#I expected nothing and was still let down...

[buckyseternaldoll]

sergeant's magic mouth

🫦 based on this ask but I definitely diverted from the main plot

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader

Summary: You thought you were just his fling. He thought you were his girl. Then you overheard Steve teasing Bucky about his legendary skills in the bedroom—particularly his mouth. Bucky gets flustered. You get curious. A week later, he proved he’s still got it.

Disclaimer: 18+ (mdni!), explicit smut content, oral sex (f receiving), pussy eating, misunderstanding trope, soft dom!Bucky, desperate!reader, overstimulation, slow burn tension, emotional release

Word Count: 3.5k

The compound was quieter than usual, the aftermath of a long mission settling in like a low, collective exhale. Somewhere in the common kitchen, someone clinked a glass. Distant laughter floated through the hall—probably Sam or Clint. But in the softly lit entertainment room, it was just you and Bucky. Again.

You’d flopped onto the couch hours ago after sparring, half-watching a movie you’d already forgotten the name of. Bucky had joined a little later, tucking himself into the corner of the cushions, red henley hugging the bulk of his arms, the silver glint of his metal arm catching the TV’s light like a low hum in your peripheral.

You hadn’t meant to end up in his lap. Again.

But like always, his palm was already on your waist when you slid over—grounding, warm despite the chill of the metal. His thighs were spread wide beneath you, relaxed and solid, and your legs naturally draped on either side like they belonged there. You leaned into him. He didn’t stop you. He never did.

It had been like this for weeks now. Maybe months.

Long after the dust from the whole Civil War mess had started to settle, you and Bucky had slipped into something wordless. Something sacred. You didn’t know what to call it—it didn’t feel right calling it just friends. Not when you could still feel the way he’d kissed you that first night after the team’s barbecue. The way he’d held you still while your hips rocked against his, slow and aching. Not when your heart stuttered every time he looked at you with that tired, hungry softness that made your skin burn.

The first kiss had been a dare. A stupid, tipsy game where someone dared Bucky to kiss you and no one—no one—had expected him to actually do it.

But he did.

He cupped your face with his warm hand, looked you in the eye, and kissed you like he’d been holding that breath in since 1943. And from then on… something shifted.

Now, he’d let you straddle him during quiet movie nights. His jaw would clench when your hips moved just right. You’d feel him through his jeans, thick and hard under you, and he’d groan—deep and strangled like he was holding something back. He’d mouth at your neck, hands gripping your waist, but it never went further than that. Never inside. Never under the clothes.

And you told yourself it was fine. You told yourself maybe this was just how it was going to be—this undefined, lusty thing. You told yourself it was better than nothing. Because it was Bucky. James Buchanan Barnes. The man women used to whisper about back in the 40s—the charmer with the bedroom eyes and silver tongue. You’d heard the rumors. Everyone had.

And you? You were just… you.

He could have anyone. And maybe you were just the convenient body he used to push those urges away—a warm lap to grind into, a mouth to kiss when the nights got too long. You didn’t know how to ask for more. You were terrified that if you tried, he’d pull away.

Meanwhile, Bucky? Bucky thought you were his. Fully.

He thought you’d been his since the second time you kissed him—the night you’d curled into his lap after patrol and whispered “I missed you” like it meant more than just the day. And it had killed him not to touch you deeper, not to give you everything he had. But he remembered what you said at that same team barbecue, right after everyone settled down with their beers and ribs. Someone had joked about hook-ups and you, ever soft-spoken, had laughed shyly and said:

“I’m a little old school. I don’t really go all the way unless it’s someone serious… like, serious-serious.”

And Bucky? Bucky was from the actual old school. Back in the 40s, that meant one thing—you waited until you were married. And if you were the kind of woman who saved yourself for that, then goddammit, he wasn’t going to be the reason you’d break that promise.

So he held back. Every time your body writhed against his. Every time he could smell your arousal through your leggings. Every time he had to clench his jaw and bury his face in your neck just to keep from coming in his pants.

He never touched himself after. Not once.

Didn’t jerk off to the thought of you, even though he ached to.

Because he wanted all of it—all of you—the right way.

He thought the wait would be worth it.

He just didn’t know you were waiting for him to want you at all.

—

The late afternoon sun cast warm streaks of gold across the compound, tinting the walls and windows with lazy amber light. You’d just wrapped up training and were headed toward the balcony, drawn by the familiar sound of laughter—two deep voices rolling over each other in low, nostalgic waves.

Steve and Bucky.

You slowed your steps as you approached, the soft creak of your boots masked by the breeze curling in through the open doors. They hadn’t noticed you yet, and you paused just beyond the archway, hidden by the sliding glass panel, your eyes flicking over to them instinctively.

They were seated side by side on the wide balcony bench, drinks in hand—Bucky with his legs spread in that casual, careless way, grey shirt pulled tight across his chest, silver arm draped over the backrest. Steve had a glass of something dark balanced in his grip, laughing into it.

“Alright, Buck. Be honest with me,” Steve said, nudging Bucky’s boot with his own. “How’s everything with you and her?”

Bucky shifted a little, his jaw tensing as he looked down at the drink in his hand.

You froze, breath catching. Her? You?

He didn’t answer right away. When he did, his voice was soft, but sure.

“We’re doing just fine.”

Steve scoffed. “Just fine? Buck, come on. That’s not enough.”

Bucky chuckled under his breath, but there was a flicker of tension in the movement—like he was trying to ease discomfort off his shoulders. He rubbed his thumb along the curve of his glass and glanced sideways at Steve.

“I don’t think I should be talking about her when she’s not here,” he muttered. “That wouldn’t feel right.”

You blinked. Your chest tightened. He was talking about you like—

Steve laughed again, all good-natured and clueless. “God, you haven’t changed.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Bucky asked, arching an eyebrow, but the corners of his mouth twitched.

“You remember the 40s?” Steve leaned back, the bench creaking under his weight. “Every girl at the bar was looking past me, and straight at you. I couldn’t get a date to save my damn life. You? You walked in and the whole room turned to jelly.”

Bucky snorted, tipping his head back with a sigh. “Yeah, well. That was before the serum. Before your fan club started.”

Steve smirked. “Oh, how the tables have turned, huh?”

Bucky gave him a look—part fond, part annoyed—but didn’t deny it.

Then Steve added, with a smirk far too knowing:

“You know, I still remember the rumors. I wasn’t supposed to hear most of ‘em—but you know how dames talk when they’ve had one too many.” He grinned into his glass. “Word was, anyone who got lucky enough to sleep with Sergeant Barnes left with their legs shaking.”

Bucky groaned immediately. “Jesus, Stevie—”

“No, no, wait—my favorite was the one who said you had a magic mouth,” Steve continued, delighting in the way Bucky tried to sink into himself. “Swore you knew exactly what to do down there. Said it was like being—what was it—worshipped?”

Your heart skipped. What?

You stepped out, your voice too curious for your brain to catch up.

“Wait… Bucky was that good with girls?”

Both men looked up fast. Bucky flinched like he’d just been smacked with a brick.

“Shit,” he muttered, straightening up immediately, his metal fingers tightening around his glass. “How long’ve you been standing there?”

“Long enough,” you said, fighting a grin as you stepped toward them, trying to sound innocent even though your pulse was sprinting. “I didn’t know you had a magic mouth, Bucky.”

Steve glanced between you and Bucky, the corner of his mouth twitching with the kind of subtle amusement only a best friend could pull off.

“Well,” he said, rising from the bench with smooth ease, “I’ll leave you two to talk.”

He set his glass down on the ledge, adjusted the sleeves of his shirt with practiced calm, and gave Bucky a pointed look that only made the other man shrink deeper into his seat.

Then, with a polite nod to you, he added,

“Try not to give him too hard a time, huh?”

And with that, Steve turned and walked back inside—composed, quiet, and absolutely smirking.

The silence he left behind was scorching.

Bucky rubbed the back of his neck, his skin already turning crimson beneath the ends of his hair. His silver fingers tapped against the railing like he couldn’t decide whether to escape over it or just melt into a puddle where he stood.

“That, uh… that wasn’t exactly how I wanted that to come up,” he muttered, eyes fixed on the floor.

You leaned next to him, arms crossed, brow arched just slightly. “You never told me you had a reputation.”

He groaned. “God. It was blown way out of proportion, I swear.”

“Oh?” you tilted your head, pretending to think. “So you didn’t make girls’ legs shake?”

Bucky winced. Practically folded into himself.

“I mean—maybe a few,” he muttered. “But not like that. It wasn’t… Jesus, they made it sound like I slept with the whole borough. I didn’t. I wasn’t like that.”

You tried not to smile. “The whole borough, huh?”

His head jerked toward you, eyes wide. “Wait—are you… are you mad?”

“What? No,” you said quickly, brows lifting.

“You sure?” he asked again, more desperate now. “Because I never—look, I wasn’t just screwing around back then, okay? I didn’t sleep with that many people. And I haven’t been with anyone since and I’m not—I mean, I wouldn’t do that to you.”

Your breath caught for a second. But you didn’t say anything.

Because your brain was not registering any of that.

Not the panic in his voice. Not the low, sincere way he said to you like it meant something.

All you could think about was what Steve said.

Legs shaking. Worship. Magic mouth.

You were still stuck on that phrase like a scratch on a record.

You let a beat pass. Just long enough to watch the flush creeping up his neck, the nervous dart of his eyes, the way he seemed to be running through every decision he’d ever made since 1943.

“I just didn’t know you were into that,” you said lightly, brushing invisible lint from your sleeve like you hadn’t just learned something that would haunt you tonight in your sheets.

Bucky shifted uncomfortably, clearly spiraling. “I—I didn’t mean for that to sound like I was bragging or anything. I don’t know where Steve heard that stuff. I mean, yeah, I used to, but not—It wasn’t like I slept around. I didn’t. I swear I never—”

“Bucky,” you cut in gently, offering a little smile. “It’s really okay.”

He blinked. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You nodded once, calm and even. “No hard feelings.”

He looked like he wanted to say more, apologize again, dig his way out of a guilt hole he didn’t even need to be in. But you didn’t give him the chance.

You stepped back toward the door, glancing at him over your shoulder.

“I’ll see you at dinner.”

And then you slipped inside, perfectly composed.

—

Your expression didn’t crack until you turned the corner, heat blooming across your face like a slow, wicked fire.

He used to love it.

He might still be good at it.

He thinks you’re mad about his past… and you’re just thinking about his mouth between your legs.

You pressed your hand against the wall, heart thundering.

Now all you needed was the right moment.

The right excuse.

Something casual. Natural.

Just a little something to get James Buchanan Barnes on his knees.

—

You kept your distance for six days.

Six entire, aching days.

Dinner that night? You smiled. Ate. Laughed with Sam. Passed the mashed potatoes like nothing had changed. Bucky sat across from you, silent and painfully upright, like he was ready for a cross-examination that never came.

The next day? You greeted him with a nod in the hallway. Kept your tone even, your posture casual. Bucky watched you like a man waiting for the world to fall out from under him.

And the day after that? You brushed past him near the weapons locker, arm grazing his on accident—only to duck into the training room before he could open his mouth.

He kept trying. Eyes lingering, mouth parting every time he got you alone for even a second. But you never gave him the space.

Because what were you supposed to say?

Hey, Bucky. You want to eat my cunt sometime? Because I’ve been thinking about it for many nights and I’m dangerously close to humping the corner of my pillow just to cope?

Yeah, no.

So you waited. And stewed. And tried not to fantasize.

But your body had other plans.

By day six, your hormones had you spiraling. You caught yourself grinding your thighs together during debriefing. Sweating during sparring. Biting your lip when Bucky scratched his jaw and muttered something under his breath, not even directed at you.

Day seven, you cracked.

Over lunch, with the team distracted, you leaned close to him—so casual—and said,

“Come to my unit after dinner.”

He blinked. “Yeah?”

You nodded, eyes steady. “Just for a bit.”

And that was all it took.

—

He showed up at your door just past nine. Dressed down in a fitted black tee and dark sweats. Hair tucked behind his ears. Smiling.

Not smirking. Not flirty. Just… happy.

You didn’t know it yet, but he thought this was a date. A real one. The first of many.

You let him in and made small talk. Let him sit on the couch like always. Let him pull you into his lap the way he always did when it was just the two of you and there was nowhere else you’d rather be.

Then you kissed him.

Slow. Familiar. But deeper.

His hands came to your thighs, dragging up under the hem of your oversized shirt as your knees bracketed his hips. He groaned softly into your mouth when you rolled against him—pressing down, grinding slow and needy right into the heat of his lap.

Then he froze.

You could feel it. The shift. The exact moment he realized there was nothing between you and his pants. No shorts. No panties. Just your bare, wet cunt dragging over the thick line of his cock through cotton.

Bucky broke the kiss, his hands halting on your thighs.

His voice came out hoarse.

“Doll… are you—are you not wearing anything?”

You blushed, chest rising slowly. “No.”

His eyes widened, hand clenching against your skin. “Since when?”

“Since before you got here.”

“Jesus,” he whispered, like it physically hurt him.

You pressed your forehead against his. Voice trembling now, but not from nerves.

“I’ve been thinking about it. Ever since Steve said that thing on the balcony.”

His brows lifted. ��About… my mouth?”

You nodded. “I can’t stop thinking about it.”

You shifted your hips again. Let him feel the wet drag of your folds against his cock. He sucked in a sharp breath, hands locking tighter on your waist.

“Baby,” he rasped, “are you sure this is what you want? Not just—y’know, ‘cause you’re upset or… jealous or—”

That was the moment it snapped. The misunderstanding, the buried truth, the weeks and months of aching.

Your brow furrowed.

“Jealous? Bucky, I don’t have any right to be jealous. We’re not… together.”

He blinked. “What do you mean?”

“I mean we’re just…” You swallowed. “I thought we were just fooling around. Friends with benefits or something.”

His face went still.

“Wait,” he said. “You thought that’s what we were?”

You nodded slowly.

“I thought we were dating,” he said quietly. “I thought we were just taking it slow. You said at the barbecue that you’re traditional. I figured that meant you were saving sex until… marriage or something.”

You stared at him, lips parting. “I—no. I just didn’t want to sleep with someone who didn’t take me seriously.”

Bucky’s mouth hung open for a second. Then he let out a short, breathless laugh—somewhere between disbelief and relief.

“We’re idiots,” you said, and started laughing too.

He buried his face in your neck and laughed along with you, arms wrapping tighter around your waist.

“You’ve been my boyfriend this whole time without me even knowing?” you teased.

He pulled back, brushing his nose against yours. “Guess that makes it official now.”

“Good,” you whispered. “Because now you’ve got even more reason to go down on me.”

His lips parted. You kissed him before he could speak.

—

What followed wasn’t fast.

It wasn’t wild.

It was reverent.

Bucky laid you back on the couch like you were made of silk and starlight, one hand supporting your back while the other guided your thighs open. He settled between them like it was where he was always meant to be—kneeling, breath shaky, eyes dark.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he whispered, thumbing along the inside of your knee. His voice was low. Full of awe.

You reached for him—but he kissed your thigh instead. Then again. And again. Slow, warm, deliberate. His stubble scraped lightly along your skin, the contrast enough to make you squirm, already sensitive from the slow grind you’d shared minutes before.

“Easy, baby,” he murmured. “Just wanna take my time with you. You deserve that.”

Then he ducked lower.

And when he pressed his tongue to your cunt—broad and unhurried—it felt like the world melted into heat and wet and sound. You gasped, hips twitching, fingers curling into the couch cushions.

Bucky moaned into you. Actually moaned.

“God, you taste like fucking honey,” he rasped, licking another slow, deliberate stripe between your folds. “So sweet, baby. Dripping for me.”

He dragged his tongue through your slick again, groaning like the taste alone could undo him. And then he slurped—an unashamed, filthy sound that made your eyes roll back.

“Fuck,” he mumbled, voice thick and desperate. “Can’t believe I waited this long.”

His tongue circled your clit—steady, patient, focused. Then he sucked. A low, wet pull that sent shockwaves down your spine. You cried out, thighs shaking already, but Bucky didn’t stop. He wrapped his lips around that swollen bud and sucked again, swirling his tongue in small, practiced motions like he’d studied every curve, every pattern of how your body trembled for him.

“I knew you’d be perfect,” he breathed. “So fucking soft. So warm. Look at this pussy, baby. Look how wet she is for me.”

You whined, head thrown back, chest heaving—and he didn’t let up.

He licked you like it was his only purpose. Like he’d spent years thinking about this. Dreaming of this. His tongue flicked quick, then slow, then down—dipping into your entrance, fucking in and out with soft, rhythmic strokes that made your back arch off the couch.

“Oh my god—Bucky—”

“That’s it,” he groaned. “Let me hear those pretty sounds. You don’t even know what you’re doing to me, baby. Feels like I’m high off this fucking pussy.”

You could hear how wet it was. The obscene, slick sounds of his tongue lapping, his lips sucking, the gentle stubble burn brushing your inner thighs with every move. He kept you wide, kept you steady, like he didn’t want to miss a second—like this was something sacred to him.

And when your thighs started to tremble, when your hips bucked once—twice—he held you still with a firm grip of his metal hand on your stomach.

“Let go, sweetheart,” he whispered, licking up your slit with one slow, heavenly stroke. “Let me feel you fall apart.”

And you did.

You shattered.

Came hard. Loud. Thighs clenching around his head while he groaned and kept sucking, kept licking through it, pushing you higher until your whole body was shaking.

He didn’t stop. Not until he pulled a second orgasm from you with nothing but his mouth and your name falling from his lips like praise.

When he finally eased up—mouth slick, lips swollen, beard shining with your release—he kissed your thighs again. Tender. Adoring. Like he still wasn’t done worshipping you.

Then he climbed up your body, settling over you slowly, his hands gentle where they cradled your hips.

His forehead pressed to yours. He was smiling—dazed and soft and breathless.

You blinked at him, heart still pounding.

“So that’s what all the rumors were about.”

Bucky chuckled, voice low and hoarse.

“They didn’t even know half of it.”

[superhoeva]

of course, simon riley would fall for someone with the most sensitive gag reflex in the world.

you poor thing–can’t even get the man’s cock a third of the way into your mouth before your body jerks and you’re coughing, already-glassy eyes peeking up at him. he just thumbs at you jaw with a quiet s’alright, jus’ try again before nudging his head into your lips.

only a little desperate to hear you choke on it again, simon tips his hips a little harder. 

mean, sure. but worth it.

you gag again, harder than before, lurching off of him only to leave behind a slinking line of spit that keeps the two of you attached. simon hisses and collects the drool, wiping it on your cheek while trying to hide the quirk of his lips. his cock bobs in the air for a short moment, heavy and aching, as you eye it with half uncertainty, half-determination.

“you wanna stop?”

you shake your head at simon’s question, interrupting his praise by grabbing him at the base and shoving him halfway down. you hold him there for longer than he expects, swallowing down the gags that attempt to force you off. gripping the back of your head, simon pushes himself even deeper, finally groaning when his tip grazes the back of your throat. you’re just barely able to keep yourself from coughing him up, hands hurrying to grip his thighs like they’re something that will save you.

“pinch ‘f it’s too much, yeah?”

you nod and simon grunts, holding you steady as he starts to fuck your face.

jesus, it’s a mess. you’re a mess and he loves it. there’s a gathering pile of spit collecting at your knees as it escapes your lips and drips down. his tip drags across the back of your tongue and pokes through to your throat. he doesn’t get as far as he wants but it still feels better than good. hot and tight and slick with all the spit you’re retching up.

“that’s good, pet,” simone seeps out, voice taught as he pants through his nose. simon doesn’t let go of your head, balls twitching when you heave with a wet gasp. “fuck, you’re a sight. keep gaggin’ on me, feels nice.”

you sweet, sweet, disgusting thing. dousing his dick in a coat of bubbly spit, wheezing whatever air you can around him and even trying to glide your tongue at the veins that lightning the entire way to his sack–which is just as filthy with the mess that’s tracked its way down.

when he cums, you spit it back up, slicking his member even more. then the man fucking coos at you because your eyes are red, your chin is soaked, and the voice you speak to him in is nothing more than a hoarse squeak.

“how was that? was i better?”

simon smears his fingers across your chin before reaching to push it into his mouth. his cock jumps at the taste, returning back to life with ease, just as he drags you back into your feet. he palms the nape of your neck to make you look at him, eyes staring back to scan your wrecked face. then softens with a tiny, pleased smirk.

“fuckin’ gorgeous, aren’t ya?”

© 𝐬𝐮𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐡𝐨𝐞𝐯𝐚

[floatyflowers]

Dark! Poseidon x Percy Jackson's Mother! Reader

For: @jeo20-ir

The Montauk air smelled like salt mixed with the thick feeling of horrible tension, as you stood on the porch of the beach cabin, arms wrapped tight around yourself, staring at the restless waves.

Inside, Percy was, preparing for his promised boat trip with you.

He had done it, your boy, your brave, sweet boy, had faced gods and monsters and come out on top.

And he saved you from Hades.

But even as pride filled your chest, there was a heavy feeling of worry.

It had been there ever since Percy's father had stepped back into the picture.

Poseidon.

You thought you had buried the memories of those stolen summer nights, when Poseidon had been just a man to you.

He had laughed, loved, and promised more than he could give.

And....

...then he vanished, leaving you with a warning about monsters, a promise to watch over Percy, and nothing else.

Or maybe something else, like the fact that he killed your friends and your ex-boyfriend.

That's why when he tried to contact you through Percy several times after Percy returned from Camp, you avoided him.

"I'm ready, let's go, mom."

You look at your son as he walks up behind you.

Despite Percy looking like Poseidon, his personality is nothing like the deity of the sea.

And you are thankful for that.

🌊🌊🌊

The boat rocked sharply, the waves suddenly restless and unpredictable, as if the ocean itself was throwing a tantrum.

You clung to the railing, your knuckles white as Percy shouted something over the roaring wind. He had insisted on this trip, a simple mother-son outing on the water to celebrate his latest victory.

You had agreed, wanting to share in his joy, but now your stomach churned with unease.

The sea wasn't angry, It felt like it was watching and waiting.

Another violent lurch sent you sprawling.

Percy's cry of alarm barely registered before the next wave struck, dragging you over the side.

"MOM!"

Cold water swallowed you whole, its icy fingers pulling you deeper and deeper.

Panic clawed at your chest as you kicked and struggled, but the currents felt alive, like they had one purpose.

And then, just as suddenly, the water stilled.

You opened your eyes, and there he was, Poseidon.

He stood like the ocean had shaped itself into a man just for him.

His eyes glowed an impossible shade of green, his expression unreadable.

"I knew you’d come back to me," he said, his voice carrying humor.

"Come back to you?" you snapped, despite the ache in your lungs.

"I fell overboard because of your tantrum!"

You don't know how you are breathing underwater and speaking, but here you are getting angry at your ex-husband.

He stepped closer, the water parting effortlessly around him.

"I had to get your attention, you have been avoiding me for too long, " His hands touching your cheeks.

Before moving down, and grabbing your arms.

"You still look as young and beautiful as you have always been."

You wanted to pull away, to remind yourself of the heartache he had left in you.

But his grip on you is tight, making it painful and almost impossible to escape him.

Before you could retort, a shadow cut through the water above you. Percy.

Your heart leapt, your son had come to you.

But as he swam closer, his eyes locked onto Poseidon, yet instead of the anger or confusion you expected, Percy's face softened.

He nodded once, a knowing smile tugging at his lips, as if this was exactly what he’d hoped for.

Then, with a quick wave and a mischievous glint in his eyes, Percy turned and kicked back toward the surface, leaving you alone with Poseidon.

"Seems our son approves."

Your face twists, knowing very well that Percy misunderstood the situation.

"I don't approve."

His grin didn't leave his face, the water around you pulsing, and insistent on making you stay.

