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anxiouscherubs · 3 months ago

Text

find you in my heart

✦ summary: the one where you get dumped and your best friend is there to help you realize what you truly deserve… what’s been in front of you all along.

✦ warnings/tags: MDNI! 18+, explicit, smut, slight angst, some fluff, oral sex (f receiving), oral sex (m receiving), fingering, throat fucking, big dick yh, unprotected sex (be safe!), yh is desperately in love, best friends to lovers, mutual pining, mentions of cheating (past relationships), yh and reader met as baristas, pet names, au where jeong yunho can actually cook, yunho is a lil possessive

✦ pairing: nonidol!yunho x reader

✦ author’s note: as a yunho ult, a yh best friends to lovers has been at the top of my list of things to write. i started this fic after yun posted these photos because i just could not get the vision of late night walks with him out of my head! i am new to writing so any feedback is appreciated. i hope you enjoy ♡ as always, thank you to my lovely best friends for enabling me and proofreading my depravity. love you guys forever. ♡

✦ word count: 12.9k

✦ read it on ao3: here

Two years. Two years down the drain because your ex decided he “wasn’t feeling it anymore.” You had a sneaking suspicion his change of heart had to do with his hot new coworker, but you couldn’t think too far into it or it would rip you apart more than he already had.

He had grown distant, and you chalked it up to the stress of his new job. But when he started staying late every other day and missing your sacred Thursday date nights, you knew it was the beginning of the end. You were happy together (most of the time), but you were never certain you could see yourself spending the rest of your life with him. There were certain things about him that you tolerated, but you wanted your forever to be spent with someone who felt perfect for you. And he… didn’t.

Even though you knew he wasn’t who you’d spend your life with, it stung just the same to receive his messages.

loser: hey y/n… i’ve been thinking about this for a while now but i think it’s time for us to part ways.

loser: we’ve had a good run, but i’m just not really feeling it anymore. i hope you understand.

loser: wish you the best. xx

You’d changed his contact and blocked his number immediately, saving yourself from the hurtful words he’d throw your way if you tried to ask for any reasoning or clarification. He always turned into a different person the moment you tried to express your emotions.

“She’s just a coworker, y/n, stop being crazy. You don’t have to worry about her.”

You push his words out of your brain again before they take over. So what if he left you for her? They probably deserve each other. You knew you were better off, that wasn’t the issue. It was that you settled for two years, letting this man who clearly didn’t respect you treat you like an afterthought the entire time. The more you think about it, the more you blame yourself for placing such little value on your own time and energy.

You sit on your couch, your coffee table littered with tear-soaked tissues and instant ramen cups. You haven’t left the house since you got The Texts last night, and you've watched a season of your favorite crime show and eaten your body weight in Buldak since then. You know you can’t sit here and wallow anymore or you’ll start to lose your mind, so you drag yourself to the bathroom to assess the damage. Eyes red and puffy from crying, hair tangled and tied loosely in a scrunchie, tear drops lingering on the same sweatshirt you’d been wearing for the last 24 hours. You look like hell.

“I need to get out of this apartment,” you say to yourself. You pull out your phone and send a quick text to your best friend before hopping in the shower. After washing your hair 3 times, shaving your legs, and exfoliating the sadness away, you’re finally starting to feel human again. You wrap yourself in your favorite towel before checking your phone again.

y/n: yunnie… are you free tonight?

yunho: for you? absolutely. you ok? haven’t heard from you all day.

Of course he’d notice you going MIA for a day. You and your best friend texted every single day, sending quick little updates or funny videos. He’d probably been worried sick, but he never wants to pry. He’s always respected your space like that.

y/n: long story. i’ll explain later.

y/n: meet me in front of blossom in 30?

Blossom was the cafe you and Yunho met working at. You were both burning the candle at both ends working nearly full time as baristas during your senior year of college. Your closing shifts together kept you sane during finals, blasting music and sharing your life stories while you cleaned up the shop. He’d even walk you home, after every closing shift, never wanting to let you walk alone so late. You both gave your two weeks notice right after graduation, but promised each other you’d make up for all the time you wouldn’t spend working together anymore.

That was four years ago, and he’d been such a stable presence in your life since then. You’d grown closer over the years, spending countless movie nights and BBQ dates together. He knew everything about you (after a movie night with too much wine and lots of oversharing) and hadn’t gone running for the hills, so you knew he really cared. You didn’t really have time to make friends in college because you were either working, in class, or studying, so he was really all you had. He was your safe space. You both stayed close by after graduation, staying in your apartments in the city 2 blocks from the cafe on either side. It was nice having your best friend so close by, and the cafe remained a staple in your friendship as a middle point between your two homes. In your reminiscing, you realize you missed your Saturday morning coffee date with him.

yunho: of course, bean. i missed you this morning.

Your heart fluttered in your chest at the nickname. It always does. That, and when he calls you sweetheart. Your heart almost came up your throat the first time he pulled that one. Yunho started calling you bean after you spilled an entire bag of light roast on the cafe floor trying to refill the hopper for the openers. He’ll never let you live that one down. You remembered giggling and scooping coffee beans off the floor on your hands and knees together, his hand brushing over yours when you both reached for the dustpan, your eyes meeting, breath quickening…

You shake the memory from your brain, coming back to reality just as you both had snapped out of it in the moment four years ago, scattering to finish cleaning up and avoiding eye contact the rest of the night. You always dismissed the electricity you felt when his skin touched yours, blaming the exhaustion from working a closing shift after being up all night studying. He had a girlfriend at the time, he wouldn’t have been interested in you that way anyway. He’s your friend, y/n, be realistic. You’re reaching. You send another quick text before getting dressed, and he of course responds right away.

y/n: i missed you too, i’m sorry i should’ve texted. it’s been a shitty 24 hours. i’ll see you soon

yunho: no need to apologize. i’ll be there, see you in a bit.

25 minutes pass and you somehow manage to make yourself look somewhat presentable. You dried your hair and pulled half of it up in a claw clip, leaving some pieces out to frame your face. You threw on some concealer and a bit of blush, trying to hide how puffy your eyes still were. It was a chilly fall night, so you opted for your favorite pair of light wash jeans and an oversized black sweater, accompanied by your beat up black chelsea boots and your gray wool coat.

After a quick 5 minute walk you round the corner to see Yunho standing in front of the cafe, his back facing you. Of course he’s right on time. His broad shoulders fill out the black jacket he’s wearing, his crossbody bag tucked under his arm. The neon sign in the cafe window leaves a purple hue reflecting off his freshly dyed dark gray hair. He turns his head at a car passing by, and you catch yourself smiling at the lost puppy look in his eyes. He must’ve seen you approaching in his peripheral, his head snapping in your direction. A subtle smile plays on his lips as he locks eyes with you. His warm brown eyes are full of an emotion you can’t quite name.

Your chest aches at the realization that your ex, in the two years you were together, never looked at you like that. Why did you ever think you were important to him? Your throat suddenly tightens and your vision starts to blur, tears welling in your eyes for the millionth time today. Yunho’s smile drops, his brow furrowing as he takes two long strides to meet you.

“Y/n, what is it, what happened?” He reaches for your shoulders to hold you steady, but you push forward to bury your face in his chest. He wraps his arms around you without hesitation, one hand cradling the back of your head while the other snakes around your shoulders. Your hands find his waist, gripping his shirt underneath his jacket. His familiar scent of jasmine envelops you, and you realize how badly you needed your best friend to help you through this.

”H-He dumped me,” you sniffle, letting out a shaky breath into Yunho’s chest, “he d-dumped me yesterday, through a fucking t-text message,” another unsteady exhale as you try to level your breathing.

“He did what?!” He pulls you in closer to him, the disbelief lacing his tone reassuring how rational your feelings are.

“It’s over,” you blink away your tears, tilting your head back to look up at your best friend. You’ve never seen the expression on his face before, like anger and worry are battling it out in his brain, and he can’t decide which one should take center stage first. “He texted me last night, saying he ‘wasn’t feeling it anymore’ and he ‘wished me the best,’” your mocking tone repeating his words reignited the angry flame in your chest.

“Wished you the best,” he scoffs, “is he kidding?” He rolls his eyes. “That’s how you end a two-year-long relationship?” He tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear, taking a half step back to give you some more space to catch your breath.

“I can’t believe I wasted two years of my life with someone who just kicked me to the curb without a second thought,” you pinch the fabric of his shirt between your fingers, your eyes lingering on his collarbone peeking out from his slightly unbuttoned shirt. “I’m convinced he left me for a coworker, the one he told me not to worry about.” A humorless laugh leaves your lips, the burning feeling behind your eyes returning as more tears come. “I’m more upset with myself for letting him treat me like this for so long,”

“Hey, look at me,” Yunho cautiously brings his hands to your face, cradling your head gently. You lean into his touch, dragging your gaze up to meet his.

“He doesn’t know what he just threw away, sweetheart,” Yunho holds your teary cheeks in his hands. “You are the most beautiful creature this world has ever seen, and if he doesn’t see that, he doesn’t deserve you.”

“You think I’m beautiful?” You choke out between sniffles.

“Oh y/n… of course I do. I always have,” he wipes a tear from your cheek before it reaches your lips, “since the day I met you.”

Your breath catches in your throat at his admission, your chin wobbling as you try to hold it together.

His eyes search yours, that unspoken emotion taking over his features again. You almost catch the moment he shakes it away, reminding himself that he’s here to support you. His hands fall from your cheeks to grab your hands instead, that familiar electricity prickling your skin as he rubs his thumbs over your knuckles.

“Do you wanna go inside? I called ahead and ordered you a maple latte and a raspberry scone as soon as I got your text.” He tilts his head in the direction of the cafe next to you.

You look inside to see two to-go cups and a brown paper bag sitting on the counter. “And an iced caramel latte for you, I’m assuming,” you poke his stomach teasingly, “thank you, Yun, you didn’t have to do that.”

“Of course I did,” he gently squeezes your hands, a warm smile taking over his features. “Come on, it seems like we have a lot to catch up on. I have a feeling you have a lot to get off your chest.” He lets go of one hand, keeping hold of the other to walk you to the door. You lace your fingers through his, and it feels like the most natural thing in the world.

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You’d spent the last hour sitting in your favorite booth with Yunho, hashing through every single thing you hated about your ex. He was appalled by the things you’d told him, wishing he knew sooner so he could’ve tried to help you see you deserve someone better. Someone who valued your emotions, understood your needs, respected your boundaries… Someone like —

“Yunho, are you with me?” Your voice shakes him out of his daze, bringing him back to the conversation.

“Sorry bean, I just can’t believe he was such an asshole behind closed doors,” he recovers, “I wish you told me sooner. I feel like I wasn’t there for you when I should’ve been.”

”It’s not your fault, I could’ve told you and I didn’t. I think I was in denial,” you scoff. ”I was settling and I knew it, I was just trying to pretend things were better, but I think I’d been checked out for a while.” You swirl your coffee around in your cup, avoiding the concerned look in his eye. If you looked at him too long, you’d risk reading something deeper in the way he cares about you, something that made your heart flutter and ache all at once.

”Y/n, do you remember the girl I was dating when we met?” His tone shifts, a slight vulnerability creeping in. You stop moving your cup, watching the drink settle. You nod hesitantly, still avoiding his eyes.

Of course you remember her. You had developed a crush on Yunho in your first week working together, but you had to smother it at the first mention of her. Any hope you had left for a chance with him disintegrated the first time you saw her — she was the kind of beautiful you only saw on TV. Flawless skin, no split ends, a perfectly sculpted body. Even her voice was smooth. She seemed perfect for him.

“She cheated on me.”

Your head snaps up to him in disbelief. “Excuse me?”

You remember him telling you they broke up in passing — it had been a month after you started a relationship of your own. Part of you always wondered if you had just missed your window to pursue something with Yunho, but you pushed that thought out of your head so you could be present for your best friend. He didn’t want to go into detail about the breakup at the time, and he never did in the two years that followed.

“For the last six months of our relationship, she’d been sleeping with someone she reconnected with from high school. They realized they loved each other, and she ended things.” He offers a sad smile, but the bitterness lingers beneath the surface. You feel a tightness in your chest wondering why he didn’t want to share his pain with you while all of this was going on.

”Oh, Yunnie,” you reach for his hand across the table, holding his large palm in yours. “I’m so sorry. I don’t understand how anyone could ever do that to you. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Maybe we can call it even?” He lets out a breathy laugh, ignoring your question. “You didn’t tell me your relationship troubles, I didn’t tell you mine. Now it’s all on the table and we can leave it in the past.” He squeezes your hand, waiting for your response.

“Fine.” You flash a tight lipped smile, wanting to hash this open again with him at a later time. You didn’t keep secrets from each other, so why was he avoiding getting into this with you?

“Well, it’s almost closing time.” Of course he’s gonna change the subject. “Do you need a night alone or are you coming home with me tonight?” He forces a smile from across the table, and you could’ve sworn his ears turned the slightest bit red asking you to spend the night. Sleepovers weren’t out of the norm for the two of you, but this proposal felt different for some reason.

“I think if I’m alone at my place tonight I’ll revert to the sad couch potato I was before I texted you earlier.” You don’t really believe that, feeling like you’ve moved past the depression stage of grief and slowly inching toward acceptance. But you still wanted the company.

“I’d love to come home with you, Yunnie.”

“Then let’s go, sweetheart.”

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Your neighborhood was so beautiful at night. The soft streetlights cast a gentle glow on the sidewalk, illuminating little puddles of water from last night’s rain. The fall air feels cool and crisp, carrying the faint smell of the changing leaves. This late at night, the stillness is calming… usually.

You two had found this to be the perfect environment to have your deepest talks. Taking regular nighttime walks with Yunho had become one of your cherished rituals, especially when one of you needed to get something off your chest. You’d shared fragments of your lives, from your family drama to his frequent arguments with a stubborn coworker at his new job. But tonight, a suffocating silence swirls around you.

You’d taken a full lap around the neighborhood in silence since leaving Blossom, the familiar path devoid of your usual chatter. As you approach Yunho’s place, his brisk pace and hands shoved deep in his pockets told you he wasn’t going to be the one to acknowledge it. He was never one for confrontation. If he wouldn’t tell you what’s going on voluntarily, you’d have to coax it out of him.

You stop walking, the cool air feeling sharper on your skin. He takes three more strides before he stops too, spinning back around to face you, confusion etched on his devastatingly handsome features.

“You okay, bean?” he asks, tilting his head at you, genuine concern flickering in his eyes.

“I feel like I should be asking you the same thing,” you reply, barely above a whisper. Maybe you weren’t one for confrontation either.

He takes a step closer to you, “I’m fine,” he says with a quick shrug and a slight shake of his head.

“Then why haven’t you spoken to me since we left Blossom? Did I say something to upset you?” You try your hardest to grab your frustration before it bubbles up, but you can already tell it’s too late. His dismissive tone, both here and at the cafe, gnaws at you. It triggers something inside of you from your recently ended relationship, and you feel on the verge of either shutting down or letting your emotions spiral.

“I just thought you might want a quiet walk is all.” He can barely look you in the eye, and that’s when you know something is very wrong.

“Come on Yun, you know that’s not what’s going on. Something is bothering you.” The frustration claws higher and higher, an unwelcome tightness gripping at your chest. Don’t cry, y/n.

He opens his mouth, the words hanging on the tip of his tongue, but stops himself, his hands finally pulling from his pockets to rest on his hips. He stares at a fallen leaf swirling in a puddle between you.

“Is it because we talked about your ex?” He winces just a little at your words. “I didn’t mean to open old wounds, I just thought after everything we’ve shared with each other that you’d want to talk to me about it.” You don’t mean for your words to sound accusatory, but based on the way his body tenses, you realize they must have.

“It’s not that, y/n, it’s not about…” his voice trails off into a sigh. His eyes search yours, his mind racing trying to decide if he wants to get into what’s really going on, what he’s been keeping inside for so long.

“Then what is it?” You’re grasping at straws, desperately trying to get him to give you anything to go off of. When you’re met with more silence and an indiscernible look in his eyes, you push forward.

“I just don’t get why you wouldn’t tell me she cheated on you Yun, we help each other through everything.” Anger wells up in you, more at yourself for not asking him to open up to you about it at the time.

“Y/n, please, it’s more complicated than just her cheating, and I just don’t know if now is the best time to get into it, you’re still—”

“Still what, Yunho? Grieving my own relationship? Just because I just got dumped doesn’t mean I can’t be here for you!” Your voice rises, each word sharp, the tension in your throat threatening to break. “You don’t get to decide what I can and can’t handle, that’s not up to you—”

“Fine,” he interrupts, “do you wanna know the real reason I didn’t tell you, y/n? Is that what you want?” His ears redden, and you can’t tell if he’s angry, embarrassed, or a combination of the two. You nod hesitantly. “I didn’t tell you she cheated because I didn’t care, okay? I didn’t care. Her heart wasn’t in it anymore, but neither was mine.” His chest heaves, squeezing his eyes shut tight for a brief moment to brace himself.

“I didn’t care that she cheated, because I didn’t want her anyway.” He lets out a shaky breath. “I wanted you.”

Oh.

His eyes burn into yours as his words hang in the air between the two of you.

“Yunho…” You take a step toward him only for him to take a step back. Your heart is pounding so hard in your chest, you wonder if he can hear it. What is happening right now?

“I’m sorry y/n, I can’t keep it to myself anymore. I’ve held it in for so long, and I just can’t do it anymore, I—” He stutters over his words, “I wasn’t grieving my relationship, I was grieving yours. You found someone just before she ended things with me, and I realized maybe you and I weren’t meant to be. That we’d never have the chance to try.” His eyes gloss over with pent up emotion, thinking about all the time he spent wondering what could’ve been. “I wanted you, but I had to act like I didn’t, and we were becoming such good friends, I didn’t want to ruin it, I just—”

”Did you think I didn’t feel the same?” You interrupt him. “That I don’t feel the same now?”

He tilts his head at you, the tension in his body visibly disintegrating. “What are you saying?” Brows furrowing, cheeks blushing, so many emotions flying through his features at a speed neither of you can process. He runs his hands down his face before resting them on his hips. “Sweetheart, what are you saying?”

“I wanted you, too, Yun…” The words tumble out of you, a rush of honesty that feels both exhilarating and terrifying. “I want you too.”

He takes another step toward you, his mind racing as he searches for answers to never ending questions. “You did?” Another step. “You do?”

“Yes, and yes,” you nod, feeling warmth flood your cheeks at your admission—both to Yunho and to you. You realize you’d never said it out loud before, not even to yourself.

“Say it again,” he urges, closing the gap between the two of you. One hand finds your waist while the other gently cradles the back of your neck. His touch lights a fire on your skin, his hands feeling heavier on your body than they ever have before. Your hands find their way to his waist, tugging him closer to you. Chests heaving, hearts racing.

“I want you, Yunho.”

The tension between you peaks, your grip tightening on one another, like if either one of you lets go, the moment will slip away. Yunho’s eyes search yours, looking for confirmation.

He gently cups your face, his thumb brushing your cheek, wiping away the remnants of your tears. His touch sends a shiver down your spine, igniting the familiar spark that had always lingered between the two of you. Your breath hitches in your throat, caught between the fear of moving too fast and the undeniable pull you have always felt towards him.

You bring a hand up to his cheek, your fingers gliding over his skin, feeling the warmth radiating from him. You linger for a moment before wrapping your fingers around the back of his neck, pulling him closer to you.

“Y/n,” he whispers, “sweetheart,” his gaze drops to your lips, and you swear you can hear your hearts beating in time with one another in the quiet.

You take a deep breath, searching his gaze for the same spark of desire you feel coursing through your body. He inches closer, breath mingling with yours, heating the space between you.

“Is this okay?” he asks softly, his voice trembling slightly.

You nod, breathless, as you lean in just enough to finally close the distance between the two of you.

The tip of his nose brushes against yours, the contact making your head spin. You’ve thought about this moment countless times, and being here feels so right.

“Yunho,” you breathe, “please kiss me alr—“

His mouth molds to yours before you can finish your sentence, pulling all the remaining air from your lungs. The world around you explodes in a flash of warmth and tenderness, all the hurt you had been feeling melting away into a puddle at your feet.

You feel a rush of emotions— relief, joy, and a deep, intoxicating desire— as he deepens the kiss. Your hands tighten around the back of his neck, pulling him closer as he sweeps his tongue across your bottom lip. You lose yourself in the sensation, the taste of him and the feeling of his lips on yours erasing everything else you’ve ever felt.

His fingers tangle in your hair, holding you as if you might disappear. This moment, this kiss, feels like a declaration— a culmination of all the unspoken words, the hidden glances, the years of longing between the two of you. It’s exhilarating.

He finally pulls away, resting his forehead against yours, your heavy breaths the only sounds on the quiet street. Your hands slide from his neck, traveling down his chest before settling on his waist.

“Sorry sweetheart, I didn’t mean to cut you off,” he chuckles, brushing a strand of hair from your face, “I’ve just been waiting a really long time to do that.” He drops a gentle kiss to your forehead before wrapping his arms around you to pull you close.

“You can cut me off anytime if it means I get to kiss you,” you nuzzle into his chest. The steady thud of his heartbeat slows yours to match.

“Oh yeah?” He looks down at you, a teasing glint in his eyes.

“Yes, abso—“

His lips connect to yours again, a fire igniting in your belly when his tongue tangles with yours. He tastes like caramel, the sweetness of his latte lingering on his tongue. Wide hands wrap around your hips, dragging you closer, rolling your body into him.

You snake your hands up his lower back, digging your nails into his skin through his shirt. A low groan rumbles deep in Yunho’s throat at the sensation, sending a bolt of heat straight to your core. A whimper crawls up your throat before you can stop it, and Yunho smiles against your mouth. He draws your bottom lip between his teeth, biting down gently.

“Your lips are even softer than I imagined they’d be,” he gives you one more lingering kiss before pulling back. His deep eyes find yours, his blushed cheeks glowing under the streetlights.

“You’ve imagined kissing me?” Shyness creeps in at the realization that Yunho thought about you in the same way you thought about him.

“Among other things, yes,” he brushes your hair out of your face, his palm settling to cup your cheek. “You’re cute when you blush.”

“I am not blushing!” You hide your face in your hands. “Maybe I am, but how can I not when you talk to me like that,” you muffle into your palms.

“I’ll talk to you any way you want if it means you’ll react like this,” he teases, gently pulling your hands from your face to hold them in his. “Your hands are freezing, sweetheart,” he brings your hands to his mouth, holding them between his and blowing his hot breath onto them to warm them up.

”Well we have been out here a while,” you shiver at the feeling of his breath on your skin.

“Am I still allowed to take you home tonight, or would that complicate things?” He’s either nervous, or hesitant. Either would make sense, you just got dumped and 24 hours later you’re confessing your feelings for your best friend (and kissing him). Anyone with a brain might wonder if you’re rushing, or worse, rebounding. Once you get out of this cold, you can talk things through.

“Yes, please, let’s go.” You take his hand in yours, kissing his knuckles before pulling him in the direction of his place.

“You got it, baby.” He slings an arm over your shoulder, planting a kiss to the top of your head. Your heart flutters as you walk toward his apartment.

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As soon as you walk through Yunho’s front door, he breezes past you to grab two wine glasses and a bottle of your favorite rosé while you kick off your boots. As you shed your jacket, he sets two full glasses on his simple wooden coffee table, heading back to his kitchen to grab a bag of chips and some chocolates. He returns with his hands full, confusion lacing his features when he finds you standing in the middle of his living room stifling a laugh.

“Is something funny?” He chuckles at your reddening cheeks as you let out a giggle.

“When did you get so nervous to have me in your apartment?” Part of you feels bad for teasing, but he looks so cute when he’s flustered, you can’t help it. “I’ve never seen you move so fast to get me a glass of wine.”

“Well, when you decide to tell me you want me in the middle of the street, that tends to change things, baby,” he grins at you, clocking you for the second time now having a physical reaction to his newest pet name for you. You thought sweetheart sounded beautiful coming out of his mouth, but baby is a whole new level of intoxicating.

”You said it first, but I guess that does change things, huh, baby?” You cross your arms, challenging him. “Do I make you nervous, Jeong Yunho?”

