at a billionaire's party! This fic started as a joke & spiraled into a mix of billionaire aesthetics, deadpan sass, & unhinged party vibes. Buckle up—it’s classy, messy, & totally Nanami-approved. 💅 #Rewritten since I hated the first draft. TW: Maybe Cheating

A/N: This is my first time writing smut of any kind so let me know if it hits the spot ( ✧≖ ͜ʖ≖) Y’all, I swear, Nanami is loyal as hell, but who doesn’t love a little tension and mystery? If you’re living for the luxury or just here for the smut, drop a comment or a kudos—your chaos feeds mine. Cheers, besties! 🍸

The road twisted like a serpent through a dense forest, the towering pines stretching skyward, their shadows merging into a dark canvas under the fading sun. As Nanami’s Aston Martin DBS Superleggera glided past the last cluster of trees, the view opened into a scene pulled from the pages of an expensive dream.

The estate stood by a tranquil lake , its surface a sheet of liquid sapphire, mirroring the golden hues of the evening. The mansion, impossibly grand, didn’t merely rise—it commanded the horizon, almost otherworldly.

Towering walls of smooth stone enclosed the property, their minimalist design interrupted by intricate wrought-iron gates that whispered exclusivity rather than screamed it. AI-quipped security cameras, seamlessly embedded into the structure, blinking like mechanical sentinels, their presence a silent testament to caution wrapped in discretion. Guards in impeccably tailored suits patrolled the perimeter, some with guns, some with drones, some with androids, some with canines, their demeanor more akin to that of secret service agents than traditional staff.

The driveway stretched before him, a sleek ribbon of obsidian stone that gleamed like polished onyx under strategically placed lighting. The circular courtyard at the end was a gallery of excess : a Koenigsegg Jesko , a Bugatti Chiron , a Maserati Folgore , a Mercedes-Maybach S-Class , a Cadillac Celestiq , and a Rolls-Royce Phantom sat gleaming among other cars, their black, forest green or electric blue flawless exteriors reflecting the golden glow of vintage lampposts.

The lawns rolled outward like an emerald sea, interrupted by marble fountains with sculptures so detailed they seemed to breathe. At the edge of the estate, a private dock cradled a yacht —a floating palace that promised indulgence on the water. Above, the faint hum of helicopter rotors signaled rooftop landings, where multiple sleek, futuristic aircrafts waited in perfect formation.

The mansion itself was a contradiction brought to life. Its towering facade bore sharp lines and elegant curves, an architectural ballet where glass and steel met aged stone and brushed brass, each material woven into a seamless tapestry of power and refinement. High ceilings soared above, the kind that made you feel small without making you feel insignificant. The structure breathed genius—an intellect so vast it had turned ambition into reality.

As Nanami pulled up, the double doors opened before he even stepped out, as though the house had been expecting him. Inside, the ambiance shifted into a warm, inviting opulence. The grand hall shimmered under crystal chandeliers that fractured light into golden rain. Polished marble floors reflected the glow, amplifying the sense of space, while floor-to-ceiling windows turned the lake into a living painting framed by midnight silk drapes.

Walking in, he adjusted his Tateossian 18K gold cufflinks out of habit, the gold gleaming briefly in the chandelier light. The fabric of his Tom Ford silk Charmeuse shirt cooled against his skin as he rolled up his sleeves neatly, a testament to effort without indulgence. His tailored Mohair trousers—his entire outfit, his wife’s suggestion—fit him perfectly, a fact he acknowledged with a silent nod to her exquisite taste.

He knew she had spent more time selecting them than he ever would. She had an eye for these things, a maddening precision that made him trust her implicitly. He'd let her spend a good amount on tonight's party outfit to blend in with his office crowd, even though price tags were the least of his concerns. His wife, however, was a different story. Her taste was so particular that she rarely found anything worth buying at a store. But once she did, if it was casual, it would likely be inexpensive. However, if it was anything work- or party-related, it would undoubtedly carry a hefty price tag

The party coursed through the mansion like a heartbeat. In one ballroom , laughter mingled with the clinking of glasses as soft jazz played from hidden speakers. A smaller, more intimate space pulsed with energy, decked out like a private nightclub , where a few couples swayed to Spanish music under the prismatic glow of lights. Staff moved seamlessly among the crowd; their movements choreographed perfection, while their uniforms—a balance of practicality and haute couture—highlighted the wealth that surrounded them.

Each corner of the estate exuded thought and precision. From the soft, ambient lighting casting shadows on minimalistic art pieces to the way every surface seemed untouched yet lived in, the house wasn’t just a home; it was a living entity—one that whispered of brilliance, extravagance, and untold secrets.

Soon, before he knew it, corporate small talk had already grated on him; he’d barely resisted the urge to check his watch. Conversations about ‘exciting’ fiscal projections felt like sandpaper on his nerves, but years of navigating boardrooms had honed his stoic armor to perfection. He tilted his head just enough to feign interest in a junior analyst’s enthusiastic recounting of how they saved 0.5% on operational costs last quarter.

“Impressive,” he muttered, his voice so flat it was unclear whether he meant it or not. The analyst beamed anyway, oblivious.

His whiskey remained mostly untouched, a mere prop for these tedious rituals. He glanced down at the gold trim of the glass and thought fleetingly about hurling it through one of the massive floor-to-ceiling windows—not out of anger, but for something more stimulating than listening to Steve from Compliance recount his golf trip.

“Nanami-san!” Steve called out, loud enough to turn heads. “What’s your handicap? Bet you’re deadly on the green.”

Nanami turned slowly, blinking once as if the words needed extra time to register. “I don’t play golf, Steve,” he replied, deadpan. “I have a job.”

Steve’s laugh was loud and awkward, his ego crumpling in on itself. Nanami allowed himself a flicker of satisfaction before turning back to the entrance, silently daring someone interesting to walk in and save him.

A marketing executive drifted over, a glass of champagne precariously balanced in one hand, their other already extended for a handshake. “Nanami, old sport!” the exec crowed, as though they’d survived war trenches together instead of working in adjacent departments.

“Hardly,” Nanami said, shaking their hand briefly before folding his arms, an unmistakable signal that the conversation was over before it began.

Then the intern appeared like a fly buzzing near a fresh wound, her enthusiasm bordering on suffocation. “Nanami-san, you look great tonight,” she gushed. “Is that Tom Ford? I could tell from a mile away!”

He resisted the urge to roll his eyes the moment he saw her making her way towards him from the other corner of the room. Her extremely short gold dress barely covered anything, highly inappropriate for co-worker parties. Where was HR when you needed them?

He regarded her with the kind of cool detachment that made people second-guess speaking to him in the first place. His response was little more than a nod, a gesture so dismissive it might as well have been punctuation. “Yes,” he replied curtly, sipping his whiskey for the first time just to end the interaction. The burn of alcohol was preferable to enduring another comment.

“I’ve never seen you in anything so... relaxed ,” she added, eyes wide as though he’d arrived in a Hawaiian shirt instead of a $25,000 ensemble.

Nanami considered a sarcastic remark— yes, I’m positively unhinged tonight with my gold cufflinks and tailored trousers —but decided against it. “Enjoy the party,” he said instead, his tone as warm as a January morning.

Her persistence, however, was unwavering, her enthusiasm grating on his last nerve. She was the type who delivered coffee he never asked for, lunches he didn’t need, flushed cheeks, and doe-eyed stares he couldn’t unsee. What he had initially dismissed as professional eagerness was now so obviously a crush that even the office ficus had likely noticed. He didn’t mind admirers so long as they kept their distance, but this one was suffocating. Tonight, he had a plan: feed her to his wife .

He let her ramble, tuning her out while his colleagues began their usual background drone: glowing self-praise about the last quarter’s financial performance. Occasionally, Nanami nodded, just enough to seem engaged while maintaining an expression that screamed, I’d rather be anywhere else .

Then a peer from Finance leaned in, his smirk as oily as his hair gel. “You’re quite the magnet tonight, Nanami. What’s your secret?”

“Competence,” Nanami replied, without missing a beat.

The peer’s laugh faltered into a cough as he quickly excused himself. Events like this always managed to sap what little energy he had left after work. First, they stole every waking moment with deadlines and deliverables, then they expected polite socializing in his so-called free time. It was, in his opinion, borderline sadistic. He took another sip of his whiskey, wishing—not for the first time—that he hadn’t shown up. He didn’t much care to mingle, despite appearances. These events were breeding grounds for insincerity, where pleasantries masked ulterior motives. His colleagues jumped him, juniors seeking advice on everything from office politics to investment strategies, while his peers probed for weaknesses under the guise of camaraderie.

Then, previously flanked by armed bodyguards, she walked in.

He felt it before he saw it—the slight shift in the room’s energy, the way conversations seemed to falter for half a second. When his eyes finally found her, it was like everything else dimmed in comparison.

Time didn’t stop—not in some romanticized way, but it slowed just enough to emphasize her entrance. Classy, confident, and untouchable. The sound of her heels on marble cut through the hum of conversation, subtle but commanding. The red rubies on her dress flowed like molten lava, catching the chandeliers’ light with every step. The slit revealed long, toned legs that seemed almost deliberately designed to catch the attention of every person in the room. Her movements were languid but purposeful, as though she were fully aware that the entire party had turned their focus toward her and didn’t mind in the slightest. The siren-like glint in her eyes warned anyone brave enough to approach.

Nanami’s grip tightened imperceptibly on the whiskey glass, his chest rising and falling in a controlled breath. His gaze locked on her instantly, though he couldn’t pinpoint what drew him first—the way her dress hugged her or the quiet authority in her stride. One moment, he was half-listening to his coworkers drone about quotas; the next, he was captivated .

“Who is she?” The intern whispered, her tone laced with poorly concealed jelousy.

Nanami didn’t look away, his gaze steady and unreadable. “Trouble,” he murmured, his voice low and even.

She didn’t need to seek attention—it sought her. Women flocked to her, showering her with warm greetings and effusive compliments. She reciprocated their affection with gracious smiles and her charm disarming even the iciest socialites. The men weren’t as brave, unsure whether to admire her or cower under her gaze—her siren-like aura daring any man to try their luck.

Except for one idiot.

Fucking Gojo.

Nanami’s jaw tightened as his white-haired colleague made a spectacle of himself, wrapping his arms around her from behind like an old friend reunited. Her face scrunched in irritation, a flash of disdain that Nanami couldn’t help but savor. But then she turned, her expression softening as she saw who it was. To his dismay, she hugged him back.

Nanami’s fingers curled harder around the glass of whiskey, the gold trim biting into his palm. Jealousy wasn’t his style— not like he wasn’t already married . But Gojo was a different story. The man had a knack for testing limits, his arrogance as boundless as his charm.

She, on the other hand, was the embodiment of contradictions: sharp yet soft, fun yet untouchable, her elegant demeanor veiling something far more dangerous. As if on cue, her eyes scanned the room lazily, not in search of anyone but allowing people to search for her.

And then their gazes locked. Her lips quirked into a knowing smirk, a silent dare.

Nanami’s breath hitched. Her smile—a challenge, a tease, a warning. His pulse quickened, a subtle betrayal against his otherwise calm exterior.

The intern beside him shifted uncomfortably, clearly feeling the weight of the unspoken connection between the two. Nanami almost pitied her. Almost. Definitely not.

His focus remained on the woman; she approached the bar with the kind of confidence that made the world rearrange itself around her. Even the bartender seemed to straighten his posture, offering her a champagne flute without so much as a question. Her long fingers, adorned with a curious glove-like jewelry piece , brushed the glass as she murmured her thanks, her tone effortlessly polite but laced with disinterest.

He didn’t notice the minutes slipping by; time blurred under the soft hum of chandeliers and the muted conversations he was no longer part of. Her every movement consumed his attention, the sway of her hips in that red silk dress a calculated provocation.

When she slipped through the gilded archway leading toward the bathrooms, his decision was already made.

Keeping his drink down, Nanami barely registered the figure stepping into his path until he heard the familiar sing-song voice that grated worse than nails on glass. “Nanami! Where’s your wife? Haven’t seen her yet tonight,” his rival cooed, wearing his trademark smug grin that Nanami fantasized about erasing.

“Still at work,” Nanami replied smoothly, his tone devoid of emotion but cutting enough to silence further prying. He didn’t slow, leaving behind muttered speculations about his sudden interest in someone other than his wife .

The hallways had the richness of the place amplified. The further he moved from the party, the quieter it became, the noise receding into a distant hum. The mansion’s grandeur became starker in the silence. High ceilings arched above, their ornate crown moldings gilded with gold that caught the soft light of sconces. The black marble floors shimmered under his polished shoes, stretching endlessly toward the private quarters. Staff passed like shadows flitting through the ethereal glow of this labyrinthine estate.

He paused in front of the bathroom door, glossy black with intricate gold fixtures, left slightly ajar as though inviting him in. The faintest sliver of light spilled out against the marble.

Knock. Knock. Two taps. Firm. Purposeful.

The response was immediate. The door cracked open, and before he could utter a word, her hand shot out, grabbing his shirt and yanking him inside with a force that surprised him.

The door closed behind them with a soft thud as he was shoved against it, followed by the decisive click of the lock. Her scent lingered in the air, both grounding and intoxicating, cutting through the bathroom . Then her mouth was on his, hot and demanding, leaving no room for hesitation.

“Not even a hello?” He murmured against her lips, his tone low, strained, yet laced with wry humor.

“Hello,” she whispered mockingly, her voice syrupy sweet, before pulling him back down. Her nails grazed the nape of his neck, sending an electric jolt through him.

Oh, she was definitely a siren. He thought as she drew him in with effortless ease, leaving him half-convinced she could drag him into the ocean and he’d thank her for it.

Her fingers worked at the buttons of his shirt, deft yet impatient. When one refused to cooperate, she let out a soft growl, yanking hard enough to send buttons scattering across the tiled floor.

“They’re custom,” Nanami deadpanned, his voice thick with effort. “My wife chose them.”

“No wonder they’re ugly,” she shot back, her smirk as sharp as a blade. “Send me the bill.”

Her sass drew a low chuckle from him, the sound reverberating deep in his chest. She was cutting through his composure so easily, leaving him disarmed in a way he hadn’t thought possible.

In a swift motion, he flipped their positions, pinning her against the full-length mirror. Her front hit the glass with a muted thud, the chill drawing a sharp gasp from her lips. For a moment, he held her there, his gaze sweeping over her—flushed cheeks, swollen lips, pupils blown wide with a mix of defiance and desire.

His reflection caught his eye in the mirror—a man undone, his hair disheveled, his usually sharp expression softened by raw hunger. He barely recognized himself, and for some reason, that didn’t bother him.

“Temptress. You’ve already got me obsessed,” his voice dark as he leaned down to press his lips to the curve of her ear.

“Stop talking,” she countered, her tone dripping with impatience. Her fingers tangled in his hair, pulling just hard enough to make him groan softly.

He obliged.

The kiss turned feral, finesse abandoned in favor of raw, unfiltered need. His hands roamed, the fabric slipping against her skin like water.

Once she turned in his arms, more of his buttons clattered to the floor, the sound echoing in the small space as she ran her fingers on his chest then abs. The room filled with their gasps and whispered curses, the sterile luxury of the bathroom a backdrop to the pandemonium unfolding. She took off her handpiece, chucking it on the counter just to feel his skin against her fingertips unhindered.

Her scent was everywhere now, filling his lungs, embedding itself in his memory. It was familiar in a way, like déjà vu dancing on the edge of recognition. Unsettling, magnetic, and impossible to ignore.

“Careful,” she murmured against his lips, her voice teasing. “You might just fall for me.”

Nanami pulled back slightly, enough to meet her gaze, his expression a mix of annoyance and reluctant amusement. “Highly unlikely,” he replied, deadpan, though the corner of his mouth betrayed the faintest smirk.

“Your loss,” she quipped, her voice light, but her hands circled around his shoulders, pulling him back toward her.

Whatever this was—whatever dangerous game they were playing—Nanami knew one thing: he didn’t want it to end.

The bathroom’s air carried a subtle mix of sandalwood, bergamot and cedarwood, understated yet lingering—a scent that seemed designed to make every breath feel curated, the kind of understated opulence that whispered money rather than screamed it

Yet for all its grandeur, it wasn't the decor that took center stage. It was the mess unfolding next to the countertop, where passion replaced polish.

Nanami now had her pressed against the large, mirror-backed counter, its polished surface now marred with the aftermath of their urgency—smudged fingerprints, scattered toiletries, and the faint condensation of their mingled heat. The cool marble against her back seemed to amplify the fire between them.

His grip was firm yet restrained, one hand steadying her thigh while the other trailed upward, tracing the daring slit of her dress with deliberate slowness. His fingers paused at the neckline, the silk sliding under his touch like water. His hold spoke of possession, but his eyes, half-lidded and burning, betrayed something deeper—curiosity, defiance, and a hunger he rarely let surface.

She kissed him again, her lips a demand he had no intention of denying. Teeth scraped against his lower lip, the sting pulling a soft groan from him that melted into a low chuckle. His hands roamed with precision, finding her waist, her hips, her breasts—each touch firm, unapologetic, and met with a sharp inhale or muffled moan. Every touch was a battle for dominance, each moment teetering on the edge of control and disarray.

He lifted her with ease onto the countertop in one fluid motion. The chilled mirror behind her elicited a gasp as her dress slid higher at her thighs. Her legs tightened instinctively around him, pulling him closer.

“Not bad,” she teased breathlessly, her voice a mix of amusement and provocation.

Nanami’s lips quirked into a rare smirk as he leaned in, his breath warm against her ear. “I aim to impress.”

Her laugh was soft, intoxicating, and far too knowing. “You’re getting there.”

Her scent enveloped him now—a crisp, briny ocean breeze tinged with something wild and woody, a sharp contrast to the muted, earthy warmth of the bathroom. It was a siren’s scent, designed to disarm, to enthrall, and it worked far too well.

The sounds of their frenzy filled the room, chaotic yet rhythmic. Her nails dragged along his back, leaving faint crescent imprints as if marking her territory.

Then, with a devilish smirk, he dropped to his knees, his large hands splaying across the backs of her thighs.

“On your knees already?” She started, her voice faltering as he pushed the fabric of her dress higher. His lips ghosted over her inner thigh, his breath warm and teasing.

“You talk too much,” he murmured, his tone flat but edged with mischief.

Her laugh turned into a gasp as he tore through the delicate lace of her underwear with his teeth, the sound of ripping fabric punctuated by her sharp intake of breath.

His mouth found her core, hot and demanding; his tongue moved with deliberate precision, drawing broken whispers from her lips. Her fingers tangled in his hair, long nails digging into his scalp as she arched into him, every nerve alight with sensation.

Each touch was a battle for dominance, each moment teetering on the edge of control and chaos. His fingers dug into her hips, holding her steady as she raised her head, her eyes wide at the sight of him.

When his fingers joined the fray—one, then two, then three—she let out a muffled cry, her hands trembling as they gripped his hair tighter. The rhythm turned torturous, each stroke a ploy to keep her teetering on the edge.

“Quiet,” he murmured against her, though the command was half-hearted at best.

Her laugh, shaky and breathless, cut through the haze. “Make me.”

He obliged, taking off his shirt & shoving it into her mouth to muffle her moans.

The room, a masterpiece of design and decadence, bore silent witness to their undoing. The perfection of its lines, the care in its curation—all of it had melted away, leaving only raw, unbridled chaos in its place.

Her body trembled, hips bucking against his mouth. His tongue and fingers were moving in perfect harmony. Her mewles grew higher in pitch, her body arching further as the tension began to pool in her belly.

Nanami’s grip on her tightened, his fingers digging into her hips to hold her steady as her body trembled beneath him. Her moans, muffled by his discarded shirt, vibrated against his chest as he felt the waves of her release pulse through her. She clawed his scalp, a claim he wasn’t entirely sure he didn’t enjoy.

When she finally collapsed against the mirror, her breath came in uneven bursts, fogging the glass behind her. Her flushed face, her dress still bunched at her waist, chest rising and falling as aftershocks wracked her frame left her looking like Mayhem personified. Still, he didn’t stop, his tongue lapping up every drop of her release like she was the finest wine.

Few moments passed, & Nanami stood, brushing the back of his hand against his lips, catching the faint taste of her. He was the picture of disheveled restraint—his hair tousled, his chest bare, and his trousers hanging low on his hips. The hunger in his eyes, however, was anything but restrained.

His gaze lingered on her as he reached for the straps of her dress. Tugging them down, he exposed her bare chest, the fabric sliding away like water until it pooled uselessly at her waist. Her breasts bounced with the movement, drawing a low growl from him that rumbled deep in his chest.

“Perfect,” he muttered, his voice gravelly as he leaned down. His lips closed over one breast, flicking her nipple with his toung, while his hand found the other, his touch alternating between firm and teasing. She gasped, her back arching off the mirror as he bit gently before soothing with his tongue, leaving her gasping & mumbling incoherently, her voice ragged but threaded with laughter—the kind that would have thrown a lesser man off balance. “You’re enjoying this way too much.” She spoke against the fabric in her mouth.

He paused, lifting his head to meet her gaze. “You started it.”

She smirked, sharper than the edge of the counter, biting into her legs. “And I’ll finish it.” She gestured.

Her hands fumbled with his waistband, still trembling but determined. The flicker of impatience in her eyes was oddly endearing, though he’d never admit it. Nanami stepped back slightly, watching as she struggled with his belt, her fingers clumsy but relentless, then the same belt clattered to the floor, the sound echoing in the small space.

When she finally freed his cock, her hand paused holding it, her eyes widening as her lips parted slightly.

“Cat got your tongue?” He teased, his voice dropping into that smooth, sardonic tone.

“Shut up,” she muttered, voice muffled by the shirt.

He bit down lightly on her neck, one hand busy kneading her breast, while the other left faint crescent moons in the flesh of her ass.

Despite her reservations, her hand moved, slow at first, tentative strokes exploring him with a curiosity that bordered on reverence. The low "fuck" that escaped his lips emboldened her, and her fingers became bolder—squeezing at the tip, letting her thumb tease the slit, earning sharp hisses from him.

His control, usually ironclad, wavered, catching himself before her touch unraveled him entirely.

“Enough,” he growled, his hand wrapping around hers as he guided his cock to her.

She braced herself, her legs parted further instinctively as Nanami growled, guiding his cock toward her slick entrance. She mewled softly as he deliberately didn’t push in, instead teasing her, the thick head of his cock gliding against her swollen folds. The wet slide was maddening, the tension building as he refused to give her what she wanted. Her breath coming in shallow bursts as the tension coiled between them like a spring wound too tightly. Her eyes flashed with impatience, and the look of anger made him smirk through his own restraint. Then she hissed something, muffled, her voice low and threaded with irritation.

Nanami’s smirk was infuriating. “Patience.”

That patience didn’t last long. With a sharp thrust, he pushed inside her, his jaw clenching as she clenched around him, her walls tight and pulling him deeper. He moved slowly at first, letting her adjust; the intensity of the moment mirrored in their matched gasps and muffled curses.

Once he was fully sheathed, the restraint snapped. He withdrew almost completely before slamming back in, forcing a loud, uncontrollable moan from her.

His pace turned brutal, his hips slamming against hers with a force that made the marble countertop tremble beneath them. Her cries morphed into curses, each one sharp and biting, and directed at him with a venom that only fueled his hunger.

“You—oh my God—” she let out a muffled gasp, head falling back against the mirror as he drove her higher.

Nanami leaned down, yanking the shirt from her mouth as he captured her lips in a messy, heated kiss. Her teeth immediately bite his lower lip, drawing blood, but he didn’t care. Their tongues clashed, the kiss more battle than affection, each one pushing and pulling, neither willing to yield.

Breaking away to catch his breath, Nanami's thrusts didn’t falter.

“Still talking?” he muttered against her lips.

“Shut up,” she replied, biting him again, the taste of him & herself lingering on her tongue.

His hips slammed against hers, forcing cries from her throat. Her nails raked down his back, desperate, as though she needed them to fuse on a molecular level.

Despite his relentless pace, his lips softened, trailing kisses along her jawline, down her neck, and finally to her breasts. He nipped and sucked at the delicate skin; his attention split between breaking her apart with his cock and worshipping the parts of her he loved most.

The sound of skin meeting skin filled the room—a brutal rhythm that matched the pounding of her heartbeat. His hands roamed over her body, his nails leaving faint crescent moons in her thighs, her back, wherever he could reach.

Her body arched into him, trembling & walls tightening as another wave of pleasure threatened to overtake her. He knew she was close; his hand slid between them, his fingers finding her clit and circling it with a precision that left her gasping.

Her reaction was instant as she came with a sharp, keening cry, muffled when he cupped a hand over her mouth, entire body clenching around him as her nails dug into his shoulders.

“She’s sucking me in... so tight,” he murmured, voice hoarse, as his control finally broke. Movements turning erratic as he buried himself deep, his groan muffled against her neck. His eyes fluttered shut as his own climax surged through him, leaving him breathless and trembling. He barely managed to catch himself before collapsing onto her as the aftershocks rolled through him.

Two forces of chaos colliding. Neither of them moved, just staying for a bit; she rubbed his back as they caught their breaths, the occasional tremor running through her as she adjusted to the lingering sensitivity.

The bathroom was a battlefield of indulgence and chaos. Perfume bottles lay toppled on the black marble counter, the delicate crystal shimmering under the ambient lighting. A faint mist lingered in the air, clouding the oversized mirror that stretched from floor to ceiling, capturing distorted reflections of disheveled hair, flushed skin, and heat that had yet to fully dissipate. The mingling scents of bergamot, cedar, and salt—the sharp tang of the ocean—clung to the air, layered with the undeniable intimacy of their aftermath. Despite the mess around them, the silence between them felt clean, untouched by the outside world.

Soon her fingers were idly tracing patterns on his back, grazing over faint red marks she’d left moments before. When she finally broke the silence, her voice was teasing but warm, her eyes glinting with mischief. “Your technique hasn’t changed.”

Nanami froze, the words cutting through the lingering haze like a cold blade. He pulled back just enough to study her face, his brows furrowing. “What?”

“You heard me,” she replied, her tone deliberate and light as she brushed her fingers along his jaw. Her touch was deceptively soft, almost disarming.

Before he could spiral into overthinking, she laughed—a sound both melodic and cutting, slicing through his composure with surgical precision. “Relax, Mr. Nanami,” she teased, her lips curling into a smirk. “I’m just grateful for the first million you invested in my company when no one else would even hear me out.”

The tension in his shoulders eased as realization dawned, corners of his mouth twitching into the faintest smile. “Mrs. L/N,” he said dryly, his voice laced with equal parts amusement and exasperation. “Should I prepare my chequebook again?”

“Always,” she quipped, her smirk softening as she leaned up to kiss him. Her lips brushed against his with a familiarity that belied the game they’d been playing all evening.

“You’re still mine, Kento,” she murmured against his ear—almost biting them, her voice dropping to a whisper that sent a shiver down his spine.

Straightening himself, hand lingering at her waist, he pulled her closer to hold as the reality of her presence grounded him. When they finally pulled apart, her tone shifted. “Nice house, by the way.”

“Thank you, Mrs. L/N,” he replied, his thumb brushing a stray strand of hair from her face. The simple gesture felt intimate, grounding, a contrast to the disarray they’d left in their wake. He arched a brow, a wry smile playing on his lips. “Though I do have to ask—what was the dress for?”

Her smirk deepened, her silence deliberate.

“Y/N,” he pressed, his voice carrying a mix of affection and exasperation. “You planned this, didn’t you?”

“I was informed that you looked miserable out there,” she said simply, shrugging with nonchalance that only made her look more self-assured. “Your coworkers are vultures. I couldn’t just stand by and watch you suffer.”

His exhale was slow, measured, but his forehead dropped against hers, his voice softening. “I owe you one.”

“You owe me plenty,” she countered, her hands sliding over his chest with a teasing confidence. “But I’m not done yet. My company just hit a billion-dollar valuation, which means—"she smirked, her tone mock-serious—"you can finally quit working for those corporate overlords. Effective immediately.”

Nanami blinked, her words settling in slowly. Just as he opened his mouth to protest, she cut him off with a single raised finger.

“And don’t start with the ‘backup plan’ speech,” she added, rolling her eyes in dramatic exasperation. “I’ve secured enough for the next fifteen generations to sit around and squander. You’re free, Ken. ”

He let out a long exhale, relief washing over him like a tide pulling him out to calmer seas. His hands tightened gently at her waist as he pulled her closer, his forehead brushing hers again.

“I can finally retire,” he mused, a rare chuckle breaking the steady timbre of his voice. “What a dream.”

Her grin was wicked and teasing. “Don’t worry, I’ll deck you out with butlers, drivers, private pilots—the works.”

He shook his head, laughing softly. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you love it,” she said, her voice lighter now, pressing a quick kiss to his jaw before stepping down. She fixed her dress, the fabric shimmering under the soft lighting as if it had never been touched. After quickly rinsing & drying her hands, she shuffled for something in the drawer below the sink counter, then gestured Nanami to turn around, who obliged and then winced as she sprayed antiseptic healing spray on her nail scratches on his back. Then, putting it back with one hand while she rubbed his shoulder with the other, soon she adorned her handpiece again.

“Now, pack your bags. We’re going on a month-long vacation. We’ve barely seen each other this quarter.” Her tone practical, though the playful glint in her eyes was still sparkling while Nanami, who knelt on one knee to zip up her askew heels with a gentle touch. This was a stark contrast to his usual stoic demeanor; he radiated a quiet eagerness to serve her, even if she had never asked for it—or even forbade him from kneeling—for anyone, including herself. His care for her was unwavering, as he found joy in these small devotions.

Raising up to his full height, Nanami tilted his head, arching a brow. “When do we leave?”

“An hour.” Her smirk was maddeningly smug, the kind that always made him want to both kiss her and roll his eyes. “Don’t worry about clothes—we’ll buy what we need when we get there.”

His frown deepened slightly, his gaze flicking toward the door. “The house is still full of people.”

She waved a hand dismissively, her confidence unshakable. “The white-haired menace can handle it.”

As if summoned, a sharp knock echoed against the ornate black and gold bathroom door.

“Nanami,” Gojo’s unmistakable voice called out, muffled yet infuriatingly cheerful. “I know you told me not to disturb you, but if you want to leave on time, you should probably come out now.”

Nanami groaned audibly, burying his face in her hair. “I hate that he knows us so well. Or worse, that he was probably hovering outside.”

Her laugh bubbled up, light and unrestrained, as she turned to press a soft kiss to his nose. “Good thing no one will know,” she teased, her tone laced with mischief as she nodded toward the party still raging beyond the door.

“Small mercies,” he muttered. His hand reached down, scooping up her ripped panties. He shoved them into his pocket—a gesture equal parts practical and ridiculous. Housekeeping didn’t need to discover that.

He reached for his ruined shirt & still-ok belt while his cufflinks were probably lost to the similarly colored lines in the bathroom floor’s marble. Sighing, he shrugged the shirt on. With most of the buttons broken, the fabric barely clung to him, but he managed enough to appear vaguely presentable, then did his belt & washed his hands. Before stepping out, he winked at her, his rare smirk making her laugh again as she leaned on the counter, ogling him.

Walking out of the bathroom, Nanami was immediately engulfed by the sheer scale of the mansion. The vaulted ceilings soared above him, an intricate lattice of brass and black lines reminiscent of sharp geometry. Recessed lighting cast a warm, almost ethereal glow over the polished marble floors, their obsidian surface streaked with veins of gold that seemed to shimmer with every step.

Security was seamlessly integrated into the decor—discreet cameras nestled within decorative sconces, motion sensors hidden within the intricate carvings of doorframes, and biometric panels that blended effortlessly with the black lacquered walls.

Gojo leaned casually against the wall near the bathroom door, his smirk as sharp as the lapels on his bespoke electric blue suit. “Well, well,” he drawled, his tone dripping with amusement. “Looks like someone had a productive break.”

Nanami cast him a withering glare, brushing past him without a word.

“Don’t worry,” Gojo called after him, clearly undeterred. “Your secret’s safe with me. Well Mostly .”

Nanami strode into his bedroom, its absurd luxury understated yet undeniable once he unlocked it’s door with his thumb. Warm recessed lighting bathed the space in a golden hue, highlighting the polished marble floors and the California king bed draped in silk sheets that whispered decadence with every subtle fold. The walls were a study in contrasts—one side a sweeping expanse of black glass overlooking the estate, the other adorned with minimalist art deco patterns in gold and dark maroon.

A walk-in closet occupied one corner of the room, its glossy black doors sliding open with a faint hum. Rows of designer suits, pressed shirts, and tailored trousers moved along tracks, neatly organized by color, fabric, and season. It wasn’t just a closet—it was an AI-driven sartorial fortress.

Gojo trailed behind Nanami, Martini glass in hand, his ever-present grin practically glowing under the warm light of the bedroom.

Nanami shrugged off his ruined shirt, revealing faint nail marks trailing down his back.

Gojo’s exaggerated gasp was immediate. “Knew you were freaks,” he declared, grinning like a cat who’d just discovered a fresh bowl of cream.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Nanami replied, his tone dry as he waited for the first shirt the AI closet presented.

The automated system whirred softly, its sleek black panels sliding open to reveal a neatly arranged selection of tailored clothing. The closet’s AI chimed in, its voice smooth and masculine: “Good evening, Mr. Nanami. May I suggest the Maurizio Miri blue Sam Arold , double-breasted blazer for optimal sophistication?”

“No, a white shirt will be enough for now. Thank you.” Nanami replied smoothly as the closet handed him the shirt.

Gojo’s eyes lit up. “Hold up, your closet talks?”

Nanami buttoned up the crisp white shirt, the fabric molding to him like it had been made yesterday, which it probably had been. A subtle reminder of how far he—and this house—stood from anything resembling average. “Of course it talks. Everything here does. Wife is particular about it,” he muttered, casually pulling out a certain incriminating piece of fabric from his pocket & tossing it into the hidden incinerator bin while Gojo eyed the AI.

Then Gojo leaned closer to the closet; his curiosity piqued. “Hey, Mr. Closet—do you take orders? I need something that makes me look like a billionaire without actually trying. Extra points if it comes with a holographic logo of the Gojo Clan.” Gojo didn’t have such bad likes; he just enjoyed being a menace.

The AI responded without missing a beat. “My name is Winston, & I’m sorry, sir. My services are exclusive to Mr. Nanami. While I assure you, no attire could enhance perfection.”

Nanami’s lips twitched as he fought back a smirk. “Even the closet knows you’re insufferable.”

“Hey, I like this guy!” Gojo shot back, pointing at the sleek black panel like it was a long-lost friend. “At least he has taste.”

The AI, apparently more than willing to engage, added, “Taste, sir, is precisely what you lack.”

Nanami turned away, struggling to suppress his laughter, as Gojo gawked. “Traitor! I’m officially boycotting this brand,” Gojo declared, though his curiosity kept him glued to the closet. “Btw what brand are you.”

Nanami smacked his arm. “Do you forget my wife invents AIs for a living, among other things?”

Gojo shrugged, “I didn’t know it was one of hers.”

As Nanami folded his sleeves up again, Gojo shot one last look at the closet. “You’re lucky I’m a forgiving man, Mr. Closet-Winston. Once I babysit this house, bet you’ll miss me when I leave.”

“I highly doubt that,” the AI replied, its tone impossibly smooth.

Gojo huffed, muttering something about finding an AI closet with better taste, while Nanami finally allowed a small smirk to surface.

Once out of the closet, Gojo chirped, “Aren’t you going to thank me for organizing this amazing party?”

Nanami took the whisky glass Gojo handed him, savoring a slow sip. “Thank you, Gojo, for organizing this party,” he said, his voice flat. “It’s not like we paid for it or anything.”

“Fair,” Gojo replied, recovering quickly with a shrug. “But I still expect to cash in the favor someday.”

Nanami nodded, flooding his sleeves with practiced precision before striding back toward the party.

Gojo followed on his heels like an overenthusiastic puppy, Martini in hand. Then looking back at the sentinel closet, he mused. “I need one of these. Think the wife will help me place an order?”

“She’s not your wife,” Nanami deadpanned, savouring the whisky burn as he sipped.

Once they had stepped into the grand ballroom, Nanami’s gaze swept over the room. Gojo, meanwhile, leaned in conspiratorially.

“So,” he began, his grin as infuriating as ever, “how was she?”

His gaze immediately found her. She stood along the far wall; an expansive bar carved from obsidian and gold stood like a centerpiece, its surface laden with bottles of rare vintages.

He didn’t falter in his reply, expression flat. “She’s a woman, Gojo. Not a secret.”

Gojo smirked as Nanami ignored the conspiratorial knowing smirks and whispers that seemed to surround him.

His gaze lingered as she laughed warmly, her head tilted slightly, the sound unguarded and genuine. She was speaking to two women he vaguely recognized as the CTO and CFO of her company, their expressions a mix of respect and admiration. For a moment, he simply watched. Despite himself, Nanami felt a rare sense of pride.

Just as he was about to make his way to her, a voice sliced through the moment.

“Nanami-san! There you are!”

The same intern with an unfortunate crush on him had caught sight of him again, waving over one of her equally annoying cohorts, a smug backstabbing bitch of a coworker Nanami didn’t even bother to remember the name of. They approached like vultures, the intern’s over-the-top enthusiasm clashing painfully with the coworker’s grimey smirk.

“Nanami-san!” she chirped, clasping her hands together. “This house is incredible! You must feel so inspired here.”

“I feel inspired to have another drink,” Nanami deadpanned, raising his glass slightly before taking a sip.

The coworker, clearly fishing for gossip, leaned in. “Yeah, no kidding. So, where’s your wife we’ve all heard so much about?” He practically sang the last part, his tone dripping with mockery. “Must be so busy to miss an event like this.”

Listening to this, Gojo moved closer to Nanami’s side like chaos incarnate, throwing an arm around his shoulder. “Oh, you haven’t met her yet?” he asked, his grin practically weaponized. “Tsk, tsk, Nanami, keeping secrets from your best friends .”

The coworker scowled at the jab.

The intern blinked, momentarily stunned into silence. Nanami bit back a smirk, swirling his whisky lazily in his glass.

When the intern finally recovered, her tone turned defensive. “Well, he’s never mentioned her to me!”

Nanami’s expression darkened, his patience stretching to its breaking point. One thing he wasn’t—had never been—was unfaithful. And this implication, no matter how cluelessly delivered, crossed a line.

Yet Gojo wasn’t finished. He turned his full attention to the intern, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper loud enough for everyone to hear. “You know, he does talk about her all the time. But I guess you two must not hang out much, huh? Just acquaintances, then.”

“Excuse me?” Nanami’s voice was sharp, each syllable cutting.

The intern, oblivious to the shift in tone, pressed on. “You never mentioned you were married—”

“Please,” arching a brow, he interrupted, his expression one of detached amusement. “Do not imply that I’ve hidden my marriage. I’ve been married for years and have never avoided speaking about my wife when asked. If you’re unaware, perhaps that says more about you than it does about me.” Each word measured and sharp. It’s not like he cared to keep his job anymore anyway.

The intern blinked, stunned into silence.

Gojo erupted into laughter, clapping him on the back. “Kento, you’re killing it tonight. Who’s next on the chopping block?”

Without waiting for a response, Nanami brushed past them, his focus already shifting back to her. Gojo, naturally, wasn’t done yet. Turning back with a smirk, he delivered one final dig.