"Come now," he murmured, tilting his head.

"You have read enough of my ancient stories to know I never take no for an answer."

[casssmalefantasy]

LET ME TAKE CARE OF YOU

PAIGE BUECKERS X READER

| parings: paige bueckers x reader!

| synopsis: a physical game leaves you bruised and furious, and paige is the only one who can calm you down. back at the hotel, the tension that’s been simmering between you all season finally boils over.

| warnings: smut, fingering, oral f!receiving, praise kink, dominant!paige, tension, possessiveness, cursing, mentions of injury, game violence, and emotional intimacy,

| word count: 2.7k

| author’s note: yall wanted this one so here you go, also i wrote this like two months ago 😭.

──────────────────────

it’s been chippy all game.

it’s what you expect going against texas.

physical team, good shooters, shit refs. it’s the kind of combination that makes you want to put your fist through a locker.

they're ranked, scrappy and come to play.

and for some reason, their starting guard has had it out for you since tip-off.

the first couple plays, you let it slide. a shoulder here, a shove there. nothing new, but by the time you’re five minutes into the third quarter with a sore hip and a stinger in your arm, it’s personal.

still, you try to keep your head down. geno’s always on your ass about that, don’t lose your cool. don’t let them bait you.

but it’s hard. it’s so hard.

and when she bodies you again on a cut, this time full-on sending you to the floor, elbow to your ribs—you snap.

you’re on your feet before your ass even registers the hardwood.

"you got a fucking problem?" you bark, chest heaving.

she smirks like she’s been waiting for this moment all game.

"maybe i just don’t like how you play."

"yeah? how about i show you how i fight."

she steps forward, and you're stepping too, ready to shove her right back into the damn bleachers—

but arms are on you. pulling you back. not the ref, not your teammates—

"yo," a voice says low, right in your ear. “hey. chill. breathe.”

you glance back. it’s paige.

both arms wrapped tight around you from behind, holding you in place. her hands flat on your stomach, grounding you.

"she’s not worth it," she murmurs. "eyes on me. breathe, baby."

you do. barely.

the ref whistles again. offsetting techs. geno is pissed.

“you, out," he snaps, pointing to the bench. "cool off. paige you too. sub."

you don’t argue. not because you’re okay with it, but because paige is still holding your hand as she pulls you toward the bench with her.

"you good?" she whispers once you sit, leaning in close, hand covering her mouth like she’s telling you top-secret plays.

"i’m fine." your voice is clipped.

"don’t lie to me," she says. her gaze is soft, but locked on you like she can see everything you're trying not to show.

“they were calling everything until that," you mutter. "but when i get decked, it’s nothing until i stand up for myself?"

"i know," she says. “refs have been garbage since the jump, but don’t let it get in your head. you were cooking before that shit.”

you’re icing your arm. paige glances down at it.

“does it hurt bad?”

“i said i’m fine.”

she hums, unconvinced.

you both sit in silence. the energy between you is thick—electric, even in stillness. you look over at the same time. hold eye contact. her blue eyes are intense, like she’s still thinking about pulling you off that girl.

you look away first.

—

paige checks back in with three to play. you stay on the bench a little longer.

but you don’t miss it.

that girl—the same one who shoved you, says something as paige runs past her. paige doesn’t say much back. just a short sentence. firm. her jaw clenched.

you don’t know what she said, but whatever it was, it shut the girl up real fast.

and paige? she scores eight points straight after that.

—

uconn wins.

the bus ride back to the hotel is chaos. everyone’s talking shit, celebrating, arguing about calls.

but you’re quiet. sore. still buzzing from the adrenaline.

you almost don’t notice paige at your side until she nudges your arm gently.

"ice said she’d swap rooms tonight."

you blink at her.

"you wanna stay with me?"

"i want to check on you."

you nod. she doesn’t say anything else. she just grabs your bag for you and waits.

—

it’s quiet in the room, just the soft hum of the air conditioning and whatever random netflix show you landed on. something to fill the space.

you’re curled up with an ice pack again. paige is next to you, legs stretched out, close enough to touch, but not quite.

you haven’t said much since you got back. you’re still stuck in your head, still replaying the game, the fall, the look on her face when she held you back.

“hey," she says suddenly. “how’re you feeling?”

you glance over. her hair’s pulled into a loose bun. she’s still in her uconn hoodie.

"better," you say.

"you sure?"

"yeah."

she hums again like she still doesn’t believe you.

“you were good tonight,” she says after a second. “even when you were pissed. it was… kinda hot.”

you blink. then raise an eyebrow.

"hot?"

“what, i can’t say that?"

you glance at the tv, then back at her. "thought we weren’t talking about that shit anymore."

she shrugs. "maybe i changed my mind."

you smirk. “so now you think me nearly getting into a fight is sexy?"

"no," she says. “i think you standing your ground, playing through all that contact, being so in it, that was hot.”

you look at her. her gaze is locked on yours.

"you looked good out there," she adds, voice lower now. "like really good."

your breath catches.

"you looked good too."

she shifts a little closer. her knee brushes yours.

"yeah?"

"yeah."

you don’t know who moves first. maybe both of you.

but suddenly her mouth is on yours, and you’re kissing like you’ve wanted to for months. no hesitation. no pulling back.

it’s hungry. messy. real.

her hands slide up your thighs, under your hoodie, fingers splaying across your waist like she’s staking her claim.

"let me take care of you," she murmurs against your lips.

you nod. she pushes you back onto the bed, gentle but sure.

her mouth moves down your neck, sucking a mark just above your collarbone.

"still sore?" she asks, pulling your shorts down.

"a little."

"tell me if anything hurts."

you nod again, breath catching as her fingers trail over your inner thigh.

then her mouth is on your pussy.

slow at first, letting you feel every flick of her tongue, every kiss she places on sensitive skin.

you arch into her. she grips your hips, holding you steady.

"fuck, paige…"

"you sound so pretty when you say my name like that."

you’re writhing now, hand tangled in her hair.

"more," you beg.

she groans softly. "you want more?"

"please p."

she slides two fingers in, while her mouth keeps working.

you cum fast, body shaking, hips bucking up into her face.

she doesn’t stop until you’re whining from the sensitivity, pulling her up to kiss you again.

"jesus christ," you mumble, breathless.

"been wanting to do that since summer," she says, grinning.

you laugh, still catching your breath.

"what now?" you ask.

she leans in, kissing your jaw.

"now we sleep," she says. “and tomorrow, we do it again, just maybe without the fight this time.”

you smile.

"we’ll see."

—

you think you’re done. you should be done.

but paige doesn’t move.

she’s still lying between your legs, head resting on your thigh, arm draped across your waist. she’s tracing slow, featherlight circles over your bare stomach, and her breath is warm against your skin.

you glance down at her.

"what’re you doing?"

"thinking."

"about what?"

"how good you taste."

your entire body twitches.

"paige."

"mm?" she looks up at you, all sweet and innocent, but there’s nothing innocent about the way her fingers trail lower again.

"you already—i thought we were sleeping."

"i lied."

before you can argue, her mouth is on you again, slower this time, deliberate.

"fuck—"

you grab the sheets, back arching.

she hums like she’s enjoying a second course.

"can’t help it," she murmurs against you. “you’re too good like this."

you whimper when her tongue flicks a spot that makes you see white.

"shit, paige. it’s too much, i just—"

"no, you can take it."

her voice is soft, but firm.

"come on, baby. gimme one more."

you don’t know how she’s got you this wrecked this fast.

maybe it’s because you’ve been holding this in since summer. maybe it’s because she knows exactly what she’s doing. maybe it’s because she keeps talking to you like that.

“you’re shaking,” she says, dragging a finger through your wetness. “look at you, all fucked out already.”

you moan. it’s embarrassing how close you are again.

"i can’t—"

"yes, you can," she whispers, slipping her fingers back in, slow and deep. “be good for me.”

you cry out, thighs trembling.

"that’s it," she coos. "that’s my girl."

you cum again, this time harder, your whole body tightening under her as you moan her name like a prayer.

she doesn’t rush you. she kisses the inside of your thigh while you come down, rubbing soft circles over your hip, grounding you.

finally, when your breathing evens out, she crawls back up beside you, slipping an arm under your neck and pulling you close.

you don’t say anything for a minute. just lie there, curled against her, flushed and wrecked and warm.

"so," you mumble, voice scratchy, "you do this for all your teammates?"

“mmh yeah if they look like you.”

"you’re ridiculous."

"you’re welcome."

you pause.

"...i might not be able to walk at practice tomorrow."

"guess i’ll just have to carry you."

you look up at her.

"you’re insane."

"and you love it."

you try to glare at her. she kisses your forehead like she didn’t just make you see stars twice in a hotel bed.

"get some sleep," she whispers, already pulling the blanket over you both.

"only if you stay right here."

"wasn’t planning on going anywhere."

[whisperedmeg]

NAILED IT ⋆˚꩜｡ spencer reid x girlfriend!reader

summary: spencer’s been away too long, your nails are too long, and you’re getting a little desperate. good thing he’s always happy to lend a helping hand.

genre: fluff, smut | w/c: 2.1k

tags/warnings: 18+ MDNI, spencer calls reader sweetheart & sweet girl & angel, hand/finger/nail kink, masturbation (f; only attempted/discussed), fingering, oral (f receiving), multiple orgasms, spencer cums in his pants lol, no use of y/n

a/n: based on anon’s request! loved this idea so much. couldn’t help making spencer the ultimate super whipped boyfriend lmao. enjoy! 💅🏼😉 p.s. if you zoom in on the far left photo you’ll see my sad photoshop attempt at the manicure I described lmao

You send Spencer the photo just before sunset.

It’s nothing fancy — just your hand resting on your thigh, fresh from the nail salon, skin still warm from the hot towel they wrap your hands in at the end of your appointment. The polish is indigo, with little gold stars forming teeny tiny constellations on each nail. They catch in the light when you move. You know he’ll appreciate that. You type out a quick caption and hit send.

You: new favorite set?

His response is almost instant, a flurry of three successive messages:

Spence: How do your hands keep getting more beautiful?

Spence: Also. Yes. Definitely a new favorite.

Spence: Wish I was there.

You stare at the screen, thumb hovering, debating what to send next. You want to say something clever — something flirty or offhand or designed to make him blush a little in public — but instead you just type:

You: come home soon, please

—

The TV hums low in the background, something forgettable you haven’t really been paying close attention to. You sit in the quiet for a while, curled into the couch like it might hold you tighter if you’re still enough. Outside, the sky is bruised and soft and growing darker by the minute. You keep staring at your hands.

Spencer always pays for your manicures. It wasn’t your idea — the first time you mentioned how expensive a full set was, he’d looked almost offended on your behalf and insisted you let him cover it from now on.

“Let me. You’re not just getting them done for you,” he’d said. “You’re also getting them done for me.”

And it’s kind of true. Spencer loves to watch your hands when you talk, like there’s a whole language he’s learning just from your fingers. He traces your knuckles during movies, plays with your rings when you’re standing in line, thumbs over the backs of your hands while you read, threads your fingers through his and presses them down into the mattress when he’s on top of you. He holds them like they’re precious artifacts. Like they’re rare.

You’d gotten this set done a few days after he left for a case out in Denver, and much to both of your chagrin, it ended up being a bad one that would keep him in Colorado for much longer than expected. You hadn’t realized how much of a problem your new nails would be until later that night, when you were wound tight and lonely and craving something warm and familiar. You’d lit a candle. Touched yourself under the blanket. Tried to make it quick.

But it hadn’t worked. You’d scratched yourself twice and gotten the angle wrong three times, and by the time you gave up, your whole body felt edged and annoyed.

You’ve tried again since. Twice, each attempt more frustrating than the last. You can’t say it out loud — I can’t get myself off because my nails are too long — without feeling ridiculous, so you don’t tell Spencer when he calls you each night from the hotel.

You press your hands between your thighs and exhale slowly, willing the ache to dull.

It doesn’t. You know it won’t.

Not until Spencer’s back, not until his hands are on you again, not until you can tell him in person how frustrated you’ve been — half-ashamed, half-hoping he’ll find it as ridiculous and kind of hot as you suspect he might.

But for now, you just sit with it.

The polish catches the light. The stars on your fingers shimmer. And you wait.

—

After a long ten days without him, Spencer finally calls you from the jet to let you know he was landing and would be at your apartment soon. You barely say anything on the call — just a soft “okay, baby,” because anything more might unravel you with want. The line goes quiet for a moment until he says he misses you, and you say it back, and then the silence stretches again like it always does when neither of you wants to hang up first. Eventually, he does. Reluctantly.

You don’t move until you hear footsteps approaching the door.

He lets himself in with the key you gave him months ago and drops his go-bag to the floor. You rise slowly from the couch and walk to the entryway, taking in how his messy curls framing his forehead, suit jacket slouched and travel-wrinkled, dark circles beneath his eyes like parentheses around something unsaid. You can see how the case wore on him, the heaviness of whatever weight he’s left carrying even after it’s over. But the second he sees you, his posture softens.

You don’t say anything at first. You just meet him where he stands and wind your arms around his waist.

He exhales like he’s been holding his breath since he left.

“Hi,” you murmur.

He hums it back into your shoulder. “Hi.”

You stay like that for a while, his arms tightening around your back and his lips pressed to the side of your neck, like he needs to confirm you’re really here — still warm and real and his.

When he finally pulls back, it’s only far enough to look down at your hands.

“Let me see.”

You raise them instinctively, fingers spread. You watch his expression shift — first curious, then sweet, then something that edges towards arousal before he tamps it down with a swallow.

His thumb grazes over your ring finger. “These are… unreal.”

“You picked the design,” you remind him with a soft smile. “Sort of.”

“I told you I like stars. I didn’t realize you’d get a whole galaxy just for me.”

You shrug. “You pay, I impress.”

He smiles and lifts your hand to his mouth, kissing each fingertip like a habit. You feel those kisses everywhere.

“How was the flight?”

“Fine,” he says as he shrugs his jacket off. “Mostly. There was some turbulence. I didn’t sleep.”

You nod, even though he doesn’t need a response. The closeness is enough.

But when he leans in to press his forehead to yours, when he closes his eyes and exhales like the hard part’s over, you don’t relax the way you normally would. You’re warm, and full, and grateful he’s home, but there’s still something tight in your chest. In your belly. Lower.

He senses it instantly.

His hands still at your waist. His brow furrows just enough. “What is it?”

You hesitate. You could lie, say you’re just tired or overworked or don’t feel well. But the truth is sharp behind your teeth and strangely tender at the same time.

“I’ve just been a little… frustrated,” you say.

He stills. “Frustrated how?”

You glance down at your nails, then back up at him.

“I, um, got them done right after you left. They’re a lot longer and pointier than usual. I didn’t think it would be a big deal, but I haven’t…” You gesture vaguely. “Been able to… you know.”

Spencer’s eyes widen slightly. “You haven’t been able to… to touch yourself, this whole time?”

You shrug, embarrassed. “It’s harder with longer nails. Awkward. I gave up. Maybe I should just give in and buy a vibrator.”

His mouth opens, then closes as he processes the words. “You waited?”

“Yeah. But I didn’t mean to,” you say quickly. “This isn’t, like, a guilt trip or something. I don’t want you to feel guilty.”

He blinks. “No, no, I’m not feeling guilty, I’m feeling… lucky.” Then quieter: “And, okay, maybe a little like a negligent boyfriend.”

You smile, a little sheepish. “Not at all. You were out solving murders. That takes precedence.”

“I would’ve solved them faster had I known.”

You laugh, and he wraps you tighter into his chest.

After a pause, his voice comes low, reverent. “Let me fix it,” he murmurs. His fingers tighten at your waist, and his eyes don’t move from yours. “Come on.”

He walks you backward to the bedroom, his palm warm over the back of your neck like he’s trying to keep you grounded. He kisses you once before you sit back against the pillows, and again after — soft, open-mouthed — as he settles between your legs.

“You sure?” you whisper, even though you already know the answer. “You’re probably so tired. It can wait, really. I’m fine.”

He huffs a breath against your collarbone like it’s laughable. “You, my sweet girl, are not fine. You’ve been walking around like this for over a week. Of course I’m sure. Let me do this for you, please.”

You lean back on your elbows as he lifts your shirt and kisses the newly bared skin, slow and thorough. The reverence in his hands makes your stomach tighten. Like he’s not just touching you for the sake of it — he’s reacquainting himself. Like he missed you with his whole being.

As he peels your underwear down, his gaze catches on the shimmer of your nail polish again.

He parts your thighs slowly. Kisses the crease of your hip before shifting again to kiss your jaw. And then, with a careful breath, he drags two fingers between your folds and lets out the softest, most ruined sound you’ve ever heard him make.

“Fuck,” he murmurs. “You’re soaked.”

You want to say yeah, no shit, Sherlock, I told you I’ve been frustrated, but then his fingers dip in and curl just right and your mouth goes completely slack.

He watches your face like he’s cataloging it. Each shift of your expression, every twitch of your hips. He keeps his fingers slow, consistent — long strokes that press deep and purposeful, curved just slightly until your thighs start to tremble.

“You’re so tight,” he breathes. “So wet, sweetheart. You needed this.”

You nod, helpless. “Spencer—”

“I know.” His thumb moves to your clit, light and rhythmic. “Let me take care of it. I’ve got you.”

The build is fast — shamefully fast. You’d almost be embarrassed over how fast it is if it wasn’t for how sure you are that Spencer loves it. His fingers never stutter, never pause, and when he leans forward and kisses you again, you whimper his name.

“Come for me,” he says, soft and certain. “That’s it, angel. Want to feel you come around my fingers.”

And you do.

Your hips jerk forward, mouth releasing a sound you barely recognize as your own, and you feel yourself clench. He slows the pressure and rides the rhythm through it, eyes locked on yours until you collapse back against the mattress, gasping.

But Spencer? Spencer doesn’t stop. He simply adjusts, changes his position, presses a few kisses to your stomach. Then lower. Lower.

You jolt when you feel his mouth over your center.

“Spencer—oh, fuck.”

He looks up at you from between your thighs, curls already messy, mouth flushed.

“Put your hands in my hair,” he says, voice low. “I know it’s what you’ve been waiting for.”

You groan. “You’re such a cocky—”

He licks a slow stripe through you before you can finish the statement, and your back arches clean off the bed.

His fingers stay inside you — deep, curling just right — and his mouth covers your clit with obscene dedication. Tongue and lips and hands and pressure so steady it borders on unbearable. Your second orgasm builds sharper, thinner, a frayed wire stretched between nerve endings. Your thighs start to shake again and he presses in deeper, sucks a little harder, moans loudly against you when your nails graze his scalp.

You feel it in your whole body — his hunger. His focus. The way he wants this for you more than anything. You’re not even sure if you’re breathing.

“I’m—” you start, but you can’t get the warning out in time. Besides, he already knows.

You come again with a cry that tears out of your throat, and this time it overwhelms you — your body writhing, hands pulling at Spencer’s hair hard enough to make him groan. You’re too lost in the moment to notice how lost he is alongside you.

And then, as your limbs shake and your head falls back to the pillow, you hear a low, choked sound that didn’t come from you.

You glance down, dazed.

Spencer’s still between your legs, breathing heavy. He looks completely boneless, cheeks red, eyes half-lidded and glazed, limbs trembling a little, a combination of his sweat and your slick glistening on his skin. Then it hits you — you’ve seen that face before.

“Did you just…” You blink at him. “Spence, did you just come in your pants?”

He rests his forehead against your thigh and nods, clearly trying to catch his breath, clearly a little embarrassed. “I didn’t mean to.”

You start to giggle. It bubbles up through your chest, soft and stunned and fond beyond belief. “Oh my god, you totally humped the bed. Does getting me off really turn you on that much?”

He groans again, this time in embarrassment, but he’s smiling. “You were… god, you were just so perfect. And the way you pulled my hair and scratched my head… What was I supposed to do, not lose my mind?”

You smile and comb your fingers through his hair again, gentler now, your nails grazing his scalp. He hums.

“So,” you murmur, “would it be cruel to say I might keep my nails like this a little longer?”

Spencer kisses your inner thigh, still breathless. “Cruel? No. Cruel would be not letting me do this every time you need it.”

—

At some point you end up tangled sideways across the mattress, half under the covers, one of his legs still dangling off the edge.

Spencer’s cheek is pressed to your hip, his eyes fluttering closed every few seconds, hair mussed beyond recognition. You’ve managed to wriggle your underwear back on — barely — but he hasn’t made any attempt to move.

“You good?” you murmur, brushing your fingers over the crown of his head.

“Mmhmm.”

“You sure about that? You came in your pants and then passed out,” you tease.

“I did not pass out,” he mumbles. “I’m resting. You’re comfortable.”

You smile and let your nails trace gently over his scalp again. He hums.

“You really missed this, huh?”

He opens one eye, gaze lazy and warm. “I missed you.”

His sincerity hits you. Your cheeks heat up, and you manage a soft hum in response — your chest is a little too full to find the words to speak properly.

He finally shifts, crawling up beside you and nuzzling into your neck. You wrap your arms around him and let your nails scratch lightly at the base of his skull, just enough to make him shiver.

“Seriously, though,” he says, barely a whisper now. “Keep your nails long like this. Please? I’ll take care of you.”

You kiss his hair.

“Anything you want, Spence.”

ᝰ.ᐟ

masterlist

PSA: likes do very little for promoting posts on tumblr! if you'd like to support a fic, please reblog!

[okwonyo]

YOU ARE THE BOSS ★ anything that you say

𝐀𝐂𝐓 𝐈𝐕 𝖺𝗇𝗒𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗅𝗂𝗉𝗌 𝗈𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗂𝗋𝗌

𝟏𝟐𝟗𝐎𝒾──── downbad!enhypen 𝗑 f!rea ✿ fluff 𓂋 mention of alcohol kissing skinship ❞ 𝒄𝒂𝒕𝒂𝒍𝒐𝒈𝒖𝒆 ｡ ⠀

𝗥𝗘𝗕𝗟𝗢𝗚 𝗙𝗢𝗥 𝗔 𝗞𝗜𝗦𝗦

HEESEUNG

you drank a bit much tonight. heeseung smiles at the cute rose tint on your cheeks and your messy hair.

“woah, woah, calm down, baby,” you tend to get a little touchy when tipsy. heeseung find it cute, very attractive even. but it’s hard when he is trying to go get you water.

“where are you going?” your pout almost makes heeseung crawl to bed next to you.

his heart sinks when he needs to take your hands off of him, “i’ll be back, sweets.”

he innocently thinks he has tamed you for a second. then, your hand holds onto his tie when he is about to get too far from you. his mouth falls on yours without him realizing.

saying that he melts into the kiss in a millisecond is an understatement. his mind goes completely blank— kissing you back being the only thing he knows at the moment. he would let you drag him like this anywhere, any day and anytime.

“holy shit,” he is stunned. unable to move even five seconds after the kiss. he stays still, blinking as he tries to remember what he wanted to do at the start.

JAY

“do i look good?” he asks, stepping in the bathroom. he stands right next to you, observing his reflection in the mirror with a worried expression plastered on his pretty face.

seeing him through the mirror isn’t enough. you have to turn your head to his direction. you take a well needed time to scan his entire body: from his head down to his expensive shoes.

nothing goes past you, not even the tiniest details on his red cravat, not even the fabric of his white shirt or the buttons of his black suit.

however, as you take your time to admire what is standing in front of you for free, jay grows impatient, “is it bad?”

“are you joking?” you huff in disbelief. he seems quite serious to you and in need for some stress relief.

he is too distracted by his suit to see you reach for his red tie. he doesn’t expect to be pulled forward so strongly but he holds your hips still and kisses you harder.

“you look good,” you say against his lips, with your arms around his neck.

he hums, “look at you, princess.”