“You make me a lot of things, sweetheart, but nervous isn’t one of them.” He pokes the inside of his cheek with his tongue, the gesture making your head spin. After setting your snacks down on the coffee table, he finally takes off his jacket and kicks off his shoes. He plops down on his couch, patting the empty cushion next to him. “Come sit with me,” the deep, inviting tone of his voice has you moving to him immediately. Grabbing your wine, you sit next to him, folding one leg up onto the couch to turn to face him. He copies your position, his knee resting just an inch from yours.

“What do I make you feel, then?” You swirl your wine in your glass as your gaze flicks over his handsome features. Landing on his eyes, your heart jumps at the way they shine for you.

“Fulfilled,” he starts, scooting closer to you so your knees are just barely touching. “Cared for, understood,” the corner of his mouth quirks up slightly, “and loved.”

A bloom of warmth floods your chest at the word. This is what you’ve been missing the last few years. You thought your ex would give you this sense of gratification if you gave him more time, but what you were searching for was in your best friend. You always knew in the back of your mind that it was him. The one who held you when you cried, who made you laugh until your stomach hurt, who would drop everything to be there when you needed him. You take a big sip of your wine.

“I was settling,” the words fall off your lips before you can stop them, the alcohol warming your cheeks right away. “I thought that if I kept giving him everything he would eventually give me half of what I was craving, but in the back of my mind I think I knew he’d never be what I really needed… I settled for him.”

Yunho offers a soft nod, zero judgment, only understanding. “And what is it you were craving?” He moves even closer to you, your shins now pressed together.

“You,” you sigh, his deep eyes boring into yours, waiting for more. You tap your fingers on your wine glass, contemplating your next words. “The connection, the comfort, the joy, the love that you gave me,” your throat tightens thinking about the nights you spent longing for your best friend. “I wanted you, how you made me feel…but I settled for him.”

“Right person, wrong time,” Yunho scoffs, a gentle shake of his head, “kind of applies to us, right? We’ve wanted each other for years now, but we just never had the chance.”

“I should’ve told you sooner, Yun,” your hand rests on his, his fingers immediately lacing between yours. “We’ve wasted so much time,” hot tears blur your vision, but you blink them away before they fall.

“Hey, we have all the time in the world, baby,” he brings your hand to his mouth, planting a gentle kiss on your knuckles. “All the time in the world,” he muffles against your skin. You turn your palm to hold his cheek, and you notice his eyes roll back before they flutter closed.

“All the time in the world,” you repeat, threading your fingers into his hair. A future with Yunho flashes through your mind. Lazy Sunday mornings, celebrating milestones and holidays together, late nights tangled in the sheets, his body taking over yours —

“Y/n…” His deep, smooth voice brings you back to the moment, the sound of your name on his lips heating your cheeks.

“Hm?”

He gently takes your wine glass from your hand, setting it on the coffee table next to his untouched one. When his eyes find yours again, warmth pools in your belly at the darkness that’s taken over his features. “I really want to kiss you again, but I feel like we should talk first,” he takes both your hands in his, and your heart pounds a beat faster in your chest. “If you spend the night tonight, there’s no going back. Once I have you, I don’t think I can let you go.”

“I don’t want you to let me go, Yun,” you squeeze his hands in yours. “I’ve waited too long to get here, I don’t wanna go back… You already have me, don’t let me go.” The thudding in your rib cage intensifies with every second of heated silence.

“I couldn’t if I tried,” he finally says, pulling you in, crashing his lips into yours. His hands find your waist, his tongue exploring your mouth, and you wrap your arms around his neck as he pulls you into his lap. You straddle him, resting your knees on either side of his hips, deepening the kiss as his hands wander to cup your ass, pulling you closer to him. You roll your hips against him, his grip tightening on you as he drags your body over him. A groan rumbles in his chest and you feel his cock stiffening beneath you, grinding on him slower and harder.

“I can’t believe you’re finally mine,” Yuhho’s hand snakes up your back and into your hair, gently removing your clip and tossing it to the floor before gripping your locks and tilting your head to the side, exposing the sensitive column of your neck to his mouth. He nips at your skin, licking the spot with his tongue, moving up to the tender spot under your ear. “My beautiful girl,” his hot breath in your ear has your entire body blooming with goosebumps.

”Yunho,” you roll your hips over him again as his lips travel down your neck to your collarbone, a whimper crawling up your throat at your rough jeans catching on your swelling clit. He feels harder and harder underneath you with each rock against him, and you’re cursing yourself for wearing such thick pants. You just want to feel him.

“Yes, sweetheart?” He tightens his grip on your hair, kissing back up your neck until his lips connect with yours again. You moan into his mouth as his other hand guides your hips back and forth, shamelessly grinding your bodies against each other like horny teenagers.

“Touch me please,” you beg, catching his bottom lip between your teeth, sucking on it gently.

“Only because you asked so nicely,” he teases. He snakes an arm around your waist and smoothly rolls you onto your back, laying you down in the soft cushions. He kneels, settling between your legs, spreading them wide to roll his hips into your needy clothed core. His mouth finds yours again, tangling his tongue with yours.

The hand in your hair loosens, trailing down your body, ghosting over your breasts, down your belly, and lifting your sweater slightly to get to your jeans. He makes light work of the button and zipper, his nimble fingers undoing the fastenings with ease, all while keeping his mouth on yours. You feel him tapping on your ass, signaling you to lift your hips. When you do, he shimmies your jeans down your legs agonizingly slowly, breaking the kiss to admire the bits of your skin he’s dreamt about for years.

He tosses your jeans on his living room floor, and a timidity slithers up at the realization that you’re in your underwear on your best friend’s couch. His broad hands rest on your thighs, letting you close them slightly, your shared shuddering breaths the only sound in his quiet apartment.

“Getting shy on me, sweetheart?” He teases you, reading your mind. He knows you so well. You giggle as he slides his hands to your sweater, dragging it up your body, exposing your panties, shifting it higher and higher until the bottom hem of your bra is barely showing. He slides his hands under your top, expertly cradling your bra-clad breasts in his hands, letting out a restrained groan. The energy shifts and you whimper, watching his eyes locked on the way his fingers swim beneath the fabric of your sweater. You let your legs fall open slightly as Yunho slots himself between them, peppering your belly with gentle kisses and thumbing one of your pebbling nipples through the thin material of your bra.

“Yun…” you sigh, running your fingers through his hair as he kisses you lower and lower, “please,”

“Mhm,” he nods against your soft skin, shifting down to lay on his belly between your legs, hooking your knees over his shoulders. You feel his searing breath over your pussy, cooling the growing wet patch in your panties, making you clench around nothing. He picks up on your reaction, gripping your hips before blowing a steady stream of air over your sensitive heat.

“Oh,” you breathe, wriggling under his strong grasp, spreading your legs wider for him.

“You’re so reactive,” he murmurs, biting down on your inner thigh, soothing the spot with his tongue. You yelp at the sensation, covering your mouth in shock of the sound that just came out of you. Yunho chuckles darkly, “don’t hold back, baby, I wanna hear all the noises you make.”

He hooks an arm over your hip so his hand rests on your mound. He grips your panties in his fist, pulling them up until the fabric slips between your wet folds, gliding firmly over your clit. You stifle a sob as he tugs them harder, biting you once more.

“I thought I told you not to hold back, sweetheart,” he licks your skin again, soothing the angry bite mark that will surely be bruised by morning. Another tug of your panties has you mewling, one hand gripping his hair for dear life, the other blindly searching for anything to ground you.

“Yunnie, please, stop teasing me,” you never thought your sweet and wholesome best friend could have you whimpering and begging beneath him, hardly having touched you. He has such a dark, dominating presence about him in this moment, and it’s making your head fuzzy.

He lets go of your panties, swiftly pulling them to the side, exposing your wet heat to the cool air. You suck in a sharp inhale, finally bare to him.

“Fuck,” he moans, “look at you, baby,” he runs two fingers through your heat, the sudden contact making you cry out. He spreads you wide to see every inch of you, taking his time. “So pretty,” he breathes.

“I need you, please,” you whine, “are you gonna make me keep begging?”

“Baby, I’ve wanted to touch you like this for years,” he drawls, “let me savor it a little.” Before you can protest, he teases your entrance with two fingers, slowly thrusting them deeper and deeper inside you, little by little, until his palm is flush with your cunt. Your head falls back into the cushions, your chest heaving. You had daydreamed about how his fingers would feel inside of you, but nothing compares to the real thing. He pumps in and out a few more times before he curls his fingers, hitting the spot that makes your back arch. You grip his hair, tugging on it harder than you mean to, but you can’t help it. You miss the way his eyes roll back, his mouth hanging open at the pain.

Yunho lets you guide his mouth to your core, his fingers keeping a steady pace as he uses his free hand to spread you open, swirling his tongue around your clit.

“Yunnie…” you whimper, grinding your hips on his mouth. He nods against you, sucking your clit into his mouth, rolling his tongue over the swollen bud over and over in time with his fingers moving in and out of you. Pleasure blooms in your belly as he works you, each flick of his tongue bringing you closer to the edge.

“Feeling good, sweetheart?” He replaces his tongue with his thumb, circling your clit softly to ease you into the sensation. You push yourself down into his hand, needing more. He chuckles, applying more pressure until he feels you melting under him.

“Yes, so good Yun, fuck,” the pressure low in your belly builds rapidly, and you know if he keeps going at this pace, you’ll fall apart in no time. You prop yourself up on your elbows to look at him, and once your eyes lock with his you know you’re a goner.

His hair is mussed from your tugging on it, his cheeks flushed, his mouth glistening, a bead of sweat dripping down his temple as he picks up the pace ever so slightly. He smirks at you, letting your legs fall from his shoulders so he can kneel between them again, sitting back to get a good look at you, never slowing his ministrations. You make the mistake of glancing down, your mouth drying at the sight of his cock pressing against the confines of his jeans. He hits that spot deep inside you again, and you fall back into the cushions, breathy curses falling from your mouth over and over.

“You look so beautiful like this, fucking hell,” he drops his free hand next to your head, caging you in beneath him, watching his fingers pistoning in and out of you faster and faster, circling your clit in a matching pace. “Mine, mine, mine,” he repeats over and over, like he can’t believe this is finally happening. He brings his lips to yours, mumbling the words against your mouth as you nod wordlessly in agreement, the taste of yourself on his tongue making you dizzy. He kisses you down to your neck, nipping at your sensitive skin, praise after praise whispered into your ear.

“Tell me you’re mine,” he emphasizes his words with a sharp thrust of his fingers, and you cry out at the sensation.

“I’m yours, I’m yours— fuck!” You feel the cord in your belly tightening and tightening.

“Good fucking girl,” he whispers in your ear, nipping at your earlobe, “come around my fingers, baby,”

“Oh, oh,” you shudder underneath him, his words pushing you over the edge as your orgasm rips through your body, pleasure burning from the inside out. He kisses you hard, slowing his pace bit by bit to ease you through your climax, your body trembling in his hold. “Yunho,” you mumble into his mouth, “I’m yours,” you whisper.

“You sure are,” he peppers your cheeks with soft, tender kisses, your brain slowly coming back online as he slows his fingers, coming to a stop. “And I’m yours,” he kisses you gently, easing his fingers out of you, slipping your panties back into place. He lays down on the couch next to you, pulling your favorite throw blanket over your exposed bottom half, tracing hearts and stars on your skin while your breathing steadies, running his fingers through your hair as you let your eyes flutter closed. You snuggle into him, the warmth of his body keeping the flame in your core burning.

“You are incredible, Jeong Yunho,” you giggle as he kisses every inch of your face, his soft lips mapping the details of your skin. He wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you flush against him.

“Why, because I made you come in 5 minutes flat?” His low drawl has desire coursing through your veins, part of you feeling embarrassed he can turn you on so easily with just his words.

Your breath hitches as you nod, trying to keep your cool, but he knows you better than that by now. “You really like when I talk to you like this, don’t you, baby?”

“Apparently I do,” you turn to look at him, a teasing glint in his eyes, his fingers dancing across the bare skin of your belly. “I’d love to hear what else you have to say,” you tease.

“Well for starters, I want to take you to bed” His mouth hovers over the shell of your ear, the combination of his hot breath fanning over your skin and the vibrations of his deep voice have lust taking over your thoughts once again. “I want to fuck you properly, and we just don’t exactly have the space for that here,” you can hear the smile in his voice.

“Oh,” you giggle, his straightforwardness taking you by surprise. Just like that you’re throbbing for him again, your mind racing thinking about where your night with him is going to go. “I’d like that.”

Before he can catch you, you jump up from the couch, leaving your throw blanket behind, beelining for the hallway toward Yunho’s bedroom, giggling the whole way.

“Hey!” He laughs, clamoring up to chase after you. A few long strides and he’s caught up to you, right in the doorway of his bedroom. He hooks an arm around your waist and you yelp as he spins you around to face him, the momentum of both your running carrying you to the foot of his bed. The backs of your knees hit the mattress, but he holds you upright, pressing your body against his. Your eyes lock, both of you breathing heavily.

“Someone’s excited,” Yunho chuckles, giving you a firm kiss before pushing you back onto his bed. You let out a breathless laugh as you plop down on the mattress, pushing yourself to sit upright.

“A little,” your hands find his torso, fiddling with the hem of his shirt. He smirks down at you as you run your hands under his shirt and up his stomach to chest. He lets out a shaky breath at the feeling of your hands on him, and pulls his shirt off over his head, discarding it on the floor. You’d seen him without a shirt a handful of times, but this close he looks ethereal. Your fingers dance across his bare skin, reveling in the feeling of being able to touch him like this. You want to see more of him, touch more of him, taste more of him.

“Yun,” you start, hesitant to take the lead. You slide your hands down his body until your fingers feel the smooth leather of his belt. Your eyes meet his, not breaking contact while you smoothly undo his belt buckle. “Can I?” You whisper.

“You can do whatever you want to me, y/n,” he breathes, looking down to where your fingers are undoing the button of his jeans, sliding the zipper down slowly. You pull his jeans down, and he kicks them to the side, standing before you in only his boxers, his hard length pressing against the confines of the fabric.

His fingers lace through your hair, gripping it gently to tip your head back. Keeping your eyes on him, you slowly pull your sweater over your head, letting him let go of your hair to take it from your hands and toss it to the floor. You reach behind you, undoing the clasp of your bra, slowly sliding it from your body and dropping it next to your discarded sweater. Yunho’s chest heaves as he pokes the inside of his cheek with his tongue, drinking this image of you in, dragging his gaze across your exposed chest.

“So beautiful,” his voice has dropped even lower, a tone you’ve never heard from him, the deep timbre stoking the fire deep inside you. “You are so beautiful,” he cups your face in his hands, bending over to kiss you softly. He parts your lips with his tongue as you rest your hands on his abdomen, sliding one down to palm his cock over his boxers.

“Fuck,” he groans into your mouth, your fingers wrapping around him as much as you can through the fabric, stroking his impressive length as he licks deeper into your mouth. You pump him from base to tip, running your thumb over the wet patch at the head of his cock, drawing another guttural moan from his lips. Your mouth is watering at the feeling of him, but it’s not enough.

You dip your fingers under the waistband of his boxers, and Yunho breaks the kiss to watch you pull them slowly down, down, down, until his cock springs free, hanging heavy in front of you. You absentmindedly lick your lips at the sight of him, feeling the wetness in your panties growing. Lust prickles across your skin thinking about feeling him inside of you.

“Yunho,” you sigh, wrapping your fingers around him, pumping him slowly as he stands up straight, tugging your hair in his fist to tip your head back again. “I want you to fuck my throat,” you whine, “please,”

“Oh, baby,” he grips your hair tighter at your words while you stroke him, the sting making your cheeks warm, “you want me to stuff your pretty little mouth? Wanna wrap those beautiful lips around me?” Towering over you like this, you start to realize just how much he could overpower you, and the thought spreads heat through your abdomen.

“Please,” you nod, “I wanna taste you,” you open your mouth, sticking your tongue out for him, keeping your eyes on his. You pump his length twice more as you guide his hips toward your mouth, dropping your hands into your lap as his tip rests on your tongue.

“Mmh, so pretty,” he whispers, wrapping his fist around his cock, tapping his tip on your tongue before sliding past your lips. “If it gets to be too much, just tap my thigh, okay sweetheart?”

You nod, wrapping your lips around him, sliding your tongue over the sensitive underside of his tip. His head falls back, a beautiful moan falling from his lips as you slowly start to bob your head. You take more of him, inch by inch until his cock taps the back of your throat. You swallow around him, and he absentmindedly thrusts deeper, chasing the sensation.

“Fuck,” he groans, his grip on your hair tightening again as he holds you there. “I’m gonna move now, is that okay?” He brings his free hand to your cheek, caressing it gently as you nod in confirmation. As soon as you give him the signal, he pulls back slightly, rocking his hips slowly, savoring the feeling of your lips wrapped around him and your tongue gliding over him. “So beautiful with your mouth stuffed so full,” he praises you, thrusting deeper into your mouth, down your throat, testing the limits of what you can take. He finds a steady rhythm, and you match his pace, bobbing your head and licking over every inch of him as he pumps in and out of your mouth, the stretch burning your throat deliciously.

You can’t take your eyes off of him, tears blurring your vision as you admire his lustful features. His furrowed brow, his blown pupils, his flushed cheeks. The bead of sweat dripping down the tip of his nose, the tensing muscles in his stomach as he pumps into your mouth… he looks so beautiful. You find yourself rocking your hips, grinding into the mattress, looking for any friction you can get.

He thrusts deep into your mouth, his cock hitting the back of your throat again, and he holds you down on him, your nose brushing over his abdomen. The lack of air makes your head spin, and you want him even deeper. You reach up to grab his hips, but your hand bumps his thigh on the way up, which he takes as your signal that it’s too much.

“Shit,” he pulls out of your mouth, and you gasp for air as he drops to his knees in front of you. “Are you okay, baby? I’m so sorry, was that too rough?” His eyes are full of panic and he brushes your hair out of your face, wiping the saliva that had bubbled up at the corners of your mouth. It all happens so fast, it takes you a moment to process the man waiting in front of you, waiting for a response. Before you can stop yourself, a smile breaks across your face and a giggle rises up your throat.

“Yunnie,” you laugh, cradling his concerned face in your hands, “I’m fine, more than fine,” you try to catch your breath. “I was trying to…grab your hips to pull you closer, but I … bumped your leg by mistake,” his panicked face relaxes, a beautiful smile taking its place, and he lets out a deep sigh of relief. “I do appreciate how quickly you stopped though,” you tease him, your breathing finally steady, “it’s nice to know my boundaries will be taken very seriously.”

“You scared me!” He laughs, dropping his head in your lap.

“It was an accident!” You laugh with him, brushing through his hair with your fingers. “I actually wanted you to be more rough with me,”

He straightens up. “Is that so?” He plants his hands on the mattress on either side of your hips, the darkness returning to his gaze as he stands again, leaning over you. You lean back onto your elbows as he towers over you, his eyes raking over every inch of your body.

“It is,” you whisper, suddenly feeling so small beneath him, all lightheartedness suddenly sucked out of the room. “I would enjoy that very much,”

“Mmh,” he hooks an arm under your waist, lifting you easily and moving your body further up the mattress. You let out a small yelp as he drops you, heart warming as he reaches above you to grab a pillow to prop under your head. Once he’s sure you’re comfortable, he hooks his fingers on your panties, and you lift your hips for him to peel them off of you. He tosses them to the floor, turning his attention back to you, spreading your legs wide open, kneeling between them.

“I would enjoy that too, however,” he runs his hands up your calves, your thighs, until he reaches your center, using both hands to spread you wide open. You watch in awe as he runs two fingers through your arousal, teasingly dipping them inside of you. “I want to savor every moment of this,” he dips down to kiss you softly as he drives his fingers even deeper, prodding that tender spot inside of you, drawing a whine from your lips. “Let me be gentle this time, let me show you how much I–” he pauses, something indiscernible flashing through his eyes. “Let me show you how much I’ve been wanting you,” he recovers. “Then next time,” his thumb flicks over your clit, “I will do whatever you want me to do to you,” he circles the sensitive bud, your mind reeling. “Does that sound good, baby?”

“Mhm,” you nod, “so good,” you whimper as he scissors his fingers inside of you, surely trying to stretch you open for what’s to come.

He reaches for the drawer in his nightstand with his free hand, but you stop him. “You don’t have to wear one,” you interrupt.

“Are you sure?” His fingers keep moving inside of you, stretching you wider with each thrust, but still giving your conversation his attention.

“I’m on the pill and was tested recently, so yes, please Yunnie, I want to feel you,” you mewl, “please let me feel you,”

“So good for me,” he praises you over and over, “are you ready?”

“Yes, please,” you whine when he pulls his fingers from your cunt, desperate for him. He lifts your hips, pulling you closer to him, nestling himself between your legs, being sure to adjust your pillow once more. He spreads you open with one hand, tapping the tip of his solid cock on your swollen clit before rubbing it up and down your slit, lining up with your entrance. You both freeze at the same time as the reality of what’s about to happen finally hits you.

The feeling of this moment is nothing you’ve experienced before. For years, you’ve longed for Yunho, wanting the intimacy of your friendship to go beyond just emotional intimacy. You’ve yearned for him as long as you’ve known him. You wanted him– all of him. Finally, the universe decided it’s time for you two to experience that.

You realize he’s feeling it too, his hand finding your cheek in the silence, brushing away a tear that you didn’t realize had fallen down your cheek. “I know, baby,” he whispers, and that’s all you need to hear.

He presses his lips to your forehead as he slowly pushes inside, easing you into the sensation, gently stretching you out on his cock. You feel grateful that he prepped you with his fingers, the sting you feel only lasting a few brief moments before he’s smoothly gliding into you. He pushes in deeper and deeper, until you’re filled to the brim. He drops his hands to the mattress on either side of your head as he bottoms out. Almost in unison, you both let out a shuddering exhale.

“You feel incredible, fuck” he breathes against your forehead, finally pulling back to look into your eyes, your bodies finally connected physically in the way they’ve felt connected spiritually all these years. “And you look so pretty, my angel,” he whispers, his eyes shining.

“I don’t know how you can still manage to make me blush when you’re literally inside of me,” you pant, shyly giggling as your cheeks warm under his loving gaze. He hisses at the way you squeeze around him when you laugh. “Sorry,” you cover your mouth with your hand to stifle your giggles.

“I’m learning so much about you today,” he pulls hips back slightly before burying himself inside you again, all teasing coming to an instant halt as the tip of his cock presses against your g-spot.

“Oh my–” your back arches at the feeling, “God Yunnie, I feel so f-full.”

“You’re doing so well baby,” he praises you again, giving you a moment to adjust to his size. “Look at you, so beautiful taking my cock.”

“I need you to fuck me,” you scramble to grip his forearms, feeling the taut muscles under his skin. “Please,” you wriggle your hips beneath him, “move,”

“Mm,” he pulls out almost completely, just the tip of his cock resting inside of you, “say it again, sweetheart,”

“Fuck me Yunnie, please,” you beg, trying to push your hips down on his cock.

“God, I’ve waited so long to hear you say that, I’ll never get tired of it” he slams into you, and you cry out as he bottoms out inside of you again. He sets a steady pace, rolling his hips into you over and over, the feeling of him pumping in and out of you more delicious than you could’ve ever imagined. He kisses you hard, licking into your mouth, swallowing all of your pretty little moans.

He cups one of your breasts in his wide palm, running his thumb over your nipple, stoking the fire in the pit of your belly. He straightens, admiring how beautiful you look while you take him. Your lips red and puffy, your eyes half lidded, your breasts bouncing with each thrust.

“So pretty, taking me so well,” he praises you as his hand coasts up your chest, fingers gently wrapping around your neck. He holds his hand there for a moment, making a mental note of the way your eyes light up when he briefly squeezes the column of your throat.

“F-feels so g-good,” you choke out between thrusts. His thumb slides along your jaw toward your chin, prodding at your bottom lip, coaxing your mouth open. You wrap your lips around his thumb, sucking on it briefly before he pops it out of your mouth, trailing it down your body until he reaches your clit. The contact has your head spinning, the cord in your center tightening and tightening as he flicks your sensitive bud.