“He talks about her all the time with his friends. Trust me, I’d know since I’m his best friend. I know all his secrets ,” he said lightly. “Guess you’re just colleagues.” Nanami could hear the mockery directed at his coworkers, with a hint of possessiveness over their friendship in Gojo’s voice, along with the intern’s sputtering, behind him.

Once he approached, his hand slid around her waist, the gesture subtle yet unmistakable. It wasn’t a public claim so much as a quiet reassurance, a tether grounding him in the chaos of the room.

She turned to him, her smirk softening into something more intimate as she acknowledged the unspoken exchange.

“Hello,” he murmured, inclining his head with a faint smile toward the women she’d been speaking with. They were better than his coworkers; hence they were hired.

As Gojo approached them behind Nanami, she introduced him smoothly, her tone warm yet commanding. “Ladies, my closest friend, Gojo Satoru.”

Gojo’s professional smirk slipped into place with practiced ease. “A pleasure,” he said simply, his arm resting on Nanami’s shoulder again.

The conversation progressed for a bit before the sound of glass clinking drew their attention.

“Everyone!” Gojo’s voice rang out, cheerful and uncontainable. He was sitting atop the bar, manspreading, grin wide enough to rival the chandelier’s glow. “A toast to the lovely couple!”

Heads turned toward them, though many had already been stealing glances at her all evening while others were glaring daggers at Nanami.

Nanami cleared his throat, voice steady, effortlessly commanding the room. “Thank you all for coming to our housewarming party,” he began, his tone formal but with a warmth that felt uncharacteristic. His hand rested securely on her waist. “For those of you who don’t know, this is Y/N L/N. She’s my wife. She’s the one who bought us this house.”

A ripple of polite claps followed, though Nanami wasn’t finished.

“She hasn’t visited my office because she’s been working tirelessly on her company, Curse Cop, which, as of today, has officially reached a billion-dollar valuation.” He paused, his voice softening as he glanced at her, unguarded admiration flickering across his face. “Please, drink to your heart’s content, because starting tomorrow, I’ll be on vacation with her—and I’ll also be stepping down as Finance Director to spend more time with my wife, as I promised her.”

The room erupted in applause and a few ‘awws’ from mostly female guests, though Nanami barely noticed. His focus remained on her as she looked up at him, her expression a blend of amusement and affection.

From somewhere behind them, he heard whispers, envy poorly concealed.

“How���d he even get with her?” one muttered.

“It makes sense,” another replied begrudgingly. “He’s the kind of man every woman wants.”

But none of it mattered. Nanami leaned down, pressing a tender kiss to her lips, as if the room around them didn’t exist.

For him, in that moment, it didn’t.

Soon the evening had progressed—Nanami was comfortably leaning against the bar, whisky in hand, Gojo, still on top of the bar, flanking him as usual, when the intern caught sight of Y/N between them.

She stumbled her way toward her, clearly drunk, with newfound boldness, her barely-there dress doing little to enhance her sense of professionalism. Nanami’s lips twitched as he watched the scene unfold, hiding his amusement behind his glass. He wasn’t much for unnecessary public fights, but he was waiting for this one since she had really become a nuisance for him over the months, hence the reason she was invited today.

“Y/N,” Gojo whispered, sidling closer to her as she inquired about the launch of their latest multiplayer game with the COO of her company. “See that girl over there?”

Pausing, she glanced over, her brow arching slightly as she clocked the intern making a beeline toward her.

“That one’s been after Kento for months,” Gojo murmured, his grin wicked. “Unrequited coffee deliveries, surprise lunches... the works. You’re about to have front-row seats to her grand finale.” He had noticed it all while visiting Nanami’s office, along with Nanami’s look of frustration when she wouldn’t take the hint and leave him alone.

Y/N didn’t miss a beat, her expression remaining poised as she turned fully to face the intern. The air around her seemed to shift, her unapproachable aura sharpening to something razor-edged.

The intern, blissfully unaware, extended a hand, her confidence teetering on arrogance. “Hi! I’m Nat. I work closely with Nanami-san in finance. It’s so great to finally meet you.”

Y/N’s gaze flicked briefly to the outstretched hand before returning to the intern’s face, her expression neutral but distinctly unimpressed. “Oh?” she said coolly. “And what are you to him?”

The intern faltered, her hand dropping slightly. “I... like I said, I work with Nanami-san! He’s been so helpful to me in the office. Such a great mentor.”

Turning his head from his vantage point, Nanami’s smirk widened as he took another slow sip of whisky. He had actively avoided helping her since he discovered her hidden agenda.

“Is that so?” Y/N replied, tilting her head slightly. “And what exactly have you learned from him?”

The intern brightened, eager to elaborate. “Oh, just... everything, really! He’s so dedicated and focused. I can see why you married him.”

There was a pause—a beat of silence that stretched just long enough to become uncomfortable. Then Y/N smiled, and it wasn’t kind.

“I see,” she said, her tone dripping with polite venom. “And yet, here you are, at a party in our house, introducing yourself to me like you’re a stranger. How odd for someone who claims to work so ‘closely’ with my husband.”

The intern’s expression wavered, a flicker of panic breaking through her confident facade. “Oh, I didn’t mean—”

“Didn’t mean what?” Y/N interrupted smoothly, her smile widening. “To sound presumptuous? To overstep? Or to assume familiarity where there is none?”

Gojo, now openly laughing, gestured to Nanami, “Remind me never to piss your wife off.”

The intern stammered something unintelligible before finally scoffing & retreating, her confidence crumbling as she melted back into the crowd.

Y/N turned back to the COO, now flanked by CTO and CFO without so much as a backward glance as they dragged her off to introduce a potential investor, the conversation resuming as if nothing had happened.

Turning straight, Nanami finally let his smirk show, raising his glass toward Y/N in a silent toast.

She caught his eye, the faintest curve of her lips betraying her amusement, before she returned her attention to her companions.

“Worth every penny,” Gojo muttered under his breath, clinking his glass against Nanami’s.

“Agreed,” Nanami replied, his tone calm but his eyes glinting with mirth.

A/N: You thought Kento would cheat huh ☜(ˆ▿ˆc) Thanks for diving into this tangled mess of lust & love. If you caught the twist & liked it (or even hated it), drop a comment. I live for your chaos & crave your feedback like Nanami craves his wife. 🖤

Masterlist

[millythegoat]

Your man is on kickin’ it! https://vm.tiktok.com/ZIJnuNAg9/

I've listened to the podcast and LOVE IT!!! can't wait for the video on YouTube thooo

The end there, was Jesse comeback after Kate roasting him for his record against top managers (simeone, jurgen, pep and conte)

[marlynnofmany]

In the interest of not derailing this already-long-and-awesome thread, here are some more details! (Paging @sparrows-corner and any other interested parties.)

So in my first semester of college, I took an Intro to Psychology class. I didn't expect anything special; it was just one of those general education courses that everybody was supposed to take at some point. But it turned out amazing.

What the general public didn't know at that point was someone in the college administration had screwed up and forgotten to assign a teacher to this class. Until a week before class. When several students emailed to ask why that detail was missing in the online listing.

The administration panicked, scrambled for someone-anyone-omg-who-can-drop-everything-and-teach-this-class. They called recently-graduated owners of Masters Degrees in teaching.

They found Sandy.

She was qualified and available, and much older than the average recent grad, with the confidence to go with it. This was still a daunting task, though, and she agreed on one condition: that she team-teach the class with a friend of hers who was still working on finishing his degree.

Having no other choice and seeing no real problem with this, the administration agreed. And thus was born the most glorious educational comedy act in my entire academic career. The two of them were a delight. They knew all the stuff they needed to teach, and they knew a great deal more, and they delivered lectures in a way that had everyone paying eager attention. It was great.

This friend, by the way, was awesome in his own right. While Sandy was a curly-haired white lady around middle age, Wayne was a black guy who (1) dressed in impeccable suits and (2) had cerebral palsy.

I think a lot of 18-year-old minds were quietly enlightened about a few things just from watching these two banter back and forth, one with joints more wobbly than the other. Wayne told a memorable anecdote at one point about stopping by a grocery store in sweat pants instead of his usual classy wear. The cashier asked some gentle question about what he spent his time on, assuming that he had some sort of carer following him around. The expression on her face when he told her that he taught college was one I'll never forget, and I didn't even see it.

Anyways, at the end of this semester, the two teachers asked a few of us smart kids if we wanted to be TAs (teaching assistants) for the next semester. Since most of us had already become friends during the make-a-group-and-discuss-things portions of the class, this sounded like a party that would look good on our records later. And it really was.

I TA'd for that class a few times in a row, with my buddies and the two very cool teachers. We met up outside of class for holiday parties and everything.

And, since this was during the time the Lord of the Rings trilogy was first coming out in theaters, we all dressed up in costume and went to an early screening together.

Wayne drove. His handicap placard meant we got to park at the front, which was pretty awesome.

Now, I'd met people before who knew more LotR lore than I did, but they all paled in comparison to Sandy. As I said in the notes on that other post, she shared some stories of her youth with us. When she was fourteen, she ran away to join a hippie commune. She already knew fluent elvish, and she used that to help the commune's drug-runners stay out of the clutches of the cops, by translating their drug notes into a language the cops couldn't read. With a start like that, it was unsurprising that she still knew elvish now, along with all sorts of fascinating deep lore.

She had a limited edition book that looked shockingly expensive. She made beeswax candles for all the TAs as holiday gifts, with our names written on them in elvish. I still have mine somewhere.

I haven't heard from any of these lovely people in a long time, since college moves on and so does life, but I will treasure those memories forever. I hope Sandy and Wayne and the others are doing well. They deserve the best.

[tarotwithavi]

Mars and the type of men you might be attracted to

Mars in your chart shows the type of energy you're drawn to when it comes to passion, desire, and attraction especially toward masculine traits (regardless of gender).

This is a general interpretation, so it might or might not resonate.

Mars in Aries/1st house

You're attracted to bold, take-charge types. Confident, competitive, and a bit impulsive. The "I see it, I want it, I get it" kind of guy. Alpha energy? Yes please.

Mars in Taurus/2nd house

Slow burn attraction. You like someone grounded, dependable, sensual. A man who’s stable, loyal, and maybe a little possessive in a hot way. Bonus if he smells amazing.

Mars in Gemini/3rd house

Sapiosexual vibes. You're into witty, talkative, mentally stimulating men. Give you banter, debates, and late-night convos over someone with just good looks any day.

Mars in Cancer/4th house

You're drawn to emotionally intelligent, nurturing men. Protective and soft-hearted, but with a quiet strength. He might cook for you and remember all the little things.

Mars in Leo/5th house

You want someone who shines. Proud, bold, and a little dramatic. You're into men who are confident, expressive, and aren’t afraid to show you off or make big gestures. sassy men.

Mars in Virgo/6th house

The quiet fixer. You’re attracted to men who are helpful, attentive, detail-oriented — maybe even a little anxious. He shows love by doing, not just saying. You might have a thing for men in suits or formals.

Mars in Libra/7th house

You're drawn to charming, classy men. Someone who’s balanced, graceful, and knows how to flirt. A lover, not a fighter but with strong opinions under that pretty smile.

Mars in Scorpio/8th house

Intensity is your love language. You’re into deep, mysterious, magnetic men. You want someone who makes eye contact and suddenly you’re spiraling into obsession.

Mars in Sagittarius/9th house

You love a wild soul. The type who’s adventurous, funny, spontaneous, and never afraid to speak their mind. Big 3AM road trip energy. Give you the thrill. Something who can teach you and help you learn new things.

Mars in Capricorn/10th house

You're into powerful, responsible men. The strong, silent type. Driven, ambitious, and lowkey intimidating. Daddy energy. You want a man with a plan. You like men who have their life together.

Mars in Aquarius/11th house

You’re attracted to the unconventional ones. Detached but intriguing. You like someone who’s intellectually stimulating, unique, and doesn’t follow the crowd. You might love some rebellion.

Mars in Pisces/12th house

Hopeless romantic alert. You like dreamers, artists, soft souls. Men who feel deeply, love spiritually, and may be a little mysterious or poetic.

I'm up for criticism, just be nice about it.

[boyfiechan]

[Party Favor]

…or the one where you're just two responsible adults planning your best friends’ joint bachelor/bachelorette party—until the box of sexy party supplies arrives and things spiral wildly out of hand.

Bang Chan x Reader Notes: Friendship and glitter on genitals, I guess. Content Warnings: AFAB reader, best friends to lovers, a hell lot of kissing, mutual pining, aphrodisiac use, mentions of drinking, explicit sexual content, sexy card games, fingering, use of pet names (baby), dry humping, unprotected sex, penetrative sex, use of warming gel and sensation enhancers, fingering, oral sex (f receiving), dirty talk, mention of sex toys, multiple orgasms, creampie, use of handcuffs, banter during sex, chaotic horniness. [22k words]

The box sat between you on Chris’s kitchen island like some cursed artifact neither of you wanted to be the first to open. You were supposed to be working—finalizing the plans for Mina and Jae’s joint bachelor and bachelorette parties, putting the finishing touches on the schedule, talking through guest lists and food allergies and whether the Airbnb allowed glitter—but instead, you were both just standing there, staring at a giant, metallic-wrapped package that had arrived earlier that afternoon with no return address, just a handwritten note that read, Have fun. You’re welcome. -Cousin Yujin. Chris had carried it inside like it weighed a hundred pounds, half-laughing, half-grimacing as he dropped it onto the counter. She said she was sending some party supplies. I thought she meant streamers, he said, still catching his breath. Not a whole suitcase full of questionable decisions.

You didn’t open it so much as peel it apart cautiously, as if expecting it to hiss or glow or otherwise confirm your suspicion that this would be a very different kind of planning session. The first layer revealed a cascade of pink and red tissue paper, scattered with tiny heart-shaped confetti, and beneath that—chaos. A deck of cards with the words Naughty Challenge in sparkly foil, a pair of red satin blindfolds, plastic handcuffs, massage oils in a variety pack labeled Dessert Flavors. A single feather tickler. A tube of something called Arousal Gel, which you held between two fingers like it might bite. Chris leaned in beside you, lips twitching with a suppressed laugh. Is that… whipped cream flavored? he asked, peering over your shoulder. You checked. Strawberry cheesecake. He let out a low whistle. Classy.

You weren’t quite laughing yet, but the absurdity of it all had begun to settle in—this was your job now, apparently, organizing not just a party, but a themed weekend that walked the line between slightly wild and entirely too intimate. You were both trying to do right by your friends, to make sure they had a celebration they’d remember for the right reasons, and yet here you were, elbows-deep in what looked like a bachelorette party starter pack from a very risqué Etsy store. Chris picked up one of the dice, a soft, neon pink set with verbs on one and body parts on the other and rolled them idly on the counter. Kiss… neck, he read, then looked over at you with mock solemnity. Very educational.

You leaned against the island, arms crossed, watching as he turned over one item after another. He wasn’t rushing—more curious than anything, like he was cataloging evidence and here was something comfortable about it, the way you could both hover here in this liminal space between teasing and planning, between two friends who’d known each other too long to be shy but not quite long enough to ignore the tension. You think they’ll actually use this stuff? you asked, nodding at the pile. Chris shrugged. Maybe some of it. Probably not the aphrodisiac serum. He held up a little amber bottle and squinted at the label. ‘Heightens arousal. Do not exceed recommended dose.’ Sounds intense. You smirked. Bet it’s just honey and cayenne. Or snake venom, he offered. Real test of love—survive the honeymoon.

It wasn’t awkward, not exactly, but you could feel a kind of charged stillness creeping in as the initial laughter faded. The box had gone from hilarious to oddly thought-provoking, as if you were both slowly realizing you’d just been handed a pile of questions you hadn’t planned to ask each other, not explicitly, not like this. Chris nudged a card your way—Act out your partner’s fantasy—and raised a brow. Think we need to screen these before game night? he asked. Some of these are kind of… a lot.

You hesitated, then nodded. Probably smart. I mean, we can’t exactly have Jae doing body shots off his fiancée’s cousin in front of his mom. Chris grimaced, then laughed under his breath. Okay, yeah. We screen them. He paused. Should we—like—actually go through a few? Just to get a feel for what we’re working with? He wasn’t looking directly at you now, more at the cards, the bottle, the chaos you’d unearthed together, like he was trying to keep it casual, and it was casual, just curiosityl just research, two responsible people doing their due diligence. Still, the question hovered there in the space between you, quiet and warm and just a little off-center, like maybe neither of you wanted to admit you’d already been wondering the same thing.

It had always been like this with Chris, comfortable in a way that was easy to forget wasn’t necessarily normal. He was the kind of friend who snuck snacks into your tote bag at the movies and remembered the name of your high school dog even though you only mentioned it once, smart, unflinchingly reliable, a little chaotic when bored—but gorgeous in a way that still, occasionally, knocked the wind out of you when you looked too long. Which was why you didn’t, usually, at least not on purpose. He was built like someone who accidentally became a Calvin Klein model and never told anyone, all long limbs and lean muscle and that infuriating combination of soft eyes, dimples and a sharp jaw. He didn’t act like he knew it, though, walked around in perfectly clean sneakers and a identical rotation of hoodies like he wasn’t an accidental heart attack waiting to happen. You had a whole system worked out for ignoring it, finely tuned over years of close proximity and just enough inappropriately timed thoughts to make your own life difficult, and besides, it was funny, you two were funny—quick banter, loud opinions, inside jokes that made other people squint. It worked, it had always worked.

Still, there was something about tonight that felt a little off-center, not bad, just off the usual track. Maybe it was the wine you’d cracked open an hour ago, or the slow glow of sunset spilling across the kitchen, or maybe it was the undeniable weight of the box sitting open between you, full of things neither of you were really pretending to ignore anymore. You could tell Chris felt it too, not in any obvious way, but in the way his movements had slowed just a bit, more deliberate, like he was giving the moment more room to breathe.

He picked up the deck of Naughty Challenge cards and fanned them out like a magician about to do a trick. Alright, he said, tone light, a smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. One test round, purely for quality control. You pick. You raised an eyebrow but reached anyway, plucking a card from the center. ‘Give your partner a compliment in the sexiest voice you can manage,’ you read aloud, then looked up, unimpressed. This feels like a trap. Chris laughed. Come on. Low stakes. I’ll go first.

He cleared his throat dramatically, then turned toward you with an exaggerated smolder. Your spreadsheet skills, he said, voice dropping an octave, make me feral. You choked on your sip of wine, sputtering as you doubled over against the counter. You’re a menace. He smiled. I’m a menace with a healthy appreciation for color-coded tabs.

It was stupid. Ridiculous. The kind of joke that should’ve fallen flat but didn’t, because it was him, because he could make anything sound almost sincere, just for a second. And then he was looking at you, and you were still laughing, but the space between you had shrunk without either of you moving. Just a hair, just enough to notice.

You flipped the card around in your fingers, trying to keep your face neutral, but you could feel the warmth rising in your chest, just below the surface. Okay, you said slowly, my turn. He tilted his chin up, mock-expectant as uou licked your lips, pretending to consider your options. Your arms, you said finally, pitching your voice low and overly breathy, are very… efficient. For carrying things. And lifting boxes. Big boxes. Chris stared at you a beat, then cracked up, resting both hands on the counter as he laughed. Wow, he said, wheezing a little. Are you flirting with me or hiring me for a moving company? You shrugged. Why not both?

The laughter lingered, but the air shifted again, subtly, the way a room quiets when someone walks in. You didn’t move away, neither did he and there was something about the fact that you could both feel it, but neither of you said anything, that made it feel heavier than it should’ve. Not awkward, just aware, a pause held between jokes, like the next card might change something if you weren’t careful. Or maybe if you were.

Chris tapped the edge of the deck against the counter like he was about to deal blackjack, eyes still a little crinkled at the corners from laughing. Alright, he said, voice mock-serious, we’re on a roll. Let’s see what other emotionally devastating challenges this box has for us. He slid another card from the pile and read it with the kind of gravitas usually reserved for Oscar speeches. ‘Demonstrate your favorite sex position. Using interpretive dance.’ He blinked, you blinked and for a long second, neither of you moved. Then you both completely lost it.

Chris doubled over against the counter, forehead pressed to the cool granite like he needed divine intervention. No, he gasped. Absolutely not. I’m calling the police. You were crying laughing, hand over your mouth, barely able to breathe. This box is unhinged, you wheezed. Yujin needs to be on some kind of government watchlist. Chris nodded rapidly, still recovering. She just sent us a live grenade. This is psychological warfare.

But then, because neither of you had ever been good at letting a joke die, you straightened up, wiped your eyes, and said, Okay but hypothetically, if I did have a favorite… And before Chris could stop you, you stepped back from the counter and started miming an aggressively interpretive series of hip rotations that could only be described as deeply confusing and possibly inspired by modern jazz. I call this one ‘Anxious Cowgirl,’ you announced, waving your arms like you were on a deranged cruise ship. Chris groaned and covered his face. I’m begging you to stop. I feel like I’m going to get arrested just for witnessing this.

You’re just mad because you’re about to get outdanced, you said, pointing at him. Let’s go, best man. Show me missionary with meaning. And somehow, somehow, he did, with the stiff awkwardness of a man deeply regretting his life choices, Chris shuffled out from behind the counter and launched into something between a body roll and a mime of spiritual suffering, hands raised like he was trying to summon something holy. This is called Two Minutes Before Cramps, he said solemnly, hips moving like they were operating on a six-second delay. It’s mostly forearms and disappointment. You collapsed onto the barstool, laughing so hard your stomach hurt. Oh my god, stop. That’s actually worse than mine.”

Lies, he shot back, pointing an accusing finger. Yours looked like a Zumba class for the recently divorced.

The energy was ridiculous, you were both borderline crying, red-faced, breathless, drunk not on the wine but on the sheer absurdity of what your night had turned into, but underneath the chaos, there was that little pull again, that thing you kept pretending wasn’t there. Because every time he looked at you too long, or your arms bumped, or he laughed with that quiet, real sound that he didn’t share with everyone, something in you pinged. Nothing big, just a moment, a shift, a question that hadn’t been asked, but maybe, maybe was getting a little closer to the surface.

Still, you weren’t touching that yet, mot with a ten-foot feather tickler. So instead you leaned back, wiped your face, and said, Okay, final round. Let’s find the dumbest one in here.

Chris, ever the overachiever, picked up the instruction booklet and squinted at the fine print. There’s one called Sensory Temptation Roulette, he said slowly. You blindfold each other and take turns guessing which body part the other person is touching you with. He paused. There’s a note here about ‘only consenting players should participate,’ which feels like a red flag.

You blinked. Do you think they mean like… elbow? Nose? Or… You trailed off, eyebrows raised. Chris didn’t answer, just held your gaze for a second too long, then very calmly picked up the blindfold from the box and held it out to you.

You stared at it. Then at him.

Then back at it.

You are so lucky I’m bored.

He grinned like he’d just won something, all bright teeth and boyish smugness, the blindfold dangling from his fingers like a prize. No one’s ever said that to me in a flattering context, he said, stepping closer, enough that you could smell the faint trace of his cologne, something warm and clean and irritatingly good, and see the slight flush in his cheeks that may have been from laughter, or the wine, or maybe just the rising temperature of this whole stupid, spiraling idea. You took the blindfold slowly, holding his gaze as if you were about to sign a legally binding document, and looped it over your eyes with exaggerated care. Alright, you said, sitting up straighter on the barstool. Let the scientifically rigorous examination of sensory nonsense commence. I’m ready for my doctorate in Guess the Body Part. You heard Chris laugh softly, close now, and then the sound of him moving, the quiet shuffle of socked feet on tile, the rustle of fabric as he adjusted or considered something behind the veil of your vision.

You tried not to anticipate where the touch would land, you really did, but there was something about being blindfolded—about giving over that sliver of control to someone you trusted, who also happened to be annoyingly hot and standing much too close—that made your brain short-circuit. When it came, it was light, barely a brush at all, somewhere on your forearm, and you startled a little at the unexpected texture. Okay, you said slowly. That felt… weirdly soft. Was that your cheek?

Chris made a buzzer sound with his mouth. Incorrect. That was my chin. Very different. My cheek is much more emotionally available. You snorted, blindfold shifting slightly as you laughed. My bad, I’ll recalibrate my cheek-to-chin radar.

The next one landed on your knee, a gentle bump that felt like knuckles, maybe. Knuckle? you guessed, biting your lip. A beat. Close. Elbow. He sounded weirdly proud, like his joints were something to be admired. Bonus points for not screaming. Most people panic when approached by a stealth elbow. You smiled in spite of yourself and it was really stupid, all of it, delirious and strange and deeply unserious, but there was something oddly sweet about how carefully he was doing it. Not teasing, not pushing boundaries, just playing the way you always had, except now you were blindfolded and he was touching you, and your skin was starting to keep score.

The next touch was slower, not rough, but deliberate, the back of your shoulder, maybe, or the top of your arm—warm and solid and unmistakably him. You felt it in your spine, that little flicker of tension your body tried to dismiss as nothing, just nerves or the wine or the thousand other excuses that didn’t account for the fact that his hand lingered. Fingertips, you said, and it came out quieter than you intended. Chris didn’t answer right away, just a small pause. Then: Yeah. His voice had dropped a little, still playful, still soft, but you could hear the shift too, subtle and unspoken, like the space between a joke and the moment it stops being funny, not because anyone said so, just because the air got heavier.

He stepped back, or maybe just stilled, and you exhaled slowly. Okay, you said, lifting your hands to the blindfold, my turn. I’m ready to exact blindfolded revenge. But when you pulled it off and looked at him, Chris was already watching you. He had that same grin, but it had changed, barely, into something steadier, something with less teeth and more weight as his gaze dropped to your mouth for half a second, then snapped back up, like he caught himself mid-thought. You felt it like a tug, small, sharp, not enough to pull you in—but enough to know it was there. You held out the blindfold. Your funeral. Chris took it with a shrug, but the way he tied it on was slower now, more thoughtful, like the whole thing had become a different game.

The blindfold settled over his eyes with practiced ease, like he wasn’t blindfolding himself in the middle of his own kitchen while his best friend loomed dangerously close with vague intentions and a wildly fluctuating heart rate. Chris adjusted the knot at the back, then held out his arms in theatrical surrender. Alright. Do your worst. But just know—if I scream, it’s only because I bruise easily and have a complicated relationship with trust. You rolled your eyes, grinning despite the thrum of something slower moving beneath your skin. You’re the most dramatic man alive, you muttered, stepping closer, already scanning the possible points of contact like this was some kind of twisted impossible math question. You weren’t nervous, not exactly, but there was a new sort of buzz threading itself through your limbs now, an awareness, taut and unfamiliar, that hadn’t been part of this game until just recently. Something about seeing him standing there, all stillness and stupidly good bone structure, mouth pulled into a smirk that he probably didn’t even know was doing things to your brain that it made it a lot harder to treat this like a harmless joke.

You went for easy first, brushing the edge of your forearm lightly against his collarbone, a soft pass that made him flinch just slightly. Was that your… wrist? he guessed, head tilting in thought. Wow, you deadpanned. No. That was literally my entire arm. Do you think I’m a small bird? Chris laughed, bright and sudden, the sound echoing in the kitchen. Sorry, sorry. I got distracted. It felt… graceful. He grimmaced. You’re unbelievable, you muttered, but your voice had gone soft at the edges. You were too aware of how close you were, too tuned in to the way he was still smiling even though he couldn’t see you, the kind of smile that always made you want to nudge him just to see how much further it would go.

Next you tapped the side of his neck with the tip of your nose, because you couldn’t help yourself, because it was stupid and unexpected and you wanted to see what he’d do. He jolted like you’d electrocuted him, swore under his breath, then stood perfectly still. Okay, he said slowly. That was… something. Was that your elbow? You leaned back with a grin, the air between you now oddly charged. That was my nose, you absolute himbo.

Jesus, he whispered, laughing nervously. Why is this starting to feel like foreplay? And just like that, the breath in your lungs turned into something else. You weren’t sure if it was a joke, half of what you said to each other was, but you didn’t laugh this time. You didn’t say anything, neither did he.

For a second, the silence stretched out, not uncomfortable, just expectant. You stared at him, blindfolded and a little flushed, his mouth parted like he was waiting for your next move and for once, you didn’t second-guess it, you stepped in again, closer this time, letting the tip of your fingers trace from his wrist to the inside of his elbow in a slow, unhurried pass. His breath caught, visibly, audibly. And when you stopped, he didn’t guess, didn’t speak. Just stood there, waiting. You swallowed, your voice was quieter now, unsure but steady. You gonna guess? Chris tilted his head slightly. I don’t think I care what part that was.

The silence after that wasn’t funny, wasn’t filled with jokes or banter or pretend. It was thick with something else, something that looked a lot like choice. You could feel it rising between you, soft and slow, unspoken and undeniable, something you couldn’t unplay and still, neither of you moved.

Chris was the first to crack. He cleared his throat, untied the blindfold with a flick of his fingers that was way too casual to be real, blinking like he’d just returned from war. Okay, he said, voice an octave too bright, so that game is obviously cursed. We were one round away from accidentally getting engaged. You laughed, high and nervous, stepping back like there was a trapdoor under your feet. Yeah, no, that felt like a gateway drug to emotions. Absolutely not. You turned back toward the box, sifting through the chaos of cards and packaging and absurd neon-colored nonsense like it was a life raft. Let’s eat something weird and reset our brain chemistry.

Chris, already halfway through inspecting what looked like edible lube in a tiny foil pouch, raised an eyebrow. Do you want the one labeled body chocolate or sugar lips? Because one of these sounds like a drag queen and the other sounds like an HR violation. You snorted and grabbed the one with a sketchy cartoon strawberry on the label. Let’s go with the one that looks the least like it’ll send us to the ER.

You peeled it open, sniffed it cautiously, then gave him a look. Why does this smell like Dollar Store Nutella? Chris leaned in, took a whiff, and recoiled instantly. That’s not Nutella. That’s Nuthella. As in, you’d have to be out of your mind to eat that. Your snorted. Oh, come on, you said, scooping a fingertip’s worth and sticking it in your mouth. It can’t be that— You froze. Chewed, slowly, then made a face like you’d just been betrayed by a trusted family member. It tastes like a candle. A very sexy candle. Chris burst out laughing. Give me that, he said, grabbing his own sample with way too much enthusiasm and popped it into his mouth, immediately making a noise of profound regret. Oh no. Oh no no. Why is it spicy? He paced a tight circle like a soccer player trying to walk off an injury. It tastes like someone dipped chocolate in cologne and then lost a bet.

I think it’s supposed to ‘awaken your senses,’ you said, flipping the package over. It’s definitely awakened my gag reflex. He flopped into the stool across from you, still grimacing, and picked up one of the tiny heart-shaped mints labeled Intimint Explosion. Dare me? he asked, already unwrapping it. Absolutely not, you said, but he popped it into his mouth anyway. He blinked, paused, then his face twisted into something between alarm and existential confusion. Okay, wow. That’s… aggressive. My tongue is having a religious experience. There’s like… phases.

You were cackling now, hunched over the counter as you rummaged through the next layer of the box. Alright, you said, breathless, we need a palate cleanser before one of us has to file a report with the FDA. You pulled out a plastic contraption shaped like a miniature cactus and turned it over in your hands. What the hell is this? A novelty back scratcher? A massage tool for emotionally distant partners? Chris leaned in to inspect it. No, no, look—it has a little switch. And like… these soft spinny things? He flicked the switch and the tiny rubber nubs started twirling with an aggressive buzz that neither of you expected. You both stared. Then looked at each other. Is it… for your face? you asked slowly. Chris tilted his head. Maybe your nipples?

That’s not the same category, Chris. You said, raising an eyebrow at him. Well, I don’t know what people are into! Don’t judge my ideas. You set it down like it might explode and pulled out the next item, a tiny feather on the end of what looked like a miniature riding crop. Okay, this one’s easy. This is obviously for… uh… You trailed off, twirling it between your fingers, then looked up at him. Okay fine, what the hell is this for? Chris took it, spun it once like he was about to do a magic trick, then flicked it gently against his own arm. I think it’s supposed to be seductive, he said, eyebrows raised in concentration. But I just feel like I’m being interrogated by a fancy bird. You doubled over laughing again, nearly crying now as he fanned himself dramatically with it and said, in a horrible British accent, I demand to know the whereabouts of the Duke's underpants!

It was good like this, stupid and unhinged and exactly the right amount of unsexy, just long enough to forget the undercurrent of whatever had passed between you during that blindfolded pause. You could feel it, still, flickering at the edge of things, but right now, wrapped in laughter and candle-flavored regret, it was easy to let it wait.

The laughter eventually tapered into something breathless and warm, the kind of quiet that came after a proper, cleansing laugh, where your face hurt and your stomach ached and you felt slightly high on nothing at all. You were sprawled across one stool, chin resting on your arms, and Chris was opposite you, still fidgeting with the feathery interrogation wand like it had secrets to reveal. Between you, the box lay half-unpacked, its contents scattered in an impressive array of shapes and suspicious functions, looking more like the inventory of a very unserious wizard than anything remotely erotic.

You reached blindly and came up with a sleek little thing that looked like an alien’s idea of a slingshot. Okay, you said, turning it upside down, this one feels like it’s for clamping… something. Maybe ears? Nose? A very specific kind of grief? Chris leaned in, elbow on the counter, eyes narrowing as he took it from your hands. I think this is one of those things that either goes very right or ends your relationship in five seconds. He tested the springy arms against his fingers, winced immediately. Yup. That’s going directly into the Maybe Not pile.

You reached for a wrapped chocolate heart still floating at the bottom of the box and unwrapped it like it owed you something. Okay, but real talk, you said, chewing slowly, is it getting weirdly warm in here? Chris was already halfway through another one, despite his earlier condemnation, and looked mildly betrayed by his own decision. Yes, he said through a mouthful, and also… is your mouth buzzing? Because mine is. Like… subtly. In a way that feels both delightful and deeply concerning.

You paused, tongue pressed to the roof of your mouth. …Yes. What the hell did they put in these? Is this FDA approved? You both stared at the shiny wrapper, no ingredients listed, just the words Velvet Ecstasy in swirly gold font, like it was a flavor and not a threat. Chris squinted at it. Do you think it’s like… some kind of low-grade aphrodisiac? Because that would explain why I suddenly want to flirt with the toaster.

You snorted, shifting in your seat, only now realizing how your skin felt a little more, like your clothes were one layer too many, or the air was just a few degrees too humid. Nothing dramatic—just enough to make you cross and uncross your legs under the counter, like you were trying to resettle your own mood as Chris seemed to be feeling it too; he’d stopped toying with the feather and was now fidgeting with the hem of his hoodie, sleeves pushed up to his forearms, a light flush blooming at the base of his neck that might’ve been from laughter, or something else.

You reached into the box again, half for distraction, half because you were starting to feel too still. Alright, what’s next? you muttered, pulling out a smooth, curved silicone object in pastel pink. You turned it over once, then twice, then just stared. Okay. No idea what this is. It looks like a spoon from the future. Chris leaned in, peering at it like it might read back to him. Is that… a tongue thing? Like, a licking simulator? His eyes widened. Is that a robot tongue? You were horrified and fascinated in equal measure. Why is it shaped like a ladle? What kind of tongue has depth?He tapped it against the counter experimentally. Maybe it’s for ice cream. Emotional support ice cream. You grinned, finally setting it down with caution. No way. That thing has main character energy. It vibrates, I promise you.

Everything in this box vibrates, he muttered, tossing aside a suspiciously shaped ring with flashing LED lights. This one looks like it’s powered by rage and the tears of failed exes. The heat was building again, subtle but steady, underneath the humor, under the dumb jokes and the silly guesses. That candy was doing something, slow and creeping, just a haze at the edges of your skin, a heightened awareness that made you notice things like how close Chris’s hands kept drifting when he leaned in to see what you were holding, how his voice had gone ever so slightly lower, more deliberate and the tension wasn’t sharp, not yet, just simmering, waiting, sitting between you like another item you hadn’t unboxed yet.

Still, you kept reaching for distraction. Okay, final item, you said, pulling out a silk ribbon with tiny loops sewn into the ends. This looks innocent. Like something from a bridal shower. Chris took it from you and raised an eyebrow. That’s a wrist restraint, he said, voice far too casual. That or a very dramatic headband. He stretched it between his hands thoughtfully. Also, very soft. That’s a plus. He toyed with it. What, are you rating these now? you teased, leaning back on your palms. Gonna start a blog? Chris’s Kink Korner?

He grinned without looking up. I mean, might as well. I’ve seen enough tonight to qualify for a part-time job at a sex museum. He met your eyes then, still playful, still amused, but lingering just a second longer than before, and suddenly you were both quiet again, not like before, but almost, a shift, just a breath deeper than the last.

Chris set the ribbon down like it might whisper something compromising if he held it too long, and then he dragged his fingers through his hair in that familiar way that always made him look effortlessly hot and vaguely distressed, like a model who’d just gotten bad news in a shampoo commercial. You watched him without meaning to—tracked the way his eyes flicked toward you and then away, the subtle clench in his jaw when he bit back a grin, the silence was friendly, mostly, but beneath it was that same low hum, the weird edge that had crept in with the candy, winding tighter every time your knees bumped or your laughter ran too long. Still, neither of you said anything about it. You just sat there, elbows on the counter, surrounded by silicone and satin and glittery wrappers, pretending you weren’t both just a little warmer than you should be.

So, he said finally, clearing his throat as he reached for another chocolate heart and inspected it with the vague suspicion of someone handling a live grenade, do we think these are actually, like, scientifically engineered? Or is this just placebo horniness? He tossed it into his mouth before you could warn him, chewing like it owed him an answer. You leaned over, one brow raised. I don’t think there’s any science involved in something called Velvet Ecstasy, Chris. That sounds like a band that opens for Boyz II Men at a Valentine’s Day concert.

He snorted, one hand over his mouth like he was trying to chew through regret. Okay, but real talk, my face is kind of tingly. Like... arousingly tingly, is that a thing? He blinked. Do you want it to be a thing? you countered, mostly to distract from the fact that your skin was buzzing too, in all the inconvenient places. Not hot, exactly, but sensitive, like your nerves had been turned up a click. You weren’t thinking about Chris touching you, not really—but you were starting to wonder what it might feel like if he did, purely for research.

I think I’m gonna sue whoever made these, he muttered, grabbing his water like it might help. Not because they’re dangerous, but because now I have questions about my body I didn’t need to have tonight. You laughed, still fiddling with the ribbon absentmindedly. Oh, come on, maybe it’s just psychosomatic. Like ghost horniness. He blinked at you. You’re not allowed to say ghost horniness in my kitchen, he said. There’s boundaries.

You held up your hands. Okay, fine. Let’s go back to identifying mystery toys. It’s safer. You leaned into the box again and pulled out something shaped like a cross between a banana and a lightsaber. It was smooth, lavender, slightly curved, and more menacing the longer you looked at it. Okay, you said, turning it in your hands. What is this and why do I feel like it knows my deepest secrets?

Chris took it from you slowly, brows lifted. I don’t know, but if this thing ever starts talking, I’m burning it. He pressed a button and it whirred to life with a low, oscillating hum that was alarming. He froze. Nope. No no. Why does it sound like it’s about to summon something? You were laughing so hard now that your stomach hurt again, that warm, sweet ache that felt like safety and something else you couldn’t quite name as you reached for the toy and turned it off before it could open a portal to hell. That’s going straight into the Oh My God pile. Chris nodded solemnly, setting it down between the feather and the spinning cactus. That pile’s getting a little too powerful.