JAKE

he loves watching you dance. especially when you are a bit tipsy, when your dress turned whenever you do and when they play your favorite song on the big speakers.

amongst all the people on the dance floor, he thinks you stand out the best. perhaps, because he is obsessed with you. but he is sure there is a reason for that.

he drank a little too. he follows your order like a puppy when you give him the sign to join you with your index finger.

he tries to follow your move on but being around you when he is drunk makes him a little nervous. his dance moves are messy and ridiculous enough to make you burst out laughing.

his feels his entire face getting red at the sound of your laughter but he laughs back. his heart pulse rises when you wrap your fingers around his tie, his eyes grow wide with fascination the more you pull him closer to you.

the sound he makes when you kiss him is downright embarrassing. but you are goddamn hot and your lips taste too good to be true.

SUNGHOON

he isn’t even sure of where you are taking him or why you're guiding him like that. but he is enjoying it a lot.

you have been dragging him like this since you both stepped out of the car. with your hand around his tie, you make him trail behind you to your apartment’s door. let’s say you got him on a leash, quite literally.

he likes it. loves it, even. he follows you with a sick smirk drawn on his lips. wondering why you are so eager to get back home.

your hand doesn’t leave his cravat even after the door closes behind the both of you. sunghoon chuckles, “you really lov—”

soon enough the kiss you give him shuts him up. he groans inside your mouth, thick eyebrows furrowing at the intensity of the kiss. it’s like his dreams are becoming true.

his hands are well too comfortable moving all around your body for him to remember what he wanted to say.

SUNOO

playing with sunoo’s tie is always very fun. you like to twirl it around your finger like a wandering hair strand, to run your thumbs over it’s pattern or loosen it to tighten it after.

your boyfriend really doesn’t mind. he is too busy talking to you to get bothered by your silly antics. he is always so immersed in his rambles— which you find really cute.

now, your favorite thing to do when sunoo wears one of his pretty ties is to pull him close to you. he lets himself lean in without stopping to talk. you give him a kiss, he blushes, he continues talking right after you pull away.

you wait until he is standing straight to repeat the lovely game you made. over and over. kisses and kisses and rambles.

at some point, sunoo gets to red in the face and becomes unable to continue. he starts to avoid your eyes, a gentle smile spreading on his mouth before he hides his face in your neck.

JUNGWON

he is running late. honestly, he can only blame himself for this. no matter how many time you tried to wake him or get him off of you—and the bed— he groaned and readjusted his position.

he only got up when you told him what hour it was. he left the bed in such a hurry than he almost fell on the floor. his sleepy headed self bumped into every furniture on his way.

“are you not going to take breakfast?” you ask when he kisses you cheek. all dressed up and clean. suit hugging perfectly his body and cravat sitting so politely.

“i don’t have enough time,” he answers in a hurry, already ready to leave.

you won’t let him go away so quickly though, “ah, ah,” you grab his tie.

all the tension in his body seems to leave as soon as your mouths touch. he hums, sounding extremely content and soft at the contact of your lips.

he cups your jaw, tilts his head to the side, getting a little too much into it. “you have work,” “i’ll take care of you first.”

RIKI

“can you help me with this?” his voice is soft as he hands you his cravat.

you take your eyes off your phone to gawk at him— you swear you’ve seen him tie it on his own before, “uh,” you get up, taking the piece of clothing hesitantly, “sure.”

riki doesn’t look at how yours fingers work on the tie. he stares shamelessly at your face, which makes you nervous. he grins, “you suck at this.”

you want to give him a mean look. your eyes fall into his immediately, which makes your gaze more fond than not, “shut up.”

“no, baby, that’s seriously not how you tie a tie,” he laughs. he is lying for the pleasure of teasing you— you are doing it perfectly actually.

you ignore him. but he won’t shut up, still. “it’s too tight—”

his stupid grin won’t go away even after you yank him closer by his tie, “riki, shut up.”

“make me,” he whispers and funnily enough, he is the one who kisses you first. when he kisses you fervently like this, you understand it was all part of his evil schemes.

분지 ܃ i hope you enjoyed 🎀

taglist open 。

[sparrowwithaquill]

Pls do Saja Boys x Popstar!Reader. The popstar could be a Sabrina Carpenter type! Thank you!

You got it my friend 😘 I’ve been simping HARD for the Saja boys ever since the trailers and movie came out.

Saja Boys x F!Reader; otherwise called reader is nervous at all the attention from a group of hot guys.

I tried to make it as ambiguous as possible as to what the reader looks like, the only thing that’s set is that the reader has at least hair on their head 😅

Summary: Coming back from your world tour, you expect to rest for a bit before going back to performing. What you didn't expect was gaining the attention of five super attractive men that just can't seem to leave you alone.

Word Count: 2.8k

A/N: I might make a continuation of this with some nsfw bits for each member, let me know if that’s something y’all would be interested in

Tags: @floredaqueen

Getting back to your home from your tours has always been a highlight that you treasure, especially from how exhausting performing is. Still, there is nothing that you would change about your life. Currently, you just got home and cleaned yourself up and decided that going for a walk would be nice. The city is beautiful and getting some fresh air would do you some good.

That's how you now find yourself roaming the street in the market section of the city as you people watch. Occasionally, watching some of the birds as they're flying. One bird grabs your attention from the others though in the way it seems to be watching with... purpose, eventually landing on a sign that is nearby where you were standing.

Normally it wouldn't really be something that you pay attention to, despite you liking birds, but something about this particular bird just gets your attention.

The bird must have thought the same as it stays on the sign despite you getting closer.

"Well, you have some interesting patterns, don't you little guy?" You say to yourself as the bird just watched you, something flickers in your peripheral, but before you can turn to see it, the bird lets out a chirp bringing your attention back to it.

“Hm? Guess you don’t like being ignored, understandable, you’re a very handsome bird,” you smile at the bird before turning to leave, slightly waving to it as you continue to walk around, oblivious to the eyes that follow your form as you leave.

Some time passes before you decide to go back to your home, using the time to listen to some of the songs on your next album to feel out if they're up to your standards.

Days pass with you enjoying your short break and taking the time to slowly get back into your routine of dancing and singing practice. You had just finished your latest practice session when you decide to go back to town to get some groceries, maybe try out that new recipe you've been meaning to indulge in. You’re walking in the direction of the store you most frequent when you see the same bird, a smile coming across your face as you slightly wave to it again.

“Hello my little friend! Didn’t think I’d ever see you again,” you smile until a cough sounds from behind you.

You quickly turn face going red at being caught talking to a bird of all things, before it lands on an incredibly handsome stranger who has a small smile on his face. One that also shows he definitely saw you talking to a bird.

“You always talk to birds, or did I just get lucky to see it?” He says with a small smirk on his face.

“I- uh, no not,” you clear your throat trying to will the heat from your face to die down, “I try not to make it a habit,” you stammer out eventually calming down enough to meet his gaze.

His very handsome gaze that is, the heat slowly returns to your face while your eyes dart around.

You eventually get your bearings, clearing out your throat as you look at him eyes quickly flicking across him, really getting a look at him before finally retorting.

“Do you always watch girls when you’re out or did I just get lucky?” A small smile unintentionally making its way to your face before you quickly choke it down with an eyebrow raise, seeing a near drop dead gorgeous man definitely isn’t something you’ll complain about, but still a man is a man no matter how hot.

The stranger just lets out a low chuckle before stepping a little closer to you, eyeing the bird before it flies off to seemingly nowhere.

“Not really, only the pretty ones,” he says, hands in his pockets of his jeans while he looks you up and down. Before you get the chance to stammer out a reply, four other equally just as gorgeous men come around to him before one of them, the one with a shirt that is clearly hanging on for dear life, claps him on the shoulder.

“Yo, Jinu, we’re waiting for you man- woah,” the man who you would definitely say could call you any time looks at you with a look of recognition, one that you try to shake your head as fast as you can without looking insane.

“So you have a name! Love that for you, sorry for being weird- you guys have fun with whatever you were doing!” You quickly make your way out of there with a hand covering your face to shield it from their eyes as you could practically feel steam coming off it.

The one who recognized you still has wide eyes as he realizes that yeah you are that one definitely famous singer and oh my gosh he can't believe that you ran into them. He quickly clues in the other men who are just confused at both of your reactions, the news making Jinu smile as he starts to think maybe he was right to send his little bird to watch you.

“Oh my gosh I looked like an idiot, a complete moron in front of five hot guys. Ugh girl you need to get your shit together,” you mutter to yourself as you continue walking towards a clearing where some people are talking about a boy group performing there.

You pull your sunglasses on and pull up your jacket a bit to avoid being recognized as you stand in front of a gathering crowd as some music starts. To your shock and horror, the same men that you’d bumped into are performing and singing.

“Oh my gosh I’m so dead, I have to die of embarrassment now, no I need to leave the country,” your muttering is interrupted as you make eye contact with who you now know as Jinu as he winks at you, your face erupting into heat as you pull the strings of your jacket to cover your face. Meanwhile the women and men behind you scream as they think it’s for them.

The action causes the Saja Boys to smile wider as they notice you hiding your face. They continue with their song, you still listening and your shoulders unintentionally bouncing up and down to the music. They notice with glee, their song ending as they send out finger hearts to the crowd watching your reaction as you try to look anywhere but their faces.

They finish their song, officially making their debut as they seemingly disappear into thin air. This gives you the chance to finally go to the store and get all the things you need for your dinner. You're heading back to your home when you hear someone call out to you, you are turning with fear that it's a crazy fan. Instead, you hesitantly turn around to see that it is instead the five hot guys with handsome smiles on their faces. Maybe the fan would have been better, you think as your grip tightens on the groceries in your hands.

The one with long pink hair in the shape of a heart is the first one to greet you as he waves with a large grin on his face.

"You saw our show, right? Did you enjoy it? My name is Romance,” He smiles at you, the action has you lowering your shoulders a bit at his smile. He's pretty friendly, still devastatingly attractive though.

"Uh, yeah I did! It was really good, you were really good!"

You smile back a bit shy, eyes darting between the five men as their eyes zero in on you. The action causing you to get a bit bashful at the cropped shirt that leaves your stomach and cleavage slightly exposed. The men barely try their best to avoid being obvious at their shameless staring, but let their eyes wander a bit.

Jinu is the next one to speak, offering a hand as he speaks.

"Did you now? You need any help with those groceries; we'd be more than happy to help you~" He purrs out, a wolfish grin taking over his face as your face heats up at the look he gives you. Curse you for your dry spell, just looking at these guys is enough to bring some heat to you.

"No! No I'm- I'm fine really and I don't want to stop you guys from whatever you're up to," you let out as the one with mint hair has no shame in smirking at your bashfulness as you make eye contact with him. Who you later learn is Mystery, silently makes his way around you as you slightly back away from the hungry looks they give you. Your back hits his chest as you look up, you making a surprised sound to see him. He has a slight smile on his face at the look of shock on your own.

"We're not too busy, especially not when we could help a gorgeous woman out~" The one with the ill-fitting shirt says tilting himself down a bit to stare directly into your eyes, as he smirks at your nervous expression.

"No really! I wouldn't want to impose," you let out with a small laugh making your way into the direction of your house. They let you back away looking at you with a gaze that screams they would eat you up if given the chance.

A week passes by from the interaction you had, the memory playing in your head like a broken record. The memory is still playing during your practice in your dance studio as you hear voices passing by. You're in the middle of a break as your backup dancers are casually speaking to each other while you leave the room to grab more water and a sports drink. You're at the vending machine when you can physically feel eyes on you, you turn your head a bit to see the most muscular member of their group behind you.

He looks you up and down before letting a coy smile make its way to his face as he leans against the wall across the vending machine. You whip your head around, face getting heated up as you can feel it creeping to your ears.

"So, how's practice going for you?" You hear his deep voice close to you as you turn around a bit and see him now down to your ear, you let out a sound that could be comparable to unholy as you realize just how close he was. Immediately, you start stammering as you try to put some distance between you.

"It's- um, you're so close, it's going," you clear your throat as he just smirks at you, "It's um good; it's going good we were just going on our break for the next hour, rest a bit y'know? Hehe how's uh how's your practice going? What's your name by the way, never uh never got it..."

God, you have been out of the game for so long, can you speak to even one person normally?

He raises his eyebrows, not really expecting you to give a response, but gives a small smile, "names Abby, guess we never really introduced ourselves, huh?"

Your shoulders lower themselves at his response, a small smile gracing your features as you finally make eye contact.

"No, you really didn't, so new group, right? Your performance was really good, really catchy too!"

You smile at him before reaching to grab your drink from the machine, having forgotten about it, but Abby beats you to it, reaching down and grabbing the drink before holding it out to you. You grab it, but he holds it a bit tighter before letting go, his hand brushing yours.

"Well, if you get bored during your break feel free to come watch us practice in room four, I'm sure the guys would love to see you," Abby waves at you as he leaves.

You're left at the vending machine, heart thundering at the brief contact as you watch his back leave before he turns the corner to go back to their dance studio. You are so about to make a mistake going to see them, is all that you think as you're returning to your own room.

After getting back to your room, your dancers and you disperse to do your own thing for the next hour. With some thinking, you decide fuck it and head down to where Abby said they were practicing. You can hear music playing as you look through the door and see them taking a break and make eye contact with Abby who smiles before going to the door to let you in.

"So, you decided to join us?” Abby leans on the door covering your body form view as the other guys in the room wonder who he’s talking to.

“Yeah, figured why not not everyday you can watch a hot new group in their element,” you chirp out before realizing what you said.

“Sorry not hot! I mean you are hot, but I didn’t mean that hot I meant hot as in really popular!” You wince at Abby holding in his laugh as he leads you into the room.

As you enter the room, all their eyes fall on you and your hit with the feeling that you’ve walked into the lions den.

“Welcome princess, didn’t realize we’d have a guest or else I’d have cleaned up,” Jinu says as he looks your form up and down. He’s wearing a loose shirt and grey sweatpants that does nothing to hide his physique.

The other guys in the room all have looks of hunger at your outfit, still breathing heavily from their practice. The one with lilac hair covering his eyes is the second to approach you as he offers you some water.

“Figure you’d want water, I’m Mystery,” he quietly says before going to sit on the floor one leg propped out as he continues to catch his breath.

You’re holding the water to your chest when Abby leads you to where the speaker is, now turned off since they’re taking a momentary break. They sneak glances at you while you sit a little awkwardly just listening to them chat.

Eventually, Jinu calls them back to practice. They start with Soda Pop, as they dance your shoulders bop along to the music while they pour their attention to you making your face flush from the looks they give you.

"Cause I need you to need me," Jinu points at you and smirks, you look away before turning your attention back.

"I'm empty, you feed me," Romance licks him lips while looking you up and down.

"So refreshing," Abby winks at you while pulling his shirt a bit to expose his chest.

"My little Soda Pop," Baby turns towards you and gives you a sultry look before continuing with the dance.

They dance through the chorus while their attention remains on your form, you feel slightly exposed and flush a bit at all their gazes. They finish their dance, and you clap for them, "nice! You guys are good!"

Abby is the first one to approach you, leaning down breathing heavily as he cages you between his arms.

"Any notes you could give us, any suggestions," He asks lowly, voice slightly raspy. You swallow the spit in your mouth as you hold eye contact with him, stammering a bit.

Romance is the next to approach you going to your right side and leaning down a bit to your ear.

"Any pointers you could give us? Any moves you could show us?" He breathes in your ear, his hair tickling the side of your face. You start to breathe a bit heavier at the attention they give you, you lick your lips as they feel impossibly dry.

The action only grabs Abby's attention. He leans in closer so close he was only a hair away from your mouth and lets out a breath as he smirks.

"You nervous?"

You silently nod, leaning back the slightest bit as your back hits the mirrored wall of the studio leaving you trapped between the two men.

"Use your words, princess," Romance chides you from your right as your eyes dart to him. Breath leaving you at his words and your face heats before you stutter out a yes.

Abby takes some mercy on you and eases up on the barely there space and backs away leaving you to Romance as he gets a drink.

These boys are going to kill you.

Romance soon leaves the teasing as he goes off to get his own drink and talk with the other guys, you finally are able to grab a full breath, and your face finally calms down.

You bid goodbye to the boys as you go back to your own studio, mind reeling at the attention and proximity of the boys. These men are much too attractive to be doing this to you.

God help you, your heart can hardly take this.

[dareonclearwater]

The stench was horrible. Charred meat, burning hair, melted plastic. Smoke and ash and cinders. The amplified, distorted laughter of the towering, battlesuit-clad villain echoed across the empty square as the last panicked civilians streamed out. He fired a few flamethrower blasts into the air in celebration.

"This is Inferno's city now! Prepare to enter an era of pain unlike any you've ever known!"

"Mm, no, I think that's quite enough." Picking his way across the scorched pavement was a man in bright red tophat and tailcoat, crisp white gloves already besmirched with ash.

"You're... Toyman, aren't you? A small-time object controller. You can't possibly be making a power play? Against ME?"

Toyman stooped and picked something up off the ground. A charred scrap of fabric, metallic gold. A fragment of a cape. He closed his eyes.

"Did you know, none of my toys ever went to waste. After every fight, they were carefully swept up and donated. Children's hospitals, orphanages, thrift stores, foster agencies. I have to imagine every child in the city knows how to play jacks now. I started using other toys to get them some variety, but jacks and balls are just so versatile."

Inferno leveled one of his smoking flamethrowers at Toyman. The pilot light sparked and kicked on. "What are you babbling about?"

"Golden was the only one who knew my secret." he closed the scrap of cape in his fist. "He stopped in to see me in prison, said he'd been trying to track where I stole my toys from. Very hard to do, because I hadn't."

"Oh just die already, you're distracting me." The heavy trigger thunked. Nothing happened. Inferno pulled it again. The fuel line on the flamethrower ruptured, spraying jellied fuel down the side of his battlesuit. "...WHAT?"

"You see, I'm not an object controller, I'm a creator." Toyman held up a bright pink rubber ball that hadn't been there moments ago, and pointed to the one now lodged in the barrel of the flamethrower. "And I can put them anywhere."

"I can still just crush you- OW!" The massive arm swung forward, then recoiled as if stung, moving nearly randomly as Inferno's hand flailed inside the control gauntlet.

"Oh, did you run into a handful of jacks in there? Yeah, it's not great if you slip and fall on them either. You see, I like having fun, I like just playing with people. And the heroes were perfect, great fun, understood the game. But if you play too rough, if you break my toys, I'm going to get angry."

The battlesuit slumped to its knees, a strained choking sound coming from the speakers.

"I prefer rubber balls to marbles, but in this case it's easier to fit them in. I hope you have the space to cough them out in, but those suits don't have a lot of elbow room, in general."

The suit jerked, and a cheery horn played from the speakers.

"Oh, looks like you found the jack-in-the-box I put in front of the hatch controls. Sadly they always conform to real-world expectations, it would have been nice to be able to shove one up your- Well, no, let's keep this family friendly. I have a name to uphold."

Blithely, Toyman turned away from the twitching, gurgling battlesuit. He carefully folded the scrap of burnt golden cape and tucked it into his breast pocket. "I swear," he remarked as the battlesuit stilled. "If I have to go straight because of this I am going to be very cross."

You pretend to be a small-time villain. At worst, you annoy the local supers but your crimes never hurt anyone. All fun and games until things change when a truly sadistic super villain invades your turf and murders a few of the supers. No one has seen the extent of your true powers until now.

[bueckersworld]

white mustang

synopsis: paige pulls up in her white mustang and invites you on a late-night drive, saying she’s been thinking about you. the two of you ride through the city in silence until you finally admit your feelings, breaking the promise you both made to keep things casual. your confession hangs heavy in the air, and paige, unsure and afraid, chooses to walk away — leaving you alone. days later, you run into her again by chance, and the tension between you reignites. you share a charged, intimate moment in the mustang, the same car that once drove you apart, and in the aftermath, paige chooses to stay — this time, ready to try for real.

warnings: angst, smut — mdni, dry humping (please bring ts back 🙏), fingering (r!receiving), desperate!paige, slight mean!paige

WORD COUNT: 2.9k info. masterlist. taglist.

the streetlights flicker on one by one as the sky bleeds into a dull purple. you’re sitting on the cracked curb, just watching the night settle around the quiet neighborhood. the air is thick and still, like the world’s holding its breath. you don’t know how long you’ve been here, but your thoughts are tangled up, twisting and pulling at something you’ve been trying to ignore.

the sound of a car engine pulls you out of your spiral—a low rumble that grows louder, then softer, until you see it. paige, in her white mustang, gliding down the street like she owns the night. she slows, pulls up beside you, and the window slides down with a smooth click.

“hey,” she says, voice calm but maybe a little nervous. “felt like driving. thought maybe you’d wanna come with.”

you don’t hesitate. something about the way she’s looking at you, like she’s been thinking about you too, pulls you in. you slide into the passenger seat, the familiar smell of leather and her perfume wrapping around you like a quiet comfort.

the engine hums to life, and the city blurs past in streaks of light and shadow. she doesn’t say much at first, just lets the car carry you both through the streets, windows down just enough for the night air to touch your skin.

“been thinking about you,” she finally admits, eyes on the road but voice soft like she’s sharing a secret.

your heart thuds hard, the words hanging between you heavier than the night. you swallow, then turn to look at her. “i’ve been thinking about you too.”

she glances over, surprise flickering across her face, but she doesn’t say anything more. instead, she takes a turn onto a quieter road, away from the glow of streetlights and the hum of the city.

you both sit there, the silence filling up with everything you want to say but don’t know how to say.

“i can’t keep pretending it’s nothing,” you finally whisper, voice shaking more than you’d like. “we said it was nothing. that it was easy. but it’s not. it’s always been more.”

paige’s eyes search yours, and you see that flicker of something—maybe fear, maybe hope. “you shouldn’t say that,” she breathes. “not when we both promised.”

“yeah, well,” you say, your voice breaking, “i’m done pretending.”

for a long moment, she doesn’t say a word. then she looks away, jaw tightening. “maybe some things are better left alone.”

the words hit harder than you expect. “so what now?”

she takes a breath, fingers tightening on the steering wheel. “i think i need to leave you alone. for a while.”

your chest aches, and you don’t argue. the car becomes colder somehow, the white mustang no longer a refuge but a reminder of the distance growing between you.

when she pulls up to your place, you don’t say goodbye. the door shuts quietly, then the engine roars and she’s gone, leaving you alone with the weight of your confession.

days pass slow and hollow. you catch yourself reaching for your phone to call her, but you stop before you do. maybe some things aren’t ready to be fixed.

then one afternoon, you see her again. standing under the neon glow of a diner, rain slicking her hair, the white mustang parked nearby.

her eyes find yours immediately, and for a second, it feels like nothing’s changed.

“hey,” you say softly.

“hey,” she replies, a tentative smile tugging at her lips.

she steps closer, the space between you charged with all the things left unsaid. the rain starts to fall again, heavy and warm, and neither of you moves to go inside.

“why didn’t you call me?” you ask, voice cracking, barely holding together the storm in your chest.

she doesn’t answer. her eyes flicker down to your lips for a second, jaw clenched like she’s choking on everything she couldn’t say. then suddenly, she grabs your face and kisses you hard—like she’s angry, like she’s sorry, like kissing you is the only way she knows how to speak.

the rain is relentless now, soaking into your clothes, your hair, everything, but you don’t move. neither of you do. it doesn’t matter. not when she’s kissing you like she’s starving and you’re the only thing she’s ever wanted.

your hands tangle in the fabric of her soaked shirt, pulling her closer, closer, until there’s no air between you. her teeth graze your bottom lip, her breath coming hot and ragged against your mouth.

then she spins you around and presses you against the side of her car, her grip rough, hands sliding down your sides with a kind of urgency that sends heat spiraling low in your stomach. she touches you like she’s memorizing the map of your body—like she’s terrified she’ll forget it if she stops.

your hands roam across her chest, down her torso, fingertips slipping under the hem of her shirt, skin to skin. your gasp catches between her lips when her hands trail down your waist and slide over your hips, slow and sure.

her fingers dip beneath the waistband of your shorts, teasing just along the edge of your underwear. she leans in close, lips ghosting over your jaw.