“Baby, look,” his voice cuts through the foggy lust in your head, grabbing your attention. He nods down to where your bodies are connected, gesturing for you to take a glance.

One look at him splitting you open has your climax threatening to wash over you, warmth running up and down your spine at the sight of your arousal shining on his cock as he pistons in and out of your heat relentlessly. He swirls his thumb around your clit faster at the feeling of you squeezing around him.

“You close, sweetheart?” He’s breathless as he fucks you, hitting so deep inside you that you can feel it in your stomach.

“Mhm, fuck, yes,” you cry out, scrambling for his free hand, lacing your fingers between his.

“Come on, I want to watch you fall apart around my cock.” He’s fucking you impossibly hard, each thrust hitting just right, bringing you closer and closer to the edge. “Let me feel you, love,”

“Oh my god,” you stammer out a string of curses as your second orgasm washes over you, your heart thudding in your ears as your body tenses underneath him. He barely slows his pace, keeping his thumb resting on your clit, fucking you through your high.

“There she is,” he coos, slowing little by little until your body starts to relax. He thrusts all the way inside, bottoming out, collapsing over you.

“Wow,” you laugh, bringing your hands up to cradle his flushed face. “That was,”

“Incredible?” He finishes your sentence, kissing your sweaty forehead over and over. You let out a soft moan in agreement, and his cock jumps inside of you at the sound.

“Mmh,” you whimper, the warmth creeping back into your belly, and you squeeze around Yunho’s cock.

“Wanting more already?” He teases, pushing his hips against you, thrusting himself in even deeper.

“Absolutely,” you squeeze around him again, craning your neck up to capture his lips with yours. “Fuck me however you want, baby,” you whisper against his mouth. His cock twitches inside you again and you giggle, waiting for his next move.

“Flip over,” he pants, “I wanna fuck you like this,” he slips out of you and you whine, feeling empty. He helps you roll onto your belly, kneeling behind you as he pulls your ass in the air and plants a hand in the middle of your back, guiding you to arch for him. You squish your cheek into the mattress, trying to look back at him. “Fucking hell,” he palms your ass with both hands, admiring your delectable form, “you are unreal.”

“Yun, please, I need you,” you whine as he bends over your body, planting hot, wet kisses up your spine until he reaches the nape of your neck, bringing his lips to your ear. You feel his cock bump against your backside, his body flush against yours.

“You are insatiable, my love,” your heart flutters at the word, but your lust pushes any overanalyzing to the back of your mind in favor of how desperate you are for him.

You push back into him, feeling the tip of his cock bump against your heat. He straightens at the feeling, rubbing circles into your hips with his thumbs as he watches you move. You roll your hips, catching the tip of his cock between your folds, wiggling and rocking to find the right angle before it finally slips inside.

“Oh, fuck,” he whimpers as you push back, taking him deeper and deeper until your ass is flush against him. You start bouncing your hips, taking him in and out, slowly at first, the sounds of his moans filling your ears and soaking your center.

“Feel good, baby?” You muffle from beneath him, moving your hips quicker with each bounce on his cock. You open your legs a little wider, the new angle rocking his cock against your g-spot.

“The best thing I’ve ever felt,” he rolls his hips to meet yours, the sound of skin slapping filling the air of his bedroom. “I can’t believe how long we’ve waited for this,” he grips your hips, meeting your thrusts in earnest, fucking into you impossibly deep. You match each other’s pace immediately, moans and whines filling the air.

He threads his fingers through your hair, tugging you upwards until your body is flush against his, your sweat-slicked bodies rocking together. His hand drops from your hair to wrap around your neck, holding you firmly in place as he threads his other hand between your legs, his middle and ring finger easily finding your swollen clit.

“I want you like this forever,” he whispers in your ear as he drives into you, your motivation to bounce on him melting into the mattress beneath you. You want him to take you however he wants you, your body molding into his grip.

“Forever,” you nod as he kisses your neck, “you have me forever Yunnie,”

“Again,” he groans as you tighten around him, his fingers swirling around your clit, your third orgasm of the night building rapidly low in your belly. “Say it again,”

“Forever,” you repeat, “I’m yours forever,”

“Fuck, sweetheart, I’m so close,” he growls into your ear, “you take me so well, like you were made for me,”

“I was, Yun,” you assure him, “I was made for you,” he rubs your clit faster, “and you were made for me,”

“God, yes,” he kisses your shoulder, his pace faltering as he gets closer to the edge, “I love you, y/n, fuck.” His fingers swirl around your clit as his hips stutter, spilling hot and fast inside of you. “I love you, I love you, I love you,” he repeats over and over as he ruts into you.

“I love you, Yunho,” you cry out, your heart exploding as your orgasm follows, your body shuddering against him as you come together, your words and his swirling around you in the afterglow.

He holds you tight against him, guiding your spent form back down to the mattress, kissing every inch of your skin as you both come down from your highs. He slips out of you, lowering your hips, massaging your sore muscles before rolling onto his back next to you. You mimic his position, flipping over so you’re both staring at the ceiling, processing the words you both just confessed. You lay together in silence, the sounds of both of you trying to catch your breath filling the room. You let your eyes close, processing the moment.

“Jeong Yunho,” your voice is hoarse once you speak. “Tell me you love me.” Your eyes flutter open, turning your head to see him already beaming at you. He rolls onto his side, bringing himself nose to nose with you.

“I love you.” He declares, clear and confident, your heart swelling in your chest. His lips brush over yours, both of you smiling as he kisses you softly. “Your turn,” he whispers. You copy him, rolling onto your side, brushing his sweat slicked hair from his forehead as he throws an arm around your waist, pulling you closer to him.

“I love you,” you giggle, kissing him again.

“One more time?”

“I, love, you,” you emphasize each word with a gentle kiss on his lips,

“I will never get tired of hearing that,” he whispers. “Let’s go get cleaned up.”

You whine in protest, but Yunho eventually gets you into the bathroom, running a hot shower for the both of you. You wash up together, hardly able to keep your hands off of each other. Once you’ve fallen apart in his hands twice more and the water’s run cold, he helps you into a pair of his boxers and his biggest, softest sweatshirt.

“This feels like a dream,” you think out loud once you’re snuggled up in Yunho’s bed together. “Is this a dream?”

“If it is, I never want to wake up,” he smiles at you under the dim street lights flooding through his windows. “This is all I need, forever.”

You kiss him at that, soft and tender, his arms wrapping tighter around you, holding you close. You fall asleep shortly after, nose to nose, hearts full.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

You wake to the morning sun shining through Yunho’s bedroom windows, the sweet smell of vanilla flooding your nose. Stretching your tired limbs, you roll over to find the other side of the bed empty. Panic floods your mind at the sight, your past making you assume the worst. Is he sleeping on the couch? You wonder. Does he regret what he said and now he’s avoiding me? Before you can reason with yourself, you jump out of bed and speed walk down the hallway, stopping dead in your tracks when you reach the kitchen.

“You’re not freaking out, are you y/n?” Yunho drawls, his voice still laced with sleep, low and raspy. He hasn’t even looked at you yet, his focus being on the plate on the counter in front of him, but he already knows where your mind is at just by the sound of your footsteps coming down the hallway. Of course he does. His bare, wide shoulders shake as he laughs to himself. His pajama pants hang low on his hips, the muscles in his back moving beneath his skin as he throws the final touches on what’s in front of him. He spins around to face you holding a plate of pancakes, littered with strawberries cut into hearts. Your heart flutters at the scene in front of you. “You think I’m gonna make love to you, tell you that I love you, and not make you breakfast in the morning?”

Suddenly feeling self conscious over your immediate assumption that he regretted your night together, you cross your arms, avoiding his gaze. “I got scared,” you whisper.

“That I left you in my apartment all alone? Baby,” he puts the plate down, “I would never, especially after last night,” he crosses the kitchen to reach you, pulling you into his warm embrace, his hot skin beneath you melting away the coldness you felt from waking up alone. “I’m not like…him,” he reminds you, brushing his fingers through your hair. “You are safe with me. Safe, loved, protected, respected, I could go on and on. Do you understand me?” He presses a gentle kiss to the top of your head.

You nod against his chest. “I do,” you feel a tear slide down your cheek, spreading from your skin, onto his. He squeezes you in a tight hug.

“Come on, let’s get some food in your system. You haven’t eaten since our pastries at Blossom last night,” he releases you to grab your plate, as well as a second he made for himself, and drops another quick kiss to your forehead before carrying them to the coffee table in his living room.

“Come sit,” he beckons you, and you follow automatically, plopping on the couch. He grabs your favorite throw blanket before sitting down next to you, draping it over both of your laps. No matter how hard you try to ignore them, negative thoughts are still plaguing your mind. You both pick up your plates, eating in silence for a few moments before Yunho speaks up again.

“Y/n, what’s on your mind?” His tone is so sincere, you immediately feel guilty for making him worry.

“I’m just–” you hesitate for a moment. “I’m scared it’s too good to be true.”

“What is? Us?” Worry flickers across his features, his heart aching seeing you so distraught.

“Yeah,” you sigh, poking at one of your pancakes with your fork. You know you’re being unreasonable, and that Yunho has shown you nothing but love and commitment as long as you’ve known him. But your self doubt and your history of awful relationships is screaming at you that you don’t deserve him. You’re so lost in your thoughts that you don’t even realize that you’re crying.

Yunho gently takes your plate from your hands, putting both his and yours back on the coffee table. He shifts his body slowly until he’s kneeling on the floor in front of you, resting his hands on your blanket-covered thighs.

“Y/n, look at me,” he pleads. You wipe the tears from your cheeks, patting the dampness into the blanket in your lap. You rest your hands on top of his, tracing the lines of his veins for a moment before dragging your gaze upwards to meet his. His eyes are glazed over with tears of his own.

“Yunnie, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you, I–”

“Listen to me,” he interrupts. “You are the best thing that has ever happened to me. The most precious thing in this world to me. Each moment that I spend with you fills me with a joy that I never experienced until I met you.” He turns his hands over to cradle yours as his tears finally fall down his cheeks. “I love you. And I will spend every day of the rest of my life proving that to you. And proving to you that you deserve the love that I give you.”

You stifle a sob at his words, trying to take all of it in as the beautiful truth. You know he means it, he’s always meant every word he’s ever said to you, and you know you need to silence your anxieties in favor of what you know to be true.

“It’s gonna take time,” you whisper. “It’ll take time for me to believe that I deserve what you give me,” you wipe your own tears, then his, both of you laughing breathlessly at your own emotions. “But I will get there,” you continue, “I just need you to be patient with me.”

“Of course. I will spend the rest of my life reminding you what you deserve, sweetheart. That’s a promise.”

“I love you.” You cradle his head in your hands, memorizing every inch of his face, savoring the first day of the rest of your lives.

“I love you,” he kisses the tip of your nose. “Let’s go finish our breakfast in bed.”

“Okay,” you giggle watching Yunho jump up to grab both your plates, giddily walking toward his bedroom with a wide smile on his face.

“You coming?” He glances over his shoulder at you, his ears blushing bright red as he waits for you.

You nod, hopping up to follow after him, to your new forever.

#ateez yunho #ateez x reader #ateez fic #ateez smut #ateez fanfic #yunho x reader #ateez imagines #yunho #yunho smut #anxiouscherubs updates

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ggukivrse · 3 days ago

Text

JUST THIS… TWICE? | JJK

summary. when you complain to jungkook about your lack of action in the past year, you're not really asking for a solution. but when he casually offers to help, you just can't seem to bring yourself to say no.

after all, what's the worst that could happen in hooking up just this once?

pairing: jeon jungkook x f!reader

genre: friends to lovers, smut, fluff

word count: 8.3k

warnings: more porn but with a tiny bit more plot :0, swearing, explicit sexual content, car sex, kissing, making out, oral (f. receiving), again he’s very cocky but can we blame him, breast play, multiple orgasms, banter and teasing as dirty talk, petnames (baby), jk's actually a menace but lowkey down bad, the ending deserves a warning (i’m sorryy), let me know if i missed anything!

notes: thank you SAURR much to my bae j @tranquilreign for beta reading!! (i’m still giggling at all ur comments pls :3) likes, comments, reblogs, asks and feedback are so so appreciated. enjoy reading my angelss <3

ps. READ PART ONE HERE!!

⌗ masterlist. ⌗ taglist. ⌗ feedback

You wake up to the dull throb of sunlight pressing through your curtains and the sharper ache between your legs.

It's not unpleasant — just a lingering reminder. A hum under your skin, like a bruise you don’t mind touching again and again.

You blink slowly, your eyes gritty from sleep, mouth dry, brain hazy in that half-dream state where everything feels like it could be made up. The heavy comforter is kicked down to your hips, your legs tangled in each other, and for a second — just one — you think maybe it was a dream.

But then you shift, and your thighs protest, and it all comes back.

The couch. His fingers. His mouth. The way he looked at you like he’d already had you a thousand times in his head. The things he said — low, teasing, mean. The things you said back. Your stomach tightens, breath hitching as your body tries to replay it too fast, too much.

You squeeze your eyes shut and will your brain to shut up.

You don’t usually let people sleep over. Not like this. Not in your bed, under your sheets, in your space.

But Jungkook’s always been the exception to things. It’s not new, waking up with him in your apartment. He’s been here for movie nights that turned into sleepovers, for hangovers that turned into late mornings, for heartbreaks that turned into shared pints of ice cream and shit talk.

You’ve seen him in your space more times than you can count. But never like this.

You breathe in slow and exhale even slower, eyes fluttering open. The room is still, the air thick with the kind of silence that begs to be broken but doesn’t quite want to be. You shift again, turning onto your side, and your eyes land on the shape beside you.

He’s lying on his stomach, one arm thrown across your pillow, the other tucked under his chest. The blanket’s halfway down his back, exposing the mess of tattoos curling across his shoulder and the dip of his spine. His hair’s a wreck — pushed off his forehead, flattened in the back — and his lips are parted, soft. He looks young like this. Calm. A little too good for your peace of mind.

You stare at him a moment too long.

And then you very, very carefully roll onto your back again.

You feel like you’re in a minefield. Like one wrong move will detonate something you're not ready to name.

You slept with your best friend.

Not just slept. Fucked.

Fucked him like you meant it. Like you’ve wanted to for longer than you’re willing to admit, even to yourself.

You exhale again. A sharp, quiet puff of air through your nose. Maybe if you stay still long enough, he’ll just keep sleeping. And you can sneak to the bathroom. Or back in time. Whichever’s easier.

You’re not panicking. Not technically. You’re just… thinking. Overthinking. Remembering how you sounded begging him not to stop. Remembering how he looked at you like you were the only thing he’d ever wanted. Remembering how, when it was over, he held you like it meant something.

You feel his warmth next to you, steady and real. His leg brushes yours, his knee nudging slightly against your calf, and your whole body goes still again.

You wonder what he's going to say when he wakes up; if he'll still smile at you like he did last night — like nothing about this is complicated. Like your world didn’t tilt just a little off its axis the second he kissed you back, like he wasn't allowed to and never planned on stopping.

You should feel weird. You should feel guilty. Or ashamed. Or something more than this weird, electric calm.

But mostly, you just feel like you don’t want to move.

His breathing shifts — subtle, but enough that you know he’s starting to wake up.

Your heart trips a little.

He shifts, and the arm he’d slung over your pillow curls slightly in, fingers brushing the back of your hand. He lets out a groggy hum, the noise half in his throat.

You freeze, eyes still closed.

“Mm,” he mumbles, voice thick with sleep. “What time is it?”

You swallow. Your voice doesn’t come right away, caught somewhere behind your tongue. When it does, it’s soft, a rasp. “No idea.”

He exhales. Shuffles a little closer. You can feel the heat of him now, bleeding through the sliver of space that still separates you. A moment passes. Then another. You brace for it — for the tension, the shift, the stammered joke to smooth over the jagged memory of last night.

But all he says is, “Damn. My back hurts.”

You blink, startled by the normalcy of it. “You’re not supposed to sleep like that. You looked like a crime scene victim.”

“Sexy,” he mutters, eyes still closed. “That’s what I was going for.”

You huff a quiet laugh. And weirdly, the knot in your stomach loosens just a little.

Another silence stretches. But it’s not bad. Not heavy. He makes a small sound as he shifts again, propping himself up just slightly on one elbow. You don’t look at him, not yet, but you can feel his eyes on you.

“How do you feel?”

You hesitate.

He waits.

You turn your head slowly toward him, and finally meet his gaze. His hair’s a mess, his eyes still sleep-warm, but there’s something sharper under the surface. Not regret. Not even nerves. Just… attention. He’s watching you the way he did last night — carefully. Like you matter.

You chew your lip for a second. "Sore," you eventually say, voice quiet.

He smiles. “Good sore or bad sore?”

You raise an eyebrow. “You want a Yelp review?”

He shrugs, still smiling. “I mean, if you’re offering. I’d love a star rating.”

You stare at him for another second. Then you snort, burying your face in the pillow. “You’re such a dick.”

“You didn’t mind last night.”

You groan, muffled. “Please don't. It's too early for this.”

He laughs — really laughs — and you feel it wash over you like a warm breeze. He’s not weird about it. Not cagey or distant. And maybe it’s a little disarming how himself he still is. Like nothing’s changed.

Like everything has, but it’s fine.

He shifts again, flops onto his back beside you with a loud sigh and an arm flung dramatically over his eyes. “I don’t think I’ve ever been this hungover and this smug at the same time. It’s honestly kind of impressive.”

You glance at him, lips twitching. “Your ego’s going to explode.”

He peeks at you from under his arm. “Can you blame me? I mean, damn.”

You roll your eyes and toss a corner of the blanket over his face.

But your heart’s still racing.

You don’t know what you were expecting — some awkward shuffle out of bed, a strained goodbye, maybe even him pretending it hadn’t happened. But he’s still here. In your bed. In your space. Making you laugh.

Just like always.

Your fingers brush against his under the covers. Neither of you pull away.

You stare at the ceiling for a moment, letting yourself breathe. Letting the silence settle between you again. It feels different now, not loud with questions or demanding anything from you.

It feels like… him.

And maybe you’re not ready to ask what it means yet.

But for now?

This doesn’t feel like a mistake. Not even a little.

You’re standing outside your office building, arms crossed and scowling.

The sidewalk’s sticky with the leftover heat of the day, and there’s a cluster of your co-workers behind you laughing about something you’re not a part of. Their voices blur into the honks and hum of Friday traffic, and all you can focus on is the time.

Jungkook is two minutes late.

You know how stupid it is — two minutes. But today, even two seconds of anything feels like too much.

You shift your weight from one foot to the other, the back of your neck damp with sweat, the strap of your bag digging into your shoulder in just the wrong way. Your phone sits heavy in your palm. No new messages. No “almost there.” No “sorry, traffic’s ass.”

Nothing.

The week has wrung you out like a wet towel. Every day, some new tiny disaster: deadlines moving without warning, your boss micromanaging you like you’re an intern again, and a meeting yesterday where a client talked over you so many times you wanted to crawl under the table and scream.

You’ve barely slept. Your eyes are scratchy. You snapped at someone in the break room this morning because they made a passive-aggressive joke about your “resting bitch face.” And now, Jungkook is late. On your day. Friday. The one consistent thing in your life.

Every Friday, he picks you up from work.

It started almost a year ago, after a breakup left you crying into your salad at your desk. When Jungkook had texted you to come down that day, you'd expected takeout and tissues. But instead, he’d cranked up the music in his car and driven you to a late-night ramen spot where you ended up laughing so hard you nearly choked on your noodles.

It became tradition. No matter what kind of week you’d had, no matter what mood either of you were in — Friday nights belonged to you two. You didn’t even have to plan anything. Sometimes it was tacos in the car and talking shit about your co-workers. Sometimes it was video games at his place or walking around the city until your legs ached and your cheeks hurt from laughing.

He always showed up. Early, even.

But today, the sun is setting in your eyes, and he’s late.

You tap your foot. Then stop, because that’s annoying. Then sigh loud enough to get a look from a passing stranger.

You grip your phone tighter, squinting down the street. Still no sign of his car. Your thumb hovers over the call button.

Three minutes late now.

Your stomach twists — not from worry, but frustration. Because this — this quiet, unnecessary delay — is the cherry on top of the shit sundae that has been your entire week. And you hate that it’s him. That even Jungkook gets to be a part of the unravelling now.

You lean against the metal pole of the bus sign, letting it bite into your spine. A bead of sweat slips down your back. The sun is way too bright for this hour.

Your phone buzzes.

Finally.

You snatch it up like you’ve been waiting for a lifeline, and there it is:

Kook 🍜: here in a min

You glare at the screen. Then type:

You: You’re late.

Kook 🍜: exactly 3 min. that’s barely anything

You: You’re lucky I’m too exhausted to castrate you.

Kook 🍜: bet you'll still get in the car

You don’t respond.

You just shove your phone back in your bag and take a breath that doesn’t do anything to help.

Jungkook’s car pulls up slow, music low, window already halfway down. He’s in that stupid black bucket hat he always wears, curls pushed out from under the brim. You catch the grin he’s wearing before he even says anything — wide, lazy, like he’s proud just to have found parking.

He leans over and calls out through the window, “Damn. Which poor intern did you kill today?”

You glare at him.

His smile falters a little, but he keeps going, still trying to crack you open like usual. “I mean, you’re kinda glowing with hate. It’s kinda hot. Very—”

“Jungkook,” you cut in, sharp.

His eyes snap up to yours.

You immediately hate how sharp your voice came out. You look away, fingers curling around the strap of your bag.

“Sorry,” you mutter after a beat. “I just… I’ve had a fucking awful week, and I’m really not in the mood for jokes right now.”

There’s a pause. Just the hum of the engine and a soft beat coming from the speakers — some song with a lazy bassline and breathy vocals.

Then he shifts. You hear the click of the lock before he leans over to push the door open for you. “Get in.”

You do. Without arguing.

The cool air hits your face the second the door closes, and you let your head lean back against the seat. He doesn’t say anything right away. Just starts driving, hands loose on the wheel, his bottom lip tugged between his teeth like he’s thinking.

“You wanna talk about it?” he asks eventually, softer this time.

You shake your head. “Not really. Just one of those weeks where everything goes to shit in slow motion. Work, people, the world. My brain. I think I hate everyone.”

He hums. “Cool. We can start a club.”

You huff a laugh, just barely. But it’s something.

He glances at you sideways, like he’s measuring how far he can push. “So when do I get to punch your boss?”

“I’m serious, Kook.”

“I'm serious too! I’ve been doing push-ups.”

You snort, against your will. “You do three push-ups and call it training.”

“First of all, way more than three. Second, the form was perfect. Don’t disrespect me in my own car.”

You smile — tiny, fleeting — but it’s the first time today you’ve felt even remotely human.

“Thanks for picking me up,” you murmur after a second. “Even if you were late.”

“Exactly three minutes,” he says, defensive. “And I was texting you while driving, which is dedication. Illegal, but dedication.”

You glance over at him. He’s wearing his usual all-black like he’s trying to look tough, but the corners of his mouth are soft. His grip on the wheel is loose. Familiar. Like this is just another Friday, like nothing’s changed since last week.

But something has. You feel it.

You clear your throat. “Can we just go back to mine? I kind of want to curl into a blanket and pretend I don’t exist.”

“Nope,” he says instantly.

You blink. “What?”

“I have a plan.”

“A plan?”

“Yep.”

“What kind of plan?”

He just grins, eyes still on the road. “You’ll see.”

You narrow your eyes. “I swear to god, if this ends with me getting roped into karaoke—”

“No karaoke,” he says with a laugh, holding up one hand solemnly. “I promise. You’ve suffered enough.”

You sigh and let your head fall against the window. The glass is cool against your temple, and you let your eyes slip closed for a second. “I’m serious though, Kook. I really don’t think I have the energy to be around people right now.”

“No people,” he assures you. “Just us. Little detour. Nothing dramatic.”

You peek one eye open at him. “You’re being weird.”

“I’m being nice.”

“That’s what’s weird.”

He smirks. “Okay, that’s fair.”

You fall quiet again. The road noise fills the silence, the gentle whir of tires and the low pulse of the bass. It’s soothing in a way, the way riding with him always is.

