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kathaelipwse · 2 months ago

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The Fine Print || J.Wonwoo

Pairing: CEO!Wonwoo × Fashion Mogul(CEO Of A Fashion Line)!Fem Reader

Trope: Enemies to Lovers | Fake Dating | Revenge Pact | Forced Marriage Fallout

Warnings: Mentions of material coercion, non-consensual marriage, sexual assault (not with wonwoo), trauma (not with wonwoo), alcohol, revenge, corporate manipulation, and emotional healing, WORK OF FICTION, NO PROOF READING WAS DONE

Word Count: 9525 words ; Reading Time: 35-ish mins

Synopsis: In a world driven by power and appearances, a successful fashion CEO finds herself trapped in a toxic, loveless marriage for the sake of reputation. After discovering her infertility and surviving the cruelty of her husband, she walks out—scorched but not shattered. To destroy him completely, she calls on her old university rival, Jeon Wonwoo—now a ruthless tech tycoon and her biggest critic. His help comes with a condition: pretend to be his girlfriend. What begins as public spectacle spirals into nights of vulnerability, unspoken truths, and a romance neither saw coming. Because sometimes… even the coldest rivals can burn the brightest together.

Author’s Note: Writing this helped me cope with the reality that Wonwoo’s enlistment in the military hasn’t given me an ounce of peace. Instead, I poured my delusions into this fierce, messy, powerful enemies-to-lovers fic to survive the drought. To everyone else feeling the same? This one’s for us.

Request's are closed <3 I will be working on the requests I have got in my inbox!!

The weight of the midnight blue silk dress felt like a cruel mockery against your skin. It was the centerpiece of your latest collection, a flowing testament to the fierce, independent spirit you poured into every design, every meticulously stitched seam of your burgeoning fashion empire.

Yet, tonight, the luxurious fabric felt less like the armor of a CEO and more like the suffocating drapery of a gilded cage. You stared at your reflection in the antique, gold-framed mirror of the ballroom’s powder room, the soft, strategically placed lighting doing little to mask the subtle shadows of exhaustion that clung to the corners of your eyes. (Y/N), CEO of a fashion house whose innovative designs were rapidly gaining global recognition, your name a whisper of power and creative vision – a stark and bitter contrast to the carefully constructed role you were forced to inhabit within the confines of your marriage.

Your husband, Julian Thorne, the formidable CEO of OmniTech Industries, a colossus straddling the international tech landscape, was the architect of this elaborate charade. Your marriage, a highly publicized union touted as a groundbreaking synergy of fashion and technology, had been conceived in the sterile environment of boardrooms, fueled by ambition and sealed with a handshake that felt colder than any winter frost.

Your father, a man whose own dreams for your fashion legacy had become intertwined with the allure of Thorne’s immense technological might, had championed the union with a relentless enthusiasm that still left a bitter taste in your mouth. He had seen potential, synergy, an elevation of your brand to unprecedented heights. He had failed to see the steel in Julian’s gaze, the calculating glint that spoke of acquisition rather than partnership.

Julian was a man sculpted from ambition and devoid of genuine warmth. His interactions were precise, his words measured, and his affection, if it could even be dignified with such a term, was strictly conditional, tethered to his almost obsessive desire for an heir. He spoke of children with a possessive gleam in his steely blue eyes, viewing them as another meticulously planned acquisition, another crucial element in securing his legacy, a tangible extension of his power.

You, on the other hand, felt a cold dread coil in your stomach every time the topic surfaced. Your energy, your passion, your very being was poured into your company, into the tangible beauty you created from sketches and swatches. Motherhood, especially under Julian’s cold, controlling gaze, felt like a distant, blurry concept, a role you were profoundly unprepared and unwilling to embrace, not with him, not yet.

The memory of that night, months prior, still had the power to send icy tendrils of fear snaking through your veins. It was a violation that had stripped you bare, leaving you feeling hollowed out and irrevocably tainted. The forced intimacy, his relentless insistence despite your whispered protests, the chilling certainty in his eyes that your body was his to command – it was a deep, festering wound that no amount of time seemed capable of fully healing. He wanted a child so desperately, the cruel thought would surface unbidden, a bitter reminder of your powerlessness, he didn’t care about you, only the outcome.

The subsequent months crawled by with agonizing slowness, each one marked by Julian’s increasingly impatient inquiries, his subtle pressure escalating into thinly veiled accusations. The hopeful anticipation that had initially laced his voice slowly curdled into suspicion, then resentment, and finally, outright hostility.

The air in your shared penthouse apartment grew thick with unspoken tension, punctuated by his sharp demands and your increasingly strained silences. Finally, the sterile, impersonal environment of the doctor’s office confirmed your deepest anxieties, though the revelation was far more complex and devastating than you had ever imagined. You were infertile.

The diagnosis, delivered with a clinical detachment that mirrored Julian’s own emotional landscape, landed like a physical blow, knocking the breath from your lungs. But the true agony wasn’t the medical pronouncement itself; it was the volcanic eruption of Julian’s rage that followed.

His disappointment twisted into a venomous fury, his words sharp and cruel, like shards of glass tearing at your already fragile sense of self-worth. “Useless,” he had spat, his face contorted with contempt, his eyes devoid of any semblance of human compassion. “Barren. You can’t even fulfill the one fundamental purpose of a wife. You’ve failed me.”

Those brutal, unfair words, delivered with such cold conviction, finally shattered the last vestiges of your carefully constructed composure. The fear that had kept you compliant, the ingrained obligation you felt towards your family’s carefully laid plans, all crumbled into dust under the crushing weight of his unfeeling cruelty. That night, as Julian slept in the master bedroom, oblivious to the seismic shift within you, you had quietly contacted your most trusted legal counsel. The divorce papers were drafted with swift, efficient precision, a silent declaration of war, a decisive act of rebellion against the suffocating confines of the gilded cage you had allowed yourself to be trapped within.

Now, standing amidst the opulent yet suffocating atmosphere of the farewell party your parents had insisted on hosting – a final, polite, and utterly insincere nod to the spectacular failure of your “strategic alliance” – you felt a strange, unsettling mix of liberation and lingering pain.

The forced smiles and empty congratulations of the guests felt like a surreal performance, a final act in a play you were desperate to escape. You were bruised, emotionally and mentally battered by the relentless onslaught of the past months, but beneath the surface, a core of resilience remained unbroken. The chains, though they had left their mark, were finally, irrevocably severed.

As the polite chatter and forced pleasantries of the departing guests swirled around you, a sense of profound isolation settled in your chest. You longed for the quiet solitude of your own space, away from the judging eyes and hushed whispers. Your fingers instinctively brushed against the small, unassuming business card you had almost forgotten, tucked away in a seldom-used compartment of your elegant clutch. The stark black ink on the crisp white paper was a stark contrast to the pastel hues of the ballroom.

“Jeon Wonwoo – CEO, Stellaris Technologies.” A ghost of a wry, almost cynical smile touched your lips. Wonwoo. Your intellectual sparring partner from university, the infuriatingly brilliant mind who had challenged your every assumption, whose sharp wit and relentless drive had both exasperated and secretly impressed you. Your rivalry had been legendary, a constant clash of intellect and ambition across lecture halls and late-night study sessions. He was, without a doubt, the last person on earth you would ever have considered turning to for help.

But as you looked down at that simple card, a flicker of a desperate, audacious idea began to take root in the barren landscape of your despair. He was ruthless, undeniably brilliant, and possessed a strategic mind capable of dissecting complex systems and exploiting their weaknesses with surgical precision.

He was also, you vaguely recalled, known for his…unconventional methods. And right now, dismantling Julian Thorne’s smug, self-satisfied world, piece by calculated piece, was the only prospect that offered you even a sliver of the peace you so desperately craved.

With a newfound resolve hardening your gaze, a spark of something akin to grim determination igniting within you, you slipped the card into the deeper recesses of your pocket. The cool, smooth edge against your fingertips felt like a promise of a different kind of power – the power of retribution, wielded not through tears and pleas, but through strategy and calculated moves.

The chapter of forced obedience and silent suffering was finally, irrevocably closed. The next chapter, you vowed, would be written entirely on your own terms, even if it meant forging an alliance with your most formidable adversary.

The phone felt heavy in your hand, the polished glass a stark contrast to the nervous tremor that ran through your fingers. You stared at the contact name displayed on the screen: "Jeon Wonwoo." It was a name that had been relegated to the dusty corners of your memory, a relic of late-night study sessions fueled by lukewarm coffee and the adrenaline of looming deadlines, heated debates that often devolved into playful (and sometimes not-so-playful) intellectual sparring matches, and a rivalry that had defined your university years.

You hadn't spoken to him in years, not since the somewhat stiff and formal handshake at graduation, when your paths had diverged with a palpable sense of finality, his towards the fiercely competitive world of tech startups and venture capital, yours towards the intricate and equally demanding tapestry of the fashion industry, a world of silk and strategy, of aesthetics and sharp business acumen.

Taking a deep breath, a conscious effort to steady the frantic rhythm of your heart, you pressed the call button. The line rang, each electronic pulse echoing the profound uncertainty that gnawed at your resolve. Finally, after what felt like an agonizingly long wait, a voice, smooth as polished steel and laced with a familiar, almost infuriating hint of intellectual arrogance, answered. "Jeon Wonwoo speaking."

"Wonwoo," you began, your voice surprisingly steady, a testament to years of projecting confidence in high-stakes negotiations, despite the tempest of raw emotion churning within. "It's (Y/N)."

There was a brief pause, a beat of stunned silence that stretched into an unnerving eternity. You could almost hear the gears whirring in his sharp mind, processing the unexpectedness of your call. "Well, this is…unexpected, (Y/N). Haven't heard your voice in…what, five years now? To what do I owe this sudden, nostalgic outreach? Did you finally realize my thesis on neural networks was superior?" His tone was carefully neutral, betraying little, but you could detect a subtle undercurrent of amusement, a ghost of the old competitive spark that had always simmered between you.

You ignored his characteristic jab. "I need your help, Wonwoo." The words felt foreign on your tongue, a humbling admission to the one person who had consistently pushed you to your limits, the one person you had always strived to outsmart.

Another pause, this one heavier, laced with a newfound seriousness. "Help with what, (Y/N)?" His voice lost its playful edge, replaced by a cautious curiosity.

You laid out your proposition, the words tumbling out in a rush, a torrent of pent-up anger, pain, and a desperate need for retribution. You spoke of the calculated betrayal of your marriage to Julian, the cold, clinical nature of your interactions, the forced intimacy that still haunted your sleep, leaving you feeling violated and irrevocably scarred. You detailed the casual cruelty that had chipped away at your self-worth, the subtle manipulations and outright lies that had become the foundation of your life with him.

You then moved on to OmniTech, the seemingly impenetrable fortress of his success, hinting at the intricate web of lies and deceit, the carefully constructed facade of ethical business practices that underpinned its flawless reputation, the whispers you had overheard in hushed boardrooms, the inconsistencies you had noticed but, in your naivete, had dismissed. And then, you made your request, blunt and direct, stripping away any remaining pretense. "I need your help to destroy him, Wonwoo. I need you to dismantle OmniTech, piece by agonizing piece."

There was a longer silence this time, heavy with unspoken implications, the digital connection crackling faintly in your ear. You could almost hear the intricate cogs turning in his brilliant, ruthlessly calculating mind, analyzing the situation, weighing the potential benefits and drawbacks, assessing the sheer audacity of your request. "And why me, (Y/N)?" he finally asked, his voice low and dangerous, a silken threat that sent a shiver down your spine despite the distance. "Why come crawling to your sworn enemy for help? Surely, a woman of your considerable resources has other avenues she could explore. High-powered lawyers, disgruntled former employees…"

"Because you're the only one who can do it effectively," you admitted, the stark truth echoing in the tense silence of your apartment. "You have the specific skills, the intricate network within the tech world, the understanding of how these corporations truly operate. You have the resources, the intelligence, and the…the ruthlessness necessary to pull something like this off. You understand the intricacies of the tech world in a way I never will, and frankly, in a way that would take me years to even begin to grasp."

Wonwoo chuckled, a low, sardonic sound that sent a different kind of shiver down your spine this time, a prickle of something akin to reluctant admiration mixed with apprehension. "Ruthlessness? You wound me, (Y/N). I prefer to think of it as…strategic efficiency. But I digress. Even if I were inclined to indulge your…vendetta, what makes you think I would risk my own reputation, my own company, to take down a behemoth like OmniTech? What's in it for me? What could you possibly offer that would make it worth my while to go to war with a company the size and influence of Julian Thorne's?"

You had anticipated this, of course. You had spent hours crafting your counter-offer, trying to anticipate his motivations, what could possibly tempt a man who already possessed considerable wealth and power. You offered him a significant percentage of your company's shares, a stake in your rapidly expanding fashion empire. You proposed a substantial sum of money, an amount that would likely raise even his perfectly sculpted eyebrows. You even dangled the prospect of exclusive partnerships and collaborations within the high-stakes world of luxury fashion, connections that could open doors to a different kind of influence, a world beyond algorithms and microprocessors. He listened patiently, a faint air of detached amusement in his tone, and then dismissed each offer with a dismissive wave of his metaphorical hand, a slight curl of his lip indicating his utter disinterest. "I don't need your money, (Y/N). And I certainly don't need a piece of your empire. I have my own, and it's doing quite well, thank you. As for fashion…let's just say my aesthetic leans more towards functional than flamboyant."

There was a beat of silence, the weight of his rejection hanging in the air. You had played your strongest cards, and they had fallen flat. Desperation began to gnaw at the edges of your resolve. "Then what, Wonwoo? What do you want?"

He paused, the silence on the other end of the line stretching taut. When he finally spoke, his voice had dropped to a low, almost conspiratorial murmur. "I want something else, (Y/N). Something…more interesting. Something that appeals to my…sense of the dramatic."

You waited, your breath held captive in your chest.

"I want you to be my fake girlfriend, (Y/N)."

The words hit you like a physical blow, stealing the air from your lungs. You could only manage a stunned, disbelieving whisper. "What?"

He chuckled softly, a low, knowing sound that sent a shiver down your spine. "A mutually beneficial arrangement," he explained, the smirk practically audible in his tone. "We play the part. Public appearances, carefully staged dinners, strategically leaked photos at clubs, the whole glamorous, scandalous shebang. It'll give me a certain kind of leverage in some…ongoing business dealings that require a certain…public image. And it'll give you the perfect, utterly believable cover to execute your…plans without raising suspicion. Everyone will be far too busy dissecting our 'relationship,' speculating on the salacious details, to notice what you're really up to."

You hesitated, the sheer audacity of his proposal leaving you reeling. It was outrageous, bordering on insane. But as the initial shock wore off, a strange, unsettling intrigue began to take hold. It was undeniably clever, a high-stakes gamble that played perfectly into the public's insatiable appetite for scandal. It was a dance with the devil himself, a pact forged in mutual need and a shared, albeit unspoken, desire for…something beyond mere revenge. "And what exactly happens when this…arrangement is over, Wonwoo?" you asked, your voice tight with a mixture of apprehension and a flicker of something akin to reckless excitement.

"We go our separate ways," he said, his dark eyes, you imagined, glittering with an unreadable emotion, a flicker of something that might have been amusement, or perhaps something far more complex. "No strings attached. No lingering expectations. It's purely business, (Y/N). A transaction of appearances. Think of it as…mutually assured destruction for our public images, if either of us deviates from the script."

You considered his offer, the chaotic whirlwind of the past few months suddenly focusing into this one, bizarre, yet undeniably compelling proposition. The thought of Julian's smug downfall, the sweet, intoxicating taste of revenge, was a powerful lure, almost impossible to resist, especially now that a viable, albeit unconventional, path had presented itself. "Fine," you said, your voice firm, a newfound resolve hardening your tone. "Deal."

"Pleasure doing business with you, (Y/N)," Wonwoo's voice held a distinct note of satisfaction. "I'll have my people coordinate our first 'public outing' by the end of the week. Be prepared for the paparazzi."

The line went dead, leaving you staring at the silent phone in your hand. You had just made a deal with your greatest rival, agreeing to a fake relationship as a means to orchestrate the downfall of your ex-husband. The sheer absurdity of it all almost made you laugh. But beneath the surface of the shock and the swirling uncertainty, a seed of grim determination had been planted. The game had begun.

The week that followed your phone call with Wonwoo felt like stepping onto a brightly lit stage, the spotlight unforgiving and every move scrutinized. His "people" – a slick, efficient team you only interacted with via email and carefully scheduled phone briefings – orchestrated your public debut with the precision of a military operation. The first "sighting" was at a newly opened, ultra-exclusive restaurant, the kind where reservations were booked months in advance and privacy was a myth. You arrived separately, a deliberate tactic, only to "coincidentally" meet near the maître d's stand, the ensuing conversation captured by strategically placed paparazzi.

The photos the next morning were exactly as predicted: you, looking stunningly composed in a sleek black dress, a hint of a smile playing on your lips as you spoke to Wonwoo, who exuded an effortless charm in a tailored suit. The accompanying headlines screamed: "Fashion Mogul Finds New Flame?" and "Tech Titan and Style Queen Spark Romance!" The internet buzzed with speculation, your past marriage relegated to a footnote as everyone focused on this unexpected pairing.

Over the next few weeks, the carefully constructed narrative continued to unfold. There were "intimate" dinners where you and Wonwoo were photographed laughing, a shared box at the opera where his hand briefly rested on your back, a late-night exit from a trendy club, looking slightly disheveled but undeniably together. Each carefully curated appearance fueled the fire, pushing your "relationship" into the realm of scandalous obsession. Julian's name rarely surfaced in the gossip columns anymore, his downfall seemingly old news compared to the sizzling chemistry between you and Wonwoo.

Beneath the veneer of public affection, your interactions with Wonwoo remained strictly business. You met occasionally in neutral locations, his penthouse office a stark, minimalist space overlooking the city, or a quiet corner of a high-end hotel bar. Your conversations were clipped, focused on strategy. He provided you with information, subtle hints of the rot within OmniTech that his own sources had unearthed. You, in turn, played your part flawlessly, the sophisticated and alluring woman captivated by his intellect and power.

Then came the evening at the secluded Italian restaurant, the air thick with the aroma of truffle oil and hushed conversations. You had just returned from a particularly grueling photoshoot, the weight of the public charade beginning to feel heavy. Wonwoo was already seated at your usual table, a glass of amber liquid swirling in his hand. He looked up as you approached, a flicker of something unreadable in his dark eyes.

After the initial pleasantries, a comfortable silence settled between you, a byproduct of the weeks spent navigating this bizarre performance. Then, Wonwoo reached inside his jacket and slid a thin, folded piece of expensive, textured paper across the polished mahogany table. "I've been working on something," he said, his voice low and smug, a hint of predatory satisfaction in his tone. "A little…expose. Something I think you'll find…amusing."

You unfolded the paper he had passed, the crispness of it a stark contrast to the damning content it held. It was the draft of an anonymous article, the prose sharp and incisive, meticulously detailing the shady business practices and deeply unethical dealings that had become the bedrock of OmniTech's success. It spoke of manipulated quarterly reports that had artificially inflated the company's stock price, of aggressive and often illegal tactics used to stifle competition, of the exploitation of overseas labor masked by glossy corporate social responsibility campaigns, and of a series of suspiciously lucrative government contracts secured through means that were, to put it mildly, ethically dubious. The article even hinted at a culture of intimidation within OmniTech, where dissenting voices were swiftly silenced. It painted a devastating portrait of Julian Thorne, not as the visionary leader the public admired, but as a ruthless and manipulative businessman who had built his empire on a foundation of lies and exploitation.

As you read, a cold satisfaction bloomed in your chest. This was more than you had even hoped for. "This is…thorough," you commented, your voice low.

Wonwoo leaned back in his chair, a knowing smirk playing on his perfectly sculpted lips. "I pride myself on my thoroughness, (Y/N). Especially when it comes to dismantling my competition…or in this case, yours."

"And the anonymity?" you asked, your eyes scanning the carefully worded paragraphs.

"Crucial," he replied, taking a sip of his drink. "It lends credibility, makes it harder to trace back to a single source. It will plant seeds of doubt, create a groundswell of suspicion that Julian won't be able to easily control." He tapped the paper with a manicured finger. "I'm publishing it online anonymously tomorrow morning, through a source with a decent following and a reputation for investigative journalism. Consider it…the opening salvo in our little war."

The next day, the internet exploded. The anonymous article detonated like a carefully planted bomb, its shockwaves rippling through the financial markets and the court of public opinion. OmniTech's stock plummeted, the red numbers on the ticker screens a stark visual representation of Julian's crumbling empire. Investors, suddenly wary of the exposed underbelly of the company, began to pull out en masse. News outlets, initially hesitant due to OmniTech's powerful legal team, soon picked up the story, the anonymous claims gaining traction as more sources began to corroborate the information. Julian's carefully cultivated reputation, once gleaming and seemingly untouchable, was dragged through the mud of public scrutiny, his denials ringing hollow against the detailed accusations.

You watched the unfolding chaos from the cool, detached distance of your own office, a sense of grim satisfaction washing over you. It was a start, a significant blow that had clearly rattled Julian. That evening, you found yourself back at the same Italian restaurant, the atmosphere subtly different, charged with an unspoken energy.

Wonwoo raised his glass of deep crimson wine as you settled into your seat, the candlelight reflecting in his dark eyes. "To beginnings," he murmured, a hint of a smile playing on his lips.

You met his gaze, a silent understanding passing between you. You lifted your own glass, the rich color mirroring the burning desire for justice that still simmered within you. A small, almost imperceptible smile touched your lips.

One down, you thought, the taste of revenge, sharp and intoxicating, sweet on your tongue. More to go.

A week after the digital bomb of the anonymous article detonated across Julian's carefully constructed empire, the tension between you and Wonwoo had shifted, a subtle undercurrent of something volatile simmering beneath the surface of your strategic alliance. His text that evening was curt, demanding: "Zenith. Now." The possessiveness, however implied, sent a shiver of something akin to anticipation down your spine.

Club Zenith was a decadent assault on the senses. The bass vibrated through your stilettos, the air thick with the mingled scents of expensive liquor and raw desire, the flashing lights painting the gyrating bodies in fleeting, lurid hues. You spotted Wonwoo in the VIP section, a figure of dark, controlled elegance amidst the vibrant chaos. His gaze, sharp and possessive, locked onto yours as you navigated the crowded space, a silent acknowledgment of your arrival.

The initial conversation was a cool dissection of OmniTech's rapidly unraveling state, a strategic mapping of the next phase of your calculated takedown. But the celebratory edge you had anticipated was absent, replaced by a palpable tension that mirrored the knot in your own stomach. As the night wore on, and the champagne flowed freely, its bubbles mirroring the dizzying swirl of emotions within you, the carefully constructed dam of your composure began to show cracks.

You found yourself leaning closer to Wonwoo, your laughter a little too loud, a little too brittle. The world around you seemed to soften at the edges, the faces in the crowd blurring into indistinct shapes. You knew you were dangerously close to the edge of coherent thought, a state you rarely, if ever, allowed yourself. "I'm perfectly alright," you insisted, your voice carrying a playful slur as Wonwoo's dark eyes narrowed with a hint of concern when you stumbled against his arm. "Just…celebrating our little victory."

Later, the music a primal pulse against your skin, the weight of the past week and the strange intimacy of your current arrangement with Wonwoo coalesced into a potent cocktail of vulnerability and reckless abandon. The memory of Julian's violation, the cold, dehumanizing act that still haunted your quiet moments, resurfaced with brutal clarity, a wave of pain and fury threatening to overwhelm you.

You reached out, your hand finding the smooth, cool silk of Wonwoo's shirt, your fingers clenching, a desperate need for physical connection overriding your usual reserve. Tears welled in your eyes, blurring the sharp lines of his face. You leaned close, your voice a broken whisper against his ear, the confession raw and laced with unshed tears. "He…he forced himself on me, Wonnie," you choked out, the shame and lingering trauma a bitter taste on your tongue. "He just…took what he wanted. Like I was his property."

Wonwoo went utterly still beside you, the sardonic mask he often wore dissolving, replaced by a stark, almost violent intensity. His jaw tightened, a muscle in his cheek twitching rhythmically. The hand not cradling his drink clenched into a white-knuckled fist. He didn't speak, but the air around him vibrated with a silent, furious protectiveness that resonated deep within you.

He gently steered you away from the throng, his hand surprisingly firm on the small of your back, guiding you to a more secluded corner of the booth. He didn't offer empty platitudes. He simply sat beside you, his presence a dark, solid anchor in your swirling emotions. He didn't touch you further, but the heat of his gaze, the barely leashed anger radiating off him, felt strangely…cathartic.

Then, fueled by the alcohol and a sudden, audacious impulse, you turned to him, your hand finding the sharp angle of his jaw, your thumb tracing the faint stubble. You tilted his face towards yours, your gaze locking with his dark, unreadable eyes, and pressed a slow, deliberate kiss to the corner of his lips. You lingered there for a breath, tasting the faint trace of whiskey, before trailing a languid series of kisses down the sensitive curve of his neck, inhaling the intoxicating blend of his expensive cologne and his own unique scent.

Finally, you reached his mouth, your lips parting slightly as you pressed against his, a silent invitation. You pulled back just enough to meet his gaze, your own eyes heavy-lidded, a blatant challenge in their depths. "Kiss me back, Wonnie," you whispered, the alcohol stripping away every last vestige of your usual carefully constructed composure. "Show me what you really think when you look at me. Please."

For a heartbeat, he remained frozen, his expression a turbulent mix of surprise, something akin to reluctant desire warring with his usual guardedness. Then, with a low growl that seemed to emanate from deep within his chest, he gave in. His lips met yours, the initial contact hesitant, then deepening with a sudden, almost desperate intensity. His hand, which had been hovering near your waist, now snaked around your back, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you. The kiss was no longer tentative; it was charged, electric, a raw exploration of the unspoken tension that had been simmering between you. Your own hands found their way to his hair, your fingers tangling in the dark strands, pulling him closer, demanding more.

But just as the kiss threatened to escalate into something far more consuming, your eyelids grew heavy, the alcohol finally claiming its due. You mumbled something against his lips, a slurred, provocative whisper. "That…cocky look you get…" you murmured, your fingers tightening their grip on the fabric of his shirt, a sleepy, undeniably suggestive smile curving your lips. "It's…surprisingly…doing things to me…..like turning me on even while we are on the verge of a damn argument" And then, you were gone, your head lolling against his broad shoulder, the world fading into a soft, black oblivion, the taste of whiskey and Wonwoo lingering on your lips.

Wonwoo watched you, his expression a fascinating study in conflicting emotions – disbelief warring with a dark, possessive hunger, amusement battling a tenderness he likely wouldn't admit to. He carefully scooped you up in his arms, his movements surprisingly gentle despite his imposing frame. He navigated the crowded club with an air of quiet authority, the bouncers clearing a path with respectful nods.

He carried you to your apartment after driving there, the city lights a blurry kaleidoscope through your unconscious vision. He used the keycard you had somehow managed to produce, his movements surprisingly deft despite the late hour and your dead weight. He laid you gently on your bed, his gaze lingering on your flushed face, a strange possessiveness flickering in his dark eyes before he pulled the soft covers over you. As he turned to leave, a hand, surprisingly strong despite your inebriated state, snaked out and gripped his wrist, pulling him back with unexpected force.

You were barely conscious, your eyes fluttering open like a drowsy invitation, but your grip was surprisingly tenacious. You tugged, and he lost his balance, a surprised grunt escaping his lips as he tumbled onto the bed beside you. Before he could fully process the situation, you had instinctively curled into him, your limbs tangling together with a shocking intimacy. Your head nestled perfectly in the crook of his neck, your breath warm and soft against his skin, your body molding against his with a familiarity that belied the briefness of your…interactions.

He lay there for a long, suspended moment, stiff and utterly still, the unexpected intimacy a palpable force in the dimly lit room. Then, with a sigh that seemed to carry a weight of both resignation and a dark, undeniable desire, he adjusted his position, his arm instinctively wrapping around your waist, pulling you closer as if claiming you in your unconscious state.

The next morning, you woke slowly, a dull, insistent throb behind your eyes and fragmented, intensely mortifying memories of the previous night’s brazen behavior. You were tangled in the soft duvet, and something warm, solid, and undeniably masculine was pressed intimately against your back. You shifted slightly, a low, husky groan rumbling beside you.

Your eyes snapped open, your breath catching in your throat. Jeon Wonwoo was lying next to you, his dark hair adorably tousled against the pillow, his sharp features softened in sleep. His arm was draped possessively across your waist, his hand resting low on your hip, his fingers splayed intimately against your skin. Your leg was thrown casually over his, and your hand was buried in the soft fabric of his expensive shirt, dangerously close to his bare chest.

A gasp escaped your lips, and you instinctively tried to pull away, a wave of mortification washing over you, hot and suffocating. Wonwoo stirred, his dark eyes fluttering open, still clouded with sleep. "Don't move," he mumbled, his voice a low, delicious rasp that sent an unexpected shiver down your spine. His grip on your waist tightened almost unconsciously, pulling you closer against his warm, undeniably hard body.

Your heart hammered against your ribs, a frantic drumbeat against the backdrop of your racing thoughts and the lingering sensations of his lips on yours, your hands on his body. The vivid memories of your drunken boldness, your blatant come-ons, flooded your consciousness. The intimacy of the present moment, the tangible evidence of your utterly uninhibited behavior, was overwhelming, mortifying, and yet…a tiny, rebellious part of you couldn't deny a flicker of something akin to…satisfaction?

Finally, Wonwoo's eyes fully focused, and a flicker of surprise, quickly masked by a cool, almost detached composure, crossed his face. He slowly, reluctantly, released his grip and backed away, creating a sudden, charged space between you. A strange tension, thick with unspoken words, lingering sensations, and the undeniable aftermath of your drunken boldness, filled the small room.

You scrambled out of bed, your cheeks burning with a heat that had nothing to do with the lingering effects of the alcohol. You mumbled a hasty, incoherent apology, avoiding his gaze, and practically fled to the sanctuary of the bathroom, the vivid image of his sleepy, rumpled form, the possessive way he had held you, and the memory of your own shockingly forward actions, seared into your mind.

When you finally emerged, dressed in a robe that felt more like a shield than clothing, the apartment was silent. Wonwoo was gone. On your bedside table, however, sat a tall glass of water, a blister pack of high-strength hangover relief tablets, and a small, folded note.

You picked it up, your fingers trembling slightly despite your attempts to appear composed. The handwriting was sharp and angular, undeniably his, and surprisingly elegant. It simply read: "Drink these. Don't mention last night, you talk a lot when you are drunk. - JW."

You stared at the stark black ink on the crisp white paper. A small, unexpected flutter stirred in your chest, a sensation entirely unfamiliar, a feeling that defied logic and your carefully constructed defenses. It was a confusing mix of embarrassment, a lingering thrill from your own boldness, and a surprising warmth directed towards the man who had witnessed your most vulnerable and perhaps most uninhibited self. Your heart, it seemed, had a penchant for the dramatic, capable of the most inconvenient and unexpected of reactions.

The following days were a blur of news reports and online outrage. A second anonymous article had dropped, this one far more insidious and personal. It detailed numerous previously unreported cases of harassment and discrimination within OmniTech, painting a toxic work environment fostered by Julian's own dismissive attitude towards employee well-being and, more damningly, implicating him directly in silencing several victims. The article included leaked internal emails and anonymous testimonies that painted a horrifying picture of fear and abuse.

The fallout was swift and brutal. Major deals that OmniTech had been on the verge of closing evaporated overnight. Investors, already skittish after the initial financial exposé, fled in droves. The carefully constructed image of a progressive, innovative tech giant shattered completely, revealing a rotten core of systemic abuse. Julian's public denials were weak and unconvincing against the weight of the mounting evidence. His empire, once seemingly invincible, was crumbling with terrifying speed.

That night, a frantic, insistent pounding echoed through your apartment. A hopeful smile touched your lips as you hurried to the door, your heart inexplicably lighter than it had been in months. You had grown accustomed to Wonwoo's unexpected appearances, his silent check-ins, the unspoken understanding that had developed between you. You peered through the peephole, your smile widening in anticipation… only to freeze, the blood turning to ice in your veins.

It wasn't Wonwoo. It was Julian. His face was contorted with a furious desperation, his eyes wild and bloodshot. Before you could react, before you could even think to lock the deadbolt, he was hammering on the door again, yelling your name, his voice laced with a manic edge.

Terror seized you. You stumbled back, your breath catching in your throat. He knew where you lived. He was here.

Suddenly, the flimsy barrier of the door shuddered under a violent kick. The lock splintered, and the door flew inward, crashing against the wall. Julian stood in the doorway, a dark, menacing figure silhouetted against the hallway light.

"You!" he roared, his eyes locking onto you with a venomous glare. "This is your fault! You and that…that snake Wonwoo!"

Before you could speak, before you could even scream, he lunged at you, his hands grasping your arms with brutal force. He shoved you back against the wall, the impact knocking the air from your lungs. His face was inches from yours, his breath hot and reeking of desperation and alcohol.

"You think you can ruin me?" he snarled, his grip tightening until you cried out in pain. "You think you can get away with this?"

Panic clawed at your throat. You struggled, kicking and pushing against him, but he was stronger, fueled by rage and a terrifying sense of entitlement. He pinned you against the wall, his body pressing against yours, the familiar, sickening feeling of violation washing over you.

"Please," you choked out, tears streaming down your face. "Just…leave me alone."

"Leave you alone?" he spat, his voice thick with fury. "You destroyed everything! You think you can just walk away after what you've done?" He leaned closer, his words a disgusting whisper against your ear. "You were always useless. Couldn't even give me a child. Now you'll pay for it."

His hands moved, and a fresh wave of terror washed over you. You screamed, a raw, desperate sound that tore through the quiet of your apartment building, you knew no matter how hard you tried its always a man's physical power winning against the women in most of the casses. "Help! Someone, please help!"

Just as his touch became unbearable, the doorframe behind him exploded inward with a deafening crash. A figure filled the doorway, silhouetted against the dim hallway light, radiating a raw, incandescent fury.

It was Wonwoo.