“you drive me crazy,” she whispers, her voice ragged, full of frustration and need. “i couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

you part your legs just slightly, inviting her in without words, but when her knee slips between your thighs and presses against you, you can’t help but let out a soft moan.

your hips shift instinctively, grinding down against the pressure of her leg. “paige—” you breathe, but she cuts you off with another kiss—deeper this time, wetter, full of heat.

“just—shut up, okay?” she mutters against your mouth. “i didn’t mean what i said. i didn’t mean any of it. i can’t hide this anymore. i can’t keep fucking pretending like i don’t love you. like i don’t crave you every goddamn day.”

her voice cracks on the last part. it’s raw. real. and it undoes something in you.

you kiss her again—slower this time, but just as desperate. your hands move to the back of her neck, threading into her damp hair.

“don’t push me away again,” she whispers against your skin, her voice smaller now, almost a plea.

you rest your forehead against hers. “i’m not going anywhere.”

she kisses along your jaw, then down the slope of your neck, her lips soft and reverent, and your body arches into hers like instinct.

her hand slides back down, this time with purpose, fingers undoing the button of your shorts, then the zipper. you gasp when she slides her hand inside, brushing over your underwear, teasing you gently through the thin fabric.

your thighs tremble when she dips past them, fingers finally slipping under and finding you wet and aching. you whimper, head falling back against the car. her mouth follows you, kissing along the side of your throat, breathing you in.

“fuck, you’re soaked,” she murmurs. “and not just from the rain.”

her fingers glide through your folds, slow and deliberate, spreading you open. she rubs lazy circles over your clit, drawing soft, breathless moans from your lips, your hips rocking into her touch.

then she slides two fingers inside, deep and smooth, curling them up just right. you cry out softly, your hand grabbing at her shirt, the other buried in her hair.

she watches you with hungry eyes, her breath caught in her throat. “wanted you for so long,” she whispers, kissing the corner of your mouth, then the hollow beneath your ear.

her fingers begin to move, a steady rhythm that pushes you higher, each stroke precise, like she knows your body better than you do.

your legs shake as she pins you against the mustang, the rain masking the quiet, needy sounds spilling from your lips.

“yeah, that’s it,” she growls, her voice gravelly, lips pressed to your ear. “give it to me. let me feel you fall apart.”

you’re close—too close—the knot in your stomach tightening with every thrust of her fingers. you press your hips into her hand, chasing it, needing it.

“c’mon, baby—come for me,” she breathes, her pace quickening just enough to push you over the edge. “please—i need you to.”

you moan her name, your whole body tensing before it releases, your climax crashing through you like a wave. she holds you through it, kissing you, whispering against your lips, grounding you in the middle of the rain and heat and everything you are to her.

she doesn’t pull away. she just stays there with you, forehead pressed to yours, fingers still inside you, her other hand holding the back of your neck.

“you’re mine,” she says quietly. “i’m done pretending you’re not.”

your breathing slows, your pulse still fluttering against your skin. paige’s hand gently slips away, but she doesn’t move far. instead, she wraps her arms around you, pulling you against her like she’s afraid you’ll vanish if she lets go.

the rain continues to fall, softer now, and you both just stand there—soaked, shaking, but finally still.

you bury your face in her neck, your fingers curling into the back of her shirt. for the first time in weeks, the ache in your chest eases, replaced by something warmer. something whole.

“you meant it?” you whisper. “what you said?”

she nods slowly. “yeah. every word. i’m so tired of running from it.”

you pull back just enough to look into her eyes. “so don’t.”

her lips curve into a faint, wet smile. “i won’t.”

you both get into the mustang after a while, clothes dripping, hair stuck to your foreheads, laughter breaking through the silence when your soaked thighs stick to the leather seats. she reaches across the console, taking your hand again, lacing her fingers through yours like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

and maybe it is. maybe it always was.

because tonight, the mustang didn’t drive you apart.

tonight, it brought you back.

© bueckersworld

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬. ⋆˚꩜｡ um, hi. i know this was supposed to be posted a while ago, but yk. shit happens, and a lot of it did. but i’m back, hopefully for awhile.. 😭😭 lmao

𝑤𝑖𝑡𝘩 𝘩𝑢𝑔𝑠 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑘𝑖𝑠𝑠𝑒𝑠, 𝑒𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑛𝑜𝑟

taglist: @elswhore @private-but-not-a-secret @paigebaby5 @raimund00 @bravemode @d1paigebueckersglazer @evanpeterstoe @zi0nnnn @jadasogay @fuddaround @jaylie-bee @everyonewatchesuconnwbb @mrsarnold @lol-12n @sayurireidotcom @slt4kavanagh @kl0verk @agnesblight @scarlett177 @syraxsbigfanfr @youmeandjennessey @asapeveryday @avvwritesstufff @rand0mmmgg

[hgfictionwriter]

Still Yours

Jessie Fleming x Reader

Summary: Jessie spent years avoiding vulnerability, holding everything in and doing her best to meet everyone's expectations. When she finally cracks, it could cost her everything she holds dear.

Warnings: Cheating. Angst. References to sex (nothing explicit). Language.

A/N: This is the cheating fic. It exists in the G!P universe. It's going to be several chapters that show the aftermath of Jessie's indiscretion. She's aged up in this to fit the storyline I was picturing.

“That’s a wrap.”

The corner of Jessie's mouth turned up just slightly despite the heaviness in her chest at those words.

“In more ways than one,” she said wryly as she mustered up a more fulsome smile.

Put on a smile. It's what she always did. Even when she felt lost and hollow inside.

“You made it through.”

Jessie’s smile grew less burdensome at the comment. She turned her attention to the woman who was now dismantling the video equipment.

“I owe you thanks for that,” Jessie offered. "It's no secret I hate this kind of stuff. But," she shrugged, "this was about as painless as it could've been."

Mia, the videographer hired for this project, shot her a smirk.

“I'm hardly owed thanks,” she dismissed as she collapsed the tripod. She set her eyes on Jessie and gave a light shrug. “It's not every day you get to do the retirement video for one of the country's national treasures. You may say you hate the camera, but it loves you and the fans do, too."

"Hm," Jessie voiced as she offered a tight-lipped smile.

National treasure. The fans. The crowds. The energy. The adrenaline. The stakes. This sport had brought her to tears so many times over the years - tears of frustration, of happiness, of pain - she'd experienced every emotion, every high and low. And now, it was finally coming to a close.

Long ago, she'd said there was life for her after football. She'd been confident of it. But now it was upon her, she didn't feel nearly as sure.

Football had been something she sort of fell into in a way. She was a natural. She worked at it - damn hard, too - but before she knew it, she was getting call ups to the national team when she was in high school. Full-ride scholarships. Drafted to top-tier teams across the globe. Record-setting transfer fees. The captain's arm band. Inheriting a legacy and doing her best to carry it forward.

She didn't plan all of this, but it became her life nonetheless. It became who she was. Expectations upon expectations being layered on year after year. At this point, she could hardly remember a life - or an identity - outside of it.

The trajectory had been thrilling and a blur. She was on automatic in a lot of ways - her next steps laid out for her by her parents, by agents, by coaches. Success came on hard and fast. From a skinny, awkward little teen running onto the pitch for Canada, to quickly earning medals and lifting trophies. To now - to riding the bench, missed shots, missed passes. Her mind could visualize everything she needed to do, but the body was no longer willing.

She didn't want to retire like this. The hope was always to go out strong and on top, but instead, it felt more like a whimper.

After her missed penalty resulted in Canada having another early exit in a major tournament - one more thing in what felt like a too-long line of misplays and shortcomings - she made a decision.

It may have seemed a bit of a knee-jerk reaction, but deep down, this had been nagging at her. It felt a long time coming. The highs of her early, even mid-, twenties, felt like a lifetime ago sometimes.

She'd spent most of her early life being a prodigy. People had nothing but high hopes and expectations for her since she was a teen. Praise and accolades raining down even if she shied away from it all. Still, she did her damnedest to be perfect. It nearly killed her sometimes.

She had expectations to live up to. And they could be crushing. Not that she let on. Even when she could no longer meet those expectations. Working herself to the bone to be the best, to be all the things people said she'd be.

Sure, on paper she'd achieved a lot. But in many ways, she felt like she didn't quite meet the highs laid out for her. She'd spent all these years chasing those expectations. How could she explain that she'd achieved the things she did, but still felt like a bit of an imposter. A disappointment. Unsettled.

She couldn't explain it. And she didn't.

Not even to you. Especially not to you.

You'd sacrificed so much to support her and her career. The travel, the time away, uprooting your life as she moved from one team to another, concessions within your own career to give hers space. Giving her a family - two beautiful girls, and raising them and taking care of them while she travelled around chasing her dreams. And you did it all with a loving smile and tender words.

She hated disappointing you the most. The thought terrified her. She loved you so much and wanted you to see the best of her. For you to feel like all of your sacrifices were worth it.

So whatever anxieties clouded her mind - and no matter how much you inquired - she did what she'd always been good at, setting them aside and carrying on. She gave a winning smile, was steady, and kept moving forward.

“Hey-”

She nearly startled as Mia's voice pulled her from her thoughts.

“-here’s that lens you asked about yesterday,” Mia announced as she handed it to Jessie.

“You should check out Wileton park before you go. There's incredible foliage and landscape there. Right up your alley, I think. You'd get some great shots," Mia went on. Jessie found herself giving her a smile of gratitude.

"That sounds great. I'll look it up," she said. "And, um, thanks. You know. Throughout this project. I appreciate, you know," she paused as she searched for the right words, instead just gesturing between the two of them, "this. It's been a relief to not have to dissect my career or next move every second."

"I got you," Mia offered with a quick wink as she swung her bag over her shoulder. "I'll see you in a few for the wrap party."

"Mm, can't wait," Jessie deadpanned with a facetious smile at the prospect of another big to-do.

The evening was about as casual as Jessie could've hoped for. Still, the crew made speeches about her and she had to speak as well. As kind and well-intentioned as it all was, it just felt suffocating. She may have grown more accustomed to attention over the years, but attention under this context stung worse than she anticipated.

She had a drink to calm her nerves. And another. And another.

She found herself gravitating towards Mia, yet again. And as expected, Mia just let her be. Didn't talk about retirement. About plans. About glory days. None of that. It was easy and the reprieve she needed.

"You know. This is your party. You don't have to sit through it if you don't want," Mia relayed with a smirk as she nudged Jessie with her knee.

"If I leave first I'll just disappoint the crew," she said with a brief chuckle, but dormant emotions and thoughts tugged at her in this state. Her smiled faded as her gaze grew unfixed.

"It's hard...having so many expectations." She gave a breathy laugh as sensations in her chest began to rise. "Yeah. It's hard. I don't...I don't like disappointing people," she finished with a smile that very much didn't reach her eyes.

Mia gave her a slight frown. "Who are you disappointing?"

"Mm. I don't know," Jessie with another small laugh. "Everyone, it feels like."

Jessie didn't know how it happened. All of a sudden, all of the worries that had been weighing on her that she'd kept so tightly contained started to spill out. The other woman just listened as Jessie began to vent. She didn't even get that far into it before she just stopped - emotions teetering on the edge. She felt fidgety. She needed to get away. To distract herself. Stop whatever these feelings were.

"Want to go?" Jessie asked, vaguely surprising herself with how much she wanted Mia to say 'yes' and to aid her escape.

"Oh, yeah, of course," she said as she quickly set down her drink.

Jessie hurriedly settled the tab, again, confused by her own unsteadiness - the way her hands shook as she paid. Must be the alcohol.

Before she knew it, they were heading upstairs from the hotel bar and were at Mia's door.

"Thanks for listening to me," Jessie said with a nervous laugh. Mia made a face.

"Don't mention it. I'm happy to," she said. "You're dealing with a lot."

"Yeah," Jessie replied distractedly, her eyes inexplicably drawn to Mia's lips.

Something was building inside of Jessie that was foreign to her, but tempting in a way. Some kind of pull that promised greater reprieve. Greater escape.

There was so much going on in her mind all the time. She just wanted it to stop.

Then, her lips were upon Mia's. A charge went through Jessie's body. It felt amazing. It was strange, it was dangerous, and it felt so enticing.

"I've been wondering what that would be like," Mia said with a smirk as Jessie pulled back. Another rush went through her at the encouragement and she dove back in for another kiss, now pushing Mia against the closed door and loving the way the girl subtly moaned into their kiss.

"I have to admit I wasn't expecting this from you though," Mia eventually said. This did nothing but egg Jessie on. It bolstered some kind of defiance within her.

"I don't always have to do what's expected of me," she countered.

"Are you sure about this?" Mia asked, eyes searching Jessie's. "You're married."

There was a cacophony of noise inside Jessie's head. It banged around inside of her until it nearly formed a dull ringing in her ears. Her heart was pounding. She couldn't think - didn't want to think. She just wanted to get away. Not be in this moment. In her own skin.

She kissed Mia again.

"I know."

--------------

Jessie woke with a sharp breath. Her eyes flew open to reveal a darkened room. Her heart began to pound and her breath grew deep and heavy, but it took her mind several moments to catch up.

Panic began to flood her system. Her breath quickened. She continued to stare up at the ceiling as memories and misguided decisions fell into place. Her stomach was in knots and her temperature spiked as she willed everything to just be a bad dream. But she knew it wasn't. She forced herself to turn and look.

There was Mia - some girl she'd worked on and off with over the past few weeks - a girl who was very much not her wife. There she was, fast asleep, naked and tangled in sheets.

Jessie's chest rose rapidly as she rubbed agitatedly at her face. What did she do?

She curled her fingers into her skin, nails digging in, but she couldn't even register the pain she was so entrenched in her thoughts.

Images of the past few hours filled her mind. Vivid. Graphic. She knew exactly what she'd been doing. She knew as she did it again and again. She remembered the feeling - some twisted kind of disassociative satisfaction - vaguely aware as Mia moaned in pleasure under her, how the girl writhed as she came.

It felt like an out of body experience at the time, but, there was no denying that she very much knew what she was doing.

Jessie climbed out of bed in a rush, but as carefully as she could to not wake Mia. She gathered up her clothes with jittery hands and slipped them on as silently as possible, fumbling several times over with how numb she felt.

Her legs hurriedly carried her down the hall to the elevator and to her floor. Her throat was tight and she sweat as her heart pounded violently inside her rib cage.

She fumbled with the key to her room, stumbling in and slamming it behind her. She unsteadily made her way to the bathroom and gripped the counter desperately as she began to gasp for air.

What little cognitive thought remained was begging and pleading for her to calm down, but her throat continued to constrict and her pulse grew stronger. She could hardly hear any thoughts above the rapid sound of her heartbeat and ragged breaths.

She clumsily turned on the tap, cold water rushing out and she pooled handfuls of it in her palms before splashing it onto her face. It felt good and she splashed more of it on her and rubbed her skin so roughly and vigorously that it hurt.

She finally looked - really looked - in the mirror. Her complexion had grown pale, but she had red splotches and welts from where she'd been rubbing. Her eyes looked bewildered and scared.

She hardly recognized herself. And she hated what she saw.

How did she get to this point? What had she done? And for what?

She pictured you.

Emotion crashed over her and she stifled a sob. She clutched her hand, desperately gripping and caressing the silicone wedding band she'd hardly ever taken off since she put it on 10 years ago.

She remembered worrying that you wouldn't like it, but instead you said it was sweet that she wanted to wear the band so much. She remembered clearly the way you smiled as you slipped it onto her finger that first day. She remembered the way her chest felt like it could burst she was so happy to be yours; how happy she was to put her ring on you, that you were hers.

Self-loathing began to course through her veins. How could she do this to you?

She loved you. She really, fucking loved you. If there were two truths in this entire world - one: she loved her kids, and two: she loved and adored you.

She'd seen so many relationships crumble. So many sputter and never really come to life. But you - your relationship, your love - it was special. And she was so grateful for it. You two built a beautiful life together.

And now...

She belatedly realized she was gripping the counter again, now with so much force that it left bright red imprints in her skin.

She stormed out of the bathroom and paced around the room. She grabbed her phone and clutched it in her hand. She couldn't think straight. It hurt to breathe.

All she knew right now is she wanted to hear your voice. She needed to talk to you. She needed you.

How fucked up.

Her hands still shook as she called you, lifting the phone to her ear and using every tactic she'd ever learned to coach herself to calm down.

The ringing of the phone stopped mid-tone as you picked up. Jessie's breath caught in her throat and her feet abruptly rooted themselves to the floor.

"Hey, baby." Your voice filtered through with a pleased laugh, sending goosebumps across Jessie's skin. "What are you doing up? Isn't it like 4 am over there?" You asked with another soft laugh.

A lump formed in her throat so large that when she opened her mouth nothing came out at first. She tried again.

"Oh, yeah, I-I couldn't sleep. So. I thought I'd call you," she said, attempting to laugh, but nothing more than a feeble huff came out.

"Aren't you sweet," you teased with a sweet laugh and it felt like a knife through her heart. Her jaw clenched painfully. "Any reason you can't sleep?"

Her eyes screwed shut as her mind snapped back to Mia beneath her, the girl's hands on her, her moans in her ear. She swallowed hard.

"I don't know," she responded quietly.

"Well, you have a quieter day today, don't you? Did you finish filming yesterday?" You asked.

"Yeah," she responded dully. Her hands shook again and she tried to will away the lump that persisted in her throat. She blew out a silent breath and forced herself to start walking around the room again.

"You finished and you didn't even tell me!" You said playfully. "You must've been celebrating too hard, you didn't even text me," you added with a laugh.

Jessie's gaze shifted up to the ceiling and she dug her fingernails into the palm of her hand in an ill-attempt to ground herself.

You legitimately were joking. There was no malice or resentment in your tone. And how did she repay you?

She racked her mind to come up with a response, but mercifully you went on.

"Hopefully you can rest a bit later today," you said.

"Yeah," she repeated quietly. She shook out her head. She needed to recover. Reset. "So, um, how was your day? How are the girls?" She asked, tone curious and anew.

"Well, I texted you earlier about Josie quitting. So. That sucked," you relayed matter of fact.

"Oh-right," Jessie said as she brought a hand to her face and sat heavily on the edge of the bed. "I'm sorry. I remember now."

"It's fine," you said mildly. "I know you're busy," you offered graciously.

Another pang went through her chest.

"Ky presented her science project today. Ky! Come tell your momma how it went!" Despite the immense weight churning in the pit of her stomach, Jessie smiled as you called for their daughter. "Here, she's coming," you said more softly. The call muffled as it was handed over.

"Momma, I got an A! And Mr. Jensen said my project is one of the ones going to the finals!"

Jessie's eyes welled with tears immediately upon hearing her daughter's voice. "Oh baby, that's so great. I'm so proud of you."

"You helped me," Ky laughed.

"Not much. You told me what you wanted and I just helped put it together. You did the hard work," she insisted.

Kylen, her oldest - eight years old and wise beyond her years already. She had a knack for science and loved to learn. She was quiet around new people, but once she was comfortable she could talk a mile a minute.

She continued to regale Jessie with updates until another voice chimed in from the background.

"Is that Momma? Hey, I want to talk to her, too! Let me talk!"

Jessie smiled again. Harper. Her youngest at six years old. She inherited the creativity genes. She loved music and dance. And while Ky was a bit more internal with her emotions, Harper hardly ever was.

Jessie couldn't help but laugh as she heard the two begin to bicker over the phone until you interjected. Harper soon came on.

"Momma, will you be home for my recital this weekend?" Harper asked.

"Of course, sweetie. I wouldn't miss it," she said as she quickly wiped at a tear falling from the corner of her eye. She tilted her head back as she tried to stop herself from sniffling.

"Okay, good. I've been practicing every night like you told me to," she relayed very proudly.

"That's great, baby. I can't wait to see you on stage," she said.

"Mommy's going to do my make-up," she told you.

"Yeah?" Jessie said. "Sure you don't want me to?" She managed to tease.

"No!" Harper giggled.

As Harper talked, the weight of Jessie's actions continued to mount. Self-reproach was coming on strong and hard, polluting every second of what should've been a sweet call with her family. Instead, she felt sick to her stomach and the harsh voices in her head were growing louder and louder.

She had a beautiful life. And she knew it. She never doubted it. Yet she risked destroying it like it was nothing.

She was stuck in her head when she heard your voice in the background, drawing her attention back.

"-five more minutes and it's bedtime, okay?" She heard you say.

Both girls started to pout and complain, saying they wanted to talk more. You reminded them that Jessie would be home in a day.

Eventually, you came back on the line after she said goodnight to the girls.

"Well, that was certainly a nice way for the girls to end their night," you said. "They've missed you."

"I've missed them too," Jessie said, doing her very best to hold her voice steady.

"Kay, baby," you went on gently. "You should try to sleep again. You could probably still get an hour or so."

Her throat was dry and taut and she wiped at a fresh set of tears.

"Yeah," she said and failed at holding back a sniffle.

"You okay?" You asked, confusion and concern evident in your voice.

Jessie shook her head as her eyes fell shut. Her lip trembled and she pinched the bridge of her nose harshly.

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine," she tried to reassure you, though she knew her voice betrayed her some. She sniffled again as her upset with herself grew greater. "I'm just missing you guys," she added.

It wasn't a lie.

"Aww. We miss you too, babe. But, we'll be getting a lot more time with you soon. Not too soon though," you said with a soft chuckle. Even if Jessie hadn't been forthcoming with you about her insecurities and stress, you at least knew it was somewhat bittersweet for her. As far as she ever let you know though, above all, she was ready and she was good.

"I love you," Jessie said, hating the way her voice quaked.

"I love you, too, Jess," you reciprocated. "Get some sleep, baby. You sound tired."

She didn't respond. Her body felt so heavy and she just stared blankly at the carpeted floor as her pulse pounded loudly in her head.

"Jess?" You inquired.

"Hm?" She voiced quietly, barely audible.

"Sounds like you're falling asleep already," you chuckled.

"No," she said simply, feeling inner resentment starting to boil again. She blinked back more tears, sitting up and steeling herself. "I just miss you and love you a lot."

You laughed softly into the phone and it was sweet and painful all at the same time.

"Someone's getting sentimental in their old age," you teased lightly.

Normally, she would've laughed. Cracked a quip of her own. Instead, it upset her.

"I've always loved you," she said resolutely, almost in defiance.

"Okay," you responded slowly, a bit of confusion creeping into your tone. "I was just teasing you, babe. I miss you and love you too," you said gently.

Jessie wiped irritably at her eyes. She was a mess. She didn't know what to do.

"Okay. I just want you to know that," she said simply, voice now timid and meek.

"Alright, love," you accepted. "Well, if you aren't going to try to get more sleep, I at least need to make sure the girls are getting ready for bed. I appreciate you calling though. It's nice to hear your voice. Keep me posted on everything, okay? And we can't wait until you're home."

Jessie had her head hung in her hand and her mouth quivered as she fought back more emotions. She nodded, working up the will and control to respond.

"'Course, baby. Kiss the girls goodnight for me. And have a good sleep tonight. Text me when you're up." She swallowed hard. "Can't wait to see you, too."

[hyunles]

Overtime | H. HJ.

pairing: ceo!hyunjin x fem!reader word count: 3,7k genre: smut. +18, MDNI cw: no proofread, explicit wording, boss x employee relationship, kissing, couch sex, oral (f.), fingering, creampie, breast sucking, penetration, unprotected sex (pls don't), brief dirty talk, male whimpering, a lot of moaning. Let me know if I missed something! notes: hyunjin in suit always makes me go feral godddd, he's so handsome as always, english is not my first language, pls consider on giving feedback (in the kindest way possible) taglist and requests are open, feel free to ask! have a nice reading <3

It was time for you to fulfill another of your New Year's resolutions: Get a new job.