Your fingers drift to your lap, fidgeting with the hem of your shirt. He doesn’t ask again about your week. He just drives, one hand on the wheel, the other resting casually near the gearshift, fingers tapping to the beat of the music.

You glance at him again.

He looks good when he’s focused but relaxed. The way he hums along to the music without realising. The way the light paints the side of his face gold as it streams through the windshield. You feel it crawl up your chest: that annoying, warm pressure. That thing you haven’t named yet.

That thing you’re starting to feel more often when he’s near you.

And it’s so stupid. So inconvenient.

You stare out the window, try to shake it off.

He turns down a street you don’t recognise.

“Seriously,” you say, finally. “Where are we going?”

He just grins again, eyes still forward.

“You’ll see.”

You’re parked at the top of a hill you didn’t know existed.

Below you, the city stretches out — tiny glints of light catching on glass and metal, and cars threading through the streets like slow-moving ants. It’s not some tourist lookout spot. There’s no crowds, no fences or coin-operated telescopes. Just a dusty turnout on the side of a winding road and a view that makes you feel like the world finally shut up for a minute.

It’s quiet up here. Real quiet. Even the music in the car has been turned down to a soft background hum — just instrumental now.

You’ve got a milkshake in your hands, condensation slipping down the side and catching on your fingers. It’s thick and rich, the kind that takes actual effort to sip through a straw. The sweetness coats your tongue, dulls the bitter edge that’s been living in your chest all week. In your lap is the discarded wrapping of a burger so good you had to ask where the hell it came from.

“I’ve literally never heard of this place,” you say around a mouthful of fries. “Is this one of those ‘secret menu, don’t tell anyone or they’ll kill you’ joints?”

Jungkook grins around his own bite, sauce already on the corner of his mouth. “Maybe. The guy who owns it doesn’t even do social media. Total off-the-grid.”

You nod like that explains the magic burger. “They probably sold their soul to the devil for the recipes or something.”

He laughs, mouth full, and leans over to wipe the sauce off with the back of his hand. “You okay now?”

You pause.

The question isn’t heavy. He doesn’t even look at you when he says it — just stares out at the view like he’s asking casually. But you hear the real version underneath. You always hear it with him.

You take a slow sip of your milkshake before answering.

“Yeah,” you say. “I think I am.”

And for once, it’s not a lie. Your body still feels wrung out, your muscles sore from being tense for too many days in a row, but something about this — about being here, with him, with real food and fake silence and a breeze that smells like clean air and french fries settles something in you.

You glance over. He’s sitting back against the driver’s side door, one knee propped up. His hat’s on the floor somewhere — he'd thrown it off after complaining about the heat — and the curve of his neck is exposed just enough to distract you when you look too long.

Which you are. Looking too long, again.

“So,” you say, casually. “How many women have you brought up here to seduce with mystery burgers and pretty views?”

He snorts. “You’re the first. Most of my dates prefer the classic ‘come over and watch a movie, but don’t actually watch the movie’ route.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Wow. Such effort.”

“Right? I’m kind of romantic like that.”

You toss a fry at him. It bounces off his chest and lands in his tray.

He doesn’t flinch. Just picks it up and eats it. “Thanks.”

You roll your eyes, but you can't help the smile that tugs on your lips.

The air settles into a rhythm again. You chew slowly, the kind of silence between you that doesn’t need filling. It's never been hard, being around him. Even now — after everything — you find yourself slipping back into the easy groove of just existing next to him.

Your phone buzzes in your bag, but you don’t reach for it. You don’t even want to know.

You glance over at him again.

He’s still working on his burger, brows furrowed like he’s trying to solve it. Like he’s mad at how good it tastes.

It should be funny.

It is funny. But your heart stutters instead.

You don’t laugh. You just watch.

The way his lips press together before each bite. The little crease between his eyebrows. His jaw, flexing with each chew. The thick column of his throat when he swallows.

You’ve seen him eat a thousand things in a thousand places. Messy tacos. Gas station snacks. Instant noodles straight from the pot. But somehow, this moment feels different.

Or maybe you do.

Something in you has been tilting all week.

You’ve been tired, angry, brittle with exhaustion. But under it — every time he texts you, looks at you, shows up — there’s something else rising. Warm and low.

You’re not sure when being around him stopped feeling simple.

Maybe it was that night. Maybe it’s been creeping in longer. But it’s louder now. Clearer. It fills your throat and sits behind your ribs and presses up against the edges of your self-control.

He licks ketchup from his thumb.

And you can’t stop staring at his mouth.

He glances up and catches you looking, raising an eyebrow. “What?”

You blink. Swallow. Try to think of something else, anything else, but your body’s already too aware. Too wired.

“Would you hate me if I did something?” you ask, voice low.

His head tilts. “What kind of something?”

“Would you?” you repeat, ignoring his question.

He puts his empty milkshake cup and spare tissues into the paper bag you got the food in, then puts it on to the dashboard of the car before meeting your gaze again.

“You know I could never hate you,” he says, voice casual.

Your pulse stutters.

And before you can talk yourself out of it, your fingers fist in the front of his shirt and you’re moving across your seat, crashing your mouth into his.

It’s not sweet or delicate.

You kiss him like you’ve been holding it back for weeks. Like you’ve hit your limit and there’s nowhere else for the feeling to go. Your teeth scrape his lip. Your noses bump.

He makes a startled sound, hands finding your waist instinctively. You pull back a bit, heart hammering in your chest, and for a beat, neither of you move. He just stares at you — wide-eyed, lips parted — like he’s trying to memorise this exact second.

His mouth opens and closes for a second before his lips are on yours again, chasing your mouth like he needs you to breathe.

Fuck. You weren't actually expecting him to reciprocate.

Then again, you hadn't been thinking at all.

"This is a horrible idea," you mumble.

Jungkook smiles into the kiss. "Mhm. Terrible."

But neither of you stop. You're not sure you could even if you tried. Jungkook's an addicting man, especially when he's kissing you like this.

You grunt into his mouth when your knee hits the centre console, frustrated — not at him, not at this, but at the fucking layout of his stupid car.

You pull back just far enough to say, breathless, “This car is the worst possible place for this.”

He’s panting a little, lips flushed. “You’re the one who launched yourself at me.”

You roll your eyes, shifting your position to try and get comfortable, but your impatience only grows with every second that your lips aren't on his.

“Fuck,” you mutter, pushing your hair out of your face. “This is so—”

“Hot,” Jungkook cuts in, his hand sliding under your shirt to palm your waist. His touch is warm. Steady. “It’s hot.”

You pause. Look at him.

His gaze is on your mouth again and his hand flexes against your skin like he’s trying to stay in control. But you see it — how much effort it’s taking.

And that…

Yeah, that does something to you.

With the help of his hands, your weight sinks down into his lap, both knees straddling his thighs.

The position isn’t comfortable — your head almost knocks the ceiling — but it’s better than before. Your mouths press together again, desperate.

Your tongue slides against his, your teeth catch on his bottom lip, and he pulls you tighter like you might disappear if he lets go.

One of his hands snakes up your back, under your shirt, fingers splaying across your spine like he wants to map it. You grind down against him, slow and deliberate, and his breath stutters.

“Fuck,” he mutters into your mouth. “Do that again.”

You do.

He tilts his head and deepens the kiss, like he’s trying to taste everything you’ve never said out loud. You lose your balance for a second, your body leaning into him, your chest flush with his. His hand slips up to your jaw, thumb brushing along your cheekbone.

You roll your hips again, slower this time, and he breaks the kiss with a gasp, resting his forehead against yours.

“Shit,” he says, voice wrecked. “We can’t do this here.”

“Why not?” you murmur, mouth still grazing his.

He laughs — short, breathless. “Because I’m gonna break the gearshift with my dick if we keep going.”

You laugh too, the sound getting lost between the kisses you press to his jaw, his neck, the line of his throat.

His fingers dig into your waist. “You’re evil.”

You bite his earlobe gently. “You like it.”

He groans, the sound full and needy, and his hands are on your ass, dragging you harder into him, his hips rolling up to meet yours.

You both freeze at the contact.

Your breath catches. His does too.

You pull back to look at him. His eyes are blown wide. His lips are red. His chest rises and falls like he’s run a mile.

His mouth breaks from yours, breath ragged, lips swollen.

“Backseat,” he says, voice a little raspy.

You blink, still breathless. “What?”

He grabs your waist again, eyes dark with lust pooling in his pupils. “Backseat. Now.”

You don’t question him this time.

You clamber into the back with far less grace than you’d like — knees catching on leather, thigh knocking the steering wheel hard enough to make the horn let out a pathetic chirp. Jungkook laughs behind you, but it’s breathless and reverent, the kind of sound that makes you feel seen. Wanted.

You fall into the back seat, legs tangled, heart hammering, your skin hot beneath your clothes. Before you can even fix your hair or adjust your position, he’s climbing in after you.

His body slots over yours, knee between your thighs, hands bracing on either side of your head as he dives back in.

You fist his shirt, tugging him impossibly closer as his mouth breaks from yours and moves lower — along your jaw, down your neck. His lips are soft but relentless, nipping at the skin just below your ear before sucking hard enough to make your hips buck into him.

“Fuck,” you whisper, head falling back. “You’re—god—”

“Still not tired of me?” he murmurs against your throat.

You grip his shoulders, legs falling open to make room for him between them. “Shut up.”

He huffs a laugh against your skin, but he listens. Fingers move to your buttons, surprisingly nimble despite how wrecked he looks. He doesn’t tear anything. Doesn’t rush it. He undoes each one slowly, as if he’s unwrapping a gift he’s been waiting way too long to open.

As each button pops free, his mouth follows — kissing down the newly exposed skin between your breasts, over the curve of your ribs. His hands slide beneath the fabric, pushing it open until your chest is bared, and hooks a finger beneath the centre of your bra, tugging it down and out of the way until you're fully exposed beneath him.

He pulls back to look.

And when he does, he breathes your name.

Low. Like a prayer.

You watch his eyes drag over you, dark and worshipful. One hand cups your breast, his thumb brushing over your nipple in slow, lazy circles while the other grips your waist, holding you steady as your back arches into him.

He leans down again, tongue flicking over your nipple before his mouth closes around it — sucking just hard enough to make your toes curl. Your fingers fly to his hair, anchoring yourself in him as his teeth graze sensitive skin and his free hand teases the other side, drawing a sharp gasp from your throat.

“Kook—” you breathe, hips shifting beneath him, desperate for friction.

His mouth drags away with a wet sound. “Yeah, baby?”

The pet name sounds dangerous in his voice. Too natural. Like it belongs.

You don’t even call it out. You just say, “Need more.”

That’s all he needs to hear.

He drops one hand between your thighs, pressing it there over your pants with firm, maddening pressure. Just enough to make your breath stutter. His mouth is back on your chest, and his fingers start moving — slow at first, then harder, more purposeful, dragging against the seam of the fabric like he knows exactly how to push you to the edge.

He does.

And you’re already spiralling, body burning under his touch, chest heaving, lips swollen, the back seat of his car too cramped, too humid, too perfectly wrong for what’s happening.

But you’ve never wanted anything more.

Your head drops back against the seat, a soft moan catching in your throat as Jungkook keeps working you over through your pants, his fingers circling you like he has all the time in the world and none of the patience to waste it.

“I swear to god,” you pant, “if you don’t get these off me right now, I’m gonna lose my fucking mind.”

He laughs, still panting himself. His mouth presses hot and open to your neck, teeth grazing skin that’s already buzzing. “Bossy tonight, huh?”

“You started this.”

“And I’m gonna finish it,” he mutters, breath warm against your collarbone.

He shifts down your body and you feel him fumble with the button of your pants, tongue poking at the corner of his mouth in concentration.

“I can do it,” you say, breathless. “You’re slow.”

He blinks up at you, eyebrows raised. “Oh? I’m slow?”

You undo the button in one motion, zipper halfway down, and shoot him a sarcastic smile. “There. Congrats.”

He smiles, wide and wicked, and in the next second, he’s got your pants halfway down your thighs, your panties bunched right after. “Cool. I’ll just use my mouth then.”

That wipes the smugness off your face in an instant.

You freeze.

“Kook— wait, no—”

He pauses, glancing up at you from where he’s knelt between your legs, hair falling into his eyes, hands gripping your thighs with intent. “Did you just try and say no to that?”

“I mean…” You squirm, thighs twitching under his touch. “Last time was already— like, I came. A lot. You don’t have to do the whole… y’know…”

“The whole what?” he asks, voice dangerously innocent. “The part where I make you forget your own name with my tongue?”

You glare at him. “Don’t say it like that.”

He smirks, leaning in until his nose brushes your inner thigh. “Say what? That I’m gonna eat you out until you’re dripping into the seat?”

Your whole body jerks. “Jesus— Kook.”

“That’s not a no.”

He presses a kiss to your inner thigh, slow and warm. Then another. And another. Higher. Closer.

“Didn't get to do it last time,” he murmurs. “And I’ve been thinking about it. All fucking week.”

“You think about this?” you ask, trying for teasing, but your voice wavers as his mouth brushes closer to your core.

“Every night.”

Your breath catches.

“Every time I jerked off, it was to the sound you made when I had my fingers in you. You remember that?” he asks, dragging his mouth up until he’s just hovering over you, warm breath ghosting across your heat.

You nod, because you can’t speak. Your fingers are curled tight into the edge of the seat. Your thighs twitch.

“You remember what you said? ‘Please, don’t stop,’” he mimics, voice low and mocking. “But now you wanna tell me to stop this?”

You open your mouth to fire back some bratty reply — but then he presses a single, firm kiss against your cunt.

Your brain blanks.

Your hips buck.

“Fuck— okay,” you gasp, voice breaking.

He grins like he’s won a bet. “Knew you’d cave.”

Then his mouth is on you.

Hot and slow at first — just one long lick from bottom to top that has your eyes rolling back. His hands pin your thighs apart, anchoring you in place as he buries his face between your legs.

His tongue is obscene. Soft and firm in perfect rhythm, flicking over your clit before sealing his mouth around it and sucking hard enough to make your vision blur.

You cry out, hips stuttering up into his face, but he just groans against you.

“Fuck, you’re so messy already,” he mumbles against you. “Is that for me?”

You’re beyond words.

Your fingers snake into his hair, anchoring yourself as he eats you out like a man with something to prove. He moves with precision and hunger, memorising your every twitch, every gasp, every breathless curse.

“God, Kook—” you pant, eyes squeezed shut. “You’re such a fucking overachiever.”

He pulls back just enough to look up at you, chin slick, pupils blown. “You gonna dock my grade if I make you come too fast?”

You glare down at him, chest heaving. “You’re insufferable.”

He presses a kiss to your clit, slow and sharp. “As if it doesn't turn you on."

You can’t argue. Not when he dives back in, tongue sliding over you with maddening confidence, his nose bumping against your clit as he hums.

The pressure builds fast.

Too fast.

And you know it’s coming — the kind of orgasm that starts at your toes and climbs like a fuse to the rest of you — but you don’t care.

You come hard, shaking through it, barely aware of the sounds leaving your mouth. Everything goes white-hot for a second — your grip in his hair, the tremble in your thighs, the pleasure that pulses through you.

You’re still gasping, thighs trembling, when he finally pulls back. His lips are slick, his chin wet with you, and he looks fucking wrecked.

He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

“You good?” he asks, cocky and a little breathless.

You shoot him a look. “Do I look good?”

He smirks. “You look like I just rocked your shit.”

You scoff, weak but grinning. “You’re so full of yourself.”

He kisses your inner thigh, then leans up, mouth dragging over your ribs as he moves back over you. “Just calling it like I see it.”

Your hands slide under his shirt as he settles above you again, dragging it up over his toned stomach until he gets the hint and peels it off. You press your palms to his chest, warm and solid and slick with sweat.

Then your hand starts moving lower.

Jungkook freezes above you, eyes flicking down to where your fingers are tugging at his waistband. You smirk up at him.

“My turn?”

“Your turn to what?” he asks, voice already hoarse.

You shift, nudging his hips up so you can start pulling his jeans open. “You think I’m gonna let you have all the fun?”

He groans — actual, full-bodied groan — as you work the zipper down and slide your hand beneath the waistband of his boxers.

But the second your fingers wrap around him, he grabs your wrist.

You look up, surprised. “What?”

He’s panting now, jaw tight, brow furrowed like he’s holding on by a thread.

“I can’t.”

You blink. “Can’t what?”

“I— fuck, if you put your mouth on me, I’m not gonna last.” He grips your wrist tighter, not pulling away but not letting you move either. “And I need to be in you first.”

You raise a brow, amused. “What happened to all that stamina you brag about during Mario Kart?”

He glares, cheeks flushed. “That’s different. You don’t suck me off during Mario Kart.”

“Maybe I should.”

“Don’t joke right now,” he grits out, pushing your hand out of his boxers with an almost painful kind of restraint. “I’m serious. I’m already dying.”

You pout, dragging your nails lightly down his stomach just to be a brat. “So needy.”

His eyes narrow, before moving back onto you.

You squeal as he pins your hands above your head, his body crashing into yours, mouth crashing against your neck.

“I’ll show you needy,” he growls, voice thick and dark.

Your heart kicks hard in your chest, and you’re smiling — giddy, wrecked, turned on beyond belief.

“You promise?” you whisper, voice almost mocking.

His hips roll down into yours.

“Oh, baby. I promise.”

The second his hips grind down again, dragging against your soaked heat, you feel your breath punch out of your lungs.

He lets go of your wrists and shoves his jeans and boxers down just far enough to free himself, cock flushed and heavy, already leaking at the tip. You reach for it instinctively, wanting to feel him, stroke him slow just to tease — but he swats your hand away like it’s nothing.

“No,” he growls, leaning in to press a kiss to your collarbone, rough and reverent all at once. “You had your chance.”

You open your mouth to argue, to push his buttons just a little more — but the head of his cock nudges your entrance, and whatever snark you had queued up melts into a gasp.

Jungkook groans under his breath, burying his face in the crook of your neck like the restraint is killing him. “Fuck, you’re so wet.”

“Yeah,” you rasp, gripping his shoulders, nails digging in. “Wonder why.”

He shifts his hips, just a little, dragging the thick head through your folds. Not pushing in yet, but slicking himself up with you. You moan despite yourself, arching into him, your body desperate to be filled.

“You ready?” he mutters, voice ragged.

You look at him — really look at him. His hair’s a mess, stuck to his forehead. His lips are kiss-bruised and red. His abs flex as he holds himself up over you, barely restraining the shake in his arms.

And you’ve never wanted anything so badly in your life.

“Yeah,” you whisper. “Please.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice.

He pushes in slow, thick and stretching, and your breath catches at the burn. Your back arches. One hand flies to the window for leverage, the other fists in the back of his neck.

“Jesus,” Jungkook groans, barely halfway in. “You feel— fuck— you feel insane.”

You laugh, short and winded. “That’s what you said last time.”

“Yeah, and I meant it.”

He bottoms out with a curse, hips flush to yours. For a moment, you both just breathe — heavy and ragged, bodies locked together, the air thick with sweat and want.

His movements are slow at first — just a shallow roll of his hips that drags his cock along every nerve ending inside you. You moan, legs tightening around his waist, heels digging into the backs of his thighs.

“Faster,” you breathe, already twitching around him.

He leans back just enough to watch your face, eyes locked on yours like he’s chasing every reaction. Then he picks up the pace — slamming into you with long, deep strokes that have the car rocking.

You cry out, snapping your hand up to press against your mouth. “Kook— fuck, don’t stop.”

He laughs — laughs, breathless and wrecked. “You think I could?”

Every thrust punches a gasp from your lungs. You can’t think. You can’t do anything but hold on.

He shifts, bracing one knee on the seat and angling his hips just right — and when he hits that spot inside you, your whole body jerks.

“Oh my god,” you moan.

“Right there?” he grits out, sweat dripping down his jaw. “Fuck, I feel it— your pussy’s so fucking tight, you’re gonna— shit— you’re gonna make me come.”

“Thought you said I’d be the one begging.”

He groans, pulls out almost all the way, then slams back in so hard you scream.

“Still wanna be a brat?” he growls, panting.

You nod, grinning through the moans. “Always.”

“Fine.” He grabs both your wrists again and pins them above your head, his body pressing into you harder now, relentless, sweat slicking your skin. “Then you can take it.”

And fuck, you do.

Your second orgasm creeps up on you fast — your whole body tensing as his thrusts get rougher, deeper, desperate. You cry out his name, high and wrecked, and the sound makes him snap.

His rhythm falters. His mouth crashes against yours, sloppy and hot, all teeth and tongue as he chases his own edge.

“I’m gonna—” he gasps, pulling back to look at you, eyes wild. “Fuck— can I—?”

You nod fast, moaning. “Inside. Just do it.”

That’s all it takes.

He buries himself one last time and shatters — groaning low in your ear as he spills into you, body shaking, arms trembling with effort as he holds himself up.

For a moment, it’s just the sound of breathing. Wind through cracked windows. The slow drip of sweat down your temples. The burn in your thighs. The mess between your legs.

Jungkook lets out a choked laugh and slumps down, burying his face in your neck. “Okay,” he mumbles. “That might’ve been the best sex I’ve had in a fucking car.”

You laugh, dazed. “You say that like it’s a long list.”

“Give me some credit,” he says, voice muffled against your skin. “I’m not that trashy.”

You stroke your fingers through his hair, still catching your breath. “We just fogged up every window in your car.”

“Worth it.”

He doesn’t move.

You’re still tangled together, his weight heavy on you, his softening cock still inside.

After a moment, he shifts slightly and lets out a low, satisfied sigh. You can feel the smile against your neck before he presses another kiss there. Then another. And another.

You squirm, half-laughing, half-exasperated. “You’re clingy as fuck after sex.”

“Mm-hmm,” Jungkook hums, completely unashamed. “Deal with it.”

You roll your eyes, still grinning. “You’re like a weighted blanket.”

He lifts his head just enough to look at you, sweaty curls falling into his eyes. “You love it.”

“Debatable.”

He snorts, then finally pulls out, slow and careful. You both groan at the feeling, and you feel it immediately: his cum, warm and slick, already starting to slide out of you.

You shift to reach for your underwear, cringing at the sticky feeling.

“I’ll clean you up,” he says, voice quiet but certain. “When we get home.”

You blink at him. “You don’t have to. Just drop me off—”

“No.” His tone is firmer now, jaw set. “I’m not just dropping you off.”

You stare at him for a beat, surprised by the sharp edge in his voice. Then you glance down pull up your bra and button up your shirt, suddenly very aware of your heartbeat again.

He watches you the whole time, his eyes dragging over your skin like he’s memorising every inch of it before covering it back up. And when you finish with the last button and reach for your jeans, he leans forward and kisses your jaw — soft, almost reverent.

“I mean it,” he murmurs. “Let me take care of you.”

And for some reason, you don’t fight it.

You’re lying in his bed, hair still damp from the shower, the curve of his hoodie soft against your bare thighs. The sheets smell like fabric softener and his cologne, and the room is dim — just the small lamp by the closet casting a low amber glow. There’s a bowl of ramen on the nightstand, still steaming. You’re not hungry, but he made it for you, so you took a few bites anyway.

Outside, the city hums. A car passes on the street below. Somewhere down the hall, the radiator clicks.

It should feel normal. Comfortable. It did feel normal — until maybe twenty minutes ago.

Things were fine when you got here. He’d pulled you toward the bathroom and handed you a towel, that stupid grin still half on his face. He even said something about making noodles if you promised not to pass out in his bed again. You’d laughed. Called him a housewife. Everything felt fine.

But when you came out of the shower, something was different.

He was sitting on the edge of the bed, scrolling his phone like he didn’t hear you walk in. And when he looked up, the smile was there, yeah — but it didn’t fully reach his eyes. You shrugged it off. Maybe you imagined it. Maybe he was just zoning out.

But then it kept going.

Quiet, too quiet. He’d made the ramen without talking. Brought it to you, set it down, and just... sat on the floor for a while, scrolling again, saying nothing. When you asked what he was doing, he just said, “Checking something,” and didn’t elaborate. Eventually he stood, turned on a random playlist, and flopped into the chair in the corner with a bottle of water.

Now he’s across the room, scrolling again, leg bouncing slightly like he’s keyed up and trying to burn it off. He hasn’t looked at you in a few minutes. You watch the light from his phone flicker across his face, the way his brow furrows every now and then, and something in your chest tugs.