And then, as if summoned by the room’s growing warmth or the subtle pull of that unspoken thread, he glanced over at you. Really looked, this time, not like a joke was coming, or a dare, or a one-liner. Just looked, and the moment slowed again, just briefly, not enough to be awkward, just long enough for something to flicker behind his eyes. This is kinda fun, huh? he said, voice lower now, a little more grounded. Like… I didn’t expect it to be fun. I thought it’d be weird.You tilted your head. It is weird.

Yeah, he said, grinning, but like… in a good way. You looked at the chaos around you, the melting chocolate wrappers, the haunted vibrator, the tiny cactus. And then back at him. Yeah, you said quietly. In a good way.

You didn’t mean to grab something interesting, honestly, you were just stalling, sifting through the half-empty box for the sake of momentum, for something dumb enough to laugh about again—something that didn’t taste like perfume or hum like a spaceship. But your fingers closed around a slim, rectangular box near the bottom, tucked beneath a foil packet that said Cupid’s Syrup in a font that made your stomach turn. You pulled it out, inspected the cover. Dare or Bare: A game for the emotionally unstable and mildly horny, it read in looping pink script.

You held it up. Okay, this one’s already threatening me personally. Chris leaned over, squinting. Dare or Bare? That sounds like something invented in a college dorm. He snatched the box from your hands and popped it open, rifling through the cards inside. Oh yeah. This one’s dangerous. I love it. He pulled out a random card and read aloud with mock drama: Let your partner kiss any body part of their choosing—or take a shot of tequila with Tabasco. He looked up, deadpan. Wow. Nothing like an ultimatum between physical vulnerability and gastrointestinal distress. You leaned in, intrigued now. Alright. So we’re just… doing dares or mildly stripping?

Not even mildly, he said, flipping another card. Remove one item of clothing—or let your partner ask any question and you have to answer honestly. You raised a brow. Okay, this just turned into Truth or Strip. Chris grinned, already pulling out the little spinner wheel that came with the set. Which, incidentally, is exactly the right level of emotional risk for a Wednesday night.

You both knew you shouldn’t, you really shouldn’t, there was just enough of that candy lingering in your bloodstream to make everything feel a little more fun than it should be, a little looser around the edges, like the world had slouched sideways and neither of you had the good sense to sit up straight. And now Chris was holding out the spinner, casual to a fault, like it wasn’t the gateway to imminent chaos, like the smooth way his thumb tapped against the plastic wasn’t betraying how eager he actually was to spin the whole night off its rails. His knee bumped against yours beneath the table, the faintest nudge, and you felt your own self-control slip another inch, your heartbeat knocking just a little faster as the room leaned into the kind of silence that always meant trouble. You exhaled, the word dragging out on the tail of your breath, Okay, okay, tugging your legs up onto the stool, folding them beneath you, settling in like you weren’t already standing at the edge of a very, very stupid decision. But we set rules.

Chris nodded, solemn in a way that barely contained the smirk threatening to pull at the corner of his mouth, his hands stretching out in a half-hearted peace offering, palms open, fingers twitching with barely concealed amusement. Obviously, he said, voice smooth, almost reasonable. No questions about exes. No dares involving bodily fluids. His gaze slid over to you, steady and sharp, waiting for you to tack on more boundaries, waiting to see just how far you’d go before you flinched. You lifted a brow, chin tilting slightly, deadpan. No removing pants. His lips twitched, and for a second you thought he might let it go, but his eyes flicked to yours, dark with that particular glint you knew too well, the one that always spelled trouble long before he ever opened his mouth. Speak for yourself, he muttered, the words low and half-swallowed, like he hadn’t meant them to slip out, but he did, and the air around you shifted, light and charged. Before you could swat at him, his fingers wrapped around the spinner and set it loose, the plastic clicking and ticking in sharp little bursts, both of you leaning in slightly, as if proximity might somehow influence fate, as if it wasn’t already too late for that.

The wheel slowed, the pointer stuttering over the final few notches before landing on a card marked with a flame, and Chris wasted no time plucking it up, turning it over in his hand with a kind of lazy confidence, the kind that always meant he was about to make things worse. His eyebrows lifted, mouth curling into something delightfully smug as he read the dare aloud. Let your partner sit in your lap for one minute — or send a risky text to the last person you slept with. His gaze drifted back to you, slow and deliberate, his eyes already laughing before his mouth had the chance to. He tilted his head, shoulders relaxing into the inevitable, and the grin that split across his face was all teeth and mischief, bright and boyish in the worst way. So. You wanna—?

Absolutely not, you snapped, reaching out before the words had even fully left your mouth, snatching the spinner from his hand, your fingers brushing his in the process, warm and steady and stupidly solid, like touching him didn’t already do enough damage on its own. His laugh was soft, a low sound that felt like the slow boil of something just beginning, and you pretended not to notice the way your pulse stumbled as you spun the wheel, watching it go around and around, the room tilting slightly with every click until the pointer landed, quiet and decisive, on a blue truth card.

You plucked it from the pile, trying for casual, clearing your throat as you read, the words catching somewhere halfway through. What’s something you’ve thought about doing with the person in front of you but never said out loud? The second the sentence hung between you, the air felt different, heavier, sharper, like the room itself was holding its breath. You didn’t look up right away, too aware of the sudden stillness that had settled over him, the faint, unspoken shift in the shape of his silence. When you finally raised your gaze, his eyes were already there waiting, wide and startled, his expression balanced precariously between a smile and a choke, like the game had finally outplayed him and for once he didn’t know whether to laugh or lie.

Well, he said slowly, one hand drifting to his jaw, thumb brushing along the edge in absent circles, his voice warm and dry like he was stalling for time, I was going to say ‘stealing your hoodies,’ but now I’m thinking this game has a vendetta. The corner of your mouth twitched, a smile threatening to tug loose despite the heat crawling up your neck, your fingers tightening slightly around the card, knuckles whitening with the effort it took to stay still. You’re allowed to say that. That’s harmless.

Oh, sure. His head tilted, eyes narrowing just enough to spark a different kind of tension, voice dipping a shade closer to the line between teasing and dangerous. But now it sounds like a metaphor. The air stretched thin between you, a taut string pulled tight, and you held his gaze a beat too long, the question still lingering, still open, still waiting. Your voice came quieter, softer, heavy with the dare you couldn’t swallow back. What were you actually going to say?

The hesitation barely lasted a second, but you felt it, the faint stutter in his breath, the twitch of his fingers tapping once, twice against his thigh, the way his tongue flicked out to wet his bottom lip like the answer sat there, sweet and sharp, waiting to cut. Then the smile came, small and sly, the kind of grin that always meant he was about to say something dangerous but not quite criminal, the kind of look that never failed to unravel you. Yeah, nah. I’m not touching that one, he murmured, voice a little lower, a little softer, thick with all the things he wasn’t saying. Spin again.

The next few rounds passed with the kind of laughter that made your cheeks hurt. Chris took his hoodie off when a card demanded it, revealing a tight black T-shirt underneath that you pretended not to notice and you admitted to having a weirdly vivid dream about him last year, though you refused to explain it. He let you draw a heart with whipped cream on the side of his neck as punishment for skipping a card about sending a flirty voice memo. You both agreed to burn the box afterward, and slowly, too slowly to catch until it was already happening, yyour laughter kept brushing up against something warmer. Something charged.

Then Chris drew another card, the motion slow, almost absent-minded, his fingers hesitating at the edges like his brain had only just caught up to the fact that he was still playing. The room had gone quiet again, thick with something that wasn’t quite laughter anymore, and when he flipped the card over his eyes flicked across the words, lingering there a moment too long, his mouth twitching with a sound that barely qualified as a laugh — more like a breath that got trapped on its way out. He didn’t look up. He just sat there, turning the card between his fingers, thumb brushing slow circles over the paper as though it might soften the meaning, as though it might change the rules if he waited long enough.

Okay. This one’s… another soft huff of air, that same laugh-shaped breath, one that had no place in the tightness of the room, Let your partner whisper something they’ve always wanted to do to you — into your ear. If they do, you each keep all your clothes on. If not, both lose one layer. The words hung there, suspended in the dim light, pressing in on both of you from all sides. Your heart stuttered, sharp and unsure, tripping over the space where it should’ve landed cleanly, and for a second you couldn’t tell if it had stopped or simply skipped so hard you’d missed the beat altogether.

Chris finally glanced up, the weight of the moment tipping his head slightly, his gaze flicking toward you with something more cautious, more careful than before, like he was testing the air between you before stepping into it, like he wasn’t sure if the ground had shifted or if he’d just imagined it. He held the card out toward you, his hand steady but his eyes not quite matching, and his voice came quieter now, lower, the kind of soft that people used when they were offering you an out. We can skip, he said, like the words were some kind of life raft. We probably should.

But you didn’t reach for the card, you didn’t move at all, just sat there, staring at him, watching the tension curl around the space where the game used to be, realizing somewhere between the silence and the shallow rise of his chest that the shift had already happened. It hadn’t been the card, or the chocolate, or the dares. It wasn’t the game, not really, it was the way his voice had changed when he said your name two dares ago, the way your knee had stayed pressed against his for far too long without either of you adjusting. Somewhere between the whipped cream and the fourth dare, you’d stopped pretending this wasn’t real.

Your lips curled, slow and reluctant, a smile so small it barely made it to the surface, like you were still deciding whether it was safe to let it stay. Cautious, measured, but there, all the same. Okay, you said, voice soft but steady, your head tilting slightly, inviting the rest of the moment to close the distance for you. Come here, then. And just like that, the room folded into itself, the noise bleeding away until all that was left was the sound of his breathing and the long, quiet stretch of space that had never felt so impossibly close.

Chris didn’t speak, didn’t joke or stall or give you the easy out he usually would’ve offered without thinking, he just looked at you like he was recalculating something, something important, and then stood slowly, that soft grin slipping into something quieter as he rounded the counter. His movements weren’t dramatic, but they felt louder than they should’ve been and you could hear the way his socked feet shifted across the tile, the faint creak of the stool beside yours as he took the seat, knees brushing yours for the second time tonight—but now it didn’t feel accidental, but a dare in itself.

He leaned in close, closer than he ever had, and that was saying something, and tipped his head so his mouth hovered near your ear. You caught the faintest hint of chocolate on his breath, still warm from laughing, and your body locked up like it had just remembered you were alive in real time. His hand braced gently on your thigh, not grabbing, just grounding, the kind of contact that made your thoughts scatter like marbles on a floor. His voice, when it came, was barely above a whisper. I’ve thought about kissing you when you’re mid-laugh, he said, slow and steady, like each word had weight. Like… when your head tips back just a little, and your eyes get kind of shiny? I always wonder if you’d let me. Then silence. Not long, just enough, enough for you to feel it, really feel it, settling under your skin like warm water in your chest.

When he pulled back, he didn’t look triumphant or smug, he looked nervous, quiet, in a way you’d never really seen on him, like saying it had actually cost him something. You weren’t sure what your face was doing, but you knew you were blinking too much and swallowing like your mouth had suddenly forgotten how to be normal. Your pulse was doing gymnastics in your throat and you didn’t even realize your hand was still on your lap until your fingers twitched against the hem of your shirt. Chris cleared his throat and made a vague gesture toward the cards. So, uh. Technically I didn’t lose any clothing, so… I win, right? he said, with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

You laughed, finally, but it came out a little breathless. That’s not how emotional nudity works. He smirked at that—your Chris again, quick and full of mischief—but there was something in his posture now, something more alert. He wasn’t hiding it anymore, neither were you as you reached for another card. It was just easier than speaking. Alright, you said, throat dry. Let’s level the playing field. You handed it to him. You read this one.

He took it, eyes flicking down. Then his eyebrows shot up. Lick something off your partner’s skin—or let them draw something NSFW on your body blindfolded. He glanced up, and this time, the tension didn’t creep in, it slammed. You sat perfectly still for a moment, like your body was trying to decide whether it was allowed to want anything in this room, then you leaned back slowly, tilting your head. What counts as NSFW? you asked. Your voice was too calm, it didn’t match the heat curling in your chest. Chris blinked at you, then laughed, surprised. Wow. We are really doing this. You nodded once. Apparently, we are. And there it was again, that pause, the one just before the shift.

Chris stared at the card like it was a prophecy, some kind of ridiculous challenge issued by the universe that he’d been accidentally training for his whole life without knowing. You watched the wheels turn behind his eyes, the quick flick of thought, mischief, restraint, something warmer. It hit you all at once how stupidly gorgeous he was—how annoyingly sharp his jaw looked from this angle, how his lashes curled just enough to make you resent the unfairness of genetics, how his lips were parted slightly, caught between a grin and something else, something quieter. Your stomach fluttered without your permission, not a dramatic swoop, but something real enough to make you fold your arms, like your body was trying to protect the thought from forming too clearly. Chris rubbed the back of his neck, leaned back on his stool, and blew out a breath that bordered on a groan. Okay. Listen. I’ve made a lot of questionable decisions in my life, but I don’t think I’ve ever licked something off a friend before. I feel like that’s a line you cross and never come back from. You tilted your head, barely suppressing a smile. So draw on me, then.

That’s somehow worse, he said, laughing under his breath. Because then I have to think about it. I have to picture it. That’s practically a creative writing assignment. You were already reaching for the whipped cream again, amused and reckless and not nearly as unaffected as you wanted to be. Okay, fine. I’ll go easy on you. Just a classic little doodle. Maybe a peach. A heart. A deeply disturbing banana. He groaned again, leaning forward until his elbows hit his knees and his hands dragged down his face. Jesus. You’re trying to kill me. This is murder. You breathed a laugh. You picked the card. No backing out now. you reminded him, already shaking the can. I didn’t pick it, he said, the devil did.

But he was smiling again, almost helplessly, the way he always did when he lost a bet, or a game, or his composure. And then he was sitting up straighter, pulling his shirt off without ceremony and tossing it over the back of the stool like it was no big deal, even though the muscles in his shoulders tensed as the cotton slid off. His chest was lean, warm-toned, familiar in that distant way, something you’d seen before, at pools or late nights or friend group sleepovers, but never quite like this. Never under lighting this soft, never while his eyes locked on yours.

You swallowed once, then motioned for him to turn around a little and he did, back to you now, the ridge of his spine shifting subtly as he leaned forward. You knelt behind him on the stool, bracing one hand on his shoulder to keep your balance, the other holding the can like a paintbrush. You hesitated, then pressed the nozzle gently against the space just beneath his shoulder blade, drawing a lopsided heart that began to melt almost immediately against his skin. Jesus, it’s cold. Chris twitched. Yeah, well, you murmured, leaning closer without meaning to, you’re warm.

You hadn’t meant it to sound like that, not really, not like it meant something but the words hung there between you anyway, soft and weightless and still somehow too heavy, stretched thin with all the things you weren’t saying. He didn’t answer, didn’t shift, didn’t even lift his head. He just stayed where he was, sitting perfectly still, his shoulders faintly rigid, his head bowed slightly like the air had changed and he was bracing for it, like your fingertips brushing across his skin were doing far more than they should for something so innocent. You leaned back a fraction, putting just enough space between you to breathe, eyes flicking over the smudged, sticky shape left behind on his shoulder, the uneven edge of it catching in the dim light. There, you murmured, clearing your throat around the sudden dryness that wasn’t there before, All done. You’re a masterpiece. It came out lighter than you felt, thin and a little off-balance, but you let it stand.

That’s… generous, he muttered, voice dipping rough and quiet, glancing over his shoulder at you, his mouth twitching but not quite forming a full smile. I’m not even gonna ask what it’s supposed to be. His eyes lingered on yours a little too long, like he already knew, or like he was trying not to guess.

You pushed off the edge of the stool, hands brushing down your thighs as you reached for a napkin, trying and failing to rub the sugar from your fingertips, the stickiness clinging stubbornly no matter how many times you swiped. A melting heart, you offered, casual but quiet, the words folding smaller as you spoke them. Very symbolic. He raised both brows, slow and questioning, like he could already feel the shift tightening between you. Oh?

Yeah, you said, the shape of a smile tugging at the corner of your mouth but never quite making it there. It’s about two people getting in way over their heads with a stupid game. The silence stretched between you again, but this time it wasn’t empty. You were halfway back around the counter, trying to smooth your expression into something neutral, when his voice caught you, low, steady, a little too careful. Can I try mine now? The question stalled you mid-step, your pulse giving a sharp, unsteady kick as you turned back to face him. Your what?

My turn, he said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, as if the ground hadn’t shifted at all. His gaze held yours, quiet and steady. The other option. Your breath hitched, barely enough to notice but enough for him to see. You blinked once. You want to lick—

No, he said, and the word softened under the weight of the small, crooked smile that followed. But I want to try something. Something not on the card. His voice wasn’t teasing anymore, not sharp or playful the way it had been earlier, just soft, softer than you’d expected, like he was already halfway past pretending and before you could ask what he meant, before you could even reach for the space to wonder, he stepped toward you, slow and careful, his body shifting like he was moving through deep water, like every inch forward was measured and deliberate, like he was giving you every second you needed to stop him. His hand found your wrist, light, barely there, just enough to guide, not enough to hold, and the way he touched you wasn’t reckless or bold or rushed. It was quiet, sure, almost tender, like maybe the game had ended a long time ago, and neither of you had noticed until now.

It should’ve felt too intimate, too sharp, but it didn’t. It just felt like gravity, like momentum that had been building long before this night, long before the chocolates or the spinning wheel or the whipped cream heart dissolving on his back. You swallowed, but your throat stayed dry. This part of the game has no rules, he murmured, just loud enough for you to hear, as he pulled you toward him with no real urgency. So technically we can do whatever we want. That made you laugh, breathy and strained. Pretty sure that’s exactly how people ruin friendships. He tilted his head. Or evolve them. You rolled your eyes, too fast, too nervous. Alright, Plato. Just tell me what I’m agreeing to.

He didn’t answer, just looked down, then back up, something unreadable working in the line of his jaw. Then, with a low hum of resignation, he reached for the whipped cream again and held it out like a truce offering. You blinked at it. You’re kidding. Chris just raised his brows. Game’s still on, right?

That was the out, right there, you could’ve said no, could’ve laughed it off, blamed the sugar and the cards and the tension and gone right back to sorting ridiculous plastic toys with your clothes on and your friendship intact, but you didn’t. You took the can, slowly. Where? you asked, and your voice sounded foreign in your throat—too soft, too steady. He watched you for a second, then stepped closer, close enough to touch, close enough that you had to tilt your chin a little to keep eye contact. Anywhere, he said. Dealer’s choice.

You should’ve picked somewhere safe, his forearm, his collarbone, maybe even the ridiculous whipped cream heart that was half-faded now on his shoulder, but your hand moved before your brain caught up, and you tapped the can gently against the center of his sternum, just above the hem of his shirtless chest. You sprayed a small dollop there, round and ridiculous, already softening with his body heat. This is getting weird, you muttered. Chris’s voice was lower now, the kind of voice that only existed in quiet rooms and slowed time. It’s just the game.

You nodded, like that made sense. Like you weren’t very much aware of the fact that he was about to lick something off his own chest because you’d put it there. But he didn’t. Not exactly. Instead, he looked at you once more, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes, then reached for your wrist again, guiding your hand forward, slowly, toward the spot you’d just marked. Here, he said. You do it. Your mouth went dry. Chris. He didn’t drop your gaze. It’s just the game.

And that was all it took, one more silent agreement, one more shrug of permission between two people pretending they weren’t doing exactly what they’d always said they wouldn’t. You stepped in, leaned forward, pressed your hands lightly against his chest to steady yourself, fingertips grazing the edge of the spot. And before you could overthink it, your mouth was there, warm, quick, tongue barely flicking the cream away before retreating again. He didn’t move, but he exhaled sharply through his nose, like the restraint cost him something. You stepped back slowly, suddenly aware of the way your palms still rested on his skin, the way the space between you didn’t quite cool. That’s not how you play this game, you said, a little breathless. He didn’t smile. No, he said. It’s not.

You turned toward the box again, desperate for distraction, for something—anything—to do with your hands, and grabbed the nearest toy without looking. It was a pair of fuzzy pink handcuffs, the metal heavy and cold and absurd between your fingers. Great, you muttered, holding them up. Finally, something wholesome. Chris laughed, that low familiar chuckle that made your stomach pull tight. You planning on arresting me for inappropriate gameplay? You tossed them at him. Don’t tempt me.

Chris tested the hinge of the handcuffs like he was auditioning for the world’s softest dominatrix-themed magic act, giving them a little dramatic shake before clicking the second cuff around his own wrist. Well, he said, lifting your joined hands up between you with a sage nod, I hope you weren’t planning on using the bathroom anytime soon. You raised a brow. You’ve chained us together and you didn’t ask for consent. Wow. I’m calling HR.

That’s fine, he said, gesturing with his free hand toward the mess of glittery boxes and melted chocolate casualties strewn across the counter. I think the entire bachelorette planning committee resigned three dares ago. Honestly, we deserve it, you said, giving the cuffs a little tug, He grinned, that boyish, bright kind of grin that always made you feel like you were about to get in trouble in a fun way. You realize we’re stuck like this until someone finds the key?

What do you mean someone? you asked, your voice pitching up just slightly, the first flicker of mild alarm tightening your throat. Your gaze snapped toward him, watching his face carefully. Did you already lose it? Chris blinked, a beat too slow, too casual to be believable. No? His mouth twitched, like the lie tasted funny even to him. You narrowed your eyes, tipping your head, waiting. That wasn’t very convincing.

Okay, maybe it fell under the couch when I was opening the box, he admitted, lifting his hands in mock surrender, but let’s not panic— You let out a sharp gasp, grabbing his arm in theatrical betrayal, your fingers curling tight around his sleeve. Christopher Bahng. He froze for half a second, lips twitching at the edges before he tilted his head at you. You never use my full name unless you’re mad or drunk. The words came out flat, dry, a little too honest. I’m both.

That did it — he cackled, the sound bursting out of him unrestrained as he doubled over, the handcuffs at your wrists tugging tight with every movement, your balance shifting closer as the chain shortened the space between you. His laughter only grew harder at the sight of your unimpressed glare. This is exactly the kind of chaos our friends would expect from us. I’m gonna give the toast at their wedding like, ‘Remember that time we accidentally handcuffed ourselves together and emotionally compromised your bachelor party plans?’

You raised your wrist, the weight of the cuffs tilting your arm slightly, metal cool and unyielding against your skin. And they’ll be like, ‘Yes, because we had to saw you apart with a bread knife,’ you deadpanned, your fingers flexed, testing the give — there was none. How do these feel both flimsy and unbreakable? Chris straightened, still slightly breathless, the warmth of his grin lingering even as his voice dipped into mock wisdom. That’s the magic of cheap kink gear, he said sagely, his thumb brushing along the edge of the cuff where it sat against his own wrist, the lightest of touches betraying just how aware he was of it.

You gave the cuffs another gentle tug, testing the play in the chain, and when you moved, Chris moved with you, closer, unintentionally, until the length between your bodies evaporated into heat and breath and proximity so palpable it felt engineered. It should’ve felt awkward, but it didn’t, just heavier than it should’ve as quiet crept back in, slow and sudden, and the laughter stuttered between you like it had been knocked sideways. You both stilled, just for a second, just long enough.

You felt him first—the way his chest rose unevenly, like he was holding in a breath without realizingl then the weight of his gaze on your mouth, brief but sharp, gone again before you could read it. Your linked wrists hovered between you, hands tangled in a strange, quiet knot, and you realized you’d both stopped pretending this was just a bit. There was no punchline now, no safe word for what this had become, only that quiet, gut-deep awareness that you’d crossed into something neither of you had named yet.

Chris didn’t move, but something about him had shifted, shoulders squared but not in defense, mouth parted but unreadable, like he was waiting for a sign you didn’t know you were supposed to give. Your gaze flicked down, just for a breath, to his lips, just curiosity, you told yourself, just a reflex, just— His voice, when it came, was barely more than a whisper. If I kiss you right now, he said, still not moving, we’ll have to blame the game. You didn’t speak, too startled by the clarity of it, by how your body suddenly felt light and weighted at once. Do you want to? you asked. And your voice didn’t even wobble.

He didn’t answer, not with words, just leaned in slow, careful, like a hand reaching into fire to test for heat. He didn’t close the distance all the way, just enough that you could feel the breath between you change, that warm, syrupy tension pulled taut as a wire, your noses almost brushing, your mouths aligned in the kind of delicate stand-off that shouldn’t have felt as intimate as it did. And then, of course, your cuffs slipped, just a little, a clumsy, stupid jolt as your linked hands dropped between you, and your shoulders crashed forward. Your forehead bumped his chin, and Chris yelped like he’d been tased. Ow—fuck—my jaw.

You stumbled back, laughing so hard your lungs burned, the sound shaking through you as you doubled over, your cuffed hands pressed tight to your ribs like they were the only thing holding you together. Oh my god—did I break your face? Chris groaned, one hand dragging over his jaw, fingers testing the spot where your heads had collided, but there was more amusement than injury in his eyes. No, but we definitely broke the moment, he managed, lips quirking crookedly. That was almost hot, you know. I was gonna go for like, a cinematic-level kiss.

You looked like you were trying to taste my soul, you wheezed, struggling to catch your breath between fits of laughter. I was scared. He snorted, the sound dissolving into more laughter, his head tipping back slightly, cheeks pink and voice still a little breathless. You should be. That much sexual tension should be a controlled substance.

The room slowly quieted around the tail-end of your laughter, the sound fading but the glow of it still lingering between you, leaving you both breathless and dumb and bright with it, but the air hadn’t quite gone back to normal, not entirely. That almost-kiss hung there, weighty and unspoken, suspended in the quiet space between your smiles, between the clumsy press of your cuffed wrists and the way neither of you had stepped back for real. Because you both knew exactly what had almost happened, and neither of you had pulled away.

Chris didn’t try to smooth it over with a joke this time, not right away. He just stood there, hand still absently rubbing at his jaw, mouth parted slightly like he was still thinking about where yours had been a moment ago. The laughter faded between you, trailing off into a soft, breathy kind of hush, not uncomfortable, but aware, a quiet that buzzed around your skin like static, humming beneath the shallow rhythm of your breathing. You were still cuffed together, hands awkwardly joined at your sides, like the game hadn’t quite let go of you yet, like it was still watching, waiting, pressing at your backs with a nudge and a smirk and the kind of permission neither of you wanted to admit you wanted.

Well, Chris said finally, his voice low and rough, like he hadn’t quite caught his breath. That went almost exactly how I planned. You snorted softly, eyes fixed on the floor. What part? The sexual tension or the headbutt? He grinned at that, the edge of it a little crooked. Ideally, less dental trauma. But otherwise? I’d say we’re right on schedule. You lifted your cuffed wrists between you with a wry twist of your mouth. Schedule for what, exactly?

He didn’t answer right away. Just looked at your joined hands, then at you, then down again, like he was thinking way too hard about something that should’ve been stupidly simple. Nothing, he said. It’s just the game. Right? You nodded once, too quickly. Obviously. Nothing weird is happening.

Totally normal amount of eye contact, he agreed.

And tension.

And proximity.

And thoughts that we’re absolutely not having.

Exactly.

You stood there in silence for another beat, too long, too loaded, the air straining under the weight of everything neither of you were saying. Then, as if some invisible wire finally snapped, you both lunged for the game box at the same time, hands colliding mid-air with a soft, clumsy smack. New card, you both blurted in unison, voices a little too bright, a little too rushed, like kids caught sneaking candy before dinner, scrambling to cover the evidence.

Chris reached it first, fingers closing around the stack with theatrical triumph, and with an exaggeratedly solemn voice, he plucked a card free and read: Feed your partner something without using your hands. You blinked, staring at him, the words landing hard enough to make your pulse skip. This game is trying to kill us. He nodded, lips pressed together in mock gravity, though his eyes still danced. It’s sentient and wants us dead.

But even as the joke lingered, his gaze drifted toward the counter, scanning the scattered wreckage of snacks like he was actually weighing the options, fingers twitching slightly where they hung from the cuffs. There was something about the way he looked so focused, so casually unbothered, that sent another ripple of nerves straight through you. Okay, he murmured, still surveying the damage. What do we have left that won’t immediately make me look like I have a food kink? You gestured lazily toward the closest optio, a slumped, half-melted square of chocolate beside the game box. This seems least awful. Chris grimaced, nose wrinkling. It’s literally melting. That’s gonna be disgusting.

Then pick something else, you shot back, still lingering somewhere between laughter and something far more dangerous. You have teeth. Figure it out. That crooked, slow-burning grin started creeping onto his face, his eyes locking onto yours, sharp and playful and unmissably charged. Do not tell me to figure it out while we’re handcuffed. That’s not fair.

You should’ve rolled your eyes, should’ve shoved his shoulder and kept the banter going, but your laugh came a little too soft, a little too breathless, and your chest felt light in a way that had nothing to do with the sugar anymore. He kept looking at you—really looking, gaze lingering like he was learning new parts of you by accident, or maybe on purpose and then, without bothering to be subtle, he leaned forward, picked up the drooping piece of chocolate with his mouth, clamping it between his teeth, and tilted his head at you. You froze, the moment crystallizing around you, sharp and too sweet. Chris.

Mhm? he hummed, lips barely parting around the piece of chocolate.

You look like you’re about to kiss me. Not feed me. There’s a difference. His eyes flicked down, catching on your mouth, hovering there like gravity had its own ideas. Doesn’t have to be, he murmured, voice low and thick behind the chocolate. That shut you up, cut clean through your defenses, right to the part of you that had stopped pretending this was just a game hours ago. You stepped forward before your mind could catch up, letting instinct fill the gap, noses brushing, the heat of his breath mingling with yours, the scent of chocolate sharp and rich and unbearably soft between you. His lashes dipped low, eyes half-lidded, restraint hanging by a thread.

And then, slow, slower than either of you meant for it to be, your lips brushed his. Barely, a whisper of a kiss, light enough to question if it even happened at all, stolen through sugar and bad timing and the kind of mutual impulse that made your heart feel like it wasn’t yours anymore. He didn’t deepen it, didn’t push, just lingered there, close enough to still feel your mouth, the chocolate long forgotten, your hands tangled helplessly between you, the cuffs a cold reminder at your wrists. When he finally exhaled, it sounded like he’d been holding that breath for hours. Still the game, he whispered, voice too soft, too strained. But this time, not even he sounded like he believed it.

It wasn’t even a decision, not really. One second, you were standing there with your mouths barely brushing, your hands tangled between you and your breath too loud in your own ears, and the next, something in both of you gave way, like gravity just tipped the wrong direction. Like the joke had run its course and now all that was left was the answer that had been humming beneath every dare, every glance, every breathless laugh.

Chris kissed you like he’d been waiting to do it for years—no hesitation, no teasing, no half-measures. Just full contact, lips parted, tongue pressing past yours with a heat that startled something loose in your chest. You made a noise you didn’t recognize, sharp and soft at once, and he swallowed it, one hand still caught in the cuffs and the other coming up to cup your jaw, gentle in a way that contrasted the hunger behind it. There was nothing casual about it, nothing safe, he kissed like he meant it, like this wasn’t part of the game anymore.

The chocolate was gone in seconds, melted somewhere between your teeth and his, but neither of you noticed. All you could register was the taste of sugar and sin and him, his mouth warm, insistent, moving against yours like he was trying to memorize the shape of you from the inside. His body pressed closer, one step forward, and your backs hit the edge of the counter, he didn’t pull away, just angled his head, deepened the kiss, and groaned low when you leaned into it. Your cuffed hands twisted between you, caught in the fabric of his jeans now, tangled in the ridiculous pink fuzz and his body heat and the rising tension you couldn’t laugh off anymore. Your knees buckled slightly, not because he was forcing anything, but because your whole body felt like it was pulsing under your skin, like the air had thickened, like every brush of his mouth sent another wave of warmth sinking deep, curling low in your stomach.

And god, the aphrodisiacs. You hadn’t noticed them at first—had been too busy joking, dodging tension, pretending you were immune—but now it was like every nerve in your body had a direct line to your skin. Everything felt too sharp, too good, his hand slid from your jaw to the back of your neck, fingertips threading into your hair, and it sent a shiver down your spine so strong you gasped into his mouth. Chris groaned again at that, breath hitching, and his free arm curled around your waist, pulling you flush against him like he needed to feel you without even thinking about it. The heat was unbearable, or maybe it was perfect, you couldn’t tell anymore.

You pulled back just a little, just enough to look at him, to see the flushed tilt of his mouth, the blown-wide pupils, the stunned expression barely softened by whatever restraint he was still clinging to. He was breathing hard, so were you, your hearts were practically racing in sync. You… You could barely find the words, lips swollen, throat dry. That wasn’t the card. Chris looked at you like you’d told him the sky was red. I don’t care. You blinked, dazed. You’re supposed to care.

He laughed once, short, breathless, a little shaky. I think I stopped caring somewhere between the chocolate and the part where you made that noise. You opened your mouth to fire back something clever, but nothing came out. Your head was spinning, your body was buzzing, everything under your skin was burning slow and hot and deep.

He didn’t kiss you again, not yet, but he didn’t back away either. Just stayed close, forehead brushing yours, the cuffs between you pulled tight, still locked, still binding. You could feel the tension radiating off him like a furnace, could feel his thigh pressed hard against yours, the subtle shift of muscle as he tried, tried, not to let it all go. Still blaming the game? you whispered, barely able to hear yourself. Chris nodded once, slow and quiet, like the movement cost him. If I stop, I won’t stop.

And you believed him. It happened the way everything else had, with momentum instead of permission, like the moment already existed and all you had to do was step into it. Chris looked at you like he didn’t know where to start and also like he’d already decided, his hand, still tethered to yours, twisted slightly so your fingers slid between his, and the intimacy of that one tiny motion almost undid you. You leaned in at the same time he did, mouths crashing together again, and this time there was no pretending, no joke to hide behind, no breath left to spare for denial.

His tongue met yours with more urgency, more heat, and your back arched as he pushed into you, his free hand landing on your hip with enough pressure to make you gasp. You felt it, how hard he was, how ready, and when your hips accidentally brushed his, both of you let out these quiet, ragged sounds, like you couldn’t believe it was actually happening. The counter behind you dug into your spine, but you didn’t care when all you could feel was him, his mouth, his hands, the way he kept shifting like he wanted more contact and didn’t know how to get it fast enough. Your cuffed hands fought for space between you, tugging, fumbling at his waistband like you were both half-drunk on sugar and whatever the hell was laced into those ridiculous party favors.

Chris’s lips trailed down your jaw, his breath warm against your skin, before his teeth scraped lightly over your neck. A soft whimper escaped you before you could stop it, the sound vibrating in your throat. This is a bad idea, you breathed, the words leaving your lips breathless, but your hands were already tugging at his shirt, already letting him press closer, feeling the heat of him between your legs. Terrible idea, he muttered against your skin, voice wrecked and raw, as if he were barely holding it together. The worst.

You swallowed, eyes fluttering closed for a moment. You’re supposed to be the best man, you whispered, voice faltering under the weight of the situation. And you’re the maid of honor, he replied, his lips dragging back up to yours, the kiss deepening instantly. This is just… diplomacy. You couldn’t help but laugh, a helpless, delirious sound, your body moving before you even meant to, grinding up into him, your hips jerking instinctively. You’re such a shit.

And you like it, he groaned, kissing you again, deeper this time, full of heat, all tongue and teeth, the urgency between you overwhelming. His hand grabbed your ass, pulling you closer, making your breath catch painfully in your chest. Jesus, you like it.

You moaned in response, the sound thick and raw, because you couldn’t think anymore. Everything was blurring, your thighs parting around him, the roll of his hips against yours, the way your wrists were pinned between your bodies like you couldn’t possibly separate even if you tried, every inch of you felt like it was reaching for him, your skin burning under the pressure, every inhale soaked in him, his scent, his heat. There was no slow build now—just sharp, desperate movement, your body clinging to his like it already knew the shape of this, like it had always known.

Chris’s hand was under your shirt before you could even register it, his callused palm dragging up your stomach with deliberate slowness and when his thumb found your nipple through your bra, you gasped so loud it bounced off the kitchen walls, sharp and needy. Fuck, he muttered, breath shaking, his forehead pressing against yours again, the tension crackling between you like static. Tell me to stop. You couldn’t. You wouldn’t. You’re the one who started this.

I didn’t think you’d let me. His voice was hoarse, raw, barely contained. I didn’t think I’d want to. He stilled, his eyes searching yours in the dim light, chest heaving with every shallow breath. So what now? he asked, his voice barely above a whisper, thick with anticipation. We just—fuck each other in the middle of the bachelor party planning?

You kissed him again, silencing any more words with the press of your lips, dragging his bottom lip between your teeth, just to feel him shudder, the pulse of his body under yours. I mean… we’ve done worse. He laughed then, but it was barely a sound, cracked open, raw, real. You’re high on sex chocolate. You nodded, your fingers still tangled in the fabric of his shirt. And you’re handcuffed to me. He tilted his head slightly, his voice darkening with a teasing edge. I’m never getting out of these, am I?

Not if you keep touching me like that.

The words hung there, a challenge, a promise until his mouth was on yours again, and you weren’t laughing anymore. Just breathing hard, just moaning into each other, already half-undressed, already lost. The last thing you heard before you lost the thread completely was Chris whispering against your lips, Still blaming the game, like it was the only thing holding him together. And maybe it was, maybe it was the only thing holding both of you together, or maybe, just maybe, you’d already given in.

You didn’t even make it out of the kitchen, the counter cold under your thighs, your jeans halfway undone, the hem of your shirt bunched up around your ribs where Chris had pushed it earlier in a moment of hunger he hadn’t even tried to disguise. His hands were everywhere, broad palms dragging slow and deliberate over your sides, your thighs, the small of your back. His lips were red, kiss-bitten, his chest rising and falling like he’d just run a marathon, and the way he kept looking at you made it feel like your body was something he’d just discovered and now couldn’t stop needing to learn. But still, somehow, you hadn’t quite crossed that last line, your clothes partly on, your bodies caught in that hazy, frayed edge of foreplay where nothing had been decided but everything was possible, which, naturally, is when Chris spotted the bottle.

It was small and pink, the label curling at the edges like it had been sitting in the box too long, a little faded and worn. He picked it up with two fingers, like it might explode at any second. Okay. What the hell is this? His voice was laced with both curiosity and hesitation, the mystery of it hanging heavy in the air between you as you blinked down at it, still breathless, your heart thudding in your ears, the buzz of adrenaline mixing with something hotter. I think it’s… a warming gel? you ventured, unsure, but intrigued by the way the bottle seemed to pulse with its own promise.

Chris turned the bottle slowly in his hand, squinting at the text. ‘For use on sensitive areas. Results may vary. Not for the faint of heart.’ He looked up at you, his brows raised in disbelief, and then a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. That sounds ominous as fuck. You leaned in, your voice low and teasing. Sounds like a dare. Your eyes narrowed playfully, a dangerous spark igniting between you. Chris smirked again, his gaze full of challenge. Everything with you is a dare lately. The way his words dropped between you felt like an invitation, one you couldn't ignore as you grabbed the bottle from him with your cuffed hand, your fingertips brushing his in the process, just skin on skin, but it felt like a match striking, sparking something fierce and immediate. We’re already doomed. Might as well commit, you muttered, your voice thick with something that bordered on reckless.

Chris watched you uncork the bottle, his expression shifting to one of fascinated dread, the kind usually reserved for horror movies or impossible deadlines. What’re you gonna do, just… slap it on my neck and hope for the best? he asked, voice a little tight, like he was already regretting this. You shrugged, your lips curving into something mischievous. Unless you’d prefer I go for, like, direct application.