As a recent graduate, it was a little difficult for you since everyone asked for a twenty-year-old with thirty years of experience, but you always did your best at job interviews.

Today you were supposed to go to a job interview at a law firm. Your position? Nothing fancy, just the CEO assistant.

Naturally, you were nervous. He was the one interviewing you, so you really hoped to not embarrass yourself.

As you made your way to the entrance of the big building, you could feel your heart rate start to rise. No. You had to calm down.

Taking a deep breath, you got onto the elevator and pressed the needed button. Eight floor.

You reviewed your resume, which wasn't that impressive. You also reviewed a few lines your mother had said would help you a long time ago, when you were in middle school, but they could work now.

The elevator came to a stop and you got out, walking until you reached the office. His office.

You could hear people arguing inside, that made your brows furrow, but you decided to knock either way since it was already the time you were called.

The words stopped and a male voice said something inaudible before a guy about your age walked out, fuming in anger.

"Come in." The same male voice called you.

Your boss. Hwang Hyunjin.

You nodded and walked inside. "Good evening. I'm the applicant for the assistant position." You said and immediately handed him your resume.

He hummed, reading quickly but carefully. "Take a seat." He nodded to the chair across his desk, where you sat a few seconds later.

"A chef at a sushi restaurant and a barista at a cafe? How did you end up here?" Hyunjin said without tearing his eyes away from the paper.

"Everyone is asking for years of experience that are impossible for someone my age. And in your ad, you were asking for an assistant between 25 and 30 years old." You explained calmly, hoping he couldn't notice your nervousness.

"Okay, a 25 year old… Are you organized? Can you handle stress?"

You immediately nodded. "Yes sir, I can, totally. I'm very good at it."

"Good."

Silence again, just the sound of the CEO flipping through the few pages of your resume.

"I want you in my team. If you're interested, you start tomorrow." He said with his serious voice.

Your eyes widened a bit as you smiled ever so slightly. "Thanks sir, that really means a lot."

"It is full time. Monday to Friday from nine to five, an hour of lunch at two, I'd maybe need you to stay overtime but I always notify you in advance." He started. "You have social security and a month of paid vacation when you choose it, and a small bonus at the end of the year. Is that okay with you?"

You were immediately surprised. Was that really true?

"Definitely! More than I expected, actually."

"Good. You can start tomorrow morning. See you tomorrow." He nodded and stood up. "I'll take you to the door."

You’ve been working there for a few months now, and everything had been going smoothly. The office was well-organized, and you had made friends with some of the employees.

You've heard rumours about how Hyunjin had a reputation for being strict, cold, and downright intimidating when angry. And he definitely was like that with everyone. Everyone but you for some reason.

Of course, he was still firm, but there was something softer beneath his gaze when he looked your way, a glint of interest that left you wondering. He’d often call you to his office, offering a thousand excuses —small, irrelevant things that could have been handled over email.

Today started off as an average day in the office, any given Friday. You found yourself in the office kitchen, making coffee, when suddenly your phone buzzed. It was Hyunjin.

"I need you in my office. Now."

With a quiet sigh, you put your coffee down, feeling a slight tremor of nerves dance in your stomach. You knew it was never just a simple request with him. And you always were a bit nervous because of all the rumours even when he was softer with you.

As you entered his office, the air felt heavy. Hyunjin was seated behind his desk, his sharp eyes locking onto you the moment you stepped inside. The look on his face was one of irritation, though you weren’t sure if it was because of something you did or something else

“What took you so long? I asked you to bring me an important file yesterday." He said with the severe voice you've grown accustomed to.

"The files on Mr. Kim's trial? I left them on your desk and texted you at nine." You replied calmly but firmly as you always did. Careful.

He frowned, rummaging through the numerous files he had on his desk —or pretending to—, and quickly finding the folder.

You started to think he just called because he wanted to see you. But you immediately shook those thoughts aside.

"Right… Well, now that you're here, I have to ask you something." He said, gesturing you to sit on the chair across his desk.

"The lawyers' dinner is on your agenda, right?" He didn't even wait for you to answer. "I need you to go with me and take notes."

You frowned slightly in confusion but nodded anyway. "But it's tonight."

"Do you have something to do?" He immediately asked, leaning against his desk with a serious expression.

"Not really but you should've-"

"I want you there at six in the fanciest clothes you have." He said firmly, not leaving room for discussion.

You sighed quietly and nodded, standing up. "I'll be there."

He didn't say anything.

You stepped back.

"If you don't have anything else to say to me, I'll go." You waited until he nodded and walked out of the office.

It was going to be a hell of a night.

17:20

Of course you were ready. You needed to leave now if you wanted to make it on time.

The outfit wasn't very impressive. Just a black dress with short sleeves and a sweetheart neckline, knee-length. Also, some low heels and black, thin tights.

Nothing very revealing but not simple either. The few jewels giving it a plus.

You walked out of your house, where your taxi was already waiting. You got in and indicated the driver the address.

After a few minutes, you texted Hyunjin. Just a small message.

"I'm on my way. See you there."

A simple and concise message.

You started to organize your small notebook, getting ready for whatever notes you had to take as Hyunjin said.

That ruined the Friday night —that just implied drinking coffee as you stayed up late drawing or talking with some friends— you had planned.

Either way, you no longer had reason to complain if you were on your way to dinner. A luxurious meal at a 3-star Michelin restaurant. You always thought they were exaggerating too much.

After a few minutes, you arrived at your destiny. You paid and got out of the taxi, walking inside and asking in reception for the table, a big one in a private room.

You were the first, as always. It was 17:50 now, and you had to wait.

You started scheduling the tasks for Monday, both yours and his, killing time.

Suddenly, the door opened. There he was, looking neat as always, you dare to think he looks even better.

White button-up shirt, a black tie, black pants with the usual belt he loved —the one that camouflaged perfectly but also had a subtle golden buckle—, and the glasses he rarely wore and made him look even more professional. His black, short hair was also slicked back, some strands loose, falling perfectly on his forehead.

Hot, you thought. But you immediately shook your head slightly.

"You're early." He stated, taking a seat next to you.

"I like to arrive early. Arriving 10 or 15 minutes early is just in time for me." You explained as you kept writing.

"I like how punctual you are."

You blinked slightly, even stopped writing for a second, but you quickly recomposed.

"I lied to you. I didn't want you to come take notes. I just wanted you here." He said as if it was nothing.

It was definitely anything but nothing.

"Oh…" You mumbled.

"You make me feel more… in control. You help me so much." He continued. "I like it. You keep me grounded with that seriousness of yours. You need to loosen up a bit." He chuckled, leaning closer.

"I'm fine." You simply said, turning your face away just a bit.

He let out a quiet sigh and sat straight again. "Do you even drink?" Hyunjin asked like you were friends.

"I don't like the taste of alcohol." You kept writing.

He snatched your notebook away, smirking. "Leave this. This dinner is supposed to be a… party, so to speak."

"No."

"Come on, you can't be this boring." He teased.

You sighed, looking at your notebook in his hands. He had pretty hands, you've thought that since you met him.

When he was about to make a snarky remark, the chatter of people on the hallway could be heard, he looked at the door.

At least 20 people walked inside, laughing and smiling as they greeted the two of you.

You just smiled slightly and greeted back, memorizing everyone and remembering their last names in case you needed it.

Hyunjin joined the talk soon, his eyes going around the big table before the waiter started taking orders.

The evening reached its peak, everyone was already a bit tipsy, just a few were drunk. People kept coming, you even had to give up your seat to one of the lawyers because he said he was having knee problems.

There were at least 40 people cramped in that medium room. Unexpected guests, people walking around… A total mess.

Hyunjin, on the other hand, was having a blast. He talked and talked about the stupid cases he got and won. Obviously, he was slightly tipsy, but he was very composed.

You sighed quietly and excused yourself, walking out of the room, already exhausted and feeling overwhelmed.

You sat down on one of the benches in the small garden outside. You felt calmer, You sat down on one of the benches in the small garden outside. You felt calmer, ready to go back.

But Hyunjin appeared again. It was like he had some magic trick to just pop up wherever you were.

"I'm leaving now. I'm tired. Do you want me to take you home?" He said, smiling. Weird sight, that really gave away the fact that he was tipsy, drunk even.

"You're not driving in this state. I'll take you home." You said, leaving no room for argument.

Hyunjin chuckled. "You noticed?"

"Obviously, you're all red, smiling, and even laughing."

"So you know me…" He whispered as you walked towards the parking lot.

You ignored that comment, shaking your head slightly. Focus.

"This is my car." He said as he grabbed his keys, opening it.

You walked towards the driver's door and extended your hand. He placed the keys on your palm and walked towards the passenger seat.

The drive was quiet, calm. He was very awake, looking out the window.

You were driving calmly, but your mind was going at an outrageous speed.

Thoughts like hot, or he's cute didn't leave your head, you were already stressed.

And his voice didn't help.

"I think I need to wear my glasses daily. My head isn't hurting."

"Funny because you're drunk." You smiled slightly.

He looked at you. "Hey… You're smiling."

That made your eyes go slightly wide. "Wait, you think I never smile?"

"Well…"

"I'm offended." You chuckled, driving calmly.

Hyunjin sighed and leaned his head against the headrest of the seat. Silence returning, slightly tense now.

"You loosen up when I'm drunk." He said.

It caught you off guard.

"You feel more human this way." You murmured.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You always look like a robot. Just work, work, work. I even have to remind you when it's lunch time."

He looked at you with a silly smile. "I need to keep everything in check."

"Not alone. That's why you have me and the other lawyers, the litigation team, everyone. It's not just your job. It's a team effort."

That shut him up, leaving him thinking.

"Text me that please, I want to remember that every day."

You rolled your eyes playfully, pulling over his house. "We're here. Can you walk for yourself?"

"I'm not drunk, just slightly tipsy. I just feel like chuckling."

"Okay." You murmured, getting off the car.

You walked him to his front foor, waiting for him to get inside.

But instead, he opened and leaned against the doorframe.

"How are you going home?"

"I'll take a taxi."

"No."

He didn't even ask when he pulled you inside.

You tried to protest but he quickly shot the door behind you and took off his shoes.

"You're staying with me tonight."

You frowned, taking off your shoes. You knew he wasn't letting you go.

"Where?"

"The guest room. It's spacious."

You nodded as you walked inside, looking around. The house was big, giant for just one person.

"Do you live alone?" You asked, sitting on one of the couches.

"Yes. I used to live with someone but she left. That was 6 years ago anyway." He felt the need to clarify. Why?

"I see."

You started to reorganize your schedule for tomorrow since it'd be difficult to return home in the morning in less than 30 minutes.

He noticed and sat next to you, taking your phone and placing it on the coffee table. "You need to sleep."

"I could say that to you."

"I'm fine."

"You're drunk."

A moment of silence before he looked at you with slight curiosity. "Are you single?" He blurted out.

Your eyes widened as you looked at him. "Why?"

"Just answer."

It took you a moment, but you nodded. "Yeah."

That seemed to please him, making him scoot closer.

Maybe it was the alcohol on his system or the liking he took for her these past months, but he felt bold enough to move his hands towards your waist.

"Hyunjin…" You started but he shushed you quickly.

"You're really pretty." He murmured, making your breath catch. Why was he doing this right now, when he looked so good?

He smiled slightly and cupped your face in his hands, getting closer. So close your breaths mingled together and you could feel the warmness of his body.

"Sir, we shouldn't do this." You murmured, but you didn't move.

"Push me away." He whispered. "Tell me to stop."

You couldn't.

He got closer, noses now brushing.

"I want you. Not just for tonight, but forever. You've made me feel things I never felt…" He murmured, a bit of vulnerability in his voice.

You didn't know what to say, it was like your brain just short-circuited right there and then.

So he took the opportunity and brushed his lips against yours, barely, softly.

"Can I?" Hyunjin whispered.

You nodded.

And that was all the confirmation he needed before kissing you. It was a soft but hungry kiss. You could notice he'd been thinking about it for weeks, months even.

His fingers tangled around your hair as you pulled him closer by the tie. He groaned and pressed himself against you, making you lay down.

Eventually, you broke the kiss in need of air. Quiet gasps and a slight chuckle escaped his mouth. "You're a better kisser than I imagined." He mumbled.

You smiled as your filter and your moral flew away. "Hyun…"

"A nickname? Where's the serious you?" Hyunjin chuckled quietly, kissing down your jawline and neck.

You shivered, tilting your head back as your hands undid his tie and unbuttoned his shirt.

He groaned and helped you with his shirt and pants, already desperate.

"I want you so much…" He whispered, you sighed.

Finally, he started taking off your dress, very gently for his desperation. He was almost admiring you.

"You're so gorgeous…" He whispered, throwing your dress to the floor, kissing down your chest, feeling the texture of your bra with his fingertips.

You could just sigh and move your hands to the back of his head, pulling him closer.

He smiled and unclipped your bra, immediately taking one of your breasts on his mouth, grinding against you.

You couldn't take it and it was just starting. You arched your body, seeking more contact.

He grabbed your hips and played with the edges of your underwear. You sighed desperately. "Just take them off…"

He chuckled, kissing down your abdomen while pulling your panties down. You were already wet, drenched even.

You squirmed slightly when he kissed your thighs.

"God, so wet for me?" He whispered before licking once, his tongue flattening against your entrance. You moaned, gripping the couch.

He started to lick desperately, almost animalistic. He was so needy for you, like a starved man eating you out. And you could just moan and whimper, keeping his head in place.

He kept his ministrations, now moving his lips towards your clit, sucking gently and licking. You moaned his name like a prayer and buckled your hips up, seeking more contact.

Hyuniin decided to make this more interesting and delicious, since both of you were desperate.

He introduced his middle finger on your entrance, slowly at first, lubricating it. You moaned and moved your hips, begging for him.

"Hyunjin… G-God…" You could just say, it was like all thoughts just disappeared from your brain and the only reasonable thing was him, his fingers on you, his tongue on you.

He started moving his finger until it hit that gummy spot, making you let out a yelp, closing your eyes. The pleasure you were feeling was indescribable.

Hyuniin introduced his ring finger, moving both quickly, out and inside, curling them, making it messy.

His lips and chin were glistening with your arousal, and the sight turned you on even more if that was possible.

"Come on… Good girl…" He whispered as he moved his hand faster. The wet sounds making him groan.

"Fuck… You're so good for me…" He whispered, his other hand moving to his boxers, taking them off. His length was so hard it started to hurt, and he had to pump up a bit to relieve himself before aligning it with your wet pussy. "Can you take me?" He murmured, eyes filled with lust.

You nodded.

He pushed inside, stretching you slowly.

"Goodness…!" You moaned loudly, closing your eyes and throwing your head back.

He whimpered quietly, filling you up so good. His hips finally made contact with yours and he stayed still for a second, waiting until you grew accustomed to the feeling, the stretch.

"Please… Move…" You could barely whisper. Your mind was clouded with pleasure and your thoughts were only on how good he felt inside you.

His big length twitched, and he started moving, slowly out and suddenly in, that was his pace, making you moan loudly and stealing whimpers from himself.

You'd never expected him to be the loud type, but you weren't complaining.

"Please… Oh God… Please…" He whimpered, moving faster, causing wet sounds. You moaned, loving how he sounded. "Finally… I can have you…" He wasn't even thinking what he was saying, he got so carried away that he no longer thought straight.

With every thrust, you moaned and he whimpered, saying his pleading again and again, hitting that stop repeatedly, making your sight go white.

In a few more thrusts, his hips stuttered. He was close, and so were you.

"I'm gonna…" You whispered.

"Yes baby, come for me. Come with me…" He mumbled, letting out a soft moan. His head falling on your shoulder, kissing there softly.

And finally, you felt it forming more persistently down in your stomach. You were about to cum. Your moans were unstoppable, with absolutely no filter.

He bit your shoulder, moaning quietly but loud enough for you to hear and take you over the edge.

With that, you came, and seconds later, you felt his release filling you up.

Your legs trembled, your body felt weak.

That was the best sex you had in your life, and you were probably going to regret it in the morning. But who cares when your boss just gave you the best orgasm in your entire life, right?

You were panting, cleaning your sweat away. He stayed inside you for a second before sliding out carefully, he didn't want to overstimulate you.

"You're so good at everything, I'm impressed…" He murmured, kissing you again, gently now, lovingly.

You broke the kiss reluctantly. "You won't regret it?"

"No. Never."

You smiled, kissing him softly.

"Let's take a bath." He murmured against your lips.

Two months had already passed since that messy night. You two kept your professional facades but, outside of the building, you two went on dates, getting to know each other.

Obviously you never wanted a one-night-stand, and neither did he. He was an absolute romantic, lover of cheesy things. You could've never guessed since he always kept his serious facade, but you were happy that you were the one who got to see that side of him.

Today you were answering mails as always when you got a message from Hyunjin.

"Are you free today?"

"For you always ;)"

"Good. I need to see you at the park after work. 6:30, without delays."

"Okay, Mr. Mistery."

With that, you left your phone on your desk again, now a bit more nervous.

But you knew, whatever it was, whatever he wanted to talk about, it was going to be something good. You knew him better now, and you knew he was planning something romantic. He's been weird for days, not calling you after work, nothing, but acting like a highschooler in love.

You knew, whatever it was, you loved him, flaws and all. He was the perfect person for you.

And you were the perfect person for him.

ᝰ.ᐟ Reblogs and likes are very appreciated. If you liked this, please consider them!

Thanks for reading!

── 2025, hyunles ⋆ No translations, rewrites, or reposts allowed.

[smiling-laughing-hating]

I saw you too have kpop demon hunters brainrot, and so, I am here to request!

Can I have some dating headcannons of the main girls (with like gender neutral or AFAB)?? I have a huge crush on mira rn and there's like no content of her, only jinu and the saja boys-

summary: what is it like to date the Huntrix girls and dealing with their insecurities

====

Rumi

Let's just say that to get with this girl you had to go through alot

She surrounded herself with walls all the time cause of her patterns

And she won't tell you about them even when you get together forget

How you figure it out must have been her letting down her guard (which one it's on is hard)

You were sleeping over at the Huntrix and currently were in Rumi's room; on her bed

Your girlfriend walks in with her coat on something that you always question about her is why she always wears a coat inside who does that?

"Hi baby what are you doing?"

You shrugged scrolling some more on your phone "nothing much"

She sits besides youand snatch your phone "hey!" You grin and jump at her causing you both to collapse on the bed you on top of her

You giggle as you start to tickle her relentlessly

"Wait- no- HAHAHAHAHAHA"

"Surrender for i-...?" You stop and raise a brow as you see the marking on her arms that were exposed as a result of her squirming

she was confused at first before she realised you saw it and froze in shock

Yea after that she explained everything and how it is only 'temporarily' until they can seal The Honmon and she was surprised to hear you say that even if she stays like this you will always love her

Yea that was an emotional night for her

Oh and btw after this you are the most important person to her no one can top you

She became more open more romantic and oh she is touch starved

Now that she feels safe around you you better expect that you will be cuddling every night

Mira

Sweet sweet Mira here is your no.1 fan of anything you do she supports 100℅ she knows what it's like to not be accepted she would for you to feel that way

She maybe a little hesitant to talk about her past and family and every time you bring it up she always dodges it like a bullet

She may snap at you sometime and say hurtful things but she never really mean any of it

Well that fact doesn't make it hurt any less does it?

You were leaning against the Huntrix balcony

You and Mira fought, again

This week was rough it seems like any disagreement between you two cause a full blown fight, it was alot

you understand that Mira's parents contacted her and that's what is making her so on edge but it doesn't exactly soothe the ache in your chest

Your thoughts are interrupted by a pair of arms wrapping around you

"You have every right to be angry i shouldn't have lashed out like that...forgive me please"

You don't answer you simply put your hand on hers and you both basket in the comfortable silence

After that night she became more careful with her words

And now instead of fighting eachother you fight the problem while cuddling to get rid of any possible argument

Zoey

We already know how much of a worrier this girl is when she confessed to you it was so exaggerat that you thought she may as well ask you to marry her (i mean-)

But while it can be endearing it can also be too much on both of you

For everything she does she looks to please you and everyone around her even is she doesn't realise it

To the point where it becomes suffocating

"i made your favourite dish"

"What do you think of ---?"

"Are mad at me?"

" i am sorry"

"You love me right?"

And so on and so forth

That is a normal day between you two you were ready to quell all her fear you cared you really did

But this was too much

"Zoey! Dear you don't have to try so much for me i love you for you!"

She blinks up at you and smiles sheepishly

"I am so-"

"No! No more of that come here" she looked at you confused as you pulled her at you and started to squeeze her as tight as you can

You threw yourself on the couch still holding her, you then start to whisper sweet nothing in her ear such as 'i love you' 'you are worth everything' 'you are enough' and more

You guys stayed like that all night

She smiles as she nuzzles into your neck "thank you..."

thankfully after that day she seemed to calm alot more about her habit of overpleasing you

She is more comfortable around you she now tells you everything

Ans i mean everything :D

====

[whenstarsundress]

a request from a very special moot <3

the sliding door slammed shut. you barely got both feet inside the room before he was there. a blur of white and wrath.

“satoru—”

“where the hell have you been?” his voice cracked like a whip, and the way his eyes glowed—raw cerulean, blinding, furious—stopped you dead in your tracks.

you didn’t answer. not with the way he was staring at you, like you’d vanished from the world and just now clawed your way back.

“don’t even try lying to me,” he growled. “you think i wouldn’t notice you were gone? you think i wouldn’t feel it when your cursed energy flared in the middle of nowhere at 3am?”

your mouth opened, but all that came out was, “it was a minor mission. i handled it—”

“a minor mission? alone? you left without telling anyone. you left me.” he stepped closer, the air warping with his cursed energy. his infinity wasn’t up, but the fury radiating off him might as well have been a wall.

his shaking hands reached out and you expected him to pull you in, but instead, they ran up your arms, across your ribs, down your sides, searching. you caught his whisper then, almost too low to hear. “tell me you’re not hurt…”

“i’m fine—”

and then he saw it. the slice across your shoulder, the scratches on your hip, the blood-stained gauze peeking out beneath your sleeve. minor. barely worth mentioning to you. but not to him. he froze, his breathing stuttering. and when he looked back up, his eyes were blazing. no blindfold. no shades. just those furious, bright blues burning with rage and terror.

“you bled,” he whispered. “you bled, and i wasn’t there.”

“satoru—”

he grabbed your wrist, hard enough to shake. “don’t you ever do that again. don’t you ever sneak out. don’t you dare walk into danger without me.”

“it wasn’t—”

“i don’t care!” his voice broke, desperate now. “i don’t care if you think it’s nothing. if you’re capable. you are. i know you are. but you’re mine.” his hand moved to your cheek, trembling. “and if something happened to you, i wouldn’t survive it. you understand?”

your chest ached.

“i thought i lost you.”

you reached for him, cupped his face, brushed your thumb beneath his lashes. “i’m here, baby,” you whispered. “i’m here with you.”

and that finally did it. his head dropped to your shoulder, arms curling tight around your waist, clinging like he could fuse your soul to his and never let go.

“…next time,” he murmured, lips brushing your skin, “i’m coming with you. or i’ll tie you to the bed.”

“…you’d like that, huh?”

“don’t tempt me,” he breathed, his voice shook with equal parts fear and adoration. “i just got you back.”

his grip never loosened. even as the seconds ticked by and your heart slowed from the mission’s high, satoru’s arms only held you tighter, like he was afraid you’d dissolve if he let go.

you felt his breath stutter at your neck. “still mad at me?” you whispered.

he pulled back enough to look at you. and that look—god. those eyes, raw and unfiltered, glowed like flame-cut sapphires. no blindfold, no hiding. just the full force of his love, his fear, his obsession all storming behind his lashes.