It’s not dramatic. He’s not being rude or distant. He’s not treating you like a stranger. But he’s not treating you like you, either — not the way he usually does.

You know him too well not to notice. The way he’s moving isn’t right. Like he’s stuck in his own head. Like there’s something he wants to say but doesn’t know how to bring up.

Or maybe he’s trying not to say something. Either way, it sits in the air between you, subtle but heavy.

You pull your knees up under the hoodie and wrap your arms around them, resting your chin there. Watching him. Waiting, maybe, for him to snap out of it. Say something dumb. Make fun of your hair. Crawl into bed next to you like it’s nothing.

But he doesn’t.

You shift slightly, tugging the hoodie down over your thighs even though it’s already covering you. The ramen’s gone lukewarm on the nightstand.

“Kook?”

His head lifts just a little. “Hmm?”

You hesitate. “What’s going on?”

He blinks, finally looking at you. His eyes are soft. Tired, maybe. Or just dimmer than usual. “What do you mean?”

“You just feel…” You trail off, unsure how to word it without sounding dramatic. “I don’t know. A little off.”

He smiles, and it’s almost convincing. “I’m good. Just tired.”

You don’t push. Not really. You know him. If he doesn’t want to talk, he won’t. And whatever this is — it doesn’t feel sharp enough to cut yet. It just feels strange.

“Okay,” you say quietly.

He glances down, then back at you. “Eat your noodles before they go gross.”

You glance at the bowl, then back at him. “You eat yet?”

He nods. “Earlier.”

You don’t believe him, but you let it slide.

He shifts in the chair, stretching his legs out and resting his head back for a second before sitting up again, like he was about to let himself relax and then thought better of it.

“I’m gonna get some work done before bed,” he says, standing up slowly. “Couple things I need to catch up on.”

You watch him move toward the door, half expecting him to stop, change his mind, come back and say something dumb like he always does. But he just opens it, hand braced against the frame.

His voice is gentle when he adds, “Don’t stay up too late, alright?”

You nod. “Yeah. I won’t.”

He gives you a small smile — soft, careful — and then he’s gone.

The door clicks shut behind him.

You stare at it for a long moment. The hoodie sleeves are pulled over your hands now. The ramen sits untouched. The playlist keeps playing, quiet and aimless in the background.

You let out a soft sigh before reaching over to flick off the lamp.

The room goes dark, soft shadows stretching over the walls. The sheets rustle as you shift down into them, tugging the comforter over your legs, the warmth doing nothing to quiet the noise in your head.

Maybe this is why people don’t sleep with their best friends.

Maybe this is exactly why those lines exist — because crossing them means risking everything else. And maybe you knew that. Maybe you ignored it anyway.

Because it was him.

Because part of you has been circling this for longer than you want to admit.

You close your eyes, breathing slow and steady. The scent of him still clings to the sheets. Still wraps around you like he should be here. But he’s not.

Regret settles low in your chest, dull and heavy. You hate the way it sits there, thick in your ribs, twisting slow in your stomach. You’ve always hated how it creeps in after the fact, when it’s already too late to take anything back.

You shift onto your side and pull the blanket up to your chin. Try to sleep. Try to stop thinking.

He said everything was fine.

You just wish you believed him.

→ read part three here (coming soon — join the taglist for ‘just this… twice?’ to be notified when part two releases)

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kimstills · 9 months ago

Text

crazy

pairing: aaron hotchner x fem!bau!reader

summary: after one heated and spontaneous night together, aaron can’t seem to get his pretty subordinate (or her pussy) out of his head.

content warnings: smut, 18+, minors do not interact!, pussy!whipped hotch, age gaps, dirty talk, rough unprotected office sex, multiple orgasms, oral (f receiving, mentions of m receiving in the past), choking, hair pulling, ass slapping, groping, some angst if u squint, love confessions and some asshole behavior, hotch is a munch and masturbates in his office.

word count: 6.5k (yea…)

a/n: this may seem a lil out of character for hotch? we all know he’s a professional thru and thru but the point is this is that he’s pussy whipped! also lots of flashbacks in italics whoopsies <3

Aaron was sure he was going crazy.

Or maybe he already was, and he was just starting to feel the effects of his craziness.

Aaron Hotchner, usually poised in a way that unwillingly intimidated others and made them back away from him, was unraveling in a way he had never done so before.

Having a one-night stand with his subordinate, the same subordinate he had been harboring painfully arising feelings for literal years, often led to such a reaction.

He could still recount every single detail from that night, from the moment the tension between you both began building itself up to the moment it actually snapped. It was as if he had everything engraved in his mind; the views he never thought he'd get to see to the things he never thought he would get to feel etched into his brain.

It had all been a blur that night, and a part of Aaron still couldn’t wrap his head around the fact that you reciprocated his attraction towards you, letting him, not only touch you but also fuck you.

You two had stayed up late in your shared hotel room only to talk, really. After you and the rest of the team had wrapped up a somewhat good case, you only wanted to rant to one another. Aaron knew that you weren’t a ‘whiskey girl,’ or whatever it was that you said, but he had offered you a drink either way.

Neither one of you had even gotten tipsy, so he couldn’t even blame it on the alcohol. But the connection had always been there, though, one thing finally leading to another and all the unsaid words and stolen glances between you both began to surface.

It was as if everything you both silently felt for another was starting to seep through and everything that hindered you from telling each other no longer mattered.

It had felt so hot, from the way you held him close with your legs wrapped around his waist to the messy yet passionate kisses you shared, your bodies connected beneath.

It was everything Aaron envisioned it to be. But, as magical and heated as it was, he was the one to have ended things before they even had a chance at starting.

The morning after, as soon as you had both untangled your bodies from one another and got dressed to get back home to Quantico, he had done the stupidest thing imaginable.

“We shouldn’t do this again.”

You froze in your spot, half-way through tugging your pants up your legs. You blink at him from where he stood on the other side of the bed, already dressed, “This?”

“Yes.” Aaron says, voice awfully neutral.

You frown, jutting out your bottom lip that same way you did when you were thinking, “May I ask why?”

He takes a deep breath, “I’m your boss,” he gives you a pointed look, as if he had to remind you after fucking you dumb, “and you’re my subordinate. This goes against several workplace regulations and if anyone were to find out we could both lose our jobs.”

You’re quiet for several moments after that, and Aaron uses the silence to his advantage to prepare for any arguments you could be thinking of to use against him. He can’t seem to read you, though, your expression pensive as you stare at the floor.

Then you shrug. “Okay.” You say, simple and nonchalant.

Aaron watches as you continue finishing getting ready and he doesn’t know if he should ask if you were actually okay with it.

He decides that it’s for the best, not getting any pushback or having to argue on why he’s just subconsciously pushing you away after having one of the best nights of his life.

“Okay.” He repeats, giving you a small nod, even though you weren’t looking at him. With one last glance to your surprisingly calm figure, he finishes collecting the rest of his things and heads out of the room.

Even after the team had checked out of their hotel and settled onto the jet, you didn’t spare him a second glance. You hadn’t necessarily moved to ignoring him or silently lashing out, but it was as if everything went back to normal, with no mentions or glances back to that night.

That should be what was driving him crazy; the way he didn’t know if you were only calm because you were planning on going to the higher-ups, to HR, about what had happened. If you were secretly planning on putting him on blast out of anger or betrayal or telling him that he had coerced you to sleep with him and threatened you in case you didn’t.

No. What was driving him crazy was that he couldn’t get you out of his head, even after he broke things off.

Everything was engraved into his mind, from the sight of you on your knees, mouth full of his cock while you stared up at him with tear-pricked eyelashes and basked in his praises. Or the way your nails dug into his skin as he thrusted into you and the way you felt around him, all while he took pleasure in the sweet sounds he emitted from you every second.

He was going mad, and the already established feelings he had for you weren’t helping, either.

Aaron stared at you from inside his office, studied your features from afar whilst you sat on your desk. Your face was set in a neutral expression, flickering your attention from your computer screens to the physical files in front of you, but all he could see was the same face and person morphed into the one that had been withering in pleasure underneath him.

“Hotch…” you whine, a hand wrapped around his bicep as he dipped a finger inside your glistening pussy.

He watched as your back arched off the bed, throwing your head back against the pillows at the feeling of his thick digit inside you, “What, sweetheart?” He asked, the nickname rolling of his tongue easily. “What do you need? Hm?”

Your hips stuttered as he inserted another finger, thrusting them in and out you, “Y-You. I want you. Inside me.” You peered at him through your fluttering lashes, your mascara smudged underneath your eyes from the tears that had slipped out while you were sucking his cock.

“Yeah?” His voice is filled with amusement and bewilderment, one part of him indulging in seeing you this way—all disheveled and needy for him—while the other was still stunned at the whole thing. “Want my cock inside you after you just had it in your mouth?”

You nod meekly at his words, a sweet pout adorning your flushed lips.

Despite the heat and tension that suffocated the room, Aaron’s heart fluttered at the sight of you. The way you were asking for him ever so bashfully after just giving him the best head of his life tugged at his heartstrings and made his cock twitch.

“Please,” you whisper, bucking your hips upwards. A stuttered gasp emits from your lips when you feel the tip of his dick prod at your sopping entrance, “Aaron…”

Aaron lets out a low, throaty groan at the sound of his first name mumbled in desperation, and he thinks back to all the times he’s thought about you like this. How many times he’s dreamed of having you underneath him, encaged by his broad figure and whining for him.

“I got you, sweet girl,” he says promisingly. He lifts himself to his full height on his knees, lining himself up with your entrance and holding onto the meat of your thigh. Another groan utters from the back of his throat, mixed in with your gasps and puffs of breath as he begins to sink inside you.

A knock on his office door forces Aaron to snap out of his train of thought. He looks down at himself, registering the painfully hard boner he was now sporting. Quickly, he scooted further into his desk so that the tent in his pants wouldn’t be visible by whoever was knocking on his door. Clearing his throat, he lets out a somewhat proper ‘come in.’

In walks Garcia, and Aaron doesn’t know if he should be thankful or mortified it was her out of all people.

“Sir?” She asks politely, files in hand and head tilted in an ever so Penelope manner. “We’re ready whenever you are.”

Right. It was barely nine in the morning and Aaron was already sporting a growing tent in his suit pants.

He nods, doing his best to feign being busy, “I’ll be there in five, Garcia.”

He wants to think he comes out as somewhat normal, but panic surges through him briefly when her expression turns into a curious one.

“Are you alright, sir?” She takes a step forward and Aaron has to hold himself back from screaming for her to stay where she is. “You look red and pale at the same time.”

He shakes his head, waving a hand dismissively yet good-naturedly, “I’m fine. Jack is coming down with something and I think I might be, too.”

Great. Now he was using his innocent son as a scapegoat for his own horniness and bad decisions. Some father he was.

Garcia nods, looking convinced enough before bidding him a nod shuffling out of his office and closing the door behind her.

Aaron lets out a breath he didn’t even know he was holding in. His boner had softened the slightest bit, and he was conflicted in trying to make it go down completely or taking care of it right here and now. But the thought of having to face his team after fucking himself into his fist mortified him. Of seeing you, right after fucking himself into his fist to the thought of you after leaving you hanging coldly.

He opted out of it, though it took more than five minutes to settle himself before heading over to the conference room. Once again, he tried to play it as casual as possible while he walked to his seat with everyone staring expectantly at him, including you.

“Let’s get started.”

The team’s briefings went on as so, everyone presenting their perspective cases and discoveries within them. It was a bit easier to lose focus of what he was thinking earlier when the gory crime scenes showed up on the TV screen each time someone went up, but all focus was lost when it was your turn.

You stood from your seat, taking the control from Penelope’s hands and talking everyone through the case you were currently focusing on.

Aaron held his fist up to his face as he tried to focus on the details of the case instead of you and your entire being. Your hair whipped out and into your face each time you looked from the screen and back to the team. The top part of your dress twisted with each turn and motion you made, the bottom part of it creasing along with it. Was it a new dress?

Didn’t matter. It didn’t compare to the pajama shorts he had slowly, almost tauntingly, pulled down your legs before–

“...makes me think he’s keeping them in a secluded space. He obviously likes the control and the pleasure of having his victims’ screams and cries for help to himself, so I’ve advised police to search condemned and empty areas far away from the city and even on the outskirts of the town.” You finished with a nod and once again Aaron was snapped away from his unholy thoughts.

While everyone else added their own commentary and advice, Aaron realized he had been the only to have not said anything during your presentation, too preoccupied with you once more.

“Adding in the possibility of him keeping them outside of the main town the victims have been found in was a smart move,” He quickly added, trying his best to comment on what he had paid attention to. His breath hitched when you turned to look at him. “Law enforcement might have missed that and can collaborate with police from the next town over. Good job.”

You smiled softly and nodded in appreciation, “Thank you.”

Fuck. How were you so nonchalant about this? Aaron’s mind wandered back to the probability of you getting back at him by going to Strauss about your rendezvous. It was only early morning Monday, the first day back in the office after said events, so it wasn’t a surprise he hadn’t heard anything from her. Yet.

He nodded back in response, though, casting his gaze downwards and collecting his things, “Great. I expect everyone’s reports to be on my desk by tonight, please.”

Everyone stood from their seats, shuffling out of the room with mumbled conversations. Aaron held back, taking his time in looking through his files and stacking them together while you did the same, leaving the two of you alone once everyone else had gone.

He wanted to say something, gather the courage to ask you something. Anything, just to make sure you were alright. If the two of you were still right, in spite of everything.

Only when you finished collecting things did he bring himself to open his mouth, a soft utterance of your name to get your attention.

You stopped in your tracks, a good couple feet away from him and the door. You stared at him, waiting for him to speak with a neutral expression on your face.

Not one of annoyance or irritation. Just expectant.

God, you really were driving him crazy.

You raised a brow when he didn’t say anything, “…Yes?”

He clears his throat again before asking, “Is everything okay?”

You blink and tilt your head, dumbfounded, “Why wouldn’t it be?”

Aaron grips at his files, guilt consuming him all over again. “With us,” he clarifies, swallowing harshly. “Is everything okay with us?”

You blink a couple more times, eyes wandering to the side as if you’re trying to catch onto what he’s implying.

It makes his heart churn.

“Oh.” You finally say, meeting his gaze. “Yes. We both agreed, no? To what you said.”

Aaron can’t decipher if the smile you give him is genuine or jeering, and he can’t tell if what you say last is clarifying as his answer or if it’s something underlyingly petty.

Either way it’s something. You’ve given him something and he’ll take it.

He nods finally, “Yes, we did.”

You shrug, smiling a bit wider this time, “All good then.”

He gives another curt nod, stepping to the side so you could exit the room. He moves to follow behind you, but he gets a whiff of your perfume as soon as you brush past him. The scent makes him halt and he has to hold onto one of the back posts of a chair to stabilize himself.

He takes a deep breath, inhaling the remnants that linger behind you for a moment.

He truly was going crazy.

The rest of the day goes by the same and hardly any work gets done on Aaron’s end. He’d scribble whatever he needed to write down or fill out then get distracted by the void of you.

It was getting impossible for him to keep working with the relentless problem that was his ongoing boner. He was tucked into his desk all the way yet it hurt whenever he leaned forward or backwards while moving around. Oftentimes he tried to give himself some sort of relief by running a hand over himself, but it didn’t help much, and the dirty thoughts about you certainly didn’t either.

The sounds that filled the room were lewd, your gags and moans from below mixed in with Aaron’s grunts and words of encouragement echoing off the hotel room’s walls. His large hand was entangled in your hair, pushing your head forward to take more of him, as if your jaw wasn’t aching enough already.

Though there wasn’t a way for him to tell, really. You gave no sign or indication that you wanted him to stop, your tongue swiping at the head of his cock each time he dipped your head even more. Saliva pooled from your tongue and leaked from your mouth, dripping into the carpeted floor and entailing a trail from your lips to your chin.

Aaron’s head was thrown back in utter pleasure and astonishment, bewildered that you’d ever be doing this to him. He didn’t want to finish before you, but it was taking everything him to not give in and fuck your face the way he truly desired.

He’d never received head this good, nor had he received it much recently. His legs were spread with you settled in between them contently. “That’s it sweetheart,” he mumbled, brushing fallen strands of hair out of your face lovingly. “Taking me so good, such a good girl.”

His praises only edged you on even further, bobbing your head up and down a couple more times before pulling off of him with a slick ‘pop!’ You rest your head on his thigh in an attempt to catch your breath, a shaky, stuttered sigh heaving from your chest as your hand comes up to continue the rest of your work.

Aaron has to run a hand over his face to try and keep his composure, his nails digging into the skin of his palm albeit their short length. He throws his head back against his chair, a grunt threatening to emit from his throat as he coercively runs his hand over his boner.

At least he wishes he can say it’s coercively, really it’s just a tainted image of you he’s embedded in his own dirty mind.

It doesn’t take long for Aaron to give in and reach inside his pants, sparing another careful glance to his now locked office door before springing his painfully hard cock free. A low, pleased grunt spills from his pursed lips as he wraps his hand around himself. He gives his length a good tug, bucking his hips up instantaneously, the same way he did when you first wrapped your mouth around him.

Still, as cautiously and quietly as possible, he begins to stroke at his length, a hand covering his mouth as he continues to dart his eyes from below himself to his door–as if anyone would walk in at any second and catch him jerking himself off in his own government-issued office.

He begins to imagine that his fist is you. That you’re sitting in the space between his legs with your hot mouth licking long stripes up his length and that your hand is toying with his balls the same way you did before. It only makes him pump at his fist even faster, the hand that was covering his mouth shooting down to the armrest of his chair, gripping at the cushioned leather as he began to reach his high.

“Fuck, Hotch, fuck!” Your whines are eccentric, head thrown back in pure ecstasy. Your legs wrap around Aaron’s waist, pulling him closer to you as he continues to thrust into your sopping pussy.

Aaron groans loudly, silently thanking that his and yours room was placed further down the hall from everyone else’s. His hands rest at the bottom of your thighs, his large hand gripping the flesh for support as he pounds into you relentlessly. Your pussy grips him like a vice and your nails dig into the skin of his biceps from where you hold him.

His sight is focused on you only, the way your tits bounce with each thrust and the way your mouth is curled into a wide ‘o’ from the pleasure you’re receiving.

“So good for me, baby,” he mumbles, hand coming down to grab at your breast, squeezing possessively before leaning down to crash his lips against yours hungrily.

You whine through the kiss, grabbing a fistful of his hair and tugging while your other hand scratches at his back. A string of saliva connects at your lips when he pulls away, his head dipping down to kiss and suck at your neck while he grabs your hips to better pistol himself inside you.

A moan echoes through the room again and straight to his ear, your back arching into his chest, “Feels so good, Aaron, so good!”

Aaron’s release sputters everywhere messily and he has to bite at his fist to stop himself from groaning loudly. His come spills onto parts of his leg, his desk, and even onto the floor. He leans back into his chair, trying to contain himself and his heaving chest.

He takes a look at the mess he created–the mess you unknowingly entailed from him. Like clockwork, the paranoia and guilt from doing this begins to seep in and he’s quick to snatch a handful of tissues from the box he kept on the corner of his desk to clean himself up. He tucks himself back into his pants then moves to clean at his desk and his floor.

Clearly, he hadn’t known what he was thinking. Not when it came to calling things off between the two of you before they even happened and certainly not now after he realized the spell he was currently in.

The last hour of the work day comes by agonizingly slowly. After his little session, Aaron finds it a little bit easier to get the rest of his work done (key word: a little bit). The rest of the members all begin to spill into his office to hand in their finished paperwork and files, all of them sparing him brief glances of curiosity and concern–the same way Garcia had done earlier–before bidding him goodnight and leaving.

The only one that hasn’t come to hand in anything was you. He knew you were still here, he could see you sitting at your desk from the view through his blinds, scribbling away casually like you had been doing so the whole day. After you had stalled to follow behind the rest of your co-workers, Aaron had gotten up from his desk and pretended to be walking around his office with a file in hand, lifting his head every few minutes to see if you were ever making your way towards him to turn in your work.

He wanted desperately to know what you were thinking. If you were secretly being tortured by the recollections of your hook-up, too, or if you truly didn’t care about him basically dumping you after having sex with you and telling you that it could never happen again due to your perspective titles.

With a defeated sigh, he closes the file he was still pretending to read. His eyes instinctively travel back to where your desk was at and his breath immediately catches in his throat when he sees that you aren’t there. He hears the sound of footsteps approaching closer and closer through the staircase that leads up to his office and you walk in soon after.

You freeze in the doorway when you see that he’s already staring at you. Your eyes flicker to a space behind him then back at him before you take a tentative step back and glance at the clock hung on the wall facing his desk, “Uh, is this a bad time?”

“No!” Aaron takes a step forward when you take another one back. He rubs at the back of his neck awkwardly, “No, no, it’s not. I didn’t know you were still here. Everyone else left almost half an hour ago.”

“Oh,” you glance back behind you to the rest of the bullpen before looking back at him. “I was just finishing up the reports you said you wanted done by the end of today.” You jut your chin toward the stack of files you were carrying in one arm.

“Right.” He clears his throat, motioning to the pile of files the rest of the team had stacked on his desk. “You can just leave them there.”

You nod, giving him a small smile.

He watches as you walk over to his desk, taking in your appearance while you double-check that everything was correct. He swallowed harshly, taking in the way your skirt hugged your lower figure perfectly the same way it did during the morning debriefing. Your hair flows ever so slightly and he takes in a good look at your side profile when you tuck a loose strand behind your ears while you continue to flip through the pages of your file.

You’re breathtakingly gorgeous and Aaron doesn’t know if what suddenly makes him start walking up behind you is from what he’s felt since sleeping with you or if it’s everything he’s felt since way before that.

You halt your movements when you feel his presence directly behind you, gasping when you turn and find how close he was standing.

“Hotch–” you gulp, heat blooming through your cheeks albeit feeling confused. “W-What are you doing?”

Aaron takes in your tone and he can tell that you’re not asking in a disgusted, annoyed way, more so in a flustered way. He lifts a hand to brush the hair that frames your face past your face but doesn’t actually move to do it, keeping it there to see if you push him away. But you don’t. So he brushes it away.

“I can’t get you out of my head.” He mumbles, eyes boring into the side of your face as you stare up at him as best as you can from your practically rigid figure.

You scoff, a sound filled with so much humor yet so little at the same time, “You were the one that said this couldn’t happen again.” You twist your head, trying to turn your body around more with the way he had you pressed against the front of his desk.

“That was a mistake,” he whispers. He dips his head so that his mouth is by your ear, watching you shiver from the proximity.

“A mistake?” You repeat, brows raised. You lull your head to the side but you don’t know if you do it to get away from him or to grant him access to your neck.

Aaron takes it as the latter and hovers his lips over your skin, the same spot where he had left splotches of pink and purple last time.

“Yes,” he confirms, “a mistake.”

You want to ask why he said it then, want to press him for answers but you can’t when his hot breath sends shivers down your spine and arms. Your legs go weak when he brings a hand around you to wrap at your middle, big hand splayed across your stomach to pull you in even closer, if possible.

“H-Hotch,” you clear your throat. “We can’t. You said so yourself.” You roll your shoulders back in a weak effort to push him away, but all he does is hold you tighter.

“I was wrong,” he mutters, pressing a feather-light kiss to the very side of your neck. He takes a deep breath, inhaling the aroma of your perfume again and letting out a pleased hum from the back of his throat. “I was so wrong.”

You gasp when he flings an arm out in front of you, proceeding to knock over the multiple things from his desk. Files, pens, and other trinkets fly off the hard wood and land on the floor with a loud crash. Aaron spins you around before you can process the whole mess, turning you around so that you were facing him.

“Aaron-!” Your mind is a whirlwind as he grabs at your hips and easily sets you down on the edge of the desk. His lips crash onto yours messily and you hum, satisfied.

The kiss quickly becomes sloppy and hungry, muffled whines as you two practically devour one another. Your hands wrap around his neck while his own roam your body, curious hands searching for the zipper of your dress and bunching up the fabric in the process. You mewl when he finally finds it and slowly tugs it down. You break apart from the kiss in order to help him, scrambling from side to side so that it comes off from under you.