His eyes, dark and blazing, locked onto the scene before him. The carefully cultivated coolness he usually exuded was gone, replaced by a primal rage that was terrifying to behold. With a guttural roar, he launched himself at Julian, yanking him off you with a force that sent your ex-husband stumbling backward.

What followed was a brutal, visceral display of fury. Wonwoo, his face a mask of pure rage, rained down blows on Julian, each punch landing with sickening force. You watched in stunned silence, tears still streaming down your face, as your tormentor was finally met with a force that matched his own brutality. You had never seen Wonwoo like this, this raw, untamed fury a stark contrast to his usual controlled demeanor.

The sounds of the struggle were brutal – grunts, curses, the sickening thud of fists against flesh. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the sounds subsided. Julian lay on the floor, bruised and bleeding, whimpering in pain. Wonwoo stood over him, his chest heaving, his knuckles raw.

The sound of sirens grew closer, their wail piercing the tense silence of your apartment. Moments later, the police burst through the shattered door, their weapons drawn. Wonwoo, his rage slowly receding, raised his hands in a gesture of surrender.

As the officers moved to apprehend Julian, Wonwoo turned to you, his eyes softening with a raw concern that mirrored your own shattered state. He rushed to you, his arms wrapping around you in a tight, protective embrace. You clung to him, your body trembling uncontrollably, the sobs finally wracking your frame.

"Why didn't you call me?" he murmured against your hair, his voice thick with a mixture of anger and worry. "I told you…you could always call me."

You buried your face in his chest, the familiar scent of his cologne a strange comfort amidst the lingering stench of Julian's desperation. "I…I thought it was you at the door," you choked out, your voice barely a whisper.

"Shhh," he soothed, holding you tighter. "It's over now. He can't hurt you anymore."

You clung to him, the reality of what had just happened slowly sinking in. Your body ached, your spirit bruised, but in Wonwoo's arms, for the first time in what felt like an eternity, a fragile seed of safety began to sprout.

"Thank you," you mumbled, the words inadequate to express the wave of gratitude and a burgeoning, unexpected emotion that washed over you. Your heart ached with the fresh trauma, but at the same time, a strange sense of healing had begun. You no longer saw Wonwoo as just an enemy, a rival, or a co-conspirator. You saw him as the man who had burst through the door, a furious protector, your rescuer in the darkest of moments.

Closing your eyes, you leaned further into his embrace, the steady beat of his heart a grounding rhythm against your ear. For the first time in a long time, surrounded by the wreckage of your shattered door and the lingering echoes of violence, you found a fleeting moment of fragile peace in the unexpected safety of Jeon Wonwoo's arms.

Three weeks had passed since the harrowing night at your apartment. The physical bruises had faded, but the emotional scars were still tender, a constant reminder of Julian's violation. Wonwoo had been a silent, steady presence in the aftermath. He hadn't pushed, hadn't pried, but he had been there, a quiet strength you found yourself increasingly relying on. The fake relationship had morphed into something…more. The lines between business and something far more personal had blurred, a consequence of shared trauma and unexpected acts of fierce protectiveness.

One afternoon, a text message from Wonwoo appeared on your phone: "Client meeting at the City Art Museum next Thursday. Accompany me?" It was phrased as a request, but there was an underlying expectation, a comfortable assumption that you would agree. And you did.

Thursday arrived, and you found yourself standing before the museum, the grand facade a stark contrast to the nervous flutter in your stomach. You had chosen a wine-red dress, the rich color a bold statement, the elegant cut accentuating your figure. You had taken extra care with your hair and makeup, a renewed sense of confidence blooming within you, a defiant refusal to let Julian's actions define you.

As you stepped inside, you spotted Wonwoo near a Rodin sculpture, engaged in conversation with a distinguished-looking older gentleman. He hadn't seen you yet. You took a moment to simply watch him, the way his dark hair fell across his forehead, the intensity in his gaze as he spoke, the subtle authority in his posture. A warmth spread through you, a feeling entirely new and unexpectedly tender.

Then, his eyes lifted, catching yours across the crowded gallery. A flicker of surprise, quickly followed by something that looked suspiciously like…awe, crossed his features. He literally paused mid-sentence, a slight choke in his voice as he finished his thought. He recovered quickly, a practiced coolness returning to his expression as he excused himself from his client and walked towards you.

"You look…" he began, his usual smooth delivery faltering for a fraction of a second, his eyes lingering on the curve of your neck exposed by the dress. He cleared his throat. "…appropriately dressed for an appreciation of fine art." It was a classic Wonwoo deflection, but you caught the genuine admiration that had flashed in his eyes.

As Wonwoo resumed his conversation with his client, you wandered through the museum, losing yourself in the brushstrokes of a Monet, the stark lines of a Picasso. You found a quiet corner admiring a collection of contemporary sculptures when a man approached you, his smile a little too wide, his eyes lingering a little too long.

He started a conversation, his tone overtly flirtatious, complimenting your dress, your eyes, his words dripping with a practiced charm that felt instantly insincere. You offered polite, brief responses, subtly trying to disengage, but he persisted, his compliments becoming increasingly bold. A familiar unease began to settle in your stomach.

Just as you were formulating a more direct way to excuse yourself, you felt a warm, possessive hand settle on your waist, pulling you gently against a familiar solid form. Wonwoo was suddenly beside you, his arm a firm, undeniable claim around your waist. He turned to the flustered man, his usual cool demeanor firmly in place, but with an underlying edge that sent a clear message. "Excuse us," he said, his voice smooth but with a hint of steel. "She's taken."

The man, clearly recognizing Wonwoo, stammered an apology and quickly retreated. You turned to Wonwoo, a teasing smile playing on your lips. "Possessive, are we?"

He shrugged, his arm still firmly around your waist, his gaze lingering on your face. "You looked…uncomfortable." His tone was casual, but the possessive grip on your waist spoke volumes. The air between you thickened, the unspoken tension simmering just beneath the surface.

The next eight months passed in a blur of shared moments, both public and private. The "fake relationship" had taken on a life of its own, evolving into something undeniably real. The tabloids still followed your every move, fascinated by the unlikely pairing, but the scrutiny felt less invasive now, more like background noise to the genuine connection that had blossomed between you and Wonwoo. You shared quiet dinners, late-night conversations that stretched into the early hours, comfortable silences that spoke volumes. He was still Wonwoo – brilliant, sharp-witted, occasionally infuriatingly cocky – but you had also seen his fierce protectiveness, his unexpected tenderness, the vulnerability he rarely showed.

The day of your Paris fashion show arrived, a culmination of months of relentless work. The Grand Palais buzzed with anticipation, the air thick with the scent of expensive perfume and nervous energy. You scanned the crowd from the stage, a familiar wave of pre-show jitters washing over you. You looked for Wonwoo, a small part of you hoping to catch his eye, even though he had explicitly told you that a crucial, unavoidable meeting would keep him away. A pang of disappointment, quickly masked by professional composure, tightened in your chest.

Your speech went smoothly, your voice confident as you presented your latest collection to the discerning eyes of the fashion world. The applause was enthusiastic, the reviews promising. But as you walked backstage, the adrenaline slowly fading, a wave of quiet disappointment washed over you. He hadn't been there.

Suddenly, as you turned a corner in the bustling backstage area, a hand clamped over your mouth, and another pinned your hands playfully above your head, effectively trapping you against the cool wall. A familiar, husky voice whispered in your ear, laced with a teasing arrogance that sent a thrill through you. "Someone missed me?"

Your heart leaped. You knew that voice. You smiled beneath his hand, relief and a surge of unexpected joy flooding through you. You nodded enthusiastically against his palm. His hands released yours, sliding down to cup your face, his thumbs gently stroking your cheeks. You turned in his arms, your gaze meeting his dark, smiling eyes. Without a word, you reached up and kissed him, a rush of pure happiness bubbling up inside you.

He grinned against your lips, a flash of his signature cockiness. "Missed me that much, huh?" He pulled back slightly, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Be ready by seven tonight, ma créatrice." He winked, a promise of something special in his gaze, and then, just as suddenly as he had appeared, he slipped away, leaving you breathless and grinning like a fool in the middle of the backstage chaos.

You shook your head fondly, a warmth spreading through you that had nothing to do with the Parisian air. Your earlier disappointment vanished, replaced by a giddy anticipation. Seven o'clock in Paris with Wonwoo? You had a feeling tonight would be anything but ordinary. You rushed to get ready, your mind already racing with possibilities.

A sleek, black car pulled up to your hotel, the Parisian twilight casting long shadows across the cobblestone street. The driver door opened, and Wonwoo emerged, looking impossibly handsome in a dark suit that accentuated his sharp features. His eyes held a playful glint as he approached you, a soft, silk blindfold dangling from his fingers.

"Ready for your Parisian adventure, ma belle?" he asked, his voice a low murmur that sent a shiver down your spine.

You raised a curious eyebrow. "Adventure? Or are you finally going to reveal your secret life as a notorious art thief?"

He chuckled, a deep, resonant sound. "Only one way to find out." He gently reached out, and you tilted your head, allowing him to tie the blindfold securely, plunging you into darkness.

As he guided you into the car, your playful banter continued. "You're not planning on taking me to some secret underground catacomb, are you? Because I am not dressed for subterranean exploration."

"Relax, mon amour," he replied, his voice laced with amusement. "Though the thought of you in the catacombs…intriguing. But tonight's destination is a little more…elevated."

The drive was filled with your teasing questions and his deliberately vague answers. "Are you going to kill me, Wonwoo? Is this some elaborate revenge plot for all those times I beat you in debate club?"

He squeezed your thigh reassuringly, his touch lingering for a moment longer than necessary. "Darling, if I were going to kill you, it would be far more creative than a simple car ride. Besides," his voice dropped to a husky whisper, "I have far more interesting plans for you tonight."

The squeeze on your thigh, however brief, sent a jolt of anticipation through you, effectively silencing your playful accusations. You settled back in your seat, a sense of excitement bubbling beneath the surface of your blindfolded anticipation.

The car finally came to a stop. You could hear the muffled sounds of the city, the distant hum of traffic, but there was a different quality to the air here, a sense of vastness. Wonwoo carefully guided you out of the car, his hand firm on your elbow. You could feel the cool night air against your skin, a gentle breeze whispering around you.

He led you slowly, the sound of your heels clicking softly on what felt like stone. You could sense a change in elevation, a gradual upward climb. "Wonwoo, where are we going?" you asked, your curiosity reaching its peak. "This is straight out of a horror movie. Are there chains involved?"

He chuckled again, a warm sound close to your ear. "Patience, mon cœur. The grand reveal is almost upon us."

The ascent continued, the air growing thinner, the city sounds fading into a distant murmur. Finally, Wonwoo stopped. "Alright, ma voleuse," he whispered, his breath warm against your temple. "Prepare to be amazed."

His fingers gently untied the knot of the blindfold. As the darkness receded, your eyes struggled to adjust to the breathtaking panorama that unfolded before you. You were high above the city, the sprawling lights of Paris twinkling like a million scattered diamonds. The Eiffel Tower stretched majestically above and below you, its intricate ironwork illuminated against the vibrant canvas of the sunset. Hues of fiery orange, soft pink, and deep violet painted the sky, a breathtaking masterpiece that stole your breath away.

You were speechless, your earlier playful banter completely forgotten. "Oh," was all you could manage, your voice filled with awe. "Oh, Wonwoo… it's… not murder, at least. It's beautiful."

There was no response. Confused, you turned to look at him, your heart suddenly pounding in your chest. And there he was, bathed in the soft glow of the Parisian twilight, down on one knee. In his outstretched hand, a small, velvet box lay open, revealing a stunning platinum ring, a delicate yet substantial band set with a single, brilliant-cut diamond that caught the fading light.

Your breath hitched. You felt a wave of shock, disbelief, and an overwhelming surge of emotion wash over you. You could only stare, your mind struggling to process the reality of the moment.

Wonwoo's gaze was intense, his dark eyes filled with a vulnerability you had never seen before. He took a deep breath, his voice slightly husky as he began to speak. "From the moment I first saw you in that ridiculously oversized 'Intro to Philosophy' class, arguing passionately about existentialism… I was captivated. You were brilliant, fiery, infuriating… everything I never knew I wanted."

He continued, his voice gaining strength as he confessed the long-held secret of his heart. "All those years in university, the constant rivalry, the need to challenge you, to spar with you intellectually… it wasn't just competition, (Y/N). It was the only way I knew how to keep you close, to keep you talking to me. I was too arrogant, too afraid to admit how deeply I felt."

He paused, his eyes searching yours. "Even after… after your marriage to that… that man," his voice hardened with a flicker of the old fury, "I couldn't let go of the memory of you, the fire in your eyes. Pretending to just want to destroy him… it was partly true, but mostly it was about clearing the path back to you."

He took another deep breath, his gaze unwavering. "So, (Y/N) (Your Last Name), my brilliant, beautiful, fiercely independent thief… may I be yours completely? May I finally stop pretending and love you, truly and without reservation?"

"Thief?" you asked, a shaky laugh escaping your lips, tears welling in your eyes.

A genuine, heart-melting grin spread across his face. "Yeah. You stole my heart years ago, remember? You've been holding onto it ever since."

More tears spilled down your cheeks, but this time, they were tears of pure, unadulterated joy. You took a moment to gather yourself, your heart overflowing with a love you hadn't fully realized until this moment. "Fine," you managed, your voice thick with emotion. "Be my Mr. (Your Last Name)." You watched him, a playful glint in your tear-filled eyes.

He stood up, his gaze never leaving yours. "I don't mind having your last name," he shrugged, a hint of his old cockiness returning, but softened with pure adoration.

You giggled, wiping away a stray tear. "Though… I rather prefer yours after mine."

His grin widened, and he reached out, cupping your face in his hands, his thumbs gently stroking your cheeks. "Take whatever you want then… my thief."

And then, with the breathtaking panorama of the glowing city stretching out beneath them, Wonwoo kissed you deeply, a kiss that spoke of years of unspoken feelings, of shared battles and unexpected tenderness, of a future finally, beautifully, beginning. The cool Parisian air was filled with the warmth of their embrace, a promise of a love that had weathered storms and blossomed in the most unexpected of circumstances. Your heart, finally safe in his keeping, soared with a joy that illuminated the Parisian night even brighter than the city lights below.

-- The End <3

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13curses · 2 months ago

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mdni ꉂ gojo satoru ﾒ fem!reader, quiċkie, exhibitionism, backshots, crėampie, wc 1,124. ⟢

two for one, you know a bitch buy four. that bitch in question is satoru with the way he's been grabbing two shots at once with every chance he got between timely breaks, ever since you've arrived at the party.

neither of you were planning on getting wasted. you were both having fun socializing with your well-fitted cliques—each to your own—and every now and then, your boyfriend would come around, have you instinctively cross arms with him and share shots.

problem is, this has been your sole interaction. your focus has begun to drift from your enthusiastic friends whom were sipping on passion fruit 'n gin fizzes. they had the fast-consumed alcohol to blame their hazy focus on while you were watering and snacking down every shot you've taken, yet . . your brain was pulling you to satoru.

he's been making moves alright, bidding goodbye with evergrowing kisses on your mouth, cheek, jawline, and eventually, your neck. it wasn't even the attributive pecks that got you in this situation, but when he purposefully missed one and decided to grope your perky ass past your short dress, giving it an impertinent squeeze as his hot breath fanned your ear—he didn't say shit, though.

the situation in question?

you're pressed up against the wooden door which you're not even mildly sure is locked. your makeout session was sloppy, rushed, a nimble way of saying i crave you like hell, but this isn't the itch that needs to be grazed. a string of saliva falls from your lips when you're swung to face the entrance. satoru's fiddling with the hem of your dress impatiently, but he takes his sweet time to peek at the treasure-of-a-view under it.

“you've got time?” you breathe. “mh! my ass is freezing–”

“like i'd ever let that happen.”

satoru gives your butt a fanatic smack before pleating the skirt up, free hand spreading your thighs. your inner sides were gluey from the arousal he'd summoned through his antics.

the door judders as the two of you shuffle to get in position. restless seconds pass between his zipper loosening and your thong being pulled to the side, and finally, you moan onto (maybe through) the wood as you feel his mushroom tip leading the rest of his length into your gummy walls.

your spread widens in response to your weakened posture. satoru's stupidly slender fingers get the credit for holding you in place by your flexed thighs.

“oooh~you've been ready for this, gorgeous.” he teases at your natural instinct to arch for him.

“tck–get moving!” you complain, hint of desperation in your tone. his cock fits you like a glove and backing into him for stimulation is not enough at the moment.

“what's the hurry? ya craving a cocktail with your giggly girlfriends?”

nerve stomper? bratty with a chance of dick? understatements.

“toruuu! i said–”

oh, he understood the first time. he pulls back, then as he slams his hips into your ass, there's a puddly plop! sound filling the bathroom. creating the rhythm, his length is sliding in and out of you like a drunk-driven car on a wet road. despite the foolhardy comments earlier, satoru himself lets out a satisfied, higher pitched sigh, singing the vowel a.

obscene yelps leave your sweet lips, met by the palm of your boyfriend. people chatting over closed doors aren't this loud, and you weren't meant to, um . . conversate with the party peeps. sure, you could've been bent over the sink like most of couples fucking in strangers' bathrooms manage, but the scene was already set. you didn't feel doomed. at all.

the tile walls made every nasty sound echo–you could hear any fluid drop. with the pace satoru has picked up, you are slobbering over his hand, teeth grazing the pad of his palm, unable to keep your throat closed.

“you... hah- y'just had to wear a short fuckin’ dress, mhm?” satoru heaves, continuing with a perverted, out of breath chuckle. “'t got you fucked silly.”

“s'toruuu–mwaah!”

he's panting down your neck, sending chills that you can't detect in the heat consuming your body. he's hammering into you like there's no tomorrow, neither much time. you readjust your stance which leads to your heels dogmatically slipping off your feet. satoru has leaned back to watch as the flesh of your ass ripples with every needy thrust, but your failed trials to crawl back in your heels was ditzy enough to draw his attention.

he scoops you up, having you discard the footwear to choose standing on his shiny shoes instead—a cinderella story.

“hah—weakling.”

“o–ahh! shut up!” you whine, error caught in trying to act firm, followed by bitchy whines, “mwh–fuck me, fuck me, fu–!!”

your slutty pleads cause him to snicker, the sound rumbling in his chest, caught between pants. your cream is foaming around the ring of his cock, some goes to waste on the dirty floor. pretty cheeks are flushed in a crimson tint, and–did you just claw at the door? there's an indentation in the pine bark.

with your libido skyrocketing, it's not long until you feel that beguiling feel coiling in your lower tummy. if satoru was facing you, he would absolutely tease you about that dumb, fogged layer in your eyes: the result of the combined sensations. your boyfriend huffing in your ear, delivering unrestrained shots into your tight cunt, your ass bouncing like rubber with every vigorous thrust . . .

“close? i can feel you–oh-h!”

satoru moans in your ear pornographically, the best response to your anchoring core. the action becomes rabid, like two rabbits going at it. you begin backing into his arousal-coated shaft, aching for that sweet release which is burning your ears in a warning. his crowned head is bullying your g-spot savagely, so you must sink your upper teeth into your lower lip, one hand holding onto his grip, other hand clawing at the poor door still.

your orgasm detonates within you, causing muscle spasms and your eyes to roll back. the burning sensation is fuelled by satoru's thick white ropes filling your clamping hole. he buries his face in your shoulder, groaning onto your perspiring skin, infatuated with the pleasure you give him.

twitching as you do, you let your hand drop from the wood, landing on the handle . . which you push.

because you've let yourself loose, dealing with the overwhelming climax and a tall, strong, pleased and lean boyfriend resting on your much smaller figure, you also push the door. it opens with a silent creak.

adrenaline immediately overruns you to act, of course. not swift enough to avoid the few pairs of drowsy, curious and wasted eyes staring right back at you. for a split second.

aaand cum is also leaking into your discarded heels.

#𐚁̸ 𝟏𝟑th curse.#gojo satoru smut #gojo satoru x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen x you #gojo satoru x you #anime smut #manga smut #gojo x reader #gojo x you #gojo smut

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formulaonecrumbs · 2 months ago

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helloo!!! a story where oscar is celebrating a win at a random club and ends up having a one-night stand with the reader, whom he just met? she ends up getting pregnant, and oscar struggles to explain to his family that he's going to be the father of a child with a woman he barely knows. at first, they scold him for being so careless, but over time, he and the reader grow closer, start dating, and his family starts supporting the pregnancy?

sunday night, monday reality 🤰

Oscar Piastri x reader

summary: a one night stand turned pregnancy ruins blesses their lives. now they have to navigate it while barely knowing each other.

warnings: one-night stand, accidental pregnancy, co-parenting to lovers, brief mention of alcohol

A/N: i’m not gonna lie when i read the request, i cackled cause imagine it actually happened 😭😭 one of the single f1 drivers gets some random one night stand pregnant and is just a parent now. that’s so funny to me. anyways, THANK U ANON!!! requests are always appreciated. i hope this isn’t too boring, i tried making it as funny as possible. enjooyyyy, love u bitches 💋💋

୨ৎ ୨ৎ ୨ৎ ୨ৎ

you never planned on oscar piastri being the father of your child.

because it was supposed to be just one drink.

just one, to celebrate the win. a little toast with his team, a quick “cheers” before disappearing into the night like usual. oscar piastri didn’t even like clubs that much. too loud, too sweaty, too many people trying to pretend they weren’t watching him.

but there he was, two drinks deep, standing in some overpriced monaco club that smelled like vodka and rich people’s perfume.

and then there you were.

honestly, he wasn’t even sure how it happened. one minute he was trying to order water (because he’d already messed up his post-race hydration schedule), and the next, he was laughing at something you said about the guy dancing like a malfunctioning robot.

you weren’t a fan. didn’t even realize who he was until your friend elbowed you in the ribs and whispered something about “that f1 guy.”

you just shrugged. “cool. he’s got nice teeth.”

that made him laugh. really laugh. like, the kind that makes his shoulders shake.

by 3 a.m., you were sitting in a cab with him, giggling like teenagers, way too sober to blame it on alcohol. you both knew what was happening. neither of you said it out loud.

୨ৎ ୨ৎ ୨ৎ ୨ৎ

it was fun. reckless. the kind of story people only half-believe when you tell it later.

he left before breakfast. not in a rude way, just… life goes on.

until yours didn’t.

two pink lines. three deep breaths. one panicked text.

you: so. uh. i’m pregnant?

you didn’t expect him to reply so fast. or at all, honestly.

but he did.

osc: wait. what?

followed by a very long phone call, one awkward coffee meetup, and him pacing your living room with his hair sticking up in every direction like he’d just driven through a tornado.

“okay. okay. we’re gonna—this is fine. i mean, not fine. but not not fine? wow. okay.”

you just blinked at him. “you done?”

he nodded. “yeah. no. maybe. i have no idea.”

୨ৎ ୨ৎ ୨ৎ ୨ৎ

telling his parents was… fun.

“i got someone pregnant,” he blurted out before they even sat down. classic oscar.

his mum dropped her fork.

his dad blinked exactly once, then said, “didn’t they teach you basic health in school?”

“yes, dad. thanks for the support.”

they freaked out a bit. okay, more than a bit. but he didn’t blame them. he was freaking out too.

he barely knew you. he couldn’t even remember what your favorite color was. but here he was, scrolling baby name websites at 2 a.m. and texting you dumb things like:

osc: what if we name it after a track?

you: if you suggest monza one more time i’m blocking you.

୨ৎ ୨ৎ ୨ৎ ୨ৎ

slowly, you both figured it out.

he started showing up. not in a “look at me, i’m a hero” way. just… he wanted to be there. he came to appointments. brought snacks. made fun of the baby books. (except the one with cartoons. he actually liked that one.)

you weren’t dating. not officially. but he made you laugh. you made him feel normal. and when he talked to your belly and got kicked mid-sentence, he swore it was on purpose.

“this baby’s already got sass. takes after you.”

you rolled your eyes. “you’re the one who talks to unborn humans like they’re your teammate.”

“strategy is important,” he said seriously. “i need to build trust.”

୨ৎ ୨ৎ ୨ৎ ୨ৎ

his family came around eventually.

his mum knitted a tiny hat. his dad bought a car seat and refused to let oscar install it wrong. they invited you for dinner, asked questions, started smiling a little more when they said “baby.”

you and oscar grew closer without really meaning to. it wasn’t romantic movie-level stuff. more like inside jokes, shared ice cream, and him falling asleep on your couch with his hand on your belly like a protective raccoon.

and then one night, you kissed him.

neither of you said anything about it. just… kept kissing.

୨ৎ ୨ৎ ୨ৎ ୨ৎ

by the time the baby arrived, everything felt different.

he was calmer. more grounded. still chaotic, but in a “dad who has the diaper bag ready five hours early” kind of way.

you were exhausted, emotional, and slightly murderous toward anyone who told you to “just relax.”

but when he held the baby for the first time—eyes wide, face soft—you saw something shift.

he looked at you and whispered, “i think i love you.”

you blinked. “you think?”

he laughed. “okay, fine. i know. but i was trying to be cool about it.”

you smiled, tears in your eyes. “you failed miserably.”

turns out, unexpected love hits different.

especially when it comes with midnight feedings, matching pajamas, and a baby who somehow has his exact eyebrows.

(“they’re aggressive little eyebrows,” you said once. “they’re powerful,” he argued back, dead serious.)

he learned how to swaddle like a pro. changed diapers half-asleep. sang lullabies that were really just off-key versions of old race radio messages. and somehow, through all the chaos, he made you laugh even when you felt like crying.

you never planned on oscar piastri being the father of your child.

never planned on him staying. or falling. or building a life around someone who’d only been a stranger at a bar.

but damn, he made it kind of hard not to fall for him.

especially when he looked at you like you were the best win of his career.

and maybe—just maybe—you were.

THE END :>

#formula 1 #f1 x reader #f1 fic #op81 fluff #oscar piastri #oscar piastri fic #oscar piastri fluff #dad!oscar piastri #op81 x reader #op81 fic #op81 imagine #op81

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aurorawritestoescape · 24 days ago

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LUCKY YOU

Joel Miller x f!reader x Clint Flood || 3,2k

Summary: A usual evening with your boyfriend Clint and his best friend Joel turns into a night full of lust and ecstasy - Or - Clint and Joel go down on you.

Tw: 18+ mdni, smut, modern au/no outbreak au, F!ORAL, voyeurism, fingering, rimming, unprotected piv, anal, creampie, cum eating, multiple orgasms, praise kink, pussy/cock pronouns, swearing, alcohol consumption (not by reader). Reader has no specific physical descriptions. Clint can lift reader.

A/n: Grab your toys y’all, it’s a steamy one lol Huge thank you to @ghoulettesinspace for this inspiring ask. Love you, friend! This story is my submission for the Magic Number writing challenge hosted by @schnarfer @whocaresstillthelouvre and @mothandpidgeon 💞 Thank you for creating this hot event! Kisses to @milla-frenchy for beta-ing and being my everything💋 Hope you all will enjoy being a meal❤️

Dividers by @/saradika-graphics 🌸

MASTERLIST || more Clint || more Joel

You've been dating Clint for a few months and his buddy, Joel, often came to hang out at his place. The men were about the same age, both older, both handsome as hell, but Joel never seemed to be interested in you.

At first you were fine with it, you were his friend’s woman after all, but his indifference soon started rubbing you the wrong way. Why would he look through you sometimes, as if you were not there? Didn’t he think you were hot? Or at least deserving of something other than a fleeting glance?

Driven by spite, you started doing everything to get the man’s attention. Wearing tiny shorts and tight tops around him worked wonders - he blushed like a teenager and stammered a shaky ‘Howdy’ whenever you opened the door to him.

Clint saw through your games, but didn’t mind them at all. Even better, he seemed to rail you harder after Joel’s visits.

It’s a usual night at Clint’s place. You two are chilling on the couch, his heavy arm around your shoulder, Joel‘s sitting in a lazy boy nearby. The men are sipping beers and watching some old action movie.

Not interested in the plot, you’re scrolling through Tumblr, and of course, at one point, a porn gif graces your dash. Clint notices it and hums, watching a guy eat a girl out on your screen. You feel his lips at your ear, his hot breath fanning your neck.

”Gonna do it to you tonight.”

You smile and bite your lip, shooting him a glance that screams ‘Yes, please!” His voice and his promise are enough to get you hot and bothered.

You put your phone away, cuddle up closer to your boyfriend and rest your bent leg on his thigh. Clint growls and bucks his hips, a huge bulge in his pants impossible to miss, and you gush, ogling it with hunger. It reminds you of the previous night — Clint’s hard cock fucking your mouth, then stretching your pussy so well, his sweat dripping on your bouncing tits. You squirm next to him and Clint hums, sensing your arousal.

He’s barely watching the movie now - his palms are sliding up and down your naked arms and thighs, his breathing is deep and heavy.

He gets ballsy and, not minding Joel sitting nearby, sneaks his hand under your shorts. His thick finger dips into the pool between your folds and he gruffs,

“Fuck, baby.” He immediately brings his hand to his mouth and licks your juices off, making you bite your lip at the sight of his tongue sliding over the glistening digit.

Joel hears Clint’s groans and turns his head in your direction. He doesn’t realise that his buddy is being a horny menace and continues watching the movie.

Clint keeps playing with you - presses kisses to your face and neck, kneads your tit under the top and squeezes your asscheek. By the time he cups your pussy over your shorts, soaking them with your slick, you’ve turned into a complete mess, desperate for any stimulation.

“Need you,” you whisper against his cheek and he rasps quietly, “I got you, baby.”

Not making you wait, he shoves his hand into your shorts, quickly finds his way to your wet hole and pushes two fingers inside.

You swallow a moan, your eyes set on Joel, sitting close, oblivious to the fact that his friend is knuckles deep in your cunt. Clint starts moving his digits in and out, curling them and skillfully bringing you higher to your peak with every stroke.

“Fuck,” you murmur, feeling yourself getting close, and push your face into Clint’s neck, in hopes of hiding the whimpers, crawling up your throat.

“Let it go, babygirl,” Clint whispers and you do. You come, pulsating on his fingers, your eyes squeezed shut. The orgasm is rippling through your body in waves as you’re clinging to Clint’s huge body. When your climax starts to dissipate, you kiss his cheek and give him a satisfied smile.

Your breathing is slowly coming back to normal but then it hitches, when all of a sudden Clint asks,

“Hey, Joel, do you like eating pussy?”

You stare at your boyfriend with your eyes widened, and then at his friend.

Joel furrows his brows and looks at Clint with a mixture of bewilderment and amusement.

“Scuse me?”

“You heard me, do you like giving head?”

“Fuck off, Clint,” Joel chuckles and returns his attention to the tv, but you don’t miss a slight blush of his cheeks.

Drunk on endorphins, you surprise even yourself when you push, “Do you?”

Joel locks eyes with you, but you’re not backing down. You raise your brows and stare at him with defiance.

“Yeah, we wanna know.” Clint sneers and shoots you a proud glance. Joel glares at the two of you now, but he probably knows well that Clint won’t let it go, so he replies with a shrug,

“Not really.”

Now it's Clint’s turn to be surprised.

“What? Why?”

“Dunno, not my thing.”

Joel takes a sip of his beer and clears his throat.

He’s always been reserved so you know he would never talk about his sexual life like that. The beer must be coursing through his veins, loosening his tongue.

“Is it ‘real men don’t do it’ bullshit?” You don’t hide disgust in your voice and Clint retorts,

“The manliest thing ever. What the fuck, Joel?”

“You know, what I think,” you turn to Clint with your brows pulled together, “Maybe he just hasn’t met the right person.”

“Or the right pussy,” Clint smirks and you giggle.

Joel’s beet red at this point, his eyes glued to the bottle in his hands, and you start feeling a little bad for the guy. Clint doesn’t seem to care. He’s giddy with excitement when he pulls you close and whispers in your ear,

“How about we introduce him to the right pussy?”

You blink a few times and then your lips curve into a mischievous smile.

“He just needs a good role model,” Clint says, sitting up next to you and pulling your shorts down and off your legs. His eyes are set on Joel, whose brows are getting lost in his hairline when he sees what his buddy is doing.

“This is insane,” Joel groans but doesn’t leave, doesn’t move at all. His body is frozen, his gaze is sliding over your naked ass and thighs.

“You ok with it?” he asks, locking eyes with you and you nod eagerly, biting your lower lip, turned on by the depravity of what’s about to happen. It’s impossible to deny - you’ve craving Joel’s mouth on you. Or his cock stuffing your hole.

You’re dripping and trembling with lust, ready to see what your boyfriend is going to do to you in front of the other man.

“She wants you,” Clint assures his friend, getting up and motioning for you to lie down on the couch.

“Looking like a slut when you’re around. She needs that extra cock. Right, baby?”

Your chest heaves as you whisper a soft ‘yeah’ and Joel rubs his scruffy cheek, hiding a lopsided smile.

Clint sits down at your bent legs and spreads your thighs with his big hands.

“Look at her, Joel. She’s too hot not to share.”

You smile at his praise and pull your top off revealing your naked breasts, presenting yourself to the men fully.

Joel adjusts his bulge with a curse and Clint whispers ‘good girl’ before leaning closer to palm your tit, making you whimper.

“But..,” he raises his brow and turns to Joel, ”this pussy’s for eating. Not only fucking.”

Clint pushes your thighs further apart and presses his hand to your folds. He massages them with his wide palm, spreading your slick over your heated skin, and you moan loudly, relishing the pressure on your cunt.

“Fuckin hell,” Joel murmurs and turns more to the couch.

“Hotter than hell,” Clint smirks and brings his lips to your inner thigh. He slowly drags them to your centre and lightly pecks your folds, tickling you with his facial hair. You bite your lip and start kneading your breast.

“Always start slow, Joel. Little kisses here and there.”

“Jeez, I know how to give head, Clint,” Joel groans, getting up and stepping up to the couch. “I’ve seen pussy before. I jus’.. don’t do it often...”

Clint rolls his eyes and then parts your pussy lips with his fingers.

"Been missing out, man. Bet you'd love to stick your dick in this soft hole, uh?"