“you scared the shit out of me,” he muttered, hoarse. “i don’t know whether to yell at you again or kiss you until you can’t breathe.”

you tilted your head, voice soft. “kiss me, then.”

and he kissed you like a man losing his mind. his mouth crashed into yours with a force that knocked the air from your lungs, teeth clashing before his lips sealed over yours in a demanding, desperate, furious kiss. his hands gripped your face, then your waist, dragging you flush against him until your spine hit the nearest wall.

the kiss wasn’t sweet. it was claiming. he kissed you like he needed proof that you were here, alive, tangible. not some half-breath hallucination conjured by grief. when he broke away, just for a heartbeat, his forehead pressed to yours, breathing hard.

“you’re mine,” he whispered, eyes burning into yours. “you don’t get to die. you don’t get to leave me. you understand?”

you nodded, dazed. “i’m not going anywhere.”

“damn right you’re not.”

and then he was kissing you again, slower this time, but no less intense. one hand cradled the back of your neck, the other ran down your side, brushing over your gauze-covered scratch. he flinched.

“you’re bleeding under my hands and all i want to do is mark you deeper.”

you gasped against his mouth. “satoru—”

his tongue slid past your lips before you could speak again, swallowing your breath, your name, your apology. you didn’t get to explain. he didn’t want words. just you in his arms, safe, and never letting go.

when he finally pulled back, both your lips were kiss-bruised and swollen, and his voice dropped to something darker. “you want a punishment for sneaking out?” he murmured, ghosting kisses down your jaw. “because i have a few ideas.”

[dismalflo]

may i request a poly!wolfstar x reader where the reader adopts a cat without telling them? fluff please

thanks for requesting, love! <3

poly!wolfstar x reader who adopts a kitten ✩ 1.5k words

"You can’t be angry with me."

You catch both of your boyfriends just as they’re stepping into the flat. The door stands wide open behind them, letting a gentle breeze curl through the too-small entryway.

Remus’ shoulders rise, almost imperceptibly, as tension begins to gather between his brows. He sets his shopping bag down slowly, eyes scanning your face cautiously.

“Dove,” he starts, voice soft. “Why would we be–”

“I just need you to promise you won’t be miffed before I tell you,” you cut in quickly, holding up your hands.

Behind him, Sirius makes a sound that’s halfway between a click of the tongue and a sigh. He shakes his head in faux disappointment, and a few strands of hair tumble free from the bun he’s scraped it into. It curls around his cheekbones and he doesn’t bother brushing them away.

You glance at him, your usual partner in crime – the one who folds under a pout and melts under a well-timed smile. 

But not today.

The second your eyes meet his, he groans and tilts his head back toward the ceiling, as if trying to avoid being lured in by you.

“Oh my god,” he drawls, voice thick with mock exasperation. “What have you done this time?”

“Nothing bad!” you reassure him, maybe a bit too quickly.

Remus exhales through his nose and steps forward, calm and deliberate. “Can we please have this conversation inside?” he murmurs, gently placing a guiding hand on the small of your back as he nudges everyone away from the cold and toward the warmth of the flat.

The three of you drift into the living room. Remus moves with you, all soft hands and gentle touches. Sirius hangs back, arms crossed now, the tilt of his head saying I’m watching you.

You angle your body towards the hallway, intent on slipping off towards the spare room. Maybe it’d be easier to just show them, you think.

But you don’t make it two steps before Sirius catches on.

His hand clamps gently but firmly down on your shoulder. Not rough, not angry, but there’s no mistaking the intention behind it.

You're turned around before you can say a word, and Sirius plants himself right in front of you, eyes narrowed with mock authority and a little too much amusement for your liking.

“Start talking, trouble.”

You open your mouth, then close it again. Sirius’s expectant stare makes the words feel heavier, like they’re all tangled inside your throat. You start, haltingly at first.

“Well, it’s just–um–okay, so, you know how I said I wanted to get a pet? And we’ve been talking about it on and off for ages, but I wasn’t sure if you would be–”

“Dove,” Remus interrupts gently, his hand reaching out to still your restless fingers trying to calm the panic that's spilled into your voice, “just breathe. We’re not angry. We just want to know what's going on.”

You nod quickly, swallowing hard, the words still darting away from you. “It’s not what you think. I mean, it is, but it’s not like I–” You trail off, exhaling nervously.

Sirius sighs, running a hand over his hair. “You’re killing me here, doll. Can you just say whatever it is? Please?”

You feel yourself flush and without another word, you turn on your heel and start walking down the hallway, shoulders slightly hunched.

“Baby, where are you going?” Sirius calls out, voice soft but laced with exasperation.

You don’t answer Sirius and just lift your hand in a vague “wait” motion as you shuffle down the hallway, heart hammering away in your chest.

You hear the soft creak of the sofa as Remus sinks down into it and the familiar thudding of Sirius pacing across the rug. There's some low murmuring that for the most part sounds light and teasing. The sound releases some of the worry gripping your chest.

You disappear into the spare room for a moment. There’s a beat of silence.

Then the softest sound,  a muffled mrrp.

And another, louder this time, Mrrrrow!

You return a moment later, carefully cradling a tiny black and white kitten against your chest. The cat is all oversized ears and twitchy little whiskers, with a splotch of ink-dark fur right over one eye and the kind of round, sleepy face that could melt even the coldest heart.

Not that your boyfriends are particularly known for their coldness. Thankfully.

Sirius stops pacing mid-step. His whole body sort of freezes as he takes in the image of you holding this tiny kitten. You watch the way he softens, as his eyes sweep over you. 

“What the fuck?” he breathes, eyes wide and unguarded. He’s already walking towards you before he even realises it. “You didn’t say it was cute.”

You press your lips together in a barely restrained smile as the cat blinks up at him, completely unbothered, then noses into your arm like she’s settling in for a nap.

“I did say it wasn’t bad,” you offer meekly, while trying to see around Sirius to gauge Remus’ reaction. His silence is concerning. 

Sirius gives a delighted little huff as he gently scratches under the kitten’s chin. “Hello, darling,” he coos, his voice turned embarrassingly soft. “Aren’t you just–bloody hell, look at you. Rem, look at her.”

You glance over at Remus, who is still seated on the couch, his expression unreadable. He’s got that pinched, thoughtful line between his brows that’s usually a telltale sign his thoughts are running at a mile a minute.

“She’s small,” he says at last, which is neither a compliment nor a complaint.

He’s still sitting on the couch, long fingers laced together between his knees, watching everything unfold with an expression that's far too neutral.

“She’s really small,” he says again, when you don't respond.

You raise an eyebrow at him, slowly lowering the kitten to the floor. She gives a soft, confused chirp at the movement, but doesn’t protest much. 

“She’s healthy. Just little,” you say, tone gentle, coaxing. “She was the runt. The rescue said nobody else wanted her.”

Remus’s mouth tightens minutely, and you can see the way that gets under his skin. Predictably. Of course it does. He’s always been softest for the ones no one else picks.

You’re already padding across the room toward him, ready to reach for him as if your touch can do all the convincing for you. Sirius just watches on, but it’s obvious he’s already convinced by this new addition by the way he keeps looking down at the cat, eyes full of affection.

 “I didn’t do it just to be impulsive,” you say. “I saw her when I was walking by and when I went in she came straight to me and I just–Remus, I couldn’t just leave her. She picked me.”

One of his eyebrows arches with the barest hint of skepticism. “Did she?”

You’re almost in front of him now. Your hand is halfway out, about to reach for his, when there’s a sudden, high-pitched mew at his feet.

Remus blinks down.

The kitten has followed you, trotted right up to where he’s sitting and is now circling his legs with a soft purr and a flick of her tiny tail. She mews again, louder this time, and then rises slightly on her hind legs, placing one little paw on the denim of his knee.

Your breath catches, and you can feel Sirius trying not to laugh behind you.

Remus’s brows draw together, not in frustration but puzzlement. He hesitates for a second, then reaches down – slow and careful – and curls one large hand under the kitten’s belly.

She makes a triumphant little chirp as he lifts her into his lap.

And Remus softens.

His shoulders relax, mouth easing out of its tight line as he carefully adjusts the tiny body, letting her settle against the crease of his arm. She stretches, gives a tiny sigh, and begins to purr loudly.

He looks down at her, then up at you, and something in his face shifts. All of his features become warmer and softer.

“Oh,” he says, barely more than a breath as he looks back down. “You are very sweet.”

Before you can say anything, a rough arm slings around your shoulders, and Sirius is suddenly there, pulling you close against his side.

“You’re such a little shit,” he says cheerfully, voice full of admiration disguised as complaint. And then he presses a big, obnoxious kiss to your cheek, loud and messy.

You laugh, trying and failing to squirm away. “Sirius!”

“Don’t Sirius me. You knew this would happen,” he says, nuzzling your temple with affection. “You walked in here with that face and a sob story about being ‘the runt,’ and you knew he’d fold like a wet paper towel.”

“I didn’t know,” you protest – but you’re smiling, warmth blooming in your chest. “I just had my suspicions.” 

masterlist <3

[ild-rllrcstr]

Offline, Online part 1

Lando Norris X You / slow burn / 3.1K

part 2 (coming soon)

Summary Online, you know him as your constant racing rival and friend who talks about everything. Unawareingly, offline, he's Lando Norris, the charming, frustrating driver you’re assigned to style, who somehow makes every workday a challenge. At work, you don’t like him. He doesn’t take you seriously. But behind the screens, you both vent about each other without knowing who’s who. Slowly, late-night races and shared secrets start to blur the lines between friendship and something more. As reality and virtual worlds collide, feelings sneak up when you least expect them.

Warnings swearing A/N Had this idea for a while, just was trying to figure out how I can make it work, that's why it's taking me a while, hope you like this!

⋆⭒˚.⋆ ₊˚⊹☆ ⋆˙⟡⋆⭒˚.⋆ ₊˚⊹☆ ⋆˙⟡⋆⭒˚.⋆ ₊˚⊹☆ ⋆˙⟡⋆⭒˚.⋆ ₊˚⊹☆ ⋆˙⟡

Growing up with two older brothers obsessed with cars, your childhood was shaped by the sound of engines and the thrill of competition. Your favourite family pastime? Sim racing. From clunky old Nintendos and chaotic rounds of Mario Kart, to the sleek playseats that came later, your childhood home even had a room dedicated just for it. Glowing screens, the occasional shouting match, it was your version of bonding.

Now that all three of you have moved out, the playseat came with you. It sits proudly in the corner of your apartment, slightly scratched, a little worn, but updates throughout the years have made it special, it’s yours. Whenever life lets you breathe between lectures, meetings, or deadlines, you’re in that seat, headset on, world off. It’s the only place where your brain quiets down.

Every vacation, like a sacred ritual, your family meets for real karting. Nothing fancy, just cracked helmets, adrenaline, and way too much post-race trash talk over greasy burgers. 

That same energy followed you online. What started as a few family Discord races evolved into a tiny, anonymous sim racing community, just a handful of players, most of whom you've never met, but know like clockwork. You race together. Chat late at night. Share playlists. Sometimes vent. No real names. No real identities. Just usernames, shared laps, and the comforting hum of familiarity.

Hanging behind your name on the ranking is always @mclateagain4, You don’t know who he is, not really.

His voice always crackles through your headset most nights like static and safety, confident, teasing. Always one second behind you, always threatening to beat your lap. 

He’s funny, in that low-effort way that feels real. He never pushes. But when he really talks, there’s a weight to it. Like someone who spends too much time pretending he’s fine. But lately, you're starting to think about him more than you used to.

Not in a crushy, hearts-in-your-eyes kind of way, at least that’s what you keep telling yourself. It's just... he’s always there. Same time. Same lobby. Same teasing drawl and last-minute overtakes. You’ve started noticing things. You noticed the way his voice softens when he’s tired, how he breathes heavier when he’s frustrated. He somehow always knows when you’ve had a rough day, even when you say nothing. It should be weird. But it’s not.

You don’t even know his real name. He only ever said to call him “Late.”Just Late.

Which you did, until one night, maybe out of tiredness, maybe just to see how he’d react, you called him Lando.

There was a pause. Then a low laugh.

“Do I really sound that much like him?”

“Exactly like him,” you replied, with a small smirk he couldn’t see.

“I’ll take that as a compliment, I guess. He’s kinda hot.”

You snorted. “Your favourite driver is going to get all flushed if he hears that.”

“Well, I think he’ll graciously accept that compliment.”

And that was that. A joke. A deflection. But still… something lingered.

Even your brothers brought it up once or twice, half-serious, half-mocking.

“If that is Lando, you could technically say you beat a Formula 1 driver three nights in a row.”

“If that is Lando,” you rolled your eyes, “he should be embarrassed.”

⋆⭒˚.⋆ ₊˚⊹☆ ⋆˙⟡⋆⭒˚.⋆ ₊˚⊹☆ ⋆˙⟡⋆⭒˚.⋆ ₊˚⊹☆ ⋆˙⟡⋆⭒˚.⋆ ₊˚⊹☆ ⋆˙⟡

You weren’t supposed to care.

This was a job, just another freelance gig. High-profile of the year, sure, but temporary. You’d worked events before, styled minor names, built up your portfolio. This was no different.

Except, it was.

Because the second you saw his name on the call sheet, your stomach flipped. Lando Norris. The same driver whose race wins you’d cheered, whose Monaco onboard laps you’d rewatched more times than you’d admit. He was a big part of your journey watching F1. But now, none of that mattered.

Because now, you were here to work.

You remind yourself of that as you step into the studio with your clipboard in hand. Your job? Coordinate styling for an event he’s part of for the quarter of the year. Keep everything on schedule. Be precise. Be professional.

No fangirling. No mistakes. You kept it professional. That’s what mattered.

But he showed up twenty minutes late, hoodie half-zipped, sunglasses on indoors, and laughing at something on his phone. He apparently overslept.

Even if he acted like it was no big deal. Like everyone would wait. Like time bent for him.

You’d worked with big names before. Actors. Models. Musicians. But something about Lando Norris, the real, in-person version of him, rubbed you the wrong way.

It wasn’t his fault, really. Not completely. He was polite enough. He said “Good morning” to everyone when he walked in. Smiled when the assistant handed him water. Made a joke to the lighting guy that had everyone laughing.

Everyone but you.

Because this wasn’t a joke. You were here to make sure he looked camera-ready. That the angles matched, the pieces sat right, and the vision stayed intact. That meant time. Precision. Focus.

And Lando, apparently, focus was not his best strength outside of that car.

He slouched during fittings, fidgeted during test shots, messed with his hair between takes. When you gently asked him to sit up straighter or stop undoing buttons, he just grinned, like it was a game.

You didn’t argue. Didn’t complain. Just kept your head down and finished the job.

"All good?” he asked once, noticing your silence while you fixed a collar.

“Yeah,” you said. “We’re on track.”

He nodded, but something in his expression flickered, like he noticed your tone and wasn’t sure how to read it. You didn’t clarify. You weren’t here to make friends. Just clothes fit.

That night, you finally kicked off your shoes, sit onto your race seat, and threw your headset on like it was armour.

Late was already in the lobby. His little car was idling on the screen like always.

"You sound tense today." He heard your sigh.

"I had the longest day with the most unbothered human alive."

You hit the track. The familiar hum of engines instantly started quieting your thoughts. But not enough.

"What happened?" He asked, the both of you warming up for the game.

You sighed again, "I’m on a new project working with this guy today, he was the main person for a campaign. Shows up late, makes jokes like it’s a school play, just seemed to be very unserious."

"So… like, main character syndrome?"

"Exactly. I get it, he’s the star. But damn, the world doesn’t gravitate around you."

"Maybe he was nervous and covering it," he laughed a bit.

"If nervous looks like flirting with the interns and ignoring directions, then sure. Olympic-level nerves."

He laughed in that quiet way of his, like he didn’t want to admit he found it as funny.

"Sounds like he brought the whole circus with him."

"You’d think. But honestly, I think he just… performs too much. It’s like no one’s ever told him he doesn’t have to be “on” all the time."

"Huh." You could almost hear him thinking on the other end of the headset.

"Funny. I had the opposite kind of day. Worked with someone who made it feel like I was talking to my grade 3 literature teacher every single time."

You blinked at his description.

"I’m assuming you didn’t like your grade 3 literature teacher very much."

He chuckled. "Yeah. She hated me like I was stupid or something. The person today was just like that, ice cold. Super tight up. Like, painfully professional."

"Maybe she didn’t want to blur lines."

"Sure. But I wasn’t asking her to braid friendship bracelets. I just try to make a good atmosphere at work, and she looked like I kicked her cat."

"Maybe you’re not as funny as you think you are."

"Ouch, but you love my jokes."

"I do." You laughed for real this time, and he did too, like some weird balance had been restored.

You both raced in near silence for a while after that. Just engine sounds, key clicks, and the occasional breath shared through static.

He beat your lap time. You called him a menace. He called you a tyrant.

You didn’t say anything about how your chest felt lighter.

Neither of you knew you’d spent the whole day silently bristling at each other… only to find comfort in each other later, under different names, different masks.

⋆⭒˚.⋆ ₊˚⊹☆ ⋆˙⟡⋆⭒˚.⋆ ₊˚⊹☆ ⋆˙⟡⋆⭒˚.⋆ ₊˚⊹☆ ⋆˙⟡⋆⭒˚.⋆ ₊˚⊹☆ ⋆˙⟡

The next shoot was scheduled for Friday.

You’d already blocked it out on your calendar, triple-checked call times, and re-reviewed Lando’s sizing notes, though he probably wouldn’t wear half the things on the rack. You made your peace with that. It’s how the work is.

What you hadn’t made peace with was the fact that your stomach still flipped when his name showed up in your inbox. That same twist of nerves. Not from awe anymore, no, that had been crushed beneath a stack of moodboards and missed cues. Now, it was just tension.

You kept your head down all day.

You’d learned that trick early on. When things fall apart, stay quiet, stay useful. Control what you can.

Still, it didn’t stop the sting when the creative director barked that your notes were confusing, while it was obvious that he didn’t read any of your notes. Someone messed up the order of looks, but you took the blame. It didn’t stop the embarrassment when Lando, in front of half the team, cracked a joke about how tightly you clung to the schedule like it was life support.

You didn’t respond. Just gave a clipped nod, pretended your throat didn’t feel tight.

It wasn’t his fault. Not directly. He didn’t know what kind of morning you’d had. Didn’t know about the last-minute changes that no one told you about. Didn’t know that your work, your planning, your precision, was the only thing keeping the entire shoot from unravelling. And maybe that was the point.

He didn’t see you. Not really.

Later, you overheard him laughing with the photographer. Something about “people who take things way too seriously.” You didn’t stick around long enough to hear the punchline.

You left quietly without saying goodbye.

That night, your fingers hovered over your keyboard for a long moment before you typed.

You: Longest. Day. Ever.

"That bad?" His voice went through your headset like soothing

"Have you ever have one of those days where nothing technically explodes, but it still feels like you got run over emotionally?"

"Like a passive-aggressive train? Yeah."

You hesitated. Then just… let it spill.

"I got snapped at in front of a whole team for something that wasn’t my fault. Got told I was too ‘rigid’ when I was the only one holding things together. The person I was working with basically made me the punchline of the day."

There was a pause from him. "That sucks. I’m sorry."

"Yeah, well. That’s what I get for trying to be good at what I do."

"They sound like a bunch of arses."

"I don’t think they meant to be. He was just… doing his thing. Being chill. Everyone else liked him. I just… I don’t know. It made me feel small. And stupid in front of everybody."

There was a longer pause this time.

"That’s the worst. When someone makes you feel invisible but doesn’t even realise it."

You didn’t say anything for a moment. Just let his words sit there, heavier than you expected.

"I kinda feel that, had a crap day too." it was his turn to sigh.

"Yeah?"

"Worked with someone who I’m pretty sure hated my entire existence. Like, I was annoying just by breathing. Kept things cold, clipped. Acted like I was wasting their time just by showing up."

You blinked. Sat up straighter.

"That person sounds like an ass too."

"Maybe. Or maybe I was just too much. That happens sometimes." It was rare for you to hear the inconfidence in his voice.

You stared at the screen. 

"You’re not too much."

"You don’t even know me."

"For the times that we’ve raced together, I know how you race. I know how you talk when you’re tired. I know how you listen. I know you never miss when someone’s off. That’s not 'too much.' That’s human."

It took him a while to reply.

"Thanks. That means more than you think."

And something shifted after that.

⋆⭒˚.⋆ ₊˚⊹☆ ⋆˙⟡⋆⭒˚.⋆ ₊˚⊹☆ ⋆˙⟡⋆⭒˚.⋆ ₊˚⊹☆ ⋆˙⟡⋆⭒˚.⋆ ₊˚⊹☆ ⋆˙⟡

The next time Lando had a shooting, he was fitting with the director, laughing about lightening and something that has nothing to do with you. You were just arranging the space, folding pieces that had just come back from set, when the project manager approached.

“What happened with Lando’s jacket?” she snapped, not even lowering her voice. “That collar looked ridiculous in the wide shots.”

Your heart sank.

You had adjusted that collar three times. Each time, he’d shifted, moved, joked, then finally waved off the last touch-up before cameras rolled. But you didn’t say that.

You just stood there, mouth opening, then closing. Heat crawled up your neck.

“Seriously, wake up,” the manager added, already walking away.

You turned back to the rack slowly, biting the inside of your cheek. You stayed there longer than you needed to, pretending to refold a sleeve.

Lando was half-turned, frozen mid-step, having returned to grab his water bottle from the table. Watching the whole thing from the corner of the room. His face wasn’t playful anymore.

He didn’t say anything. Not yet. Not then. But he saw.

Later that night.

He hadn’t brought up the moment, didn’t mention the manager, didn’t say your name. But something in the way he spoke was different, more hesitant.

"Have you ever felt like… You missed something important? Like, you saw it too late?"

You blinked.

"All the time. Why?"

"Just wondering."

You didn’t push. Instead, you let the silence settle. And in the quiet, you started drifting further into something fragile. Not a fall. Just… a shift in gravity.

⋆⭒˚.⋆ ₊˚⊹☆ ⋆˙⟡⋆⭒˚.⋆ ₊˚⊹☆ ⋆˙⟡⋆⭒˚.⋆ ₊˚⊹☆ ⋆˙⟡⋆⭒˚.⋆ ₊˚⊹☆ ⋆˙⟡

The event for one of the campaigns was running late.

The sun was brutal, the lighting was acting up, and the team was running on three cups of coffee and nerves. You were adjusting wardrobe pieces under the canopy tent, double-checking changes for the next setup. Nothing was sitting quite right on the new looks, and with how behind they were, everyone was snapping.

“I told you this was supposed to be a navy tone!” one of the creative leads barked, tossing a fabric swatch onto the table where you were laying out backup pieces.

You inhaled through your nose. Slowly.

“That's the navy one we talked about,” you said, as calmly as you could. “Lighting’s off because of the clouds, but under studio…”

“Don’t give me excuses, just get it fixed.”

You blinked. Opened your mouth. Closed it.

Lando had been off to the side, chatting with the photographer and sipping his iced drink. But the moment the words were thrown in your direction, you saw him pause. Look over. Then, surprisingly, walk over.

He didn’t make a big scene of it.

He just stepped beside you, picked up the swatch, and said, “This is the exact one we agreed on in pre-prod. I remember it. You even showed me. Let me try it on, it seems fine…” He smoothly put the watch on. “It’s perfect, see, right guys?” He looked around, asking, and people just nodded along.

You turned to him, caught off guard. You hadn’t even thought he’d noticed that moment, and barely anyone else had paid attention during those early meetings.