His mouth fell open slightly, eyes wide with disbelief. You're insane, he whispered, his voice catching in the back of his throat, the words laced with a mix of teasing and something darker. You laughed, but your cheeks burned with the weight of your own words. I’m kidding. Mostly.

Still, the curiosity was stronger than either of you expected as you squeezed a little of the gel onto your fingertips and, without overthinking it, reached for his collar. Your fingers brushed against the soft fabric, pulling it aside to smear the gel across the warm skin of his chest, just above his collarbone. He hissed—not in pain, but surprise—and his hand twitched against your hip like you’d just shot electricity through his veins. Holy shit, he muttered, blinking rapidly, his voice rough and unsteady. That’s—uh. That’s definitely not faint. You leaned back, studying him with a mix of fascination and amusement. Is it burning?

No, it’s like—fuck, it’s warm. Like really warm. And kinda… tingly? But not in a bad way. Just in a… He trailed off, his voice taking on a husky edge, low and uncertain. Okay, now I’m scared to know what it does to, like, actual sensitive areas. His eyes were dark, his pulse quickening and you raised an eyebrow, wickedly amused. So we’re not doing a field test? you asked, the words dripping with challenge, the air thick with anticipation.

Chris gave you a look, half impressed, half terrified, that made your stomach tighten in ways you didn’t expect. I don’t know whether to kiss you or sue you, he muttered, his voice rough with the mix of amusement and tension. You dipped your finger in the gel again, this time dragging it lightly along the inside of his wrist, just below where the cuff bit into his skin. He exhaled sharply, the sound a soft, jagged gasp that made your thighs clench, and his body jerked like he couldn’t control the reaction. Jesus, this is evil, he groaned, his voice trembling, heavy with both pleasure and disbelief.

Pretty sure this is what witches used in medieval times, you whispered, leaning in close enough that your breath ghosted across the skin of his neck, just below his ear. Bet you feel it everywhere now. You pressed your lips just below his ear, feeling the shudder that ran through him at your touch, the tremor in his body unmistakable. I do, he groaned, his voice cracking at the edges. It’s like—fuck, you don’t feel that? His eyes were on yours now, pupils dilated, his breath ragged as his entire focus locked onto you.

You raised a brow, a teasing smile playing on your lips. I haven’t tried it yet. Your voice was slow, deliberate, the words slipping out like a dare of their own. His eyes snapped to yours, dark and swimming with something you couldn’t quite name. Do it, he said, barely more than a whisper, the words laced with desire and something dangerous. I dare you.

Your heart punched your ribs, and before you could stop yourself, you were sliding your free hand up under your own shirt, smearing a dab of the gel just beneath your bra, right over your sternum. The warmth bloomed almost immediately—subtle at first, then sharper, like the touch of his tongue had been replaced with slow, creeping fire. Your mouth fell open, a soft moan slipping out before you could catch it, and Chris’s reaction was instant, his hips bucked forward, like the sound of you unraveling was too much. Okay, he rasped, watching your face with something dangerously close to reverence. That’s it. That’s illegal. That sound. You laughed, breathless, dragging your hand down to grab his shirt. The game made me do it. Chris leaned in again, kissing you like he meant to ruin you for every other person who’d ever tried. Then let’s keep playing.

It spiraled in the way only things with too much tension and too little denial ever could. The kiss deepened immediately, messier this time, less polished, tongue, teeth, a quiet gasp swallowed between mouths that couldn’t get enough. Your cuffed hands twisted in the space between your bodies, useless and clumsy but still greedy, and Chris didn’t seem to care, his fingers spread wide against your thigh, dragging up, up, until they found the curve of your hip and pulled you flush to the heat of him, hard and insistent through denim. The movement made you moan again, soft, wrecked, and the sound drew another kiss from him, open-mouthed and unrestrained, like he was trying to answer it with his body. The gel still burned gently where you’d touched it, a slow ember low in your sternum, and the warmth seemed to echo, to chase itself through every place his hands found.

He broke the kiss only long enough to press his forehead against yours, both of you panting like you’d been running. I don’t know if it’s the chocolate, or the game, or just—fuck—it’s you, but I can’t stop. Your voice came out rough, ruined. Then don’t.

Chris kissed you again, slower now but deeper, and you could feel the way the air shifted between you—less chaos, more control, but only just. You arched into his body as he finished unbuttoning your jeans with his free hand, his fingers fumbling slightly but determined, like he couldn’t not try. You could feel how badly he wanted it, and it lit something in you that went straight to your core and still, even now, there was a layer of ridiculousness to it all—the way your arms kept getting tangled, the absurd pink cuffs tugging at your balance, the scattered game cards still spread across the counter beside you. He was halfway through sliding your zipper down when he paused, breathing heavy, and glanced at one of the cards lying crooked beside your leg.

Okay, he said, voice hoarse, like he was struggling to catch his breath, his eyes flickered to the card in your hand. Tell me you didn’t plant this. You blinked down at the card, the words staring back at you like a joke you weren’t sure you wanted to get. ‘Give your partner a lap dance.’ You burst into laughter, the sound shaky and breathless, but the moment it escaped, a moan hitched in your throat when his fingers accidentally brushed too close to the waistband of your underwear. The heat from his touch lingered there, making everything a little sharper, a little more aware. That’s not even physically possible right now. You laughed again, but it sounded more like an exhale than anything else.

I mean, Chris said, voice dropping into that teasing tone that had been there all night, eyes darting down to where your thighs were still wrapped around him, define ‘lap.’ His grin was smug, a little too confident for your liking, but you couldn’t ignore the way his words made your pulse trip a little faster. You narrowed your eyes at him. I swear to god, if you make a stripper joke right now—

Hey, I’m just respecting the integrity of the game. You shoved at his chest, laughing, but the motion just made your hips grind into his, and whatever grin he’d had faltered immediately. His hands gripped your waist like he needed the grounding, like he was holding on to the last sliver of control, and when you looked at him again, really looked, you realized how thin the line was beneath all the jokes. He was flushed, breathless, jaw tight like he was holding himself back with both hands and losing the grip second by second. Okay, he murmured, voice dangerously quiet now. Tell me if you want me to stop. You didn’t even hesitate. I want you to keep going.

The shift was subtle but irreversible. His hand slid under your waistband, the heat of him stealing into the place you’d started to ache, his fingers moving slow, deliberate, teasing. You gasped, clutching at his shoulder, your cuffed wrists making the angle awkward but not impossible, and Chris groaned softly at the sound of you breaking again. You’re so wet, he whispered, eyes locked to yours. Fuck. Was it me or the gel? You couldn’t answer, not properly.

Does it matter? He smiled then, slow and devastating, like he knew the answer, like he didn’t care either way, and bent to kiss the edge of your jaw, trailing his mouth down to your neck. It’s the game, he whispered, against your pulse. It’s definitely the game, you echoed, even as your head tipped back, hips rocking into the press of his hand.

Neither of you believed it anymore.

Chris didn’t rush and that was the part that undid you, really—not the heat, not the jokes, not even the cuffs biting gently into your skin. It was the fact that, once he had you squirming and gasping and whispering his name through your teeth, he slowed down. Like he wanted to feel every second of it, like he'd been dying to do this and wasn’t going to waste the opportunity by rushing through the best part. His fingers stroked low, slow, maddening, just enough to tease, to draw that unbearable ache into something sharp and consuming, but not enough to tip you over, and the whole time, his mouth never left your skin. He kissed the hollow of your throat like it was sacred, licked just below your ear like he wanted to ruin you with subtlety, not force as you tangled your hands in the front of his shirt, or tried to, the cuffs making it awkward, ridiculous, but somehow more intimate, like even your restraint was shared now. I can’t— you gasped, hips bucking up against his hand, —I can’t think when you do that. Chris just smiled against your neck. Good.

Asshole.

Yeah. He glanced up at you, his expression half-wrecked and fully focused. But I’m your asshole right now, aren’t I?

You couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled out, wild and breathless, and Chris grinned against your skin like he’d scored a point. It wasn’t supposed to be funny, none of this was supposed to be anything, you were supposed to be planning a party, you were supposed to be friends, but here you were—his fingers inside you now, slow and careful, coaxing little moans out of your mouth like he’d found a new language and wanted to learn every word. You rocked into his hand without thinking, chasing friction, chasing him, and it hit you all over again: this was Chris. Your Chris, the same one who’d spent years making fun of your terrible coffee habits and sending you cursed memes at 3 a.m, the one who'd picked you up from your worst dates and made you laugh until you cried, and now he was here, in your space, in your body, undoing you with a touch that felt more reverent than reckless.

You caught his eye again, dark, heated, a little stunned, and something in both of you slipped. You should try something, you whispered, trying to find steady ground and failing. You know. For science. Chris cocked an eyebrow, fingers curling just right. Are you offering?

I mean… Your breath hitched. We have, like, an entire box to get through. He kissed you once, slow and hot, then pulled back with a crooked smile. That’s true. Wouldn’t want to waste the budget. You half-laughed, half-moaned, and reached awkwardly for the box with your limited range of motion, dragging it closer along the counter with the heel of your hand. Chris kept his fingers moving—lazy, deliberate—while you fumbled through plastic-wrapped nonsense and tiny bottles with blurry labels. You found something round, neon pink, and utterly confusing.

Chris tilted his head, gaze fixed on the object in your hand like it was a riddle he didn’t want to solve, the teasing grin still there. Honestly? I have no fucking clue. His voice was soft, but the words had weight, like you were both caught in something that was spinning too fast for either of you to control. You squinted at the tag, still not quite believing what you were reading. Vibrating tongue ring. You said it with the same detached humor you tried to put into the rest of this ridiculous situation, but you both knew this wasn’t just a joke anymore. A heavy silence hung between you, and then—

Oh, absolutely not, Chris said, his grin widening into something darker, more dangerous, like he was daring you to make him. You stared at him, biting back a grin that threatened to spill over, fighting against the absurdity of the moment. You scared?

I’m not putting that anywhere near my mouth after it’s been in this box, he muttered, half-disgusted, half-amused, but even through the playful refusal, you felt that edge still there, like every word was tinged with something deeper. You waggled it at him, voice mock-serious. The people demand sacrifice. It was a silly thing to say, and yet it felt true, felt right in the moment, like you were playing a role in something far larger than either of you had intended.

He leaned in again, close enough that you could feel the heat of his breath against your skin before his lips pressed softly against the corner of your mouth. He pulled back just enough to whisper, They’ll have to settle for this. The words were barely there, a soft promise that you couldn’t ignore, and for just a moment, the world seemed to shrink to just him, just that kiss, just the breathless, burning tension between you.

And then, in a move that was so deliberate, so intentional, the joke fell away entirely. The playful mockery dissolved in your throat, swallowed up by the desperate, strangled sound that left you instead, a sound that was more real than anything that had come before it. The touch of his hand, the way he shifted his weight against you, the heat of him pressing so close—nothing about this was a game anymore. You clung to his shirt like it was the only thing holding you together, your chest tight with need, your voice barely a whisper when you managed to force out the only thing you could say. More.

He kissed you like he heard that word on a deeper frequency, like it wasn’t just a request but a revelation, something he’d been waiting for without realizing it. His fingers slid out of you slowly, deliberately, dragging slick down your thigh as he leaned back, breath still shallow. You watched him through the haze, chest heaving, pulse pounding in your ears like it was trying to keep up with the sudden, disjointed rhythm of everything inside you. He looked wrecked, flushed and wild and barely tethered, the pink plastic cuff still dangling between you both like the world’s worst and most brilliant joke. You were sitting on the edge of your kitchen counter, jeans undone, lips kiss-bruised, thighs parted for your best friend and somehow, impossibly, it wasn’t weird.

Chris’s hands slid to your hips, gripping gently but with that quiet, coiled strength he always carried around like an afterthought. His gaze flicked over you, like he was memorizing, like something in him had shifted and he couldn’t quite pretend otherwise. And then, with zero warning, he grabbed one of the novelty bottles from the box, the tiny one labeled sensation enhancer: edible and held it up between you with a half-smirk. You dared me to try something, he said, still breathless, still flushed. You narrowed your eyes. That’s technically not edible in public. He popped the cap with his teeth and raised an eyebrow. So good thing we’re not in public.

And just like that, you were laughing again, high and unsteady and so far past the point of return that nothing felt real anymore. Chris dipped his finger into the gel, held your eyes, and then dragged it slowly, teasingly, over the inside of your thigh. Not where you wanted him, not quite, but enough to make you jolt, to hiss, to shudder. The gel was cold at first, then warmer, then impossibly hot, and you gasped, clutching his wrist like that could slow him down. Still funny? he asked, voice low and nearly smug.

Shut up, you breathed, already falling apart. He leaned in, brushing his lips over yours, his voice a thread of heat. Make me. You did. You kissed him like it was the only language left in your mouth, tangled and hungry and real as his hands slid back into your jeans, tugging them past your legs with just enough care not to rush, and you lifted your body to help him, legs shaking slightly. He paused only long enough to press one more kiss to the inside of your knee, soft and slow, and then he looked up at you, eyes heavy-lidded, reverent. You could see it on his face now—the shift, the way he was no longer pretending it was the game, or the chocolate, or the bottle in his hand. This wasn’t a joke anymore, this was you, and him, and a choice. He kissed up your thigh, slow and devastating, and your hands shook where they gripped the counter behind you. Still okay? he murmured and you nodded, voice barely there. Yeah.

Still the game? You didn’t answer. Neither did he.

He just kept going.

The moment he dropped to his knees, something in your chest cracked wide open, like the heat between you wasn’t just a slow burn anymore, but a kind of collapse. You were breathless, legs parting instinctively as Chris settled between them, his hands firm on your thighs, grounding you while everything else spun and his mouth hovered, not quite touching, his breath a warm tease over where you needed him most. You were still mostly dressed—jeans bunched awkwardly around your feet, shirt rucked up just enough to bare your stomach—but it didn’t matter. You felt exposed, devoured, like he was already tasting you just by looking.

His lips brushed against your inner thigh again, deliberate now, slower than before. You realize, he murmured, voice dragging low across your skin, this is gonna ruin all our future game nights. You let out a shaky laugh, the sound brittle with want. Only if we tell anyone. Chris chuckled, quiet, dark, and pressed a kiss just beside where you throbbed, still not giving in. You gonna keep it a secret?

He looked up, eyes hooded, lashes casting shadows over his cheeks. I could. Don't want to.

You weren’t sure if he meant the kiss, or the fact that your best friend was currently peeling your underwear down your legs with the same care he gave delicate electronics and bad injuries, measured, focused, unshakable, but you didn’t ask, you couldn’t. Because then he did kiss you there, properly this time, and everything inside you tilted like the room had gone off-axis. The sensation enhancer burned slow and deep, a creeping heat that made every pass of his tongue feel supernatural, unreal. He moved carefully at first, like he was listening to your body more than anything else, adjusting the rhythm of his mouth to every twitch, every breathless curse, every time you gasped his name without meaning to.

You’d imagined this before, more than once, in weak moments, when sleep wouldn’t come and the memory of his laugh had stayed in your chest too long, but nothing about those fantasies had prepared you for the real thing. Chris was good at this, almost too good, confident, thorough, unhurried, like he'd dreamed it too and was determined to get it right.

Your cuffed hands clawed at the counter behind you, desperate for something to hold on to, because your legs had already stopped obeying commands. You could hear yourself falling apart, the wet, obscene sounds of his mouth, your breath catching with every pass of his tongue over your clit, the muffled curses you kept trying to swallow and couldn’t, the heat from the gel had spread now, pooled deep in your core, and every time he moaned against you—like he was the one losing control—you swore you saw stars.

Chris, you breathed, broken and unsure if it was a warning or a plea. He hummed into you, the sound low and guttural. Say it again. You whimpered. Chris—fuck—please. His grip on your thighs tightened. Tell me what you want. You bit down on your lip, hips stuttering against his mouth. Don’t stop.

He didn’t.

His mouth stayed locked on you, wet and filthy, tongue flicking, curling, fucking you through every twitch and roll of pleasure until the pressure finally broke and when it did, it shattered you. The orgasm hit hard, violent, your back jerking clean off the counter as your whole body seized around the sharp, dizzy heat of it, his name torn out of your throat over and over, wrecked and hoarse, until there was nothing left but the sound of your own ragged breathing. Still, he didn’t stop, not until your legs were shaking around his head, not until your body sagged back against the counter, spent and soaked, your mind stripped clean, eyes glassy and lost.

And then—then—he pulled back, chin slick, pupils blown, and looked at you like he’d just climbed out of a dream and couldn’t believe it was still happening. You were boneless, ruined, barely able to sit up, but you still reached for him, awkward and tangled and desperate to feel more. Chris smiled, breathless, and stood, dragging you in by the cuffs until your foreheads met again. So, he murmured, nudging your nose with his, I think we need to give this party box a five-star review. You laughed, wrecked and breathless. We haven’t even gotten to the toys yet. Chris kissed you again, slow, deep, reverent. Then I guess we’ve got work to do.

Chris kissed you like he hadn’t just pulled you apart with his mouth. Like he wanted to start again from scratch, rebuild you slowly this time, piece by shaky piece, his lips were hot and unhurried, his hands still wrapped around your waist, guiding you off the counter with a care that bordered on reverence. Your legs barely held you, shaky, wobbly from the come-down, but he caught you, steadied you, murmured something soft against your temple that sounded suspiciously like got you. And for a second, in the quiet hum of the apartment, you let yourself rest there, half-dressed and cuffed, your breath syncing with his like it had always been meant to.

But then Chris glanced toward the living room. The couch, wide, soft. Closer than the bedroom but far enough from the kitchen to pretend you were making a more responsible decision. He raised an eyebrow, barely suppressing a grin. We’re not stopping here, right? You scoffed, chest still heaving. Do I look like I’m in any condition to walk? His arms slid under your thighs and back in one clean motion. Good thing I work out.You yelped as he lifted you, laughing into the crook of his neck. You are so full of shit.

He grinned, carrying you bridal-style through the apartment with an ease that was so Chris—half cocky, half chaotic, and entirely unbothered by the fact that your jeans were still around your ankles and you were cuffed like a tragic bachelorette party prop. He dropped you on the couch with too much enthusiasm, and you bounced once, landing in a sprawl that made you laugh again, limbs everywhere, your shirt riding up your ribs before kicking the fabric stuck to your feet. You’re lucky I’m too weak to kick you.

You’re lucky I didn’t just drop you.

Debatable. Chris dropped down beside you, legs spread wide, one arm thrown lazily along the back of the couch, but the second you sat up to face him, straddling his lap with your bound wrists tucked under his jaw, the energy shifted again, still playful, still ridiculous, but hotter now, closer. You could feel him under you, hard through his jeans, and the friction when you settled down against him made both of you stutter.

His hands gripped your hips like he was trying to be casual and failing spectacularly. So… we’re still blaming the game, right? You rolled your hips just once, slow and experimental, and watched his breath catch. Obviously. He groaned, dragging his hands up under your shirt to grip your waist properly. This is such a bad idea. You rocked again, deliberately now, and his head fell back against the couch. Yeah, but it’s fun.

The grinding continued slow, the kind of slow that felt more like teasing than relief, your hips rolling down against his in loose, clumsy drags, both of you laughing under your breath one second, gasping the next when the friction caught just right. It was filthy, uncoordinated, desperate, the kind of dry-humping that belonged to backseats and dark corners, all hunger and no patience, your bodies clashing together with clothes still hopelessly in the way. His hands locked tight around your thighs, fingers bruising at the curve of them, dragging you harder onto the thick bulge straining behind his jeans. You could feel the solid shape of him pressing against you, the rough seam hitting your clit with every rock of your hips, each brush sparking another low, breathless moan into the sloppy kiss he caught your mouth with.

His lips wouldn’t stay still, greedy and wandering, wet kisses trailing from your mouth to your jaw, your throat, then back again, like he couldn’t decide where to taste first, like he couldn’t get enough of your skin on his tongue. The heat between you bloomed faster than either of you could keep up with, the damp ache soaking through his pants, through the layers between you, and you couldn’t stop, couldn’t even slow down. Each grind made you hungrier for the next, chasing the high you could feel slipping just out of reach every time your hips lifted, only to crash down again even harder.

You feel that? he rasped against your mouth, voice so tight it barely held shape. How wet you are? The words were wrecked, shameless, his mouth brushing over the corner of yours, teeth catching on your bottom lip and you could only nod, dragging yourself against him, desperate and shaking. I can’t stop. His hands locked down on your thighs, pulling you in even closer, and the kiss that followed was messier than the rest, teeth knocking, breath tangled, a sound ripped straight from his chest like he was already half gone. Don’t.

You dry-humped him like a pair of kids too horny to know better, or too far gone to care, slow, grinding friction that bordered on unbearable, his cock thick and straining beneath his jeans, yours soaking though the fabric, every shift of your body sending sharp little jolts down your spine. Every time your clit caught on the seam of his fly, your breath punched out of you in broken gasps, the heat building so fast it made your vision blur. His voice cracked against your ear, breath coming harder now, hips twitching up beneath you. You’re gonna make me come in my fucking jeans.

The confession hit like a shock, sharp and hot, your whole body tightening in response. You bit down a moan, rolling your hips again, slower this time, crueler. Not unless I beat you to it. His mouth crushed against your shoulder, a low, helpless groan rumbling through him like the threat of breaking. This is the best fucking game night ever. You could barely manage the breath to answer, your body too wound up, too focused on the tight, obscene friction building faster and faster with every drag of your hips. Yeah, you whispered, voice shaking, and you meant it. God, you meant it.

And then somewhere between the breathless laughter and the cursing and the dizzy, relentless pace of your grinding, the air changed, the heat crested too high, the game tipped too far, and suddenly it wasn’t funny anymore. It was raw, it was real, you shifted a little too hard, hips driving down against the hard line of his cock, the friction tipping straight from playful to punishing, and the sound he made wasn’t a laugh this time—it was a choke, a curse, a warning.

Chris stilled beneath you, his hands flexing hard around your hips like the only thing keeping him from snapping was the sheer effort of holding on as his forehead dropped to yours, breath sharp and shallow, voice so low it barely made sound. I’m gonna lose it. You could feel him throb through the denim, every twitch against you making your pulse skip, your body tightening around the weight of it. You moved, just once, slow and deliberate, grinding down in one long, aching roll of your hips. Then lose it.

His eyes snapped open, wide and dark, searching your face for any trace of doubt, and when he didn’t find it, when you only nodded, heartbeat sitting like a lump in your throat, something in him broke. His hands moved, sliding up under your shirt, fingers dragging against bare skin, slow and reverent, like he was trying to commit every inch of you to memory. The ache of him pressed hard between your legs, trapped behind denim and cotton, hot and heavy and so fucking real, and when he kissed you again, rough, deep, no more jokes, no more games, it felt like something sharp split you wide open.

His fingers fumbled at his jeans, urgent and clumsy, yanking at the button, the zipper, trying to free himself without pushing you off. You couldn’t help, your wrists still bound and useless between you, so you just leaned in, caught his mouth in another kiss, teeth dragging on his lip, swallowing the growl that rumbled through him when he finally shoved his boxers down and freed his cock, flushed and leaking, the head slick and desperate. You looked down, breath catching in your throat, stomach flipping, because this wasn’t almost anymore—this was happening, this was real.

Are you— The question barely made it past his lips, voice cracking on the edges, raw and fraying apart from the inside out. Yes. The word broke sharp from your mouth before he could finish, your body already moving, your hips shifting in one slow, trembling roll, lining yourself up, the head of his cock pressing flush against your dripping heat. Your hands were useless, still bound at the wrists between your bodies, but you didn’t need them, the rest of you was already leaning into him, shaking, bracing, drunk on the sharp, staggering ache of what was about to happen. Are you?

Chris looked at you like you’d knocked the air from his lungs, his eyes wide, black with hunger, the last scraps of control fraying away under your stare. His head gave the smallest nod, jaw clenching so tight it shook his voice when it finally pushed free. God, yes.

His hands caught your hips the moment you started to sink down, fingers clutching hard enough to bruise, steadying you as your body slowly gave in to him, inch by inch. The stretch burned, sharp and deep and unrelenting, your body fighting the intrusion and begging for more in the same breath, muscles clenching down, struggling to adjust as he opened you up. Your breath shattered against his shoulder, the softest, sharpest gasp catching in your throat, and the cuffs clinked between you with every tremor as you fought for balance.

Chris groaned, the sound broken and hoarse, his head falling back against the couch as his cock pushed deeper, splitting you apart in the sweetest, filthiest way. He was so thick it made your head spin, the dull ache blooming into something close to unbearable, but you didn’t stop, couldn’t, your fingers fisted in the fabric of his shirt, your whole body shaking, barely hanging on as you sank the last few desperate inches until you were fully seated, the base of him pressed tight against you, buried so deep it felt like he lived there, like you were built for this exact kind of stretch. You couldn’t move, not yet.

The air felt too heavy to breathe, the moment too sharp to survive, your heart pounding wild and frantic behind your ribs. His hands smoothed up your back, slow, reverent, as though the motion alone could anchor you both, as though he was still trying to convince himself this was real. Your foreheads met, slick and trembling, and the only thing either of you could do was hold on, suspended between the ache and the heat, caught in the weight of the moment.

You okay? he whispered, voice ragged, like speaking hurt. You nodded, throat tight, the words barely squeezing free. Yeah. You? Chris huffed a sound, half a broken laugh, half a low, desperate groan. His thumb traced slow circles at the small of your back, grounding both of you in the quiet, in the way your bodies fit together so perfectly it was almost cruel. I’ve wanted this for so long, I don’t even know what okay is anymore.

You kissed him before he could say another word, lips catching his, slow but hungry, your body pulsing around the thick weight of him still stretched deep inside you. And then, when the ache softened just enough, you started to move.

The first roll of your hips was careful, tentative, your body adjusting to the impossible stretch all over again as you lifted and sank, grinding in slow, tight circles. Every shift sent new shocks of pleasure through your spine, heat tightening low in your belly, the friction a perfect, aching tease and Chris hissed, his mouth dragging across your jaw, your shoulder, his hands sliding down to grip your ass, fingers digging deep into soft flesh as though he could hold you there, make you stay, make the moment last longer. Fuck, baby, he breathed against your neck, voice falling apart with every word. You feel so fucking good—you’re so warm, so tight—fuck.

The way he said baby made your stomach twist, sharp and sweet and dangerous, and you didn’t call him on it, didn’t tease, didn’t joke, didn’t breathe a word about how much you liked it. You just moved again, grinding your hips harder this time, letting the angle shift until the thick head of him pressed flush against that deep, sensitive spot that made your mouth fall open, a moan breaking free before you could swallow it down. His hips twitched up, chasing the friction, building a rhythm between you that made the couch groan beneath your bodies, every thrust a little more reckless than the last. Your cuffed hands curled into his chest, needing something, anything, to cling to while your body threatened to fly apart. Your thighs trembled with every bounce, sweat slicking your skin, your breath nothing but gasps and broken sounds against his mouth.

Chris’s voice wrecked itself on the next moan, a helpless, hoarse string of curses whispered straight into your ear. You feel unreal. You’re gonna kill me. You’re so fucking tight, I can’t—shit—I’m not gonna last. You clenched around him on purpose, the sharp squeeze pulling a gasp from his throat so raw it sounded almost like a sob. His fingers bruised into your hips, holding you still, his self-control snapping by threads. Don’t, he warned, voice dark and shaking. Don’t do that unless you want me to lose my fucking mind.

Your lips brushed his, voice barely a whisper. What if I do?

His eyes met yours, and the shift that had been happening, slow and creeping, winding around the edges of your friendship for months finally snapped its teeth. He wasn’t just fucking you, he wasn’t just lost in the moment, or the heat, or the years of tension finally unraveling. He was having you, all of you, slowly, completely, like he wasn’t going to stop until he’d memorized every sound, every twitch, every single piece of you that would give itself up under his hands. And the truth was, you didn’t want him to stop, not now. Not ever.

You moved together, tangled and desperate, until the line between pain and pleasure blurred, until the room disappeared, until the only things that existed were his hands, his mouth, the heat building between your bodies, the stretch of him inside you, slow and thick and deep. Time didn’t matter, nothing did when Chris’s grip on your hips was bruising, his hands dragging you down, forcing you to take every inch, every slow, deep stroke until you felt like you were being split apart. His head was tipped back, mouth slack, brow pinched in the kind of concentration that only ever shattered at the very end and you could feel how close he was, the way his cock twitched inside you, the way his breath hitched every time your body clenched around him, instinctive and greedy. Fuck, baby, he rasped, voice wrecked, barely able to get the words out. I'm so—

But you already knew, you could feel it in the way he started to thrust harder, sharper, losing the smooth rhythm in favor of something more desperate, more broken as you met him, hips rolling down to meet each thrust, grinding when he bottomed out, tightening around him until he groaned so deep it vibrated against your chest. Your own orgasm had been coiling for minutes, strung tight on the edge, your clit aching from the relentless friction, your whole body tense and trembling, teetering on the brink. And when he shifted just right, the angle a little sharper, the thrust a little deeper, it hit, sharp and unforgiving, your muscles locking down around him as the pleasure rolled over you, thick and hot and endless.

The cry tore from your throat before you could stop it, high and broken and raw, and your body clenched around him so tight he swore, a breathless, hoarse plea of your name as his hips jerked up one last time, burying himself deep, holding there, locked to the hilt as he came. You could feel it, the hot pulse of him spilling inside you, thick and messy, filling you until the slickness dripped back out around the base of him, your bodies so wet and filthy it only pushed your own pleasure higher, leaving you shaking and gasping against his shoulder. Chris held you there, both of you wrecked and spent, his hands smoothing over your back with a tenderness that didn’t match the filthy mess between your thighs, the slow, warm trickle of him still leaking from where he was buried deep inside you.

Neither of you moved for a long moment, you just stayed, still joined, bodies locked together, hearts pounding in the same wild rhythm and let the aftershocks bleed through your bones, through your skin, through the space between you that wasn’t really space at all anymore. And then, out of nowhere, Chris muttered, I think I got glitter on my dick. You blinked, pulled back just enough to look at him, and sure enough—there it was. A faint shimmer, low on his stomach. From the untouched glitter lotion, the bachelorette tiara? Who the hell knew anymore.

You started laughing, the kind of laugh that spilled out reckless and unfiltered, all loose limbs and spent lungs, too empty and too full at the same time. It wasn’t graceful, it wasn’t soft, it wasn’t even a choice, it just tore through you, bubbling up from the wreck of your chest until your whole body trembled with it, half from the aftershocks still rippling through your muscles, half from the sheer absurdity of the scene laid out in front of you. The room was trashed, your bodies were worse, everything sticky and tangled and stained with sweat and the kind of mess that would cling to your skin long after the sun came up.

God, you wheezed, forehead dropping against his shoulder, the curve of his neck still damp and warm against your cheek, we’re gonna have to sanitize the apartment. Chris let out a broken sound, a laugh, but worn thin, the edges frayed and heavy, like it hurt to pull it out of himself. His chest shook under you, arms still looped lazily around your waist, fingers tracing slow, thoughtless patterns against your bare skin. Sanitize? he echoed, voice rasping through the word. Baby, we’re gonna have to burn it down.

You stilled. Your lips quirked slow, teeth sinking into the swell of your bottom lip as you lifted your head, meeting his eyes—those wide, dark, still slightly dazed eyes—and let the silence stretch, let the weight of that one unintentional slip sink into the air between you. Baby, huh? you teased, voice syrup-sweet, tilting your head just enough to watch him squirm. You really are soft for me. Chris groaned, dragging a hand over his face, scrubbing it back through his damp hair, like he could physically wipe the word out of existence. But his mouth was twitching, fighting a smile he was too worn out to win against. Shut up, he muttered, but the color creeping up his neck gave him away.

You grinned wider, the taste of it still sitting sweet and smug on your tongue. Not sorry about it, are you? He didn’t answer at first, just exhaled slow, dragging his thumb lazily along the inside of your thigh, his gaze trailing the movement like he was memorizing the shape of you all over again. His voice was lower when it came, soft and unshaken this time. Nope, he said simply. Not even a little.

You let the silence settle again, heavier now, not awkward, just thick, charged, like the current between you hadn’t dulled at all, even with your bodies spent and the last threads of your clothes hanging crooked, half-peeled off. His hands were still on you, your wrists were still cuffed, the metal biting red rings into your skin, and neither of you had made a single move to fix it. Speaking of, you hummed, flexing your fingers in front of his face, the cuffs jingling like some ridiculous badge of honor, you planning on letting me go or am I your prisoner now?

Chris blinked like he’d forgotten entirely. Honestly… he drawled, lips twitching, I kinda like you restrained. You arched a brow, breath hitching in something that wasn’t quite a laugh. Christopher. His fingers slipped up to the latch, slow and a little reluctant, and when the metal finally popped open, your hands dropped free, sore, tingling, but missing the weight almost instantly. Before you could pull away, he caught them, turned your palms up, and pressed his mouth to your wrists, once, twice, slow and unhurried, lips brushing the tender skin like it was some private ritual only he understood.

You let him, you let him even when your pulse jumped under his mouth, even when your throat ached with words you weren’t ready to say. Because the second he let your hands go, the second you shifted to climb off his lap, your legs rubbery and trembling and nowhere near trustworthy, his hand wrapped around yours again, anchoring you back, his thumb swept slow over the same angry little cuff-mark on your wrist, the gesture too gentle for the way he’d wrecked you minutes ago. So… he started, voice light, too casual, like he could bluff his way past what just happened, we’re still calling this a test run, right?

You snorted, staggering to your feet, steadying yourself against the back of the couch while your body remembered how to exist without him inside you. Your hips ached, your thighs were sticky and sore, and you could feel his cum leaking down your legs, messy and warm, dripping onto the floor as you shuffled toward the kitchen. You tossed a look over your shoulder, half-laughing. Sure. Let’s call it that.

But the second you turned away, you felt it, the way his eyes tracked you, the weight of his stare dragging over the stretch of your back, the bruises blooming along your throat, the way your knees buckled slightly every few steps. You heard the couch shift, his soft exhale behind you, and then his voice again, quiet this time, like a confession.

Need help, baby?. It slipped out before he could catch it. raw, unfiltered, like it belonged to you now. You paused, the glass you’d been reaching for still dangling from your fingertips, and glanced back at him, smile slow and sharp as a blade. Again? you teased, head cocking to one side. You’re really leaning into it, huh? Chris didn’t flinch, his gaze held steady, no panic this time, just calm and sure and worn thin with the truth.

Yeah, he said, voice steady, lips quirking into the softest, smallest smile. And I’m not taking it back.

[ang3ltine]

"𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐲 𝐁𝐨𝐲𝐬 𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐜𝐫𝐲" - James Bucky Barnes x freader

Scenario - You and Bucky spend the last night in New York together at Starks expo with Steve. What he doesn't expect is for his date to be flirted with by a charming inventor.

a.n - this is set during Captain America the first avenger movie and is just self indulgence. Also here's pt.2!

warnings- slightly possessive Bucky, hickeys and suggestive comments but overall it has light banter and tooth rotting fluff

Bucky wasn't sure why you were so excited as you head home with shopping bags in hand.

He had picked you up from downtown after a shopping spree, but you hadn't told him what you had bought yet. Bucky pays the taxi driver his fee and he speeds off into the distance.

"Come on Bucky, can't you walk faster?" you ask impatiently as you gently drag him by the arm towards his apartment.

Bucky scrambles to get his keys out of his pocket as you bounce on the spot. Waiting for him to unlock the door before you make your way inside with the bags. Bucky chuckles at your enthusiasm while you brush past him.

You ask Bucky to wait in the hallway while you rush upstairs to unpack in his room. At this point its your room too from how many nights you stayed there. All your things was scattered around the snug room with a picture of you and Bucky on his nightstand.

Bucky waited patiently for you as he leaned against the wall. Growing worried as you were taking a while.

"Close your eyes Buck! I'm coming down" a muffled voice yelled from upstairs. He shook his head in amusement and closed his eyes.

"Ok doll, my eyes are closed," he shouted back as he waits patiently for your voice.

Bucky could hear the clicks of your heels coming down the stairs and hushed cursing because you misses a step. He was about to open his eyes out of instinct but stopped himself. Thinking that you're probably alright.

"Alright open them," you say with excitement. Bucky did what he was told and was in awe.

There you stood with a pale blue summer dress paired with a white bow that was neatly at the front. You had also quickly styled your hair with your curler. Giving you a classy look.

"Oh wow Darlin', you look gorgeous," Bucky was speechless as you reach the bottom of the stairs and twirl for him.

"Why, thank you kind sir," you say jokingly as you gave him a little curtesy. Giving him your best british accent while he bites back a smile.

"Was this my surprise?" Bucky asks as he pulls you in close by your waist and presses a sweet kiss on your lips. You pull away to quickly for his liking, eliciting a small whine leaving his lips.

"Let's just say it's one out of many surprises," you say, giving him a quick peck on the lips. "But that's for tomorrow."

"Oh c'mon, why not tell me now?" He whines slightly while you fix your hair in the hallway mirror.

"Bucky it's not a surprise if I tell you what it is," you huffed as you turn around to face the pouty man.

You take the hat off for a second to comb through his freshly trimmed hair with your fingers and styled it properly. His hair was messy due to stress so you had asked him to go to the Barbers the day before.

"But I'll be leaving tomorrow," he muttered, his voice wavering slightly.

During the whole process, you feel Bucky's eyes studying your face. Making you feel nervous despite being in such close proximity pretty much all the time. This time, however, his eyes held a look of longing that melted your heart.

"I know, but I promise it's worth it. So don't get too upset ok?" You whisper in a hushed tone as you place his hat back on. "Besides Sarge, we have a whole night to spend together."

Bucky bends down and nudges his nose against yours. Causing your breath to hitch as he pulls you by your waist into a firm yet loving kiss.

"Fine doll, I'm takin' your word for it."

He peers down at you with heavy lidded eyes and flashed you his signature smirk that always sets off butterflies in your stomach.

You wanted to tell him about the surprise but sadly, he'd have to wait until you both got back from Starks expo.

The two of you go to pick up Steve and his date and then head inside the building where Starks expo was being held.

Stark was a mastermind when it came to inventions, so you were super excited to see what he had in store for the future. The place was vibrant and futuristic that you had no idea where to look!

A group of girls gave you a dirty look as they walked past when they noticed Bucky's arm linked with yours. You give them a deviously sweet smile while you lean against his shoulder.

"Hm possessive aren't we?" Bucky snickers as he nudges you with his shoulder.

"I can't let all the ladies have you now can I?" You answered jokingly. Steve briefly looks over towards you both and had on a proud smile. Bucky sure seems to be happy with you and he thinks that maybe you're the right person for him.

Hearing the sound of trumpets playing and people cheering you turn your head towards a stage in the far corner of the room.

"Oh my God it's starting!" you jump in excitement and pull Bucky with you towards the crowd, while Steve and his date Maggie trail behind.

"Ladies and Gentlemen! Its Howard Stark!" One of the show ladies announce, at least 3 of them were wearing oddly suggestive clothing. But you brushed it off as a marketing strategy.

You cringe as the lady then got pulled into a bold kiss by Howard.

At the corner of your eye you spot Steve handing some popcorn to Maggie but she refused with an uninterested look on her face.

"Hey Steve I'll have some."