Aaron lets out a groan at the sight of you as he tosses the dress to the side. You’re wearing a matching set: a lacy white bra that cups your breasts gorgeously and a lacy white thong paired with it. It takes everything in him to not come undone right then and there.

Holding your gaze, Aaron sinks to his knees, shrugging off his suit jacket as he kneels before you.

“Aaron…”

He immediately shushes you, discarding the jacket somewhere next to your dress on his office floor. “Spread your legs for me, sweetheart.”

Instead of obeying, you knock your knees together bashfully, the fat of your thighs pressing against each other.

Aaron’s eyes darken at your shy defiance. “I said spread your legs.” His hands come out to grab behind your knees and you gasp again when he spreads them apart forcefully, large hands holding them in place.

“Oh, sweet girl,” he utters, gaze locked on your soaked panties. His palms slide down your legs, eyes flickering back up at you as he begins to kiss at your calves. Each peck to your skin leaves a wet trail from your earlier kiss and you whine in anticipation as he makes his way up before coming face to face with your pussy. His fingers hook themselves inside the thin fabric and you immediately get the message, lifting your hips once more so he could slide them down your legs

Aaron swiftly shoves the wet material into his pockets, wasting no time before diving straight in and burying his head in between your thighs.

His tongue swiping at your folds elicits a loud moan from you, your hands shooting out to grab at his head, “Aaron!” You yell out, fingers tangling in his hair to stabilize yourself from the suddenness.

Aaron grunts from below you, the sound sending vibrations up your body and causing you to arch into his touch. He didn’t know how he hadn’t thought of tasting you that night in the hotel room, too preoccupied with the pleasure he had received from you. But–dare he say–this was better than head, better than anything else he had ever gotten, tasted or even done. He wasn’t even a minute into devouring you and he had already decided that this was the best pussy he had ever had in his whole life.

“Fuck, sweetheart. You don’t know how many times I’ve thought about this pussy.” He lapped at your juices, mouth hot on your dripping cunt. His hands continued to grip at your thighs, large palms still keeping you in place from where you were writhing in pleasure.

“A-Aaron,” you whimper, grinding your hips against his face. “Please, I need you. Need you so bad.”

Your head was thrown back in utter bliss, hips stuttering with each nibble at your clit. Your fingers tugged his face closer despite the longing you had to feel him inside you, caging his head to keep him there.

Aaron couldn’t help but bask in the sounds he was pulling from you. It was as if his mouth had a mind of his own and all it could focus on was licking up every single one of your juices, the taste nearly intoxicating. He flickered his eyes up to you, taking in the way your chest heaved and your breasts pushed against the cups of your bra, practically spilling out.

Without removing his tongue from your pussy, he reaches behind you and easily undoes the hooks.

You let the straps fall from your shoulders and aid him in tossing it somewhere in the room along with your dress. Desperately, you reach for Aaron’s hands and place them on your breasts, groaning when he rolls each already hard and sensitive nipple in between your fingers.

Your legs begin to shake and you’re quick to wrap them around Aaron’s head, the heels of your feet digging into his muscular back. “Mm, fuck, ‘m gonna cum,” you toss your head back as the coil in your belly threatens to snap.

“Yeah?” He teases, angling his head so that he could spit onto your cunt, all before diving right back in and swirling it together with your arousal. “You gonna cum on my mouth, honey?”

You nod, feverishly, eyes rolling to the back of your head as you feel your orgasm getting closer and closer.

“Go ahead, pretty,” Aaron ushers, voice deep and rough from his non stop nibbling and sucking. “Come on my mouth, sweetheart.”

A certain bite on your clit immediately has you seeing stars and the office is soon filled with your cries of ecstasy as your orgasm washes over you violently. Your body shakes and stutters as you ride out the high on his face, leaning backwards until your back was resting against his desk.

Aaron doesn’t relent even as you begin to come down from your high, enhancing the way your legs shook from where they were wrapped around him.

“No, n-no more, Aaron, p-please,” you begged, keeping your back on the desk while weakly attempting to push him away.

“Just one more, honey. You can give me one more, can’t you?”

You don’t get the chance to answer, back arching off the desk as his fingers prodded at your entrance briefly before he shoved two inside. A high-pitched moan emitted from your swollen lips and your hips rutted against his face once more as he scissored the thick digits inside your gummy walls.

“That’s it, pretty girl, that’s it,” Aaron’s sultry words only encouraged you further, his face wet with your arousal and the release of your first orgasm. “I’m gonna make it up to you, sweetheart. But first you gotta give me another one.”

His thumb came up alongside his mouth to rub rough circles on your already sensitive, swollen clit and you immediately felt that coil snap once more, mixing in with the first orgasm you hadn’t even properly come down from.

“Aaron, Aaron, Aaron!” You mumbled dumbly, mouth agape and head hanging back from the desk as you rode out your second high on his face, the heavy wood shaking with every motion.

Aaron’s head was buried even further in between your legs, lips trying to catch every single drop that leaked from your hole, pulling out your fingers and cleaning them with a swirl from his tongue. He delivered a sweet kiss to your folds before standing, his knees cracking in response to being kneeled on the ground for so long.

He leans over, bringing a guiding hand to the back of your neck to get you to sit up, “You good, honey?” Aaron asks, brushing away the stray hands of hair that had stuck to your face. “Still with me?”

You hum, nodding weakly, “Need you, Aaron.”

Aaron chuckles at your fucked-out form, pressing a gentle kiss to the side of your head, “I got you, sweetheart. Bend over the desk for me.”

You stand on wobbly legs and do as he says blindly, the need to have him inside you outshining your nearing overstimulation. You feel yourself salivate as the sound of him undoing his belt is heard from behind you and you look back to watch him pull himself out from his boxers.

He hears you gasp when his cock springs out and hits against his stomach, tip an angry red and leaking with precome. He wraps a hand around himself and groans at how painfully hard he was. He quickly lines himself up with your entrance, slapping his length against your dripping folds before easing himself inside little by little.

You whine from in front of him when he bottoms out, the tip of his dick easily hitting your sweet spot the same way it did before in the hotel. This time, though, it feels even better with how wet you already were, his cock glistening when he pulls out before shoving himself back in roughly.

It doesn’t take long for Aaron to set a brutal pace, hands on your hips as he begins to pound into you from behind ruthlessly, a stark contrast from the way he had asked you if you were okay.

“Fuck, sweetheart. You have no idea how crazy you’ve driven me since I first fucked this pretty pussy,” Aaron grunted form behind, fingers digging so hard into your hips he was sure there would be an imprint there. “Had to get myself off in my own office, that’s how crazy you had me going.”

You don’t answer. You can’t answer. Your mouth is wide open, small huffs the only noise you can make while a line of saliva drools from your tongue. It’s only when you feel him wrap your hair in his hand and pull your back flush against his chest that you squeal, the angle pushing his cock further inside you.

“You like that, pretty?” He asks deeply, voice hoarse and gravely as he continues to pound into your pussy, the squelching that comes from beneath scandalous. “Like getting this pussy fucked by me, huh?”

You nod dumbly, too fucked out to properly answer him. A harsh slap against your ass makes you cry out, the sting somewhat snapping you back to reality.

“Answer me,” Aaron commands, tugging at your hair and making your back arch even further against him. “Did I fuck you dumb like last time?”

“Yes, yes, yes,” you babble, legs shaking even in your standing position. “I l-love it, Aaron. Feels so g-good.”

He chuckles against your ear, the way you could barely register his questions only making him quicken his pace, “You gonna come on my cock, sweetheart? Gonna give me one more wrapped around me?”

You nod with as much fervor as possible, “Yes, y-yes, can I, Aaron? Want you to c-cum inside me, please.”

“Yeah? Want me to stuff you full of my cum?” He asks. He doesn’t bother to correct you when you don’t answer, instead snaking his hand to your front and down to your pussy.

The feel of him rubbing circles on your clit is the final push you need before you’re clenching around him, body trembling against him as he continues his assault on your swollen bud.

It doesn’t take long for Aaron to spill his own release inside you, giving you a couple more shallow thrusts as he comes down from his own high.

You whine when you feel him pull out, a string of your mixed releases following suit on the tip of his cock.

“So good, baby,” he praises, wrapping a hand around your neck gently and pressing soothing kisses on your cheek. “Did so good for me.”

You lean your head against his shoulder as he reaches for some tissues to clean you up, “So I guess we’re definitely doing this again?”

Aaron laughs, a pink adorning his cheeks, “Yes. Yes, we are. In fact, I’m telling everyone to work from home tomorrow so I can take you on a proper date. I’m not risking going crazy again.”

You suppress a giggle, “You went crazy? Over my pussy?”

He sighs, “If only you knew.”

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x fem!reader #aaron hotchner x bau!reader #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x y/n #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner drabble #aaron hotchner smut #criminal minds fic #criminal minds x reader #maddie’s stills

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simplyholl · 9 months ago

Text

Filthy

Summary: After a long mission, Bucky needs you.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avenger F. Reader

Warnings: Smut. Minors DNI. 18+ ONLY.

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"Would it be too crazy if we slept together?" Your sweet voice replayed over and over in his mind. He hadn't flat out refused your offer, but he hadn't said yes either. Now as he laid under the rubble of the bomb Hydra had detonated, it was all he could think of.

You were friends, one of the only people besides Steve to make him feel welcome on the Avengers. The others were wary of him, and he didn’t blame them. He had done unforgivable things as The Winter Soldier. Now he was fighting for the right cause. He couldn't help the reoccurring nightmares of the horrors he encountered in his past. He didn't want to get too comfortable in his new life, the one Steve helped him obtain because he was scared The Winter Soldier was still lurking around in his brain somewhere.

That's why he never dated. Sam would tease him, telling him he could have anybody he wanted, but he settled for his hand every night. Bucky couldn't afford to get too close to anyone. Especially someone who was weaker than him like the opposite sex. He was scared he would lose control while being intimate and hurt or even kill his partners. So he never let anyone get too close, until you.

You came bouncing into his life unexpectedly. You were brought on the team shortly after him. He would never forget your first day. Steve introduced you to everyone at the morning meeting. You were all smiles, your bubbly personality instantly drawing him in. The others were making comparisons between the two of you immediately. You were so happy, so upbeat all the time and Steve was the only one who could get Bucky to crack his cold exterior and actually smile.

Despite your differences, you got along great. Which was a bonus since Tony liked to pair you together for missions. You worked well together, complimenting each other in ways you had never thought of. Who knew almost dying together every week can cause you to form close bonds? You were spending all your free time together. You introduced him to your favorite films, some of them were awful, but he would never tell you that. You would stay up late together watching old reruns of 90's sitcoms for comfort after long missions. Bucky would go shopping with you, holding every bag you had and never complaining.

The team thought something was going on between you. Why else would the cold super soldier follow you around like a lost puppy? They put Steve up to asking about it, but Bucky denied anything but friendship. There had never been anything happen in the whole year you knew each other. You never sat too close or crossed any boundaries, never thought about it until a month ago.

One of the longest, most dangerous missions you had ever been on finally came to a close. There had been too many casualties and you were upset. Even the comfort of your warm pajamas and favorite movie didn't ease your mind. Bucky thought you needed to be alone, so he told you goodnight and headed for his room. You called after him pleading him to stay with you. You couldn't be alone, not after that.

He hesitated, he never stayed the night with anyone because of his nightmares. Tony even gave him a pass when a mission required room sharing. He was the only one who didn't have to pair up. He was afraid he might hurt you or scare you during his sleep. He tried to tell you, but you couldn't be swayed. He found himself under your fluffy pink comforter on heart shaped pillows, surrounded by a mountain of stuffed animals but he felt oddly at home.

You tried to cuddle up to him, but he scooted away. He didn't want you too close to him while he was asleep just in case he had a nightmare. But you didn't care. You told him if he attacked you in his sleep, you would blast his dick off. That made him a little less worried. "How do Tony and Clint do it?" You asked as you wrapped your arms around him, trying to snuggle the grumpy super soldier. "Do what?" He relaxed a little under your touch. "The whole normal family thing. They have a wife, kids, the works, and they are the only ones. The rest of us can't keep a relationship for more than a month, and some only do one night stands. It's hard being a hero when you have to give up stuff like that."

Bucky considers your words carefully. "Is that something you want?" You throw your leg over him, trying to get comfortable. "Eventually, I want to settle down. I'm thinking at least ten years from now, not any time soon. It's just hard to tell who is asking you out for the right reasons or because you're famous. I can't tell you how many phones I've destroyed after dates because they were trying to live stream the whole thing. Is that why you don't date?"

Bucky tenses, explaining how his past as The Winter Soldier scared him away from anything like that. "So you haven't been having sex because you're scared you will hurt someone?" He nods and you giggle. Bucky looks at you like you've grown a second head. "I'm sorry Bucky, that's ridiculous. Your arm must be so tired! Oh my God! Do you use the metal one?" His silence makes you laugh harder. "Bucky there are super powered women you could have been sleeping with this whole time. People who could at least put up a fair fight if something like that happened, but you're okay now right? I thought the code words didn't work anymore." You rub his back soothingly.

You gasp as an idea hits you. "Would it be too crazy if we slept together?" It was like word vomit. You didn't mean to say it out loud, but you couldn't take it back now. Bucky is so still that you think he's fallen asleep. Thankful he didn't hear your unhinged suggestion, you lay your head down to go to sleep.

"You mean that?" Bucky asks after a few minutes of silence pass. "If it wouldn't hurt our friendship then, why not? I trust you. And I could hold my own if things went sideways. Plus, I'm a lot hotter than your hand, you have to admit that." The quip earned a chuckle from him. "Can I think about it?" He asks, his seriousness taking over. "Of course." You snuggle back into him, sleep finding you more quickly than you would've liked. That was a little over a month ago, neither of you brought it up afterward. You figured he didn't want to hurt your feelings, so you let it go.

Steve grabbed Bucky’s hand helping him to his feet. "I thought we lost you back there." He says leading him to the quinjet. On the ride home, Bucky thought about his life, how unhappy he had been lately. He thought of you and how he kept you at arm's length to protect you from himself. You were always so open to him, always letting him know what was on your mind. When you suggested the two of you sleep together, he was shocked. Of course, he wanted to but he couldn't. You were too sweet, he was jaded. He would end up hurting you somehow, he was sure of it. But you weren't scared of him, you trusted him.

Bucky thought of all the times he laid alone at night, masterbating when he could have went home with someone instead. He always turned them down, he couldn't risk it. He lived too dangerously. He could lose his life any moment saving the planet from the next alien attack. Wasn't it time he started living for himself? He had his mind made up when the quinjet landed. Steve told him to go get the cuts on his face and arm examined but he ignored him.

He almost ran to the elevator, not bothering to wait for Steve to get on before pressing the button to shut the doors. When it finally stopped on his floor, he walked by his room, stopping three doors down right outside of yours. He should have cared that it was three in the morning, that he would be waking you up, but he didn't. He tapped on the door loud enough to wake you.

He regretted coming straight here as he waited for you, he should have went to his room to shower first. His leather jacket was dirty and torn. There was a small gash on his arm that had finally stopped bleeding. His face was filthy and according to Steve, he had a cut there too. He probably looked terrifying. He thought about leaving to clean up, but then he heard the pitter patter of your feet as you approached the door.

You pull it open slightly at first, to see who is outside, opening it wider when you see him. He steps inside as you shut it back, locking it behind him. Bucky looks around the dark room noticing the glow from your tv. Your hair is messy, you must have been sleeping fitfully. His gaze drops to your body, you're wearing a black t-shirt that stops at your hips and black lace panties.

"Are you okay?" You ask taking in his disheveled appearance. You turn to get something to clean his wounds, his vibranium hand catches your wrist. "Bucky? What hap-" He picks you up with one arm, holding you close to his body as his lips crash into yours. He walks you to the edge of your bed, tumbling on top of you as your back hits your fluffy pink comforter.

"Do you still want this?" He asks, his voice rougher than he intended. You can't think clearly, not with him on top of you, caging you in like this. His blue eyes search your face as he waits for an answer. Your panties grow wetter with each second that passes. Your nipples are peaked under your shirt, desperate to be touched as you press your chest to his dirty leather jacket. "Yes" You somehow manage to whisper your confirmation.

His mouth is on yours again, rough and demanding, almost desperate. You cup his face with your hands, "Slow down, I'm not going anywhere." You assure him, breaking the kiss. He groans, hating the loss of contact. "Can't" He rasps, his face nuzzling against your neck. He nips and kisses the sensitive skin there, his tongue licking from your shoulder to your jaw.

His flesh hand travels to your chest, rubbing his thumb over your clothed nipple. He keeps kissing his way back down your throat until he reaches the collar of your shirt. His metal arm grabs the top, slipping underneath to get a good grip on it. He rips it down the center with little effort.

You gasp as the cold air hits your now exposed chest. But you're not cold for long, Bucky's lips capture a nipple between his lips tugging and sucking like his life depends on it while his flesh hand toys with the other one. You're not sure what has gotten into him, you never expected it to be like this, like he needs you.

He kisses a trail down your stomach to your panties. They aren't exactly see through, but they don't hide anything either. His vibranium fingers dig into your hip as he lowers his face, his pink tongue licking up the center of your soaked panties. You whimper underneath him, your fingers sliding in his hair, pulling at the short strands.

He grunts as he licks you through the lacy material. You try to close your legs around his head, hoping to bring yourself more relief. Bucky's steel grip on your hip tightens as he brings his flesh hand to your thigh, pulling it off him. He opens you wide, continuing his desperate assault on you. "I need more, please." You whine, needing to actually feel him against you.

He thankfully takes mercy on you, removing his hands to grab both sides of your panties. "Lift your hips for me." You do as your told, and he slides the unwanted garment off of you. He drags you to the edge of the bed, lowering himself on his knees in front of you. He parts your thighs, metal hand returning to its rightful place on your hip. You place your leg over his shoulder, taking a deep breath as the anticipation makes your skin prickle.

His hot breath on your soaked core makes you tremble. You feel him smirk against you. "I havent even touched you yet and you're shakin' like a leaf." A dark chuckle escapes him and he dives in. His tongue flat against you as he gathers your slick, bringing it to your clit and swirling it around. He moans, loving the way you taste. He wraps his lips around your most sensitve part, drawing you in, causing your hips to buck upward.

His grip on your hip tightens, a bruise beginning to form under his thumb. "Be a good girl for me. Stay still." His voice is soft, gentle, a complete contrast to his actions. He alternates between sucking you roughly and licking you slowly. You squirm underneath him, you're so close. He suddenly stops, removing his face from you.

His flesh hand rubbing your stomach, before laying his arm on you forcefully to keep you from moving. "I said stay still." He growls, his tongue swiping your clit before he sucks it between his lips once more. It takes every ounce of concentration you have to not writhe against him. You've never seen him like this so needy, almost feral. He's like a wild animal slurping you down like you're the first thing he's eaten in weeks. You don't dare to disturb him. So you lie as still as you can, letting him have you.

He needs this. He needs you. He flicks his tongue expertly over your clit, sendng you spiralling. He holds you down as he takes all he wants from you. He's not satisfied until you come three times. Your legs are wobbly, you couldn't get up if you had to. Tears stream down your face from how intense it was. He finally stands, unbuttoning his pants, sliding them down just enough to free himself.

He adjusts himself between your legs, filling you up. You gasp, grabbing onto his grimy leather jacket for support. You wonder why he didn't bother with getting undressed, but you don't mind. You love how dirty he is. How the filth on his jacket rubbing against your bare chest is the sexiest thing in the world right now. How you can see the cut on his arm, dried blood on his sleeve. You don't know if it's his or some Hydra asshole's, and you don't know which is hotter.

His hair is disheveled. His face is scraped, dirt from the mission caked on him, remnants of your arousal still on his mouth. He fills you completely over and over, holding you as close as he can. His pants rub the back of your thighs as he pounds into you. You caress his face, "Can I be on top?" You ask quietly, afraid you'll offend him some way in his feral state. He flips you so his back is on your mattress. Normally you would be upset that your sheets were getting dirty, but you didn't mind at all. You place your legs on either side of him, sliding down his length. Your ass hits the fabric of his jeans as you take all of him.

You look behind you noticing how big he looks on your bed. His leather boots covered in mud, hanging off the edge. A gush of arousal floods his lap, his hands hold your thighs, pulling you closer. You begin to lift yourself up and down on him, your legs still shaky from your earlier orgasms. Bucky notices you won't be able to keep it up for long, so he clutches your hips, taking over. He thrusts underneath you, your hands land on his shoulders needing to steady yourself. You love that it's giving the illusion that you're in control, your body on top of his, but he's calling all the shots, moving your body like he owns it.

You've never felt so full. It's as if Bucky can read your mind, his flesh hand pressing on the bulge he's making in your stomach. He works you harder now, his vibranium thumb coming between you to swirl your clit. Your vision goes blurry, stars bursting behind your eyelids. You come with a loud cry of his name. He follows shortly after, spilling inside you. He holds you close, as you listen to his breathing slow down as he drifts off to sleep while still inside you.

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kiyawritesforf1 · 2 months ago

Text

WEIRD VIBES ONLY

Pairing : Lando Norris x Reader

Words : 2.5k

The 4+1 times people overheard Lando and his Girlfriend’s weird conversations.

1. The Pit Crew Misadventure

Lando Norris was fresh off a practice lap, helmet still tucked under his arm, when Y/N bounded into the McLaren garage like a caffeinated squirrel. She’d swiped a wrench from a toolbox—because of course she had—and was twirling it like a baton. “So, if we’re doing it in the cockpit,” she said, voice low but not low enough, “I say we go full throttle. Maximum chaos, no holding back. I want sparks flying.”

Lando grinned, wiping sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand. “Yeah, but I’d need to adjust the seat first. Can’t have you slipping around when I hit the apex. Precision’s key.”

Dave, a lanky mechanic with a permanent oil smudge on his cheek, was lugging a tire past them when his ears caught the exchange. Cockpit? Full throttle? Slipping around? Sparks? His brain short-circuited. He pictured Lando and Y/N sneaking into the car after hours, doing unspeakable things on the carbon-fiber seat, probably breaking half a dozen FIA regulations in the process. The tire slipped from his grip, bouncing once before rolling into a stack of toolboxes with a clang.

“You alright, mate?” Lando called, eyebrows raised.

Dave didn’t answer. He bolted for the break room, where he found his buddy Pete sipping a lukewarm coffee. “Mate,” Dave hissed, “Lando’s about to defile the car in ways I can’t unsee. Send help. Or a priest.”

Pete choked on his coffee. “What, like, in the car?”

“Full throttle,” Dave whispered, eyes wide. “Sparks and everything.”

Meanwhile, back in the garage, Y/N tossed the wrench onto a workbench. “So, confetti cannons in the sim rig—yes or no?”

“Yes,” Lando said, “but we’re blaming Oscar if it jams.” They high-fived, oblivious to the existential crisis they’d just triggered.

2. The Supermarket Scandal

It was a rare off-day, and Lando and Y/N were prowling the aisles of a Tesco near Silverstone. Y/N, in a hoodie that swallowed her frame, held up a box of Frosted Flakes like it was a sacred artifact. “Okay, but if we’re doing it with the tiger,” she said, “we’ve got to time it perfectly—right when the sugar hits. That’s the sweet spot.”

Lando, pushing a cart with one wobbly wheel, nodded with the seriousness of a race strategist. “Timing’s everything. Too soon, and it’s just messy. Too late, and we’re sticky for hours. I’m not dealing with that again.”

A middle-aged woman in a sensible cardigan—let’s call her Janet—was browsing the oatmeal section nearby. She froze, her hand hovering over a box of Quaker Oats, as her imagination ran wild. Doing it with the tiger? Sugar hits? Sticky for hours? She envisioned some depraved, cereal-mascot-fueled roleplay, complete with Lando in a Tony the Tiger costume and Y/N wielding a can of whipped cream. Her basket trembled in her grip as she backed away, abandoning her oats to escape the depravity.

Later that night, Janet regaled her book club with the tale. “I don’t know what’s wrong with kids these days,” she said, clutching her tea. “That racer boy and his girlfriend are freaky. I’ll never look at Frosted Flakes the same way.”