Joel curses under his breath, his eyes taking in everything you are giving him. Clint murmurs ‘pretty’ to your pussy, then leans down and pecks your clit, his touch feather-light. You moan and buck your hips, chasing his hot mouth, but he ignores your need and keeps persuading Joel,

"Imagine how wet she's gonna be when you make her come on your tongue a couple times. Sticking your cock in a freshly eaten pussy... shit... a life changing experience, man. I swear you won't regret it."

While Clint’s pitching pussy eating to Joel, his thick fingers are gliding up and down over your spread folds, slightly grazing your twitching bud, pouring gasoline into a bright fire in your core.

"You really want me to eat out your girlfriend, Clint? fuck her?"

"Why not," Clint shrugs and, keeping your lips parted, gives the center of your pussy an open mouth kiss. ”She deserves it.”

“Joel, please,” you whimper, need thick in your voice, and your back arches, when Clint’s tongue draws a long wet stripe between your folds.

You flutter your eyes closed, barely hearing Clint’s comments, your heart pounding in your ears.

“Hnggg… juicy little cunt. Joel, check it out.”

Joel’s looking over you, perfectly positioned to watch Clint play with you.

Clint bends down and sucks your puffy clit between his lips, then releases it with a pop and stares intently at your hole. You feel it now. They both groan when a clear drop of your slick trickles down from your clenching hole down to your asshole.

Clint looks up at Joel and smirks,

“Want a taste?”

Joel clenches his jaws as you’re watching him with hazy eyes, tiny whimpers falling from your lips again and again.

“I want you,” you admit with the sweetest tone you can manage and the man’s eyes dart from your crying cunt to your glossy eyes.

He pulls his brows and then nods.

“Let’s get her to the bedroom,” Clint offers with a smile and takes you in his arms.

You bite your lower lip, failing to suppress a grin curving your lips, and squirm naked on the bed with anticipation.

“That’s what I’m talking about. The more the merrier, right, baby?”

You nod, sparkles flying out of your eyes, as you take in two hot men on the bed with you.

“Spread ‘em wider,” Joel commands, and you obediently throw your thighs apart as wide as possible, they’re lying on the bed at this point.

“That’s my girl,” Clint praises you and caresses your inner thigh with his hard knuckles.

Your skin erupts with chills when Joel slides his palm from your knee to your hip, gently, reading your reaction, making sure that you’re still on board. You very much are.

It’s the first time he’s touching you, and you shiver, looking up at him with your heart eyes, blown out and full of need.

“Bon appetite, buddy,” Clint pats Joel's shoulder, inviting him to taste his girlfriend’s cunt.

Joel takes a sharp breath and slowly leans down, torturing you with anticipation, but when he covers your whole pussy with his mouth, you gasp and moan his name, already on the brink of euphoria. He flicks his tongue over your clit and then starts making out with your cunt, languidly and sensually.

Your eyes roll to the back of your head as a powerful wave of pleasure engulfs you fully.

“Fuck, that’s hot.” Clint watches, gliding his hand from your mound, over your heaving belly and to your chest. While Joel’s holding your thighs open, eating you out like it’s his last meal, Clint begins kneading your breasts, pulling at your nipples, twitching them to add fire to your ecstasy.

Joel dives out of your cunt and Clint asks him with a smirk,

“So?“

Joel’s breathing is heavy, licking his lips, his eyes two black pits of lust.

“Fuckin incredible.”

“Ah! Told ya!” Clint rubs his friend’s back with a proud smile and looks into your hazy eyes. “I’d eat her for breakfast, lunch and dinner, man. My baby’s delicious.”

“Thanks for sharing,” Joel mumbles and bends down again to lap at your crying hole.

“Yeah, like that,” Clint praises Joel’s skills when you moan loudly and dip your head back into the pillow.

“He’s doing good, babygirl?”

“Yeahhh, so good,” you mewl, losing your mind at how perfectly Joel’s full lips caress your folds and clit, while his hot tongue is collecting all the slick covering your beating pussy.

Joel’s lewd slurping together with your loud moans fills the room, and the electricity between the three of you hangs heavy in the air.

Clint is watching the show with his eyes dark and intent, palming his bulge, and then finally pulls his cock out.

When you see it spring out of his pants, engorged and leaking, your hand darts to it and you wrap your palm around his hot shaft.

“Nah, beautiful. Don’t worry ‘bout me, enjoy yourself.” He takes your hand off his cock and gently kisses your fingers. “He’s gonna wait for your pussy.”

He holds your hand, and leans down to give you a kiss, heady and passionate, grounding you in your overwhelming pleasure, but at the same time pushing you deeper into the pit of lust.

“Joel,” Clint calls after parting from your lips. “Wanna join you.”

Joel hums with your clit between his lips and it pushes you over the edge. You come crying, your eyes and pussy wet with euphoria, every cell of your body lighting up. The men hold you while you shake, your tits jiggling, your pussy leaking all over the sheets.

“Fuck.. what a sight,” Clint growls, running his huge palm over your trembling thighs while his other hand is gripping his cock.

“She’s beautiful.” Joel’s praise makes you smile through the hard orgasm, and when your body relaxes, you sigh happily and close your eyes.

Clint doesn’t give you any respite, though. A light slap lands on your hip and he growls,

“Need to eat this ass.”

Joel wipes your slick of his bearded chin and asks Clint,

“Can I fuck her pussy after?“

“Sure, man. You’re my best bud, what’s mine is yours.”

You giggle at Clint’s words, feeling yourself like a fuck doll and loving every second of it.

“‘k..,” Joel nods, “Let’s make her come again and then fuck her sloppy hole. If you don’t mind,” he turns to you and you purr,

“Never.”

Clint smiles and kneels on the floor. They manhandle your body so your ass is hanging off the bed and then Joel orders,

“Bend your knees, yeah, like this.” He lifts your legs and presses your knees to your sides, fully exposing your pussy and asshole to their obsidian eyes.

“Damn,” Joel groans when Clint glides his thumb over your tight ring which contracts at his touch, already soaked with your pussy juices.

Your boyfriend starts first.

He positions your ass at his face, holding your hips with his hands and presses his flat tongue to your asshole. You jerk and whimper, already in seventh heaven.

“Oh my god,” you moan and clasp Clint’s hair. He starts eating your ass, slurping shamelessly, drinking your moans and your pussy nectar, while Joel is kissing your inner thigh.

Your eyes meet and he gives you a warm smile, “Doin good, sweetheart.” Joel brings his hand to your face and cups your cheek, his thumb rubbing your heated skin and you purr at his touch, reveling in his warmth, trembling from every lap of Clint’s tongue against your asshole.

You choke on a moan when Joel leans down to your spread pussy and begins rubbing your clit with the flat of his tongue.

Your skin erupts in goosebumps, your thighs start trembling. You run your fingers through Joel’s greying curls and feel tears slide down to your temples when Joel’s tongue finds your entrance and he begins fucking your pussy.

These hot men between your legs, their big hands on you, their mouths devouring your holes— the sight alone can make you come but you fall apart from a shuttering orgasm when Clint pushes his tongue into your asshole and starts fucking you with his hot muscle just like Joel is fucking your pussy hole.

You explode with a loud cry, spraying your juices against Joel’s lips and chin, and he drinks everything he can get, and what escapes his mouth trickles down to your ass where Clint eagerly laps it off your heated skin.

They fuck you all night. Drunk on the unending orgasms, you don’t understand who’s between your thighs, whose cum is spilling into your stretched pussy, but you take each dick happily. They shower you with praise, suck on your puffy nipples, drag their hot hard cocks over your skin before sticking them in your hole again and again.

When your pussy gets filled to the brim, Clint fucks your ass, while Joel watches and jerks off, and then squirts his cum on your hickey-covered tits. Clint licks it off later with Joel’s dick buried deep in your overflowing cunt.

The night is a blur of lust, moans and bodily fluids. The room smells of sweat and sex and you take full lungs of the heady scent before falling asleep.

Early in the morning someone fucks your used pussy again, you have no clue who, and orgasm, dreaming of them both.

When you wake up, you make breakfast for the men, still dripping their loads, your thighs slippery and sticky. They eat and chat, smiling at you from time to time.

Joel’s eyes find yours again and again, they stick to your lips, your neck, your legs, reigniting a fire inside you. Seeing you chewing on your lip and squirming in your chair, Clint pulls you into his lap and kisses you.

At the door before leaving Joel gives you a tight hug and pecks your cheek.

“Thank you for the night, sweetheart.”

You’re leaning against the doorframe, watching him walk to his truck.

“Game on Saturday, Joel. Don’t forget”, Clint shouts to his friend.

Before getting in the car, Joel looks you up and down with his dark eyes and gives you a wink.

“Won’t miss it for the world.”

Clint pulls you in his arms and you smile like a happy cat. You can’t wait for Saturday to come.

Thank you for reading! Please comment and reblog if you enjoyed the fic! Your feedback means the world❤️

MASTERLIST

Tag list: @milla-frenchy @harriedandharassed @iamasaddie @nervousmumbling @bbyanarchist @stevie75 @puduvallee @auteurdelabre @mountainsandmayhem @senoratess @flamingochick55 @theoraekenslover @schnarfer @mermaidgirl30 @staywildflowahchild @yesjazzywazzylove-blog @evolnoomym @keylimebeag @thedilfdiaries @pascaltesaye @fruityreads @itwasntimethatdidit40 @meetmeatyourworst @callmebyyournick-name @tateypots

People who were interested in the wip posts (no pressure to read, bbs) @sawymredfox @arcanefox207 @wethairjoel @604to647 @keylimebeag

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racingghost · 8 months ago

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The FIA Prize Giving 2018 gala was an insane night for Simi, and I want to share all of it!

First, the elephant in the room:

Kimi was absolutely hammered! He caught everyone's eye because he was tumbling around the place, and generally having a blast yapping his mouth off to anyone who would listen to him. Legends said he would do this when drunk, but never had a live audience been witness to it.

Meanwhile, Seb...

Seb had finished second to Lewis in 2018's title battle, and was also seeing the end of his partnership with Kimi at Ferrari.

Kimi's renewal for Ferrari was always rumored to be something Seb pushed for when negotiating his own contracts, so the news the Scuderia wasn't interested in keeping Kimi past 2018 were a sign that Sebastian's wants weren't of huge importance to them anymore, and they were making way for a promising young talent (Leclerc) to take the lead driver role in Ferrari in the years to come.

Sounds like a bad end of the year for a guy with title aspirations, but guess what?

Kimi was there, with so much booze in his system that he wasn't at all worried with maintaining his quiet and taciturn act. And you know how they say alcohol lowers your inhibitions and makes your deepest thoughts come out freely?

That night, Kimi had one mission, and it was to keep Seb happy.

When he caught cameras filming Seb, knowing his friend was a private guy, he jumped in and tried to stop them. Look at his face. He doesn't know what he's doing. He's driven only by protective instinct.

When Seb talked, you could tell he wasn't hearing a word (and at times it seemed mutual)

For a bit there, the cameras even caught Kimi deciding to go for a smoke, and Seb trying to impinge a sense of responsibility on him, only to end up being dragged along.

When they were called on stage to receive the 2nd and 3rd place trophies, it was the funniest shit. There were designated spots on the stage where each driver should stand, but they were quite apart from each other.

You can see an official trying to stop Kimi and take him to his marked spot, but Kimi strode straight towards Seb and stuck decisively by his side. In fact he gestures at Seb, as if telling the crowd to give him his accolades!

His arm was around his shoulders, half offering companionship in what would be their last official act together as teammates, and half supporting himself so he wouldn't fall on his ass on stage.

And of course, we even had a classic Seb moment, where Kimi offered one of the men delivering the awards a handshake, and Seb took it instead. Kimi didn't even care, he rolled with it, because if Seb wants to hold his hand, god damn it he will.

Even when they had to part to grab the awards, Kimi made sure to return to his original favored position of keeping one friendly arm around Sebastian's shoulders asap.

You see Seb turn to him and say something...

It's impossible to tell what, but it looked an awful lot like a "thank you" that carried years of friendship and support behind it. Kimi's eyes transformed at whatever Seb said. his eyebrows lifted and his expression softened.

He told him something to his ear in return, and it made Seb smile again, whatever it was.

Eventually it was Lewis' time to get on stage. He was the 2018 champion, the guy Seb didn't manage to beat, and as such had the right to make a victory speech.

As he does so, the camera caught the losers, Seb and Kimi.

In that moment, that could have hurt a little harder than usual, Kimi put his arm around Seb's shoulders one more time, downed another drink, and swung him closer.

This was it.

This was the end of their partnership.

Simi, nobody will ever do it like you.

#simi #sebastian vettel #kimi raikkonen #FIA prize winning gala 2018 #long ass post bc I already know the readmore hates me

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pin-k-ink · 20 days ago

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MUSCLE MEMORY ⋆✦⋆ miya osamu

synopsis ➸ he was drunk when you called, but he sobered up the second he heard your voice. you said it was a mistake, that you didn’t mean to dial him—but he was already on his way. six months later, he’s still in your living room, dragging out every screw and instruction manual like it’ll keep you from asking him to leave.

tags ➸ exes to lovers, divorce, mutual pining, angst, hurt/comfort, mentions of alcohol, mentions of night terrors, making out, pda, dry humping, breèding kínk, hand job, unprotected sèx, nípple play, riding, praise kínk, dírty talking, creámpie

wc ➸ 12.4k

The sandpaper rasp of the wrench twisting into place sawed through Osamu's mental haze. He paused, squinting down at the befuddling array of components fanned out across your living room floor. What the hell was he even working on now? A dresser maybe? Or was this the start of that ludicrously ornate entertainment center you'd ordered last week?

With a frustrated grunt, he raked a meaty palm down his face, grinding the heels into his eye sockets until stars burst across his vision. Didn't matter what useless hunk of IKEA crap it was - the process remained the same damn song and dance every time. You'd call him in a mild panic over being hopelessly lost, he'd show up grumbling insults about your household incompetence under his breath, then inevitably succumb to staying and handling the entire assembly from start to finish.

All because of that one fateful night nearly six months ago when you'd called without thinking, voice soft and contented in a way that gutted Osamu completely.

"Hey babe, think you could come over and help me put this new coffee table together?"

The endearment had slipped out so effortlessly, luring images of the thousands of other mundane evenings he'd reported for wifely summons over the years. How many times had you greeted him just like that after work, beckoning him over to lend his hands to whatever domestic task needed handling while you puttered around your warm, chaotic little home?

He'd frozen with the phone still cradled against his ear, a penny whiskey and lingering self-loathing temporarily displaced by blinding white confusion. That single careless "babe" ricocheted through his alcohol-addled senses like a gunshot. Osamu replayed the words over and over, hunting for any hint of mockery or jest in your gentle tones. But there was none to be found - only the breezy assumption that he would, of course, be heading your way like always when called upon.

"...Osamu?" Your hesitant inquiry several beats later had him flinching violently, nearly dropping his glass in the process. Somehow you'd already sensed your mistake, uncertainty creeping into your voice. "Oh god, I shouldn't have just—we're not—I mean, I know you're not my husband anymore, forget I asked..."

But he hadn't forgotten. Hadn't processed or responded at all, really - just let the stunned inertia carry him forward for once instead of railing instinctively against it. His body moved on autopilot while your clumsy apologies filtered through the dense cotton shrouding his mind. Keys plucked from the dish. Jacket shrugged on over his rumpled sweats. The rote motions of preparing to head out and placate your helplessness all over again, divorce papers be damned.

The words finally came in a gruff rush only after Osamu was already pulling his truck out onto the main road.

"Just send me yer address. Be there soon."

He had no justification for the abrupt decision, no reasoned explanation. Maybe it was sheer impulse driven by a lifetime of conditioning to provide for you. Or perhaps there was some profoundly deeper current swirling beneath his dependably cynical surface that wouldn't allow the separation to sever such intrinsic responses completely. Either way, Osamu was powerless to resist its undertow - and he found he didn't want to fight it as he steered towards your place with a hollow ache spreading through his chest.

That first visit was supposed to be an outlier, the exception to shut down any further relapses in domesticity. Yet somehow, it had quickly spiraled into a new normal. Every time you inevitably dialed his number with a hapless plea for assistance, he reflexively found himself throwing on shoes and grabbing his toolbox without preamble. Often he was already halfway to your door before bothering to rationalize it or talk himself out of enabling this pathetic pattern you'd lapsesd into.

Week after week, month after month, the excuses and pretenses became flimsier and flimsier. At first, he told himself it was pure ego driving him to show up - that he derived some sick satisfaction from giving you hell about being so helpless on your own without him around to pick up the pieces. Look at your dumb ex-wife, can't even follow basic IKEA diagrams!

But the more jobs he completed with that same well-worn song and dance, the less weight the cruel taunts carried. His insults grew increasingly toothless, more like ingrained preambles out of sheer habit than any genuine derision. Until finally, Osamu was forced to confront the awful truth clawing at his ribcage each time he walked back into your space:

He simply couldn't resist the unconscious pull of being your husband again, even briefly and in this limited scope of handyman duties. Maybe it was masochistic, allowing himself to sink back into those waters of domesticity he used to drown in daily before everything went to shit between you. Or maybe he was just weak in ways he'd never admit - still not fully untangled from the intoxicating gravity of your combined existence.

Whichever justification rang truest, the outcome was the same. Osamu let himself become utterly unmoored by the mindless allure of being summoned to your side again, no matter how much he pretended it was an unwanted imposition. Because in those moments of cursing and hammering and careful assemblage, everything felt temporarily right in a way it hadn't for what felt like eons. Just him, sweat gathering along his hairline as he handled tools with a familiar easy cadence. And you, pottering nearby with a ready supply of beverages and off-hand encouragement to keep his steady rhythm flowing.

It was all so painfully, disarmingly unchanged whenever he willingly shed his lone wolf persona and stepped back into his vacated role at your side. That fact alone should have stripped Osamu of any lingering delusions - the harrowing intimation that perhaps he hadn't actually let go of being your partner in all the ways that mattered most, no matter how many years or court proceedings stated otherwise.

Yet whenever he found himself standing before your disheveled array of particle-board and scattered allen wrenches, Osamu couldn't resist the same tired refrain from echoing across his brooding inner monologue:

"Gonna take me at least a few weeks to get this mess put together proper. Might as well get comfortable, sweetheart..."

The endearment slipped out unconsciously, as natural as breathing. Osamu didn't even flinch at it anymore - just accepted the treacherously effortless backslide into old habits wherever you were concerned. Because in reality, this ramshackle plywood monstrosity wouldn't take him longer than a few hours, max, to fully assemble and have operational.

He was lying through his teeth about the projected timeline, and you both knew it. But you never called him on the flimsy ruse, just accepted each revised delay with a bemused look and fresh supply of cold barley tea awaiting Osamu's eventual break. As if you inherently understood that he was grasping at straws to prolong these rare interludes of domesticity for as long as possible.

The first time you'd moved to fetch your purse and peel off some cash to compensate him for his troubles, Osamu hadn't even thought - just reacted. One large, calloused palm engulfed your smaller one before it could fully withdraw from your bag. He drew it towards his chest, splaying your fingers over the steady thrum of his heartbeat through the thin cotton barrier.

"Don't even think about it, dummy," he'd rasped, the gentle admonishment at odds with the gruff delivery. "Ya know damn well I ain't here for money."

The words hung pregnant with unspoken depths between you, a fragile tension replacing the usual playful bickering. For a fleeting moment, Osamu thought you might draw away, might finally put a stop to this peculiar pattern of his with a soft yet firm rebuke.

Instead, you simply watched him with those infinitely familiar eyes that still gutted him regularly - open and searching and far too understanding for his liking. Then you nodded once, just slightly, and allowed your hand to linger against the frantic cadence of his pulse until he released you.

Since that evening, a sort of tenuous equilibrium had settled over your strange arrangement. You never moved to leave Osamu to his own devices anymore when he played dumb about needing "more time" with a project. Just accepted his continued presence hovering around your space with all the routinized nonchalance of a spouse moving through their own home.

He, in turn, no longer fought the subtle shifts that pulled him deeper and deeper into the reassuring gravities of old patterns. Like watching you haphazardly toss off your mismatched fuzzy socks in a meandering trail from doorway to kitchen before puttering about with whatever domestic task you pleased. Or the easy silence that embraced you both as Osamu worked, punctuated only by his quiet curses or the clinking of a fresh beverage being deposited within his reaching range.

Some nights, the easiness extended even into your kitchen as he prowled barefoot through the cramped galley, fully re-immersed in the role of putting together a meal for you both. Not out of any sense of obligation or guilt, but simply because the mindless ritual of cooking for your household came as second nature after so many years' practice.

Osamu couldn't resist sneaking glances over his shoulder to watch you curled up on the sofa, bare feet tucked beneath you and attention divided between whatever book or video you had playing and the soothing sounds of him working nearby. In those flickering moments illuminated by the soft glow of lamps and candles, everything felt so oppressively, deliriously right - like stepping directly back into the warm embrace of the past in a way Osamu hadn't experienced since your world was upended.

Some nights, he let himself pretend none of it had ever changed. That walking through the front door wouldn't eventually mean a jarring return to his cavernously empty apartment and the ever-encroaching loneliness lately. That this suspended illusion of being your partner again could simply stretch on indefinitely, leaving him gloriously unmoored.

Denial was a hell of a drug, as they said. But Osamu had always been a hopeless addict when it came to you.

The vanity's cumbersome weight settled onto the bedroom floor with a muted thud, scuffing pale marks into the worn hardwood. Osamu straightened, rolling his shoulders to work out the lingering knots as he surveyed his handiwork. Not too shabby, all things considered - the ornate piece looked damn near regal set against the soft blue-grey walls.

He blew out a low whistle, dragging his arm across his sweat-beaded brow as he pivoted to scope out the rest of your bedroom for the first time. Despite all the weeks and odd jobs he'd tackled around your new place, this particular sanctuary had remained off-limits until now. Part of him had unconsciously avoided crossing that line out of respect for boundaries, no matter how blurred they'd become elsewhere.

But now that he stood amidst the intimately personal space, hints of your essence seemed to permeate every particle. The delicate woven throw draped artfully across the overstuffed armchair in the corner. The collection of well-loved books haphazardly stacked on the nightstand, their cracked spines and dog-eared pages testaments to being revisited often. Even the subtly floral fragrance woven through the summer-breezy air unmistakably belonged to you.

Osamu inhaled deeply, letting the soothing familiarity of it all momentarily envelope him as he dragged his analytical gaze across each detail, cataloging and filing away the pieces of you on display. That's when his sweeping perusal stuttered to a halt, brow furrowing slightly as realization struck like an anvil weight in his gut.

There was no bed.

He did another slow pivot, eyes roving every inch of the spacious room as if expecting the absence of something so fundamental to materialize out of sheer obstinate scrutiny. But no matter which way he turned and looked again, the bare reality remained - no bed, no mattress, nothing more than the solitary armchair and vanity occupying the wide-open floorspace.

A harsh slew of curses broke from Osamu's lips before he could rein them in. Of course...of fucking course you didn't have a proper bed set up yet. He was peripherally aware of your sleeping situation - if the ramshackle state of your living room sofa quilted with ratty blankets and travel pillows was any indication. But standing here confronted by the harsh truth amidst these walls meant to be a sanctuary hurtled the implication home with stunning finality.

He raked a hand through his disheveled hair, mouth twisting bitterly as flashes of repressed memories flickered across his mindscape. Of you curled up in the dead of night, whimpering and shaking, whole body quivering from the thrall of another night terror. How you'd instinctively burrowed against him for safety, for the solid reassurance of his bulk and soothing murmurs easing you back from the brink. Neither of you had ever acknowledged those visceral moments of vulnerability, but he knew - knew how terrified you were of the dark and of sleeping alone with only your unquiet mind for company.

That was just the first of a whole cavalcade of realizations rapidly crashing over Osamu in waves of nauseous comprehension. With no bedframe, there was no tucking you in each night and drawing you close, surrounding your slight body with his familiar warmth and protective embrace until your racing heart calmed. No nuzzling your sleep-tousled hair and breathing in those first soft, earthy exhalations in the morning before extracting himself and padding off to put on a fresh pot of coffee. The way you'd always loved waking up to its rich aroma wafting from the kitchen no matter how early Osamu rose.

No more startling upright at the smallest creak or groan of your home settling around you, every noise an intruder until Osamu made a sweeping check and eased you back down with a reassuring murmur that it was just the house, just the old frame contracting with the night's chill. No more of him lumbering up in the darkness to find the latest unfortunate creepy-crawly invader and dispatch of it before returning to tuck you securely back under the covers, soothing your shudders with warm palms and featherlight kisses until you drifted off again.

Just...no more intimacies and routines and domesticities that had shaped so much of Osamu's purpose for well over a decade, now unceremoniously stripped away by your separation.

The realization left him feeling as though all the air had been forcibly drawn from his lungs in one punishing exhale. He doubled over with the force of it, knuckles blanching against the glossy vanity's sleek countertop as he struggled to draw breath. Of course he'd been aware of the changes, the rifts now severing what had once been such an intrinsic part of sharing your lives. But coming face-to-face with this empty bedroom and how bereft of true comfort it clearly was for you sliced right through to something primal and protective deep in Osamu's psyche.

"Hey, dinner's ready whenever you're done brooding over there!"

Your lighthearted call shattered through the spiraling vortex of Osamu's troubled thoughts. He straightened abruptly, disoriented for a beat before the rich, homey scents wafting in from the kitchen reoriented him. Right, you'd mentioned putting together a meal for the both of you once he finished up for the evening.

Dragging in a deep, steadying breath, Osamu willed his turbulent emotions into an infinitesimal box to be violently suppressed for now. He couldn't allow the anguished maelstrom of domesticity's absence to show on his face, not when you were so close and oblivious to his inner torment. With a few raking swipes of his palms down his sweat-damp face, he drew himself up to his full imposing height and turned towards the doorway.

The sight that awaited him in the cramped kitchen archway very nearly unraveled Osamu's hard-won composure all over again.

There you stood in your usual cooking attire - one of his old oversized t-shirts from high school, the faded cotton bunched up around your hips and showcasing your bare legs all the way down to those ridiculous mismatched fuzzy socks you always insisted on wearing. Your hair was piled in a messy topknot, loose tendrils framing your face and catching the soft evening light in a glowing halo.

You looked...so achingly familiar. So reminiscent of the thousands of other evenings Osamu had returned home from the restaurant or the gym or wherever to find you pottering around your shared living space in that same casually intimate state of undress. Completely comfortable and unguarded in a way very few ever got to witness - the purely domestic you that he'd committed to loving and cherishing until the end of his days.

And now here you were, existing in that same warm cocoon of homemaker contentment but utterly bereft of his steadying presence as the other counterweight. The gorgeous tableau you made standing there stirring something on the stovetop with your bare feet tucked up under you felt hauntingly, tragically incomplete in a way that put Osamu's throat in a vise.

His gaze roamed over the flex of your arms as you lifted the spoon to your lips for a taste, the elegant curve of your spine as you shifted your weight from foot to foot - all the tiny, quotidian details he'd once memorized so thoroughly they felt like extensions of his own body. Little snapshots of life and movement he'd once gotten to observe and admire as freely and unguardedly as he pleased, because you had belonged irrevocably to one another.

Now that simple pleasure - the artless intimacy of basking in each other's natural state - was forbidden him apart from these fleeting glimpses stolen under the pretense of being your handyman. Osamu felt reality crashing back down in waves of visceral grief sharpened by the purgatory of never fully losing this aspect of you, yet constantly having it daringly daunt just beyond his yearning reach.

A lump swelled in his throat as images began flickering through his mind, each one more haunting than the last. Of you succumbing to winter's vicious chills with no one there to wrap you in fortifying layers and nourishing soup broth to fight off illness. Of slipping and taking a nasty spill down the narrow staircase without his steadying arm to cling to, lying there helpless and alone until you could drag yourself to a phone for emergency assistance. Of bolting awake in the dead of night with your heart jackhammering from some terror-soaked nightmare, hands scrabbling for purchase and finding nothing but empty sheets and darkness to compound the panic.

Worst of all were the flashes of you simply...existing in a state of isolated loneliness, surrounded by this hollow house that was supposed to be a sanctuary but instead formed yet another reminder of Osamu's absence. Of his failure to be there for you the way he'd once sworn to the farthest stars.

Before he could spiral entirely, your melodic voice anchored him back to the present moment at hand.

"Earth to Osamu?" You grinned over your shoulder, luminous eyes sparkling with a gentleness that sucker-punched him squarely in the gut. "You getting that broody look again cause something's too complicated for those big strong hands of yours?"

The teasing lilt was feather-light and lilting - so fondly familiar that for a single delirious heartbeat, Osamu could actually convince himself nothing had changed between you. That this was all just another evening unfolding like the millions preceding it throughout your long history together.

Then reality came crashing back down, that infinitesimal box of suppressed emotion cracking open until acidic undertows were lapping at his ribs with every inhale. Osamu sucked in a harsh breath through his nostrils, jaw clenching hard enough to grind enamel as he struggled to reign himself back in.

"Very funny," he managed at last, aiming for nonchalance but hearing the ragged edges fringing his tone nonetheless. "You got a mouth on you tonight, that's for sure."

Rather than rising to the bait and firing off another salvo of playful barbs, you simply hummed thoughtfully before turning back to your cooking endeavors. Osamu watched, feeling increasingly disoriented by the casual domesticity, as you deftly transferred portions to waiting dishes and carried everything to the small dining table in the adjacent room.

"Well c'mon then, no need to make yourself a stranger!" you called over your shoulder with a grin. "That vanity won't be ready to use until you've refueled for the night."

The lilting words wrapped around Osamu's senses, both grounding and disorienting him further into a dizzying vortex of memories and yearning and desperate, crippling fear.

Dinner proved to be even more torturous than Osamu could have anticipated. Seated across from you at the cramped little dining table, he found himself repeatedly clenching his jaw and fists to restrain from simply reaching out and clasping your hand in his. To twine those deft fingers with his own calloused ones and revel in the featherlight caress of your pulse fluttering against his wrist.

You carried on with breezy conversation, utterly oblivious to the brutally visceral war he was waging to keep from shattering every pretense between you. With each lilting anecdote and bright peal of laughter, Osamu's resolve fractured further - hairline cracks spiderwebbing outwards from his restraint's foundations. By the time you rose to start clearing dishes, his composure hung by a few bare threads.

He watched with bated breath as you padded around the kitchen, hips swaying in that unconsciously hypnotic rhythm he'd admired for over a decade. The column of your throat worked with each swallow, clavicles casting distracting shadows that drew Osamu's heated stare like a magnet. Resisting the overwhelming urge to simply cross the scant distance separating you and wrap himself around your pliant form was swiftly becoming an exercise in agony.

You paused by the sink, back to him as you efficiently rinsed the first plate. The soft sounds of running water and your quiet humming curled around the nape of Osamu's neck, sending goosebumps rippling across his flesh. His fingertips twitched with yearning to reach out and ghost along the elegant inward curve of your waist, palms settling possessively on the flare of your hips to tug you snug against his chest. He could perfectly envision nuzzling into the juncture of your neck and shoulder, lips skating across the hammering pulse point as you shivered and instinctively arched back into his embrace...

Osamu's throat clicked with a muffled groan as he abruptly shoved away from the table, scattering the remaining dishes in his haste to create distance before he could surrender to the impulse clawing at his ribcage. The harsh screech of wood on tile finally made you turn, blinking owlishly at him.

"Everything okay?" The words were innocent enough, but Osamu flinched like he'd been struck. Didn't you realize what you were doing to him with even the slightest movement or vocal caress?

"I—yeah. Just...gonna get a head start cleaning up the rest of that mess." He gestured vaguely at the half-assembled vanity parts still strewn in the living room to divert your questioning stare. You hummed in acknowledgment before returning your focus to the sink and dishwater.

It took every ounce of Osamu's waning self-restraint not to immediately retreat right then as planned. Instead, some masochistic impulse rooted him to the spot, gaze helplessly drinking in every curve and subtle shift of your body at work. The nearly irrepressible compulsion to wrap you up in his arms and relearn each dip and swell with hands and mouth was becoming a physical ache, radiating from the cradle of his hips.

By the time the final dish clattered into the drying rack, Osamu felt positively feverish - a maelstrom of need and desperation simmering beneath his clenched jaw and white-knuckled fists. He watched with rapt hunger as you turned towards him once more, swiping loose tendrils of hair back from your flushed cheeks. At the first glimpse of your softened features and those infinitely gentle eyes regarding him, a tremor shivered through Osamu's broad frame.

"So..." you began, seemingly unaware of the storm roiling behind his rigor-tight exterior. "That should just about do it for assembling everything I needed help with, yeah?"

Your words were like the death knell, reverberating through Osamu in waves of wretched comprehension. Whatever dizzying spiral of domesticated bliss he'd spun himself into was about to end. This illusion of being your husband and provider again, however fleeting, would shatter permanently the instant he returned to the barren, yawning silence of his own empty apartment. And some small, wretched part of him wasn't sure he would survive the transition emotionally intact a second time.

Osamu tried and failed to formulate a response around the steadily constricting vise encircling his throat. He simply stared at you mutely, gut clenching with all the farewells and protestation scalding at the back of his tongue. Don't make me leave. Don't eject me from this little world we've reconstructed and straight back into the bone-deep loneliness, not yet. I'm not ready—

"Hey." Your soft murmur coaxed Osamu's awareness back to the present just as you'd begun tentatively closing the distance between you. Your palms cupped his bristled cheeks with infinite tenderness, calloused thumbs sweeping in gentle arcs. "This was...really, really amazing of you, you know. Coming through for me again and again like this despite everything. I'm not sure if I'll ever be able to properly thank you for—"

The gentleness in your tone and the exquisite warmth of your touch against his skin proved to be Osamu's ultimate undoing. With a harsh rumble torn from the depths of his sternum, he surged forward and engulfed you in the circle of his arms - swift and utterly inescapable. You made a soft sound of surprise quickly swallowed by the solid wall of his chest as he crushed you against his painfully rigid frame.