Steve's eyes lit up as he hands you the bag of popcorn, you take a handful and give it back to him.

"Thank you," you smiled back at him, giving him a friendly peck on the cheek. He smiles back shyly in response while you turn your attention back to the stage and hand some popcorn to Bucky. Which he happily accepts.

"Can I have a volunteer come up?" Howard shouts into the mic as he scans the room. You stick your hand up while biting your lip in anticipation.

"You there, the lovely lady standing next to James," Bucky's eyes follow you in disbelief as he watches you walk nervously onto the stage. To be honest you didn't even know you'd get picked but tried to stay calm.

Howard kisses the back your hand while you roll your eyes at him playfully. You knew he was a womaniser so you didn't thinking much of it except for him being a gentleman.

"So what do I need to do?" You breathe out while you try not to look at the crowd. Knowing that Bucky is probably fuming right about now. Also you felt slightly uneasy with the crowd watching you.

"Ofcourse ma'am! You just need to press a few buttons for me on this panel," he states as he steps aside for you to stand behind the panel.

Meanwhile Bucky had his arms folded with an annoyed look on his face. Who the hell does he think he is? But his eyes soften when it met yours. You give him a small smile before pressing the buttons in the order Howard told you to do.

Amazingly enough, Starks car that had no wheels on began to hover off of the ground. Eliciting gasps of wonder and cheers in the crowd until it collapsed. Your shoulders slump in disappointment as you raise an eyebrow at the inventor.

"I did say it'll take a few years didn't I?" He sighs while turning back to face the crowd. You excuse yourself as he helps you off the stage.

Bucky found it a little ridiculous that he was jealous of Howard, but he had no right to flirt with you knowing that you were Bucky's date. Suddenly he had the intent on making you realise that you was all you needed.

Steve had wondered off while Maggie was nowhere to be seen.

"Hey Buck where's Steve and Maggie?" Before you could inquire further. Bucky pulls you into a kiss, his hands firms against your cheeks. He glances back to the stage while Howard shifts uncomfortably under his intense gaze.

You felt Bucky smirk against your lips as you try to push him away since you were still in the crowd. You hear whispers around you while Bucky continues to abuse your lips. Head tilting the side, his hot breath mingling with yours as he sucks lightly on your bottom lip. Causing you to moan into his mouth.

Eventually he pulls away, resting his forehead against yours while you both breath heavily from the short makeout session.

"Let me guess...is this about Howard?" You ask cautiously with one hand caressing his cheek, the light stubble tickling slightly against your skin. He hesitates before giving you a small nod.

"Bucky you have charm too you know. Why do you think so many women want to go out with you?"

Bucky listens carefully while you fix his now messy collar.

"Besides, Howard doesn't own my heart. You do."

"So I own your heart huh?" He asks sarcastically while he sees how your cheeks flush. You scoff then hit his chest lightly for being silly while he coaxes you to carry on.

"You're also smart," you pause to play with his collar. "And not to mention super silly."

By now his usual lopsided smile returned, giving you a sense of satisfaction for making him feel better.

"Hmm that's not what girls usually think of first," as he gave you a suggestive look.

"Buck! Seriously??" you smack him lightly on his head, making his hat tilt forward into his face. You're not sure what he was insinuating but you knew it was something inappropriate.

At this point you felt like you should just tell him what the surprise was since you couldn't really be asked to keep it to yourself any longer.

You pull out a folded letter from your back pocket and handed it to Bucky.

He raised a brow at you but you urged him to hurry up and open it. His face turning from confusion to one of pure joy.

"You got a job in England?! Why didn't you tell me?" he yells while you could only laugh with him as he picked you up and spun you around. "And it's in my division too!"

"I wanted it to be a surprise! Besides even I didn't know whether I'd get picked or not. I only just got the acceptance letter a few days ago." You manage to say whilst he placed your feet back onto the ground.

"Thank God that you did. I don't know if I could have ever survived without you," he retorts sarcastically. Making you roll your eyes at his comment and then gave him a playful punch on the arm.

"Well it looks like I'll be joining you at work, Sargent Barnes," giving him a proud salute, which almost caused him to choke as he let out a small laugh.

"It's good to have you ma'am," he answers back with the same enthusiasm, giving you a tip of his hat.

Despite Bucky being genuinely happy, you noticed tears forming in his eyes. A pang of guilt hit you as you held his face in your hands. Almost getting upset yourself while you swipe your thumbs across his cheeks to get rid of stray tears.

"Hey, pretty boys aren't supposed to cry ok?" your voice barely coming out as a whisper. You didn't want to cry too so you composed yourself for his sake.

He nods his head rather quickly at your words and a small yet fond smile appeared across his lips. You then proceeded to pepper his face with kisses which leads him to giggle in response.

After a while, he calmed down in your arms. He looks around the room briefly while his chin sat atop your shoulder before getting a curious idea.

Without a second thought he leaves your arms before being pulled through the crowd into a dark corner of the room with no people.

Bucky takes off his hat and places it on your head. It was pretty big so it falls awkwardly to the side. He almost bursts out laughing at how ridiculous yet cute you looked.

"Take care of this for me would you doll?" Giving you a wink before capturing your lips into a passionate kiss which caught you by surprise.

You wasted no time reaching to the back of his neck and slipped your fingers into his dark hair pulling him in impossibly closer. Soft moans escaped your mouth in-between each kiss while Bucky soaked in every one, pushing him to kiss you deeper.

"Hon' what're you doing?" You hiss while his lips leaves yours briefly.

"Hmm just need you" he hums against your supple skin.

A hot trail of open mouthed kisses trailed down from the side of your lips towards your neck. Bucky groaned in satisfaction when he finally found your sweet spot as you squirm underneath his touch. Leaving dark hickeys all across your neck and collarbone.

"Bucky we're going to get caught," you squeeked while you frantically look around. After feeling satisfied with his work, he leaves your skin with a pop.

"You're insufferable you know that right?" You manage to catch your breath, feeling slightly lightheaded.

"Yeah but you still love me." You shake your head in disbelief before pulling him in by his tie for one last kiss.

"You have no idea," you sighed in content as Bucky looks down at you lovingly.

"Love you too doll."

You two decide to head back in despite the obscene amount of marks left on your neck. Bucky suggested that you show them off but you thought otherwise. Using your jacket collar to help cover them to much avail.

Luck was in Bucky's favour as Howard sees you both coming.

He almost chokes on his drink when he catches you with Buckys hat on and spots the dark marks on your skin. Your cheeks flush in embarrassment while a now happy and proud Bucky stood by your side.

He then leads you away from the shocked man and headed towards Steve, his date now absent. He gave him a wave to get his attention.

Bucky leans over, as you shiver from the way he whispers into your ear, "By the way we're not finished yet. I still have to reward you when we get back to my place."

p.s - I hope you enjoyed this! It seems a little rushed but I want the next part to be longer that's why xd

[sturnswrites]

dressed to impress

bf!matt x fem!reader

⤳ mdni, smut, angst, p in v, jealousy, dom!matt, and more

⤳ you help matt and his brothers with their dress to impress video and decide to tease matt until he doesn't think its funny anymore…

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The camera blinked red, signaling it was recording. Matt, Nick, and Chris stood in front of their kitchen counter, their usual lively banter filling the air. Today’s video idea was one of Nick’s: Dress to Impress IRL. The challenge was simple—rotate through different themes, pick out an outfit that fits, and see who gets voted the best. The twist? Matt’s girlfriend, you, was joining them as a guest judge and participant.

“Alright, first theme: Beach day!” Nick announced, holding up a card with dramatic flair.

Chris rolled his eyes. “Original, Nick.”

“Hey, it’s classic!” Nick shot back.

You laughed, standing just out of frame as the boys began scrambling for their outfits. “I can’t wait to see how ridiculous you all look.”

“Oh, you’re participating too,” Matt said, pointing at you with a smirk. “No slacking.”

You mock-saluted. “Yes, sir.”

-

The beach theme went off without a hitch. Nick emerged in swim trunks, sunglasses, and an added striped beach towel for an accessory. Chris had opted for a more ridiculous look—a bucket hat, beach shirt, and goggles around his neck. Matt had gone for a simple yet stylish combo of swim trunks and a straw hat, while you wore a bright sundress over your bikini.

“I’m definitely winning this round,” Chris said confidently, striking a dramatic pose.

“Absolutely not,” Nick argued. “You look ridiculous.”

“My outfit is what you would wear to the airport before the beach!” Chris retorted.

Matt laughed, leaning against the counter. “Alright, Y/N, who wins?”

You pretended to think, tapping your chin. “I’m gonna give this one to… Nick. Mostly because he committed.”

Nick whooped as Chris groaned.

- 

As the rounds went on, the competition heated up. Themes like Rock Concert and Mix Matched Madness brought out a mix of creativity and chaos. You were having the time of your life, but you couldn’t resist teasing Matt here and there—especially since he seemed to get adorably flustered every time you outshined him in a round.

Then came the theme: First Date.

The brothers scattered, diving into their rooms to pull together their outfits. You took your time, knowing exactly what you wanted to wear—a sweet, flowy dress… with a little surprise underneath.

-

When you all reconvened, Nick was the first to reveal his outfit. “Boom,” he said, stepping out in a blazer and jeans. “Simple, classic, charming.”

Chris followed, wearing a leather jacket and black pants. “Mysterious bad boy vibe,” he declared.

Matt emerged next, wearing a sharp button-up shirt and slacks. He looked effortlessly handsome, his casual confidence making your heart skip a beat.

Finally, it was your turn. You stepped into the frame, twirling your dress with a grin. “What do you think?”

The boys clapped and nodded approvingly, but Matt’s eyes lingered a little longer.

“Very classy,” Nick said.

“Definitely beats Chris’s rock concert look,” Matt teased, earning a glare from his brother.

But as the boys debated their rankings, you leaned close to the camera and tugged your dress slightly, just enough to reveal the lacy red strap of the lingerie beneath.

Matt’s eyes darkened instantly.

“Y/N,” he said lowly, his tone half-warning, half-exasperated.

You shot him an innocent smile. “What?”

Nick and Chris, oblivious, were already heading to their rooms to change for the next round. The moment they disappeared, Matt turned to you, stepping closer.

“You know I’m holding back from fucking you over this kitchen counter, don’t push your luck,” he murmured, his voice a rough whisper that sent shivers down your spine.

Your grin widened. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

He gave you a look that promised payback, but you just laughed, turning away to prepare for the next round.

-

The final theme was Zoom Call, and you decided to up the ante. You chose a matching pajama set that was equal parts cute and daring, the shorts riding up just enough to show off your legs, well, ass.

When you walked back into the room, Matt’s jaw clenched.

“Seriously?” he muttered under his breath.

“What?” you asked, feigning innocence as you adjusted the hem.

Nick and Chris reappeared, completely oblivious to the growing tension.

“Alright, let’s do this!” Chris said.

But before the camera could start rolling again, Matt abruptly stood up.

“Video’s over,” he announced, reaching to shut off the camera.

Nick and Chris both groaned in protest.

“Dude, we’re not done yet!” Nick argued.

“Yeah, we’re in the middle of filming,” Chris added.

“Not anymore,” Matt said firmly, his eyes never leaving yours.

You bit back a smile as the boys begrudgingly went upstairs, leaving you alone with Matt.

“What’s the matter?” you teased, leaning against the counter.

He stepped closer, his hands bracketing you against the counter. “You know exactly what’s the matter,” he said, his voice low and dangerous.

Your playful smile softened as you looked up at him, your heart pounding in your chest. “Maybe I just like seeing you worked up,” you admitted softly.

Suddenly he grabs your arm dragging you down the hallway to his room, a soft gasp leaving your mouth. 

Matt's room is dark and cold, a sharp contrast to the bright, warm kitchen where we were just filming. He slams the door shut behind you, the sound echoing through the empty hallway. You can feel his eyes on you, burning into your skin as you stand there, unsure of what to do next.

You swallow hard, your heart pounding in your chest. You knew you were playing with fire when you decided to wear this lingerie and shorts, but you didn't think Matt would react like this. You thought he would find it funny, or maybe even a little sexy. But you were wrong.

"I warned you not to tease anymore." Matt's voice is a growl now, his eyes flashing with anger. He steps closer to you, his body towering over your. You can feel the heat radiating off of him, and you can't help but feel a little scared.

But there's also something else there, something primal and raw. You can see it in Matt's eyes, and you can feel it in the way he's looking at you. He wants you, and he's not going to stop until he has you.

"Take it off." Matt's voice is a command now, and you find yourself obeying without even thinking about it. You reach around you, taking off the pajama set, letting it fall to the floor. You're standing there in nothing but your lingerie, and you can feel Matt's eyes on you, devouring every inch of your body.

"You're mine." Matt's voice is a whisper now, but it's filled with so much intensity that it feels like a shout. He steps closer to you, his hands reaching out to touch you. You can feel his fingers tracing the curves of your body, and you can't help but shiver with anticipation.

"You shouldn't have misbehaved." Matt's voice is a warning now, and you know he's not playing around anymore. He's serious, and he's not going to stop until he's claimed you as his own.

He grabs you roughly, pulling you into him. You can feel his hard cock pressed against you, and you can't help but moan with desire. Matt's lips are on yours, devouring you with a passion that takes your breath away.

He pushes you onto the bed, his body covering yours. You can feel his hands all over you, touching you in ways that make you gasp with pleasure. He's rough and possessive, and you can't help but love it.

Matt's fingers find their way inside you, and you can feel yourself getting closer and closer to the edge. He's fucking you with his fingers, and you can feel yourself starting to lose control.

"That's it, take it," he murmured, his breath hot against your ear. "You're so fucking wet for me."

You continue to moan, his touch sending waves of pleasure through your body.

"Cum for me." Matt's voice is a command, and you find yourself obeying without even thinking about it. You can feel yourself exploding with pleasure, your body shaking with the force of your orgasm.

But Matt doesn't stop there. 

You could feel his hard length pressing against your entrance, and you knew that he was not going to be gentle. "You're mine," he growled again, his voice raw with need. "I'm going to make you scream my name."

Matt thrust into you, his dick filling you up completely. You cried out as he began to move, his hips pistoning in and out of you. He was rough and possessive, his hands gripping your hips as he took you.

"Take it," he growled, his voice harsh with pleasure. "You shouldn't have misbehaved."

You could feel yourself getting closer to the edge again, your body trembling with pleasure. Matt's thrusts became harder and faster, his body slapping against yours. You cried out as you came again, your body shuddering with pleasure.

Matt followed soon after, his body shuddering as he came inside you. He collapsed on top of you, his breath hot against your neck.

"I think we need to be more careful about what we wear during our videos." Matt's voice is a whisper, and you can feel him smiling against your skin.

"I think you're right." you whisper back, your body still trembling with pleasure.

Matt rolls off of yours, his body spent. You can feel his eyes on you, and you know he's still looking at you with that same intensity. You know he's still claiming me as his own, and you can't help but love it.

"I'm only yours." you whisper, your voice filled with reassurance.

"And I'm only yours." Matt whispers back, his voice filled with the same emotion.

You lay there in silence for a few moments, your bodies entwined. You can feel Matt's heart beating against yours, and you know you’re in it together. 

"I love you." you whisper, your voice now filled with care.

"I love you too." Matt whispers back, matching your tone.

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[love-hs28]

Late Nights and Close Calls

Summary: You and Peter sneak a bottle of champagne from one of your dad’s - Tony Stark’s - parties at the Avengers Tower. Giggling and hanging out in your room, one quiet moment leads to you almost confessing your feelings to your best friend. 

Mcu!Peter Parker x Stark!Reader Fluff 1.2k Words Posted on: 2-19-2025

The bass from the party downstairs thrums through the walls of the Avengers Tower, muffled but insistent, like the pulse of New York City itself. You lean against the door to your bedroom, biting back a grin as Peter scrambles to follow you inside and shut the door behind him, cradling a stolen bottle of champagne like it was radioactive. 

“I can’t believe you actually went through with it,” you whisper, your voice tinged with awe and laughter. You walk over to your bed and flop down on the mattress, Peter quick to follow. 

He turns to face you, his boyish grin equal parts triumph and nervous energy. “What can I say? I thrive under pressure.” He wiggles the bottle in his hands. “Besides, it’s not like Mr. Stark’s going to miss one bottle right?” You know he’s trying to convince both himself and you of this. 

You let out a snort of laughter, crossing your legs as you got comfortable on your bed and as Peter sat next to you, leaning against the wall. “I sure hope not. We’re dead if he catches us. And by ‘we’, I mean you.” 

Peter smirks, a teasing edge in his voice. “Good to know where your loyalties lie, Stark.” 

You roll your eyes, but are unable to hide your smile as you reach and grab two mismatched mugs from your nightstand. One of them has a Spider-Man design on it that Peter had jokingly given you as a birthday present, and he secretly smiled to himself at the realization that you’d actually been using it. 

“Here. Fancy drinking glasses for our super-classy operation.” 

Peter chuckles and pops the cork with a loud pop, making both of you jump and laugh. Bubbles froth over the top, and he quickly pours some into the mugs in your hands, spilling more than he probably should. 

“To bad decisions and avoiding your dad’s wrath,” Peter says, setting the bottle on the nightstand to grab his mug from you, holding it up in a mock toast. 

“To bad influences,” you shoot back, clinking your mug against his. You both take a sip, eyes smiling at each other over the tops of the cups.

The champagne was sweet and fizzy, a little stronger than you had expected, but the warmth it brought to your chest was welcome. You scoot over you so you’re sitting next to Peter, your shoulders close enough to touch every time one of you moves. 

“This is way better than listening to my dad schmooze with a bunch of billionaires,” you say after a minute or two of talking, tipping your mug towards Peter and resting your head on his shoulder for a moment. 

“You mean you’re not interested in talks about stock portfolios and advanced AI?” Peter quips, raising a teasing eyebrow. 

You laugh, the sound light and easy thanks to the drink. “Not even a little.” 

The two of you settle into a rhythm of a familiar banter and conversation, the champagne loosening any nerves. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d laughed this much. Peter was good at that - at making you forget the weight of expectations, the constant pressure to be more than just the Tony Stark’s daughter. 

Somewhere in the middle of a story about one of Peter’s disastrous attempts to ask a girl to homecoming freshman year, you found yourself staring at him. His face was animated, his hands gesturing wildly as he spoke. The soft glow of the city lights through your window and your desk lamp cast golden highlights in his hair, and his eyes—warm and expressive—crinkled at the corners when he laughed. It was one of your favorite things about him. 

You didn’t realize you were smiling until Peter stopped mid-sentence, turning his head to meet your gaze. 

“What?” he asks, his voice softer now, the teasing edge gone. 

You shake your head, heart fluttering in a way you didn’t quite know how to handle. Damn, this champagne was making it hard to think… it totally wasn’t Peter that was causing your brain to short-circuit, right? 

“Nothing. Just… you’re really great, you know that right? I’m glad you're my best friend.” 

Peter blushes, looking at his mug and trying, but failing, to suppress a smile. “Thanks, y/n. I’m glad you’re my best friend too.” 

He turns his head to look at you again, and your breath catches, the words hanging between the two of you like a live wire. For a moment, you think he might say something more—something that you were also thinking, something that would change your friendship forever. 

Another moment of silence passes as you just stare into each other’s eyes. You get a sudden urge of confidence, thanks to the effects of the alcohol neither of you were very familiar with. 

“Peter, I–” 

A loud boom from outside causes you both to jump, and your heads turn to look out your window, where you see an array of fireworks going off, some in the shape of Iron Man’s helmet. It was as if Tony was listening in on you and purposely stopped you from saying what you were about to confess.

Great timing, dad. Thanks a lot.

Peter laughs awkwardly, running a hand through his hair. “Your dad sure knows how to throw a party,” he turns to meet your eyes, but looks away quickly with a shy smile, still blushing from your almost-confession. 

You laugh softly, also avoiding Peter’s gaze and fixing your stare to your mug. “No kidding.” You didn’t know if you were thankful for the interruption or should yell at your dad later for setting off his stupid fireworks. Maybe it was for the better, though; Peter seemed to want to ignore it, so maybe you should too. 

What you hadn’t noticed, though, was that Peter had also been staring at you all night, just as much as you were staring at him, if not more. 

Thankfully, the effects of the champagne hadn’t quite faded yet, so the awkwardness between you two faded as quickly as it had appeared; something that always seemed to be happening to the two of you. 

You bump your shoulder against Peter’s. “Wanna head back out there?” 

Peter smiles at you, taking a sip of his champagne. “Nah, I’d rather stay here with you. Besides, I think it would be pretty obvious that we’ve been, you know, having fun up here.” 

You blush at the accidental insinuation that Peter had just made, but you knew he only meant that you had been drinking. He seemed oblivious to it though, so you decided not to make a joke about it and spare yourselves any more awkwardness. 

“True,” you say with a soft laugh, “I’d rather be here too, anyways. You don’t totally suck to hang out with.” 

Peter laughs softly and it’s his turn to bump your shoulder with his, the slight contact almost making you shiver. “Yeah, yeah, you’re not so bad yourself.” 

You spent the next hour or two doing the same thing you always did—making each other laugh and testing the hell out of Peter. And, even though neither of you said what you were really thinking, it was okay. You knew there would be other moments—other nights like this where the words might finally spill out. 

For now, this was enough.

Thank you for reading! My first mcu!peter fic yay!! I have lots more in my drafts lol, so lmk if u wanna see more of himmmm. Tom Holland was my first ever celebrity crush and I am a MASSIVE Marvel fan, so this Peter holds a special place in my heart :) Again, thanks for readin and I hope you liked itttt! xoxo

[sheyfu]

𝙘𝙖𝙣 𝙞 𝙘𝙖𝙡𝙡 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙧𝙤𝙨𝙚? 🌹

— 𝗉𝖺𝗂𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀: 𝗆𝗎𝗅𝗍𝗂!𝖻𝗅𝗎𝖾 𝗅𝗈𝖼𝗄 𝗑 𝗀𝗇!𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋 [𝗌𝖾𝗉𝖺𝗋𝖺𝗍𝖾]

— 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗂𝗋 𝖿𝖺𝗏𝗈𝗋𝗂𝗍𝖾 𝖾𝗇𝖽𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗌/𝗉𝖾𝗍 𝗇𝖺𝗆𝖾𝗌 𝗍𝗈 𝖼𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝗒𝗈𝗎

— 𝖿𝗍. 𝗂𝗍𝗈𝗌𝗁𝗂 𝗌𝖺𝖾, 𝗂𝗍𝗈𝗌𝗁𝗂 𝗋𝗂𝗇, 𝗌𝗁𝗂𝖽𝗈𝗎 𝗋𝗒𝗎𝗌𝖾𝗂, 𝗆𝗂𝖼𝗁𝖺𝖾𝗅 𝗄𝖺𝗂𝗌𝖾𝗋, 𝖻𝖺𝖼𝗁𝗂𝗋𝖺 𝗆𝖾𝗀𝗎𝗋𝗎, 𝗂𝗌𝖺𝗀𝗂 𝗒𝗈𝗂𝖼𝗁𝗂, 𝗆𝗂𝗄𝖺𝗀𝖾 𝗋𝖾𝗈, 𝗇𝖺𝗀𝗂 𝗌𝖾𝗂𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗋𝗈, 𝖼𝗁𝗂𝗀𝗂𝗋𝗂 𝗁𝗒𝗈𝗆𝖺, 𝗌𝗁𝗈𝖾𝗂 𝖻𝖺𝗋𝗈𝗎 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗄𝗎𝗇𝗂𝗀𝖺𝗆𝗂 𝗋𝖾𝗇𝗌𝗎𝗄𝖾

𝗂𝗇 𝖼𝗅𝖺𝗌𝗌𝗂𝖼 𝗆𝗂𝗌𝖺𝖾𝗆𝗈𝗋𝖾𝗌 𝖿𝖺𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗈𝗇, 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝖺 𝖻𝖺𝗇𝗀𝖾𝗋 :))

itoshi sae: amor (love), mi vida (my life), mis amores (my darling) 

sae isn’t much of a talker. but when he does open that mouth of it, words of trust and love flow out from his lips (at least that’s the case for you.)

itoshi rin: y/n, stupid, dumbass

while all of these sound derogatory and basic, it’s just how rin expresses his love for you. it’s not that he doesn’t like to call you pet names (he calls you "love" once in awhile), he just doesn’t get why you have to call your lover by other terms?!@# he just wants to keep it simple. (plus he loves your name so much ueueueue)

shidou ryusei: darlin’, sweets, doll 

yup the typical fuckboy pet names. i don’t even have an explanation as to why but he loves calling you these (especially sweets).

kaiser michael: mein liebling/schatz (my darling), mein liebe (my love), mein herz (my heart)

mikka LOVESSSSSSSSS calling you these on a daily basis to the point some of his teammates (noa and even isagi 😭) even call you these instead of your name (he gets extremely jealous and pouty). 

bachira meguru: baby, bee, sweetheart

ah yes, the typical corny ass pet names. some people might yuck it but in bachira’s words, ‘don’t yum my yuck’ (you told him it was yuck my yum). no one can stop him, he’s just too in love with you (plus he calls you these to spite kaiser). 

isagi yoichi: princess, babe, sunshine

here comes the king of cringe yoichi. now, he doesn’t see anything wrong with these; it’s just the people around him are making a big fuss about these. they’re really cute! and his partner’s really cute too!

mikage reo: love, darling, sweetheart

he likes calling you simple, yet classy endearments. his favourite one to call you tho is definitely ‘love’. simple endearments for a lovely guy indeed. 

nagi seishiro: babe, y/n, darl’

now, seishiro doesn’t really like talking which is why these are really simple (but they’re so cute with the way he drags them out like “baaaaaaaabe” or “y/nnnnnnn”). but when he’s in a silly goofy mood (especially when he finishes a game), he’ll call you darl’ or just darling with a stupid smirk on his face.

chigiri hyoma: love, stupid, y/n

i just imagine hyoma to be a silly lover. someone who you can playfully banter with and someone you can love without limits. he’s just a simple guy. (he WILL beg you to buy him his hair care materials, comb his hair and style his hair). 

baro shoei: princess, darling, bunny

he says these to rile you up and make you all blushy and giggly. that’s it. that’s the explanation mhm mhm.

kunigami rensuke: princess, love, my dear

he’s a BIIIIIIIIIIIG softie in my eyes. he’s so soft-spoken and HSAASFDIS i can hear him say these im not even kidding (i’m delusional) 

OKAY YAYYY ANOTHER BANGER POSTED!! (will post more btw HUHDUHIEJROA) i hope this was enjoyable for everyone!! thanks for being here and hope to see you again! comments, reblogs and likes are very much appreciated <3 (what the hell thats a lot of tags 😭😭)

[a-cross-the-universe]

SHARP TONGUE

Nagumo Yoichi x f!reader | Part VIII: A Series Of Fortunate Events 🔮

Hana's birthday party was in full swing, the warm chatter of guests filling Sakamoto's shop as everyone enjoyed the festivities. You had decided it was time to move on from everything that happened with Nagumo. Being mad at him wouldn’t change the past or fix anything, so when he greeted you with a teasing remark about how long it took you to arrive, you responded with an eye roll and a sarcastic jab of your own.

when you finally made it to the snack table, reaching for the last takoyaki at the exact same time as someone else.

Your fingers brushed.

You looked up. Of course—it was Nagumo.

He raised a brow. “You sure you wanna start this war?”

You gave him a flat look. “You’re the one trying to steal the last one. Aren’t you supposed to be on a mission soon? Shouldn’t you be eating sad rations or something?”

Nagumo smirked. “And miss the thrill of battling you over street food? Never.”

You plucked the takoyaki without breaking eye contact. “Too slow”

“Oh, ouch,” he said, hand on his chest. “Using my tactics against me? Cold.”

You shrugged. “I learned from the best.”

“I’ve taught you nothing but kindness and class.”

You snorted so hard you nearly choked. “You? Classy?”

“Hey,” he pointed at you. “I’ve worn a tuxedo once this month. That’s at least medium-level sophistication.”

“Pretty sure drooling over food in a suit doesn’t count.”

“Oh?” He leaned a little closer. “You were staring pretty hard that night. Not at the food, either.”

“Yeah, I was trying to figure out how you got your tie so crooked.”

Nagumo opened his mouth, then closed it, then said, “It was an artistic choice.”

The two of you fell back into the banter that had once been normal. It was different now—lighter, lacking the bitterness that had tinged your exchanges before. Nagumo smirked as he slung an arm over your shoulder, only for you to shove him off playfully. The familiarity of it all made something settle in his chest.

From his spot on the couch, Shin tilted his head toward Lu and stage-whispered, “Wow, look at Nagumo. All smiles. He’s glowing.”

Lu raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. The two exchanged a look—mischievous, conspiratorial—and without missing a beat, stood up in perfect sync and made their way over.

"Man, Nagumo, you look happier than usual. Almost like someone finally lifted that storm cloud you’ve been walking around with," Shin said, nudging him with his elbow.

"What are you talking about?" Nagumo asked, taking a sip of his drink, acting as if he didn’t know what they were getting at.

"Oh, you know," Lu added, grinning. "You were kinda mopey when she wasn’t talking to you. It was honestly painful to watch."

Nagumo scoffed. "Mopey? Please. I was just enjoying the peace and quiet."

Lu laughed. "Yeah, sure. And that’s why you kept lingering around Sakamoto’s shop whenever she was here? Or why you snapped at Naoko out of nowhere the other day?"

Nagumo waved a dismissive hand. "Coincidences."

"Right, right," Shin said, amused. "Just like how you’re suddenly in a much better mood now that she’s talking to you again?"

Nagumo narrowed his eyes at them. "You two have way too much time on your hands."

Lu smirked. "And you have no self-awareness."

You, oblivious to the conversation, had wandered off to talk with Aoi and Sakamoto. But Nagumo could still hear Lu and Shin muttering behind him.

"He totally missed what we were saying, huh?"

"Yeah, he’s dense as hell."

"Wanna bet how long it takes him to get it"

                                    ***

The mission briefing had been short and tense. You, Nagumo, and Naoko were tasked with infiltrating a high-value facility suspected to be a front for an underground weapons network. It was dangerous, complex, and not something the JAA assigned lightly.

Still, there wasn’t the same chill in the air when you and Nagumo stood near the armory, checking your gear. After Hana’s party, things had started to feel almost normal again. You were even bickering here and there—his favorite sport. And while you didn’t entirely trust him yet, you’d stopped flinching every time he opened his mouth.

“Try not to get yourself killed, okay?” Nagumo said casually, swinging his custom scythe over one shoulder with the same ease someone might toss a bag of chips.

“I’ll try not to trip on my own competence,” you shot back. “But hey, if I do, I’m sure you’ll tell everyone I wasn’t using my brain again.”

He glanced at you, smirking. “That was one time.”

“Three,” you corrected.

Naoko came up behind you both, clearly annoyed by your dynamic. “You two done flirting?”

“We’re just warming up,” Nagumo said, not even blinking.

You rolled your eyes, but the small laugh that escaped surprised even you.

---

The infiltration had gone smoothly—until it didn’t.

A silent alarm, a miscalculated detour, and suddenly the facility was in chaos. Somewhere along the path, a controlled detonation went off behind you, separating you and Nagumo from Naoko.

Your ears rang from the blast as you crouched behind a crumbling wall. “Well. That’s not good.”

Nagumo was beside you in a second, his scythe already gripped tightly in one hand, blade gleaming under the emergency lights. “You hit?”

“No,” you said, brushing debris off your jacket. “Just deaf and annoyed.”

He didn’t laugh. Instead, he reached out, tugging at your sleeve to check your arm. You pulled back.

“I said I’m fine.”

“I heard,” he said, looking you over anyway. “But I’m your superior, remember? I’m responsible for keeping you safe.”

You glared. “Is that what this is? Responsibility?”

“What else would it be?”

You scoffed. “I don’t know, maybe paranoia. Or the need to micromanage everyone so you don’t screw things up again.”

His gaze darkened. “Say what you’re actually thinking.”

You met his eyes. “I don’t trust you, Nagumo. Not completely. Not after what happened with Naoko. Because next time you decide to mess with me, it might not just ruin my day—it might get me killed.”

Silence fell, heavy and sudden.

Then Nagumo stepped forward, his tone low and sharp. “I would never put your life at risk. Not even for a second. You think I’m careless? I’m not. Especially not with you.”

You didn’t move. His words settled in your chest, confusing and grounding all at once.

He scanned your face, jaw clenched. His eyes dropped to your lips, lingering there, a flicker of hesitation flicking across his features before something hardened behind his gaze. “You got blood on your cheek,” he muttered.

You didn’t even flinch when his thumb brushed across your cheekbone, wiping away a smear of red. His touch lingered.

Then—without warning—his hand moved to your jaw, and he pulled you into a kiss.

It wasn’t tentative.

It was fire meeting fire—frustration and adrenaline colliding into something raw and undeniable. His lips crushed against yours, rough and heated, stealing the breath right from your lungs. The hand holding your face tightened slightly, pulling you closer like he’d finally stopped pretending he didn’t want to.

Your mind froze, but your body didn’t. You grabbed onto the front of his jacket, grounding yourself in the pressure, kissing him back with just as much force. You didn’t care that the walls were shaking. That your legs barely held steady. That you’d been angry just seconds ago.

All that mattered was the feel of his mouth on yours, how he tasted faintly of smoke and adrenaline, how he kissed you like he was afraid he’d never get another chance.

Then—footsteps.

Naoko’s voice echoed through the corridor. "Where the hell are you two?"

Nagumo pulled away, his breath warm against your lips. His hand lingered for half a second before he took a step back, his expression unreadable once more .“Naoko’s coming.”

You blinked, disoriented, lips still parted, heart slamming against your ribs.

He glanced away, reaching for his scythe with a tight jaw

Seconds later, Naoko appeared around the corner. Her eyes swept the both of you, then narrowed faintly. Something flickered in her expression—suspicion, maybe. But she didn’t say a word.

Neither did you.

Not yet.

                                      ***

You hadn’t talked about it.

Not on the way back from the mission, not during the debriefing, and definitely not at Sakamoto’s store later that night when everyone gathered to blow off steam. The kiss—the kiss—was like an elephant with a silencer, quietly looming, pretending it hadn’t shattered the weird balance you and Nagumo had carefully built back up.

And to make things worse? He was acting perfectly normal.

Too normal.

“Pass me the soy sauce,” Nagumo said casually, nudging you with his elbow at the low table.

You slid it over without looking at him. “You’ve got hands.”

He smiled around a mouthful of fried rice. “Yeah, but yours are prettier.”

You choked on your drink.

Across the table, Aoi stared at the two of you suspiciously.

Lu narrowed his eyes. “Something’s off.”

Shin pointed a chopstick at Nagumo. “You’re smiling.”

“I smile,” Nagumo said.

“Yeah, but this one’s... smugger,” Shin added. “Smells like secrets.”

“Would you all mind your own food?” you snapped, a little too fast.

Lu’s eyes widened. “Oh-ho. She’s snappy.”

Aoi squinted. “Wait a second. You two were on that last mission with Naoko, right? That weird explosion that knocked out comms?”

Shin leaned in, grinning. “Let me guess. Something happened.”

“Nothing happened,” you both said at the same time.

Dead silence.

You stood up abruptly. “I’m getting more dumplings.”

Nagumo followed. “I’ll help.”

You rounded on him once you were out of earshot. “What are you doing?”

Nagumo leaned against the fridge like he had all the time in the world. “Waiting for you to ask me on a date.”

You blinked. “What?”

“I mean, you kissed me,” he said, raising an eyebrow. “It’s kind of rude to leave a guy hanging after that.”

Your jaw dropped. “I kissed YOU?!”

“You definitely did,” he said smoothly. “I recall mutual participation. Highly engaged mutual participation.”

You grabbed a tray of dumplings and shoved it at his chest. “You're delusional.”

He held the tray with one hand, still grinning. “You sure? Because your lips said otherwise.”

You stared at him, heat crawling up your neck. “Do you ever stop talking?”

“Not when it makes you this flustered,” he said with a wink.

You spun on your heel. “I’m going back before I throw a soy sauce bottle at you.”

“Romantic,” he called after you. “I’ll take it as a maybe.”

                                    ***

We've finally reached this point, and to be honest, I wasn’t sure how to mend the rift between Nagumo and the reader. But a good cliché seemed like a solid idea, so I went with it! (｡•̀ᴗ-)✧ I wrote half of this while working, so please let me know if you spot any mistakes. <(_ _)> I’ll update the links to the previous chapters tomorrow for those of you who are new to my story—just check out my blog! („• ᴗ •„) Also, I’m aiming to update the next chapter by Wednesday.

[diagonal-queen]

Omg you're backkkk<3 I hope uni's going well for you!

Maybe the Hunting Dogs with a s/o who's kind of mean/petty?

Hunting Dogs with a mean S/O

♡ pairing: Fukuchi Ouchi, Jouno Saigiku, Tecchou Suehiro, Teruko Okura (platonic), Tachihara Michizou x gn!Reader

♡ synopsis: How are the Hunting Dogs with a mean and petty S/O?

♡ cw: Swearing, u r a BULLY >:((, dw it's pretty chill though, non-graphic NSFW with Jouno, teensy bit of NSFW with Tachihara, mentions of violence, crime and torture

note: ahhh hello yes i'm back! uni's pretty great actually. i love being able to tell people i go to law school lmao, it makes me feel smarter than i am. uhh but i've been swamped and a bit busy, and i'm going back home for a week so i might not be super active over the next couple weeks, i'm so sorry my babies </3 but i'll still be lurking in case you wanna chat! as always, apologies for errors and i hope you enjoy x

Fukuchi:

Mf you think he cares?? He hired Jouno and Tachihara because they committed crimes, and he's more than happy to keep Teruko around. Bro doesn't give a FUCK that you're mean

If you're dating Fukuchi you clearly do give a shit about the welfare of society and world peace, so your individual quirks are just that. Quirks

He will fully let you just be a dickhead sometimes, because...like, why not?

I feel like Fukuchi is obviously often a very intimidating individual who strikes fear and commands respect from everyone else. But you? You just walk all over him

In some ways for him it's probably kind of refreshing to have someone around him who doesn't idolise him at all, or look up to him as a superior. It gets exhausting, for sure. Sometimes he just wants to be humbled and that's so okay Fukuchi, you deserve it actually /mean-spirited and condescending

Don't get me wrong it's not like you're an abusive partner! You're still obviously nice to your partner and you love him, but you definitely don't go out of your way to sugarcoat things or try to avoid any necessary confrontations

And Fukuchi genuinely really respects that about you. He's pretty similar like that, though still definitely goofier than you

I mean he won't want you sitting around with an RBF when he's at formal events and whatnot, because that really wouldn't have the best impression, but he's usually very gung ho about letting you be yourself

You're lucky he loves you man...lmao

Jouno:

He loves it. Full stop.

You two are just sadist central over here. Like he'll be torturing a suspect and you're just watching. Bored. Not a care in the world

(Jouno, I don't think you're legally allowed to invite your partner to watch you do your job- much less one like this, but...eh...)