In reality, Y/N was already rigging their Roomba with a cereal bowl while Lando filmed, cackling as the vacuum skidded across their flat, flinging flakes everywhere. “This is gold,” he said, dodging a stray piece. “TikTok’s gonna lose it.”

“Next time,” Y/N replied, “we add milk.”

3. The Hotel Lobby Horror

The night before the Monaco Grand Prix, Lando and Y/N were sprawled across a plush couch in the hotel lobby, surrounded by marble floors and overpriced chandeliers. Y/N kicked her sneakers off and propped her feet on Lando’s lap. “If we’re using the feathers,” she said, “I want them everywhere—total coverage, no gaps. It’s gotta be epic.”

Lando smirked, poking her foot. “Fine, but I’m not cleaning up after. Last time, I was picking them out of weird places for days. My socks were shedding for a week.”

Behind the reception desk, a concierge named Philippe—crisp suit, impeccable mustache—nearly dropped his tray of complimentary sparkling waters. Feathers? Total coverage? Weird places? His mind conjured a scene straight out of a risqué rom-com: Lando and Y/N tangled in a pile of plucked pillows, feathers drifting through the air like some avant-garde sex ritual. He coughed, adjusted his tie, and spent the rest of his shift warning coworkers to steer clear of Room 312. “They’re… creative,” he muttered. “Very creative.”

Upstairs, Y/N was sketching a feathered dinosaur costume on a napkin while Lando scrolled through gaming forums. “Think we can get it done before the next stream?” she asked.

“Only if we bribe Carlos with pizza,” Lando said. “He’s got the hot glue gun skills.”

4. The Paddock Panic

The paddock at Spa was buzzing with pre-race energy when Y/N sidled up to Lando near the McLaren hospitality tent. She lowered her voice, but the wind carried it just far enough. “I’m telling you, the harness is key. Strap me in tight, and I’m good for at least twenty minutes.”

Lando chuckled, tossing an energy drink can between his hands. “Twenty? Bold. I’d say fifteen tops before you’re begging to get out. You’re not built for that kind of endurance.”

A journalist from Racing Weekly, lurking behind a potted plant with her notebook out, perked up like a bloodhound. Harness? Strap her in? Endurance? She scribbled furiously, her pen practically smoking. This was it—the scoop of the season. She could already see the headline: “Exclusive: Norris and GF’s BDSM Secrets Revealed!” She pitched it to her editor that night, claiming she’d uncovered the spicy underbelly of F1’s golden boy.

Back at the tent, Y/N adjusted the straps on a go-kart harness, grinning at Lando. “Twenty minutes around the track, and I’ll smoke you,” she said. “Loser buys dinner.”

“You’re on,” Lando replied, “but when you tap out at fifteen, I want extra garlic bread.”

+1. The Truth Comes Out

It all came to a head at a McLaren team dinner after the Italian Grand Prix. The restaurant was cozy, all dim lights and clinking wine glasses, with the team sprawled across a long table. Dave the mechanic was there, still haunted by the cockpit fiasco. Janet, who turned out to be Oscar Piastri’s aunt, had tagged along with a friend. Philippe the concierge, off-duty and visiting a cousin in Monza, sat at the bar. The Racing Weekly journalist hovered near the dessert cart, hoping for more dirt.

Lando and Y/N were at the end of the table, heads bent together as usual. Y/N tapped her fork against her plate. “Lando, if we’re doing the whipped cream thing tonight, we need to prep the tarp. I’m not scrubbing the ceiling again.”

Lando nodded, chewing a breadstick. “Yeah, last time it got everywhere—total disaster. Took me an hour to unstick my shoes.”

The eavesdroppers leaned in, senses tingling. Dave whispered to Pete, “Whipped cream in the cockpit?” Janet clutched her pearls, imagining a dairy-drenched tiger romp. Philippe pictured feathers and cream, while the journalist scribbled, “Kinky Dessert Fetish Confirmed.”

Then Y/N pulled out her phone and shoved it in Lando’s face. “Look, here’s the vid from last time,” she said, loud enough for the table to hear. The screen showed their kitchen, a tarp on the floor, and a towering, wobbly whipped-cream sculpture that collapsed mid-build, splattering them both. Lando’s shriek of “MY HAIR!” echoed through the restaurant as Y/N doubled over laughing on the video.

The table erupted. Oscar snorted into his pasta. “You two are idiots,” he said. Zak Brown shook his head, grinning. “I don’t even want to know.”

Dave dropped his fork. Janet blinked, her scandal evaporating. Philippe coughed into his wine, and the journalist snapped her notebook shut, muttering, “Well, that’s not printable.”

Y/N caught the stares and smirked. “What? It was for a charity bake-off livestream. We raised, like, two grand.”

Lando leaned back, arms behind his head. “Next time, we’re building a spaghetti catapult. Way less sticky.”

The eavesdroppers slunk away, red-faced, as Lando and Y/N clinked glasses, already plotting their next absurd adventure. Their dynamic was weird—borderline unhinged—but it was theirs. Cute, chaotic, and definitely not what anyone thought. Best to just leave them to it.

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deepspacenova · 4 months ago

Text

figured you out

1900 words. pining. possessive behaviour. sexual tension. obsession. light stalking.

{Dedicated to @mythblossoms and @spiderlilypetals aka the enablers of my mental instability}

Note: this entire thing is me basically calling out @rose-tinted-kalopsia, @unluckywisher, and @starmocha for setting off a Caleb-sized inferno in my brain and keeping the fire going for weeks now. All of you on my feed combined with the lyrics of this song are entirely to blame so here’s me getting Caleb out of my system (liar) xoxo

The barrier between focus and obsession was glass-thin and shaped like a trigger. One decision, one small flick of a finger away from shattering.

Obsession was an itch, fleeting, temporary. But focus? Focus was ambition, determination, winning.

That’s why Caleb had always been a creature of restraint, the very picture of self-control. As a boy, when he set his sights on something, he never burned with want. Wanting was purposeless.

Instead he would set his focus on whatever it was — sweets, trinkets, secrets, toys — until he found a way to make it his. Until he carefully maneuvered the object of his desires right into his little grasp.

Caleb didn’t wish, he didn’t desire.

He conquered.

Only this time, his focus wasn’t on a conquest. It wasn’t on a mission, or a lab data report, or a secret he could use to his advantage. It wasn’t power or strategy or survival.

It was you.

From the very beginning, you’d been the object of his focus. Your affection, your thoughts, your wit, your emotions. Everything that made you tick, he’d picked up and studied like the rarest gem.

And now? Now your fingerprints were sewn permanently into his heart, holding together the thing that beat in his chest. Now, he was light years apart from the boy he’d been, and yet you still gripped it tightly, your hand too small to keep that shriveled and charred, bloody mess together.

But the taste of your laughter, the sound of your skin, the feeling of your scent? Every moment of disorientation you created within him only served to reinforce his lifelong focus on you.

Military training, tests, experimentation chambers, nothing upended the center of his gravity like you.

From the dim hallway, Caleb watched you. His gaze — deep purple with motes of gold, an iris bloom washed in sunset — mapped the coordinates of your smile, measured the radar of your thumping pulse, calculated the precise trajectory of your movements as you fluttered around the small group of Hunters you were meeting with at the Association for a late night UNICORNS debrief.

You’d never understood entirely how you affected him. No one did, he’d made sure of it. Not your mutual friends growing up, not the woman who’d raised you, not the laughing fool you were talking to right now. Not even your Hunter partner across the table from you.

Caleb knew you better. Treated you better. He always had.

It’s because none of them actually took the time to see you, not really. Not like he did. And no matter how far apart you two got, that would never change.

You were an enigma to them, a cluster of ridges and buttons in a cockpit, unfulfilled in an amateur's grasp. Dormant without expert handling and care.

But Caleb had long ago solved you — your wants, your vulnerabilities, your secrets, your fears, your weaknesses. He'd seen you bared before him and had figured you out. Down to the very core in your heart.

Even within the darkest depths of the universe, with no sense or feeling, he would know exactly where to trail each of his fingers. How much pressure to apply to every delicate divot. The precise combination and rhythm to elicit a response.

The way he could guide you, command you, the way he could make you take flight for him? It would be… explosive.

The melody of your sudden laughter extinguished the heat that had started to lick its way down his body as he watched you give them the version of yourself they expected. Amiable, innocent, polished.

As your meeting came to an end and you and your colleagues stood to leave, the shadows shifted around Caleb as he pushed off from the wall he’d been leaning against. Pulling the DAA clearance card that had kept the door behind him open, he took a step into the corridor that would lead to his quiet exit.

Only he knew where your smile dented into your cheek. Only he knew the cadence of your breaths when you spoke. Only he knew what you looked like when your guard was truly down. When you sighed, cried, hurt, and slept. Only he was worthy of seeing it.

Only Caleb had forged himself into a man worthy of loving you.

The night was thick with fog when he watched you step out of the Hunter’s Association, your shadow dancing across the concrete under the warm glow of the street lamps.

As you parted ways with your colleagues, Caleb studied the elegant line of your throat, the way it expanded and contracted around the hum of your voice.

He knew the exact shape of it by memory, — all those times you'd looked up at him to smile at him, to talk to him, to argue with him — the softness of the delicate skin there, the way it would feel under his palm, under his mouth. Fluttering, warm, alive.

He wasn’t supposed to be here, not away from Skyhaven, not in a darkened alleyway by your workplace where the lamp light barely even reached.

But as the sound of your footsteps ticked over the hum of the city, as each of your movements brought you closer to the corner of the building, to him, the oxygen funneling into his brain seemed to thin, and the rational part of his mind, his focus, took a backseat.

The sight of you walking toward him was so right, so inevitable that Caleb barely even realized how far out of the shadows he was leaning, how quickly he’d snapped himself back into your orbit.

He, the metal, you, the magnet.

The fist of his right arm clenched as he forced himself to stay in place, to stop leaning toward you on the off chance the sweetness of your skin would enter his nose. The connection between you was so physical, pulled so taut, that he almost couldn’t believe you'd never sought to close the distance, that you’d ever accepted his death so easily.

That had always been your biggest mistake, though. Thinking that he’d ever allow something as trivial as mortality to sever what bound you to him.

He shouldn’t reach for you. He knew that. And yet, as you closed the distance, he stepped closer. Just enough to feel your presence pull against him.

His evol stirred, faint but insistent, brushing against the edges of your space like a ribbon. The pull of you was so familiar, so tangible, he could feel every cell, all the matter that made up your beautiful existence.

Suddenly, without his permission, his hand shot out, gently enveloping your wrist as you passed.

You spun around, your instincts awakened, and in one fluid motion the barrel of your gun was aimed at his chest. He almost chuckled at the sight, but the intensity on your face kept him quiet.

Your eyes widened, shock and incredulity clicking into place when they finally registered Caleb’s presence. “You…” the sentence withers in your throat.

“Hello, pip,” he said softly, raising a brow at the gun. “Still using that move?”

Your eyes flicked across the contours of his face like a laser, his hair, his cheeks, his eyes, his jaw, no detail escaping your notice before you stuttered, “C-Caleb? Bu— You’re supposed to be…”

He felt a smile tug at the corner of his mouth as the letters of his name curled around your tongue for the first time in what felt like an eternity. “I still might if you don’t put that away,” he said mildly.

Your grip on the weapon tightened reflexively, but it didn’t lower. Interesting.

Moving with military-like precision, too quickly for you to counteract it, Caleb’s hand shot out, hitting the gun and dislodging it from your grasp.

You froze, hooking your gaze into his as he tested the weight of it in his hand, the barrel pointing at your chest for one second, two seconds, three... before he aimed it at the ground.

“Tsk, tsk. So careless.” The soft click of the safety flicking on pierced the air between them. “Someone could’ve gotten hurt, pipsqueak.”

“How did you… how are you…?” there’s a faint tremor in your tone and your eyes turn glassy.

“Shh,” Caleb stepped closer, close enough to feel your shaky exhale against his throat like a wave of summer air, close enough to reach around you to place your gun back in the holster on your hip. Close enough that his forehead brushed yours. “I missed you too.”

For half a second, he saw your guard slip, your face caught between disbelief and longing.

And then, like feeling an engine ignite, he knew exactly which of your buttons he’d just flicked. Before the anger even had a chance to crackle across your irises. Before your palms came up to his chest and shoved at it. “I went to your funeral.”

“My funeral, hm?” His body had barely swayed, but his amused, love-drunk smile never wavered when he decided to press another button. “Did you cry for me, then?”

Caleb’s evol flared, and he had your hands lowered — eyelashes fluttering in surprise, back and palms pinned to the building behind you — before you’d even finished the thought of shoving him again.

With your hands out of the way, as you struggled against the bindings of his evol, Caleb finally took the chance to cup your face in his hands, cradling it like it was the very nucleus of his life force.

“Hey. Hey,” he soothed, re-familiarizing himself with the contour of your jaw beneath his fingers. “I’d never leave you in a world without me, pip, you know me better than that.”

“I thought I did,” you gritted out, the confusion and betrayal in your voice slowing your movements. "Now, I'm not so sure."

He took advantage of your hesitation, brushing the bow of his upper lip against the bump of your lower one.

“You do, though,” he reassured. “Just like I know you. Better than anyone ever could.” Caleb reached out, his knuckles grazing your cheek. “Your anger, your love” His hand went to the steel-chain tag that hung around his neck. “Wants. Needs.” His nose traced the bridge of yours and he reveled in another one of your shaky breaths. “Outside…” His voice roughened, “Inside.”

Just as you quit struggling, just as your confusion fissured and your body turned languid against his, just as you gave in, Caleb released you, taking a step back to enjoy the sight of you trying to find your footing.

“Now you’ll never doubt that I’ll always find you.” His mouth curved into the charismatic smile he was known to flash at his general when he gestured toward the street. “It’s late, pipsqueak. Get yourself home.”

Your chest heaved with what were no doubt a dozen of your favorite insults, but you didn’t voice any of them. Instead, you clenched your jaw, straightened your shoulders, and bit out, “I’m going to— I can’t believe— No, I can’t do this right now. This isn’t over, Caleb.”

You turned sharply on your heel, your footsteps echoing in the silence as you walked away, steps stiff and uneven. And Caleb watched as the shadows swallowed your figure and you disappeared from view.

He’d wait, he decided. he could play the long game. He already spent all these months away from you, what were a few more if it helped you realize the raw, unfiltered truth — that he belonged to you.

And that was the moment the glass barrier shattered, a pulled trigger that splintered his focus into shards of obsession.

#caleb has derailed the past five days of my life #but yes im totally normal about him why do you ask #lads Caleb #l&ds caleb #lnds caleb #love and deepspace caleb #caleb x reader #love and deepspace x reader #love and deepspace fanfiction #lnds fanfics #love and deepspace #my writing #nova writing

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invoncible · 3 months ago

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MARK GRAYSON & popstar!girly!reader ✧˚.

i know this might be a stretch of a concept but stay with me guys also request invincible stuff because i wanna write for this show so bad 😩

— your music career is sabrina carpenter coded. — this is a hc set based on my long form fic that’s in drafts ... scared to post lol

——

mark who was first introduced to you through eve and william, who both liked your music. did you see those lady 'yaya' posters in william's dorm? yeah. william collected vinyls and mark just happened to be over when yours arrived.

mark who starting crushing like crazy the moment the william unboxed the visuals. you just gave these out to anyone? for free ($80)? looking like that? you looked like a doll.

mark who bought your vinyl for himself, too. no, he didn't he have a vinyl player.

mark who stalked your youtube page as soon as he got home and binged all your performance. followed all your social media accounts. he didn’t tell anyone you were his new guilty pleasure, not even william.

mark who almost exploded when he recognized you in school. his school. your dad dumped some money into the community and you somehow convinced him to attend. just for fun, since you’d already completed high school in homeschooling.

mark who tried to downplay his interest and convince himself that you were a celebrity crush, not an actual crush like… amber, per se.

mark who saved you in costume once and had to listen to you fangirl over invincible the next day. the way you fawned over his alter ego made his heart skip a beat and he wanted to jump up and declare himself right then and there :(

mark who closed himself off from you and your influences when he started dating amber. and while he enjoyed himself and really loved his time with amber, he wasn't all in. before long, he and amber broke up.

mark who felt like everything was right in the world when he finally allowed himself to grow closer to you. you were so sweet, sickeningly so, and he couldn't get enough. for someone that was exposed to the crazy and brutal side of life almost everyday, it felt good to turn his brain off and sink into your pink fluffy sheets while listening to you hum and do your hair.

mark who was your prime model for face masks. he took all your fashion advice.

mark who listened to you rant about what all the media outlets were saying about you and about all of the weird, creepy fans who didn't understand boundaries. he promised he'd always be there to protect you.

mark who was terrified of your father. if you were lottie, your father was big daddy la bouf. spoiled the living hell out of you, but you were the opposite of bratty. the first time he met your dad, he felt very small. but your father saw how happy mark made you, and that was enough reason for him to let him hang around.

mark who was supposed to spend the night. you finally convinced your dad to forego the bodyguard for the night since mark was staying in with you. but mark had to cancel for hero stuff, snapping at you when you called and begged him to come home—you were scared. he was sure you were just anxious for not having your usual staff at your disposal, you'd be fine.

mark who went numb when he heard you'd been kidnapped by a stalker. then went ballistic trying to find you.

mark who arrived a little too late when he saw you'd been... altered by the sick mind who snatched you from the comfort of your own home. you're unconscious as he carries you back home and he can't stop blaming himself.

bro idk i hate this but i literally can't stop thinking about it

#invincible #mark grayson #mark grayson x reader #eve wilkins #william clockwell #invincible x reader #nolan grayson #invincible show #invincible x fem reader

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azzibuckets · 12 days ago

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sweet [part seven]

paige bueckers x azzi fudd

a/n: the queen of underdeveloped series is back…sincerest apologies for the long wait! im glad you guys have stuck around despite my inability to ever stick to a reasonable schedule

masterlist | series masterlist | sweet masterlist

Time heals all wounds.

It’s a mantra Azzi finds herself repeating in her head all too often. She repeats it when she breaks up with Micaela, although she realizes that the statement would've been more helpful for her now ex, who leaves with angry tears and a litany of curses trailing her wake, than herself, who merely takes a seat on the couch and stares aimlessly at the walls. She knows she should feel more than this—more sad, more upset, more regretful. More of anything. But she's so fucking tired of crying and feeling sad all the time, and Azzi can't really summon energy to even feel bad about the look on Micaela's face when she'd ended it so indifferently.

Again, Azzi repeats the mantra when she flies back home to Virginia after the Big East game, after the night she’d held Paige to sleep, the morning that she’d left her other half crying in the hotel room. And god, Azzi knows that for all the daggers she’s thrown at her best friend, all those furious accusations of how Paige has hurt her, she’s been hiding under it too. That deep inside, she knows full well that she's just as guilty, that she's driven the knife into Paige just as much. But hasn't it always been easier to avoid taking the blame, to scream at someone else instead of confronting your own demons?

It’s better for both of them to have space, Azzi justifies. And time. The further they are away from each other, the less likely they’re able to hurt each other. She has one more month of rehab in Virginia before she returns to Storrs for the rest of season—some state of normalcy will have to have returned by then, right?

Admittedly, she’s not in the best place mentally. She’s separated from her favorite people, forced to cheer them on through a TV screen and text them congratulations while pretending like the ugly, insecure voice in her head doesn't resent them for doing everything while she is capable of nothing. Azzi hates it when those thoughts invade her brain, but late at night, when her knee is screaming for relief and she feels so fucking alone, they take over and they don't stop. Lord knows how many sleepless nights she's spent digging herself into a mental spiral of anger towards herself and everyone else.

Azzi's been through this before, and she knows that pain is part of the process, but still, there are times she dreads having to wake up. Rehab is grueling, and she loves her parents, she does, but sometimes they get so overbearing. It’s not until her teammates come and visit that her moods finally lightens, and she finally feels a semblance of her old self again.

They surprise her, showering her with silly string and confetti. Azzi rolls her eyes, but she can't really hide the smile that breaks out on her lips. Even Kayla shows up, and the two nights they fill her house with chaos are the best of the entire month. She plays board games and hops on Fortnite and has mindless conversations with her teammates, things she missed so terribly, and tries not to feel bothered by the fact that Paige hadn’t come with the rest of the team. Neither had Caroline, and KK tells her that Paige hadn’t wanted to leave their friend alone in the dorms. Azzi can’t find it in herself to hate Paige for that, even though she suspects that that wasn’t the only reason for her keeping her distance.

When the first rolls around, Azzi is nervous. It’s been four weeks of no contact—the closest thing they’d gotten to interacting was Azzi liking Paige’s new Instagram post, for fuck’s sake. She’d stared pathetically for about forty-seven minutes, studying each of the slides, debating whether or not she should leave a comment. It had been a battle between the selfish side of her—the side that had wanted to pop up in Paige's notifications and force her to remember that Azzi still existed, make her feel some of Azzi's torture of always thinking of Paige—and the reasonable part of her, her conscience that said you are the reason why you can't even do something as simple as like a post anymore.

Even more overwhelming is the cycle of what-ifs when she thinks about having to face Paige again. The radio silence between them left no room for more arguments, but now she’s completely in the dark about what Paige’s current feelings are towards her, and she really can’t blame her if it’s anger, or resentment, or something worse, but still, the mere thought of Paige ignoring her or refusing to talk to her hurts Azzi more than she wants to admit.

Trying to focus on the positive, or basketball, or really anything besides Paige, Azzi is thankful when she returns to Storrs with much funfare. As soon as she opens the door to her apartment, there’s a mess of balloons and cheers, and a welcome back cake on the table. It’s a good distraction, until she scans the room and is hit with the fact that Paige isn’t there, again, and an ugly knot begins to form in her chest.

“You good?” Azzi, trying to stress eat her way through her worries, is spooning a piece of sugary cake and whipped cream into her mouth when a hand rubs her shoulder.

“Hey, Nika,” she greets the brunette, pulling her in for a brief hug. “Yeah, I’m good.” She doesn’t miss the way Nika eyes her up and down, clearly seeing right through her.

Azzi hesitates, tapping her fork against her plate, nerves jumping all over the place. She’s not sure how much Nika knows, being Paige’s closest friend and her go-to confidant, but she thinks that she’d be remiss to assume that Paige had said nothing about the ongoing tension between the two of them. But the curiosity in her is too intense for her to tamp down, so she asks anyways. “Thanks for putting all this together. Where’s, uh, Paige?” She winces immediately, knowing her attempts to be nonchalant had grossly failed.

She swears she sees a sliver of a smile on Nika’s lips. “She’s studying right now. Has an exam in an hour.”

“Oh, okay. Makes sense.” Azzi shovels another bite of cake into her mouth, trying to shut herself up before she says anything stupid, but as soon as she swallows, more words are escaping her mouth. “Does she know that I’m back?” God, way to play it cool. But Azzi isn’t all that shocked with herself; she’s never been good at controlling herself when it comes to a certain blue eyed blonde.

Nika’s eyes narrow. “You injure your head too?"

Azzi blinks at her.

Shaking her head, Nika jostles her arm playfully. “Of course she knows your back, dumbass. She was tracking your location and shit. Lili was about to choke her the way she kept bothering her to leave early so you wouldn’t have to wait at the airport.”

“Oh.” Azzi is stunned, the knot in her chest loosening slightly at this new piece of knowledge.

“She missed you, you know.” The older girl studies her carefully with a cocked head. “Refused to admit it, but everyone could tell. We were watching Frozen and all she could talk about was ‘Azzi loves this movie, Azzi’s favorite character is Olaf, oh Azzi laughed so hard at this scene last time we watched.'” Nika rolls her eyes affectionately at the memory. “It’s like she forgets we're your teammates and know you too."

Azzi laughs off-handedly, but inside she's frozen. What does it mean when two people can't stop staying away from each other? What does it mean when Azzi had pushed Paige away, had kept running, had hated Paige for not chasing when that was what she told her to do? Azzi thinks she would've deserved it if Paige never spoke to her again, if Paige refused to even look her in the eye. But no—here Paige was, telling people that Azzi's favorite Frozen character is Olaf, as if that wasn't the most stupidly cute thing Azzi had ever heard her do. Azzi's temples throb. What does it mean that she'd just spent an entire month trying to get rid of her feelings, listing out all the reasons why her and Paige shouldn't be together, but came right back to Storrs loving Paige just the same?