"Don't..." Osamu rasped out the single syllable with such gruff vehemence that you instinctively froze in his unrelenting embrace. He squeezed his eyes shut, savoring the feel of you - so achingly familiar yet electrically new after weeks of deprivation. The scent of your hair, the pliant curves yielding to his unyielding musculature, the stutter of your startled inhalations puffing against the bare skin of his throat. It was intoxicating, dizzying, devastating in equal measure.

"Don't you dare thank me," he managed at last in a low rasp against the crown of your head. His words vibrated into the very marrow of you with their quiet intensity. "Like I'm some stranger doin' you a favor instead of..."

Instead of what? His wife, his partner, his entire goddamn world until the cosmos decided to twist the knife a little deeper? The sentiment clung bitterly to the back of Osamu's tongue, sullen truth cloying in his throat until he swallowed hard against it. No words could adequately capture the depths of what you were to him in this moment, wholly encompassed in his arms once more.

With a shuddering inhale against your hair, Osamu simply allowed himself to sink further into the comforting abyss of holding you so intimately. This was what he'd been so desperately aching for all along - not the mere ability to lend his capable hands in putting together inanimate pieces of your new life, but the privilege of simply being present as a visceral part of it once more. Of slipping so seamlessly back into being your steadying anchor, your shelter against the world's crueler contradictions that you fought so admirably to rise above.

Time seemed to melt and blur around the two of you frozen together in the dimly lit kitchen as a galaxy of contradictions warred behind Osamu's eyes. He breathed you in with every lungful, each molecule of your essence searing straight through to scorch his withered soul. Memories flickered like dying embers - thousands of other embraces shared over countless evenings, each as mundane and life-alteringly significant as this one.

Yet in the same breath, this felt profoundly and irrevocably unprecedented between you - the first time since your legal separation that Osamu had dared clutch you with such brazen, unguarded yearning. As if enveloping your pliant form was the only talisman still binding him to reality, to whatever remnants of purpose and identity were inextricably tethered to simply...being yours. And you his, despite the distance contrived to render the notion dead letters on a decree.

The thud of Osamu's rabbit-kicking pulse reverberated through every inch of his suffocating embrace. Each hammering cadence seemed to scream the same lament - Never leave me again, don't make me surrender you and this world we've only just reconstructed. I can't, I won't, don't ask me to—

His silent inner turmoil must have vibrated outwards, bleeding into the aura of frantic desperation enveloping you both. For you made another small, unintelligible sound against Osamu's heaving chest that sparked like a livewire to his nerve endings.Instinctively, he stiffened his arms into unforgiving bands until you were utterly subsumed within him. As if the slightest allowance of space would mean your immediate, irrevocable loss forever more.

Then, with a ragged exhalation escaping his gritted teeth, Osamu reluctantly dragged his lashes apart and allowed his forehead to drop against yours. Your faces hovered achingly close, close enough for your trembling breaths to mingle and eyes to blur together into a universe of their own making. Little more than a hairsbreadth separated your primed lips, Osamu's gaze fixated on the infinitely delicate swell of their petal-soft flesh as you unconsciously swiped your tongue over the seam in a devastating swipe.

A low, gravelly keen vibrated up from the confines of his ribs as feverish compulsion took over. Osamu found himself leaning infinitesimally forward without conscious thought or restraint, magnetic and undeniable. He angled his head just enough to allow your noses to brush in the faintest caress as your lips...your lips were suddenly so impossibly close his entire being vibrated with the need to surge across that final searing distance and—

Your trembling fingers found purchase against the taut cords of Osamu's nape, digits splaying wide to anchor him in place. He shuddered at the scorching brand of your touch, gut clenching in anticipation of either being pulled infinitely closer or utterly severed from your tempting orbit.

But you didn't relinquish the tenuous connection thrumming between you. If anything, the barest hint of pressure from your palms coaxed Osamu to sway another infinitesimal fraction nearer until the whisper-soft swell of your lips hovered an exquisite hairsbreadth from his own.

A tremor rippled through his whole body at the first searing brush of your breath fanning hotly against his mouth. Osamu's lids slipped to half-mast without conscious thought, transfixed by the plump blush of your lower lip as your tongue swiped out to wet them with devastating intent.

He was already leaning in, succumbing to the magnetic draw, when you surged upwards to crash against him in a searing collision of velvet heat.

A deep, guttural keen reverberated from the depths of Osamu's chest as your mouths melded with urgent insistence. He swayed dangerously on the precipice of his restraint for all of a heartbeat before surrendering completely. With a harsh rumble of pure visceral need, his arms constricted around your pliant body until not an inch of space remained between you.

Then, like a starving man who'd glimpsed an oasis after years of deprivation, Osamu simply allowed himself to indulge without hesitation. To sate the endless aching hollow that had steadily consumed him since last he'd sampled your essence so intimately.

His lips moved with hungry, devouring strokes - licking into the searing cavern of your mouth with relentless undulations that stoked the wildfire rapidly engulfing your entwined frames. You arched helplessly against the scorching heat of his broad palms spanning your lower back, fingers splaying wide to knead against the flexing muscles working just beneath the surface of your skin.

When the first desperate keen spilled from between your kiss-bruised lips, Osamu wasted no time in coaxing it into a resonant moan that buzzed against his stinging mouth. He canted his hips with purposeful pressure, pinning you immobile as he ground his rapidly stiffening cock into the softness of your pelvis with deliciously torturous friction.

It wasn't until the two of you were both trembling and gasping into one another that Osamu found the iron-willed strength to slowly disengage. He gentled the devouring sweeps of his tongue, teeth scraping in a lush caress as he gradually coaxed the tempo into something slower and infinitely more searing. Each excruciatingly tender glide of your mouths was a convulsive give and take - a tantalizing farewell embrace soaked in poignancy and desperate longing.

Finally, with a ragged groan torn from somewhere primal, Osamu tore himself free. Only to sway there gasping as if punched in the gut, foreheads pressed flush and lungs heaving in ragged synchronicity. His chest still cradled yours, hard ridges and sweat-dewed flesh sealed as one.

You whimpered first - a soft, infinitely vulnerable sound that fractured straight through to Osamu's very marrow. It took every ounce of restraint still lurking in his hollowed bones not to immediately surge back in and silence the anguish with his lips and tongue and wretched, yearning soul.

Instead, he found his hands drifting upwards until his palms cradled your feverish cheeks with infinite tenderness. Osamu drank in every precious detail of your features through a sheen of unshed desperation. The frantic flutter of your lashes against freshly kissed skin. The lush, swollen contours of your mouth that panted in time with his own.

"Let's get you a fuckin' bed already," he rasped out at last, the sudden gravel of his voice making you shiver anew against him. A ghost of a smirk tugged at the corner of Osamu's mouth, underscored with a hundred different roiling emotions barely restrained behind it. "Can't have my wife spendin' another night on that worn-out sofa, now can I?"

The endearment slipped free before he could bite it back, weighted with layers of yearning and promise and a profoundly deeper intimacy than simple words could convey. But from the way your breath hitched and crystalline eyes sharpened to laser focus entirely on him, Osamu knew you heard every one of those unspoken depths loud and clear.

He didn't look away or attempt to backpedal — simply held your searching stare with that same molten intensity even as his thumb stroked tenderly across the upswept beauty mark below your parted lips. An anchor, a tether, a binding vow of intent all shored up in one infinitesimal caress.

You held Osamu's piercing stare for a long moment, feeling pinned in place by the smoldering promise flickering behind those gunmetal irises of his. Finally, you gave a slow nod. "Okay...let's go get a bed then."

The drive to the local furniture showroom passed in a weighty hush, punctuated only by the occasional burst of evening traffic and sideways glances you stole at Osamu's grim profile. He kept his eyes locked on the road ahead, forearms tensed against the steering wheel with hands gripping tight enough to strain the knuckles. You couldn't begin to fathom the cyclone of thoughts and emotions warring behind that brutally calm facade.

Eventually, you pulled into the dimly lit parking lot and climbed out without a word. Osamu fell into step beside you, radiating that aura of surly disquiet you'd grown so familiar with in recent weeks. Yet there was an undercurrent thrumming between you now - a new vibrating frequency wrought from the lingering echoes of your impassioned embrace and whatever fragile agreement you'd stumbled upon.

Once inside the cavernous showroom, you felt some of the leaden tension release its vice grip enough for you to draw a deeper breath. Almost instinctively, you found yourself gravitating towards the furthest display of luxurious mattresses and bed frames, fingers trailing along the opulent fabrics and polished woods as you passed.

"I've always liked the look of the sleigh beds," you commented idly over one shoulder, watching Osamu steadily approaching through your periphery. "With the curved headboards and footboards, you know? They feel so sturdy and supportive without being too overbearing."

He hummed noncommittally as you came to a halt before an incredibly lavish mid-century piece. Despite its grand presence, the subtle embellishments and deep coffee wood stain exuded warmth and familiarity in a way you found immensely appealing. Beckoning, even.

You sank down onto the plush mattress with a contented murmur, feeling the high-quality memory foam contouring to your weight and cupping your curves enticingly. Almost without conscious volition, you leaned back onto your elbows and stretched out — shameless in your indulgence to test the comfort and support in your usual sleeping position.

From the corner of your eye, you watched Osamu's throat work in a harsh swallow as his gaze raked over the lines of your body. There was a weighted heat searing behind those slate irises of his, a predatory promise reminiscent of your fervent embrace only an hour earlier. The memory of his unyielding frame pinning yours into searing compliance made an insistent fluttering erupt low in your abdomen.

"Not bad," was his only terse assessment after a prolonged pause. You watched, mesmerized, as he slowly circled the bed like a wolf scenting its prey. Each unhurried footfall felt charged with blistering tension and roiling intent.

When Osamu reached the footboard, he braced both hands against the smoothly curved wood with enough force to whiten his knuckles further. His shoulders tensed and released as he inhaled a measured breath before pivoting to pin you with that loaded stare once more.

"Lots of space to stretch out," he remarked in that same low, thrumming rasp. "Seems sturdy enough, too. Built to take on a lotta...friction without fallin' apart."

The blatant insinuation curled around your nerves like physical caresses. You bit the inside of your cheek sharply to smother the whimper threatening to break free at the spark of liquid heat pooling between your thighs.

Perhaps sensing your body's visceral reaction, Osamu's mouth curved into a smug facsimile of a smirk as he leaned forward incrementally. Until his weighty presence consumed your periphery, obliterating every other stimulus apart from the sandalwood-musk cologne and smoldering promise radiating off his solidmuscular frame in waves.

"You think it'll do, babe?" His gravelly rumble was pitched for your ears alone, dripping with dark promise that liquefied your bones. "This the kinda bed you want me puttin' you through your paces on every night?"

A violent shudder ripped through you at the mental images his words conjured — of slick flesh trailing scorching paths across rumpled sheets, sinuous bodies arching and rocking in unbridled ecstasy. Osamu's smirk deepened into something utterly ravenous at whatever he glimpsed flickering across your features. He opened his mouth to undoubtedly ratchet up the torment further when a discreet cough from across the showroom shattered the lascivious fog wreathing you both.

You startled, eyes swiveling guiltily to find a middle-aged saleswoman regarding you with a look of polite incredulity. Clearly she'd witnessed enough of Osamu's provocative stance looming over your prone form to gauge the situation accurately. Heat flooded your cheeks as you scrambled upright, surreptitiously tugging your skirt back into proper place.

Osamu simply leveled the hapless employee with one of his signature inscrutable looks, not bothering to extricate himself from his position caging you against the mattress. If anything, he seemed to lean in fractionally closer - a barely perceptible assertion of dominance that had your pulse skittering anew.

The poor saleswoman cleared her throat again, shifting awkwardly. "My apologies for interrupting...I simply wanted to let you know we'll be closing the showroom in about fifteen minutes if you need any assistance with your, er, selection this evening."

"We're good, thanks," Osamu responded gruffly, not even bothering to glance her way as he continued pinning you with that incendiary stare.

You studiously avoided the employee's surprised look until she gave a jerky nod and retreated towards the front offices. Only then did you realize you'd been holding your breath, letting it escape in a shuddering rush as your shoulders sagged infinitesimally.

"So..." You swallowed hard against the unexpected burst of uneasiness now seizing your nerves. Tentatively, you raised your eyes to meet Osamu's heated regard head-on. "We're really doing this again? Uh, g-getting...a bed together, I mean?"

His expression didn't so much as flicker, maintaining that composed intensity that somehow felt more loaded in the wake of your question. You fought against a sudden urge to squirm under the weight of that smoldering appraisal, abruptly regretting the wobble of uncertainty now coloring your tone.

For several beats, the silence stretched unbearably taut between you. Then, just when you thought you might shatter from the stifling tension, Osamu leaned in until you were practically cross-eyed from his proximity. Until you could make out every subtle shift of gunmetal and amber swirling through his irises, every calloused ridge scoring the seam of his lips as they parted to murmur:

"Baby, if you think I'm gonna put us both through that fresh hell of gettin' separated again...well then, you must be confusin' me with some sorta moron. Because I already updated my life insurance policy. Listed you as the sole beneficiary again. You know, just in case I accidentally choke to death on any more crappy pickup lines I might try on you from now on."

The words were spoken with such dull candor, so utterly devoid of humorous inflection or levity of any kind. Yet the sheer unexpectedness of Osamu's customary deadpan delivery combined with the saccharine endearment and sappy-as-hell promise slammed into you with startling impact.

You stared at him, feeling your lips twitch as incredulous euphoria bubbled up from your core. Osamu's brows furrowed in apparent consternation at your lack of verbal response. But you were powerless to fight against the rising tide as it crested, expelling in a sudden peal of loud, uninhibited laughter that echoed freely through the cavernous showroom.

"You—" You gasped out between wheezing guffaws, clutching at your midsection. "You absolute sap! Did you...really...just say that...with a straight face?"

Osamu's expression remained utterly impassive as you gradually descended into intermittent hiccuping giggles. If anything, his severe features seemed to sharpen even further in affront at having the solemn weight of his declaration demolished so thoroughly.

"Yeah, and what about it?" he growled at last, the underlying gravel of his tone only serving to rekindle your mirth. "That's you spoken for, end of story. I ain't goin' through losin' my goddamn mind again just cause you can't wrap your brain around a simple fact."

His eyes fairly smoldered into yours, lips thinning into a mulish line that should have been intimidating yet only struck you as unutterably endearing in that moment. You reached up without conscious thought, palms cradling the prickly warmth of his jawline as a fresh bubble of giggles escaped on a sigh.

"My big ol' grumpy bear," you murmured through your smiling stupor, thumbs stroking across the sharp ridges of his cheekbones.

Osamu's carefully cultivated scowl faltered infinitesimally as the searing intensity in his gaze transmuted to something softer, more vulnerable. Like he'd just been robbed of his last defenses against the rising swell of cautious optimism blooming between you.

With a low growl that rumbled straight through to your bones, he surged forward and crushed his mouth against yours in a searing reclamation of heated devotion.

The apartment felt almost cavernously silent in the aftermath of your laughter at the furniture showroom. You sank back against the worn cushions of your living room sofa with a contented sigh, the last few giddy giggles tapering off into the warm evening quiet.

Osamu settled in beside you without preamble, one thick arm draped along the back of the couch as his frame angled bodily to face yours. You watched, transfixed, as his piercing slate eyes slowly carved a path from the crown of your head down to your bare toes and back again in one unhurried sweep.

The weighted regard made your skin prickle with rising heat that had nothing to do with the temperature. You recognized that look - the same dark, hungry simmer he used to level your way when you were still newlyweds and Osamu couldn't seem to get enough of simply...observing you existing around him.

"C'mere," he rumbled at last, voice rough as flintstone in a way that liquefied your bones. Without a second's hesitation, you leveraged yourself up and swung one knee over to straddle Osamu's solid thighs, knees sinking into the frayed upholstery on either side of his hips.

His spine straightened at the sudden change in proximity, those brooding steel irises darkening further with naked want. You could actually feel the scorching brand of Osamu's stare skating across the swell of your breasts now devastatingly close to his line of sight, unconsciously squirming a little closer at the intoxicating sensation.

Thick cords of muscle flexed and jumped beneath the sleeves of Osamu's shirt as his hands drifted up to bracket your waist, thumbs stroking idle patterns against the jut of your hipbones. His palms felt like searing manacles as his fingers splayed possessively, fingertips just grazing the soft undercurve of your ass to tug you infinitesimally nearer still.

A throaty sound of pure satisfaction rumbled up from Osamu's barrel chest as your bodies melded flush together, his thick thighs cradling your hips in a scorching vee. You could feel the rapid kick of his pulse stuttering against the notch of your breastbone where it was sealed to his own swiftly rising and falling with quickened breaths.

"Fuck, I missed this..." he rasped in a gruff undertone, the words more felt than heard with how intimately you were entwined. Osamu's knuckles traced the elegant inward curve of your spine through the thin cotton barrier of your shirt. "Missed gettin' to look my fill whenever I wanted, no matter how greedy it made me."

Your nails scored lightly against the nape of his neck, noses brushing in an achingly delicate caress as your mouths hovered infinitesimally apart. "Well you've got your chance now, don't you?" you whispered in return, stomach clenching at the rasp of Osamu's harsh exhale ghosting across your sensitized lips. "All the time in the world to drink your fill again."

His eyes slipped to half-mast, pupils swallowing up nearly all the quicksilver irises in a look of pure, unguarded yearning that stole the air from your lungs. With purposeful leisure, Osamu's broad palms mapped every dip and flare of your torso in slumbering strokes before reversing course. His gaze followed the journey, hooded and predatory, like a man committing every intimate landscape to indelible memory after nearly being rendered sightless.

You found yourself hopelessly captivated in turn by the minuscule changes flickering across Osamu's ruggedly beautiful features as he absorbed you in. The way his jaw tended to tick subtly whenever your upper bodies brushed together with each shared breath. How his brow pinched when large hands found a new swell of softness to reverently mold and explore. And most distractingly, the steady darkening of those piercing grey eyes until you felt pinned and utterly claimed beneath their singularly focused weight.

It wasn't until you felt the first wayward tear searing a path down your flushed cheek that you realized the gravity of what was unfolding between you. More followed in their wake, hot and silent, prompting a low keen of alarm from somewhere deep in Osamu's broad chest.

You smothered the wounded sound with your mouth before he could give voice to his concern, lips parting on a desperate whimper as they crashed together in a searing tangle. Your tears continued unabated even as your bodies writhed and strained closer, cradling Osamu's whiskered jaw between your palms while his calloused digits dug in with bruising possession.

Neither of you pulled back until breathing became a secondary need to sating this newly rekindled inferno raging between your fused frames. Chests heaving in ragged unison, you simply clung to one another through the aftermath - foreheads sealed, noses brushing, lips so closely aligned that the softest whispers could be savored with searing intimacy.

"We're really doin' this for good, aren't we?" Osamu murmured at last, the usually gruff rasp nearly inaudible but rippling through you with sledgehammer impact. You felt his hands - those powerful, work-roughened appendages you'd once admired in daily reverence - tenderly cup the hinge of your jaw. "You and me, all chips in and no more runnin' the second shit gets sideways again..."

Somehow, you managed a jerky nod through the fresh swell of tears rapidly clouding your vision. Osamu drank in the silent confirmation with undisguised adoration and soul-deep longing painted across his chiseled features, thumbs brushing away the molten salt streaking down your cheeks with exquisite tenderness.

"Good," was his only graveled response before tugging you back into another searing, desperate kiss that seared you both straight through to your very marrows.

You surrendered wholly to the scorching tempers of Osamu's questing mouth, fingertips digging harsh furrows into the dense cords of muscle spanning his shoulders and back as you clung on for purchase. The room seemed to tilt and spin dizzyingly in your periphery until the only stable anchors were the unyielding planes of his body and the ravenous sweeps of his tongue claiming you in rough strokes.

Eventually, oxygen deficiency began to pound thick drums in your skull. You tore away with a shuddering gasp, lungs heaving in great draughts of air that did little to steady your racing pulse. Osamu simply watched you through half-lidded eyes, lips curved in a smugly satisfied slant as he dragged the back of his knuckles down your flushed cheek.

"Who'da thought the mighty [Y/N] would be such a crybaby after all these years?" he rasped, black depths glinting with teasing amusement despite his own labored breathing.

You blinked at him owlishly for a moment, still struggling to comprehend anything beyond the electrifying aftershocks of his kisses ricocheting through your nerve endings. "What...?"

The raspy chuckle that rumbled up from Osamu's broad chest vibrated through you in delicious waves, prompting fresh tingles to erupt across your skin. "Don't act like ya don't know what I'm talkin' about, babe," he goaded, leaning in to brush the words directly against the swell of your kiss-bitten lips. "You bawlin' yer pretty eyes out over the dumbest little things. Like that time ya got so hysterical over the snowglobe I gave ya for our first Christmas..."

Recognition instantly dawned, rapidly giving way to a fierce burn of arousal and indignation in equal measure. You immediately attempted to pull back, twisting your torso away from Osamu's heated vicinity as the memories resurfaced with embarrassing clarity.

"Don't you dare bring that up again, Miya!" you huffed, chin jutting mulishly even as mortified tears began prickling the corners of your eyes anew. "It was a sweet, thoughtful gift and the timing couldn't have been more meaningful! I was allowed to be a little emotional over it..."

But Osamu simply crooned in a low tone of unbridled satisfaction, strong arms banding around your waist with sublime indifference to keep you trapped against the scorching brand of his frame. "Sure, bawlin' for a solid hour while puttin' a dent in the couch cushions from hidin' your face was totally proportional to the occasion..."

You attempted to cut him off with a fierce shake of your head, but he easily overpowered your squirming until your bodies were melded together in a seamless wall of unyielding muscle and feverish, tingling softness. Emboldened by your tearful indignation, Osamu simply smirked and pressed his advantage - ducking to brush his whiskered jawline along the fragile tendons straining in your throat.

"Or what about the time yer favorite shitty boyband dropped a new album right before finals week?" he practically purred against your hammering pulse point, teeth grazing wildly sensitive flesh just enough to make you shudder violently. "Pretty sure I had to pick ya up off the floor when ya got so overwhelmed ya passed right the fuck out from blubberin'..."

"Stop it!" you cried in a watery burst, chest hitching with miserable laughter even as you feebly swatted at Osamu's questing hands and wicked mouth. "You're such an ass, bringing up all that ancient history like it means anything!"

But even as you scolded, your thighs instinctively parted to grant him deeper access, spine arching to present your vulnerable throat in clear supplication. Osamu rumbled deep in his chest again - this time a low sound of pure masculine satisfaction that skated like a physical brand across your nerve endings. His broad palms found purchase on the undercurve of your backside, fingertips digging in with delicious urgency until your hips were rocking in a slow, salacious grind against the formidable bulge rapidly taking shape beneath the snug denim.

"So what's got ya cryin' this time?" he growled against the fragile hollow just beneath your ear, trailing heavy open-mouthed kisses downward. "Me finally puttin' a baby in that pretty belly of yours after all these years? Can't think of a better reason to get those waterworks flowin' again if ya ask me..."

The sheer audacity of his words - the carnal filth as much as the undisguised insinuation that this reunion was only the opening salvo to so much more - punched a startled keen of pure, searing need from your very marrow. You twisted with renewed urgency, mouth finding his in a souling embrace of slick heat and tangling tongues as the desperate flames licking between you swiftly roared into an inferno once more.

Osamu kissed you back feverishly, his thick tongue delving deep to taste every corner of your mouth. His large, calloused hands roamed over your body, squeezing and caressing. He broke the heated kiss with a ragged gasp, lips trailing open-mouthed kisses down the side of your neck.

"God, I've missed you..." he rasped against your skin, voice dripping with raw need. "Missed the way you taste, the way your body feels against mine."

You shivered at his words, nails digging into the firm muscles of his back as you arched against him wantonly. Osamu groaned deep in his chest, the bulge in his jeans grinding against your core. His hands grasped your hips, guiding you into a slow grind that had you both panting harshly.

"Spent so many fuckin' nights after we divorced just lying there, remembering what it felt like to be inside you," Osamu confessed in a low, gravelly tone. "So deep I couldn't tell where you ended and I began. Thinkin' about it drove me crazy with how much I wanted you back."

A desperate whine spilled from your lips at his words. You hastily pushed his shirt up, desperate to feel his heated skin under your palms. Osamu aided your efforts, quickly stripping the garment off and tossing it aside. His eyes burned with molten intensity as your hands mapped every ridge and muscle of his powerful torso and shoulders.

"Wanted to feel you wrapped so tight around me again," he growled, the rough timbre of his voice sparking liquid heat in your veins. "To get so deep in that velvet pussy until we were both lost to everything but being joined."

You swallowed thickly, body thrumming with need at his filthy words. You knew exactly what he meant - the feeling of being utterly filled and completed by him in the most carnal sense until the world faded away.

Osamu captured your lips in another bruising kiss, all clashing teeth and tangling tongues. His hands roamed over your clothes, desperate to bare more of your feverish skin to his ravenous touch. When you finally parted, you were both panting harshly.

"It felt like I could breathe again when you first called after the divorce," he admitted in a rough rumble, steel-grey eyes boring into yours intensely. "Even though it was just asking for help with some dumb furniture, it was like...like I was still yours when you said my name like that."

You made a choked sound at his confession, heart clenching at the rawness in his tone. Osamu didn't give you a chance to respond, claiming your mouth in another searing kiss that had you melting against his solid frame. His hands found their way under your shirt, calloused palms mapping every inch of newly exposed skin as the kiss turned messy and frantic once more.

Finally, he tore his lips away to mouth hot, open kisses along your jaw. "Soon as I heard your voice, I was already moving without even thinking about it," he panted roughly against the hinge of your jaw. "Out the door and in my car before I could second-guess just like all the other times you needed me."

You gasped shakily in understanding, fingers tunneling through his hair to hold him close. You vividly recalled that first fateful call and Osamu showing up without hesitation, just like he had done a thousand times before when you were still married. Despite the legal separation, some intrinsic part of him was still bound to answer your summons without question.

Osamu pulled back slightly, eyes blazing as he cradled your face in his big palms. "Never stopped being yours, no matter what kinda shit happened between us," he stated simply, calloused thumbs stroking your flushed cheeks. "Always gonna come runnin' when you call, woman. You hear me?"

His raw declaration hung heavy in the charged air between you. You searched his ruggedly handsome features, taking in the grim set of his jaw, the intense heat smoldering in those gunmetal irises. Osamu meant every single word - you could feel the solemn truth behind them down to your bones.

You let out a shaky exhale, fingers splaying against the solid planes of his chest. His heart thundered beneath your touch, a rapid cadence you knew matched your own racing pulse.

"Osamu..." you began, then halted uncertainly. So much still lay unspoken between you beyond the heated admissions of desire and longing. Questions and doubts flickered like candle flames, threatening to undermine the fragile foundation you'd reconstructed.

Sensing your hesitation, Osamu's calloused thumb stroked your cheekbone soothingly. "Just say it," he rasped in that deep timbre that never failed to make you shiver. "Whatever's goin' through that big brain of yours. We're layin' it all out on the table here."

You drew in another fortifying breath, leaning into the solid warmth of his palms cradling your face so tenderly despite the rough calluses scoring your skin. When you finally met his piercing stare again, you found yourself talking without conscious thought.

"I want to try again," you stated plainly, forcing the words past the lump in your throat. "You and me, for real this time. No more separating or letting things fall apart between us."

Osamu's jaw ticked subtly, but he remained silent and impassive, letting you forge ahead unfettered.

"But I need to know you're all in," you continued, willing your voice not to waver. "That you're not just going to take off again if things get tough or we hit another rough patch. Because I can't..." You broke off, blinking rapidly against the burning swell of tears. "I can't survive that a second time, Osamu. Losing you nearly destroyed me."

The anguished admission seemed to reverberate between you, cracking the simmering tension briefly. Osamu's brow creased, eyes softening imploringly as he pulled you flush against his body once more. You went willingly, savoring the steadying anchor of his solid frame and familiar, intoxicating scent.

"Baby, I ain't goin' nowhere," he murmured gruffly against your hairline, one big palm cradling the back of your head. "Should never have left in the first place, no matter how bad shit got between us. That was the biggest mistake of my damn life."

You squeezed your eyes shut at the regret saturating his gravelly rumble, fingers flexing against his skin where they rested against his chest. After a steadying moment, you felt Osamu pull away just enough to lock eyes with you again. His gaze was open and earnest, burning with an intensity that stole your breath.

"I'm all in here," he vowed simply, stroking the pad of his thumb over the swell of your cheekbone. "No more runnin', no more wastin' time apart when we both know there ain't nothin' for me without you by my side. We're gonna make this thing between us work this time, you hear? Even if I gotta spend every day for the rest of my life provin' it to you..."

His words trembled through you with the weighty promise behind them. You searched Osamu's stormy gaze for any hint of prevarication or doubt, but found only steadfast resolution burning there. A dawning smile tugged at the corners of your lips as the vice of uncertainty unclenched around your ribs.

"Well, you'd better get started then," you murmured, shifting to wind your arms around his neck and bring your foreheads together. "Because I'm going to keep putting you through your paces until I'm absolutely certain you're not going to flake out again, Miya Osamu."

Osamu's deep chuckle rumbled against your body, the vibration sending tingles skittering across your sensitized nerves. "Gettin' my ass put through the wringer every day for the rest of forever?" His calloused palms roamed soothingly over the dip of your waist and flare of your hips. "Sounds like my kinda livin' hell, babe."

Unable to resist any longer, you closed the scant distance and sealed your mouths together in a slow, drugging glide of velvet heat. Unlike before, this unhurried press of your lips and tangled tongues spoke to something deeper - a resounding connection and intimacy born from years spent in each other's orbit. It was a familiar kiss that nevertheless sparked fresh flames of passion and hunger, igniting the dormant fire between you with all the raw power and promise of a phoenix rising.

Osamu's broad palms gripped and molded every inch of you they could reach, stoking the building flames further with each hungry sweep and caress. You responded in kind, dragging your fingertips through his silken, ash-brown locks and raking across his scalp with just enough force to make him groan. Your tongues curled and twined as you savored the wet heat and tangling strokes, bodies pressed close enough to feel the thundering cadence of his heart racing against your breastbone.

A sudden surge of impatient desire had you tearing at Osamu's jeans, desperate to feel him fully bared and pliant beneath your wandering palms. He helped you shuck his belt and shove the snug denim down his hips, boxers quickly following until his cock sprang free - swollen and heavy, pulsing with every rapid throb of his hammering pulse. You hummed appreciatively at the sight, wrapping your fingers around the familiar weight and length and giving a few loose, languid pumps.

"Fuck, that's good, baby," Osamu grunted, eyes slipping shut in pleasure. His head fell forward to rest against yours, breath ghosting hot and quick over your flushed cheeks. "Been too long since I felt those pretty little hands on me, missed you so damn much."

Your own eyelids fluttered shut, drinking in the husky, graveled rasp of his voice and the feel of his thick cock twitching against your palm. "I've missed this, too," you murmured, swiping a bead of pre-cum from his tip and using it to slick your hand as you began stroking him with intent. "Missed the feel of you, how good you always made me feel. How perfectly we fit together."

Osamu let out a guttural sound, his hips bucking involuntarily into your touch. He quickly recovered, though, deftly working the fly of your jeans open and pushing them down over the generous curve of your hips. His mouth sought yours again, swallowing your moans as he palmed the generous swell of your ass and squeezed, grinding his rock-hard erection against your belly.

"Let me get my mouth on you, baby," he begged between messy kisses, tongue sweeping deep into the cavern of your mouth. "Wanna taste that pretty pussy of yours, feel you comin' apart on my tongue."

Your entire body jolted at the carnal filth spilling from his kiss-swollen lips. You'd always had a weakness for his wickedly talented mouth, and the prospect of it licking and devouring you like some succulent feast had you instantly slick and throbbing. But tonight, you wanted something else entirely.

"Later," you breathed against the corner of his mouth, nipping his bottom lip sharply before pulling back. Osamu's pupils were blown wide with desire, his gaze burning hotter than the sun as he stared at you uncomprehendingly. You couldn't help the wicked smirk curling the edges of your mouth.

"Tonight, I want you buried inside me," you declared bluntly, delighting in the way his eyes went hazy with lust. You let go of his cock long enough to wiggle out of the confining denim and kick the jeans aside, then immediately grasped his hand and guided it between your legs.

"Want you filling me up, fucking me until I'm sore and aching," you continued, biting your lip as his fingers parted your slick folds. The first teasing brush against your clit had your entire body bowing and thighs clenching, but you forced yourself to meet Osamu's scorching stare once more. "Making sure I'm thoroughly bred, so I can never forget who I belong to ever again."

For a moment, all Osamu could do was gape at you in mute astonishment. Then his nostrils flared, pupils blown so wide the blackness nearly eclipsed the steel-grey of his irises entirely. A low, animalistic growl ripped from his chest, and the next thing you knew, his mouth was slanted over yours and his thick fingers were pumping into your molten core.

"Fucking hell, woman, what're ya tryin' to do to me?" he snarled between biting, desperate kisses. His free hand found purchase on the swell of your breast, squeezing roughly before rolling and pinching your nipple through the thin fabric of your shirt. "Gonna be the goddamn death of me with that dirty mouth."

You arched into his touch, panting heavily as he worked you higher. His long, thick fingers stroked and rubbed your sensitive inner walls, coaxing wave after wave of slick honey from your throbbing channel. You writhed against him, hands scrabbling for purchase on the corded muscles of his shoulders.

"Please, Samu, I need you inside me," you moaned, hips bucking against his hand. He cursed harshly, fingers stilling inside you for a moment. Then he withdrew, making quick work of the buttons on your blouse before yanking it down your arms and tossing the garment aside. He followed up with your bra, leaving you bare before him save for your panties.

"Look at you, all soft and pliant, ready to take me," Osamu growled, calloused hands skating reverently over the curve of your belly and hips. "Finally gonna make me a daddy, huh?"

He dipped his head, latching onto the supple flesh of your breast and suckling deeply. Your hands found their way into his hair again, fingers digging into his scalp as you moaned wantonly. When he finally released your breast, he blew gently over the stiff peak, causing it to pucker even more.

"You know you can never go back once you have my baby," he continued, trailing open-mouthed kisses across the valley of your breasts and up the column of your throat. "No other man would ever measure up after that. You'd be ruined for anyone else, just like I was the first time I was inside you."