You two are always just talking shit about people to each other, and like when you're out in public on dates you're just whispering to each other and judging people T-T

Lowkey kinda gets turned on when you guys argue. He thinks it's hot when you get heated and angry. Usually it ends in rough "passionate hugging", and the pillowtalk is when you both actually resolve the issue (dumbasses)

He might even purposefully rile you up sometimes because mf is just THAT much of a horny degenerate. You guys can call him classy and gentlemanly all you want, but we all know he's secretly deranged

Like an angry, horny goblin with a knife...someone stop him

Tbh you should probably bully him a little bit every now and then. I think he needs to be taken down a peg sometimes

Hey, he's more likely to listen to you than Tecchou, isn't he? Besides, it's nothing genuinely malicious. Just couple's banter

Oh, you guys are fucking LEGENDS at the couple's banter. Though you never do it in public, because a lot of the times the things you both tell each other as jokes can come off as really cruel jabs

Nah your senses of humour are just not family-friendly (violent and malicious)

You guys have very strange ways of showing your love and affection. But, hey, it works for you and that's what's important :)

Tecchou:

Ah yes, arguably the least meanie of all of the Hunting Dogs. Yeah uh he doesn't really like you at first

Tecchou doesn't understand being mean just for the sake of it. I mean like, for Teruko, she uses it in her career, and Jouno is sadistic and weird and also uses it in his career. You're just petty because you can be

But the more time you spend together the more he realises that you're really not that bad- you're really just more of the loveable asshole type

An acquired taste, yes, but this is Tecchou we're talking about! That's his thing!

He learns to appreciate the things about you that many others would probably consider flaws. He influences you for the better definitely...

...BUT you also kinda make him worse

He will adopt your 'deal with it bitch' attitude sometimes, but it doesn't hinder his relationships or work so it's fiiiiine

(Jouno isn't a huge fan of it though...but at the same time he kind of respects you)

Tecchou probably won't admit it but he really likes to listen to you rant and bitch about people you don't like. He just likes to listen to you be angry about trivial things, he finds it equal parts endearing and entertaining

If you're mean to someone who deserves it? Well I mean...who is he to stop you?

At the end of the day you're definitely emotionally self-sufficient, so that's one less part of you for him to fret over. All's well that ends well or some shit idk

Teruko (platonic):

You guys are literally the best of friends

She's the loud fiery kind of mean and you are the 'I will straight up meticulously ruin your life' kind of mean

You on some r/nuclearrevenge type shit and she fucking loves that for you

Like she's fully willing to plot and scheme with you and do whatever mean shit you suggest. You two are menaces and she should absolutely not be a military soldier

Teruko WILL smite your enemies. And by smite your enemies I mean she will actively do what she can to ruin the lives of people you don't like, with absolutely no remorse (pretty sure she actually commits crimes to do this)

She LIVES for your cruel one-liners and clever insults. Every time she hears one she absolutely hollers

Teruko enjoys it when you're mean to the other Hunting Dogs (except Fukuchi). They can handle a couple bitchy words so it's not a huge deal, but she's just extra amused by it

For the record you're not *mean* mean, you're just...humbling them (which let's be real they could use from time to time (Jouno, again, looking at you))

Nobody is surprised by your guys' friendship really

You're a dangerous pair. Please stop

Teruko kinda likes that you hold grudges so frequently because she'll never tire of hearing you shittalk the same exact people and events over and over again

She'll shittalk them too

Dia doesn't approve of this friendship

Tachihara:

You guys know that scene in B99 where Jake says that he can't decide if he's scared of Amy or turned on by her and then decides that he's both? Yea, that's Tachihara with you

He is a good person at heart, and outside of his mafia gangster persona he's really not that mean, and as such he does not encourage mean behaviour. But like, when you do it? Mm...

Bro is WHIPPED

Lowkey he probably gets some of his mafia persona ideas from you 💀

His mafia coworkers have no questions about how you two get along, and they generally like you. The other Hunting Dogs have a few more questions

Tachihara isn't some shy, quiet introvert, but he is generally pretty chill and a nice person. They like to playfully tease him about how different the two of you are (though if it gets too far he knows he can count on you to rip them a new one with no issue)

Dw they still like you though! Especially Teruko

He has absolutely no problems with you for being cold and blunt. It's nothing he himself can't handle, and in some ways it actually makes talking to you easier

Again, I'll stress that you're not mean to him, you're just not the most lovey-dovey person out there. But you DO put effort in and that's what Tachihara cares about, even if it isn't in a stereotypical way

If anything else, you're certainly loyal!

Tachihara loves you for all of your different eccentricities, and he's also kinda turned on by them. Win-win? Win-win.

taglist~ ♡ @gettinshiggywithit, @fyodorhatr, @flower-of-darkness, @bejeweledgirl, @kokoenjiandco, @pinkiipeachiikeen

[fatalintrouble]

Halloween Horror Nights (P.JAY)

Synopsis -- In the midst of a thrilling Halloween night, you and your friends venture to a sprawling haunted attraction filled with eerie mazes, creepy clowns, and endless jump scares. While navigating through the maze of horrors, you keep feeling the unsettling sensation of being watched.

Pairing -- scare actor!demon!jay X f!reader wordcount -- 13.9k words warnings: vivid descriptions, predator/prey, stalker behaviour, dubcon, smut (mdni), unprotected sex, corruption

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

The sun was sinking behind the rooftops, casting long shadows along the dimly lit street as you strolled with Rei, Jeongin, and Yujin. The cool autumn breeze carried the scent of crisp leaves and a tinge of excitement.. There was a buzz in the air—tonight’s horror attraction was said to be the scariest yet.

Before heading to the event, though, you all made a quick stop at the local costume store. The plan was to keep things low-key with your outfits, letting the professionals handle the real scares. But none of you could resist adding a little extra flair, just enough to get into the spirit of the night without stealing the spotlight.

Rei walked next to you, her eyes scanning the street ahead, already discussing ideas for what minimal but effective pieces would add to her costume. "I’m thinking just creepy, but not over the top."

Jeongin laughed, nudging Yujin with a grin. "Yeah, Yujin here probably just needs a mask. She’s already scary enough."

"Shut up," Yujin retorted, rolling her eyes but laughing along. "I’m keeping it classy, alright? Just something mysterious, like a dark cloak or whatever."

You chuckle, enjoying the easy banter between your friends as the neon sign of the costume store flickers into view ahead. It’s small, tucked between two larger shops, but it always has the best props. Inside, it’s even cozier—dimly lit with rows of costumes hanging from racks and shelves packed with masks, wigs, and makeup.

The bell on the door jingles as you all step inside, the smell of latex and fabric hitting your senses immediately. You scan the aisles, already trying to imagine what simple yet eerie addition you could make to your outfit. Maybe a set of vampire fangs or some glowing contacts? You catch Rei grinning as she picks up a bottle of fake blood, shaking it at Jeongin and Yujin like a silent dare.

"Alright," you say, eyeing the selection in front of you, "let’s see what we can find to give the actors a run for their money—without stealing the spotlight."

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

You continued down the aisles, humming along to the soft, upbeat music playing through the store’s speakers. The gentle buzz of chatter from other shoppers mixed with the rustle of fabric as you sifted through different accessories. As you passed by the rows of costumes, you overheard a little girl pointing excitedly at a mask hanging on a nearby shelf.

"Mom, I want that!" the girl exclaimed, her finger jabbing toward a mask of a particularly terrifying horror movie character.

The mother hesitated, holding up a glittery fairy costume instead. "Are you sure, honey? What about this?"

"No! I want that!" the girl insisted, her eyes fixed on the scary mask.

With a sigh, the mother relented, pulling down the mask and handing it to the girl. "Fine…" she muttered, her voice carrying a mixture of exhaustion and resignation as they headed toward the cashier.

You couldn’t help but smile and shake your head at the exchange, amused by how even kids were leaning into the spooky season. Turning back to the shelves, you scanned through the rows of fake fangs, glowing contacts, and eerie accessories, trying to decide what would add just the right touch to your simple look for tonight.

Then, someone came up to stand beside you. You glanced to the side, only to quickly avert your eyes, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks.

Fuck. He's handsome.

You looked around nervously, trying to play it cool. Across the store, Rei, Jeongin, and Yujin were deep in an argument over which ghoul-themed tops were the creepiest. You almost laughed, knowing how seriously they were taking this despite the agreement to keep it "simple."

Taking a deep breath, you turned your attention back when the guy next to you reached up and grabbed a bottle of fake blood.

"Those your friends?" he asked in a smooth voice, turning to face you.

Oh.

Up close, he was even more handsome, with sharp eyes and broad shoulders that made your heart race. You stood there for a moment, almost forgetting to respond.

"Oh! Yeah," you answered, feeling your cheeks warm.

He nodded, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Seems like they’re taking that very seriously," he said, glancing over at your friends, who were now holding up ghoul tops for comparison.

"I guess so," you answered, struggling to tear your gaze away from the way his jawline seemed to catch the soft lighting.

He turned towards you and flashed a smile again. "Anyways, happy Halloween," he said, his voice smooth as he began to walk toward the cashier.

"Happy Halloween," you echoed softly, watching his back as he disappeared into the crowd of shoppers. You stood there for a moment, still reeling from the interaction, your heart beating faster than usual.

Before you could snap out of it, a sudden weight crashed into you, almost making you lose your balance. "You should be an angel!" Yujin’s excited voice pierced through your thoughts as she shoved a white dress and a pair of feathery wings into your arms.

"Angel?" you asked, raising an eyebrow as you turned to face her.

"Yeah!" she exclaimed, practically bouncing on her heels. "It’ll totally fit you! You’ve got the whole ethereal thing going on," she added, grinning from ear to ear. You shot her a playful glare but couldn’t help the small smile creeping onto your face.

With a sigh, you glanced down at the angel costume in your hands, shrugging. “I don’t know…”

“Come on, it’ll be perfect! We’ll all have our own spooky themes, but you can stand out in a different way,” Yujin insisted, her excitement contagious as she tugged you towards Rei and Jeongin.

"Look who I convinced!" Yujin announced triumphantly as you joined Rei and Jeongin, still holding the angel costume. Rei took one look at the white dress and wings and smirked.

"An angel, huh?" she teased, eyeing you up and down. "It’s fitting, honestly."

Jeongin, holding two equally ghoulish shirts, raised an eyebrow. "An angel? That’s unexpected. I figured you'd go for something scarier."

You shrugged, holding the dress up to your chest. "Well, I guess I’ll be the light in the darkness tonight," you joked.

Yujin beamed, clearly proud of her choice. "Exactly! You’ll be like the calming presence when the scares get too intense."

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

After making your purchases, the four of you stepped out of the costume shop, laughing and chatting as the cool evening air greeted you. Jeongin tossed a casual salute your way as you all parted ways, agreeing to meet up at his house before heading to the horror attraction later.

“See you guys in a bit!” Rei called, waving as she walked off with Yujin.

You waved back before turning toward home, clutching your shopping bag close as you made your way down the dimly lit street. The sky had deepened into a dark blue, the streetlights casting long shadows across the pavement. You hummed softly to yourself, the soft crinkle of the bag and the occasional rustle of leaves the only sounds around you.

But then, out of nowhere, a shiver ran down your spine.

You slowed your steps, the feeling growing stronger as if someone’s eyes were on you. Stopping in your tracks, you turned around quickly, expecting to see someone following you.

The street was completely empty.

A hollow breeze stirred the leaves, but other than that, nothing. No footsteps. No distant voices. Just… quiet.

“That’s weird,” you muttered under your breath, shaking off the uneasy feeling as you turned back and kept walking.

But the sensation didn’t go away. With every few steps, the chill crept up your back again, prickling the hair on the back of your neck. Your eyes flicked toward the shadows, scanning every alley, every corner. Yet, every time you turned around, there was no one.

Just you.

Alone.

Your heart began to race, and before you knew it, your feet had picked up speed, almost without you realizing. The darkening streets blurred around you, your steps growing quicker, faster, until finally, you reached your house. You fumbled for your keys, your hands trembling slightly as you shoved the key into the lock and hurried inside.

Click.

The door closed and locked behind you.

You leaned against it, breathing heavily, your pulse loud in your ears. For a moment, you stood there, collecting yourself. The house was dark and quiet, but the sense of safety washed over you. Just to be sure, you crept to the window, pulling the curtains back slightly and peeking outside.

Nothing.

The street was empty, just like before. The only movement came from the neighbors’ black cat, perched on a fence, staring at you with its eerie green eyes. You breathed out, relieved, and stepped back from the window.

“Paranoid,” you whispered to yourself, shaking your head. “Just paranoid.”

You tossed your shopping bag onto your bed and flopped down, trying to shake off the lingering unease. It was probably just the thought of the horror attraction messing with your head.

Meanwhile, outside, the black cat jumped down from the fence with a soft thud, letting out a quiet meow. It rubbed itself affectionately against the leg of someone standing nearby—a tall figure, their face obscured by the hood of a dark jacket.

The figure crouched down, their gloved hand gently scratching behind the cat’s ears. “Good kitty,” they whispered, a chilling softness to their voice.

Then, slowly, they stood up, their shadow stretching across the ground as they turned to look up at your house. The hood concealed their face, but their eyes—glinting from beneath—were locked on your window, watching. Waiting.

You stood up from your bed after awhile, trying to shake off the eerie feeling that had settled over you. There was no reason to be paranoid, you told yourself. It was just your imagination running wild after a long day, as you grabbed the angel costume Yujin had picked out, draping it over the back of a chair, and sighed.

Suddenly, the sound of a soft knock echoed from downstairs.

You froze, your heart lurching into your throat. You weren’t expecting anyone yet—Jeongin and the others weren’t supposed to meet up until later. You waited, holding your breath, listening. Another knock, this time more deliberate.

"Probably just a neighbor," you muttered to yourself, trying to calm the rising dread that gripped your chest. Slowly, you crept down the stairs, each step sounding too loud in the stillness of the house.

When you reached the front door, you hesitated, your hand hovering over the lock. The knock came again, this time softer, almost… patient.

Swallowing your nerves, you unlocked the door and opened it just a crack, peering outside.

No one was there.

You stepped out, looking left and right, your porch illuminated only by the weak glow of the streetlight. The street was still empty. Only the black cat from earlier now sat in the middle of the road, watching you with those unblinking green eyes. It was like a shadowy sentinel, a strange calmness in the night.

Your unease deepened. There was no sign of anyone around, yet the knock had been so clear. You glanced back toward the cat, feeling that same chill crawl down your spine. Turning quickly, you shut and locked the door again, deciding not to think too much about it.

As you walked back toward the stairs, your phone buzzed. You grabbed it, hoping it was one of your friends with an early check-in. The message lit up your screen.

Jeongin: Hey, we’ll meet a little later than planned. Yujin’s running behind. You good?

You stared at the screen for a moment before typing back.

You: Yeah, all good. I’ll just hang out until then.

You set your phone down and took a deep breath, trying to shake the lingering nerves. But even as you returned to your bedroom, the unease wouldn't leave. The knock, the empty street, the cat…

You didn’t notice, as you sat back on your bed, that the figure was no longer standing in the street. The cat remained, sitting quietly in the same spot, but the hooded person had moved, disappearing into the shadows beside your house.

Their eyes were now watching through a different window, the glint of their gaze hidden as they observed your every movement.

Silent. Still.

You stood in your bedroom for a while, rubbing your arms as if trying to erase the lingering chill that had settled over you. The unsettling feeling wouldn’t let go, and you could feel your heart thumping in your chest. Shaking your head, you decided to shake off the nerves and focus on getting ready for the night ahead.

As you pulled out the angel costume from the chair, the soft fabric felt comforting in your hands. The white dress had a delicate shimmer, the lace trim giving it an ethereal quality. You laid it out on the bed, eyeing the small wings and head crown beside it.

“Okay, let’s do this,” you murmured, taking a deep breath as you began to change.

The white dress slipped over your head easily, flowing down to just above your knees. You adjusted it, admiring the way the lace caught the light. Next, you carefully rolled up the lace stockings, pulling them on to complete the look. You glanced at the mirror, already feeling a little better.

You took a moment to put on some simple heels, their soft click against the floor a pleasant distraction. Then, moving to your vanity, you started on your makeup. You opted for a light shimmer, brushing on a soft glow to your cheeks and adding a touch of highlighter to your collarbones. A bit of silver eyeshadow and a swipe of gloss completed the look, making you feel polished yet still true to the angelic theme.

With the crown of delicate feathers nestled in your hair, you stepped back to examine your reflection. You looked ready.

But as you stood there, the initial thrill began to fade. The sense of foreboding crept back in, an uncomfortable reminder of the strange events earlier. You couldn’t help but glance out the window, the curtain slightly drawn back.

The street was still empty, the only movement coming from the wind rustling through the trees. You let out a shaky breath, reminding yourself that you were safe.

“Just a little fun tonight,” you said aloud, trying to convince yourself. You grabbed your phone to check the time and noticed you still had a little while before you Yujin arrived.

Deciding to occupy your mind, you turned off the lights and made your way to the living room. You put on some music, letting the upbeat melodies fill the silence. As you moved around the room, your nerves slowly eased, the rhythm bringing you back to a state of calm.

But as you danced lightly to the music, a subtle movement caught your eye through the window. You glanced over, and for a moment, you thought you saw a figure slip behind a tree. Your heart skipped a beat, and you rushed to the window, peeking through the curtain again.

Nothing. Just the tree swaying in the wind.

“Okay, this is getting ridiculous,” you muttered, shaking your head at your reflection in the glass. You turned away, trying to focus on the music instead, but the feeling that someone was watching you remained.

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

When the doorbell rang, interrupting your thoughts, and you nearly jumped. You hurried to the door, relieved to see Yujin standing on the other side, still in her casual clothes but holding a large bag filled with her costume.

“Ready?” she grinned, eyes sparkling with excitement.

“More than ready!” you replied, opening the door wider to let her in.

You let Yujin into your house, her excitement instantly lifting the tension that had settled over you. “You can get ready in the bathroom,” you said, gesturing for her to head in. “I’ll grab something to eat while you do your thing.”

“Perfect! Thanks!” she chirped, disappearing into the bathroom with her bag of costume items.

You made your way to the kitchen, opening the fridge and scanning its contents. After a moment of rummaging, you settled on a few slices of leftover pizza from the night before. Not the healthiest option, but it was quick.

As you waited for the microwave to warm up the pizza, you listened to the sounds coming from the bathroom. You could hear Yujin humming to herself, probably going through her makeup routine.

A few minutes later, you pulled the warm slices from the microwave and set them on the counter, taking a bite as you leaned against the kitchen island.

You were halfway through your snack when Yujin emerged from the bathroom, now transformed into her own version of a spooky character. She wore a stunning black dress adorned with lace and a necklace of eerie charms. Her makeup was bold, with smoky eyes and dark lipstick that made her look both fierce and fabulous.

“Ta-da!” she exclaimed, striking a dramatic pose.

“Wow! You look amazing!” you said, genuinely impressed. “Definitely ready to turn some heads tonight!”

“Thanks! I was going for something a little darker, you know?” she said with a wink, walking over to the mirror to adjust her hair.

As you finished your last bite of pizza, you glanced at the clock, realizing it was almost time to meet up with Jeongin and Rei.

“Okay, we should get going soon,” you said, rinsing your plate and putting it in the dishwasher. “Let’s grab our stuff and head to Jeongin’s.”

Yujin nodded, grabbing her bag and giving you one last look. “We’re going to have a blast! Just remember, if anything weird happens, we stick together, okay?”

“Absolutely,” you replied, though a flicker of unease crossed your mind again.

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

When you arrived, you could see the warm glow of lights spilling from the windows. You knocked on the door, and Jeongin opened it almost immediately, a playful grin plastered across his face.

“Finally! The angels have landed!” he teased, gesturing for you both to come inside.

You stepped into the cozy living room, where Jeongin and Rei were already decked out in their costumes. Jeongin was dressed as a classic vampire, while Rei had transformed into a ghostly specter, her makeup pale with dark shadows under her eyes.

“Look at you two! You look amazing!” you exclaimed, genuinely impressed.

“Thanks! You guys too!” Rei replied, a glint of mischief in her eyes as she eyed Yujin.

“Yujin, why were you late!” Jeongin interjected, an exaggerated tone of mock disappointment in his voice.

“Excuse me, I wasn’t the one who started a game without us,” Yujin shot back, crossing her arms with a playful pout.

You laughed, sensing the friendly banter that made your group so special. “Alright, alright! Let’s not argue over who’s late. We’re all here now, and that’s what counts!”

Jeongin threw his hands up in surrender, a smirk still on his face. “Fine.”

After a few more moments of laughter and friendly teasing, you all decided it was time to head to the attraction. Jeongin grabbed his keys, and you all filed out of the house, excitement buzzing as you made your way to his car.

The four of you piled into the vehicle, while Jeongin turned on the music, and the upbeat tunes filled the car as he pulled out of the driveway.

“Okay, who’s ready to get scared?” he asked, glancing back at you and Yujin through the rearview mirror, a grin on his face.

“Bring it on!” Yujin shouted, throwing her fists up in the air.

“I just hope I can keep my angel wings intact,” you joked, and everyone laughed.

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

Before long, you arrived at the attraction, the entrance illuminated with vibrant lights and eerie decorations. The sounds of laughter and screams echoed in the distance, heightening your anticipation.

As you closed the car door and walked up to the entrance, the vibrant atmosphere enveloped you. The sounds of laughter, screams, and creepy music created a cacophony that heightened your excitement. You reached into your bag and pulled out the tickets, holding them up to the guards at the entrance. After a quick search of your purse, the guards waved you through with a friendly nod.

“Welcome to the fright fest!” one of them called out, and you grinned in response, your heart racing with anticipation.

As soon as you stepped inside, Rei linked her arm through yours, dragging you along. “Come on! We can’t waste any time!” she urged, her eyes sparkling with enthusiasm.

Everywhere you looked, people were milling about, some in costumes of their own, others simply enjoying the show. The air was filled with an exhilarating mix of excitement and fear, punctuated by the occasional screams of unsuspecting victims who fell prey to the scare actors lurking around. It was all part of the experience, and you couldn’t help but laugh as you spotted a scare actor in a creepy clown outfit jumping out at a group of teenagers.

“Look at that!” Yujin pointed, her voice barely audible over the sounds of the crowd. “We need to get something to drink first! Can’t enjoy the horror on an empty stomach!”

“Good idea,” Jeongin agreed, and the four of you made your way to a nearby stand, where a selection of colorful drinks awaited. You each ordered something sweet, the vibrant colors matching the carnival-like atmosphere around you. As you sipped your drinks, you felt the tension from earlier dissipate, replaced by the exhilaration of being with your friends in such a lively place.

After finishing your drinks, you all exchanged eager glances, ready to dive into the attractions. “Let’s check out the corn maze!” Jeongin suggested, and everyone eagerly agreed.

As you approached the entrance of the corn maze, the towering stalks loomed overhead, casting shadows in the dim light. You could hear laughter and screams echoing from within, and the anticipation of navigating through the twists and turns made your heart race.

“Ready to get lost?” Rei joked, her eyes gleaming with mischief as she pulled you toward the entrance.

“Absolutely!” you replied, a grin spreading across your face.

You all stepped into the maze, the tall cornstalks creating a narrow path that twisted and turned. As you ventured deeper, the sounds of the outside world faded away, replaced by the rustling of leaves and distant laughter.

“Stick together!” Yujin called out, her voice slightly muffled as you all tried to keep your bearings. You navigated the paths, laughing as you tried to guess which way to go.

Suddenly, a scare actor dressed as a scarecrow jumped out from behind a pile of hay, their costume ragged and tattered. You shrieked in surprise, grabbing onto Rei’s arm tightly.

“Okay, that was a good one!” you exclaimed, laughing nervously as the scarecrow let out a low, haunting laugh before disappearing back into the shadows.

“See? This is what it’s all about!” Jeongin said, clearly enjoying every second.

Every rustle of corn or distant sound sent a thrill down your spine, and you found yourself clinging to your friends, your heart racing with both fear and excitement.

“Alright, who’s brave enough to go first?” Rei challenged, looking back at you with a daring grin.

“Me!” Yujin declared, puffing out her chest. “Let’s see what’s around the next corner!”

As you ventured deeper into the corn maze, the sunlight from the entrance faded, replaced by an enveloping darkness that swallowed the narrow pathways. The rustling leaves became more pronounced, and an uneasy chill crept into the air.

“Okay, this is getting a little too dark,” you murmured, glancing around as shadows danced between the towering cornstalks.

“Agreed! I can’t see a thing,” Rei replied, squinting into the gloom. “We should use our phones!”

You nodded and quickly pulled out your phone, turning on the flashlight. The beam cut through the darkness, illuminating the path ahead just enough to navigate. Yujin and Jeongin followed suit, their phones casting a warm glow around you.

“Much better!” Yujin exclaimed, her voice echoing slightly as you all moved forward. The beams of light flickered across the corn, creating an eerie atmosphere that made your heart race with excitement.

You turned the light towards the path ahead, revealing the crooked maze that seemed to stretch endlessly in every direction. The shadows felt alive, and every so often, you thought you saw something move just outside the reach of your flashlight.

“Did you see that?” you whispered, your heart racing.

“See what?” Rei asked, her voice a mix of curiosity and concern.

“I thought I saw something shift over there,” you said, pointing into the darkness.

“Stop it! You’re going to freak me out!” Yujin laughed, though you could hear a slight tremor in her voice.

“Okay, okay! Just trying to keep the energy up!” you replied, trying to lighten the mood.

The beams of your phones danced along the rows of corn, but every so often, you’d catch a glimpse of something lurking in the shadows, just beyond the light. A sudden noise made you jump, and you turned your flashlight in the direction of the sound.

“Did you hear that?” you asked, your heart racing.

“Maybe it was just the wind?” Jeongin suggested, though his voice lacked conviction.

“Or something waiting for us!” Rei chimed in, and the playful banter shifted to a more serious tone as you all exchanged nervous glances.

Just then, another scare actor leaped out from behind a stalk of corn, their eerie mask and tattered clothing making you scream. You stumbled backward, and Rei grabbed your arm to steady you.

“Okay, I think we’re officially lost,” you said, laughing despite the adrenaline coursing through you. “And terrified.”

“Let’s keep together! No splitting up!” Yujin said.

“Do you think we’ll ever find our way out?” Rei joked, though her laughter held a hint of real worry.

“Of course! We just need to follow the screams,” Jeongin replied, trying to keep the mood light as you continued deeper into the maze.

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

After what felt like an eternity of navigating the twists and turns of the corn maze, you finally caught a glimpse of light peeking through the stalks ahead. A collective sigh of relief escaped your lips as you and your friends quickened your pace toward the opening.

As you burst out into the open air, the sounds of the attraction flooded back, and the vibrant colors of the carnival illuminated your surroundings. You paused for a moment, taking in the brightness and the lively atmosphere.

“We made it!” Yujin exclaimed, raising her arms in triumph.

“Barely!” you chuckled, still feeling the adrenaline coursing through your veins.

“Let’s celebrate our escape with some drinks!” Jeongin suggested, his eyes sparkling with excitement. “I saw a stand over there selling some fun cocktails. Who’s in?”

“I am!” you and Rei chimed in simultaneously, and Yujin nodded eagerly.

You all made your way to the drink stand, where a colorful array of beverages awaited. The bartender, adorned in a spooky costume, greeted you with a wide grin. “What can I get for you?”

“Surprise us!” Jeongin declared, and the bartender set to work mixing.

A few moments later, he handed you each a vibrant drink, complete with tiny skull-shaped ice cubes floating inside.

After finishing your drinks, you and your friends wandered deeper into the attraction, soaking in the electrifying atmosphere.

You passed by groups of people huddled together, sharing nervous giggles as scare actors leaped out at them.

But as you walked further, that familiar unease began to creep back in. A shiver ran down your spine, and you glanced around, suddenly acutely aware of your surroundings. It felt as if eyes were boring into you from the shadows, observing your every move.

You stopped, scanning the area, but nothing seemed out of the ordinary. The darkness blurred the outlines of the crowd, making it hard to pinpoint where anyone was looking.

You tried to dismiss the feeling, but it lingered, like a shadow at the edge of your vision. You took a deep breath and urged your feet to move forward, joining your friends as they continued to explore the attractions.

“Look at that!” Yujin suddenly exclaimed, pointing toward a haunted mirror maze up ahead, its entrance shrouded in fog and lit with eerie lights. “We have to go in there!”

“Absolutely! It looks awesome!” Rei agreed, her excitement momentarily distracting you from your uneasy feelings.

You all approached the entrance, the mist swirling around you as you stepped inside. The mirrors created a dizzying effect, reflecting distorted images of yourselves. The laughter and screams of patrons outside faded, leaving only the echo of your footsteps and the occasional spooky sound effect from hidden speakers.

“Okay, this is cool!” you said, your heart pounding, but this time not from fear.

“Just be careful not to bump into anything,” Jeongin warned, a mischievous grin on his face.

As you navigated through the maze, your unease faded slightly, but the feeling of being watched returned. You couldn’t shake the impression that someone—or something—was lingering just beyond the reflection, but every time you turned to look, there was nothing but the glass staring back at you.

“Hey, does anyone else feel like we’re not alone in here?” you said, your voice low, unsure if you wanted to voice your worries.

“What do you mean?” Rei asked, glancing back at you.

“Like… I just have this weird feeling, as if someone is watching us,” you admitted, your heartbeat quickening again.

Yujin rolled her eyes playfully. “It’s just the spooky atmosphere! Let’s keep moving; I want to see how far we can go without getting lost!”

Encouraged by her enthusiasm, you pressed on, but the sensation of being observed lingered in the back of your mind. Every reflection seemed to twist and distort, and for a moment, you caught a glimpse of something moving in the distance—a shadow flitting just out of reach of the light.

“Did you see that?” you asked, pausing mid-step.

“See what?” Jeongin replied, looking around.

You turned to point, but the shadow was gone. “Never mind, I must be imagining things.”

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

After what felt like an exhilarating eternity, you and your friends finally navigated your way out of the funhouse mirror maze, the reflections behind you fading into the background.

As you stepped into the center of the attraction, the vibrant lights and sounds enveloped you once more. The crowd buzzed with energy, but your focus shifted as you spotted a brightly colored clown funhouse not far ahead, its entrance adorned with swirling patterns and flashing lights. A sign above read, “Enter if you dare!”

“Let’s do it!” Yujin said, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

“Clowns? Seriously?” you replied, feigning horror. “You all know they creep me out!”

Rei laughed, nudging you playfully. “That’s exactly why we have to go in! Come on, it’ll be fun!”

With a mixture of excitement and trepidation, you followed your friends toward the entrance. As you stepped inside, the sounds of laughter and carnival music greeted you, but there was also an eerie undertone that sent a shiver down your spine.

The inside was decorated with bright colors and chaotic patterns that made it hard to focus. Clowns of all shapes and sizes decorated the walls, some smiling widely while others bore twisted grins that made your heart race.

“Welcome to the funhouse!” a cheerful clown exclaimed as you entered, their voice jarring against the unsettling atmosphere. “Let’s see if you can make it out without getting scared!”

You exchanged nervous glances with your friends as you moved deeper into the funhouse, the walls seemingly closing in around you. The laughter of the patrons mixed with creepy sound effects, creating an almost claustrophobic atmosphere.

As you navigated through the maze of mirrors, slides, and silly obstacles, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something—someone—was watching you. Every time you turned your head, though, there was nothing there but laughter and flashing lights.

“Did you feel that?” you asked, glancing around at your friends, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Feel what?” Rei responded, frowning as she looked at you.

“Like… someone is following us?” you said, scanning the corners of the funhouse for any lurking figures.

“Maybe it’s just the clowns,” Jeongin joked, trying to lighten the mood, but the playful edge in his voice didn’t quite mask the unease that was creeping in.

As you continued walking, you caught a glimpse of something out of the corner of your eye—movement in the shadows just beyond the bright lights and the colorful decor. You turned your head quickly, but again, there was nothing there.

“Guys, I’m serious. I think someone is watching us,” you insisted, your heart pounding.

“Okay, now you’re starting to freak me out,” Yujin said, glancing around nervously. “Can we just keep moving? I don’t want to stay in here any longer than we have to.”

You pushed forward, trying to shake off the feeling, but the sensation only grew stronger as you moved deeper into the funhouse. Suddenly, you felt a cold draft rush past you, and the hairs on the back of your neck stood on end.

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

When you and your friends finally stumbled out of the clown funhouse, the cool night air washed over you like a refreshing wave. You paused, taking deep breaths to shake off the lingering adrenaline from the chaotic atmosphere inside.

“Wow, that was intense!” Yujin exclaimed, leaning against the wall for support, her laughter echoing the relief in your chest.

“Seriously! I thought I was going to lose it in there,” you admitted, wiping a bead of sweat from your brow. The chill of the night felt comforting after the disorienting experience within the funhouse.

“We survived the clowns, though!” Rei said, a triumphant grin spreading across her face. “What’s next?”

You all took a moment to just chill, watching the bustling crowd around you. The attraction was alive with people wandering from one thrill to the next, all of them laughing and screaming, sharing in the excitement of the night.

Suddenly, a loud horn blared, cutting through the chatter, and the atmosphere shifted dramatically. You turned to see a horde of zombies staggering toward the center, moans echoing through the air as they stumbled in unison, dragging their feet and reaching out toward unsuspecting attendees.

“Oh!” you exclaimed, your heart racing once more.

“Look out!” Jeongin shouted, laughing as a couple of zombies lunged at a nearby group of squealing friends. Chainsaws roared to life as maniacs dressed in tattered clothing charged in behind the zombies, their chainsaws roaring, sending people scattering in delight and horror.

“Let’s move!” you said, grabbing Yujin’s hand as you led your friends away from the chaos, dodging the manic laughter and the flickering lights of the chainsaws.

As you navigated through the crowd, you caught glimpses of other creepy characters: towering clowns on stilts that danced above the throng, their painted faces contorted in exaggerated expressions. Creepy creatures from horror films loomed in the shadows, mingling among the guests.

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

The clock struck 2 AM, and as you wandered through the attractions, you stumbled upon a massive haunted mansion looming ahead, its dark silhouette almost swallowing the light around it. The flickering lanterns lining the entrance cast eerie shadows, and you felt an undeniable pull to explore what lay within.

“Let’s go in!” Jeongin declared, pushing open the enormous doors that creaked ominously. You felt a thrill run through you, and with a glance back at Rei and Yujin, you followed him inside, the cobwebs brushing against your arms as you crossed the threshold.

The interior was dimly lit, the air thick with the scent of dust and something faintly sweet, reminiscent of rotten wood. Cobwebs hung from the ceiling, and eerie ghostly figures dangled from above, swaying slightly as if whispering secrets to each other.

Before you could fully acclimate to the atmosphere, a loud roar shattered the silence, and a werewolf lunged from the shadows, teeth bared and eyes glowing. You screamed, adrenaline coursing through you as you instinctively grabbed Yujin's arm and took off running.

“Run!” she shouted, as you dashed deeper into the mansion. The dark corridors were filled with traps and jump scares, each turn revealing something more terrifying than the last. As you raced through the twisting hallways, the laughter and screams of your friends echoed faintly behind you, urging you to keep moving.

But in the chaos, you found yourself veering off into a side hallway, the darkness swallowing you whole. You tried to call out for your friends, but your voice felt swallowed by the oppressive atmosphere.

“Yujin? Rei? Jeongin?” you shouted, but only silence responded. The mansion was a labyrinth, and with every step, you felt more disoriented. The flickering lights cast strange shadows, and every creak of the floorboards made your heart race. You tried to retrace your steps, but the narrow passageways twisted into confusing angles, each corner looking just like the last.

Wandering through the maze, you stumbled upon a dusty parlor filled with antique furniture draped in white sheets. A single candle flickered in the corner, casting a soft glow over a cracked mirror. You approached it cautiously, catching your reflection—pale and wide-eyed, hair tousled from your frantic escape.

Suddenly, a loud bang echoed from somewhere nearby, and you jumped, heart racing anew. You spun around, trying to find the source of the noise, but the shadows danced around you, playing tricks on your mind.

“Think, think,” you murmured to yourself, trying to steady your breathing. The eerie atmosphere pressed down on you, and the feeling of being watched returned with a vengeance.

You took a deep breath, focusing on the sounds around you. Beyond the walls, you could faintly hear the laughter and screams of other patrons, a reminder that you weren’t alone in this twisted mansion. Summoning your courage, you began to move toward the noise, hoping it would lead you back to your friends.

Navigating through the dark corridors, you passed through a series of rooms that seemed to come alive with each step. In one room, a ghostly figure drifted past, its face pale and haunting. You held your breath, willing yourself not to scream as you ducked behind a piece of furniture, waiting for it to pass.

“Okay, this is getting ridiculous,” you muttered under your breath, frustration creeping in alongside the fear. The mansion was filled with traps—who knew what else lurked in the shadows?

Just as you turned to continue your search, a sudden, chilling laugh echoed through the hallway. It was followed by the unmistakable sound of chains rattling. You froze, heart racing as you turned slowly, scanning the darkened corners of the mansion for any sign of movement.

Your heart sank. This was not just a haunted house; it felt like a game of cat and mouse.

Gathering your courage, you pressed on, the eerie laughter still echoing in your ears. You rounded a corner, and there it was—a staircase spiraling upward into the darkness.

“Maybe I can find them upstairs,” you thought, taking the steps two at a time, desperate to reunite with your friends.

The air grew colder as you climbed, and the shadows danced more frantically. At the top of the stairs, you found a narrow hallway lined with closed doors. With no other choice, you began to knock on each door, calling out for Rei, Yujin, and Jeongin.

“Guys, where are you?” you shouted, voice echoing down the hallway.

But there was no response, only the whispering wind and the creaking of the old house. Panic surged within you as you tried to suppress the fear that threatened to overwhelm you. You reached the last door at the end of the hall, hesitating for just a moment before pushing it open.

The room inside was dark and empty, but as you stepped in, the door slammed shut behind you with a resounding bang. You gasped, spinning around, your heart racing as the darkness enveloped you once again.

“Okay, this is not funny!” you called out, your voice trembling.

You hurried over to the door and tugged on the handle, but it wouldn’t budge. "Damn it," you muttered under your breath, panic creeping in. You glanced around the room, searching for another way out. It was clearly meant to resemble an old attic—dusty furniture littered the space, some pieces draped with white sheets, their vague shapes adding to the eerie atmosphere.

Then, your eyes caught sight of a narrow passage hidden behind a wardrobe. You grinned to yourself and quickly made your way through, eager to escape this unsettling room. The hallway beyond was dimly lit, the walls made to look like jagged stone. You reached out to touch one, only to discover, to your relief, that it wasn’t real—just foam made to look dangerously sharp. Impressive. Whoever had designed this had gone all out to create a convincing illusion.

As you continued through the passage, the air grew colder, and the walls began to open into a larger space. You stepped forward, eyes widening as you found yourself in what appeared to be a cave. "Wow, they really went all out…" you whispered, admiring the details of the stone-like walls and stalactites hanging from above. Everything felt so immersive, almost too real.

You did come to an abrupt halt when you heard the sound of chains rattling and low groans echoing through the cave. Your heart skipped a beat as you turned to your right. Your breath hitched at the sight before you.

On a small stone hill stood a man, chained to two stone pillars on either side of him. His arms were bound by thick chains, stained with blood, and arrows pierced the stone around him. His clothes were torn, revealing a firm, muscular chest also streaked with blood. But it wasn’t just the sight of his impressive physique that made you freeze—it was the black wings extending from his back and the long, twisted red horns that sprouted from his head.

Your eyes widened in disbelief as you realized who it was. Even in the dim lighting, you recognized him immediately. It was the guy from the costume store.

But now, he was no longer the handsome stranger you had encountered earlier. He looked… otherworldly, dangerous, and hauntingly beautiful in a way that made your skin tingle. His black wings shifted slightly as his head slowly lifted, his eyes locking onto yours.