The creative lead faltered. “Well, we’re going with that then.”

“Maybe we can adjust the lighting before we blame the clothes,” Lando replied smoothly, his tone light but edged.

That was the thing about him. He didn’t yell. He didn’t need to.

He looked back at you, and for a split second, there was something different in his eyes. Not just amusement. Not just surface charm. It felt like recognition.

“I’m ready, let’s try it,” he said, and walked off toward the camera again, unfazed.

Your chest tightened. You didn’t know what to say. You just turned back to your rack, fingers suddenly a little shakier than before.

⋆⭒˚.⋆ ₊˚⊹☆ ⋆˙⟡⋆⭒˚.⋆ ₊˚⊹☆ ⋆˙⟡⋆⭒˚.⋆ ₊˚⊹☆ ⋆˙⟡⋆⭒˚.⋆ ₊˚⊹☆ ⋆˙⟡

The late-night sim racing banter stayed. The usual trash talk and late-night race sessions didn’t stop. But somewhere between lap times and playlists, the space between you and Late started to feel… tender.

He sent you a song once and said it reminded him of your voice. You saved it. You started typing longer messages, shared pictures of your setup, and a photo of your karting helmet. He told you once he liked hearing your laugh in his headset. You never said it out loud, but you started smiling more around him.

You weren’t falling. Not really. You were just leaning, ever so slightly, toward someone you didn’t even know. Or thought you didn’t.

Which is why it stung a little too much when one night, somewhere between qualifying heats and midnight, he asked "Can I ask you something a bit random?"

"Sure, we already know how weird you are, don’t think I’ll be any more surprised."

You both chuckled.

"Is it weird to be attracted to someone you don’t really know that well?"

Your pulse jumped. "I think it can be. Why?"

"Just… there’s this girl. I think I misunderstood her. I think the more I pay attention, I’m starting to understand why she did the things the way she did."

You stared at the screen for too long. Long enough that he sent a follow-up.

"Sorry. That was probably weird."

"No, not weird. Just… is that the girl at work?"

"Ehhh… yeah."

You swallowed. You stared at the message so long, your screen dimmed.

Of course it was someone else.

Of course this was just banter to him. Jokes and playlists and soft 2 AM confessions, just part of the game. You thought maybe, just maybe, it was something else. Something quieter and slower and real. Like every other time in your life, you thought something good was going on, well, it’s not.

But apparently, he had someone in real life. Someone he was trying to understand. It just further frustrates you that the person happened to be the person he’s been complaining about. And you supported him, you always support each other.

You took a breath. Decided to go with something sarcastic, something defensive.

" I think it’s not weird at all. If you’re starting to understand her, that’s probably a good thing."

"You think?"

"Yeah. Sometimes people don’t show who they are right away. Doesn’t mean they’re not worth trying to know."

There was a pause, he was letting your words sink into his mind..

"I knew you’d say something smart like that."

"Someone’s gotta balance out your dumb."

He laughed, his usual, low one that always made you smile. But tonight, you didn’t. Not quite.

⋆⭒˚.⋆ ₊˚⊹☆ ⋆˙⟡⋆⭒˚.⋆ ₊˚⊹☆ ⋆˙⟡⋆⭒˚.⋆ ₊˚⊹☆ ⋆˙⟡⋆⭒˚.⋆ ₊˚⊹☆ ⋆˙⟡

[laceandlipstick]

don’t hang up | d.w

ghostface!dean winchester x f!reader

MDNI

masterlist

word count: 8.4k

summary: “You don’t even know who I am,” he murmured through the phone, voice thick with hunger. “But you still let me make you come with just my voice. What does that say about you, sweetheart?”

warnings: SMUT, like filthy smut, dubcon, orgasm denial, fingering, oral f!receiving, p in v, glove kink, mask kink, edging, dirty talk, possessive!dean, mutual masturbation, phone sex, dean talking you through it, stalking, fear kink, lmk if i missed any!

a/n: dedicated to my one & only @sudsnribbons

You weren’t expecting anything that night.

Just another quiet Friday. One of those evenings where the silence in your house stretched too long and the TV felt like more noise than company. You’d tossed on a worn tank top and cotton shorts after your shower, settled into the couch with your legs folded beneath you, and picked at leftovers with a fork in one hand and your phone in the other. Comfortably numb. Mindless.

Until your phone lit up.

Unknown Caller

No name. No number.

You frowned, thumb hovering.

It rang once. Then twice. Long enough to startle you out of your daze, but not long enough to commit to voicemail. Like whoever was on the other end was waiting.

You hesitated.

Another ring.

Against your better judgment, you hit “Answer” and brought the phone to your ear.

“…Hello?”

For a moment, nothing.

No voice. No sound. Just the slight hiss of a line open and waiting. And then — the faintest inhale.

A breath.

Slow. Intentional. Not startled. Not accidental.

Someone was there.

You sat up straighter. “Is someone there?”

Still nothing. But you heard it again: that long, steady exhale. Someone was listening.

Your eyes flicked toward the window near your front door — blinds drawn, but the porch light outside flickered slightly against the edge. You swallowed.

“I’m gonna hang up now,” you warned.

And then, finally — a voice.

“…Didn’t think you’d answer.”

Low. Rough. Velvet dipped in gravel. It wasn’t the kind of voice you’d forget — not casual, not boyish. Older. Confident. There was something dangerous threaded into every syllable, something dark behind how calm it was.

“Who is this?” you asked, tension crawling into your shoulders.

He chuckled. The sound was quiet, almost like he was amused by the question.

“You don’t know me,” he said. “Not really. But I know you.”

A chill shot down your spine. “Excuse me?”

“I’ve been watching you,” he said simply. No hesitation. No apology. “You always answer your phone with that soft little hello. Always tuck your leg under you when you sit down. You like white wine better than red. Always stop at one glass — you think that makes you disciplined.”

You froze.

You glanced to your side — at the half-empty glass on the coffee table. Still sweating slightly at the base.

Your heart began to pound. “What kind of sick joke is this?”

He didn’t answer immediately. You heard something else — a shift in the line. Like he moved the phone to his other hand. Or maybe adjusted something. Then his voice dropped a little lower.

“That tank top you’re wearing… it’s thin tonight. Light gray, right? No bra. Like always, when you’re home alone.”

You stood so fast the wine nearly spilled. Your hand flew to your chest, suddenly aware of how much skin was showing. You rushed to the window, yanked the curtain aside.

Nothing.

Porch empty. Street calm. Just the soft breeze nudging the bushes and a distant hum of a car somewhere beyond the next block.

“I swear to God,” you said tightly, voice trembling, “if this is some kind of prank—”

He cut you off with another breathy chuckle. “It’s not a prank, sweetheart. I just… couldn’t help myself tonight. Needed to hear your voice.”

You blinked hard. Your body felt like it was humming — nerves twisted between fear and something far stranger. A part of you was terrified. The other part… couldn’t stop listening.

“Who are you?” you whispered.

The pause that followed made your skin crawl.

Then:

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

Click.

The call disconnected.

You stared at the screen for several seconds before you realized your hand was shaking.

⸻

You spent the whole weekend on edge. The call played on a loop in your mind, crawling under your skin like static. Every time your phone buzzed, you flinched.

But it never came again. Not that night. Not the next day.

By Monday, you were starting to wonder if you’d imagined it.

The line between fantasy and fear blurred too easily when you were alone.

You told yourself it was nothing. Maybe someone drunk dialing. Maybe someone with the wrong number. Maybe someone playing a sick little game.

But deep down, you knew that wasn’t it. That voice — it was intentional. That wasn’t someone making a mistake. It was someone who knew you.

And worse?

Some part of you had liked it.

The power in his voice. The way he spoke your routines like a secret he’d memorized. The fact that he sounded so calm. Like he’d been waiting for this moment — not just for days, but months.

So when the phone buzzed again at 11:12 p.m. that Monday, you didn’t freeze this time.

You stared.

Unknown Caller.

It rang. Once. Twice.

You swallowed and answered.

“…Hello?”

His voice came through immediately. Smooth. Confident. That same rich rasp that curled in your belly like heat.

“I was hoping you’d pick up again.”

You didn’t speak.

“I thought about you all weekend,” he said, like it was the most normal thing in the world. “Had to work real hard not to call again too soon. Didn’t want to scare you off.”

You cleared your throat. “You’re a little late for that.”

He chuckled. “Yeah… but you still answered.”

You hated the flush rising in your cheeks. You hated how right he was. Your heart beat hard against your ribs, but you couldn’t bring yourself to hang up.

“Why are you doing this?” you asked. Your voice didn’t sound angry. It just sounded curious.

He breathed in slowly. “Because I like the sound of your voice. Because I think about what you look like when you sleep. Because when you shower, you hum that song — the one from the Tarantino movie — and I like that you don’t even know you do it.”

You sank down slowly to the edge of the bed.

“You’re sick,” you whispered.

“Maybe,” he said softly. “But I’m also hard as a fuckin’ rock right now, just listening to you breathe.”

You squeezed your thighs together instinctively, caught off-guard by the heat that shot through your core.

He kept going, voice lower now, filthier. “You ever get off thinkin’ about someone you shouldn’t? Just the idea of ‘em — the way they talk, or walk, or look at you? Someone you know you’re not supposed to want?”

Your breath caught.

“You’re disgusting.”

“But you’re still listening,” he murmured.

You didn’t reply. You couldn’t.

“Tell me what you’re wearing,” he said.

You clenched the phone tighter in your hand. “You already know.”

“I want to hear you say it.”

Silence stretched between you.

Finally, you whispered, “Tank top. Shorts.”

“Bare underneath?”

You hesitated.

Then nodded — forgetting, stupidly, that he couldn’t see you.

“Yes.”

His breath hitched. And your stomach twisted in a dangerous, aching way.

“Fuck,” he rasped. “You’re gonna make me lose my mind.”

His breath slowed again. Controlled. Even. Like he was trying not to let something show.

Then, lower — filthier:

“I want you to touch yourself.”

You blinked, heat flooding your cheeks so fast it burned. “What?”

“Slide your hand down those pretty thighs. Under your shorts. I know you’re already wet.”

“You don’t know that,” you whispered, voice breaking.

He chuckled darkly. “Baby. I do.”

You swallowed hard. And for a second — a dangerous, fragile second — you didn’t say anything.

Because you were.

Your body had turned against your brain the moment he said your name that way. The moment he spoke to you like he knew everything you tried to hide — not just the clothes you wore or the wine you drank, but the way you curled into your sheets at night, the way your fingers brushed low when you were half-asleep, not even meaning to touch yourself until it was too late to stop.

And now he was in your ear. Steady. Unrelenting.

“Go on,” he coaxed. “Just a little. One hand. I won’t hang up.”

Your breath trembled. Slowly — barely breathing — you slipped your hand under the waistband of your shorts.

The cotton was already damp.

His voice curled in your ear like a secret.

“There she is.”

You exhaled shakily, lips parting as your fingers brushed low. You weren’t even thinking anymore — not about the danger, not about who this was or where he might be or why he knew so much. All you could feel was that aching pressure coiled inside you and the steady, gravel-rich rhythm of his voice.

“Tell me how it feels.”

You swallowed. “Warm.”

He made a low sound — something between a hum and a groan.

“Bet it is. Bet you’re soaked already. That little pussy—” he said it slow, thick, savoring it, “—gets real needy when she’s not being taken care of, doesn’t she?”

Your fingers trembled. You pressed in deeper, gathering slick.

“Touch your clit for me. Slow circles. Don’t stop.”

You obeyed. You hated how easily you obeyed. But you couldn’t stop.

“You doing it, baby?” he asked.

“…Yes.”

“Good girl.”

Your breath hitched. You shouldn’t like that. But it cracked something open inside you.

“God, I’d give anything to see you right now,” he muttered. “Laid out on that bed. All soft and pliant. Rubbin’ your sweet little cunt just like I tell you.”

You whimpered, thighs twitching.

“Keep goin’. Let me hear it. Let me hear what I do to you.”

And you did. You couldn’t stop the sound that spilled out of you — quiet, gasping, desperate.

“Jesus,” he breathed. “I could come just listening to you. Bet you’re fuckin’ drippin’.”

You bit your lip hard. “I—I don’t know who you are—”

“I know,” he rasped. “That’s what makes it so hot.”

You couldn’t argue. Not when your body was pulsing, slick fingers circling faster, chasing the edge like it was the only thing tethering you to earth. You wanted to hate him. You wanted to scream. You wanted to beg.

Instead, you moaned. A soft, broken thing that cracked through the line.

“There you go,” he growled. “Keep going. You close?”

You nodded — then caught yourself and gasped out: “Yes.”

He groaned.

“Good. Want you to come for me. Want you to come with my fuckin’ voice in your head.”

Your eyes fluttered closed. Your back arched. You were right there — seconds from falling off the edge when—

“Wait.”

You froze.

His voice dropped.

“I changed my mind.”

“What?” Your voice was wrecked. High and pleading.

“I want to hear you beg first,” he murmured. “I want to hear what that little voice sounds like when you’re desperate.”

You whimpered, thighs trembling.

“Please.”

“Mmm, more.”

“Please, please—let me come—”

“That’s better,” he growled. “Now be a good girl and fuckin’ come for me.”

You did.

It hit you like a wave breaking—sharp and hot and helpless. Your whole body arched, thighs trembling, fingers soaked, the phone nearly slipping from your hand as your breath caught in your throat. You didn’t know if you moaned his name, or just made a sound, something small and broken and raw, but it was loud enough for him to hear.

“Fuck,” he groaned through the receiver. “Jesus fucking Christ, you sound so good when you come.”

You gasped, shaking. Your free hand fisted the bedsheets as your body rode it out, wave after wave leaving your nerves fried, chest rising in shallow pants. You felt dizzy. Out of control. Stripped bare in the worst, best way.

And he just kept talking.

“Wish I could see your face right now,” he said low, voice like warm smoke. “Bet you’ve got that sweet little dazed look—eyes all heavy, lips parted, pussy throbbing.”

You whimpered, hips twitching as your fingers slipped out of yourself, soaked and trembling.

“I’d lick you clean,” he murmured. “Then start all over. Keep you spread open all fuckin’ night, just to see how many times I can make you come.”

You let out a breathy, shaky moan, unable to stop yourself.

“Goddamn, baby,” he rasped, “you don’t even know what you do to me.”

You didn’t speak. Couldn’t.

Your head fell back against the pillows. The room spun slightly. Your skin felt too hot, too bare. You hadn’t even taken your clothes off, but it felt like you’d been undressed, piece by piece, just by the sound of his voice.

And he wasn’t done.

“You like that?” he asked softly, like he already knew the answer. “Lettin’ some stranger talk you through it?”

Your stomach fluttered. That heat hadn’t gone away. Not even close.

“You’re not a stranger,” you whispered.

“Oh yeah?” he said, amused. “What am I then?”

You swallowed hard.

“I don’t know,” you said honestly. “But you don’t feel like a stranger.”

He made a soft sound. Like approval.

“That’s ‘cause I know you,” he said. “Better than anyone. Better than you think.”

You opened your eyes, heart still pounding. You hated how true that felt.

“How do you know all this?” you whispered. “The wine. The tank top. The song in the shower… how long have you been watching me?”

Silence.

Then, calmly:

“Long enough to know no one else sees you the way I do.”

Your breath caught.

He meant it. You could hear it. And worse—you could feel it. That sick, dark part of you that liked being seen like that, needed it. The part that woke up aching some nights without knowing why.

“What do you want from me?” you asked, voice small.

Another long pause.

Then, soft as a threat:

“Everything.”

There was silence. But not the kind that felt empty.

It was thick—humid with everything that had just happened. With everything still pulsing between your legs and pounding behind your ribs. You were limp, sprawled across your bed, your shorts still pushed aside, fingers still damp.

And the line was still open.

You could hear him breathing. Slow. Steady. Like he’d just watched you come and was savoring the sight.

“Don’t hang up,” you whispered, unsure where the words came from.

He didn’t laugh this time. He didn’t gloat. He just said—quiet, firm, grounded:

“I wasn’t gonna.”

You bit your lip.

“Are you…” Your voice faltered. “Are you still—doing something?”

A low chuckle rumbled through the phone.

“You mean am I jerkin’ off to the sound of your voice, your cute little gasps, that perfect moan at the end?” he drawled.

You closed your eyes.

“Yeah, sweetheart,” he rasped. “I am.”

Your breath hitched. You curled your fingers into the sheets, the shame and the thrill warring beneath your skin.

“Tell me what you’re picturing,” you said before you could stop yourself.

He groaned softly. “Fuck. You want the truth?”

You nodded, breathless. “Yes.”

“I’m picturing your pussy,” he said plainly, low and raw. “All messy and red and sensitive. Those shaky little thighs. Your hand still between your legs. I want it to hurt next time I touch you, baby. I wanna push you past what you can take.”

Your whole body tensed again, muscles clenching around nothing.

“Want you to be fuckin’ ruined,” he growled, voice thick with need. “Ruined for anyone else. Only ever able to come for me—my voice, my cock, my fuckin’ name on your tongue while you fall apart.”

You whimpered. Just a sound—too overwhelmed to form words.

He heard it. And it lit him up.

“You like being ruined, don’t you?” he purred. “You want to be someone’s pretty little secret.”

“Yes,” you whispered.

“Say it,” he said.

“I want to be your secret.”

A rough exhale, like he couldn’t believe how perfect you were. Then—quieter:

“I’ve been so fuckin’ patient,” he said. “You don’t know what it’s been like—watching you. Listening to you laugh on the phone with your friends. Seeing you stretch in that tank top when you think no one’s looking. Smiling at some guy at the grocery store like he stands a fuckin’ chance.”

Your stomach twisted.

“You follow me?”

“Sometimes.”

“Why?”

He didn’t hesitate.

“Because you belong to me.”

The way he said it—it wasn’t a joke. It wasn’t a fantasy. It wasn’t a game.

It was a promise.

You should’ve felt scared. Maybe you were scared. But that fear melted into something deeper. Something wetter. Something willing.

“I don’t even know what you look like,” you whispered.

Another pause.

Then, voice low and serious:

“You will.”

Your breath caught.

“I think about showing you all the time,” he said. “Coming to you. Letting you see me. Pulling you into my lap with my mask still on. Lifting that little shirt. Sliding my fingers inside you—while you guess who I am.”

You gasped.

“You want that, don’t you?” he asked, almost smug. “You want to feel me before you even see my face.”

“Y-yes,” you breathed.

“Mmm. Good girl.”

You bit your lip so hard it nearly stung.

“I’d fuck you in the dark,” he murmured. “Leave you shaking and sore and begging for more—and still you wouldn’t know who I was. You’d go to bed wondering. You’d wake up aching.”

He let the silence settle. Then added, softer:

“But part of you would hope it was me.”

You didn’t say anything.

Because it was true.

Even in this haze of breathless confusion and heat, even in the quiet of your dark bedroom, part of you wanted that. The mystery. The mask. The voice that filled you like smoke.

“I don’t think I should talk to you again,” you whispered, voice trembling.

“But you will.”

You exhaled, head spinning.

“…Why are you doing this?”

He paused.

And then—soft. Unapologetic.

“Because I can’t stop thinking about you. Because you’re mine. Whether you know it yet or not.”

The line crackled slightly. You thought maybe he would hang up. That the weight of the moment had reached its peak.

But he said one last thing:

“Leave your window unlocked tonight.”

Click.

⸻

You didn’t sleep.

Not really.

You lay awake with your limbs tangled in the sheets, your skin still hot from the call, heart thudding against the inside of your ribs like it didn’t know what to do with itself.

His voice echoed in your head long after the line went dead.

“Leave your window unlocked tonight.”

You hadn’t meant to obey.

But you had.

The screen was still latched, the glass pushed up just two inches. Just enough to let air in. Just enough to let your thoughts crawl out into the dark and imagine what might be watching you from the yard.

You didn’t know how long you lay there—awake but unmoving, ears straining, breath shallow. Listening for a creak, a shift, the rustle of something heavier than the breeze.

Nothing came.

Not that night.

And somehow, that was worse.

⸻

The next day was a blur.

You moved through the hours like you were walking underwater. Everything felt thick, muted, strange.

At work, you flinched when your phone buzzed—even when it was just a calendar notification. You found yourself glancing over your shoulder when no one had called your name.

And in the bathroom mirror, you didn’t recognize your own reflection for a second.

You looked flushed. Tense. Tired.

You looked watched.

You kept thinking about what he’d said.

I want to fuck you in the dark. With my mask still on.

I want you to guess.

You belong to me.

The worst part?

You wanted to hear it again.

⸻

When night fell, the quiet returned.

You didn’t plan to let it happen again. You told yourself you wouldn’t answer. That you wouldn’t wait for your phone to ring. That you wouldn’t sit on the edge of your bed in the dark, skin prickling like it knew something was coming.

But you did.

The silence stretched.

You curled up under your sheets, legs bare, tank top soft against your skin. You stared at the phone on your nightstand like it might start glowing.

You checked the lock on your window.

Still unlatched.

And your fingers… drifted.

It started with a brush of your inner thigh. Just a flicker. A test. Your body reacted like it remembered the night before in full color. The sound of his voice. The way he told you to come.

You closed your eyes. Let your hand slip lower.

You imagined him again—not his face. You didn’t even want to see it. Just the mask. The voice. The thick, gloved hand between your thighs.

Your breath came faster. Your hips rolled gently into your palm.

You imagined him standing at the foot of the bed. Just watching.

Silent. Still.

Taking you in like he was memorizing every twitch and whimper.

You almost came just like that—without a word spoken.

And then your phone buzzed.

Unknown Caller

Your hand froze.

You stared at the screen like it was alive.

It buzzed again. Ringing. Steady.

You picked it up with shaking fingers and answered, breathless.

“…Hello?”

A pause.

Then:

“Good girl.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

“I didn’t even say anything,” you whispered.

“You didn’t have to,” he said. “I know what you were doing. You touched yourself without me even asking this time, didn’t you?”

You clenched your thighs together, hand still pressed against your mound.

“…Yes.”

“Mmm.” He groaned. “Fucking perfect. Just like I knew you would.”

You couldn’t help it—you slipped your fingers beneath the waistband of your panties, slowly circling.

“You can’t keep doing this,” you said, even as your breath hitched.

“Why not?”

“Because it’s—wrong.”

“You want me to stop?”

Silence.

He waited.

“No,” you admitted, brokenly.

He made a pleased sound—soft, smug, possessive.

“You kept the window unlocked.”

You stilled.

“…How do you know that?”

Another long pause. You could hear him smile.

“I always know what you’re doing.”

Your stomach dropped. Your hand went still between your legs. Your eyes flicked toward the window—still dark, still quiet. But now it felt different.

“Are you outside?”

“I’m wherever I need to be,” he said calmly. “You think I’d miss the way you look when you touch yourself for me?”

You were panting now. Too hot. Too exposed.

“You watching me right now?” you whispered.

“You want me to be?”

You didn’t answer.

Didn’t have to.

He exhaled slowly, and that alone made your toes curl.

“Keep going,” he murmured. “Let me listen. I’m not leaving tonight.”

“Keep going,” he whispered again.

Low. Encouraging. Dangerous.

You didn’t even realize you were holding your breath until you let it out in a trembling exhale, your hand already moving again—fingers pressing in deeper, slower this time. Deliberate. Needy.

“Tell me what it feels like.”

You swallowed hard. “Warm. Wet.”

A dark chuckle crackled through the receiver.

“Fuck, baby. You really are perfect.”

A pause. “You shaking yet?”

You were.

Your legs were already starting to tremble, your body far too sensitive from the night before, from the fantasy that never left your bloodstream. You couldn’t even lie to yourself anymore—you wanted this. All of it. The control. The secrecy. The voice in your ear that felt like a hand around your throat.