You keened sharply at his possessive, primal words, head falling back to grant him better access. "Good," you gasped, nails scoring the planes of his back and shoulders. "Because I've never wanted anyone else, Samu. It's only ever been you."

He groaned against the shell of your ear, grinding his thick, heavy length against the damp fabric still concealing your aching core. "You're damn right, and it's always gonna stay that way."

One powerful hand found purchase on the back of your neck, holding you firmly in place as he devoured your mouth with bruising, punishing kisses. At the same time, his other hand slipped between you, ripping away the final barrier separating your bodies. The shredded material was summarily discarded, and you barely had a chance to draw breath before he was lining up and plunging home.

"Ride me, sweetheart. Just like you used to."

The command was a deep, resonating purr against your feverish skin, one that sent a shiver dancing down the notches of your spine. A whimper escaped your throat, fingers flexing against Osamu's muscular back. You could already feel his length pulsing inside you, stretching and filling you to the brim with that familiar, delicious ache.

"Fuck, that's perfect," Osamu hissed between his teeth, his head tipping back and eyes slamming shut as you began to roll and undulate against him. You were already impossibly wet and aching, his thick, swollen shaft bottoming out with each fluid pump and grind of your hips. He was seated so deep and full inside you, it felt as though there wasn't a single molecule of space between your bodies.

You couldn't help but agree.

"You feel so good," you moaned, eyes fluttering closed at the delicious stretch. You shifted slightly, finding the best angle to allow the bulbous head of his cock to graze and stroke the sensitive cluster of nerves hidden deep within your slick channel. "So big and hard inside me, splitting me open. Like you were made for me."

Osamu's rough chuckle vibrated against your chest. He dropped a sloppy, open-mouthed kiss to the hollow of your throat, teeth grazing the tender flesh. "Damn straight, I'm made for you," he affirmed, voice muffled against your skin. "Just like you were made for me. Fuckin' perfect, we are."

You sighed in contentment, arching into his touch. Your hands skated over the rippling muscles of his back and shoulders, reveling in the familiar sensation of his solid, warm frame and the taut lines of his body moving against yours. The scent of his skin - that intoxicating, masculine musk and subtle hints of spice and citrus - enveloped you completely, filling your senses and flooding every corner of your mind.

The room quickly filled with the slick, obscene sounds of your coupling - the wet squelch of your joined bodies, the breathy sighs and ragged grunts as you both raced toward the edge. Your bodies were in perfect sync, instinctively attuned to each other despite the years apart. Every roll and thrust, every shift and cant of your hips, was matched and amplified by his.

It wasn't long before the coil of pleasure in the pit of your stomach began winding tighter and tighter, threatening to snap. Your breath was coming in short, gasping pants, nails digging into the taut sinews of Osamu's shoulders as you clutched him tighter. He sensed the subtle shift in the air, and a low growl rumbled in his chest.

"My beautiful girl," he murmured, calloused palms cradling the sides of your neck and jaw. His piercing stare was focused entirely on you, the intensity of his gaze making your heart trip over itself. "Never knew what I did to deserve a woman like you, but I'll spend every day of my life tryin' to live up to it."

The raw vulnerability in his deep, graveled rumble tugged sharply at your heartstrings. A trembling breath spilled from your lips, eyes prickling with sudden emotion. You reached up, mirroring his hold as you gently cradled his rugged features.

"You don't have to be anyone other than who you are, Osamu," you assured him, voice thick with the swell of emotions roiling in your chest. "Just...just be with me. That's all I've ever needed."

A beat of silence passed between you, a suspended moment that seemed to stretch an eternity. Then, like a thread snapping, Osamu's expression crumbled, and he crushed his mouth to yours. The kiss was desperate, hungry, conveying everything unsaid with a ferocity that threatened to consume you whole.

"I love you, Y/N," he panted roughly between biting kisses, calloused palms roaming restlessly over the bare expanse of your back and shoulders. "Fuck, I love you so goddamn much."

Tears pricked your eyes, the lump in your throat thick and hot. "I love you, too," you choked out, kissing him again and again. Your bodies never faltered, the slick slide and pump of his thick cock still pistoning in and out of your molten core.

When Osamu finally pulled back, his pupils were blown wide and black with hunger. "Come for me, beautiful," he urged, thumb slipping between you to circle and rub your swollen clit. "Need to feel you milkin' my cock, wanna feel you cum all over me."

The tension in your belly snapped, white-hot pleasure surging through you like lightning. You cried out, the sound swallowed up by his ravenous mouth. Your cunt spasmed around him, gripping his pulsing shaft and wringing him dry.

Osamu came with a guttural snarl, his body seizing and jerking against yours as his hips pistoned erratically. Thick ropes of seed splashed against your womb, painting your walls and filling every nook and cranny. He kept pumping through his climax, drawing out both your orgasms for as long as possible.

You were both boneless and panting when it was over, limbs tangled together and foreheads pressed close. The heat of the moment was slowly dissipating, replaced by the steady thud of your hearts and the soothing warmth of his bare skin against yours.

Osamu's thumb brushed the swell of your cheek, calloused pads smoothing the lingering tracks of tears. "What's the verdict, babe?" he murmured, dark brows pinching together slightly.

Your own lips twitched in a small smile. "I think you've made a pretty compelling argument so far, Miya," you quipped lightly, then leaned in to kiss him. "But you know, they say it takes a few rounds to really make sure a job's done right."

He chuckled, a low, husky rumble that made the heat stirring in the pit of your belly flare to life once more. His mouth curved into a crooked smirk, the glint in his eyes promising wicked delights and the fulfillment of many, many desires.

"Guess we'll just have to keep tryin' until it takes then, yeah?"

#i’m sorry i hate how i paced this and dragged it out so much #i was going to write it a different way but then i got lazy 🥲#haikyuu x reader #haikyuu smut #haikyuu x reader smut #miya osamu smut #miya osamu x reader smut #miya osamu x reader #osamu miya #miya osamu #osamu x reader smut #osamu smut #osamu x reader

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back2bluesidex · 9 months ago

Text

Slide - The Series [Masterlist]

Pairing: Producer!Yoongi X Lyricist!Reader

Theme: Angst, smut, unplanned pregnancy. Fwb to ?.

Type: Drabble Series

Summary:

"I can see the pain in your eyes I don't wanna say that I'm God, but I'll take you to heaven if you die"

Alternatively,

You would go back in time and fall in love with Yoongi over and over and over again even after knowing that he would never once be yours in any of the timeline.

Warnings: extreme angst, unplanned pregnancy, mentions of depression, so much pining, unrequited love au, NSFW!!

Listened to Slide by Chase Atlantics

Minors do not interact!!

Masterlist | Patreon (For early access)

A/N: here is the masterlist. the story is gonna to back to the past and then come back to the present. hence, I have classified it. Hope it makes things easy to understand. also, this is gonna be very fragmented. I will not go into detailing much - as in the details of their jobs, family and stuff like that. this story will mainly revolve around Yoongi and reader's feelings towards each other and their bad decisions. That's all. AND please tell me if I have missed anyone's name in the taglist despite being requested. thanks <3

Taglist requests are closed for now

One time for the present ~

1. Slide - The Beginning

You would go back in time and fall in love with Yoongi over and over and over again even after knowing that he would never once be yours in any of the timeline.

2. Slide - The Ultimate Decision

Worst decisions are always driven by anger and alcohol; but sometimes those are also driven by Love.

3. Slide - The Other Side

No matter how much Yoongi had been trying to compile his focus and pour it all on Gyuri, his mind kept reeling back to you.

4. Slide - The Consequence

You are no different than the cigarette between his lips - half-burnt and waiting to be turned into ashes bit by bit with time.

5. Slide - The Dream

You have been so selfish and as a result - you get punished.

6. Slide - The Regret

For the first time in his 31 years of life - Min Yoongi is regretting. And the reason behind his regret circles around you.

7. Slide - The Trial

You have some questions and Yoongi has no answer.

8. Slide - The Vacation

Yoongi finally finds an answer to all of his questions.

9. Slide - The Realization

Yoongi dreams of you... dreams of a family with you.

10. Slide - The Reconciliation

“There was never a time when I wasn’t yours.”

11. Slide - The Finale

Tonight when he kisses you, it’s not a goodbye, rather it’s a promise of forever.

Two times for the past ~

1. Slide - The Prequel

You would never think twice before picking Yoongi up from streets even if it means losing your own sanity in return.

2. Slide - That Night

You would give yourself up willingly again and again if it means Yoongi will stay close to you. for whatever purpose.

Special Chapters ~

1. Slide - The Christmas Gift [Meant for Patreon only]

The third Christmas with Yoongi turns out to be something unexpected.

Permanent Taglist:

@phenomenalgirl9 @chimchimmarie @coffeedepressionsoup @meowstake @vonvi-blog @nochuel @chimmisbae @i-have-no-life-charlie @mikrokookiex @jjk174 @lallataegi @savageyoongi @jwnghyuns @parapiop7 @futuristicenemychaos @purpleanchorcrown @armystay89

Requested Tags:

@ktownshizzle @ilys00ga @marihoneywk @yoongisoftface @sugaslittlekookies @joonwater @geminiml95 @ramicherie @wobblewobble822 @amarawayne @avawants2havefun @artemisdoe @jimintaemin @cuntessaiii

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hoshifighting · 10 months ago

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— jihoon + roomates to lovers — mrs. lee might think her son is focused on his books, but the truth is, jihoon’s attention is entirely on you.

— synopsis: mrs. lee is a strict, no-nonsense mother determined to keep her son, jihoon, focused on his studies. her only condition for letting him have a roommate in his dorm is that it has to be a boy—no distractions allowed. when jihoon reveals that his new roommate is you, a childhood friend she remembers as a sweet, innocent girl, mrs. lee is ultimately relieved. surely, you wouldn’t do anything inappropriate with him… right? — WC: 2.6k — WARNINGS: smut, clit stimulation, dirty talk, penetrative sex, oral (f.receiving) pervert!jihoon, mentions of another, making sex on the couch jihoon's mom bought being mentioned, them almost getting caught, jihoon's mom being strict.

you were sitting across from mrs. lee, the woman’s gaze piercing as she stirred her tea with a delicate clink. she hadn’t changed much since the days you rang her doorbell with scouter cookies in hand—still the same sharp eyes, still the same subtle judgment wrapped in a soft smile. “you’re not going to do something like that with him, right?” she asked, her voice dripping with the kind of sweetness that left a bitter aftertaste.

you could feel jihoon shifting awkwardly beside you, his discomfort almost tangible. he hadn’t said a word since his mother had started this impromptu interrogation, and you could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his hand clenched around the arm of the chair. he was too old to be treated like this, you thought, but still too young in her eyes to make his own decisions.

“of course not, mrs. lee,” you replied, your voice as innocent as you could muster, though the irony wasn’t lost on you. you had grown up, after all. “i’m just here to help out with rent. that’s all.”

“good girl,” she murmured, taking a sip of her tea. “i knew i could trust you. you always were such a sweet little thing.”

you forced a smile, but inside, something coiled tight. it wasn’t the first time someone had underestimated you, but there was something about the way mrs. lee did it that made your skin itch. maybe it was the fact that she was right, in a way. you weren’t here just to split rent with jihoon. no, your reasons, or his reasons were far from innocent, but they were none of her business.

[...]

“you’re not going to do something like this with him, right?”

BZZZZZZTT! HAHA! DAMN WRONG.

mrs. lee’s voice was just a distant memory now, drowned out by the heat of jihoon’s mouth on yours, his grip tight on your ass as he pushed you up against the wall in the dorm hallway. the sweet, shy boy she thought she knew? long fucking gone, replaced by this guy who couldn’t even wait to get inside before pawing at you like an animal. the taste of alcohol was heavy on his breath, mixed with the remnants of the cigarette you’d both shared earlier, and the way he was devouring your mouth left no doubt about what was coming next.

if only she knew this was your routine—every time he came back from a night of drinking and smoking with you, his hands were on you before the door even closed behind him. you’d barely made it through the door last time before he had you bent over the arm of the couch—the very couch she’d picked out and bought for his dorm—fucking you so hard you were sure the neighbors had heard every slap of skin against skin.

“jihoon,” you gasped against his mouth, but the sound of his name only seemed to spur him on, his grip on your ass tightening as he ground his hips against yours. “can’t even wait, can you?”

“fuck no,” he muttered, lips trailing down to your neck, his teeth scraping over your skin in a way that made your knees weak. “need you now.”

you didn’t protest when he practically dragged you to the couch, his hands already tugging at your clothes as he pushed you down onto the cushions. the look in his eyes was wild, nothing like the shy boy mrs. lee still saw in her mind. this was a man driven by pure, unfiltered need, and you were more than willing to let him take what he wanted.

“she’d lose her mind if she knew,” you teased, voice breathless as you wriggled out of your clothes, your eyes locked on his as he yanked his shirt over his head.

“don’t care,” he growled, and the next thing you knew, he was on you. his hands were everywhere—tracing the curve of your waist, squeezing your thighs, rough fingers brushing over your nipples.

oh, you two were damn lucky that this couch couldn’t talk, because if it could, it’d be the first to spill the beans to mrs. lee. blabbing about all the times jihoon’s had you spread out on it, making you cum on his mouth like it was his favorite fucking meal. this couch had seen more than its fair share of your moans and gasps, had felt the tremors of your body when he made you melt in his pretty little mouth, and if it could, it’d give mrs. lee a full report—every dirty detail.

too bad for her, though, because this couch? it kept secrets like a vault, and tonight was just another deposit.

jihoon had your clit in his mouth, sucking on it like it his life depended on it. the way he worked his tongue made sure you couldn’t form a single coherent thought. every flick of his tongue against that sensitive nerve was so fast, so precise, it felt like he’d turned into a human vibrator, leaving your mind completely scrambled. he had you quiet, reduced to nothing but gasps and moans, and fuck, he knew exactly what he was doing.

and jihoon was downright filthy. he’d pull his tongue away just enough to show off the slick, glistening line connecting it to your clit, a blatant display of how much he was enjoying every second. the sight alone was enough to drive you wild his nasty face + his greedy mouth.

jihoon took his time eating you out, like he was conducting a symphony. every flick and swirl of his tongue was calculated to build you up, to make sure you were more than ready for when he’d finally shove his fat cock inside you.

he made damn sure you came enough to be completely dazed, your mind a foggy mess as if every coherent thought had been wiped from your head. when he finally pulled away to grab a condom, you were left sprawled on the couch, still in the same position he’d left you in, utterly wrecked. he’d bite his lip to hold back a laugh, clearly amused by how out of it you were.

you prop up on the couch, your ass practically waving at him. he gave you a playful slap on your ass before sliding the condom on, his eyes sparkling nastily, but his mouth had a cute smile.

“good girl,” he muttered, his voice dripping with satisfaction.

you shot him a half-hearted frown, shaking your head. “don’t tell me your momma used to say the same thing?”

he chuckled, sliding in with a slow, deliberate push. “well, she might’ve. but i’m pretty sure she wasn’t talking about this.”

“yeah, i’d hope not,” you retorted, letting out a breathy moan as he filled you. “because if she was, i think we’d have a whole different family dinner conversation.”

“can’t argue with that,” he said, pressing deeper, a grin tugging at his lips. “but, you’re still my favorite good girl.”

you tightened your pussy grip around his cock, a playful warning. “yeah? well, you better remember that. you only have me.”

jihoon’s breath hitched, his eyes widening as he felt the squeeze. “a-ah! okay, okay, true, true! you’re the only one—no one else gets this much of me.”

you grinned, feeling him twitch inside you. “oh, really? because i could’ve sworn you said that to your last—”

“stop!” he interrupted, laughing between his moans. “no more exes, i swear! it’s all you, babe.”

“glad to hear it. i wouldn’t want to share my favorite toy.”

he laughed heartedly. “believe me, i wouldn’t let anyone else near it. you’ve got exclusive rights.”

“damn right i do,” you said, giving him another teasing squeeze. “now show me why i’m the only one who gets to enjoy this.”

jihoon groaned, sliding in deeper with a satisfied grunt. “you got it, babe, and this”—he thrusts just a bit harder—“is all yours.”

you felt your ego swell with his confession, knowing it might be flattery, but it was in these moments—when he was deep inside you—that you could unlock jihoon’s secrets. a well-timed squeeze or a slick suck was all it took.

“jihoonie it feels amazing… you’re making me lose my mind.”

“losing your mind, huh?” jihoon’s voice was a low, teasing purr. “do you like it when i hit that spot, make you shake like this?”

you could only whimper in response, your body trembling with each thrust. “yes, fuck… don’t stop.”

he chuckled, his hips snapping forward with intentional force. “what’s it gonna take to make you admit i’m the best? more of this? or maybe you want me to keep making you come so hard you can’t even think?”

your breath caught in your throat, escaping as a breathy gasp as you throbbed around him. you cursed under your breath, realizing that if you had known this shy guy had such a filthy side, you would’ve jumped his bones way sooner.

just as you were about scream his name, you heard a series of knocks on the door, making both of you freeze. you glanced back over your shoulder, eyes wide with panic. jihoon’s face was a mask of concentrated silence as he put a finger to his lips, shushing you—like it wasn’t painfully obvious what was happening.

he then clasped a hand over your mouth, pulling you flush against his chest. starting to roll his hips deep and slow, your eyes rolling back.

“don’t you dare make a sound, babe. if you want me to keep going, you better stay quiet.”

you squeezed your eyes shut, cursing the person at the door for the awful timing. all you wanted was to scream his name, let the whole building know how fucking amazing jihoon was making you feel. and he was as into it as you were, if not more.

“you’re gonna stay quiet and take every inch.”

“i want to come so bad, jihoon. i wanna scream it.” you mumbled through his hand.

jihoon’s breath turned into a desperate whine against your ear, the knocks at the door growing more insistent with each passing second.

“fuck, i swear if they don’t shut up,” he muttered, his breath hot and ragged against your ear. despite the distraction, he kept his movements steady, his cock still sliding in and out with the perfect pressure.

you shivered, clamping down on him, your body quaking with the effort to stay quiet. “jihoon, i need to come so badly,” you whispered through clenched teeth. “can’t you just…”

“shhh,” he murmured, his voice a seductive growl. his grip on you tightened, pulling you even closer, as if trying to drown out the unwanted noise.

“goddammit,” he whispered fiercely in your ear, his voice trembling with and irritation. “i can’t believe this shit. i’m gonna make you come anyway. just stay with me.”

you could only manage a muffled whimper in response, your hips still moving in sync with his.

jihoon could feel your warm puffs of breath on his palm, your breath coming faster as you clenched the couch rest, eyes squeezed shut in desperate frustration. he kept his hand over your mouth but gently turned you to face him.

“open your eyes,” he whispered.

you slowly opened your eyes, eyebrows furrowed, silently pleading for mercy. a thick tear slid down your cheek, coming to a halt on his hand. jihoon’s gaze softened, a flicker of pity in his eyes as he felt the tight clench around him.

“i know, baby, i know,” he murmured with empathy. “i know it’s rough, but you gotta hold on for me.”

you spasmed around him, your body trembling uncontrollably. jihoon’s eyebrows furrowed in response, his own expression mirroring your pain and need. he could feel your struggle, the way you were trying so hard to hold on, and it made him ache for you even more.

“i’m so close,” you whispered, barely managing to speak through the muffling of his hand. “please, jihoon.”

“just a little more,” he whispered back, his voice strained with longing. “i’m almost there too. i need you to come for me, baby. let go and let me take care of you.”

you clenched around him with renewed strength, your body shaking with the effort. jihoon let out a low, pained groan, his hips grinding into you with a desperate rhythm.

jihoon’s eyes softened as he looked at you, his movements becoming sharper, trying to offer as much relief as he could while still keeping quiet.

“fuck, i can feel how close you are,” he continued, his voice desperate. “i’m right here with you. i won’t leave you hanging.”

he adjusted his position slightly, angling his hips to hit you just right, hoping to push you over the edge despite the interruptions.

jihoon’s other hand, slick with his own saliva, moved to your clit. he sucked the tips of his middle and ring fingers, then placed them against the sensitive spot, making you flinch. he could feel your body reacting eagerly to his touch.

you loved it when he fingered you, no matter how he did it, and he knew it well. your eyes squeezed shut, and you arched your back, head falling against his shoulder.

as the tension built, you finally let go, your body trembling violently against his. jihoon’s face contorted in pleasure, fighting the urge to moan out loud. he bit his lip hard, stifling the sounds he loved to make, watching your fucked-out expression combined with the way you were swallowing his moans, was all it took for him to lose control.

jihoon’s jaw went slack as he felt the condom growing wetter, his cum trapped inside the rubber. the knocks on the door sounded muffled and distant, like they were underwater, barely registering through the haze of post-orgasmic bliss.

you felt his sweaty body pressed firmly against you, anchoring you in the moment. his hands, still warm and slightly trembling, roamed over your tits, giving them a gentle, affectionate squeeze. a satisfied smile spread across your face.

you whispered against his skin, “aren’t you going to answer the door?”

jihoon sighed, his breath still heavy. “it’s stopped now. probably just someone being nosy.”

just as he finished speaking, his phone buzzed loudly. he glanced at the screen and saw it was his mom calling. jihoon cursed softly under his breath and grabbed his phone.

“hey, mom. what’s up?”

“jihoon! i’ve been trying to reach you. i need to know if you’re okay. there were some noises, and i—”

“yeah, everything’s fine. just a little noise from the neighbors, you know how it is.”

“oh, okay. i was worried. you didn’t answer earlier, and i thought something might have happened.”

“nah, it’s all good. just dealing with a bit of stuff here. i’ll call you back later, okay?”

“alright, but make sure to take care of yourself. call me if you need anything.”

“will do. talk soon.”

as you lay on the couch, you mimicked jihoon’s voice in a high-pitched, exaggerated tone. “oh, it’s just a little noise from the neighbors, mom!”

jihoon rolled his eyes, a playful grin extending across his face. he stuck his tongue out at you, waggling it just enough to make you laugh.

you raised an eyebrow, catching his teasing gesture. “oh, is that the same tongue you used on me earlier?”

jihoon’s grin enlarged. “pftt, come on. you’re not telling me you didn’t like it when i used it on you?”

you laughed, shaking your head. “keep that tongue to yourself.”

jihoon leaned in. “what, you don’t want me to give your pussy the same attention?”

you playfully smacked his arm “jihoon!”

quick fic based on friends > roomates > lovers anon request. ❤️

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vanesycho · 4 months ago

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• drunk bsf!san x f!reader | m.list

| you're alone on valentine's day with your best friend

warning | smut, drunk san being needy over reader, unprotected sex, p in v

word count | 1,1k

a/n | late 14th february post, enjoy reading!

Laughter filled the living room as San took another sip of his drink "no, really. why didn't you go with Seonghwa? he's a nice guy, you could have had a great time." you paused for a while at his question. he had invited you to an amusement park this valentine's day but you weren't sure you wanted to be with him. It made more sense to spend time with your friend San instead.

"I just didn't want to. besides..I'm not sure If I want to date with him, I'd just be toying with his feelings." San made a noise of agreement, leaning his head back on the couch and looking at you for a long time as you poured new drinks in front of him. the moment you turned around he gave a short smile, took the drink you offered him and unexpectedly kissed your cheek "thanks, I guess? now I'm not alone either." you chuckled and punched his arm mockingly "you know I wouldn't leave you alone."

almost an hour passed. San was already tipsy. his arms were tightly wrapped around your waist and he kept mumbling something "who told you to drink so much? look at you." he ignored your angry tone and looked up at you with a slight smile. his narrowed eyes, cheeks red from drinking and lips puckering when he spoke caught your attention. at that moment you tried to understand if the burning sensation in your body was from drinking or him.

"can I kiss you?" the sentence he mumbled made you swallow hard. "what?" his eyes went to your lips for a moment, "whatever, I'm sorry..I guess I'm drunk." he buried his head in your neck and let out a small whimper. you, on the other hand, pushed him away from you before you could get over the shock of the incident. "do you want to kiss me?"

San was silent for a while, his hand went to his hair nervously "I mean look at us, we're getting drunk on valentine's day as two friends, who would believe this?" his voice wasn't too loud but his anger was obvious "what do you want us to do?" he let out a breath in response to your question, then slowly approached you, he seemed cautious, he was trying to measure your movements but he couldn't stop himself either. "I don't know..I can't think straight right now." his eyes momentarily fell to your lips again, he supported himself with one hand on the ground and reached for your lips, you just realized at that moment that you were holding your breath.

It didn't take long before you felt his warm, alcohol-soaked lips on you. his hand immediately found your neck and pulled you closer to him, pulling you into a hungrier kiss. his wet kisses moved to your neck after a while, slowly laid you down and lay on top of you without putting too much of his weight on you. every spot he kissed seemed to burn your already hot body "can I take off your shirt?" the way he asked and his innocent looks did not match what he said at all. the hunger behind the sweet gazes had already driven you crazy, so you took off your shirt yourself.

San swallowed hard, he wasn't sure about bringing his hand closer to your bare chest, but when you grabbed his wrist and guided him, he breathed a sigh of relief. while one hand lingered on one of your breasts, he made eye contact before wetting the other with his tongue. then his tongue started to move slowly on your nipple, after the small tongue strokes, he took your breast into his mouth, made sure to wet it enough and erection your nipple, then lifted his head and placed a wet kiss on your lips. "take off your pants, please..."

you did as he said without making him and yourself wait too long. In the meantime, San had also taken off everything he was wearing, watching you with hunger. then he quickly took you in his arms and laid you on the couch next to you, spread your legs apart and got between them, then without breaking eye contact, his hand went between your legs. his fingers moved through the wetness to your hole and without waiting too long, San thrust his fingers inside you. "ah..you feel so warm and tight.." the sentence he mumbled to himself was enough for you to hear. he started moving his fingers inside you without waiting too long, waited for you to get used to it but he didn't know how much his erect cock with pre-cum flowing down could take it.

"san..." the moment you said his name it was like the world stopped for him, even though being heard so needy embarrassed you, you didn't break eye contact. "please...I want you" he was taken a back at first but it didn't take long for him to pull his fingers out of you and direct his cock to your hole. he put one hand on the side of your head for support and leaned over you, his cheeks were still red, his lips were slightly parted and he was breathing in ragged breaths, his eyes continued to look into yours with need. you let out a loud moan with the fullness that came when he started to put half of his cock inside you "fuck- I'm sorry.." San watched your reactions to whether he should continue or not, after getting used to the fullness inside you for a while he didn't hold himself back when you moved your hips towards him and pushed all of it inside you and started to move slowly.

the inside of the living room was now surrounded not only by the smell of alcohol but also by your moans and the smell of sex. San breathed hotly on your neck, the kisses he placed in between made you feel even more embarrassed that his cock was inside you right now. "you're so..good..you're so beautiful..I..fuck- I-I love you." even though you couldn't understand the words he said between his moans at that moment, the last sentence made you pause "what did you say?"

San lifted his head "Is this a wrong time to say it?" a loud moan filled the room as his cock hit your pleasure spot, he smiled slightly and continued to hit the same spot. hand found yours and intertwined your fingers, after a few strokes he made sure you were cummed and then after he came on your stomach. as you both try to catch your breath, he rested on top of you for a while, your hand found his hair and mumbled "I love you too." a giggle was heard from him, he looked into your eyes one last time before pulling you into a long kiss.

#ateez san smut #choi san smut #san smut #ateez smut #ateez imagines #ateez san imagines #choi san imagines #san imagines #ateez scenarios #san scenarios #san x reader #ateez x reader #san hard thoughts #choi san hard hours #san hard hours #ateez hard thoughts #ateez hard hours

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toomanystoriessolittletime · 4 months ago

Text

receipts

Summary: Did you ever want to show off something so badly, because there's no way in hell people would believe you, that you took a video of it? Well that's how you felt about Frankie when he ate you out. And after raving about him on a girls night they joke that you should film him, so they can see for themselves. Surprisingly he's super into that idea when you tell him about it after.

Pairing: Francisco Morales x fem. reader

Wordcount: 3k

Rating: E

Warnings: smut (oral sex; f receiving), making a video of said smut, dirty talk, alcohol, general horniness

A/N: Enjoy this filth, cause there's a chance this is gonna be the last one for a while. Will focus on my Javi series from now on and hope the braincells agree with me

follow @toomanystoriessolittletime-fics and turn on notifications to get notified when I post new fics

Full Masterlist // Frankie Morales Masterlist

„Come on, I just need five more minutes,“ Frankie was kissing up a line on your neck as you stood in front of the sink, trying to apply your lipstick.

Again.

You were already fifteen minutes late, your new boyfriend Frankie having insisted he only needed five more minutes which, of course, was a lie. But who were you to complain about being eaten out and made cum twice on his tongue.

Fuck, he was so good at that.

You had a couple of boyfriends before Frankie, but no one had been as eager as him when it came to all things sex.

Mostly the men you’ve been with before thought foreplay consisted of fingering you for twenty seconds before they wanted you to suck their cock.

You hadn’t even seen Frankie’s cock before you had been dating for almost two months, let alone touched it. He on the other hand let no opportunity go by to have you moaning his name, his head between your thighs or his fingers deep inside your cunt.

Or both.

„Later, baby,“ you took a deep breath and turned around, smiling at the adorable pout he gave you. You booped his nose and he smiled, kissing you very softly so he wouldn’t ruin your lipstick.

Again.

„Want me to pick you up after?“ He asked, hands slowly moving down your back until his hands rested on your ass.

„You don’t have to. I can take an uber home. It’s closer from the bar anyway,“ you said and he hummed.

„What if I wait for you at your place?“ He asked and you smiled.

„Can’t get enough of me, huh Morales?“ You teased and he shook his head.

„Never,“ he grinned before he kissed you, leaving you to apply your lipstick for a third time once he was finished with you this time.

You finally made it to the bar, thirty minutes too late. Frankie had driven you and you had given him your key so he could go to your place. He had picked up his toolbox so you were pretty sure he would be working on the sink that had been leaking for some time. And on the broken door. And maybe that Ikea table you had picked up and never build. He had noticed it the last time he was over at your place and insisted he took care of it.

It wasn’t like you were spending much time at your place at the moment.

You and Frankie had been dating for four months now, and you mostly spend your time at his place. Not because he didn’t like to stay at yours but because he had the bigger house. It was a small two story home on the outskirts of town, but he had made it his. You could see him in every corner of the home and you were absolutely in love with it.

He also had a pool and with the hot summer you had you preferred to let the day tune out in his pool with a cold beer or iced tea.

God, you were so in love with him it annoyed you sometimes.

„Oh thank god, I’m not the only one too late,“ you sighed relieved as you sat down next to your friend Emily. She hugged you, kissing your cheek and you were attacked from the other side as your friend Carol sat down.

„Katy is running behind. The babysitter’s car broke down. But she’ll be here in like ten minutes,“ Emily said. You ordered drink as you waited, catching up on life. Yeah, you spoke to each other frequently, but the older you got the more complicated it got to get everyone at the same place at the same time.

Once the drinks and Katy were there, you felt all eyes on you and you sipped on your drink like you had all the time in the world.

„Spill those beans babe. We know where you met Frankie but other than that we know almost nothing!“ Emily said excitedly and you grinned.

„What do you wanna know?“

„Everything!“ They all said and you laughed.

„Okay. So Frankie is 36 years old. He’s ex military and he owns a little massage place in the city,“ you began.

„The massage place you met at?“ Katy asked and you nodded.

„Yeah. Got a gift card and my back felt like shit so I went one Saturday and the only one around was Frankie. He works all weekend when his daughter is at her mom’s,“ you explained.

„How old is she?“ Emily asked.

„Turns five in may. She’s adorable. And such a Daddy’s girl,“ you smiled. You remembered how anxious you were to meet her for the first time. It hadn’t been that long ago, only six weeks before.

She was staying the majority of the time with him, so you knew if she hated you, things with Frankie would be over pretty quickly. Thankfully she liked you right away, both of you bonding over your love for nail polish. It was actually the first thing she said to you. That you had the prettiest nails she’d ever seen.

„And she stays with him often?“ Kate asked. You nodded.

„She lives with him full time. And when her mother is in town they arrange sleepovers. She’s pretty chill actually. Works as an stewardess so she’s away very often,“ you explained and they all nodded.

„So the first time you met him you were naked?“ Carol asked and you rolled your eyes.

„No, the first time I met him I was dressed. Ten minutes later I was naked and he had his hands on me,“ you chuckled and they all laughed.

„I didn’t know if he was just quiet but he did not say a word to me for the entire time. Which was sad cause I really wanted him to talk to me. I think I liked him from the first moment on,“ you said quietly.

„Anyway, after he’s finished he tells me that he’ll wait outside, so I get dressed quickly, wanting to get out of there but before I could leave the place Frankie asked me if I would like to go out with him sometime. And well, I said yes,“ you shrugged and they all grinned at you.

„It’s been about time that you got lucky too, babe. And I hope you are getting lucky a lot,“ Emily raised her eyebrows and you blushed, cheeks warming as you bit your lip.

„You have no idea. I never thought sex could be that good, honestly,“ you said.

„I mean he owns a massage place, I bet he’s great with his hands,“ Katy wiggled with her eyebrows playfully.

„Details,“ Kate demanded and you laughed.

„Nuh uh. I am not drunk enough for that. And I am hungry,“ you pursed your lips.

„So we gotta get you drunk is what I get from that,“ Emily winked and you rolled your eyes.

Two hours and numerous drinks later you were chewing on some mozzarella stick as you listened to Katy tell you about the cockring she got her husband and how much they both enjoyed it.

„He’s lasting so much longer. It’s a win win for everyone involved,“ she said seriously and you all barked a laugh.

„So babe, are you drunk enough to spill the beans now?“ Emily asked and you hummed.

„Haven’t told you that his callsign at the military was Catfish,“ you began and they all looked at you confused.

„But it’s not because of the reasons you might think….“

„No honestly. He’s so good at it, I wish I could make a video and show it to everyone. Which I can’t cause ya know but…. Fuck…. I’ve never ever had a man that loved eating pussy that much,“ you said and they all looked at you with open mouths.

„He made you cum four times? On his tongue?“ Katy asked a little too loud and some heads turned towards your table.