Red. His eyes glowed a deep, unnatural red, and the moment they met yours, a wave of icy dread washed over you. That same feeling of being watched, the unnerving sensation you’d felt all night—it was him. He had been following you, watching you this entire time.

You couldn’t move, frozen in place by his piercing gaze. Every instinct screamed at you to run, but your legs felt heavy, your breath caught in your throat.

The man took a step forward, the chains around his wrists clanking as he did. His lips curled into a slow smile, sending a chill down your spine.

“Hello again,” he said, his voice smooth and deep, but there was something darker, something far more dangerous in his tone now.

You tried to speak, but no words came out. All you could do was stare, heart pounding in your chest.

The man’s wicked grin widened as he suddenly rose from his knees, towering over the stone hill. In an instant, the atmosphere shifted—the dim cave lights flared a deep, ominous red, casting long, eerie shadows around the cavern. The sight sent a jolt of fear down your spine.

Your breath caught in your throat as he started pulling on the chains that bound him, the fake metal links rattling with each tug. He kept pulling and pulling, his movements deliberate and terrifying, until the chains finally snapped free with a loud crack. The sound echoed through the cave, but it wasn’t the chains breaking that scared you the most—it was the way his eyes zeroed in on you, locking onto you.

For a split second, you thought, He’s a scare actor, right? This had to be part of the show…

When he suddenly leaned forward, his voice low and filled with dark amusement as he uttered one single word: “Run.”

Your blood turned to ice, and that was your cue. Without thinking, you turned on your heel and bolted. You ran like your life depended on it, your heart pounding in your chest as your feet hit the stone floor with a frantic rhythm. The sound of your own scream ripped from your throat, echoing through the cave as you sprinted through the winding passageways.

But the worst part? You could hear him. His heavy, deliberate footsteps pounded right behind you, getting closer with each second. The sound of his pursuit filled your ears, a terrifying reminder that no matter how fast you ran, he was faster. His presence loomed large, and the distance between you was shrinking far too quickly.

“Faster!” you urged yourself, your lungs burning as adrenaline surged through your veins, fueling your flight. The narrow stone walls blurred past you as you raced through the cave, your mind screaming for you to find a way out. But everywhere you turned, it felt like a dead end or a trap, the disorienting maze of the haunted mansion confusing your every step.

You glanced over your shoulder, a desperate mistake. He was right there—his smile wicked and cruel as he chased you down, his eyes glowing crimson. The sight of him so close made your heart stutter in your chest.

The fear threatened to swallow you whole, but your survival instincts kicked in. You pushed harder, your legs aching as you darted down a narrow hallway, hoping—praying—you could somehow lose him in the twists and turns. The eerie red lights flickered overhead, casting haunting shadows that played tricks on your eyes, but you didn’t dare slow down.

You rounded another corner, your pulse hammering in your ears, when suddenly, your foot caught on something. You stumbled, nearly falling to the ground, but managed to catch yourself at the last second. Your breath came in ragged gasps as you pushed onward, your muscles screaming in protest.

But you could still hear him—closer now. He was right behind you, his breath steady, his steps slow and deliberate, like he knew there was no escape.

Panic clawed at your throat. He’s going to catch me. He’s going to catch me.

And then, without warning, you saw it—an exit sign glowing faintly at the end of a long corridor. You forced your legs to move faster, the thought of freedom driving you forward. Just a few more steps, you told yourself, your heart pounding as the distance between you and the door closed.

But then… his voice, smooth and dark, echoed behind you.

“Run all you like,” he called, his laughter chilling, “but you can’t escape me.”

You didn’t dare look back this time.

You threw your entire weight against the door, your breath catching in your throat as it swung open with a loud creak. Relief washed over you for a split second—until you saw what lay beyond.

There was no exit. No fresh air, no escape. Instead, you were greeted by a long, dimly lit hallway bathed in a deep, sinister red light. The ground beneath your feet was uneven, forcing you to steady yourself as you stumbled forward. Panic rose in your chest as you realized there was no way out—not yet.

“Bad luck... it’s a fluke,” his voice echoed right behind you, low and mocking, and you felt a shiver run down your spine. You whipped your head around, heart racing, just in time to see him emerging from the shadows of the previous room, that wicked grin still plastered across his face.

Without thinking, you took off running again, adrenaline surging through your veins as your feet hit the uneven ground. The red hallway stretched out before you, impossibly long, and with each step, you could hear him getting closer, his footsteps steady and confident.

“You can’t outrun me,” his voice taunted, the sound bouncing off the walls, surrounding you. “But go on, try. I like the chase.”

You pushed harder, ignoring the burning in your lungs and the ache in your legs. The hallway seemed endless, twisting and turning like a labyrinth designed to trap you. The red lights flickered ominously, casting long shadows that danced along the walls, making it harder to see what lay ahead.

Your breath came in ragged gasps as you rounded another corner, but the unsettling feeling of him right behind you never left.

You pushed yourself harder, your legs burning with exhaustion, but the flicker of light ahead fueled your desperation. You just had to make it—just a little further. But as you rounded the final corner, your heart sank.

Dead end.

A cold wave of dread washed over you as you stared at the solid wall in front of you, no doors, no escape. You spun around, your pulse racing, only to see him standing at the mouth of the corridor. His dark wings casting twisted shadows in the flickering red light. He tilted his head, his eyes glowing that eerie red, a slow, wicked smile spreading across his face.

“Looks like you’ve reached the end of the road,” he said, his voice smooth and taunting.

You took a step back, but there was nowhere to go. He stalked toward you, his movements slow and deliberate, savoring the moment before striking. Before you could react, he was in front of you, his hand reaching out to grip your wrist. With a swift motion, he pinned you against the wall, your back hitting the cold stone as he held your arms above your head.

Your breath caught in your throat as you felt his body press against yours, close enough that you could feel the heat radiating from him. His sharp eyes bore into you, and despite the fear coursing through you, you couldn’t deny the thrill that shot through your stomach.

He leaned in closer, his breath hot against your ear. “What’s the matter, little angel? You look a little… breathless.” His voice was low and teasing, sending a shiver down your spine.

Your mind screamed at you to move, to push him away, but your body betrayed you. The closeness, the intensity of his gaze, the way his touch made your skin tingle—it was intoxicating. You hated that you felt it, but there was no denying the way your heart raced, not entirely from fear.

He shifted, his lips grazing the side of your neck as he whispered, “I’ve been watching you all night… I could tell you’d be fun to chase.” He pulled back slightly, his eyes locking onto yours again, a sly smile curving his lips. “And now that I’ve caught you… what should I do with you?”

Your stomach fluttered as his words sank in, and despite the situation, you felt a strange heat rise in your chest. You swallowed hard, trying to steady your breath, but the way he was looking at you, so intense, made it impossible.

He chuckled softly, his free hand trailing down your arm before resting against your side. “I have to say,” he murmured, his lips dangerously close to yours, “you make quite the perfect little angel… all soft and sweet. Too bad you fell right into my trap.”

You couldn’t help but tremble under his gaze, a mix of adrenaline and something else coursing through your veins. His flirtation was dangerous, intoxicating, and it made your mind spin.

“Tell me,” he whispered, his voice dropping even lower, “do you like playing the helpless little angel? Or is there a side of you that likes the thrill… likes being caught?”

Your breath hitched as he smirked, clearly enjoying your reaction. “Come on, admit it,” he teased, his fingers brushing along your jawline. “You’re not just scared, are you? There's a part of you that’s enjoying this.”

You didn’t know how to respond, your mind a whirlwind of emotions. His boldness, his touch, the way he towered over you—it sent conflicting feelings through your body. You hated the way your stomach fluttered, the way your heart raced at the sound of his voice, but you couldn’t deny the effect he had on you.

Leaning in even closer, his lips brushed against your ear as he whispered, “What do you say, little angel? Ready to fly… or ready to fall?”

Before you could even process what was happening, his lips were on yours—fierce, commanding, and unapologetic. His hands tightened around your wrists as he pulled you closer, and you gasped at the sensation. That gasp was all he needed. He slipped his tongue past your lips, deepening the kiss with a possessive hunger that made your knees weak.

Your body trembled under the weight of his kiss, the heat of him pressed against you, and for a brief, dizzying moment, you felt yourself getting lost in it. The raw, primal energy of the moment, the way he dominated the space around you—it sent your senses spinning.

But then, something clicked in your mind. Reality came crashing back, and panic surged through you. What the hell are you doing? Without thinking, you bit down hard on his bottom lip, tasting the metallic tang of blood as he yelped and jerked back, his grip loosening just enough for you to break free.

He stepped back, one hand wiping at his lip, smearing a streak of red as he inspected the blood on his fingers. For a split second, you thought you had gained the upper hand, but when his gaze flicked back to you, his expression shifted. The wicked grin returned, more dangerous than before, his eyes gleaming with dark amusement.

"Bad choice, angel," he murmured, his voice low and menacing. His grin widened as he took a step toward you, his posture tense with the thrill of the chase.

You didn’t wait to see what he would do next. Fueled by pure adrenaline, you bolted, your heart pounding wildly in your chest. But this time, it was different. The fear was still there, but underneath it, something else stirred—something undeniable. The adrenaline thrumming through your veins felt addictive, almost intoxicating.

Your body betrayed you, responding to the rush of being hunted, the thrill of his eyes on you as you sprinted through the dark, winding halls of the haunted mansion. Your breath came in ragged gasps, your legs carrying you forward as fast as they could, but your heart was racing for more reasons than just fear.

The red lights flickered ominously overhead as you ran, casting eerie shadows that seemed to move with you. Every corner you turned, every twist in the maze-like mansion, you expected him to appear, his wicked grin haunting your thoughts.

I have to get out of here, you thought, your mind racing. But even as you ran, a part of you—one you didn’t want to acknowledge—thrilled at the chase, at the sensation of being pursued by someone so dangerous, so intense.

The walls seemed to close in around you, twisting and turning, disorienting you at every corner. The air was thick, heavy with the scent of damp earth —something that clung to your senses.

Behind you, his footsteps echoed, unhurried but relentless. "You can run all you want, angel!" his voice boomed, rough and guttural, dripping with amusement. "I will catch you."

A shiver ran down your spine, fear mingling with something else, something dangerous that twisted in your gut. The adrenaline pumped through your veins, your heartbeat a deafening drum in your ears. How had it come to this? The demon was toying with you, and yet, the terror thrummed in your body with a maddening intensity, pulling you further into the chase.

You ducked beneath an archway, barely avoiding the jagged stones jutting out of the walls. The darkness was thick, almost alive, and it wrapped around you, hiding both dangers and possible salvation. Every time you glanced over your shoulder, you could catch a glimpse of him—those glowing eyes, sharp with hunger.

The sound of his laughter cut through the air, deep and mocking, making your pulse race even faster. You had to keep moving. You couldn’t let him catch you. And yet... you couldn’t deny the way your body responded to the threat. Fear, yes—but something more. Something twisted that made your steps falter for just a moment.

Ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous. How could fear and danger do this to you, make your body betray your instincts? But as you ran deeper into the maze, with his voice chasing you, that line between fear and exhilaration blurred more and more. And he knew it.

The uneven ground made it hard to maintain your balance, and you were too focused on the chase to notice when your heel slipped off. You stumbled, and before you could stop yourself, you crashed to the ground.

Pain shot through your body as you hit the hard floor with a loud thud, a sharp cry escaping your lips. Your hands scrambled to push yourself up, but the throbbing in your ankle made it difficult. You cursed under your breath, trying to stand, but just as you got to your feet, a pair of strong hands grabbed you from behind.

You barely had time to react before you were yanked backward, pulled into a hidden doorway that opened in the wall. You screamed, your voice echoing down the hallway, but it was quickly muffled as the door shut behind you with a heavy thud. Darkness enveloped you, the sound of your heartbeat pounding in your ears as you were dragged further inside.

You were thrown onto something soft, and with a startled gasp, you scrambled to get up, your hands pressing into what felt like a couch. Your chest heaved as you tried to catch your breath, your mind racing to make sense of what had just happened.

And then you saw him.

He stood there, looming in the shadows, his dark wings partially unfurled, casting long, sinister shadows against the walls. His red eyes, locked onto you with that same dangerous intensity. He stepped forward, slowly and deliberately.

“You really thought you could run from me, little angel?” His voice was low, dripping with amusement, but there was an edge to it that made your skin tingle. “I told you… I like the chase.”

You backed up against the couch, your hands gripping the cushions as you tried to steady your breath, your pulse racing uncontrollably. There was nowhere to go, nowhere to hide. You were trapped in this room with him, and he knew it.

He smirked, taking another step closer, his gaze never leaving yours. “You put up a good fight back there,” he said, his voice smooth as silk. “But you can’t run from me. Not now.”

Your throat tightened, the air in the room thick with tension. Every instinct told you to run, to escape, but your body felt frozen in place. He was too close, his presence too overwhelming.

You started backing up instinctively, your heart hammering in your chest as he stepped closer, his dark figure looming over you. The room felt smaller with every step he took, your breaths shallow and quick. You didn’t even realize you’d backed into something until the edge of the table pressed into your lower back. You glanced behind you and saw a fake plastic corpse laid out on the table, its lifeless eyes staring blankly at the ceiling.

But before you could even process it, he was right in front of you. His sudden proximity made you squeak in surprise, your eyes wide as you whipped your head back toward him. He was so close, his body practically pressed against yours, and his arms were on either side of you, caging you against the table. There was no escape.

"Beautiful…" he muttered, his voice low, almost reverent, as his eyes swept over your face. His expression was intense, his gaze piercing, and for a moment, you could hardly breathe. You stared at him in stunned silence, completely thrown off by the unexpected compliment.

His eyes were softer now, though that dangerous glint still lingered just beneath the surface. He leaned in slightly, his breath warm against your skin as he looked at you like you were something precious—something he had chased all night and finally caught. His hand lifted, almost hesitantly, brushing a strand of hair away from your face with a surprising gentleness.

Your heart raced, not entirely out of fear anymore. His gaze was so intense, so focused on you, it made your skin tingle. His touch, though brief, sent shivers down your spine.

You swallowed hard, your voice barely above a whisper. "What… what are you doing?"

He chuckled softly, his lips curling into a small smile as he leaned in just a fraction closer, his eyes never leaving yours. "Admiring you," he said simply, his voice soft yet filled with that same underlying intensity. "You’re captivating, little angel… even more so now that I’ve caught you."

Your stomach fluttered at his words, a confusing mix of emotions swirling inside you.

Without warning, he scooped you up under your thighs and lifted you effortlessly onto the table, your gasp of shock echoing in the small, dimly lit room. You were suddenly eye-level with him, your heart racing faster than before as he stepped in between your legs, creating an intoxicatingly intimate space that felt both thrilling and terrifying.

He paused for a moment, his eyes scanning your face, drinking in your reaction. “So delicate,” he murmured, almost to himself, as his hands began to roam over your body. His fingers trailed along the curve of your waist, brushing against your hips, and you couldn’t suppress the shiver that coursed through you. You tried to crawl backward on the table, instinctively seeking some distance, but he caught you effortlessly, pulling you back to him with a teasing grin.

“Where do you think you’re going, angel?” he flirted, his voice dripping with a mix of amusement and something darker. His gaze flickered to your lips, and for a moment, you felt exposed, vulnerable, caught in the web he had woven around you.

It would have been so easy to push him away, to tell him to stop, but something about the way he looked at you—the way his hands felt—made you hesitate. The alcohol coursing through your system muddied your thoughts, clouding your instincts. You could feel the heat radiating off him, and despite the fear that still lurked in the back of your mind, the undeniable thrill of his touch ignited something within you.

“Just let it happen,” he whispered, his breath warm against your ear. The way he spoke made it hard to remember why you should resist. He caressed your body with a gentle yet possessive touch, his fingers dancing along the edges of your costume, drawing little gasps from your lips.

Every nerve in your body was alive, thrumming with an intoxicating blend of fear and excitement. You could feel the weight of his gaze as he admired you, like he was a connoisseur appreciating a rare and beautiful piece of art. And in that moment, as he leaned in closer, brushing his lips against your neck, you felt a dangerous thrill run through you.

“Beautiful, captivating, and all mine,” he murmured, and despite the warning bells ringing in your head, a part of you couldn’t help but lean into him, drawn by the magnetic pull of his presence.

He leaned in closer, his intentions clear, but just as his lips hovered near yours, you instinctively pulled back, your heart racing. The space between you crackled with tension, the air thick with unspoken desires. His expression shifted, a flicker of surprise crossing his features, but it was quickly replaced with a devilish grin that made your pulse quicken.

“Why so shy, little angel?” he purred, his voice smooth like honey, laced with a hint of mischief. His fingers continued their gentle exploration, caressing your waist and hips, as if he were trying to erase any hesitation you felt. “I promise I don’t bite… unless you ask nicely.”

You swallowed hard, trying to gather your thoughts, but his proximity, his touch, and the way he spoke made it difficult to think clearly. It was as if he were weaving a spell around you, his words wrapping around your mind like silk. “You’re too beautiful to hide away,” he whispered in your ear, his breath warm and tantalizing. “Let me show you how much I appreciate this moment.”

It was almost enchanting, the way he sweet-talked you, making you feel like you were the only person in the world. “You’ve got nothing to fear from me,” he continued, his voice dipping lower, sending shivers down your spine. “I’m not gonna hurt you. I’m just… a man who sees beauty and wants to savor it.”

With each word, it felt as though he were tempting you deeper into a dark abyss, whispering sins and secrets that made your heart race. The way he looked at you, with those smoldering red eyes, made you feel both desired and vulnerable. You knew you should be scared, should push him away, but the allure of his words was intoxicating, wrapping around you like a comforting blanket.

“Just one kiss,” he urged softly, leaning in once more, his lips almost brushing against yours. “Just let go for a moment. Let me show you how it feels to embrace the darkness.”

You felt a pull towards him, a dangerous temptation. The combination of fear and thrill churned in your stomach, and as he continued to caress you, whispering sweetly in your ear, the line between right and wrong blurred even further. He was like a devil in disguise, enticing you to give in to your desires, to forget the world outside and just be lost in this moment with him.

You found yourself looking at him, your mind clouded with confusion and exhilaration. His red eyes sparkled as he gauged your reaction, and in that moment, you felt utterly entranced.

Taking your silence as encouragement, he leaned in again, his lips brushing softly against yours. This time, there was no hesitation, no pullback. The kiss was gentle yet electric, igniting a fire deep within you. You gasped softly, allowing yourself to melt against him as the world around you faded away.

His kiss deepened, becoming more insistent, and you instinctively wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer. He tasted like a mix of darkness and sweetness, a contradiction that left you craving more. Each movement felt like a dance of forbidden desires, and with every brush of his lips against yours, you felt yourself losing grip on reality.

As you kissed him back, the rush of adrenaline mingled with the thrill of desire, and you found yourself craving this closeness, this danger. His hands roamed your body, caressing your curves with an urgency that made your heart race even faster. You felt utterly consumed by him, a part of you surrendering to the wild rush of emotions.

He pulled back slightly, his lips barely inches from yours, his breath warm against your skin. “See?” he murmured, his voice low and sultry. “Wasn’t that worth it?”

Your heart raced as you looked into his eyes, caught in that captivating gaze. You didn’t know how to respond, your thoughts swirling in a delightful haze.

“You’re so beautiful when you’re lost in the moment,” he continued, brushing his thumb along your jawline, a smirk dancing on his lips. “Just let yourself be. Let go of the fear.”

A part of you knew this wasn’t a wise decision, that giving in could lead to trouble. But another part—the part ignited by the alcohol and his alluring presence—urged you to stay. You were drawn into his world, tempted by the darkness he offered, and you found yourself wanting more.

As he kissed you again, he took his time, his movements deliberate and enticing. You could feel his hands sliding slowly, his fingers deftly slipping your jacket off your shoulder, letting the fabric fall away to reveal more of your skin. The cool air sent shivers across your bare arms, but his touch quickly warmed you, as he rubbed your arms with a gentle yet possessive caress.

You gasped softly into the kiss, your heart pounding as his hand trailed down your body, finding the edge of your white lace stockings. With a teasing precision, he began to slip one down, his fingers gliding along your thigh and calf, sending waves of pleasure coursing through you. The delicate fabric pooled at your ankle, and you could feel the heat of his hand as he explored your skin, his touch both intoxicating and electrifying.

Meanwhile, his other hand found your waist, pulling you closer against him, your bodies flush with one another. You could feel the heat radiating from him, every contour of his form pressing into you, heightening your senses. He was skilled, his hands knowing exactly how to coax you into surrendering, and you could feel your resolve weakening with every caress.

“Such soft skin,” he murmured against your lips, his breath ghosting over you, causing a delightful shiver to ripple through your body. “It’s irresistible.”

You leaned into his touch, your breath hitching as his fingers danced along your thigh, tracing delicate patterns that made your heart race. His gaze locked onto yours, a fiery intensity in his eyes that made you feel as though he could see right through you, unearthing every desire you had buried deep down.

He pulled back just slightly, the heat of his gaze raking over you as he admired the way you responded to him, the way your body seemed to melt into his. “You’re stunning, you know,” he said, his voice thick with desire. “I could lose myself in you, little angel.”

You felt a flush creeping up your cheeks, the blend of shyness and excitement stirring something wild within you. Every word he uttered seemed to wrap around you, holding you captive in this moment. You wanted to resist; you knew you should. But the thrill of the chase, the intoxicating mix of fear and allure, made it hard to think clearly.

“Just let go,” he whispered again, his fingers finding the hem of your dress, teasing the edge. “Let me take care of you.”

His words sent a thrill down your spine, and you found yourself torn between desire and caution.

In one swift motion, he pulled you closer, flipping you over so your feet were back on the ground but your body was bent over the table, your heart racing with the unexpected shift. The fake corpse on the table loomed nearby, a bizarre reminder of where you were, but the adrenaline surged through your veins, heightening every sensation.

“Jay,” he said, his voice low and filled with a hint of mischief as his hand slid up your thigh to your waist, anchoring you to him. “Remember my name, little angel. You’ll want to scream it later.”

Your breath hitched at the way he spoke, a tantalizing mix of playful and dangerous that sent shivers down your spine. You felt the heat radiating off his body as he pressed closer, and the sheer intensity of the moment made your heart race faster. He seemed to revel in the power he held over you, and part of you loved it.

“What’s the matter?” he teased, his voice dripping with confidence. “Afraid of what might happen next?” His fingers danced over your waist, teasingly, just enough to make you squirm.

You bit your lip, feeling a mix of excitement and apprehension. “Maybe a little,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. The rush of fear blended with desire, creating an intoxicating cocktail that made your head spin.

Jay chuckled softly, leaning closer so you could feel the warmth of his breath against your ear. “You’re not alone in that. But I promise I’ll take good care of you.” He slipped his hand further up your waist, his fingers brushing the lace of your dress, before he pulled your dress up, his lips trailed down your neck, leaving a trail of butterflies in their wake. His fingers, gentle yet firm, worked their way under the lace of your panties, and you couldn't help but moan softly as he whispered, "So wet already for me?"

The sudden exposure to the cool air sent shivers down your spine, making your skin tingle with goosebumps. Your most private part, now on full display, felt vulnerable yet incredibly desirable. Jay's fingers, now coated and wet, teased the delicate folds, sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body.

"Mmm, yes," you whispered, your voice hoarse with desire. You couldn't help but arch your back, offering yourself more fully to his touch. The sensation of his fingers exploring your intimate depths was almost too much to bear, and you felt your body respond eagerly, welcoming his touch with each moan that escaped your lips.

"You're so beautiful like this, so open and ready for me," Jay murmured, his eyes locked on the exquisite sight before him. His fingers moved with a purposeful rhythm, stroking and caressing, bringing you to the brink of ecstasy.

As your moans grew louder, Jay's touch became more intense, his fingers plunging deeper, hitting all the right spots.

Jay's fingers, skilled and precise, continued their dance within your body, each thrust bringing you closer to the brink of bliss. Your moans, now more like desperate pleas, filled the room as you arched your back, offering yourself fully to his touch. The cold air on your exposed skin only heightened the intensity of his touch, making every stroke feel like an electric shock.

"You're so close, baby," he whispered, his voice hoarse with desire. "Let me take you there."

His fingers moved with a hypnotic rhythm, stroking and caressing, teasing and taunting. Every inch of your intimate recesses was explored, each touch sending shivers down your spine. You could feel yourself getting wetter, your muscles clenching around his fingers, eagerly welcoming each new sensation.

"Fucking hell, you feel so good," he groaned, his breath hot against your ear. "So tight, so warm."

As he spoke, his fingers picked up the pace, plunging deeper, hitting spots that made you buck your hips involuntarily. Your body trembled, on the cusp of another explosive release. You could feel the build-up, the pressure mounting, and with a final, desperate moan, you surrendered to the pleasure, your body convulsing in a powerful orgasm.

Jay's fingers stilled, and he held you close, letting you ride out the aftershocks. Your breath came in gasps, your heart pounding in your chest.

As you caught your breath, Jay's fingers remained gently nestled within your warmth, a silent promise of more to come. Your heart, still pounding from the intense orgasm, began to slow, and a peaceful calm settled over you.

Jay, ever the gentleman, gave you the space you needed to gather yourself, his eyes filled with a mixture of admiration and desire. He watched as you took slow, deep breaths, your chest rising and falling rhythmically.

Then, with a subtle shift in his movements, you felt the subtle change in the air. He'd unzipped his pants, and a moment later, with a subtle push, his pants and boxers dropped just enough to reveal his thick, pulsating cock.

The sight took your breath away once more.

Jay's gaze met yours, a silent question in his eyes. He wanted to know if you were ready, if you wanted him, just as he wanted you. And in that moment, there was no doubt in your mind.

You reached out, your fingers tracing the length of his cock, feeling the hardness, the warmth. Then, with a bold move, you took him in your hand, squeezing gently, letting him know that you wanted him just as much as he wanted you.

Jay's breath caught in his throat, and a low growl escaped his lips.

He was ready, more than ready.

The sensation of Jay slowly entering you was almost overwhelming. The stretch, the burn—it was intense, yet incredibly arousing. You could feel every inch of him, his thickness filling you, leaving no space untouched. Your body, so tight and willing, clenched around him, welcoming his presence.

As Jay whispered, "Being so good for me," his voice was filled with a mixture of lust and admiration. He understood the intensity of the moment, the delicate balance of pleasure and pain that you were experiencing. And in that instant, as his thick length was fully sheathed within you, you both groaned, your voices mingling in a symphony of desire.

Jay stood still, his body tense, his muscles quivering. He knew the power he held, the control he had over your body and your pleasure. And he wanted to savor this moment, to let you adjust to his size, to let your body embrace his.

"You can move," you breathed eventually, your voice soft yet filled with a hint of command. It was all the invitation Jay needed. With a deep growl, he pulled back, his thick cock sliding effortlessly out of you. The momentary emptiness sent shivers down your spine, only to be replaced by an even more intense sensation as he thrust back in, plunging deep, stretching you to your limits.

You gasped, your body arching backward as if in a silent plea for more. Your hands, frantically searching for something to grip, found no purchase on the smooth surface of the table. You were helpless, at Jay's mercy, and he knew it. With a tight grip on your hips, he pulled you towards him, claiming you as his own.

Jay's groans filled the room, a symphony of desire and pleasure. "God, you feel so fucking good," he panted, his voice hoarse with passion. "I've craved this, craved you, for so long." His words were a blur of lust and emotion, a declaration of his deepest desires. "I love you," he whispered, his breath hot against your neck, his voice trembling with intensity.

His thrusts became more frenzied, more urgent. Each stroke hit a different spot, sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body. You could feel his desire, his need, building with each movement. Jay was lost in the heat of the moment, his control slipping as his passion took over.

You, too, were lost in the whirlwind of sensations. The table dug into your belly as Jay's relentless pace had you trapped, unable to move. All you could do was surrender to the pleasure, let Jay take you to places you'd never been before.

The moment of intense pleasure was abruptly interrupted by the sound of familiar voices from beyond the wall. Jay, ever sensitive to the potential intrusion, stilled, his cock suspended inside you, as he heard the distinct sound of your friend, Rei.

"Noooo…" you slurred, frustration evident in your voice. You had been so close to the peak, so close to an unimaginable high, and now this unexpected interruption had robbed you of your moment.

"Shhh, my sweet angel," Jay whispered, his breath warm against your ear. He leaned over you, his body close, his chest heaving with the effort of holding back his own desire. "Listen," he urged, his voice low and intense.

Your heart was pounding in your ears as you strained to hear what Jay was listening to. Then, through the walls of the secret room, you heard the distinct voices of your friends. Rei's voice was clear, "Look, her shoe is here! That means she's close by." Your eyes widened at the realization that your friends were right outside, searching for you.

You remembered the heel you'd lost in your frantic escape, the one that now served as a telltale sign of your proximity. "Shit," you muttered, your voice barely above a whisper.

Jay's hand covered your mouth. "Shhh," he whispered again. "You don't want them to hear you, do you?"

You shook your head, your eyes wide in panic. You knew that if your friends heard, they'd know exactly where you were and what you were doing.

Jay's hand moved from your mouth to your hip, and with a low growl, he began to thrust again. The movement was slow and deliberate, almost torturous in its slowness, as if he were daring your friends to hear.

You bit your lip, trying to muffle the moans that threatened to escape. Your body was on fire, the sensation of Jay's cock filling you almost too much to bear. You could feel the heat building, the pressure mounting, and with each slow, deliberate thrust, you teetered closer to the edge.

And then, as if on cue, you heard Rei's voice again, closer this time. "She can't be far. Let`s keep searching."

Jay's thrusts became more intense, more purposeful, as if he were challenging you to keep quiet, daring you to hold back your moans. But with each powerful stroke, your body responded, your desire growing with every thrust.

You bit your lip, your eyes squeezed shut, as if that could muffle the sounds of your pleasure. The tears that blurred your vision were a mix of frustration, desire, and a hint of fear—fear that your friends would discover your secret, fear that this moment of intense passion would be interrupted.

Jay's breathing grew heavier, his grunts and groans a contrast to your silent pleas. He knew the effect he was having on you, and he wanted to push you further, to test your limits. His hand slid down your body, his fingers tracing the curves of your hips, then dipping lower, finding the spot that sent shivers down your spine.

With a low, groan he began to tease your clit, his touch light yet firm. Your body jerked, your hips pushing against his hand, seeking more, needing more.

You tried to hold back, to muffle your cries, but the pleasure was too much. Your moans escaped in broken whispers, your body arching towards him, begging for more. The wet sounds of your passion filled the room, a silent invitation for your friends to discover your secret.

Jay's eyes flashed with a mix of lust and triumph. He knew he had you exactly where he wanted, and he wasn't about to let up. His strokes became more frenzied, more urgent, each one bringing you closer to the edge.

Jay's thrusts quickened, his hand gripping your hip tighter. "Come for me, angel," he whispered, his voice rough with desire. "Let them hear you. Let them know what they're missing."

And then, with a loud, muffled shout, you came. The orgasm ripped through you, a powerful wave that left you breathless and weak. Your body convulsed, your back arching as you surrendered to the intense pleasure. Jay's hand covered your mouth, his fingers pressing gently against your lips, muffling your cries as he bit down on your neck, his teeth grazing your skin.

His groans mingled with your muffled shouts, a symphony of pleasure that filled the room.

Just as your body began to relax, to recover from the intense pleasure, Jay's strokes became deeper, more forceful. He drove into you, his cock throbbing within your tight channel, and with a deep, moan, he came. His hot seed filled you, a warm rush that sent shivers down your spine. You could feel it pulsing within you.

As Jay's thrusts slowed, his breathing heavy and ragged, you could feel his hand gently caressing your cheek.

With a slow, deliberate motion, Jay withdrew from your body, his eyes locked with yours. You couldn't help but gasp as you felt the warm trail of his cum dripping down your thigh.

As you looked behind you, Jay ripped off a portion of his shirt, the sound of fabric tearing filling the room. Without a word, he began to wipe you down, his rough palms gently caressing your skin, cleaning the evidence of your love-making.

His touch was tender, almost reverent, as he carefully pulled your panties back up, his fingers grazing your sensitive skin. You could feel the heat of his breath on your neck, his presence close as he tended to you.

Once you were cleaned and dressed, Jay turned his attention to himself. With a quick movement, he tucked himself back in, pulling his boxers and pants up.

With a gentle smile, Jay extended his hand toward you. "Come," he said, his voice soft and inviting, a stark contrast to the playful danger he had exuded earlier. "Let’s get you out of here."

You hesitated for just a moment, then placed your hand in his. His touch was warm, reassuring, and you let him guide you through the winding halls of the haunted house.

Eventually, he led you to a discreet backdoor, away from the chaos and noise of the attraction.

As the cool night air hit your skin, you breathed in deeply, feeling grounded once more. Jay looked at you, his sharp features softened by the moonlight.

Before he could say anything, you acted on impulse. You grabbed him by the collar and pulled him into a deep, passionate kiss. Jay responded immediately, his arms slipping around your waist as he kissed you back with equal intensity, his lips warm and firm against yours.

When you finally pulled back, your breaths mingling in the cool air, you noticed the faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. Jay’s eyes glinted with amusement, and he touched your cheek gently, his thumb brushing your skin.

“That was… unexpected,” he murmured, his voice low and filled with affection.

You couldn’t help but smile back at him, your heart still racing from the kiss. “I had to,” you whispered, feeling a mix of shyness and boldness.

Jay chuckled softly, his hand lingering on your cheek for just a moment longer before he stepped back. “I’m glad you did.”

There was a shared silence between you, comfortable and charged, but you both knew this was where the night ended. With one last smile, he nodded at you. “Take care, little angel.”

You smiled, feeling a strange warmth in your chest as you watched him turn and walk back in. With a deep breath, you took one last glance at the haunted house behind you, then made your way back to find your friends.

[kenzdolls]

relationship headcanons with mr. compress pretty please with cherry on top <33 thank u !! >ᴗ< ♡

answer: of course, thank you for your support + the commission!! (˶◜ᵕ◝˶)

𝐌𝐑. 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐒 𝐑𝐄𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐏 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍𝐒:

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬: 𝐚𝐭𝐬𝐮𝐡𝐢𝐫𝐨 𝐬𝐚𝐤𝐨 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫, 𝐦𝐫. 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫, 𝐟𝐥𝐮𝐟𝐟

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐦𝐫. 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐱 𝐯𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐧! 𝐠𝐧! 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

MEETING MR. COMPRESS:

he’s immediately intrigued by your quirk. he sees it as an art form, just like his own. he’ll watch you use it during operations, analyzing the nuances, the precision, and the creative applications, making silent commentary in his head by appreciating your skill, and giving you tips.

he’s a gentleman, even to fellow villains. expect a bow, a flourish of his hat, and a charming introduction. he’ll remember your name perfectly.

he’ll make a point of engaging you in conversation, usually about strategy, technique, or the finer points of villainy. he wants to know what makes you tick, and subtly gauge your ambition.

he might test you, not in a malicious way, but to see how you think on your feet. expect sudden questions during planning sessions. "hypothetically, if our escape route is compromised, what's your immediate plan?" he's observing your resourcefulness.

if you're injured, he will (very discreetly) make sure you get the best care available within the league. he’s not going to fuss over you, but he'll use his connections to ensure you're patched up properly.

MR. COMPRESS CRUSHING ON YOU:

he starts paying extra attention to your appearance. not in a creepy way, but he notices the details. he’ll internally admire your sense of style. like, if he got you a gift, it would be something you would wear.

he finds excuses to be near you. he’ll offer to assist you with your assignments, or provide a "second opinion" on your plans, when in reality, he just wants to spend time with you.

his jokes get slightly more frequent and a little more…suggestive- but he keeps it classy, of course. expect witty banter and playful teasing, always with a hint of a deeper meaning.

he might start "collecting" little mementos related to you. Not in a stalkerish way! maybe a item from your quirk, or a discarded sketch if you're artistic. He keeps them hidden, treasures of his affection.

he'll start subtly incorporating elements of your style or quirk into his own performances and illusions. it’s a tribute to you, a way to keep you close to him.

he might offer you a rare glimpse behind the mask – not literally, but he'll share stories from his past, or his artistic philosophy. he’s letting you see the real atsuhiro sako, just a little bit.

DATING MR. COMPRESS:

dates are elaborate and theatrical. think rooftop dinners with a hidden view of the city, private performances tailored to your tastes, or a meticulously planned heist of a priceless artifact...just for the thrill of it.

he’s a master of romantic gestures, but always with a villainous twist. he might "compress" a bouquet of roses into a perfect sphere, or steal a star from the sky (a perfectly safe illusion, of course) to give it to you.

PDA is rare, but incredibly meaningful. a stolen glance, a lingering touch, a quiet word in your ear during a chaotic battle – these small moments speak volumes.

he’s fiercely protective of you. anyone who threatens you will face his wrath, delivered with elegance and surgical precision.

he is surprisingly open and vulnerable with you. he trusts you with his secrets, his fears, and his hopes. he knows you understand the darkness within him, and he can be his true self with you.

he loves to hear you talk about your quirk, your ambitions, and your plans. he genuinely appreciates your talent and vision. he’s your biggest fan, but also— your most honest critic.

he’s fascinated by your perspective on the world. he values your input and seeks your advice on everything from strategy to aesthetics. he sees you as his equal, his partner, and his muse.

he’ll compress little things that remind you of him into little trinkets for you to have, like a small figurine representing his mask.

Hs is an amazing listener. he remembers even the smallest details about you, and uses them to surprise and delight you.

he’s not jealous, really. he trusts you too much to go there, however, he will be possessive and will keep a close eye on anyone who seems too close to you. he will never tell you of this.

he’ll teach you new tricks and techniques with your quirk, pushing you to explore its full potential. he helps you become an even more formidable villain.

© 𝐊𝐄𝐍𝐙𝐃𝐎𝐋𝐋𝐒 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟓 —

[half-dead-writer]

Wallace wells x transmasc bottom with a praise kink PLSPLSPLSSS

I was this 🤏 close to making it myself so YES OFC!! I tried my best writing Wallace but I feel like I could've made him better :( I included reader wearing a binder instead of having a top surgery because surprisingly there's not a lot fics about that! that was hell of a write, straight 4 days of writing, my longest fic yet - there may be some errors along the way, I really wanted to finally finish it lmao anyways, enjoy!!

I Wanna Ruin Our Friendship

A drunk escapade with you makes Wallace rethink his opinion on Sparks

character: Wallace Wells (Scott Pilgrim Takes Off)

words: ~7,6k

reader: transmasc (with a praise kink)

warnings: drunk sex, reader smokes and didn't have a top surgery yet

𝔯𝔲𝔩𝔢𝔰 + 𝔪𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱 / 𝔖𝔠𝔬𝔱𝔱 𝔓𝔦𝔩𝔤𝔯𝔦𝔪 𝔗𝔞𝔨𝔢𝔰 𝔒𝔣𝔣 𝔪𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱

"Really, you came with me to the club just so you could not drink?" The alcohol in Wallace's hand was already being sloshed around in the fancy glass.

Today Wallace had asked you to accompany him to the recently opened club down the road. Your opinion of such places isn't really positive - a lot of strangers come there, some not as accepting as Wallace. You promised to walk with him to the place, mainly just curious how it looks like. You didn't plan on actually staying, but you thought taking a quick look inside wouldn't hurt. Of course, you should have expected this would happen.

"When was even the last time we properly hung out like that," he took a nonchalant sip of his Martini, "without Scott to bother us with random Sonic facts?"