“You’re touching yourself in the dark again, aren’t you?” he asked. “Lights off. Legs open. Just waiting for me.”

“…Yes.”

“Good fuckin’ girl,” he growled. “You don’t even need to see me. You’d let me bend you over and fuck you in that bed without ever taking the mask off, wouldn’t you?”

You moaned softly, your fingers moving faster now. Shame didn’t even register. It was buried under how badly your body wanted to be ruined for him.

“I’d be so good to you,” he murmured. “Tie your hands. Make you come until you cried. You’d beg to see my face and I still wouldn’t let you. ‘Cause you don’t need a face, sweetheart. You just need a cock and a voice and someone who actually sees you.”

You gasped, thighs clenching.

“I see you,” he said. “You’ve been starving for this. For me.”

“Please,” you whimpered.

“Please what?”

“Please tell me you’re real.”

“Oh, baby.” A smirk in his tone. “I’m more real than anyone you’ve ever fucked.”

He let that sit. He knew what it did to you.

You could feel your orgasm building already—your body too raw, too worked up. Every word made it worse. Every breath of his in your ear made you twitch harder.

“You gonna come again for me?” he murmured. “Wanna hear it, baby. Let me fuckin’ feel it through the phone.”

You were already there. Your breath hitched, back arching, your fingers slipping and sliding through soaked heat as your thighs trembled again.

Your mouth fell open. No words came—just a low, desperate cry, just a sound.

“Fuck yes. That’s it. Good girl. Fucking come for me.”

And you did.

You shook under the weight of it, a rolling, pulsing climax that left you open and undone. You gasped into the quiet, curling your fingers in the sheets, your body heaving with shallow breaths.

He said nothing at first. Just listened.

Like he needed to hear how you sounded ruined.

And then, after a long, reverent pause:

“I wish you could see how hard I am right now.”

Your breath caught. The room was still spinning.

“I’ve got the mask on,” he said, voice lower now. “I’m sitting in my car. Windows down. Just listening to you fall apart. And my cock’s so hard it hurts.”

You whimpered, weak and shaking.

“You left the window open again,” he added. “Good girl.”

“…Are you out there?”

Another pause.

Then:

“Why don’t you come take a look?”

You froze.

“I—what?”

“Go ahead. Peek out. I know you want to.”

Your heart slammed into your ribs. You turned your head, slowly, toward the open window. It was just a crack—barely a few inches—but your pulse was deafening now.

You pushed the sheets away and moved to the edge of the bed, legs trembling as you stood.

The phone shook in your hand.

You crossed to the window slowly.

Peered through.

Nothing.

Just the yard. Still. Empty. Quiet.

You exhaled.

“I don’t see you,” you said.

“I know.”

Silence.

Then he added:

“But I see you.”

You stepped back from the window like it bit you.

“I could come inside, you know,” he murmured. “You left it unlocked. Just like I told you.”

Your breath hitched.

“I could be at the foot of your bed right now. Could pull your hand away from your pussy and finish the job myself.”

You whimpered. The air in the room suddenly felt tighter. More full.

You turned around, slowly.

Still no one.

But it felt like someone was there.

“Do you want me to?” he asked. “Do you want me to come inside?”

You couldn’t answer. You didn’t know. You were too wet, too wired, too wound up to tell the difference between fear and longing.

“…I don’t know.”

“That’s okay, baby.” His voice was gentler now. Warm. “You’ll know soon.”

And then—calm, steady, promising:

“You’ll feel me before you ever see me.”

Click.

You stood there for what felt like forever.

Phone in hand.

Bare feet cold on the floor.

Heart pounding so loud you thought your neighbors could hear it through the walls.

He was gone. The call had ended. But his voice lingered in your ears like a fever dream, like a ghost. You could still feel it in your skin — those words, that promise:“You’ll feel me before you ever see me.”

The window stayed open.

You should’ve closed it.

You didn’t.

You backed away slowly, eyes scanning the corners of the room, every shadow suddenly thick with possibility.

There was no one there.

You were alone.

But the air felt heavy.

Too heavy.

⸻

You lay in bed, but you didn’t sleep.

Not really.

Not the way you meant to.

You drifted. Floated. Let yourself hover somewhere between awareness and dreams — that blurry place where the line got soft and the dark got bold.

That’s when you heard it.

The creak.

You sat up fast.

It came again — slow, deliberate. A floorboard near the door.

Your breath caught. You stared into the black.

Nothing.

But something was there.

You knew it.

You scrambled for your phone. Lit up the screen.

2:47 a.m.

No new calls.

Just silence.

You reached toward the lamp—

And a gloved hand snapped over your mouth.

You screamed—but it came out muffled, swallowed in leather and heat.

A strong arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you back into a broad chest. The smell hit you first—cologne and sweat and leather, mixed with something darker. Something electric.

Then—

“Shhh.”

That voice.

That fucking voice.

In your ear now. Not the phone. Not the line.

He was here.

“Hey, baby,” he murmured, low and thick. “Told you I’d come when you were ready.”

Your heart nearly exploded out of your chest.

You struggled. Twitched. But his hold didn’t tighten. He didn’t hurt you. He just held you—firm, calm, like he owned you.

You whimpered into his glove.

“You gonna scream?” he whispered, mouth brushing the shell of your ear. “You want your neighbors to come running? Want them to see what kind of filthy little thing you’ve turned into?”

You shook your head fast.

He chuckled, dark and satisfied.

“Didn’t think so.”

He eased you back down onto the bed, hand still over your mouth, his weight pressing against your side now. You couldn’t see his face. But you felt the mask when it brushed your temple. Cold plastic. Familiar.

Your thighs clenched.

“You’re scared,” he said. “But you’re wet too, aren’t you?”

You nodded before you could stop yourself.

He hummed.

“Good girl.”

His gloved hand slowly released your mouth, fingers trailing down your jaw.

You gasped in fresh air, blinking fast, chest rising and falling like you’d run a mile.

He sat behind you on the mattress now. One hand still lightly at your throat, the other drifting down your shoulder.

“You wanted this,” he said. Not a question. A truth. “You begged for me.”

You didn’t speak. Couldn’t.

His fingers toyed with the strap of your tank top.

“I thought about this every night I watched you sleep,” he murmured. “How easy it’d be to climb into your bed. Slide my hand down your stomach. Make you come without ever turning on the light.”

Your legs shook.

“You ever been touched like that?” he asked. “Not knowing who it is?”

You barely whispered, “No.”

His gloved fingers dipped under your tank top.

“Then let me be your first.”

He didn’t move to take your clothes off.

Instead, he laid you back gently.

And stayed. Just above you. Heavy. There. His breath moved over your cheek, the mask brushing your skin. You reached up blindly—fingertips grazing that cold, smooth surface.

“Can I see you?” you whispered.

A pause.

Then:

“No.”

A beat passed.

“But you can touch the mask. Just this once.”

You did.

You traced the hollow cheekbone. The sharp nose. The twisted grin. Your fingers trembled as they moved across the slick plastic. He didn’t stop you.

“I want to know who you are,” you whispered.

He laughed quietly.

“No, you don’t.”

You swallowed hard. “I think I already do.”

His hand slid down your side, slow, gentle, unzipping you from the outside in.

“I knew you were mine,” he murmured, “the moment you whispered please.”

He hovered above you in the dark, weight pressing you into the bed. The mask still covered his face. His voice in your ear, his gloved hand at your throat, his scent—real, present—filled every inch of your world now.

And still, somehow, it wasn’t enough.

Your fingers trembled where they touched the hard curve of his mask. You traced his jaw, the exaggerated frown of the Ghostface mouth, and whispered, “Please.”

He chuckled.

“Please what, baby?”

“I need… more.”

“Mmm,” he hummed. His glove slid down the center of your chest, fingertips dragging over the thin cotton of your tank top. “You’re already soaked, aren’t you? Just from me sneaking into your room and putting my hand over your mouth. That’s all it takes now?”

You nodded quickly, flushed and breathless.

His hand dipped beneath your top without waiting. Gloved fingers grazed your nipple and you arched into him with a gasp.

“That’s it,” he purred. “Let me feel how warm you are. So fucking soft…”

You whimpered as he rolled the sensitive bud between his fingers. The glove made everything sharper—rougher, cooler, foreign in a way that made your thighs instinctively press together.

You felt feral beneath him. Unraveled.

And then he moved lower.

His free hand tugged at your sleep shorts.

“You gonna let me take these off?” he asked. “Let a masked man you’ve never seen finger your needy little cunt in the dark?”

You breathed, “Yes.”

He growled, low and approving.

Your shorts and panties came off in one slow drag. Cold air hit your soaked folds, and he hissed between his teeth.

“Fuck. Look at you.”

You blushed. “You can’t see.”

“Oh, baby,” he murmured, fingers ghosting up your thigh, “you left the window open for three nights in a row. You think I don’t know what you look like when you come?”

Your legs fell open.

And he touched you.

Two thick, gloved fingers slipped between your folds—slow, lazy strokes, teasing your slit. He didn’t push in yet. He just circled your clit with the leather-covered pads, watching your hips twitch under him.

“So sensitive,” he whispered. “Could play with you like this for hours.”

You moaned, bucking gently into his hand.

“You’re so fuckin’ responsive,” he said, lips brushing your jaw. “I talk, and your whole body listens. I breathe on you and you beg.”

“I’m not begging.”

“No?” He pressed the glove more firmly against your clit. “You sure about that?”

You gasped. “F-fuck—please…”

He chuckled darkly.

“That’s better.”

His fingers slid down and pushed in—just the tip, just to tease. You clenched around nothing, wanting more.

“Such a tight little pussy,” he groaned. “She missed me, didn’t she?”

You whined. “Please.”

He thrust two fingers in at once.

You cried out—high, sharp, wrecked.

“That’s it,” he growled. “Take it.”

He pumped into you steadily, curling the leather inside you, fingertips hitting that spot that made you see stars. Your thighs tried to close, but he held them open with his other hand.

“Look at you,” he breathed. “So desperate for a stranger’s fingers. For a ghost in your bed.”

You moaned, arching under him.

“You’re mine now,” he whispered. “This pussy’s mine. Your moans? Mine. Your fucking soul…”

He pushed deeper, harder, dragging you closer to the edge with every slick, wet thrust of his fingers.

“Say it,” he growled. “Say who you belong to.”

You gasped, hips bucking. “You—f-fuck—you.”

“Damn right.”

His fingers worked you harder, rougher now. The wet sounds were obscene, echoing off your walls as your hands scrambled for his shoulders—leather, cloth, no skin. No face.

Just power. Heat. Him.

Your body trembled.

“I’m gonna—”

“No,” he said sharply. He pulled his fingers out.

You sobbed at the loss.

“Not yet,” he whispered, hovering over your lips, mask brushing your cheek. “You don’t get to come until I say.”

You whimpered, squirming beneath him.

“Say thank you.”

You swallowed. “T-thank you.”

“Good girl.”

And then, to your shock, he licked his fingers under the mask.

You could hear it. The wet sound. The moan.

“Fuck, baby,” he rasped. “You taste like sin.”

You moaned, body on fire, aching and pulsing.

He leaned in close again, his breath hot against your ear.

“I’ll let you come,” he said. “But not tonight.”

“What?” you gasped.

“I want you aching when you think of me,” he growled. “I want you to fuck your own hand and beg for me and still not know my face.”

You were shaking. Whimpering.

And when you blinked—

He was gone.

⸻

You didn’t move for a long time.

Couldn’t.

You lay there in your bed, soaked between your legs, legs still open like you were waiting for him to come back.

But he was gone.

The weight had lifted. The heat. The voice.

The mask.

You weren’t even sure when he’d left.

It was like he’d evaporated, or melted into shadow.

One second he was pinning your wrists, gloved fingers inside you, whispering filth into your ear—

And the next?

Gone.

Just like a ghost.

⸻

You were shaking when you finally sat up.

Your body felt loose. Used. Empty in the worst, most delicious way. Your tank top clung to your sweat-slicked skin. You could still smell him in the air. The leather. The heat of his breath. The faint sharpness of a glove that had just been inside you.

You reached down between your thighs.

Still wet. Still sore.

Still aching.

He hadn’t let you come.

You were so close. So fucking close—

And now you were just left ruined in the silence.

You should’ve been terrified.

Instead, you were horny and furious.

You wanted to scream.

⸻

The next morning, everything felt wrong.

Your clothes didn’t fit right. Your coffee tasted weak. Your phone screen made your eyes ache.

And every time you blinked, you felt it all over again:

His hands.

His voice.

His breath on your skin.

“You don’t get to come until I say.”

Your thighs clenched under the table.

Your stomach flipped.

You checked your phone.

No new messages. No calls.

Just one photo. Sent overnight.

Unknown Number

No caption.

No context.

Just a photo of your bedroom window.

Taken from outside.

Lit from within.

You could see your silhouette. Sitting on your bed.

You were touching yourself.

Your throat went dry.

You stared at it for too long.

You didn’t delete it.

⸻

That night, you didn’t even try to sleep. You wore the same tank top. No underwear.

You left the window open again.

You turned your lamp low, sat on your bed, and waited. Legs tucked under you, chest tight.

You waited like prey.

But you felt like you’d invited the predator.

You stared at the phone. Nothing.

You waited. And waited.

You didn’t touch yourself.

Not yet. Not until you knew he was listening.

And when the screen finally lit up—

Unknown Caller

You answered before the second ring.

“…Hello?”

Silence.

Then—

“You left the light on for me.”

Your body shuddered.

“I thought you might come back,” you whispered.

“I never really left,” he said.

You swallowed hard. “You were watching?”

“Every fucking second.”

You looked toward the window. The breeze fluttered the curtain.

“Why didn’t you come in again?”

“Because I wanted you to miss it.”

You clenched your thighs together.

“You gonna behave tonight?” he asked. “Or are you gonna make me tie you up so I can take my time?”

Your breath caught. “You can’t keep doing this to me.”

“I can,” he said calmly. “And I will.”

“You didn’t even let me finish.”

“You will. When I say.”

You bit your lip.

“…Can I come tonight?”

“No.”

You whimpered.

“Touch yourself anyway,” he growled. “Right now.”

His voice hit like a command, not a suggestion.

You were already wet. You’d been wet. All fucking day. Ever since you got that photo. Ever since you stared at your own silhouette, caught mid-masturbation, knowing he had taken it.

You lay on your back now, legs spread, phone clutched in your hand, and the window cracked open just enough to let the night seep in.

“I want your fingers inside,” he said. “Slow.”

You obeyed.

You whimpered at how easily they slid in—how your body clenched down tight, aching for something thicker, something real.

“You thinking about my glove?” he asked, voice a dark velvet rasp. “How it felt when I stretched you open?”

You moaned softly.

“Thought about tying your wrists to the headboard tonight,” he said casually. “Gagging you with your own panties while I edge you over and over until your body begs without words.”

Your legs trembled.

“You’d take it,” he whispered. “You’d let me ruin you.”

“I want you to,” you breathed.

“Want me to what?”

You flushed. “Come inside.”

He chuckled.

“You want me in you, or just in the room?”

“Both.”

“Mmm.” His voice warmed. “You’re learning how to beg so pretty.”

You started rocking your hips, desperate for more friction, more anything.

“Fuck,” you whined. “Please let me come this time.”

“Not yet.”

You whimpered.

“You don’t get to come just because you’re desperate,” he said. “You get to come when I say.”

“I—I can’t take it anymore.”

“Yes you can.”

He let that sit. Let it sink.

Then:

“You’re gonna finger yourself ‘til you’re shaking and stop right at the edge.”

You made a small, broken sound.

“Now.”

You did it.

You thrust into yourself, hips writhing, building faster, harder, trying to get there even though you knew you couldn’t.

You moaned his name—not his real name, because you didn’t even know it—but the one that lived in your head now.

“Ghostface… fuck—Ghostface, please—”

You gasped, seconds from release.

“Stop.”

You froze.

The pleasure slammed to a halt like hitting a wall. Your body jerked with the absence of it. You sobbed into the quiet.

“Good girl,” he whispered. “You’re perfect when you suffer.”

You couldn’t even speak.

“Now pull your fingers out.”

You did, twitching. Whining. Ruined.

You heard his breathing change.

“You wanna know where I am?”

You turned your head. Eyes wide.

A low chuckle.

“I’m watching you from the hallway.”

Your pulse slammed.

“I can see the way your legs shake,” he murmured. “The way you pout when I don’t let you come. You make the prettiest little victim.”

You gasped.

“And tomorrow night?” His voice dropped. “I’m gonna come in that room. And I’m gonna fuck you.”

You moaned helplessly.

“I’m not taking the mask off,” he added. “You’re gonna come all over my cock without ever seeing my face. You’ll never know who I am.”

You trembled.

“You’ll just know what I feel like.”

Click.

⸻

You don’t sleep.

Not because you’re afraid.

But because you’re ready.

You know he’s coming.

The voice had promised.

“Tomorrow night, I’m gonna come in that room. And I’m gonna fuck you.”

You’re wet just thinking about it. Your body’s been wrung out from night after night of his voice, his orders, his hands—always there and gone too fast.

But tonight… tonight he’s going to stay.

You lay still. Tank top. No panties. Window open. Lamps off.

And when you hear your bedroom door creak—

You don’t scream.

You don’t move.

You just breathe.

Heavy boots move across your floor. You know that walk. Confident. Lethal. Controlled. You blink up into the darkness, heart pounding.

And then he’s there.

Ghostface. In full silhouette.

The mask glowing pale in the moonlight. Body broad. Towering over you.

He says nothing at first.

Just watches.

You arch your back for him—slow, offering. You swear you hear him groan.

“You’ve been so fucking patient,” he murmurs.

His voice is closer. Closer than it’s ever been. No phone. Just his mouth behind the mask. Just hot breath and filthy promises.

You open your legs.

“Please,” you whisper.

He drops to his knees.

Gloved hands grip your thighs, spreading you wide. You shiver under the leather.

“You so desperate to get filled, baby?” he asks. “You been dreaming about my cock?”

You nod. “Every night.”

He growls low in his throat. “Then remember this.”

And he devours you.

His tongue flicks out through the slits of the mask—messy, greedy. It shouldn’t be hot, but it is. Somehow hotter than anything else. He eats you with purpose, with pent-up need, with a kind of possession that has you crying out almost instantly.

“Oh my—fuck, Ghostface—”

He moans against your cunt. Loud. Mask rattling.

And when you clench too hard, too close—he pulls away.

“No.”

You sob. “No—please—!”

“You don’t come until I’m inside you.”

He stands.

You barely have time to breathe before he’s pulling his pants down. You hear the zipper, the shift of leather, the weight of what’s coming next.

Then—

“Hands and knees,” he orders.

You roll over, gasping, presenting yourself like a good girl. You feel the bed dip behind you.

Then—hot, heavy—his cock slides against your folds.

Not in yet. Just teasing.

And you wail.

“I’ve thought about this pussy for so fucking long,” he rasps. “Stroking my cock in the dark to the sound of you moaning. Now I finally get to ruin you.”

“Do it,” you beg. “Please, do it—”

He thrusts in.

Hard.

You cry out—sharp, breathless—your fingers twisting in the sheets as he buries himself inside you, fully, in one brutal stroke.

He holds there, just for a second. Deep. Filling.

Then he leans over your back, hand on your throat, mask beside your ear.

“You feel that?” he breathes. “That’s me. Inside you.”

You sob, nodding, overwhelmed.

And then he fucks you.

Relentless. Mask still on. Voice in your ear. Gloved hands gripping your hips hard enough to bruise.

“Take it,” he growls. “You said you could take it.”

“Yes—yes, please—”

“You belong to me. This pussy’s mine. You understand that?”

You moan, high and cracked.

“Say it.”

“It’s yours! It’s—fuck—it’s all yours—”

He fucks you harder.

You can hear him panting behind the mask. Hear his cock pounding into you, your slick coating his thighs, your cries bouncing off the walls. You’re loud. And he doesn’t care.

He wants the whole fucking block to know.

You claw at the sheets. You’re close again—closer than ever. You can barely form words.

And then he pulls out.

You scream.

“Not yet,” he growls.

You collapse onto your back, whimpering.

But he’s not done.

He flips you over, lifts your hips, and slams back in with one solid thrust.

You scream his name again—the only one you know.

“Ghostface—please—I can’t—!”

“You can,” he snarls. “You’ll take every inch. You’ll come all over this cock and still beg me to stay masked.”

“I need it—need you—”

“Then come.”

He drives into you, punishing, perfect, and you explode around him—writhing, screaming, sobbing as your orgasm rips through you like a wave crashing down, loud and endless and messy.

He grunts hard—once—and you feel it.

The warmth. Deep inside.

He doesn’t pull out.

He stays there, cock throbbing inside your spasming cunt, filling you until you’re still again.

You’re both panting. Quiet.

You reach up—touch the mask.

“…Please.”

He catches your wrist.

“No.”

“Just tell me your name.”

He leans down, kisses your throat through the mask.

Then whispers:

“You already did.”

And just like that—

He’s gone.

⸻

You didn’t hear from him for two days.

No calls. No photos. No shadows under the door or footsteps in the hall.

Just silence.

Your sheets still smelled like sex. Your body still ached in places you shouldn’t have liked. Your thighs rubbed sore from how hard he’d fucked you, how long he’d held you on the edge before letting you fall.

You’d never even seen his face. But he’d left fingerprints in your blood.

You hated yourself for how much you missed him.

You replayed every detail.

His voice. The weight of him. The glove between your thighs. The mask against your cheek.

You couldn’t stop touching yourself just to hear the echo of him in your head. You didn’t even fantasize about who he might be anymore.

It was about the way he made you feel.

Controlled. Wanted. Known.

Still, a part of you needed to know.

Not for closure.

For control.

You couldn’t take one more night of wondering if the barista who smiled at you or the mailman who asked your name had once licked your cum off his gloves behind a plastic mask.

So you did something stupid.

You checked your front porch camera.

He’d always been careful before.

Except once.

The night he sent the photo.

It had come at 3:02 a.m.

You scrubbed back to 2:58.

And there he was.

You couldn’t see the mask—just the hood. Broad shoulders. Confident walk. He came right up to the porch, phone in hand, stared up at your lit window… and then turned.

Your stomach dropped.

You froze the frame.

You stared.

You knew that profile.

The square jaw. The curve of the nose. The smirk.

Dean.

Your neighbor.

Dean fucking Winchester.

Mr. friendly smile.

Mr. “Need help carrying those groceries?”

Mr. leather jacket, flannel, always in the garage fixing his stupid Impala.

He’d helped you jumpstart your car two weeks ago.

You’d hugged him.

He knew your birthday.

He knew your schedule.

He—

Your phone buzzed.

Unknown Caller

You answered without thinking.

“…Dean?”

Silence.

Then, that voice.

The one you’d moaned to. Cried for.

“Should’ve kept the curtains closed, sweetheart.”

Your heart stuttered.

“You watched me the whole time,” you whispered. “All those nights—”

“All those days,” he corrected. “When you walked to get the mail. When you bent over to tie those red converse you wear. When you said hi and didn’t know I was already hard just looking at you.”

You were shaking.

“You came into my house.”

“And you begged me to stay.”

Your mouth went dry. “You—ruined me.”

He laughed, low. “No, baby. I found you.”

You swallowed. Hard.

“You’re not wearing the mask right now,” you said.

“Nope.”

“You’re not hiding anymore.”

“Nope.”

“Then why are you still calling?”

There was a pause.

Then—

“Because you haven’t run.”

You froze.

He was right.

You hadn’t.

You still hadn’t locked your door.

Still hadn’t told anyone.

And deep in your gut, where fear and want lived tangled together, you didn’t want to.

You inhaled shakily.

“…What happens now?”

Dean’s voice came through, low and final.

“You come over here.”

Click.