You felt your cheeks growing hot and just nodded while they groaned.

„Hey if you ever decide to take a video, we have all seen each other’s vag soooo….“ Katy smirked and your eyes widened before you uttered a oh my god under your nose, making everyone laugh.

Yet the thought of it didn’t leave you alone. Frankie picked you up and was the perfect gentlemen as he took you to bed, cuddling himself against your back after the made you drink a whole glass of water and take an aspirin.

The next morning you woke up with your head on his chest, looking up at him as he slept peacefully.

He was so pretty. And he was all yours.

And part of you wanted to show him off in every aspect. Even if you just kept it for yourself.

„I can hear you thinking,“ he mumbled sleepily before his eyes fluttered open. You couldn’t stop but smile as you looked at him all cute and sleepy.

„Don’t know what you mean,“ you mumbled and he grinned.

„Does it have to do with your friends calling me Catfish when I picked you up?“ He said and your eyes widened, having completely forgotten about that.

Hiding your face against his chest you felt him chuckle, arms coming around you.

„Hey I know what you do on those girls nights. You get drunk and talk about the dick size of your boyfriends,“ he teased and you laughed.

„That is…. Not completely untrue,“ you mumbled against his chest before you looked up at him again, finding him tiredly grinning down at you.

„So what had you thinking so hard just now?“ He asked, one of his hands coming to brush over your cheek.

„Just something my friend said,“ you said and he raised one eyebrow.

„I told them about that time you made me cum four times on your tongue,“ you said, a little shy and he smirked, clearly still proud of himself.

„What about it?“ He asked.

„Just… that you’re so good at it that, that I wish I could take a video to show around,“ you said in one breath and now both of his eyebrows raised.

„That something you wanna do? Show everyone just how good your man can make you cum?“ He hummed and you shivered at the tone of his voice.

„Maybe…“ you said sucking your bottom lip in.

„Well then come on,“ he grinned and you eyes widened just before he pulled himself up and turned you so you were laying on your back with him on top of you. He kissed you, humming against your lips.

„What?“ You laughed.

„If you wanna show me off so badly, who am I to stand in the way of that?“ He grinned, kissing your nose.

„It’s a compliment really. You thinking I am so good at eating your pussy you want everyone to know,“ he kissed you, „to see,“ he kissed you again and you sighed.

„You would really be okay with me showing you around like that?“ You asked, still surprised. He shrugged.

„It’s your pussy. You can show it to whoever you want,“ he said before he frowned and you suppressed a laugh.

„Okay maybe not whoever you want. Not that I want to dictate who you show your pussy to, it is a pretty pussy after all but…“ he rambled and you giggled, holding one finger against his mouth to stop him.

„Frankie?“ You stopped him and he looked at you with wide eyes.

„How about we decide later if and who I show my pussy to?“ You asked and he nodded.

„Good idea,“ he huffed a laugh before he kissed you again.

„Get your phone out,“ he mumbled against your lips and you shivered, but you blindly reached for your phone, finding it on the bedside table.

He kissed down your body before he pushed your shirt up, his eyes lighting up once he saw your tits, leaning down to let the scruffy hair of his beard scratch over them, making you hum. He grinned up at you as he kissed the soft skin, nibbling on your nipple before he sucked one of them into his mouth.

Meanwhile you shakily opened the camera app on your phone, pressing record. He grinned, nipple still in your mouth as he wiggled his eyebrows playfully.

„Feels good baby,“ you smiled, the hand that wasn’t holding your phone coming down to brush your fingers through his soft hair.

„Yeah?“ He mumbled, lips still against your skin as he slowly kissed a line down your stomach. He sat himself up, pushing the covers away, your phone recording his full body as he stretched, arms over his head.

He was so fucking pretty.

„Want this?“ He asked, wrapping his hand around his cock, pumping it slowly as he looked at you.

You nodded, lip between your teeth.

„Gonna need you to say it baby. The audience can’t see you giving me your fuck me eyes,“ he teased and you chuckled, before throwing a pillow at him.

You put one of your feet up to his chest and he grabbed it, kissing your ankle.

„Get between my thighs and eat my pussy, Francisco,“ you hummed with a smirk and he huffed, shaking his head with a grin.

„As you wish,“ he winked before he lowered himself down on the mattress, his big hands pushing your thighs apart, his tongue swiping through your folds as soon as his mouth was close to you.

His arms wrapped around your thighs, pulling your whole body towards him as he got settled between your legs, his eyes on your pussy, the camera capturing the hungry look in his eyes before he looked up at you.

The look he was giving you was downright sinful, before his lips slipped into only the hint of a smirk as he leaned down and began to eat your pussy.

He started slowly, his tongue teasing you, his fingers opening you up for him.

Frankie hummed when his tongue slipped inside of you, his nose right on your clit.

„Always taste so fucking good, baby,“ the groaned and you gasped as his tongue began to play with your clit. It took all your willpower to keep your phone in your hand to capture it all, even zooming into the way his tongue was working on you.

He sucked your clit into his mouth, eyes on you while he swiped his tongue over it and you moaned, your hand coming down on top of his head, pulling at his hair as he worked on making you cum.

And you were so close.

„Baby….“ You gasped, your hips moving up to get even closer and he hummed against you, your legs shaking in his hold.

He focused all of his attention on your clit and you could feel the first waves of your orgasm.

„Cum for me baby,“ he mumbled against your folds, before he sucked harshly on your clit and you exploded. Moaning his name as you came, somehow still managing to film him, missing the way his eyes were looking directly into your camera as he worked you through your orgasm.

You would only find out about that later when you watched it.

„Fuck,“ you gasped, not even fighting him when you felt him take the phone from you, his mouth parting from you.

„Look at how she’s drooling for me,“ he said and you looked at him as he brought your phone down between your legs, his fingers exposing your folds to the lens.

„She’s so fucking warm and tight,“ he said, and you looked at him, lips still parted as your breathed heavily.

„Can just slip two of my fingers inside,“ he said while slowly pushing two of his fingers inside of you, making you moan a low oh fuck as he did so.

He pulled his fingers out, filming the way his fingers were covered in your cum, a thin line of it connecting his parted fingers.

„So fucking good,“ he hummed, before he sucked his fingers into his mouth, all captured by your phone.

„Oh my god Frankie,“ you said with a disbelieving laugh and he just winked at you before he threw the phone onto the bed and got on top of you.

„Need to fuck you,“ he said as he kissed you and you wrapped your legs around him.

„Please,“ you mumbled against his lips, gasping when his cock pushed inside of you.

It was on your birthday some months later that you sat around the fire pit in Frankie’s garden with your friends. You had moved into his house only weeks before and your friends were visiting you there for the first time.

„You really made a video?“ Emily asked and you sucked you bottom lip in, nodding slowly.

„Several actually,“ you confessed and they hollered, making you laugh as you caught Frankie’s eyes where he was standing at the grill.

„He even told me I could show you,“ you confessed and they all looked at you with wide eyes.

„But… I am not drunk enough to show them to you,“ you said, chuckling when Katy reached for the bottle of Prosecco on the table, filling your glass.

„We can work on that,“ she said, making you all giggle.

„Who knows? Maybe we have the next big porn star sitting with us here,“ Emily teased and you smiled to yourself, deciding to not tell them about how Frankie and you had discussed maybe looking into setting up an onlyfans account after you had watched all the videos you made.

„Yeah,“ you said as you watched Frankie walk towards you.

„Who knows.“

#my fic #Frankie morales #francisco morales #frankie morales x fem. reader #francisco morales x fem. reader #pedro pascal #fanfiction #fanfic #fan fiction #pedro pascal characters

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zkg2318 · 5 months ago

Text

Blood on Fire ~ pt. 1 | LHS

A/N: this is part 1 of the BOF series! I have decided to divide this story up by who's sex scene is in it, but in order to fully understand the story, you must start with part 1 and finish (if you want). they are plot driven, and context will not make sense if you start with part 2, etc...

genre/tags ✶ MDNI reverse harem!hyung line x afab!reader, angst, smut, gore and violence, supernatural themes, (sirens, werewolves, vampires, shapeshifters, phoenixes, frost elves, dragons, witches, and more…), underground betting, alcohol use, blood, verbal and physical violence, murder, manipulation, death (no major characters, lol kinda), government themes (not political), fight club au, ot7

synopsis ✶ In a city where the supernatural are arrested on sight, the only refuge for their pent-up rage is “The Enha Arena”- an exclusive, hidden venue where creatures engage in brutal, blood-soaked battles with one another. Concealed beneath the unassuming exterior of “Dusk and Dawn,” a gym that serves as the front of a totally legal business, this underground fight club acts as the epicenter for this violent world where supernatural beings not only fight for dominance and pride but for the sheer thrill of it all. In dire need of some money, you find yourself drawn into the fight club when you come across a black market job posting- an offer for a new trainer at the gym. Desperate for new ways to keep your own abilities under wraps and even learn about other supernatural beings, you accept the position, completely unaware of the dangers and complicated relationships that await you

WC ✶ 16.9k

Part 2

smut warnings under the cut

smut warnings ✶ monster erotica (obviously), blood play/kink, love bites, spanking, dubcon, bondage, unprotected sex, aphrodisiac usage (kinda), degradation, pet names, oral fem!receiving, vaginal fingering

Luxta was different from other cities; it was neither big nor small- large enough that not everyone knew each other by name, but small enough that you didn’t need to make it a day trip to get to the grocery store. What set apart Luxta from other cities was the thriving population of supernatural beings living in the shadows, though their existence was only known by the government and select humans. The rest of the world, including the unsuspecting citizens of Luxta, had no idea that they walked on the same streets as did you so-called ‘monsters’, the ones that should have only ever existed in stories.

Being supernatural was illegal in Luxta and if you were to be caught by those hand-held scanners the government officials in the enforcement division wore around their belt, you’d be arrested on site. They weren’t as far-reaching or accurate as the large, reinforced scanners that were mounted in the back of their trucks or brought to building inspections, but they were enough to ruin your life. So, like everyone else who had the misfortune of being ‘different’, you stayed hidden.

There was one solution to these scanners: suppressants. A sort of perfume that you could use to spray on yourself that would make you undetectable to their scanners. But they were difficult to come by, the production being regulated by one man and their distribution being restricted to underground networks that sold them at sky-high prices. And they were experimental at best, coming with an abundance of long-lasting side effects and malfunctions that didn’t guarantee 100% effectiveness. For the few people that could afford one, they were used as an emergency fall-back.

And for the majority few that didn’t have that luxury, they stayed in The Veil, the black market’s so-called ‘base’ for the supernatural. For you personally, you lived there until you turned three, when a blue-collar couple took you in a few days after your birthday. “Adopted” wouldn’t be the right word- “purchased” would fit the situation better. Given only a handful of humans knew about the supernatural, these types of ‘transactions’ came with a strict clause that if broken, were punishable by death. Even so, 90% of supernatural children grew up as orphans, relying on The Veil for support.

Being adopted in the supernatural community was supposed to be some sort of grand escape from poverty, and in a way, it was. But since meeting your parents, you never stepped foot outside of your home. From the moment you met your parents, you never left your parents’ 800 square foot apartment and its measly excuse for a patio that overlooked the area where people took out their trash.

You existed only to service your human parents- like some sort of bloody commodity. At first, you didn’t know any better. A few healing touches here, a bit of supernatural magic there- it was harmless. But as you grew older, smarter, it didn’t take a genius to know why you were really there. You were just a piece of capital to them, a tool to be used.

As a phoenix, you were an expensively rare commodity. Your regenerative and healing abilities made you invaluable, and many people sought after those traits- but few possessed those characteristics. Your parents, both construction workers, were no stranger to danger in the field. Injuries were a part of their daily lives, and having you around to heal their wounds was an advantage they never hesitated to use.

It was routine- your mother’s strained back from lifting heavy materials and your father’s broken bones from working with heavy machinery. It was the perfect system, your healing touches allowing them to return to their jobs faster than most could manage, like a money making pig. But their injuries were extensive, more than just a mere cut or bruise. Every wound you healed required a certain amount of energy, the more severe wounds drained you of energy for days. As time went on, you felt your body getting weaker and weaker until eventually, you just couldn’t do it anymore.

Whether it was because your body was drained of its own powers or you just couldn’t find it in you to help them anymore, you stopped healing them. So at 14 years old, they kicked you out of their home when they realized they couldn’t extort you of your powers anymore. The realization that you parents had only used you for your abilities hits you hard now, but at the time, it was like a huge burden had been lifted off of your shoulders. And now, for the last six years you’ve been living alone in a poorly lit apartment that’s been funded by The Veil; two years out of highschool and working part time jobs at home all while remaining disconnected from the world outside. Since being kicked out, you hadn’t physically interacted with anyone aside from the person that delivers your groceries to your door. At this point, you’re starting to think you have a deeper connection with your delivery driver than anyone else in your life.

But now, even that little security was slipping away from you. The Veil was making room for the next generation of supernatural kids, which meant only one thing- you were getting kicked out. You still had a few more months to get your shit together, find a new place and make sure you had a stable enough job to maintain yourself in this economy. Your side hustles weren’t going to be enough to cover a first and last month's rent deposit anywhere. So that’s how you ended up here, pulling on some workout gear for some gym training job you found on the dark web for a place called “Dusk and Dawn,” a supernaturally owned gym that operated within the shadows of the black market. The wage was kind, almost too kind and it had you second-guessing the legitimacy of the job- but you were in no position to play it safe right now.

There wasn’t much of an interview process, just some email telling you that your first day would involve being shadowed by a staff member to see how well you interact with their clients. It sounded doable, despite your half empty resume and lack of any formal qualifications. But surely, your years of self-defense training during your free time through a computer screen counted for something, right?

When night finally settles over the city, you leave your cramped studio apartment, watching garbage sweep across the broken cracks in the sidewalk as you hastily make your way down the alleyways. It always took a bit longer to get to where you wanted when you took the back alleys over the main roads, but it was a safety net you had no choice but to rely on whenever you went out. The shadows of the alleys felt safer anyways, more familiar to you than the brightly lit streets that crawled with government officials late at night.

Luxta was always scarce at night, save for the few men in blue that scoured the streets looking for the supernatural under the guise that they were just keeping watch over the neighborhood. When the supernatural had first invaded the city, it was more of a slow encroachment than a sudden flood. It started with a few whispers at first, shadows passing by in the night. Then rumors began to stretch across the city as sightings of these fleeting figures moving faster than the human eye could imagine became more and more frequent. It was never officially confirmed what they were, but the government responded swiftly and labelled the mysterious occurrences as nothing more than a mere increase in criminal activity.

The men in blue- members of the government’s enforcement division- were sent out in droves after that, scouring the streets while armed with silver scanners clipped to their belts. Their devices would emit a piercing alarm at around 90 decibels whenever it detected a supernatural presence, irritatingly announcing their capture to anyone nearby. It’s game over once you hear that alarm, immediate handcuffs specifically designed to detain the supernatural. What happened after was anyone’s guess.

There’s speculation in the supernatural community about what they do with you after you’re arrested: years of brutal testing, harsh interrogations, maybe even torture only to conclude it with a senseless execution. But no one outside of that division knew what happened beyond the arrests made in public. And no one knew why they were even populating Luxta in the first place. The only thing you did know was that your only ally was The Veil.

Arriving in front of a dimly lit building that is squished between a post office and a laundromat, you’re pulled from your thoughts when you see a flickering “Dusk and Dawn” sign hanging above the entrance. You look at the windows, but you can’t see past the dirt and scratches that decorate the glass, obscuring any view of inside. With a nervous breath, you push open the door to the entrance, its rusty bell ringing above you as you enter.

Your eyes fall on the counter before you, its fading white paint peeling at the sides from years of wear and tear. Behind the counter sits a woman with sleek black hair and rectangular framed glasses that accentuate her sharp jawline, “Hello?” you call, glancing around the small waiting room.

The woman glances up, her brown eyes zeroing in on you as you step closer, “And you are?” she asks with disinterest in her tone.

“I’m Y/n, I’m here for orientation as the new gym trainer?” you respond. Up close, you can see that she’s around your age, maybe a few years older with smooth skin and dark eyes that shine at you despite the deadbeat tone she uses to address you with.

She gives you a curt nod, her expression slightly brightening, “My name is Yuqi, I’m the manager here,” she slides off of her stool, the old wood creaking beneath her. “Were you able to see well in the dark, I know the hours of your orientation seem a bit odd, but we’re a 24/7 gym.”

Your mind hesitates as you recall the unspoken question to recognizing a fellow supernatural: asking about the darkness of the sky, “It was glimmering enough for me to see clearly, thanks.”

Yuqi narrows her eyes before offering you a smile, flicking her tongue at you. You watch as her eyes transition from a dark brown to a piercing yellow, her pupils narrowing into a slit. A subtle hiss comes from her as the forked tip darts out at you in a dangerous frenzy. You freeze, mesmerized by the way her thin tongue moves in an unsettling precision, like she’s trying to reel you in, “I’m a serpent, but if you really wanted to get technical, I’m a basilisk,” she explains, observing your wide eyes, “You don’t seem to know many supernatural, do you?”

You blink at her, shoulders slumping as you shake your head.

“Well, if orientation goes ok, you’ll be meeting a lot more supernatural people here. Things can get… intense,” she says, her eyes glinting with pride. “Come,” she gestures for you to follow her, guiding you through a large room filled with old gym equipment that look like they’re about ready to break. You don’t stop there though as she continues to lead you into a dim hallway where a heavy iron door clad with locks and chains at the end of the hall is. You hear a thrum of things clanging on the ground and low murmurs behind the door, and an uneasy tension begins to coil in your chest.

“So, how much do you know about our gym?”

“The ad only told me I’d be helping people work out, nothing more.”

Yuqi raises her eyebrow as she reaches into her pocket, pulling out a silver key. When she begins to unlock the chains, she turns to you, “Don’t be alarmed, things are just different here,” she says calmly, undoing the last lock.

With a rough push of her shoulder, the door opens with a heavy click, unveiling a space that feels worlds apart from the one you just saw minutes ago. The polished bamboo floors shine under the cool lighting of the gym, the industrial light fixtures hanging 6 feet in the air. Each area of the gym is meticulously organized, groups of machines clustered by function on top of black rubber gym tiles. There’s even motivational black and white posters hanging on the walls, accompanied by black plates that adorn the walls near the benches and squat racks. It all feels so overwhelming, the sheer volume of equipment just waiting to be used.

But the most striking feature of the auditorium had to be the imposing boxing ring that sat to the left of everything, its rubber barriers worn and fraying in a way that commanded authority. Encircling three out of four sides of the ring was a bunch of bleachers that looked as though they had been spray-painted black to match the aesthetic of the black and white theme the rest of the gym was following, giving it a high-end yet gritty finish.

“Welcome to the Dusk Gym,” Yuqi says with pride laced in her voice, her gaze sweeping over the space in front of you, “What you saw outside was our Dawn Gym. I know the ad said you’d be helping people work out,” she continues by gesturing at a few of the members working out on some of the equipment, “but that’s only a fraction of what you’ll be doing.”

You turn to her, confusion evident in the way you tilt your head and furrow your brows, “What do you mean?” your voice carries a mixture of wariness and intrigue as Yuqi’s thin lips curve upwards into a smirk.

“Nestled within Dusk Gym is the Enha Arena,” she reveals, her voice dropping a few decibels as she points to the boxing ring, “This is where supernatural beings come to fight one another, to test their limits and use their powers without worrying about the legal repercussions,” She matches your gaze with her own and presses her lips together, “We are technically an underground fight club, Dawn Gym is just a front. There’s an official match with spectators once a month. And yes, this is extremely illegal.”

Listening to her words, you swallow a string of saliva building up in your throat. As she continues, an uneasy wave washes over you and a coil begins to tighten in your stomach.

“Your job isn’t just to guide them through their workouts, but to prepare them to fight one another, to teach them how to harness their abilities and control them. One mistake in public, and they jeopardize not only themselves, but the entire underground community.”

Her words hang in the air like an impending storm, the heavy weight of them waiting to strike. A nauseating tension settles in your stomach as you begin to question your capabilities for the job, your confidence waning by the minute. Uncertainty swirls through your mind, your lacking qualifications pressing against your forehead like a swollen thought. “You’ll be given a journal that was started by our old trainer- it’s got notes on every member in the gym, so don’t feel like you’re going into this blindly.”

You press your lips together, “Ok, anything else?”

“You’ll also need to make sure they’re pushing themselves to be their best without losing control. It’s on you to make sure they’re ready to fight, mentally and physically. At the end of the day, we’re a fight club and that’s how we make most of our money.”

You hold her gaze, finally feeling her words settle like lead. “Ok, but why a fight club? Why all the violence?” You feel your words catch in your throat as you ask, feeling as though this may be too much to take on. But you couldn’t turn it down, the pay was good and there weren’t many other supernatural jobs that were hiring.

Yuqi looks around the gym, nodding towards a few of the patrons that were already working up a sweat before answering your question, “I’m sure you’re well aware of this already, but the majority of us have spent our lives isolated from the real world. A lot of us don’t know how to regulate ourselves. Not being brought up properly didn’t give us the chance to learn how to cope with big emotions. The Veil helped create this place for us, a space for the supernatural to confront their inner demons and let their anger out in a safe environment” her voice softens for a moment, the slit of her pupils expanding briefly, “In a place like this, they don’t have to hide.”

Her words hit harder than you expect, cutting through a part of your heart that still aches for your past. Despite leaving the community, you had still hidden yourself. Even after being taken in and offered what you were forced to call a home, it felt more like a prison than living without a roof over your head. Forced to hide away what was an extension of yourself and acknowledged only when it benefited the two people who were supposed to love and cherish you, you never thought you’d see the day where you could embrace your entire being. Yet here you are, standing in a place where you weren’t a secret anymore but rather a strength. It’s foreign, and if it weren’t for Yuqi’s words holding up a mirror to your own past, you never would’ve questioned what life was like where you weren’t discriminated against for being different. You would be an idiot to not take this job up now.

“Now, be a good girl and introduce yourself to one of our patrons. I’ll be right behind you.” She shoves you along a bit, following after you with a soft laugh. “You’ll be working with Heeseung, Jay, Jake, and Sunghoon. They’re four of our seven regulars here.”

You bite your lip out of nervousness and find the nearest patron, only getting a view of his back as you watch him push through a set of squats. You can see his muscles strain beneath the weight, each striae bulging beneath the tight compression of his black long-sleeve. His focus is nearly palpable as he executes each movement with a haunting precision and you almost hesitate to introduce yourself, but Yuqi pushes you forward again and into his peripheral vision. When you stumble in front of him, you see that his skin is a striking porcelain white and you feel a sub zero chill run through your spine as you step into his presence. Noticing your feet awkwardly shuffling from one weight to the other, he pulls his earbuds out and gives you a strikingly cold stare.

“Hi, I’m Y/n,” your voice trembles a bit, your confidence wavering as an icy chill travels through your veins. Your next words catch in your throat as you begin to find it harder to focus, the temperature of your body becoming colder by the second. “I’m a new trainer here… at Dusk and Dawn. I’m just getting to know everyone.” You kick yourself internally for fucking up your intro, but your mind falters when your muscles begin to stiffen, the coldness gripping you like an iron vice.

Frozen in place, you opt to stare into Sunghoon’s eyes, a storm of frost and grief storming behind them. There’s a mysterious depth to them that draws you in despite the arctic freeze that’s creeping through your body, an irrational pull to figure him out.

When Yuqi notices your frozen state, she moves to deliver a sharp smack to the back of Sunghoon’s head, “Knock it off, Sunghoon,” She scolds, throwing him a venomous glare. “You’re not a walking AC unit,”

The boy has an air of arrogance to him that floats around him like a cloud, thundering when she gets too close. Rolling his eyes, his lips curve into a mocking smirk before he slides his earbuds back in as if dismissing you. You’re about to scoff when Yuqi slips her arm through yours, pulling you away before he can catch a glance at your flushed out cheeks. “Please excuse him. He’s a frost elf, so don’t expect much empathy from him.”

“Is that why I nearly died of hypothermia all of a sudden?” you ask, rubbing your arms despite your core temperature returning back to normal almost immediately.

She sighs, shaking her head as she drags you over to the next patron. “Probably, it’s a defense mechanism of his. When he feels negative emotions like annoyance or just wants to push someone away, his body temperature significantly drops, as well as whoever else he wants to affect.”

“So he did it on purpose?”

“I’m not sure,” she answers, tapping her foot on the floor, “It’s integrated into his sympathetic nervous system, so it normally activates when his fight or flight gets triggered. But if he really wanted to, he could control it. But I’ve noticed he just lets it happen whenever, like it’s his way of telling people you’re pissing him off.”

You give her a simple nod, filing the information away in the back of your brain to jot down for later. When you gather yourself, your gaze falls onto the next patron- a tall, lean guy who was too busy re-racking his weights on the bench press to notice your presence. His taut muscles flex under his white compression shirt as he handles the bar, each side stacked with more weight than you could imagine. “Fresh blood?” he asks without even sparing you a glance.

Before you can respond, Yuqi leans over, “He’s a vampire. He can smell your blood from miles away. Just don’t stare into Heeseung’s eyes for too long.”

You give the woman a nod of confirmation, playing it off as if meeting a vampire was just a regular occurrence. Turning to the vampire, you offer him a short but polite greeting, looking anywhere except his crimson gaze. Just like with Sunghoon, you find an invisible tug pulling you towards him that has you craving more, an unknown urge in your belly asking you to uncover whatever it was this person was hiding from you.

He shoots you a knowing smile, his pearly white fangs peeking out while he narrows his red eyes on you, as if testing your resolve. His stare pierces through you, slickening your core with a striking heat that has you instinctively pressing your thighs against each other. You feel a warmth begin to pool in your stomach as your composure starts to crumble, his gaze melting you like frost in the morning sun, “Yeah, that’s enough of that,” Yuqi says, pulling you away from his heat induced fixation.

Her grip on you is uncomfortably tight as she pulls you over to a corner where another person is working hard at a punching bag, each one of his strikes sending a powerful ripple through the tough canvas. The rhythm is hypnotic as he paces around the bag, his muscles surging with every hit. You stay back and watch for a moment, flinching as he assaults the bag with an unspoken aggression, years of pent up anger charged with each punch. Without even turning to address you, he snarls in an aggravated tone with his lips curled up, “Don’t bother, I already heard all the introductions.”

You raise an eyebrow and turn to Yuqi, finding yourself increasingly annoyed at the little respect you’ve been offered from the boys. “That’s Jake, another one of your trainees. Don’t mind him either… he’s a werewolf, so his hearing is enhanced, as well as all his other senses.” Yuqi looks around momentarily before connecting her hands together, turning to give you a small smile.

“Alright, I think you can find the last member assigned to you by yourself, but there is one more thing I’d like to show you,” she places a hand on your shoulder and guides you back over to the entrance. Gesturing upwards with her hand, she points to a glass booth that was suspended above the gym floor, facing the Enha Arena on the other side of the gym. “That’s our staff room. We have access to it 24/7, letting us control who enters and exits the Dusk Gym. Patrons will use the same entrance we came through with a staff to unlock the chains and everything, and we all leave through this one-way exit,” she points to a smaller door a few feet away from the entrance.

Looking over to where she points, you feel a sense of finality wash over you. The gym was starting to feel more and more like a fortress by the second, all the security features overwhelming your mind. “This isn’t just a gym, Y/n,” she says as if reading your mind, “It’s a sanctuary, and we take security here very seriously. Come find me in a few hours once you’re done, ok? I’ll be in the booth.”

With a final wave, Yuqi disappears up a staircase, leaving you by yourself with the few patrons that were still training. There were only four men in the gym, which meant the last one had to be Jay. Looking around, you spot him at the pull up bars, a grunt escaping him with each rep.

Sweat slickens your hands, and before moving, you hastily rub your hands up and down your leggings. “Hey,” you say, waving your hand. The boy hops off the pull up bar and looks at you expectantly with an eyebrow raised exceptionally high, “My name’s Y/n, I’m just introduced myself as the new gym trainer here.”

“The name is Jay, though I don’t think I’ll need much help…” he looks you up and down, his gaze terribly imposing as he takes you in, “... from you.”

You scoff at that, swallow the urge to get to know him better like a bitter pill. Like a switch, you narrow your golden eyes at the boy, refusing to let him brush you off like that, “If you want to fix that poor pull up form, you’ll want it,” your voice is rich with annoyance as you feel a deep sense of aggravation draw from within you.

He lets out an airy laugh, a breath of fire escaping his mouth as he does, “I don’t take advice from people who think ‘chin ups’ count as a real up.”

“Keep saying that when your protein shakes start tasting like the salt from your tears,” you shoot back, forcibly shoving him to the side, “And I don’t do chin ups,” Jay stumbles into the bar as his eyes begin to glow with an orange hue, an amused annoyance radiating off his warm body while a smirk creeps onto his face.

You jump onto the bar with ease, gripping the iron structure firmly before pulling yourself up in one fluid motion. With an almost annoying ease, you begin to pump out as many reps as possible, each one silently taunting him. Eventually, you drop back down to the floor once you find yourself losing count, letting your chest rise and fall with a feigned exertion.

“That’s cute, but half reps don’t count,” he declares, straightening his posture as the smirk on his face dies out like an old flame, “Now move, I’ll give you something to fucking count.”

You roll your eyes as you step back, letting him line up below the bar, “Did you need a spot, or can you get up there by yourself?” you tease, but he shuts you up with an angry grunt.

As he powers through each movement, every motion as fluid as your own, you catch a glimpse of red as his tank top moves with the speed of his reps. Red scales decorate a part of his lats and shoulders, shimmering like molten embers embedded in his skin, catching underneath the glint of the harsh lights hanging from the gym ceiling.

“Good job, Jay. Maybe you’ll graduate to a real pull up,” you say, a smirk playing its way onto your lips as you turn around. Without waiting for his response, you make your way towards the sound of metal banging on metal.

In another area of the gym is Heeseung, sitting at one of the high-end rowing machines, working up a sweat as his muscles flex under the synthetic material of his shirt. When you fall into his line of vision, he drops the grip to the row, “Can I help you?” he asks, his voice dripping with an allure as he eyes you up and down.

“I noticed your right shoulder was sagging, did you recently strain your rotator cuff?” you say, pointing at his shoulder.

He rubs the shoulder in question, feeling for the pain and nods his head, “Some bitch twisted me into the ring ropes of the arena, fucked up my shoulder and everything,” he grunts, moving it around as if to show he was still in pain, “I was just going to let it heal itself.” He moves to pick the grip back up, wincing as he pulls backwards on the heavy weight attached to it.

Without thinking, you reach out to him and place your hand over his, pulling back when he flinches away from your touch. “Sorry, but you’re just going to make it worse if you keep going,” you tell him, “Can I touch your shoulder?”

He drops the grip again, letting it hit the metal bar in the middle of the machine with a loud clang before looking at you with a coy smile, “Be my guest.”

You ignore the obvious tease in his voice and step closer to him, reaching your palm out to cover the curve of his shoulder. A quiet hush falls between the two of you as warmth diffuses from your hand while a soft orange glow emanates from your palm. The warmth intensifies as it spreads over his shoulders like liquid fire, seeping into his muscle until you feel the tautness melt away.

Heeseung’s red eyes widen slightly as he pulls away from your touch, rolling his shoulders back, “What the hell was that?”

“I’m a phoenix,” you say simply, amusement flickering across your face as you watch astonishment cross his features, his stoic mask dropping for a brief moment.

“Shit, didn’t think I’d ever meet one,” he mutters under his breath, quickly resuming his workout to test out his newfound repairment.

A twinge of sadness tugs on your heart as his words settle over you like a heavy weight pressing you to acknowledge the sad truth of the fact. You force a smile, despite his focus being elsewhere, “Yeah, we’re quite rare now,” you say more to yourself than him, an affirmation of the loneliness written into the stars. Your thoughts are burdened by the inescapable truth: you’ll never encounter another phoenix as there can only ever be one solitary ember burning in this world, destined to rise and fall until their purpose is fulfilled. At least that’s what Google says.

Heeseung finishes his set as you stand back awkwardly, unsure of what to do, “You should spend some time with Niki, he tends to hurt himself a lot during training. Usually Minnie helps, but she can only do so much with a sports medicine degree.”

“Who is Minnie?”

Heeseung stands up from the machine, seemingly done with rowing, “She’s just another trainer here. She works with Sunoo, Jungwon, and Niki.” He explains, using a towel to clean the seat on the row machine, “There are some other trainers, like Yuqi, who work with the casuals, but the seven of us are Dusk and Dawn regulars. We kind of hold the fort down here.”

“Good to know, thanks,” you say with a quick nod. When he starts to move to another machine, you don’t follow him and instead offer him a quick wave goodbye, “I’ll see you around, Heeseung.” When he nods you off, you leave the gym, ascending the same staircase Yuqi had used earlier to head up to the office. Reaching the top, you’re met with a short hallway. At the end, a single door on the left catches your eye- the staff room. With a quick knock, you enter the room to find Yuqi sitting at a large desk with several monitors in front of her, security camera footage running across each screen.

Hearing you enter, she swivels her chair around, a large smile on her face as her snake eyes long and you, “Just the person I wanted to see!” she exclaims, waving her hand for you to come over, “Looks like you’re getting along quite well with the boys, so I’ll go ahead and email you the schedule for their training sessions and the journal I was telling you about earlier. Their next match is in two weeks, so you’ll be preparing for that.” She turns to grab something from her desk, reading for a worn out leather journal, “You did more than enough today, so study this journal and I’ll see you tomorrow,” she says, placing the item in your arms with a satisfied nod. You take the tattered journal from her, the weight of its content acting as a tangible reminder of the crazy few hours you just had.

When you exit the building, the early morning air hits you like a slap, the sun barely peeking over the horizon. The streets were devoid of any governmental presence now, too much of a commitment for them to maintain any vigilance past 3 a.m. You knew they’d be back on the streets around 12 p.m., and that the neighborhood would soon be populated with moms and their strollers and people walking to work by 7 a.m. the earliest. So this four hour period in which the streets were abandoned was something the supernatural community knew well, a time slot in which the supernatural could leave their homes and stretch their legs without having to worry so much about being caught.