Wallace knew full well that you wouldn't be able to refuse his offer once you actually got there. The place was steadily bustling with life, blue and pink strobe lights were dancing across the the dimly lit room. You were not used to being in places like this, in contrary to your friend, who you imagined spent most of his time in such setting.

"When was the last time you've been sober through the entire week?" Your intention wasn't really to shame him, instead just engaging in a playful banter.

"Don't change the topic, guy," he squinted his eyes in amusement, "or I'll start thinking you don't actually like my company," he quipped back with a sly smirk.

You rolled your eyes lightheartedly, leaning more on the bar you've been sitting by, "I didn't bring any money," you started, hoping he'd get the hint. Whether he would let you go or pay for your drink, it'd be a win-win situation.

"Poor you, huh," he raised his eyebrow in a feigned surprise, "why do I always land on leeches?"

You exhaled through your nose, amused, "so what do you wanna drink hm?" He asked, calmly taking out his wallet. It took you a moment to think of something.

"How about..." you scanned over the menu, a colorful drink caught your interest "Mango Mimosa?"

"Looking at the pretty pictures for help with choosing," he commented, finishing his own drink in one swig. "Classy."

"How the hell do you choose then?" You smiled, furrowing your brows in confusion.

"By trying each one in order, of course," he smirked, you weren't sure to what extend he was joking. He raised his hand to get the attention of the barman, "One Mango Mimosa and Martini this way!" You observed as the barman's hands moved in a smooth motion, spilling the alcohol into previously taken out glasses and decorating them with some enrichment. A slice of orange was set on the edge of your drink, Wallace got a fancy olive stabbed by a cocktail stick in his. He put the cash on the counter, "thanks, you're a dear." He winked the male barman's way, making the other avert his gaze in a hurry.

You took the glass into your hand, moved by the urge to get some alcohol into you. You got used to Wallace flirting with any males he considered cute, it was a package deal when it came to hanging out with him. What bothered you wasn't his ability to get game, but rather what you couldn't have. Contrary to how you usually acted around him, you really cared about Wallace.

You originally met him through Scott, your old classmate. You had only spent one school year with the ginger-haired man, but you were good friends while it lasted. Unfortunately, after the graduation you had to move out. Even though the circumstances were not ideal, you still somewhat kept in touch with him through messages. You knew he was now living in Toronto, had a girlfriend (who apparently had 7 evil exes??) and shared a house with a "cool gay roommate". The mention of that got you a bit curious. You were pretty gay yourself, so you hoped to make a new friend. It just so happened that the future had you moving into the same town your ex-classmate lived, and it kinda went from there. Scott greeted you with open arms, excited to see you again. You were also happy by reconnecting with an old friend.

Everything was going smooth, until the roommate he told you about moved from his sitting place to greet you as well.

"Y/N, hm?" He shifted his weight onto one leg, placing a hand on his hip. His eyes checked you up and down, making you extremely uneasy. Scott's vibe was always very unthreatening, which let you chill out around him really easily. This man, however, had the most intimidating aura. He was so- casually pretty, and had the calm conviction in his moves that you found really attractive. You felt unprepared to handle the situation, stopping in your tracks to just stare at him for a moment. He cocked his eyebrow to your silence, finally forcing you take action.

"Yes," you quickly responded, covering your lack of nonchalance with a smile, "... Scott's cool gay roommate?" You tried to ease the tension forming around you with a lighthearted remark.

"Been called that from time to time" he relaxed his face, offering a calm smirk, "I see you've also been charmed by Scott's amazing social skills, huh?"

'I've been charmed by you', you admitted to yourself in your mind.

"I'd say my social skills are... --tend to vary, starting from average." Scott's voice reminded you of his existence, the past few seconds of your life were occupied by the image of this god-sent man.

The first impressions had you feeling shier than usual, frankly just feeling dominated by his presence. You were mostly counting on Scott to keep you safe from being on one on one with him. The thought of Wallace, alone in the room with you made anxious.

Of course, after some time, you stopped putting him on the pedestal and making scary assumptions. Just because you considered him cool didn't mean he would be rude or a stuck up to you. Quite the opposite, even if his disposition was a bit blunt and bold, more often than not, you thought that he was on the same level as you. He respected you, and even shared a few gossips that you found fairly entertaining. At some point it even looked as if you were better friends with him than Scott. That let you embrace the casual bicker with him on occasions, which none of you minded. One thing that you disliked about Wallace was his common flirting with random boys he found attractive. It bothered you, because he also flirted with you.

When it first happened, it had you lovestruck. You weren't ready to digest that compliment yet, though, and your reaction painted you quite awkward. Wallace brushed it off, not minding the lack of reciprocation to the flirt. Your friendship remained casual, and as the time passed, it made more sense as to why you received such attention. Wallace was bit of a fuckboy. It wasn't hard to see him with another boy by the end of the week. Of course, you had no business in what he wants to do, and you weren't about to judge your own friend for having fun. Your relationship remained casual and relatively close, but that fact forced you to push back your hopes of actually getting together with him. Not mentioning the obvious sex difference. Even though you were confidently self-assured about being a man, an opinion Wallace also shared about you, you still compared yourself to his suitors as "less than".

"C'mon, loosen up a little. You're with your dear, handsome friend Wallace who's paying for your drink," he swished the Martini while boosting his own ego.

You rolled your eyes, "I am loose," you huffed out, pretending offense while taking a sip of your drink.

"Yeah, sure, and I'm straight." Wallace replied back, grinning at you. "Your shoulders look like you're about to have a stick shoved up your butt with how stiff you are right now."

The colorful description made you laugh, earning a satisfied smile from him.

"Lighten up, guy, it's just me and you, hanging out. Nothing out of ordinary, except that we're at a club," he pointed out, trying to chase your doubts.

"Yeah, yeah, alright," you gave in, taking the slice of orange placed on the edge of your drink and biting into it.

"So, any interesting news to tell me?" He rested his chin, leaning on his palm with all of his attention pointed at you.

"Mm, not really. Work sucks, per usual," you respond, bored with how uneventful your life is.

"Yeah, gossip from my side's gotta be the usual. Scott's still dating Ramona, they're as happy as ever, blah blah blah." He informed with a bored look on his face.

"How about you, huh? Which boytoy of the week you got your hands on now?" You ask casually, only slightly interested. Wallace wouldn't notice the angst-touched connotations of this question.

He took another sip of his martini, the alcohol making his cheeks flush a bit, "I realized I'm too beautiful for the majority of people, they don't deserve a taste of me. I'm taking a break for now."

You were surprised, you didn't actually expect Wallace to "get a break" from having fun, as he usually put it. Somehow, this info made you loosen up a little. You stopped with the idle drinking, finishing the rest of the drink in one chug. The warmth hitting your throat made you aware of how relaxed the alcohol finally colored you.

"Wow, I really feel special," you joked, a smile tugging your lips.

"You bet," he smirked, following your steps and disappearing the liquid in his glass as well. The percentages in his system also began to take course, making him more prone to smiling. "Barman, one more Martini and Mango Mimosa!"

You didn't even try to stop him, patiently awaiting your next dose of the courage liquid, ignoring the loud party music that easily pierced through your ears. You didn't have to wait long, the drink came into your hand quickly. The conversation was cut by both of you trying to feed more alcohol into your system.

"Wanna go out for a smoke?" You suggested, an easy way out when the activities on a party seem limited.

"Sure, why not." he shrugged, taking his Martini. You took the opportunity to hold his hand while searching for the exit from the big crowd of people, the feeling you'd treasure after this meeting. Wallace had no objections. Outside was a relatively secluded part of the club with certainly less people. A small, wooden bench and a table awaited, perfect for you to sit on. Wallace positioned himself comfortably, putting your drinks on the table. You leaned against his body slightly, an action easily explainable by the size of the bench.

"Ever heard of personal space?" He pointed out the close proximity, bu from the tone of his voice you assumed he wasn't serious. He readjusted himself so that your body would comfortably fit into his.

"Here," you passed him a pack of cigarettes after taking out one for yourself, his fingers lazily grabbed the object. You dug out a lighter out of your pocket, handing it to him. He let the smoke from the cigarette explore his lungs for a second, returning you the item after.

You felt pretty comfortable with the situation, which beckoned the playfulness to visit you. You put the cigarette in your mouth, straightening it while near his face. A smile tugging on your lips curved it a little. He noticed you approaching, quickly getting the hint.

"You know you can just use your lighter, right?" He sounded like he was complaining, yet still, he put the poor excuse of a pocky into his mouth. His face features got well lit by the little fire born from your cigarettes. The reflection was exceptionally pretty in his eyes, accentuating his slightly flushed cheeks, right next to a smirk on his lips. You blew out the smoke that's been uncomfortably residing in you for too long, holding in the need to cough. Wallace was surprisingly kind enough not to comment on it.

"It's more fun to do it this way," you were finally able to respond. He returned to his lazy sitting position, sprawled out on the bench, lazily holding the cig between his fingers. You dared to lean your head on his shoulder, sight pointed up, looking at the sky.

"Look at you, bein' all affectionate and clingy now," he mimicked your typical bickering session, adding touch of suave. "You're not usually like this."

"I can stop if you want," you threatened to take away the privilege of your warmth half-serious, an attempt to hide the embarrassment in you.

Wallace raised an eyebrow at the statement, a drunk smirk still persistent on his lips. "And why would I want you to stop? I'm just sayin' that you don't usually get this touchy. I don't mind you being close to me, guy."

The comment made your stomach feel butterflies. You knew your perception of his answer probably differed a lot from how he originally meant to say it, but the false hope was too strong for you to ignore.

"...Cool." You felt a smile that you couldn't stop creeping up. Wallace pushed the smoke out of his lips once more, "yep, pretty cool." He switched the cigarette into his other hand, moving his unoccupied arm around you in a way that rendered you as a nice armrest. You welcomed the sudden change of the position, entangling yourself in a way where both of you were comfortable. It was the first time you and Wallace were practically cuddled up, you thanked yourself for choosing to stay in the club.

"Damn, you're seriously hopeless when it comes to hiding your lack of human touch. It's kinda cute, in a pathetic way." His playful mockery hit you like a lightning.

"What's that supposed to mean?" You shot your eyes at him, halfly in disbelief of what you heard, halfly embarrassed at his statement being completely true.

"It means you don't have the guts to ask for a hug yet you still cling to me like a damn koala."

"Well- would you do it if I asked?" You lightly tested the waters.

"I dunno, try it." He flashed you his teeth in a cocky smile after putting out his used cigarette on the ashtray. You passed him your cigarette butt after the last use, buying some time before the big decision. He threw it away as well.

"...Do you wanna hug me, then?" You asked, convinced that you wouldn't be faced with rejection, at least judging by his tone. You were technically already pretty cuddled up, but there was still some space left between you.

"Yeah, guy, come here," he requested, (or more like commanded) patting his lap and raising his arm so you could get up. You could feel yourself getting warm, hoping Wallace would assume the flush look of yours was caused by alcohol. The short moment of clarity made you take a look around you, judging your current whereabouts. There weren't many people around, most of what you heard was some conversation and the music coming out of the club in the distance. Your little corner was secluded already, so you didn't need to worry about acting inappropriate in public (unlike some of the people here). You raised your hips, carefully making contact with his lap. You worried about being too heavy for him, but he didn't show any signs of discomfort. He locked his hands together, catching you in his embrace, his smile a looking a bit funny due to the percentages in his system.

Even though the act seemed fairly friendly and casual, you couldn't help but focus on the tension that's been lurking around you two. You weren't sure if it was just your wishful thinking, or did Wallace seem really open to being extra affectionate with you, but you couldn't believe how much of an effect it had on you, especially drunk. You felt as if the stars finally aligned.

"Any more requests, Y/N? I'm feelin' generous." Somehow the simple act of him saying your name made you even more flustered. Still going along with your (alleged) delusions, you thought Wallace's stare differed from the ones he gave you previously. You were usually relatively good at recognising Wallace's expressions and the meaning behind them, knowing him for some time now gave you this insight. He reserved the special, sultry-flavored looks only for the victims of his flirting, and right now you had a hard time convincing yourself you were the witness of it to such extent.

The hesitation in your voice made itself known, making you wait a second before Wallace could hear your response. "Yeah? ... How about a kiss then?" You made sure to hide your eagerness in a layer of playful tone, just in case he noticed your lack of nonchalance about the question. He squinted his eyes, letting out a small huff of amusement.

"Bold, I like that," his eyes fell on your face, which has been heating up pretty quick. Unsurprisingly, his gaze trailed right down to your lips, raising his hand to cup your cheek. You instinctively closed your eyes, the feeling of his lips touching yours became more intense. For a moment you thought you got a little sick due to the alcohol and the strong emotions coursing through you. You weren't sure how much time you spend pressing your lips together, but you assumed it wasn't nearly as long as you felt it was. You were the first to let go, anxiety made you overwhelmed by the length of the kiss, which made you worried about looking too into it.

Suddenly, Sparks.

You saw them, clear as day, which in all honesty wasn't that surprising. You knew you had it bad for him. Wallace opened up his eyes that were previously closed as well, the expression on his face was hard to read. He looked- surprised, but also confused. Did that mean he saw them as well?

You looked- shaken up. But in a good way. He smoothly got over the initial surprise, his hand fixed the stray strand of hair that fell loosely on your face when you pulled away from the kiss. "Come on, handsome, a kiss should last more than a few seconds," he insisted, enjoying every bit of your current expression. He seemed way more eager in comparison to the last one. That sentence had you absolutely going back in.

The next kissing session definitely felt more intense. Wallace knew how to kiss, that was clear. His thumb was gently brushing against your face in soft strokes, adding even more overwhelming sensations, along with his other hand that was busy slowly rubbing your back. It didn't take long for the shy make-out to turn into full-blown exchange of spit. Wallace made the first move of letting his tongue graze your lips, making you part them almost immediately. Granted this opportunity, his tongue explored the corners of your mouth in just slightly sloppy manner. You both were drunk, after all.

You weren't sure what to do with your hands, finally choosing to place them on his shoulders. Wallace continued to graze your back with his heavenly touch, eventually going lower. His hand snaked under your shirt just slightly, the fabric covered his fingertips. The feeling of his cold hand made you shiver and straighten up slightly, breaking the kiss. Wallace looked at you, making sure you're still in on it.

"What is it? Do you need to stop?" His hand still stayed idly on your skin, even though he didn't look up to stopping, he still took the time to check if you're feeling okay with the situation.

"No, you're just making me-" You weren't actually sure why you even continued speaking after 'no', feeling the regret of not keeping your mouth shut almost immediately.

"Making you what?" The playful, sultry look was once again apparent in his expression.

"I'm drunk! ... You're gonna make me," You mumbled the last part, trying to save yourself from even more embarrassment,

"...horny"

You were fully aware of not being able to recover from that. Wallace raised his eyebrow, visibly amused at your attempt to salvage your dignity.

"I mean, Is that a bad thing?"

He leaned in even closer, not being able to take his eyes off of your flustered face. "If I'm bein' 'onest- I'm pretty damn turned on right now too. But, of course, if you wanna stop, I'll totally respect that."

The honesty in Wallace's words had you stunned. You never imagined being in this situation, drunk, making out with your best friend, in public. It scared you a little, but you would rather die than stop right now. "N-no, I wanna continue. But, maybe not here?" You pointed out the lack of privacy around you.

"You're right, I think we should head home," he concluded, untangling his arms from you, "Scott is sleepovering at Ramona's so my house's free." The nonchalance in his voice had you impressed.

"Alright," you said, getting off from his lap, lightly adjusting your clothes after. You were so busy with everything that happened that you forgot about your Mimosa. You both finished your drinks in quick gulps, leaving the glasses on the table. As you made your way out of the loud club, the gravity of this moment fell on you like a bag of bricks. Were you gonna actually hook up with Wallace? Is this where you're heading to? You felt incredibly anxious and excited.

The walk remained quiet, but Wallace didn't seem to treat it as uncomfortable silence. He just walked straight, enjoying the scenery around you. You wished you could say the same. Most of your mind was filled with predictions of how the night is gonna turn out. A feeling of a warm hand touching yours pulled you away from the intrusive thoughts. Wallace didn't even need to do much to have you wrapped around his finger. The gesture made you calm down a little, which made you actually slow down and appreciate the calm atmosphere of the night. The street lamps made your figures cast a big shadow on the ground, fully showing your connected silhouette together.

You barely noticed the distance you walked, it seemed like just a moment before you were already standing by the entrance to his house. Wallace let go of your hand to get the keys that have been buried deep in his pocket. The doors opened after a short while of fighting with the lock. He turned on the light, letting you come in. The house was dead quiet, the only sound being your footsteps as you followed after him. Frankly, you didn't know what to expect.

Wallace turned to look at you, a sly yet playful smile plastered on his face. "Welcome to my humble abode," he still tried to keep the mood lighthearted and silly, clearly in a good mood. He gestured around the room with his free hand.

...As if I wasn't here before," your playful snark returned for at least a moment. Even if you had these intense feelings for him, he was still your best friend, always able to get the fun side out of you.

His laughter hit your ears in the most pleasant way. He shrugged, conceding to your point. "Yeah, tha's true. You've been here before," he admitted, taking a few steps closer to you. "But there's somethin' different about the atmosphere now, isn't there?"

"..Aa lot of alcohol, probably." There was no use of hiding what you two already did and were about to do, but as a final resort, you tried to at least put a playful spin on it.

Wallace chuckled, finding your quip amusing. "Yeah, alcohol probably has somethin' to do with it," he agreed. "But there's more, right?"

"What- what are you implying?"

"Y/N, I'm not gonna pretend as if I don't see you drooling over me."

A wave of extreme tension in your body had you frozen for a good moment - he knew?

"I- Wow, okay-" you tried your best to let out a nonchalant chuckle, which came out sounding more like a stressed cackle, "I guess- I guess the cat is out of the bag now huh-" His expression softened ever so slightly, your reactions were just too pathetic for him to keep pushing you. He moved even closer to you, making your body instinctively move back into the wall. "Wait- If you knew, why didn't you tell me?"

"I waited for you to have the guts to tell me, but I guess you had to be helped with that a little."

You honestly didn't know whether to be ashamed, angry, or relieved.

"And," he continued, "now that it's out there, I can say I waited a long time to find myself in this situation. So," he left your side for a moment to lock the doors, "you wanna continue what we left off?"

You were eager to respond with a confident yes, but before that, you had to make sure you were on the same page. "This... isn't like your usual boytoy hookup situation, right...?"

The boldness drained from his face for a moment, his expression softened to get a bit more sincere. "No, of course not. You're my best friend." He embraced you with one of his arm, pulling you closer. He got uncharacterestically hesitant before speaking again. "...Potentially more."

The last two words made your eyes widen rapidly, you surely misheard him?

"You're- serious?"

"Yes, I'm serious," he didn't break the eye contact with you for a second, prefering to lay it on thick, "unless I'm totally wasted, and imagining things, but-"

"I saw Sparks. I questioned if they're even real-" He added, sounding as if he doesn't believe them himself. You could not contain your excitement after Wallace mentioned exactly what you wanted him to say.

"I saw them too!" You chimed in, finally letting your inner thoughts out. That admission made Wallace's smile even wider than he did before.

"I'm glad we're on the same page then,", he used his other hand to turn your chin towards his face. "You look so fucking hot," he tried his best so his speech wouldn't slur. The sentence rang in your head, making you freeze during the moment when Wallace collided his lips with yours again. In no time, his palm was on your side again, swiftly travelling under your shirt to touch the goosebumps covered skin. An involuntary moan forced it's way out of you due to Wallace's tongue invading your mouth. In the current moment, you could be his bitch forever.

You supported yourself by leaning on the wall behind you, Wallace taking up almost all of your view by now. Despite the cigarette flavor of his tongue mixed with the potent alcohol perfume clouding your senses, you managed to hear a request coming from the other boy.

"Let's move," he whispered, taking your hand and leading you to his favorite chair. Feeling like a lovestruck teenager, you mindlessly followed. He seated himself comfortably, pulling you on his lap. His eyes showed unrestricted eagerness, not even trying to hide how much he was enjoying himself. You felt overwhelmed at the ease in which Wallace could fire you up with just his usual way of being. The proximity between you two got almost nonexistent, his bangs tickled you slightly as he moved closer. The sensation got overshadowed by his lips sucking a sensitive spot on your neck, causing you to half-whimper. The noise cringed you internally, you were still not used to calling Wallace your official boyfriend, so this slip-up felt like a vulnerable response to your give your best friend. Wallace would not pass up the opportunity to comment on it.

"Awh, don't be embarrassed," he stopped to smirk, "that sound you made was adorable." Wallace's teasing wasn't an uncommon thing among you two on the regular, but the way his words were currently coated with a playful banter and visible desire could just melt you right then and there.

The shallow pants of yours echoing in his ears turned sharper as he continued to trail a line of hickeys on your skin. You squirmed on his crotch, not being able to control the way your body acted. Wallace lightly dug his fingers into your thigh during the pleasant friction. It didn't take long for you to feel the obvious change of your seat under you. Wallace's arousal was making itself known in the most straightforward display. He noticed the way your body tensed, "Like what you see?" He half-lidded his eyes, searching for more of that coy expression he loved seeing on you.

"...Shut up." You chuckled tiredly, hiding the flustered smile in the crook of his neck.

"Really? I thought you liked me talking." He grinned, "guess I will shut up then..."

"Well-"

"Ah, you want compliments only, don't you?" You must have been a glass window with how easily he could see right through you to be able to respond so fast.

"Who doesn't, Wallace?" you tried to fight back, making his amused smirk wider.

"If you keep acting like a good boy, I'll call you one - deal?"

You didn't trust your voice to answer with a required nonchalance, so you just nodded.

"I need words, Y/N" He squinted, testing you.

"I- I will." You raised your head to look at him, trying hard not to avert your gaze.

"Good boy," he purred, letting a grin contort the corners of his lips. "Now why don't you take care of that?"

Wallace didn't have to wait long for your curious hand to slowly travel down his zipper. You were really about to see his dick, and it stressed you out a little. The torturous tempo of your movements made Wallace impatient, "it ain't gonna bite, guy."

"Shush, I know!" You retorted, feeling your cheeks heat up. After that remark, you made sure to finish freeing him pretty fast. A sight you probably imagined a few times in your mind, yet never in a million years expected to see in real life. He couldn't ignore your gaze almost drilling a hole into his groin. As a man who paid great attention to self-care, of course he kept himself well-trimmed.

"Go ahead, touch me," his command got stuck in your mind. Your fingers hesitantly traced the shape of his member, getting used to the girth and warmth of it.

"You ever gave a handie to anyone?" The blunt words were nothing new coming from Wallace. You shook your head. "That's fine, I'll teach you." He spread his legs more comfortably, leaning into the chair and resting his arm on your thigh. He guided you to mimic the pace he liked. You made a mental note of his technique, it wasn't hard to follow.

"Just like that" he eased his breath, releasing a relaxed sigh and letting go off your hand. "You're doing pretty good."

The strong focus on the motion made you forget your previous worries, a need to pleasure him was your sole objective. A few drops of precum that gathered on his tip betrayed how much he enjoyed himself.

"Mm, alright, that's enough." You stopped upon hearing his words, looking up for further instructions. "Go lay on the futon."

You did as he told, quietly pleased at how casual yet commanding his voice could get. He got up from his chair, towering above you with an obviously visible erection, most importantly, caused by you. He took a moment to admire the sight before him. You were too occupied by the look on his face to think of anything smart to say. A smug look on his face warned you just before you felt his knee rub against your crotch. He had no troubles getting sounds out of you.

"I wanna see you. Can I take off your shirt?" Wallace broke the silence. The need in his voice showed clearly, yet he still managed to sound confident.

"I'm... You wanna see me?" You hesitated, not wanting to ruin the fun, yet feeling incredibly insecure with the topic like that.

"In return, I'll let you see some of me," he winked, completely serious about the exchange.

"But I'm not- flat, you know?" You muttered out, completely accepting the fact that Wallace had probably seen countless of pretty men to compare you to.

"Y/N, don't look too much into it." He started, A chest is a chest. I couldn't care less if you got a bit of manboobs going on." You scrunched your face a little in an embarrassed smile, looking away. "You could always put the shirt back on if my skills won't be able to persuade you otherwise," he looked pleased after seeing your approval nod.

His fingertips moved the shirt up and you raised your arms to help it go over your head. He didn't comment on the binder you wore, quickly coming up with a way to rid you of it. You appreciated not being tightly squeezed by the fabric anymore, but the slightly cold air hitting your skin had you feeling very exposed. The hesitation reflected in your eyes quite visibly, making you hold your breath. "Well, the shirt's off - and you still look tasty," his attempt at flustering you obviously worked - no matter what crude thing he said, he could pull it off entirely.

To continue with the theme, his tongue moved down to your collarbones, then lazily fell onto yours stomach, until it reached the waistband of your boxers. Your sight followed his every action, catching a glimpse of his self-assured smirk at the end. "Don't worry, I'm keeping my part of the deal," in the blink of your eye, he was already out of his shirt, pointing all of your attention onto his abs.

You had seen Wallace shirtless a few times already, but never up so close. Alcohol restraining the control of your actions made you curiously reach out to touch his chest, but you managed to stop yourself before you actually made contact with his skin. You looked at Wallace, silently asking for permission. He chuckled lightly, "knock yourself out." The casual tone forced you to feel sinful about yourself.

His chest was smooth, flat. You were quite jealous, but also sincerely admired his physique. You wanted to trace over every spot.

"I'm gonna touch you. That alright with you, guy?" The faster heartbeat made it harder to properly focus, "Mhm."

His hand disappeared under the hem of your underwear, just to resurface once more after being met with the arousal pooling out of you. "Oh," he commented, looking at the state of his hand, "how cute." He licked the mess off his fingers, making sure to hold eye contacts as he did so. You couldn't deny you were under his spell, not even having any response for him while your wide eyes looked at him licking his lips.

"Y/N, I barely touched you." He spared you no teasing, which you honestly expected at this point.

"What am I supposed to respond to that?" You tried to restore some parts of your dignity.

"How about you start with what you want me to do?" The voice you heard was sweeter than honey.

"I want you to dom me." You disclosed your thoughts, hoping it wasn't too forward.

"Oh, that'll be easy - I'm already doing that." He flashed you his teeth in a smirk of a banterish nature.

"...Like, you, in me. Soon." Your words fumbled due to the percentages mixed lust. He didn't try to hide his chuckle, making you flustered and impatient.

"Okay, okay- you're so needy." He teased, yet was quick to take off the last thing that covered your body. Your legs clasped together out of habit, making Wallace gently rest his hand on your knee, moving it down your thigh.. It made you part them, giving him the access to you. You felt- really naked like that. And he still had his pants on.

"Just so we're on the same page, uh- Just- Just treat me if I was a normal guy." You tried to eloquently put into words how you wanted him to have you.

"Stop. You are a normal guy," he squinted his eyes while observing you, "but I think I know what you mean. You ever tried anything by yourself in that matter?"

"I have some... toys. Yeah." The admission made Wallace pleased.

"Good. It's gonna feel way better than a dildo." He hyped you up effortlessly.

"...Prove it." You found some of the fierceness back in you, making him cock his eyebrow in amusement. Wallace leaned further, trying to reach under the pillow you were currently resting your head on. It amused you to look at him losing balance while trying to search for something under it. He frowned upon realizing the bottle of lube he was holding was empty.

"What!" He sat on your thighs for a moment while examining the offending item. "I was sure there was still some left."

"Keeping the lube under your pillow?? Classy." You recalled back what he told you a while ago.

"Where else would you keep it? It's my house." He furrowed his brows in amusement.

"I guess it is handy when it's closeby."

"When it's full, yeah," he put down the empty bottle somewhere where it wouldn't bother your vision. "Well then,"

He moved himself closer to you, using a finger to part your lips. "Lick."

Wallace quickly felt your tongue leave a hefty amount of saliva on his digit. "Good boy, you're a fast learner."

With the required lubrication, he made sure to prepare you pretty well. His experience in the topic wasn't hard to notice, as his movements were bold yet pretty gentle.

"Aren't you gonna turn me on my stomach?" You asked, voice quivering a little from the uncanny sensation.

"So I could miss those pretty faces you're gonna make for me? No way, sweetheart."

The nickname, even though playful in nature, still made you extremely coy.

"Now, keep looking at me." He pushed one of his finger into you, making you groan lightly. It was hard, but you kept your stare pointed at him despite feeling vulnerable. Lots of saliva proved useful for his finger to move without any unnecessary friction. You kept quiet, mostly just huffing out the labored breaths as he searched for the sweet spot in you.

"You don't have to hold back with the sounds. I like them."

"...I feel silly." You dropped a hint of your internal thoughts.

"Oh no, you feel silly because I'm making you feel good? Right, why should I be able to hear I'm doing a good job?" He pointed out the flaws in your logic.

"You know you're doing a good job" You squinted, looking at him.

"How can I know that if you don't communicate with me, hm?" Adding a second finger, he found the most efficient pace to repetitively hit your bundle of nerves. Each thrust made you tingle, forcing a few pants out of you. Still being met with silence from your side, he turned his movements excruciatingly slow.

"W- Wallace...!" You groaned, desperation seeping into your words.

"Yes, Y/N? Is the pace not to your liking?"

The torturous loop forced the words out of you, "Faster- The way you were doing it before was perfect." Wallace immediately resumed to his previous technique, "See how easily you can get what you want with words?" You paired a smile with a roll of your eyes to cover your shame.

"Anything else you want me to do?" He offered.

"Could you, uh, touch me as well?" Somehow a simple guide on what you expected from him seemed like you were beyond needy.

Wallace wordlessly fulfilled your request. You closed your eyes, determined to focus on the buildup rising in you. Wallace's ability to operate with both of his hands in such a precise way made you feel like a board that DJ's play on. This random thought made you chuckle involuntarily, of course gaining a head tilt from the man.

"What's so funny?" He slowed down his movements so he could hear you speak.

"I had a dumb thought-" You grinned, feeling silly for ruining 'the moment', "It's just- you do the thing so skillfully, like a DJ." Wallace stopped completely, the sound of his drunken laughter followed right after.

"Wow, I woulda expect Scott to come up with something like that, not you." He couldn't even mock a look of disapproval, joy too insistent to stay on his face. "But I can't say I don't find your stupidity adorable."

"Anyway, I think I finished mixing the song." He added onto the joke.

"Awh, what! Not fair." You scolded yourself for voicing your stupid thoughts before reaching your orgasm.

"Not fair? You don't wanna finally start with the main course?" He squinted his eyes in a smirk, leaning to grab something from under another pillow again.

"Mm, you drive a hard bargain."

You looked as he tried to find whatever he looked for, checking at least 2 more times before finally lifting up the pillow to see nothing there. This discovery made him groan in frustration, "Scott took the stash of condoms to Ramona. Of course."

"Ew, they're gonna have sex." You commented, completely acknowledging the irony of your current situation. It made him chuckle.

"So, guy- I know we're both drunk but we still gotta be responsible adults. What d'you wanna do?" He pointed his focus on you. "I'm clean, checked it recently."

"I haven't been with anyone yet, so..." Your gaze wandered on his body to avoid his eyes. You noticed he still had his pants on, a fact he realized right after you, finally taking them off.

"Alright," he concluded, nearing his hips closer to yours "you're sure about this, right?"

"Yes- One hundred percent." You lightly hug his sides with your knees.

"Okay. I'll go slow at first."

You spent the next few moments adjusting to the sudden warmth and stiffness residing in you. He was right. It didn't compare to the toys you had. He moved further while still almost fully pressed into you, brushing the right spot to make you moan. He wouldn't neglect your most sensitive area, bringing his two fingers to move in a circular motion. His pelvis met yours in a series of slow and deep thrusts.

"...Wallace," you moved your hand to trace over his chest, "faster, please."

"Since you asked so nicely," the rhythmic slaps of bare skin echoed through the house with more vigor. Wallace was sure of his good work, judging by the mewls coming out of your mouth. He also didn't spare you the array of lewd sounds. "I haven't been this horny in forever." He continued to whisper more sultry encouragements near your ear, "You have the sweetest voice when you say my name."

"Wallace-" you whimpered, desperate for more praise. "...Almost-" it took great effort to keep your composure, the euphoria threatened to overwhelm you very soon.

"Come on, Y/N. Show me how good I'm making you feel." The tension building up in your abdomen finally caught up to you with a jolt of pleasure. Your fingers dug into his sides, your legs entangled themselves into his body, pushing him even deeper into you. His ears were hit with the lovely noise of you riding your high, him helping you through it by continuing to keep the steady movements.

He let you rest for a while, the break filled the room with your heavy panting. The grip in your fingers loosened, just for him to take it as a sign to resume to the previous pace. It didn't take long for him to see the stars as well, pulling out of you with the desperate mention of your name. You felt the warm liquid hit your bare stomach. Wallace hovered above you, the sounds of your labored breaths melted together.

"...You made a mess," you broke the silence with a playful remark.

"My bad," he leaned to the source of the problem, placing a bold lick along your body. The gesture made you squirm a little, even more so after seeing Wallace wipe a bit of the semen stuck to the corner of his mouth.

"I want a kiss," you dared to request, making him raise his brow at the sudden bluntness. He inched closer, letting you feel the remnants of his salty flavor in a deeper kiss.

"I didn't take you for such a kinky person." He laid himself next to you.

"Said the guy who just licked his own cum off me." You quipped back, showing a smile to show you're not serious.

"Yeah - and you still wanted a kiss."

The proximity led you to initiate the snuggles, moving past the banter that led to nowhere. Wallace put the covers on both of you, adjusting himself comfortably to the new position. His arm was behind your back and your head laid comfortably on his chest. The faint sound of his heartbeat was comforting to hear.

"...It won't be weird to us tomorrow, right?" You murmured, seeking some reassurance. Wallace opened up his eye to look at you.

"I don't see why it would be. Unless you secretly hated it this whole time" He started playing with your hair, making it twirl around his finger.

"It was- awesome." He chuckled at the choice of your words.

"Agreed, guy."

"...So, can I officially call you my boyfriend?" You asked, hoping you knew the answer.

"Only if I can do the same around others."

[glxyqst]

Detroit: Evolution Blu-Ray Edition coming in clutch.

Screenshot from the end of Reawakening. If this ain't Law and Order: Detroit, we don't know what is.

Our discord server frequently has double-feature viewing parties of Detroit: Evolution and Reawakening (Bring Your Own Popcorn, of course), and with @octopunkmedia's release of the Blu-Ray edition on their website https://octopunx.tv, we decided to rewatch our favorite gay bois on the big screen.

To those DBH fans who have somehow NOT seen these wonderful works of cinema, DO IT. DO IT NOW!! Many people in the fandom have expressed how greatly the Chris and Tina in their fan-works has been influenced by the performances of Michael Smallwood and Carla Kim, respectively. And of course Christopher Trindade as Gavin and Maximilian Koger as Nines is a superb example of onscreen chemistry and witty Reed900 banter. (And gayness. Don't forget the gayness.) Jillian Geurts as Ada is a classy femme-fatale, and JJ Schaeffer's Lazzo kills us every single time in that neon boa: "Like robot arms, not gun arms." The entire cast and crew of Detroit: Evolution and Detroit: Reawakening created this labor of love; made by fans, for fans.

Gif by @kotovsyndrome. One of our favorite scenes from D:E.

To those of you who have seen D:E before, the Blu-Ray edition is worth an immediate watch. From the audible hits and whirring servos in the reworked fight scene to the fabulous new music track in the ending credits (THAT FIRST BASS DROP, WHAT), our enjoyment of our favorite lines and scenes was only enhanced by the updates. We still watched the NOIR version of the fight scene as a part of our regular experience (it's SOOOO on point); if you haven't seen the NOIR version we suggest you check that out, too. To conclude. Detroit: Evolution and Detroit: Reawakening are STILL a must-see for any DBH fan, yes "even" in 2025. This fandom ain't dead; it's thriving.

You have to sign up for an account, but it IS free and without ads!

[unsuperingyournatural]

banter

Jensen Ackles x Actress!Reader

You’re barely settled in the chair when Jensen leans over and mutters, “Go easy on me today. I’m running on coffee and spite.”

You smirk, adjusting your mic. “You live on spite.”

“Yeah,” he says, eyes twinkling, “but usually I’m well-rested.”

The cameras are already rolling, the lights warm and soft, and the Entertainment Weekly host gives the usual bubbly welcome—but you barely hear it. Jensen’s still watching you like he’s waiting to start something.

He always is.

They ask the usual question—what was your first impression of each other?—and Jensen doesn’t hesitate.

“She was late,” he says, deadpan.

You whip your head toward him. “It was daylight savings and I didn’t realize my phone didn’t update!”

“She walked in like a hurricane,” he goes on, completely unfazed. “Sunglasses, coffee cup bigger than her face—looked like she’d barely survived a bachelorette party.”

“I was just fragile,” you say, laughing. “It was Monday!”

He raises a brow. “You were twenty minutes late and called me ‘broody in a hot way.’”

“And you were. Still are.”

The host jumps in, clearly amused. “Safe to say you two clicked right away.”

Jensen glances at you, smirking. “If that’s what we’re calling it.”

You don’t rise to it—just smile sweetly and nudge his boot with yours. Beneath the jokes and sarcasm, there’s a rhythm to the way you talk. Like it’s all part of a well-rehearsed song. Tease, react, retreat. Repeat.

Then the host adds, “And fans noticed… Pedro Pascal visited the set a few times?”

Your body stills just slightly—enough for Jensen to catch.

“Yeah,” you say with a casual smile. “Pedro and I worked together last year. He stopped by when we were filming in L.A.”

Jensen makes a noise. A quiet, unimpressed huff you pretend not to hear.

“More like every other day,” he says under his breath.

You look over at him, amused. “Jealous?”

He snorts. “Of Pedro Pascal? Please.”

The way he says it is all calm and clipped and just a little too fast. You tilt your head.

“Because it kinda sounds like—”

“I’m not jealous,” he says firmly, eyes forward.

You hum like you’re not entirely convinced, then turn back to the host before Jensen can get any deeper into whatever corner he’s painting himself into.

The host moves on to a lightning round. Favorite way to unwind after a long shoot?

“Whiskey,” Jensen says instantly.

“Pedro,” you say at the same time, deadpan.

Jensen chokes.

You grin and nudge him again. “I’m kidding. I read. Like a classy, unproblematic adult.”

He rubs a hand across his jaw, that classic “I’m smiling but I’m gonna get you back later” look creeping in. “You’re impossible.”

“You like that about me.”

He doesn’t argue.

The next question is simple: describe your co-star in one word.

You glance at Jensen and answer without missing a beat. “Broody.”

His scoff is immediate. “That’s rich coming from you. Fine. Stubborn.”

You smile, leaning back in your chair. “Still not as stubborn as you.”

“Debatable.”

The interview wraps shortly after. You pull off your mic and stand, stretching your legs and trying to shake off the residual adrenaline. Jensen brushes past you as he shrugs out of his jacket, his voice low and warm as it lands in your ear.

“For the record…” he says, “I’m not jealous.”

You turn, slowly, meeting his gaze.

“I didn’t say you were.”

You wait for him to fire something back, to double down or deflect. But instead, he just watches you for a second too long, like he’s trying to decide if it’s worth the trouble. Then he gives a small shrug, smile twitching at the corner of his mouth.

And just like that, he walks off.

But the silence he leaves behind says more than anything he could’ve come up with.