As you walk home, you see figures blur by you at an unnatural speed while others propel themselves dozens of feet into the air, skipping across roofs. It was a testament to what the human eye could only deem as a fantasy, but to you, it was an unspoken reality that only thrived in the quietness of the early morning. Even during this time, though, there were still limits. Elemental abilities were still kept at bay- no one dared to bend water or fire in public so openly, no matter the hour of the day. Those who did wield such powers stuck to minute things like changing the temperature of their body or whispering the flicker of heat into an angry flame.

And you knew there was still a whole other realm of abilities you weren’t aware of, tucked away beyond layers of secrecy the supernatural world was too scared to show. There was only so much research you could scour online before it became repetitive and almost theorized by rumors. The shame of living in a universe where it was illegal to exist gnawed at you everyday, and you were becoming desperate for life beyond scratching the surface of freedom. Each moment spent outside of your home left you with an aching curiosity, questions unanswered indefinitely.

But with the journal Yuqi gave you, clutched tightly in your grasp, you had a sliver of hope. Maybe it wouldn't grant you the freedom you’ve wanted for the supernatural all these years, but you hoped it could answer some of the questions that have been burning at the back of your head since your parents kicked you out.

When you arrive at the steps of your rundown apartment complex, you slowly make your way up the creaky stairs until you slip inside the dimly lit studio. Flicking the light switch on, you watch as a single bulb pathetically sputters to life, casting a faint glow across the room. There’s a lack of light in the hours where the sun doesn’t shine through your one window that acts as a source of constant frustration for you, making it nearly impossible for you to see without the flashlight from your phone or the fire from your fingers. But with your new job and new paychecks, you’re starting to hope you’ll be able to find a place that has bulbs stronger than a meager 40 watts.

With an exasperated sigh, you throw your belongings onto your patchwork couch and change into an old shirt and panties. As much as you wanted to dive into the journal that Yuqi had so generously given you, the dim lighting of your apartment made it almost impossible to read. You could’ve used the flashlight on your phone, but the lack of a working outlet left you unable to charge it if it died. And as much as you would’ve liked to cast a pretty flame from your fingertips, they were far too much of a fire hazard inside the old wooden walls of your studio apartment. Instead, you decide it’d be best to just wait until the early afternoon when the sunlight enters your window naturally.

When the sun rays do filter through your window, you spring upwards in bed, your body restless despite the pitiful amount of hours you managed to snag. For the first time in years, your night wasn’t consumed with a monotonous amount of homework or the glow of online workout videos in a lonely room. Instead- no matter how chaotic- you had a new purpose. You were exhilarated to keep going, fuelled by only a few hours of sleep yet ready to take on the next few days coursing with energy- a trait Phoenixes prided themselves upon: resilience.

With a precise stretch, you reach over to your desk and grab the journal you set aside from earlier. Nestling back into bed, you open the first page to reveal a comprehensive list of all the supernatural beings that had ever attended Dusk and Dawn over the years. Your eyes scan through the list of names, a mess of words that bleed onto the next page. Some are expected, familiar even- werewolves, vampires, dragons, griffins- but there are some that catch you off guard: valkyries, kitsunes, fairies, centaurs, and many more. Yet, you notice that not a single phoenix appears on the list, and it leaves an invisible weight sitting on your shoulders.

Moving through the next few pages, the entries become more and more detailed as they start to divulge into each patron, starting with Heeseung. His name is scrawled out on the top of the page in fancy letters, and underneath it readers ‘Vampire.’ A barely legible sketch of his face is drawn next to his name and you let out a soft laugh as you trace your finger over the old led before drawing your eyes down to Heeseung’s written description.

Heeseung came to Dusk and Dawn seven years ago, seeking for a way to cope with the anger of his parents abandoning him at the age of 16. He has been a general joy to have, often participating diligently in activities and putting his best foot forward in matches. Throughout his years at Dusk and Dawn, staff has observed that when pushed too far, Heeseung enters a state known as vampiric rage. Symptoms include: severe blood lust, glowing red eyes, feeding compulsion, disturbed/over enhanced senses, uncontrollable aggression, and predatory behavior. It is recommended he be taken into isolation when this occurs until he calms down

Power descriptions: hypnotic gaze, enhanced senses (strength, smell, sight, hearing), night vision, super speed. Please revise if necessary

You swallow the lump in your throat when you finish reading his entry, feeling a knot tighten in your stomach as you turn to the next page. Jongseong is the next name you see, and in parentheses the name Jay is written next to it with a large ‘Dragon’ scrawled underneath it. There’s another half-hearted sketch drawn next to it, and you notice the birth mark added to his neck, a darker patch on the left side of his neck.

Jay first came to Dusk and Dawn a few months after Heeseung, bringing a similar energy as the latter. Shaped by the self-resilient upbringing he developed under The Veil’s guidance, he has showcased a few profound characteristics that stand out during training. His past cultivates a very competitive spirit that is landmarked by a web of complex trust issues, resulting in a volatile temperature which resembles that of a pressure cooker.

Power descriptions: scale armor, pyrokinesis, enhanced strength. Please revise if necessary

On the next two pages are profiles for Jake and Sunghoon, the last two members Yuqi said you would be training. Beneath Sunghoon’s name are the words ‘Frost Elf’, and ‘Werewolf’ beneath Jakes.

Jake joined Dusk and Dawn shortly after Jay and Heeseung with a unique backstory, coming from a lineage of other werewolves, he sought out this place after losing his family during an attack. His personality fluctuates heavily between being quite friendly and open to acting quite aggressive and aloof. During full moons and times of overstimulation, he struggles with the primal side of his werewolf blood coming into full effect: excessive aggression, overprotection of his packmates, animalistic instincts, and loss of rationality. Jake should be carefully monitored for any signs of depression d/t history of family loss

Power descriptions: enhanced senses (smell, hearing, speed, strength), healing saliva (minor wounds), scent tracker, lethal bites and scratches. Please revise if necessary

Below Jake’s profile is Sunghoon’s.

Sunghoon joined a day after Jake with the primary goal of fighting people. Like Jay, he has navigated the challenges of all life stages by himself and upon joining Dusk and Dawn, he openly admitted to struggling with recognizing emotional cues and controlling his powers. It has become evident over the years that Sunghoon has made significant progress in developing his abilities, yet he often chooses to not exercise control unless absolutely necessary. Rather, he tends to resort to violence when provoked, that he just “doesn’t care” as stated by Sunghoon himself.

Power descriptions: cryokinesis, frost armor, temperature manipulation/aura. Please revise if necessary

Upon finishing Sunghoon’s entry, an overwhelming sense of responsibility descends over your shoulders, prompting you to close the book and reflect. The solemn history of these four members has you reconsidering your qualifications, debating whether you’re just in over your head and blinded by the hourly wage of your new job. Did you have the societal experience to connect with them and guide them in the way that Yuqi was expecting you to? Really, they too grew up alone or abandoned at some point in their life, isolated from the real world- but they had more time to learn about the real world through Dusk and Dawn than you did. What right did you have to go ordering them around and telling them what to do?

Heeseung had previously mentioned that there were three other regulars that attended the gym, but because they weren’t training with you, you decided it’d be best to wait until you met them before reading their entries. Right now, your immediate focus was on sharpening your own skills.

So with your renewed determination, you divulge into a whirlwind of rigorous training. The next few hours leading up to your second training shift is filled with a relentless cycle of speed drills and high-intensity circuits designed to test your endurance. Your goal wasn’t to just be stronger- you already had that. Instead, you aimed to outlast the boys. Stamina would be your greatest asset working at Dusk and Dawn.

After who knows how many hours, your phone alarm goes off indicating you had one hour left before your next shift started. You take that time to shower and clean up, taking an especially hot shower. Clad in a new pair of leggings and tank top, you walk back to the gym, retracing the same alleyways and backroads as you did the night before.

“Hi, Yuqi.” you say, greeting the serpent hybrid supernatural sitting behind the front desk. She's got her head tilted down with some magazine in her hands, her black framed glasses perched low on her nose as she reads.

She acknowledges you with a low hiss, her forked tongue flicking up and down in the air. “Here are some keys,” she says, tossing a set of keys at you to which you catch mid-air. “Take the boys into the elemental training room when they get here, you’ll learn about their abilities there. It’s just Niki in there right now”

With the keys in one hand and your backpack strap tucked in the other, you make your way down the familiarly dim hallway where that same iron door stands at the end, wrapped in a chain of metal. Laying against the rusting door were at least three padlocks, and after a minute of figuring out which key goes where, you push open the door to reveal the glory of the Dusk gym once again.

The familiar clang of weights hitting against one another fills the air, echoing through the large auditorium as you walk in. Setting your bag down against a long black bench beside one of the cement pillars, your eyes draw in on a tall, unfamiliar boy whom you presume to be Niki, working out in front of the numerous mirrors lining the gym. As you approach him, you can’t help but let your focus fall on the way the vein in his bicep bulges with every rep, straining when the dumbbells press against his chest. You lean against a machine nearby, momentarily forgetting your intent to introduce yourself to him. “Looking for something?” he says, glancing at you through the mirror. Your attention snaps back up to respond, but he’s not there.

“I’m right here, sweetie.” the voice continues to tease, this time coming from behind. You spin around, your gaze travelling the area as you look for the source but to no avail.

A dark laugh that seems to only fill your thoughts starts overwhelming you, the absurdness of the voices in your head making you spin. Shutting your eyes, you will the laughter to go away. Suddenly, a tap on your shoulder jolts you out of your thoughts and the laughter comes to a stop. Opening your eyes, your gaze finally lands on the boy you saw in the mirror, his sharp eyes glaring down on you with a mischievous glint, “So you’re the infamous trainer I’ve heard so much about.” He says, leaning down to match your height.

You clear your throat, “That’s correct. And I’m assuming you’re Niki?” Stepping back, you attempt to create some distance from the relatively tall boy standing before you.

He nods his head, letting the fringe of his black hair fall into his eyes. “I’ve heard a lot about you,” he says, stepping into your space despite your previous attempt to distance yourself. He bites his lip as his mouth curves into a devious smile, eyes darkening. Reaching for your hand, he interlocks his fingers in yours, “So you’re a phoenix…”

He brings your hands up to your vision so that the both of you can see, his large hand almost devouring yours completely, “I can play with fire too.” He says, squeezing your hand harshly. Suddenly, a glow of embers envelopes your hands completely, a scalding heat spreading between you both as his powers force yours out as well.

But as quickly as the fire emits, it extinguishes, a flash of blue striking the flame and leaving only a cloud of smoke in its wake. “Cut it out, Niki,” a voice calls from a distance. Turning to the sound, you see a boy with ashy brown hair approaching you with graceful strides, “We’re not supposed to use our elements in the gym, there’s a specific place for that.”

“Alright, Katara.”

“It’s Sunoo, not Katara.” The boy corrects, bowing to you.

“Could’ve fooled me with that water bending of yours,” Niki pesters, squeezing Sunoo’s ears after letting go of your hand.

Sunoo gives Niki a face as he swats the taller boy’s hand away from him, shooting him a darkened glare that leaves Niki in a slight daze. “Are you guys ever gonna act like your age, or are we stuck with the mental capacity of a 10 year old?” a voice calls from behind. Sunghoon’s chilling voice pierces through the air as he comes into view, casually dressed in a pair of gray sweats and white tank, a disturbing contrast to his arrogance. He shoves his hands into his pockets before adding, “You guys are fucking children.”

An arctic freeze radiates off of his otherwise relaxed body and Niki begins to tremble, angrily flicking his arm to emit a glow of fire that crawls up his arm and down his torso. “Stop using your temperature manipulation on us, Yuqi said you’re supposed to control that shit,” Sunoo scolds, moving closer to Niki to feel his fire.

You roll your eyes, feeling bored of their tense exchange. “Enough, just get into the training room before you rip each other’s heads off.” you demand, your voice laced with annoyance. The boys grumble in response, muttering things that you don’t bother to decipher as they walk into a dark room tucked away in the back of the auditorium. When you enter, you flick the light on to reveal a large gray room, both its floor and walls adorned with the same glossy stone material- though they’re marked up by what you assume is years of burn marks and blunt force. The room is a quarter the size of the gym, holding an abundance of training dummies and bullseyes; amongst other things.

“Line up here,” you say, pointing to the back of the room. They kick their shoes off before stepping onto the black gym mats, moving in silence. “I’ll have you guys each target train on a dummy so I can get a gauge of your guys’ skills. If you don’t have an ability that requires target training, just don’t line up.” You say as you kick your own shoes off.

Before you can continue, an out of breath voice interrupts you, “Am I late?”

You turn around to see the silhouette of a boy who seems to have run all the way here. Rather than answering, you nod your head to the mat in annoyance, “Who are you?”

“Jungwon,” he offers, presenting you with a smile to which the pits of his dimples show. For a second, your shield of authority falters for a brief second when your eyes pass over his grin, but you’re quick to pick it back up as you address Sunghoon.

“Sunghoon, can you tell me what each of these boys are?” He opens his mouth to complain, but you catch on to the change in his demeanor rather quickly, “Without complaining.”

He bites his lip, grumbling something under his breath before proceeding. “Niki is a kitsune- a childish one at that. Sunoo is a siren, and Jungwon is a shapeshifter. And I’m a frost elf, but I’m hoping you already knew that.”

Looking down at your watch, you frown when you realize that more than half of your own group is missing and you were supposed to start ten minutes ago. “Ok, let’s start,” you annoy, stepping off to the side.

“Shouldn’t we spar? We already know how to target train,” Sunghoon tests, cinching his eyebrows together in annoyance.

“Did I ask?” you shoot back, raising an eyebrow at him. “Sunoo, go first.”

Sunoo grins, dramatically flicking away a strand of hair from his face before stepping forward. He steadies himself, planting his feet firmly on the floor before narrowing his fox-like eyes at the dummy across the room. In one graceful motion, a stream of water burst from his hands, gradually growing in volume before he thrusts his hands forward, sending a jet of water towards the target. The liquid splits down the middle as it moves through the air, weaving around itself before slamming into the target.

When it hits, Sunoo begins to sing- his voice a piercing yet soothing high that seems to resonate with the movement of the water. The liquid responds, wrapping around the target like a mermaid’s tail, constricting the target more and more with every second. When Sunoo’s voice fades, the water falls, limp of any life it once had.

“Well done,” you say, giving him a nod of acknowledgement, “But I’m worried about your singing. You become quite vulnerable when you sing, though your water becomes very powerful when you do, so come up with a way to make yourself safe before performing something like that.”

Sunoo smiles at you as he accepts your critiques, stepping aside. He brushes past Sunghoon with a smirk you don’t quite catch and the responding boy pushes him into the wall. You nod to Sunghoon next, who steps forward to take his spot, his confidence radiating in a piercing chill around him. He doesn’t wait for further instruction before he’s raising his hand to eye level, creating a razor-sharp shard of ice that cuts through the air and tears straight into the dummy’s chest with cunning precision. Upon impact, the ice splinters, shattering the dummy beyond repair.

Before you can offer your commentary, Sunghoon’s launching himself into a side-flip, a long blade of ice forming in his hands mid-air. When he lands, the floor beneath him transforms into a sheet of ice. With amazing ease, he glides towards the other dummies and wields the blade of ice into each target with a lethalness that has you flinching.

His chest heaves up and down as the ice underneath him dissipates, returning the floor back to its original material. He carries himself with a cold arrogance, his head thrown back as he walks back to the line. “What the hell…” you whisper, not catching the way your eyes ravage his body, his veins bulging out of his arms. Sweat glistens down his porcelain skin and you subconsciously rub your thighs together to quell the unnatural feeling in your core.

“He’s hot, right?” a voice from behind you whispers, loud enough for only you to hear. You turn around only to see Jake standing beside you, just inches away from.

“When the hell did you get here?”

“When Sunoo finished, but you were too busy ogling at Sunghoon to notice.”

“I was not ogling, I was evaluating,” you correct, taking a step away. Jake is quick to compensate for the pathetic distance you try to put between you and him, bringing his body even closer than it was before until you can feel the heat of his body radiate off onto yours. He’s taller than you, not as much as the others, but enough to make you want to crawl inside of yourself and disappear as he breathes in your exhales.

“I may just be a werewolf, a mutt as some of the boys like to call me, but I’m just as strong as Sunghoon,” he whispers, his lips grazing the shell of your ear. “Maybe even stronger.”

His voice sends a rush of heat down to your core, only adding on to the slick that’s coated the seat of your panties. Fueled by a mix of arousal and anger, you force yourself to choose the latter to control your next decisions. Stomping on his foot, hard, you give Jake a throaty snarl, “Get in the damn line.”

Jake smirks, ignoring the pain that shoots up his foot, “I just know you’re gonna be begging for me soon,” he whispers once more before sauntering off to stand next to Jungwon.

“Well?” Sunghoon’s voice pulls you out of your own mental storm and you look up at him, “Any comments, Ms. Y/n?”

“Dial it back a bit,” is all you say, nodding at Niki next. Sunghoon rolls his eyes, biting back a smirk as he plays oblivious to the fact that he didn’t just catch the way you watched his every move as he walked back into the line, staring at him like a bitch in heat. Just like all the others, he thinks to himself as he watches Niki step up to the spot he was in originally.

Niki is your focus of attention now, steadying himself into a ready position before allowing his body to engulf in a rage of flames. He strides towards the group of targets, flaming embers dripping off of him like a molten sweat as he approaches. As he moves closer, a swirl of fire surrounds the targets and fills the air with an eerie, high-pitched laughter that echoes off the walls. The swarm of fire morphs into a crowd of sinister faces that leer at the targets, hauntingly paralyzing if you were to look them in the eye. It’s disorienting, even to watch as a spectator on the sidelines as the faces transform into flaming spears that shoot into the dummies- a copycat of Sunghoon’s ice shards.

The room immediately fills with smoke as the targets burst into flames, smoke stinging your eyes. Sunoo jumps into action then, dousing the fiery targets with a storm of water, clearing out the smoke. The room is silent except for the soft sizzling of the dummies rematerializing in front of you as brand new, like some sort of magic. “Alright, Jake is useless with elements and Jungwon would rather spar than copy our powers, so can we finally start hitting each other?” Sunghoon asks, breaking the tension in the room.

Jake lets out a growl, slamming his fist into Sunghoon’s unsuspecting body, “Suck my cock.”

In a matter of seconds, Sunghoon’s dark brown eyes transition into a furiously bright blue, his hand materializing a razor-sharp ice blade. He lunges towards Jake, raising his arm up at the boy to attack but you step in immediately, a burst of flames surrounding you as you teleport to Sunghoon’s side. “Enough!” you yell out, Sunghoon’s arm held tightly in your hand. “No more of these stupid fights unless it’s during an official match or sparring. And Sunghoon,” you twist his shoulder until he’s wincing, “I will not have you slicing Jake open with your blades of ice.”

You bring your hand down to grip the girth of his ice-blade before looking at the others, “Go to the damn ring and put your wraps on. Now.”

As the group begins to exit, you catch Sunghoon’s arm with a sharp glare. “Not so fast.,” you mutter. A surge of heat pulses through your palm and immediately melts his blade, the crystalline weapon quickly losing its shape and dripping onto the padded floor. With a final shove, you send him stumbling to the ground.

“What the fuck, Y/n?” He hisses, shooting you a blue-eyed glare.

“Out.” You hiss with finality, watching with your eyes as he stomps out of the room. The door slams behind him, echoing with the anger he harbors towards your actions. You could care less- finally alone for a brief moment. You draw in a deep breath, an attempt at steadying your racing pulse. The air is thick with apprehension and you feel a knot developing in your shoulders, one that likely wouldn’t have developed if it weren’t for the boys’ constant bickering. There’s a frustration that bubbles beneath your authoritative facade, one that’s bordering the lines of blowing up.

You lean against the wall and close your eyes for a brief moment, taking that second to let the darkness consume you. In that moment of peaceful blindness, you seek solace in the unknown- almost yearning for your life in isolation to come back. “It’s nice to see someone keep the boys in line,” the voice has you opening your eyes, focusing in on a girl that steps out from the shadows of the training room. Her pink eyes sparkle with warmth as she approaches you, a broad smile painting her face.

“Are you Minnie?”

“What gave it away?” she giggles, “Sorry, something came up yesterday during your orientation so I couldn’t meet with you, but I’ll be able to spend some time with you today.” She takes a hold of your hand, humming softly as a warm glow radiates between the connections.

Her gesture sends a wave of relaxation through your tense body, easing the knot in your shoulders as the light travels through your veins. “I’m a light fairy,” she explains, “one of my powers is to calm people down through touch.”

You smile into her touch, placing your free hand atop your connected ones, “I may need you around me indefinitely,” you prod at the tense air gently, though deep down you both know it’s not entirely a joke. The weight of everything despite it only being your second day was already feeling like too much. Her warmth was like a much needed respite.

Minnie laughs again, infecting you with a joy you didn’t think was possible. When the light between your hands fades, she pulls you out of the room. “Boys!” she exclaims as she approaches the ring, waving at the group of boys who have started warming up. You notice Jay and Heeseung are already there.

Sunoo and Jungwon are the only ones that bother to look up, waving back excitedly before rushing to the edge of the arena, leaning on the rope rings to peer down at the two of you. “Hi noona!” Jungwon says, reaching his hand out toward Minnie.

Minnie connects her hand with his and closes her eyes, a ball of light transferring between their intertwined fingers, “Are you gonna calm them down?” she whispers, a soft melody that could make you fall asleep. Jungwon nods, letting the light dance along his skin before it dissolves when he disconnects their hands and bounds back to the boys to tussle around with them. With his back turned, Minnie looks at you with a melancholic gaze, one that doesn’t really match her vibrant energy from earlier, “The older boys don’t let me touch them, they’re a bit closed off like that, but I get it,” her voice drops off as her gaze drifts back to the older members, a longing sadness in her eyes. Though it doesn’t last long before she turns back to face you, “When they get riled up, Jungwon copies my powers temporarily and does the same thing I did with you. They seem to trust him the most.”

You turn to watch Jungwon, his hands subtly climbing the backs of the older boys as a soft luminescent glow of light identical to Minnie’s pulses from his fingertips and transcends through their bodies. He continues to mess around with them, shadow boxing with the elders as each one of them slowly let their defenses fall.

“My boys don’t get as angry as yours,” Minnie continues, running a hand through her blonde hair. “I think that’s why Yuqi paired me with them. She knows I can only handle so much negativity as a fairy.” She pauses to glance over at the boys once more, smiling when she sees Jungwon’s head stuck in between Sunghoon’s arms- a sisterly affection radiating off of her body. “I think their outbursts are what made the old gym trainer quit. If I’m being honest, they’re quite dangerous when their emotions get the best of them. They’re rough around the edges, but they’re good people on the inside.”

Her words spark a curiosity deep inside of you, and you press on for more info as you continue to watch them from outside of the arena. “Have they known each other for a long time?” You ask, noticing their sibling like energy, despite the tension from earlier.

“I think some of the boys have known each other since they were in the community, and others have just met a year ago when they joined the gym. But they all get along differently, some are really close while others aren’t.” She gives you a grim smile, “I think Sunghoon’s got the most complicated relationships out of all of them. Frost elves aren’t exactly known to be friendly, but he’s different with these boys. I dont think he’d ever really hurt them- at least not seriously. He really cares for them, he just lets his emotions get the best of him.”

Her candid assessment of Sunghoon roots you to the spot, prompting you to process her words right then. You had noticed something too- he was especially closed off when you first met him. There was a storm in his eyes when his gaze landed on yours, one that seemed to cloud his judgement. It was raw and unfiltered, hiding what you felt was a war of control in the back of his mind behind a fog of indifference.

Shaking your head, you give Minnie a grateful nod and gesture to the ring, “Should we get started?” Her face lights up and she slips into the arena, lifting the ropes up for you as you follow after her. You bounce against the padded cushion of the ring, adjusting to the flooring before addressing the group of boys before you. “Let’s start off with Jake and Jay, no powers. Just pure strength and skill.”

Jake and Jay separate from their impromptu shadow boxing match, leaving the other boys to move off to the side, leaning against the ropes like its routine; varying levels of interest on their faces. Sunghoon’s got his arms crossed with a bored expression across his face, like he could be doing anything else than watch other people fight. Next to him, Niki looks intrigued, his head slightly tilted like a little puppy as he awaits the match. The rest of the boys seem indifferent, neither bored nor interested as if they’ve seen this a million times.

In the center of the ring now is Jay and Jake, facing each other as they steady themselves in their own personal ready positions. Jake has his right foot forward, his hands up to his face in a rather tense position as he narrows his eyes at Jay. The latter is more calm, his posture relaxed while his hands are held loosely at his face. “Go.”

Jake is the first to move, bouncing lightly on the balls of his feet as he sizes up Jay, initiating an unspoken agreement to move counter-clockwise in the arena. The two boys circle around one another for a few seconds, each step heavy with tension as their gazes become predatory. Jay throws the first punch, lunging forward with a fast left jab, but Jake anticipates his movement and strides to the side, allowing Jay to graze his ear. Jay overcompensates and passes Jake, barely stumbling forward while Jake’s lip curls into a grin, laughter erupting from his belly.

Rolling his eyes, Jay kicks his foot back, connecting with the back of Jake’s knee. In an instant, Jake is on the ground, dead-legged by his opponent. “Dumbass,” Jay mutters, smirking to himself when he turns around. He steps back, allowing Jake to get back up.

Jake regains his composure quickly, rolling his shoulders back and stretching his neck. Jay moves in one more time- using his right arm this time as he aims for Jake’s jaw, but he ducks out of the way again, throwing a left hook into Jay’s side. The force of his punch has Jay gasping for air, hunching over from the velocity as he staggers back to catch his breath. It doesn’t hurt, but rather knocks the wind out of him. There’s a brief silence as Jay quickly catches his breath, steadying himself as he gives Jake the chance to go on the offense this time.

Sweat is beading on both of their foreheads now as the tension in the air thickens. You watch as Jake begins to circle around Jay again like a predator stalking his prey, locking eyes on him once more. With lightning speed, Jake flies forward to uppercut Jay’s jaw, blood flying in the air as Jay bites down on his tongue- hard. Jay doesn’t falter though, immediately responding with a jab and two crosses to Jake’s face. They stumble away from each other for a brief second before going at it again, throwing a mess of punches and kicks at each other until they can barely hold themselves up.

You get a good look at their faces once they separate- a thick stream of blood spills from Jay’s chin, the familiar taste of metallic filling his mouth. He smiles, teeth bloodied as he’s reminded of the adrenaline from fighting- a chemical surge of power. He brings a wrist to his lip, pulling back to see bright red staining his skin. When he looks at Jake, he observes his best friend in a similar state, a jagged cut across his eyebrow and blood gushing from his left nostril. You don’t even want to imagine the bruises developing beneath their clothes where they clutch at themselves like a kicked puppy.

You step forward, wincing at the blood staining their faces. “Alright, that’s enough,” you say, looking over at their hunched over figures. Jake and Jay, flushed out and breathing heavily begin to unwrap their boxing wraps. Limping to the middle of the ring, they exchange a quick handshake and slap on the back before slipping out of the ring to clean themselves up at the benches. The pungent mixture of sweat and iron has you cringing when it slams into your senses, causing you to wrinkle your nose up in disgust. “We’ll take a quick break and then I’ll have Sunghoon and Heeseung spar next.”

Before you can turn away, a voice- unfamiliar and brooding- slices through the murmur of conversation amongst the group. “Mind if I hop in?” You whirl around to the source of the voice, your gaze landing on a figure taller than everyone in the room standing just a few feet away from the arena. He’s clad in a black zip up jacket and white sweats that hang loosely around his lean, athletic build, “My name’s K. Just signed up at the front desk.”

You tilt your head to the side as you take in his presence. There’s something unsettling about him. The air around him seems dark, hanging off of his frame like a suicide gone wrong. There’s a ringing in your ears as you debate whether or not to let him spar, and without realizing it, Jake steps in front of you. Glancing over at Heeseung, he nods, a look of challenge lighting up in his eyes. “Alright, you can go up against Heeseung. Just give them a few minutes.”

Ten minutes go by quickly and Heeseung is back in the ring along with the others. He’s quick to get into position, hands raised to the front of his face as he plants his feet firmly into the mat of the ring. K lines himself up across from Heeseung in a similar position, ready to start but you hold your hand out. “K, I want to know who you are before starting.”

A wicked grin spreads across his face as he keeps his eyes locked on Heeseung, “You’ll figure it out soon enough, sweetheart.” He taunts, and before you can press further, he lunges.

Heeseung doesn’t hesitate, sidestepping out of K’s trajectory at an almost inhumane speed. As K’s fist whistles past Heeseung’s face, he counters the attack with a right hook aimed towards K’s gut. It doesn’t work as K snaps his body around to catch Heeseung’s punch with an iron-like grip. Heeseung’s eyes widen momentarily but he recovers quickly as he twists his arm out, driving a knee into the taller boy’s stomach.

Again, K blocks the attack and with a violent twist, throws Heeseung to the edge of the ring that you’re standing at. You along with Jungwon, Niki, and Jake quickly separate to make room for Heeseung’s body before he slams against the rubber ropes, landing on the ground with a loud thud. He’s quick to recover, his vampiric speed allowing him to regain his composure within milliseconds. With a new anger raging through him, Heeseung bares his fangs at K as sweat drips down his temple.

K’s smirk never fades as he runs at Heeseung, his fist flying through the air as he closes in on him, but Heeseung dodges. A mirage of relentless punches and kicks are thrown at Heeseung, but he dodges each one by a hair. Quickly fatigued by the sporadic movement, K’s motions become slower and in a moment of weakness, Heeseung delivers a swift uppercut to K’s jaw followed by a sequence of jabs that are delivered with a savage intensity that only a vampire at full strength could display. The force of his blows sends blood gushing from K’s face, his features splitting open in an unattractive display.

K staggers back, suddenly caught off guard by the sheer force of Heeseung’s assault. In a heartbeat, the air shifts and K’s demeanor changes from that of a playfully oppressive gaze to one of a lethal intent. When Heeseung throws one more punch, K catches his fist in his palm mid-air and uses his momentum to slam him into the ground with a bone-cracking force, the impact knocking all of the wind out of Heeseung.

A guttural sound rips from Heeseung’s mouth when his back hits the pad, the impact leaving him clawing for air as you take a step forward out of instinct. Niki’s hand grips your shoulder and he pulls you back, holding you there firmly as he drops his hand down to your forearm. “You worthless vampire,” K whispers, a black tendril stretching out from K’s hand. When you see the shadows unfurl from K’s palm, your breath catches and you move to intervene right as Heeseung’s own red tendrils flare to life, his red eyes glowing with rage. He kicks under K’s hold, their shadows a mess of anger as they collide against each other.

“Enough!” you shout, cutting through the brutal stalemate they seem to be locked into.

K releases Heeseung from his hold, his sinister shadows immediately flowing back into his slender hands while Heeseung rolls away from under him, his chest heaving up and down. “What the hell was that?” you shout, fury boiling under the surface as you clench your fists.

K leans down to match your height, his gaze locking on yours as his eyes cloud over with a black haze, “I’m a necromancer.” He says, his voice dripping with challenge.

A snarl erupts from your throat, barely restrained by the thread of resolve you hold for yourself as you throw a deadly glare at K, “That doesn’t give you the fucking right to try and kill him during practice!” You accuse, the heaviness in your voice punctuated by the chilling tension in the air. You let out a long, shaky sight and rush over to reach for Heeseung, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Are you okay?” You murmur, trying to gauge his emotions.

He flinches under your touch, roughly pulling away from you before giving you a barely noticeable nod, lips held in a tight line as he refuses to meet your concerned gaze. You tongue your cheek with worry as you watch him slip out of the ring and head into the changing rooms, leaving you standing there in the middle of the ring while the rest of the boys pretend to not have watched the whole exchange. A complicated knot of guilt settles in your stomach as you think about what to do, torn between following after him and just staying put.

You’ve only known the boy for a day- barely enough time for you to feel entitled to his trust or to chase after him. In fact, you’ve only known the gym for a day- but there was something sharp that twisted inside of you after seeing him like that.

With a shaky sigh, you turn around but you’re caught off guard when you see Sunoo’s eyes wash over you, but his eyes are vacant, as if he’s looking right through you. His expression is dulled by a glassy sheen, holding a deeper understanding that you can’t quite grasp and it makes the knife in your stomach twist just that much more.

“I think we’re done for today,” You look back at K before slipping out of the ring, ““K, I don’t want to ever see you pulling that shit again.” The atmosphere is thick with hostility as you start to clean up, thick enough you could choke on it. Throwing a bloodied rag into a nearby laundry bin, you spot Yuqi entering the gym, her snake eyes narrowed on K.

You watch as she zips towards him in quick, determined strides. Within seconds, she’s face to face with K, thrusting her hand at his neck. She grabs onto his long neck with a vice-like grip, strangling him. With her serpent-like strength, she slams him into a nearby pillar, the impact echoing through the gym loud enough to have the boys flicking their heads up. K’s eyes widen in shock as he claws at her arm, his arrogant facade breaking as his back slides against the concrete pillar.

“If you ever hurt one of my patrons like that again, I will have you blacklisted from Dusk and Dawn in an instant,” she hisses, her forked tongue flicking out to spray a mist of black venom on his face. The effect is instant, liquid smoke curling up from his skin as the venom sizzles into his flesh, leaving red blisters on his face. She tightens her fingers around his throat for just a second before letting go, letting her threat hang in the air like old laundry.

When she leaves, your mouth hangs open in shock, “You’re catching flies.” Sunghoon says, nudging your chin closed.

You purse your lips, ignoring him as you clasp your hands in an attempt to regain some composure. “Alright…” you trail off, still reeling from the confrontation between Yuqi and K. “Before you guys leave, I’d like to have a one-on-one conversation with each of you. I’ll be over by the benches when you’re ready.”

Despite being able to feel the pounding of your own heartbeat in your damn throat, you stride over to where the benches are, forcing your steps to remain steady and confident. You refuse to show the boys any hints of fear or inferiority, not like the first day.

As you sit down on the benches, you notice Jake is the first one to approach, his presence commanding as ever when he enters your space. “Jake,” you say, patting the spot beside you.

He doesn’t move, rather adjusts the strap on his gym bag that’s slung over his shoulder as he continues to stand in front of you.

“You really should sit. This isn’t supposed to be a quick chat.” You respond, noticing his restraint. “I’m not asking.”

Sighing, he drops onto the bench, letting his bag fall to the floor with a loud thud. “Alright, what’d you need?”

Cutting straight to the point, you ask your first question, “Are you friends with all the boys?”

Jake lets out a deep laugh, his canines flashing at you when he does. “Really? That’s what you want to know?” You roll your eyes, smacking him. “Ok, well I guess you could say we’re all pretty tight. But Sunghoon, he’s a dick through and through, but I know him well enough. I’ve been at this gym for six years now?”

You’re not surprised to hear about his comments towards Sunghoon, his earlier bickering with him being evidence enough that they often butted heads. But your mind thinks back to the journal entry you read about Jake’s past, about his family being torn apart prior to coming here. You shift in your spot, choosing your words with careful precision. “I came across something while I was reading the old trainer’s journal. It said you had supernatural parents. That’s quite rare in Luxta, most of us are found and taken in by The Veil.”

Your question hangs in the air with unspoken emotion as Jake’s entire body tenses at the mention of his late parents, his laughter dying in his throat as he thinks of a response. “Well yeah, I’m a werewolf. We live in packs, but that’s all gone now.” His jaw clenches as the browns of his eyes darken into something deeper. At his sides, his fists repeatedly clench and unclench, his knuckles blanching with each movement. “It’s none of your damn business anyways. Are we done here?”

His voice drips with anger as he stands up, snatching his gym bag in one quick motion. He doesn’t wait for you to answer, instead curling his lips at you, a silent warning for you to stop talking. “Watch your fucking mouth, Y/n. You don’t know anything.” He says before walking off, shoulders tense and you swear you can almost smell the angry pheromones lingering in his absence.

“Don’t mind him, he tends to have extreme mood swings.” Jay says from behind. You turn around to face him, unintentionally letting him catch a glimpse of your sad eyes, mourning the ghost of his presence. His own gaze softens in response when he sees your reaction, and he finds himself fighting this flicker of empathy clawing its way up his throat. “You said you wanted to talk to us?” He says instead, sitting at a comfortable distance from you.

“Right, I just wanted to see how you guys get along, that sort of thing.” You clarify, pausing in order to let him fill in the gaps.

“Ah, I guess you could say I’m pretty close with everyone. Jungwon and I go way back though, I guess I took him under my wing in the community since neither of us were adopted.” He offers you a half-smile as he speaks, but you notice the way he rushes through the word ‘adopted’, as if it’ll hurt him if he lingers on the word too long.

“What was it like growing up in The Veil?”

“It sucked, but I’m not sure the alternative was any better,” he steals a glance at you to which you look down at the floor in a hurry, guilt eating away at you for being one of the few children that were ‘adopted.’ “We were in and out of shelters until we were 16, then Jungwon and I got housed together and then eventually, we were forced to find our own place once we turned 20.”

“And what about Sunghoon?”

“What about me?” That familiar wave of coldness shocks your nervous system and you freeze, feeling it work its way up your veins. Sunghoon’s voice cuts through the chilling temperature, and you steal a glance at the boy standing behind you, his eyes sending daggers into your back. “If you have something to say, say it to my face.”

Jay only laughs, finding the situation amusing. “I think that’s my cue to leave.” He stands up quickly, throwing Sunghoon a hesitant glance before parting.

You meet Sunghoon’s glare, a touch of guilt coursing through you as your core temperature continues to drop. “I’m sorry, Sunghoon,” You say, your voice evident with a mix of frustration and defeat. “Please, can you stop trying to give me hypothermia?”

Your pathetic apology seems to strike a chord in Sunghoon, and for a moment, his usually hard expression falls. Though as quickly as it falls, it tenses right back up as your body bounces back to its original temperature. “I didn’t mean to talk about you behind your back, I just want to know how I can support you.”

Sunghoon crosses his arms, offering you an unamused smile. “I don’t know why you’re so desperate to support me. You’re just a gym trainer.”

His words are like a slap to your face, and you flinch, feeling its harsh sting. He’s right- you’re just a trainer, hired to make sure they don’t kill each other and out themselves to the real world. You know you should keep your distance, but you can’t. That pull you felt yesterday when you met them all, it’s only grown stronger. You weren’t going to let Sunghoon’s attitude freeze you out, not if you could help it.

“Well unfortunately, that’s not up to you.” You counter. “So, can you explain to me why you feel the need to use your temperature manipulation so casually? Why do you choose not to control it around your friends?”

Sunghoon remains indifferent to your question, but you think a small part of him reacts to you saying the word ‘friend.’ “Cuts down on the amount of talking I need to do. Gets the message across that they’re pissing me off when I freeze them, and when they back off, I dial it back.” He pauses for a second before continuing. “And they’re not my friends.”

“Ok, except it doesn’t.” You challenge him, “This isn’t just some simple power where you can use negative reinforcement to condition other people’s behaviors. You can’t punish people into compliance, it’s not ethical.” You hang your head, trying to think of a way to speak to him like you aren’t talking down on him. “I would really appreciate it if you’d put in more effort on keeping it in check. I get it- in a world like this, we can’t trust anyone. But these boys care about you, so it’d be nice for you to reciprocate it.”

When you raise your head, you hold his gaze with your own and notice that the storm in his eyes has cleared. It reappears as quickly as it left, but you saw; his vulnerability melting away that frost and it makes you wonder if there were more layers underneath his cold indifference. It’s clear that this is about as much as Sunghoon is going to give you before he starts to snap at you, so you decide to hold back on prodding any further.

“Anyways, can you tell me if Heeseung is still around?”

“Heeseung should be out of the changing rooms by now,” Sunghoon says, standing up.

“Thanks,” you mutter, following his lead. When he disappears from your vision, you make your way over to the changing rooms, a tired drag in your step. “Heeseung?” You say into the tiled hallway, your voice bouncing off the walls- but no response. You wonder if he had already left, but you don’t recall ever seeing him leave, so you decide to wait a little longer, the quietness of the gym almost suffocating as time drags on.

As you lean against the concrete, you watch as the younger boys wave bye to you, smiling joyfully as they head out. The minutes pass by slowly and you’re almost worried that Heeseung slipped out without you noticing, you were really hoping to talk to him before the end of your shift. The weight of your concern had only grown heavier in his absence. When you’re about to push off the wall and leave, Heeseung emerges.

You almost forget the list of things you want to address with Heeseung by the time he comes out, but it slips your mind anyways when you see his eyes glowing an unnatural red. “Heeseung?”

“Move.” He snarls, baring his fangs at you. You notice his skin has turned into a pale white, drained of its energy as he pushes past you with an abrupt shove, practically forcing you into the wall but you catch yourself, grabbing him by the collar of his leather jacket.

“Don’t talk to me that way.” You snap, shoving him back.

“I’m not going to tell you again, Y/n. I said, move.” His voice carries the weight of a thousand suns as he stares hard into your eyes- and for a moment, you almost waiver, feeling a hypnotic force to obey his order. It’s strong, and it almost pains you to reject this invisible beckoning, but you have to. Despite his intense stare, you grit your teeth and clench your fists, ignoring the uncomfortable ache in your core.

Your eyes lock onto his, acutely aware of the bright orange hue that has now plagued your irises as you struggle to maintain control. “Heeseung…” You gasp just before he crashes his mouth against yours.

With his lips on yours, the grip on your throat falters and he moves his hands to clutch at the sides of your face while shoving his knee between your legs. His fangs plunge into your bottom lip, puncturing the soft tissue until a stream of blood flows down your chin. You groan into his mouth as he begins to suck on your lip, tasting the warmth of your blood with a savage intensity. His tongue draws up and down your chin, soaking up each drop of blood that pulses out of your lip all while grinding his knee into your core, picking up on the scent of your essence leaking out of your cunt. His tongue plunges into your mouth and you taste the iron of your own blood on your tongue. It’s disgusting really, but the desperation of his kisses has you weak and reeling for more. You can’t help but get off on the taste of your own blood seeping through his tongue.

Shock and arousal have you drunk on Heeseung, but you summon every once of strength in you to shove him off of you with the strength of a phoenix. He stumbles backwards, flying into the edge of one of the sinks. “What the fuck!” he shouts, his voice dripping with fury and hunger. Heeseung clutches at his side, the impact likely adding on to the bruises from earlier.

“What the hell, Heeseung!” You shout, panting as you reach your hand to your lips, a drop of blood staining the microscopic divots of your fingers.

“I told you to fucking move!” He shouts back, massaging his side.

Your mind races as you think back to his journal entry. Glowing red eyes, disturbed senses, compulsive what? You wrack your brain for the rest of his vampiric rage symptoms, but the adrenaline of it all has your mind scrambled of any rationality. What was it that you had to do when he became like this? You’re so busy caught up in your own mind that you don’t notice Heeseung approaching you again, each of his steps dripping with savage lust.

He reaches out a hand, grabbing your arm and with unnatural speed and force, he pulls you into him. Your body abruptly presses against his, and the unmistakable feeling of his cock presses against your hip. “Focus on me,” he growls, forcing your eyes on him, “Only me.” The glowing intensity of his eyes ensnares your mind like a trap, leaving you gasping for air. A surge of slick gushes out of your cunt, pooling at the seat of your panties and leaving you with a desperate ache in your core. There’s a striking need to keep your eyes locked on his, a primal urge to surrender yourself to him entirely as his glowing red eyes pierce the amber haze of your own- igniting a part of your heart that you didn’t realize was dormant.

In one swift motion, Heeseung rips apart your top and latches his mouth onto your nipple while his hands massage your ass, pulling you plush against him. “Damnit, Y/n,” he moans, his fangs digging into the flesh of your breasts. “Couldn’t fucking listen… Just had to get in my fucking way.” He pulls you in by the ass, grinding his cock against you as he sucks on your nipple, his fangs nipping at the delicate flesh. His hand slaps your ass harshly, the sound of his palm landing against your cheek echoing in the chambers of the locker room. The sting of his hand against your ass only sends another gush of slickness through you, earning a dark chuckle from Heeseung. “I can fucking smell how turned on you are. You like it when I slap you?”

Blinded by an overwhelming wave of lust, you throw your head back and comb your fingers through his hair, relishing in the way his tongue flicks over your bud. “Hee, m-more.” You beg, feeling the trickle of something wet fall from where he’s sucking.

You look down only to see a shiny line of red trailing down your bare stomach, staining your leggings next. Heeseung licks a stripe up your stomach, catching the flow of red onto his tongue, groaning in delight as the taste of your blood soaks into his taste buds. In one sudden movement, Heeseung hoists you up and moves you to the counter, ripping your leggings off along with your panties. You lay bare before him now, back pressed on the counter, but you don’t even care. Your body is on fire, every nerve of yours flaring like a wildfire. You feel so overwhelmed with the desire to fill your pussy with something, anything- that you’re clawing at the air. “Please- I need you.”

“Use that fucking mouth of yours, baby. What do you need?” You mewl out a response as Heeseung dives headfirst into your cunt, pressing a rough kiss on your heat. The warmth of his tongue against her bundle of nerves leaves you shaking, moans erupting from your throat. He practically growls as he slides his tongue between your folds, getting a taste of your sopping pussy. “So fucking wet, you like disobeying me?”

You don’t say anything, instead opting to cry out and moan as he continues his assault on your cunt. “I asked you a fucking question,” he demands, slapping a hand down on your pussy.

The slap sends shockwaves through your body, the sting of his hand only offering you brief stimulation. “N-no, Heeseung! I’ll be good!” You shout, dragging your hands through his hair to pull him towards you while you buck your hips up. He brings his face down to kiss at your pussy again, rocking up and down so his nose rubs against your clit while he eats away at your core. You let your eyes wander down to his face, catching the sultry stare he gives you as he flicks his tongue in and out of your entrance.

Eventually, Heeseung slides three fingers in at once, not bothering to prep you as he deems the amount of slick pooling on the counter enough. “Fuck!” You scream, feeling the stretch of your walls adjust to the girth of his fingers. He pumps his digits in and out of you at a savage pace, ghosting his lips over your thighs as he does.

“Keep screaming, baby. Let me hear you.” He moans, biting down on your thigh suddenly. You scream out, a mixture of pain and pleasure shooting through you when you feel his fangs piercing your skin once again. The sound of his lips sucking around the wound sends another gush of arousal out of your cunt and you can feel a warmth building up in your lower abdomen. He sucks vigorously on the wound, wrapping his arm around your other thigh and massaging it generously.

“H-Heeseung-” You whine, squirming in his hold. “I-I’m close!”

“Cum on my mouth, let me taste you,” he encourages, moving around your thighs to press more bites into. A particular spot, closer to your pelvis, is bitten and that’s all you need to let go, the coil releasing as your pussy begins to clench around Heeseung’s fingers indefinitely. “Fuck, good girl, Y/n.” He says, moving his mouth back to your pussy, lapping at your folds. He sucks on your bud, drinking up your arousal as pleasure washes through your body like a tsunami. “So sweet,”

You shudder under his touch as his tongue stays extra diligent in swirling around your clit while he finishes you off. “Turn around,” he demands, helping you slide off the counter.

You struggle to stand up, entirely relying on Heeseung as he presses you against the counter, your breasts rubbing against the coldness of the counter. Behind you, Heeseung shoves his jeans and briefs down, allowing his cock to spring free, the tip an angry red from his neglect. “Give me your hands,” he says, catching them in the air as you throw your arms back. “Good girl,” he coos.

With his one free hand, he flicks it forward and a red tendril forms, ghosting from his palm like liquid smoke. “You’re gonna be good for me, right?” he asks, smirking as the red wisps move to coil around your wrists like a makeshift handcuff.

You nod anxiously, tears pricking your eyes as the strain of your hands behind your back begins to pull on your muscles. “My good fucking girl.” He says before plunging his cock into your soaking pussy, immediately followed by the snap of his hips. You scream as his cock fills you up, the girth stretching you out all at once. With the coil of his tendrils holding your arms captive behind your back, he lets his hands wander to your hips until they’re bruising you, using them as leverage to piston his cock in and out of you.

You have no idea for how long he continues, but you know he goes long enough to fuck you through two more orgasms before he begins to slow down. When he does, he reaches forward to grab you by your throat, pulling you to his chest. His lips ghosts over your pulse point as he continues to snap his cock into your pussy, the drag of his cock having you reel with pleasure. “I can taste your fucking pulse,” he whispers, licking your neck. You shiver under his touch, the warmth of his breath causing you to unintentionally clench around his member. “Don’t fucking squeeze like that,”

“Heeseung, I- I’m gonna cum again,” you cry, biting your lip as you close your eyes, too tired to keep them open.

He stays silent as he drags his mouth further down your neck, puncturing a few more spots as he soaks up the red liquid quickly. “So sweet, you taste so good.” He snaps his hips into you even deeper than before, the tip of his cock brushing against your G-spot now.

“Hee,” you beg, focusing on the stretch of his cock. You open your eyes just in time to see a collection of red tendrils surrounding you, some crawling up your body and you suddenly become acutely aware of the ghostly feeling of them roaming your bruising skin. They tickle the fine hairs of your body, leaving you a shaking mess before Heeseung as he continues to ravage your pussy.

The added stimulation sends you over the edge and you’re coming for the fourth time, crying out as you wrap your walls around Heeseung’s member tightly. “Fuck, I’m coming Y/n!” Heeseung shouts, shoving his cock up to the hilt of your pelvis.

With a few more thrusts, he stills, allowing his cum to bury itself deep within your womb. Spurts of cum shoot into you at such a force you feel each rope hit your walls, clenching around him as his dick pulses inside of you. Heeseung lets go of you once he starts to soften, his rosy mist disappearing into thin air as you collapse onto the cold surface of the counter. Without warning, he slides out of you and you wince, listening to him zip himself back into his jeans.

Your body is still shaking from the aftermath of your release when you hear Heeseung’s footsteps echo out of the changing room. When it fades, you’re left alone and bare, laying against the cool surface of the counter. In the absence of his presence, a wave of clarity rushes through you, replacing any lingering heat you once had. You can’t help but let out a string or curse words as you fumble around to put your clothes back on, each movement a cold reminder of your impulsive endeavors, your muscles already feeling the dull ache.

As you pull your leggings on, you feel the unwelcome sensation of his cum slowly leaking down, slick and cold now. At this point, you’re too focused on getting home to care- letting it trickle down your thigh as you head back home into the rising daylight. When you finally reach the temporary sanctuary of your studio apartment, you reach for your journal first. Shadow manipulation, you write that besides the writer’s notes on Heeseung’s page before collapsing face-first onto your bed, letting sleep consume you immediately.

read part 2 here

Taglist: @heesimp, @kyunlov, @quill-ink, @lunaritex, @jiryunn, @jakeswifez, @fancypeacepersona, @nshmrarki, @ikaw-at-ikaw, @wilonevys, @strxwbloody, @capri-cuntz, @riribelle, @machambrx, @vousty, @rebeccakan

Permanent taglist: @kittys00, @ikaw-at-ikaw, @17ericas

#enhypen #enhypen x reader #heeseung #jay #jake #sunghoon #sunoo #jungwon #ni-ki #niki #minnie #yuqi #k #enhypen supernatural #enhypen fightclub #enhypen smut #enha #enha x reader #blood on fire

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suguruspit · 5 months ago

Text

Lockjaw

warnings: oral sex (f!receiving), come eating, Gojo is a certified munch, situationship, exhibitionism, masturbation (reader), semi-public sex, car sex, f!ngering, squirting, overstim, dancing around feelings, panties fetish (?), eating out with panties on

A/N: Gojo Satoru being a complete nasty freak and munch is something that is very special to me. He definitely uses those six eyes for inappropriate things don't even JOKE (this was a request :P)

It was a random hook-up that started his slight obsession. On and off for years, and this particular part of his kinky nature never came to light.

"I'm serious, Gojo." You snort, the tip of your finger swirling around the rim of your glass as you rest your chin in your hand. "I'm not the type of girl to lose my panties to the first guy who makes a pass at me."

Gojo studies you, eyes hidden under that thick black fabric as he hums, stretching his legs out as he stands up from his bar stool, holding out a hand to you as you raise an eyebrow in response.

"I'll take you home." A simple sentence, one that he says with such ease that you don't think anything of it, despite him practically begging to let him get you off in bathroom.

It's not like the two of you haven't shared a bed before, admittedly you'd been thinking about texting him a simple 'you free?' earlier before he'd walked straight into the bar you were in- but, he's just your coworker now.

Walking into that damn school and immediately thinking about The Gojo Satoru on his knees with his mouth buried in your pussy had made working with him a complete nightmare. There's only so many times you can excuse yourself to the bathroom to bury your fingers in yourself for some kind of relief. Thus; the ban.

"I don't know.." You eventually reply, your voice full of uncertainty despite the fact that your body is already up and moving off the stool, and you smile to yourself as Gojo wraps his jacket around your shoulders, leaving him in that ridiculously tight white shirt. "I guess you're a safer option than a random man."

"Gee, thanks." Gojo snorts, offering you his elbow with an exaggerated bow, making you laugh as you stumble slightly on your way back to the car.

It's cold out, which is part of the reason why you'd gone straight to the bar after your bad mission instead of just walking it off. Plus, there's nothing a little wine can't fix after Shoko has actually fixed you.

You shiver a little as you pull Gojos' jacket a little tighter around yourself. The cold air is making the wetness of your panties a lot more obvious, and your cheeks burn with both shame and alcohol as you walk unsteadily back to that fancy ass car you knew Gojo would have driven all the way here.

"You know," Gojo says with a joy in his voice that makes you wince. It's never a good sign when he's confident, even less when he's full on grinning like a shark down at you. "I know you've made yourself all messy just thinking about my offer."

Fuck. This was a trap.

"You've been avoiding my calls," Gojo continues, sniffing as he opens the back door to his car, patiently waiting for you to slide yourself onto the seats, which you do albeit a little hesitantly.

The cold leather against your wet panties has you biting your lip and Gojo just grins at you, leaning on the car door all cocky with his frustrating smirk as he asks you; "You sure I can't convince you?"

Your hand clutches your skirt a little too tightly, the black Jujutsu uniform that was built to be lightweight suddenly feeling suffocating.

"I meant it-" You start, as you look back at him with fluttering eyelashes and a semi-serious expression. You pout your lips purposefully as you spread your legs the tiniest amount, anticipation shooting through your spine as you notice him start to breathe harder. "My panties, staying on."

An odd hill for you to die on, but apparently it wasn't a hill that would stop Gojo as he's clambering into the back of the car and folding his long legs with a heavy 'fuck'.

You let out a moan as you look down in front of you, Gojo is balancing himself in-between the sets of seats so that he can be eye-level with your cunt, bandana pushed up into that messy white hair as his eyes practically glow in the dark car. It's electric the way he looks at you, and you bite your hand as he lowers his nose, breathing in the scent of your arousal with a low groan.

"Not a problem, princess."

"You're such a freak," You breathe out, but you aren't really one to talk as you feel yourself getting even wetter as he nips and bites at your plush thighs. You rest your head on the headrest as you shuffle your hips down, letting out a little sob as Gojos' tongue finally drags its way up your wet underwear.

It's perverted, the way that it gets you wriggling and writhing. That wet cotton sticks to you as he starts swirling his tongue on your clit, the texture of the fabric dragging against you with each movement making the pleasure all that more unbelievable.

It's wet, spit and slick noises filling the car as he groans and whines into your pussy, thanking you over and over as he palms himself, never faltering in his open-mouthed kisses to your pretty pink lacy panties, suckling gently over the slightly raised mound of your clit after at least ten minutes of teasing.

"Fuck, I-" You breathe out, the air so thick that your chest is heaving. Your thighs are aching from the way he's using both strong hands to hold them open, your hands buried in those snowy locks as you force his mouth to where you want it, practically riding his face in the back of his fancy-ass car. "Holy shit, I'm going to cum."

Gojo just nods desperately through your struggling words, jaw and tongue moving even faster as he whines with flushed cheeks and spit-shiny lips into you, his hand leaving one of your thighs to rub himself off, and that sight is what gets you shaking.

"Fuck, Gojo." You whine as you reach your peak, hips stuttering and fingers tightening in his hair. The sight of him sobbing into your pussy as his chest tinges pink and the front of his pants get darker has you staggering through a second wave, your orgasm dripping through your panties sluggishly and covering the back seat of the car. "Holy shit."

Gojo pulls back, absolutely wrecked. His face is adorably pink, eyes half-lidded as he looks at you with a satisfaction that has your heart stuttering. There's your slickness spread across his lips and chin, and he gathers it with his thumb just to push it past his own lips with a cocky grin, all teeth and charm as you curse.

"Still going to ignore me?"

And ignore him you did, or you tried.

But the stuffy conference room is getting unbearably warm as you shift in your seat, willing your throbbing cunt to stop as you avoid Gojos' gaze across the table.

He's sitting in that ridiculous way he does, ass half in his seat as he sits like its his own personal throne, long legs hanging over the edge of it as he makes a show of dragging his tongue up and down the popsicle he'd opted to eat in the middle of the meeting, much to your own dismay.

The incredibly boring old bastards just sneer at him with disgust as he joyfully sucks on his fingers, swirling his tongue to collect all that sticky juice that had dribbled past his lips and onto those long digits.

It's like your own personal torture, and you bite your lip and send a quick prayer that the ancient elders are too busy scolding your coworker to notice the way your own hand is buried in between your thighs, your skirt just long enough to cover the way your fingers are driving themselves in and out of your pussy.

As an elder starts talking about the newest development in the Zen'in council, you take the time to wiggle out of your panties, leaving them hanging around your ankle riskily.

Your cheeks burn and your heart is hammering as you glance around the table, eyes shifting between your unknowing audience as you force yourself to be quiet.

That pressure is building up your spine, your thighs aching as you shift in your seat, stammering out a quick reply as the man closest to your right asks if you need a break.

"She's alright," Gojo waves his hand as he replies, although you notice his ears are pink and there's a thin sheen of sweat on his forehead. "Fed up of you old bastards, I'm sure."

You shake your head in disagreement, and your fingers are buried knuckle deep in your pussy as you stop for a breath, terrified to move in fear of being caught. There's juices leaking around your fingers, the chair slippery as your folds slide against the chair as you wiggle yourself, full of impatience despite your mental battle.

There's a buzz of your phone, and you bite your lip, glancing around you before deeming it safe enough to check. Your breath leaves you in a half-disguised moan that goes unnoticed around the table as you read it.

Gojo: don't stop now, I know ur close

You could almost cry as you lock eyes with him, and he just winks before divulging into another complaint about an improperly labelled curse. It all turns into background noise as you continue to bully your own cunt, wet walls hugging your fingers tightly as you get closer and closer.

Burying your chin into your chest as you start to reach your peak, tears burn in your eyes as you feel that familiar wet heat stirring in your gut. Fuck, not now.

You panic and make frantic eye contact with your friend across the table, but it's too late as you stutter and your fingers curl just right. Gojo's eyes widen slightly, and he's coughing just loud enough to cover the wet sound of your release flooding the chair.

Thankfully, the elders are already taking their leave, the nicest of them all wishing you better health as he leaves with a polite bow, and you just stammer out a weak 'thank you'.

The silence of the room is embarrassingly loud as you're left to shimmer your panties back on properly, the fabric wet with your own squirt as you wince at the wet-on-wet sensation, too caught up in your own head to notice the way Gojo has stalked his way over.

"What are you-" You try to complain, but it's stolen from you as he shoves your chair away from the table, already sinking to his knees in front of you, groaning at the way your juices spill onto his pants. "Gojo, please."

"Yeah," He replies hoarsely, already pushing his bandana up to keep his hair out of the way as he buries his face where you begged for it, his nose rubbing against your clit as you sob and writhe. "Fuck. You're too much, baby."

"Not your baby," You whine out as his tongue pushes against your clothed folds, making it even more wet and lewd than it already is.

You outright moan as his fingers peel the wet fabric to the side, one of those long digits sliding all the way into your cunt, curling up and finding that spongy spot immediately, already working on milking a second orgasm out of you.

It's embarrassing how fast that high is creeping up your spine, the way your clit pulses and the way your walls tighten as Gojo sets to work, that overly obnoxious mouth for once silent as its full of you.

The sounds of Gojos' sloppy make-out session with your pussy filling the silent room, and you bite your hand to stop yourself from crying out as your toes curl in anticipation.

It's always so intense with Gojo, those damn Six Eyes knowing every inch of your body biblically and hitting those pleasure points ruthlessly - all you can do is hang on as best you can. And that's what you do, shaking fingers weaving into his hair as you pull and twist and whine as he alternates between delicate circles and hard swipes with his tongue.

The sloppy and wet sounds of your pussy pull you out of that foggy haze, your folds slick and shining from where they're parted with Gojos' nose, his blue eyes focused on you as he pumps his fingers in and out to the rhythm of his tongue. You babble something incoherent as your orgasm builds, your back tensing as you feel that unmistakable wave.

Gojo just curls his fingers once more and holds the pressure, his other hand pressing down on your lower belly, making you practically shout as you gush down his forearm, the force of it almost making you black out as it lasts forever.

And he sweet talks you the whole time.

"So fucking good princess, fuck, look gorgeous-shit" He groans, eyes rolling back as he fucks his own fist, panting and looking up at you with pleading eyes and flushed cheeks. "Let me finish on you, please."

You whimper out a 'yeah, do it baby' and that's all it takes for that milky-white sticky cum to paint your stomach, some of it hitting your chin as you moan, taking in the way his eyes screw shut and his jaw locks as he strokes himself through it.

Gojo whispers out a hoarse 'thanks' before his forehead rests against your thighs, he kisses and bites them gently as he regains his breath, and you soothe the pulled locks of hair with your fingertips.

If only you weren't planning on calling in sick to completely avoid him tomorrow.

That plan only worked for so long, there's only so many times you can ask to trade missions before people start to get curious, especially Nanami.

"You won't work with him, and that's not what's best efficient for the entire team."

You groan as you walk, dragging your feet and hanging your head as you follow him to the hall. He's not wrong, but how do you tell your perfectly respectable friend that the reason you can't work with him is because you act like a bitch in heat whenever you see his stupid fucking face?

"Perhaps," Nanami hesitates as he speaks, that normally monotone voice breaking unevenly. You look up at him curiously, only to find him watching you kindly already. "You could try to transfer?"

To Kyoto? Yeah. No thanks. You scoff to yourself, hoping he doesn't pick up on it. If he does, he's too gentlemanly to say anything, unlike a certain somebody.

"It's alright, I'll talk to him tonight after some liquid courage." You affirm, hoping you sound a lot more confident than you feel as you reach out for the door with a shaking hand.

Tonight being the staff party that Gojo and Shoko insisted on. You'd be lying if you weren't a little bit hopeful, your best baby-blue lacy set sitting neatly underneath a low-cut black cocktail dress. Normally, you'd say this is how you always dressed for a party. And normally, Nanami would pretend you were telling the truth.

"You're too good for him." Nanami simply says as you both step in, already cringing at the volume level. Both Tokyo and Kyoto teachers had come together, meaning the more rowdy bunch from Kyoto were already leading the party. "If you need me, text. Try not to, though."

And with that, you're alone.

You hum to the music, swaying a little bit as you make your way to the drinks table without looking like it was your one and only goal. You probably fail, but Shoko is there to hand you a red plastic cup and grin at you as you sigh in relief at the strong smell emanating from it.

"He's gone to get ice." She simply says, rolling her eyes at your fake attempt to seem uninterested. "In fact, he's been a while. Check that he hasn't warped himself into a coma, will you?"

You startle a bit at that, cradling your cup to your chest as you read her face for any tells that she's lying.

"He's done that?" You ask doubtfully, but you've already set your cup down in preparation for the hunt down.

"Not since we were kids." Shoko shrugs, and then she's shooing you off.

It doesn't take long, there's only so many freezers in the building, and there was no way he as hiding in the main kitchen. No, he's in the stupid dorm kitchen that you all used to share as kids.

"You get lost?" He calls out to you as you curse at the cold air, hands rubbing your arms as you step through the doorway with an unimpressed pout. "Ice machine is taking a while, tell Shoko to cool her tits."

"Incredible," You mutter as you take in his outfit. Tight black pants paired with a cream sweater that's practically hanging off his sharp collarbones, his hair down for once. He also has those sunglasses on that you find hot, despite being nothing particularly special. "You're almost thirty, stop talking like a frat boy."

He pouts at that, faking a tear-wipe with his finger as he hangs his head. You resist a smile as you watch him, instead choosing to hop up onto the counter with practised ease from your youth.

"Can't you like, infinity it faster?" You ask, just to wind him up. All these years, an on and off relationship, and you still pretend to not understand his technique because you know that really gets under his skin.

"You suck." Gojo says as he sticks his tongue out, but you see the way his eyes undress you, the way he lingers his gaze on your thighs. You sigh, and shimmy your hips down.

"I'd offer to get undressed, but something tells me you'd prefer me to keep the panties on."

That has him freezing from his current path towards that sweet spot between your thighs, looking up at you like a deer caught in headlights. You just hum, spreading your thighs.

"Well go on then," You say nonchalantly, letting your thighs fall even more open, exposing the flimsy black lace that covers your pretty pussy, the sheen of arousal already evident. "You have five minutes before Shoko and Nanami come looking for me."

Gojo lets out a cocky laugh, pulling his sweater off as he rolls his neck. Those ridiculous abs already pulled tight as he crouches, looking up at you under those stupid sunglasses that you love so much;

"Plenty of time."

You just laugh through your own moans as he gets to work.

Gojo never thought he'd get the chance to taste you so freely, after you broke things off the last time he thought that might have been it. But he's Satoru Gojo, he wouldn't be himself if he didn't push his luck, especially with you.

The first time he eats you out with your panties still on, it's an accident. One of the last times you'd been together, you were wearing this honey gold set that had drove him crazy, his spit and your slick mixing so deliciously over that fucking lace that it unlocked something in him.

Then, you'd decided that what you both had wasn't working, and all he was left with was that pair of honey gold lace panties to work over his dick desperately as he chased that memory of the way you came with your panties half-stuffed inside you from his tongue.

When he'd gotten the chance to eat you out after that visit from the bar, he'd been so excited to get his tongue on you, on that rough lace, that as soon as you'd finished all over his tongue, that honey-sweet thick taste that drove him crazy, he'd cum in his pants like a horny teenager.

The second time he was more prepared, as soon as he'd noticed your beautiful flushed cheeks as you wiggled across the table from him, he'd used his Six Eyes to watch your every move, getting harder and harder as you got yourself off in a room full of unsuspecting old geezers. It took everything in him not to bust as you fucking squirted, his cough managing to cover that lewd sound that drove him crazy. As you got yourself through that haze, he'd told them all to get fucked and that he'd talk with them one-by-one at a later date.

Getting on his knees and holding your knees up as he cleaned you up through your dripping wet finish was the next best thing to being in you. And your reaction when he'd added a single finger? Fuck.

The staff party was his final straw, eating you out and holding your hips as you rode his face in your old dorms, even though you knew his perverted little secret. He knew he had to patch things up with you.

Currently, he's up to the hilt in you, rubbing soothing circles into the plush flesh of your thigh as you breathe through the sudden fullness of him. All that smart-mouthing you loved to do to him, gone the second he'd peeled the pretty purple panties to the side and slid right in.

Your walls are so tight, pussy so fucking perfect. And he tells you, whispers it right into your ear as he rocks gently into you despite the urge to fuck you raw.

"Shut the fuck up, Satoru." You'd moaned back, still as feisty as the day you'd met. He grinned into your shoulder, biting down onto your ear lobe as he tuts his disapproval.

"If you truly hated me, you wouldn't keep wearing these frilly little things." And he watched in total satisfaction as you turned a cute shade of pink.

Yeah. Fucking made for him, alright.

And if you used his black card to purchase as many lace sets as you could find, who was he to stop you?

#gojo smut #gojo x reader #satoru gojo x reader #satoru gojo smut #jjk x you #jjk x reader #jjk smut

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