༉‧₊˚✧

The morning of her second day back at UConn, Azzi wakes up to a message from the athletic trainer requesting her to come in as soon as possible to start their rehab regimen. Groaning, Azzi throws on some booty shorts and a tank top, planning to get through the appointment as quick as possible then come back to her bed to sleep all her problems away.

When she walks in, they're wrapping up with the volleyball team, so Azz slumps down in one of the chairs to wait. Her head tips back against the wall; maybe she'll be able to catch a few minutes of rest before the trainer calls her in. She's almost nodding off when she hears a familiar hum followed by increasingly louder footsteps. Eyes flying open, she watches as Paige turns the corner and walks in, typing away on her phone. Azzi’s heart skips a beat when she realizes that she’s not wearing a shirt.

And okay, maybe she’s seen Paige in just a sports bra a million times, but what’s that saying? Time heals all wounds Distance makes the heart grow fonder? Because she swears Paige has never looked this alluring, skin gleaming with sweat, the lean muscle in her arms tensing as she walks. She has the post-workout glow, a happy haze coming off freshly released endorphins, and Azzi's hormones start firing in overdrive when Paige's shorts ride up slightly as she walks, giving a glimpse of the smooth, sinewy muscle of her thighs. It’s even worse that Azzi can just close her eyes and remember, remember the way those same thighs had felt around her hips, or had tensed up when her hand had just grazed the skin there — God fucking dammit. She’s literally falling apart on a cold metal chair in an office. Berating herself, she sits a little straighter as she waits for the inevitable.

Paige’s eyes widen slightly when she finally tucks her phone into her back pocket and meets her stare, but it’s quickly curbed into into a mask of indifference. Azzi clears her throat hesitantly, deciding to go with a small, harmless wave. But it’s awkward, God, why can’t she be normal for two fucking seconds, and she instantly regrets it.

“Hey, Azzi.” Paige’s tone is sweet, and even she seems slightly taken aback by the softness in her tone when it leaves her mouth. But slowly her lips turn into a small smile, and Azzi finds herself smiling as well. It's like two school girls seeing each other again after a long Christmas break, shy with hopeless crushes, and Jesus, Azzi had missed the innocence and blissfulness of just being a high schooler toeing the brink of this devastating and forceful thing called love.

Paige takes a furtive look around before plopping down in the seat next to Azzi. A long exhale leaves her mouth as she extends out her legs. Azzi has to physically turn her head this time in order to stop staring, trying to ignore the fact that Paige has somehow gotten tanner in the winter season. For a split second, Paige’s foot knocks against hers. Azzi is ashamed to say that the brief moment of contact sets her entire body alight with nerves. “How are you?” Paige breathes out finally.

Azzi fixes Paige with a raised eyebrow, half amused as her lips almost twitch into a smile. Normal, she reminds herself. Be normal. “Are you really trying to make small talk?”

Paige laughs a little, and Azzi pretends that the sound doesn’t send a pleasant flush through her body. She knows she’s missed Paige’s laugh, but now she realizes that maybe she’d missed being the cause of it more. “No. I’m really tryna know how you are.” The older girl heaves another big sigh, always one for dramatics. “I’m sorry for not going with the team to visit you in Virginia. Or going to your welcome back thing. I know how it looks after how our last conversation ended, but I wasn’t tryna be salty or prove a point or anything, I swear.”

Paige and Azzi have been to hell and back the past couple of months, yet through it all, the one thing that’s stayed true-blue is their honesty, at times painfully so. Azzi trusts Paige, more than anyone in the world, so she believes her without a doubt. Except she wants to know one more thing. “Would you have ever reached out though? If you hadn’t seen me here?”

Paige nibbles on her bottom lip. “I don’t know,” she admits, her voice barely audible. “I’ve never been good at staying away from you.” She looks away as she says this, as if she's scared to see Azzi's reaction, like she expects for it to be negative, and Azzi so badly wants to reach for her face and say me too, ask is it killing you like it's killing me?, and her hand lifts up of its own accord, and she's so close, so close to admitting everything she's always been too scared to say out loud, but then one of the trainers call for her, and Azzi stands up so quickly that the chair screeches back and almost falls over. Thankfully, Paige catches it before it does, but now Azzi can’t stop staring at her hands, big and veiny, gripping the metal like it used to grip her. She looks up, but Paige’s eyes are already on her, raking over every inch of her body, of her thighs and tummy and clavicle, like someone starved. Azzi stumbles, feeling lightheaded under the older girl's burning stare. "Gotta go,” she stutters. “I’ll - I’ll see you around.” Paige blinks rapidly then nods, as if she didn't hear her.

When Azzi has finished, she's surprised to see Paige still in the same spot as before. "Still waiting?" she questions, sitting down next to her to slide on her shoes.

"No." Paige lifts her arms and stretches, and Azzi swears she can see her v-line poking out from beneath her boxers. "Just finished up like, half an hour ago."

"Oh." Azzi loops her shoe strings together into a tight knot.

"Well, I guess I was waiting."

Azzi's hands still.

"I was waiting for you." Paige pulls the sleeve of her hoodie over her hands nervously. "Was wondering if, um, you'd be down to do something?"

"Do something?"

"Nothing weird!" Paige interrupts, a blush setting into her cheeks. "Just like, something normal. And friendly."

Azzi finishes tying her shoelaces and sits up. "That sounds good."

"Forreal?" Paige doesn't even try to hide her surprise, and Azzi winces. Is this their new reality? Her hurting Paige to the point where she sets her expectations so low that Azzi can't possibly hurt her again?

"Well, yeah." Azzi stands up and grabs her backpack, trying not to let her conflicted feelings show on her face. She's always been an open book. "When?"

"Maybe like, right now? If you're up for it. I know the rehab sessions are tiring, so no biggie if you can't."

Azzi smiles. She's tired, but she's missed Paige, and she's standing there so eagerly she can't find it in herself to say no. "Okay. Can we get ice cream or something?"

"Whatever you want, princess," Paige teases, then she seems to realize how flirtatious her tone sounds and she immediately shuts up. An awkward silence falls between them and Azzi inwardly groans.

"You're weird," Azzi says. Then she punches Paige in the shoulder and starts walking. "Catch up."

"So, like..." Paige stuffs her hands into her pockets, trying to look as nonchalant as possible. "Like, I know you're a strong and independent woman and shit."

"And shit?" Azzi echoes, shaking her head in disbelief.

"Yeah. And that you can handle your own."

Azzi narrows her eyes. "I can."

"Yup." Paige nods vigorously in agreement. "But like, your backpack looks big as hell. And you're lowkey tilting to your right when you walk. And like, I'm not even carrying anything, so it might be easier for you if I just take your backpack."

Azzi scratches her head. "You did all that buildup to ask if you could carry my backpack?"

Paige flushes an even darker red. "No! I mean, yeah," she laments. "But like, not in a girlfriend way like we used to. Not like, we were girlfriends or anything." Paige groans at herself. "But like in a friendly, your knee is hurt and I wanna help, kinda way. You know?" When Azzi stares at her again, she backtracks, "I just — I don't wanna do anything that makes you think I'm trying get with you, okay? I wanna be a good friend."

Azzi smiles softly. "Don't overthink it." She slips off the strap and pushes her bag into Paige's chest, who accepts it with a grin. "I'm actually insulted you didn't ask earlier."

"Alright, whatever," Paige grumbles, then mumbles "princess" again, under her breath, but it's not awkward this time, and Azzi shoves her and they both laugh, arms brushing as they walk side by side, admittedly a little closer than they should be.

"What should I get?" Azzi muses, her finger skimming over the glass as she stares at all the different flavors.

"You always spend thirty minutes debating just to end up always getting the same thing," Paige accuses. She quickly scans the menu before flagging down the attention of the worker. "A cone with two scoops of vanilla and a cup with two scoops of cotton candy, please."

"Hey!" Azzi objects. "You didn't even give me a choice to decide!"

"I gave myself the choice of choosing between happiness or waiting two days for you to decide," Paige shoots back.

"You never know." Azzi crosses her arms pointedly. "This could've been the day I finally decided to try banana."

"Be so for real right now, Azzi," Paige groans. "You don't even like normal bananas."

"I fucking love bananas so I don't even know what you're talking about." Azzi turns away, pretending to be upset, when she feels hands skim her waist.

"Don't be mad, Az." Paige's hands squeeze a little, and Azzi lets out a small little sigh at the feeling of finally being touched by her after so long. "Come on, lemme see that pretty face," she prods. The younger girl turns around, and suddenly their faces are close. Too close.

Paige immediately takes a step back, her hands jerking away from Azzi's waist as if they'd just been burned. Azzi looks at her, confused at the sudden motion, but they're disrupted by the worker calling out Paige's name.

They walk back to Azzi's apartment, eating their ice cream, but the tension is too palpable for them to ignore anymore. Azzi's heart clenches when Paige shifts away when their elbows almost brush as they walk silently, so far from how they'd been pressed together an hour earlier. You have no right to be upset, she reminds herself. But her heart has never really followed her mind, and so she's upset anyways.

"Thanks for coming." Paige tosses her empty cup and spoon into a nearby trash can and turns to face Azzi. "I had fun."

"I did too." Azzi ducks her head. "Thank you for paying."

Blue eyes shine brightly at her. "Of course."

Azzi unlocks the door as Paige leans against the opposite wall, watching her. As her key slots into the door, memories flood of Paige wrapping her arms around her waist, chin digging affectionately into Azzi's shoulder as she'd opened the door, and they'd stumble in together, giggling like fools.

But she turns around, and Paige's hands are still in her pockets, too far to touch even if she'd reached out. "Bye," Azzi says. "Walk safe."

Paige nods. "See you."

༉‧₊˚✧

Things almost return to normal, except for the fact that Paige's refusal to touch her doesn't stop that night. No brushing away a curl for her when she's lifting and her hair falls over her eyes, no hand resting on her lower back, no contact between their thighs whenever they sit together. When Azzi invites Paige over for a movie night, just the two of them, in hopes of restoring their friendship, Paige is overly polite, conversing like normal but maintaining a respectful distance of at least two feet at all times. But Azzi is optimistic, even though she doesn't feel happy. Paige is doing everything she asked her to — tamping down her feelings (while Azzi's, if anything, are getting more out of control), staying respectful, keeping their boundaries. So why does Azzi still feel so empty?

It's a Friday night when she gets a text from Nika with the message "You've been too stressed lately...let's get lit" and an address attached.

When Azzi enters the bar with Aaliyah and spots a familiar blonde by Nika, she curses, knowing by now that her, Paige, and alcohol don't make a good combination.

But honestly, this really isn't even her fault. She hadn't even known Paige would be at this random ass bar half an hour away from Storrs. I mean sure, it made sense, since Nika was the one who'd invited Azzi and Paige tagged along with Nika almost everywhere as her self-declared twin, but still. How could've Azzi really, surely known?

Azzi immediately knows that Paige is already too far gone when the blonde approaches her with a dopey, tired smile, arms stretched wide for a hug. Azzi reciprocates loosely, hands patting her back before falling back to her side.

She immediately accepts a shot from Aaliyah once Paige leaves, determined to forget about her for one night, except Paige had apparently just gone to the bathroom and was right back within minutes, arm slipping through Azzi's easily, like she'd always belonged there. Azzi sighs. It's not easy to forget someone that's attached to you, and Paige is doing just that, refusing to leave her side for even a second throughout the entire night.

Aaliyah quirks an eyebrow at them. "This should be good," she mutters to Nika, who only smirks in return.

“You drank too much,” Azzi chides Paige as she sits in a bar stool, head tucked into the crook of Azzi’s shoulder while Azzi stands between her legs. But the dark haired girl has always been a softie for drunk, clingy Paige, so she doesn’t push her away like she know she should, instead pulling her closer and resting her cheek to the top of the older girl's head.

"Can I tell you something?" Paige whispers out of the blue.

Azzi strokes her fingers through her hair, enjoying the way the alcohol has made her feel ten times lighter. "Mm."

“Missed you,” Paige whispers. “Packed my bags three different times. Got into my car every single one of those times and was this close to driving all the way to you.” Paige holds up her pointer and thumb finger, pinching them together so that they’re almost touching. "Had my fucking maps navving to your address and all." Then she falls back into Azzi, as if that small action had exhausted her, and tiredly nuzzles her face into her neck. “But then I'd remember the look on your face—and I knew that I couldn’t—but shit, Azzi, I was thinking about you the whole time. Couldn’t stop if I tried. Killed me not being able to talk to my best friend.” Paige's words slur together, but there's a raw honesty in the way she says it so earnestly.

“Did you ever hate me?” The question slips out of Azzi's mouth before she can stop it. She tenses as she waits for the answer.

“Could never hate you, Azzi. Look at you. So fuckin perfect and sweet and pretty, pretty, pretty.” Paige presses a smacking kiss to her shoulder, and although her mouth and Azzi's skin are separated by multiple layers of clothing, somehow the desperation with which Paige mouths at her over her jacket, the way her eyes linger unashamedly on Azzi's face, is far more intimate than anything they’ve ever done before.

Azzi doesn't know how they end back on campus, how they end up in her room. She must be more intoxicated than she thought, even though she only had a couple of drinks. She undresses into her pajamas, and Paige sits on the bed, watching with glazed over eyes.

She makes quick work of her top, throwing it to the side. Thankfully she chose to wear her nice bra, not one of her frayed sports ones. Next is her shorts; she yanks her zipper, but to no avail. It's caught on the denim of her jeans. And she know she could probably fix it if she twisted just a little bit harder, but the way Paige is looking at her, and the way she aches to feel Paige's touch, has her calling her over, voice raspy and breathless. "Can you help me? It's stuck."

Paige's fingers make nimble work of the zipper. When it's pulled all the way down, exposing the white of Azzi's underwear along with the soft skin of her lower tummy, she swears and looks up, meeting Azzi's eyes. "Fuck, Az," she says, voice low and heated. "You have no idea what you do to me."

Azzi subconciously pushes her hips forward, and a strangled sound leaves Paige's throat as her hands press into the groove of her hip, fingers tense and trembling against the denim of her shorts. They haven't even had skin to skin contact, and Paige is already gone. “Azzi,” she begs roughly. “Tell me to stop.”

Azzi doesn’t tell her to stop. She doesn’t tell her that her touch feels like the most right thing in the world. She doesn't tell her that she can't remember why she ever let Paige go, when Paige looks at her like she's the only person in the goddamn world. Azzi doesn't say anything, instead covering Paige’s hand with her own, guiding it up past the safety of her clothes and onto her waist. Paige's fingers splay out against her ribs. They’re cold, and Azzi shivers.

"Don't stop," she whispers, and Paige moves forward, mouth fitting on Azzi's so perfectly she forgets how to breathe. Her tongue, wet and curious, brushes Azzi’s bottom lip, and Azzi’s lips part. They’ve never kissed like this — slow, soft, relishing in each other’s taste. It's always been heated, desperate, but now it feels like they're getting lost in each other before they lose each other completely.

Azzi forgets her shorts are still unzipped until Paige's hand falls back on, tracing the waistband and then her belly button. “Can I touch?”

Azzi nods, guiding Paige to kneel down on the carpet before her. Her best friend kisses her piercing, then licks at the skin around it, wet open mouthed kisses that have Azzi grabbing her head and moving it closer to her skin, chasing the feeling of more, more, more.

“My girl,” Paige slurs as she makes her way down her stomach. “My fuckin girl.”

The pet name slips out, and Azzi used to hate it when guys called her ridiculous names like those, but when it comes out of Paige's mouth, lovely and honeyed, she realizes just how much she loves it. And not just the way it sounds, but how everything Paige does always feels so much sweeter than from anyone else. She grabs Paige's face and pulls her up, kissing her hard, and they're making out for a few minutes before Paige puts a hand on Azzi’s chest, gently separating the two of them. She can feel Paige's heart pounding through her chest, matching her own erratic heart beat.

"Why'd you stop?" Azzi says, chasing Paige's lips, but Paige strokes her chin.

"Azzi, you're crying," Paige whispers, and only now does Azzi see the concern pooling in her eyes. Her thumb brushes ever so gently across the younger girl's cheekbone, coming away glistening with a tear drop.

“No." Azzi shakes her head. "I’m sorry," she chokes out.

“Baby.” Paige’s voice is tender and soft and worn, like it’s been on the tip of her tongue, waiting to escape her mouth and sound so perfect. “What’re you sorry for?”

“For running away."

The blonde inhales, thumb still rubbing soft circles on Azzi's cheek.

"For being too scared."

“Azzi."

Azzi leans forward. The tip of her nose brushes against Paige’s, and she hears the older girl let out a whimper. “You love me?” she asks, even though she already knows the answer.

“I do.” Paige’s thumb strokes across her skin, across the bottom of her shorts. “God, you know I do.”

“Good. Because I love you.” Azzi's lips brush the corner of the older girl's mouth, fleetingly, and Paige can only stare at her as her heart thumps faster, all her jagged edges softening and melting away.

“You were right. I was scared before.” Azzi presses a kiss to the other corner of Paige’s mouth. “And I know I’ve hurt you. I’m sorry.”

“You have.”

“And I’m dumb and I’m selfish, and it probably won’t be the last time I hurt you because somehow I always manage to say and do the wrong thing.”

Paige half laughs, half sobs. “Only sometimes.”

"But if it's not too late," Azzi kisses the little scar above her eyebrow, then the bridge of her nose, "I want to try."

"You want to try?"

"You're worth it." Azzi presses one long kiss to her forehead, cupping her head in her palms. "You're worth everything."

"Do you mean it?" Paige's fingertips graze her wrists, voice strained. "Cause I know I'm drunk, but you're drunk too. And—and I don't think I can take waking up in an empty bed. I can't handle another fight, Azzi. I can't."

"That's the truest thing I've ever said," Azzi promises fiercely. "I swear to you."

"Okay." Her lips find the inner softness of Azzi's wrists, kissing the skin there. "I trust you."

"You trust me?" Azzi can't help but be a little wondrous that through it all, Paige is so willing to give her such a big piece of herself.

"I trust you and I love you and I want you." Paige reaches for her waist, movements slow and reverent. "Can I show you?" Her voice is soft, trembling, vulnerable, eyes searching Azzi’s.

Azzi's pulse skips a beat. Her grip tightens on Paige’s shoulder, fingers digging into her skin with pure desire that sets every part of her body aflame. “Show me.”

#paige bueckers #azzi fudd #pazzi #uconn wbb #pazzi fic #fluff #paige x azzi #paige bueckers x azzi fudd

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xo2dee · 3 months ago

Text

🗨️ EROS

PAIRING: Vergil/(Fem)Reader. WARNINGS: MDNI/18+ ONLY. Thigh Riding, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Light Asphyxiation, Dirty Talk, Biting, Breeding Kink, Creampie, Mention of Impregnation. WORD COUNT: 10,271. SUMMARY: You were his. You would always be his. And for that in return, he was yours.

A/N: clawed my face off writing this

DMC MASTERLIST

For someone who didn’t have to survive off of bodily functions that was required for endurance, he had taken up sleeping once again, something he hadn’t necessarily done practically any of in the previous twenty years.

However, as easily as he could adapt to situations that called for it, sleeping didn’t come as smoothly as he knew it was, and more than often he spent more time glaring a hole into a random spot on the wall or ceiling for being plagued with the grips of insomnia that came from not actually having a full night’s rest in that long, weakened state he had been in.

(Even as weak as he had been, sleep never would come to him.)

Waking up along the strings of the night and into the early hours of the morning was something that wasn’t necessarily extraordinary for him, however each time the circumstances ended up differing whenever he did so. Whether it be the bouts of insomnia that tapered his eyelids more times than he ever would admit to anyone, or perhaps being that rare, fleeting night he’d have a nightmare that ended as quickly as it started – as opposed to the long ago memories he sometimes wish he didn’t dream of so casually – he had been the victim of waking in the time before dawn one too many times. Nevertheless, that night was different, and it was but a few moments of pushing through a sleep-addled brain to realize just why he had woke up.

You.

Though, it was quite a few moments of sluggish analysis he would’ve berated himself for until he was able to realize that you had been the cause of his awakening. Of course being abruptly ejected out of the deep sleep he had been in was enough for his eyes to flutter open, a sharp glint already finding way in his irises as the hairs on his neck rose and a furrow lined in his brow when he took in the situation around him.

It was late, the shine of the moonlight casting through the window into the room matching the hue of his pale eyes nearly as he absently stared at the spot on the wall across from him, his eyes already adjusting to the darkness of the room to let him to be able to see better. Albeit his fatigue crusted his eyes, he sat still for a long moment, ears starting to listen in for anything that would’ve alerted him out of his sleep, yet only coming up short when the only noises he could pick up that was deemed of any importance was his brother’s snores down the hallway, and the sound of your breathing and heartbeat. It was quiet, and not an ounce of threatening energy suffocated his throat and shot his nerves, so he was quick to blame his awakening on another round of insomnia.

Coming up short and no longer disturbed, he closed his eyes again and lowered his hackles, his nostrils flaring into your nape as the intoxicating scent of you invaded each one of his senses and pricked along his frontal lobe and he immediately grew back to his alert state for what he was able to pick up so close to him and so strong radiating off of you.

Your smell, and how warm you were.

Vergil’s eyes cracked back open quicker that time around and fully without an ounce of drowsiness, already setting them down in a glare down at the back of your head when he realized your positions. It was never odd to wake up and find your leg slung over his waist or your face buried into his collarbone, breathing heavy and light snores leaving your mouth as you were a restless sleeper at times and often gravitated to him for his body. Normally you were the clinger, and he found it incredibly shameful it seemed to be easier to sleep at night whenever you were close to him, and often times he would awake if he could no longer feel your skin so close to his own. Because of that, he was usually digging a shoulder into your back to feel any semblance of what it felt like when you slept so near to him and kept that dark subconscious at bay.

(He’d never tell you that, and perhaps you knew somehow, but it was an unspoken fact between you both that he’d rather keep in a silent exchange of actions rather than words. He had never been one good for his words anyway. Vergil, however, knew it was a cemented truth on your end, your want to wrap yourself within his sheets rather than staying in your own well enough for him to assume that he had quite the effect on you. Just like the one you had on him.)

Though that time around you faced away from him, your back lining up along his torso and hips pressed into his pelvis as he had ended up throwing one arm around your waist and the both of your legs entangled with one another. Not a strange position entirely, and it also wasn’t so odd given your lack of pants and one of the shirts you had stolen from him adorning your slumbering figure, though he wondered if you had pulled away from him at some point in the night and he had just moved unconsciously to keep you close from the brewing layer of deepening thoughts that rested in the recesses of his mind ready to crawl forward and plague the serene he’d been having. That alone was evidence enough of the devastating effect you had on him, something he would consider both a bruting strength for purpose, and a solidified weakness for his humanity.

Either way he dismissed those thoughts as quickly as they came up, his brief time awake showcasing his quick thinking as he truly realized why he had awoken altogether and why he had awoken curled up against you and with his nose pressed into the bone of your nape.

Your smell for one, and granted your smell was pleasing as was, but it was a particular scent that had him scowling when he realized it was the same smell you emitted whenever he’d watch your fingers twist into the sheets next your head with your calves sitting atop his shoulders as he tried not to rip the pillow apart in teetering control taking you as persistent as he could. Vergil could already feel his jaw clench at the bombardment of images for numerous past trysts in his mind and the slide of a hot tingle down into his loins. It seemed even in your sleep that he still was never truly able to escape your seductive clutches; even as you rested you continued to tease and prod at him until he fell victim to his ethereal lust for you.

Succubus.

However he was more-so curious as to why you were like that, but the heat radiating from your inner thighs through the cloth of his pajama bottoms and the heavy sighs beginning to leave your mouth told him enough. He’d call you insatiable in your desire for him if he wasn’t of the same way, straightening his spine and kneeing your thighs apart to slide one of his own up until it was rooted up against you and he could feel the evidence of your increasing arousal along his muscle.

A low sigh left him as the skin underneath his clothing began to grow warm from the heat of your cunt and wet the fabric of his pants from how soaked you were through your panties, an intolerable urge to press himself into you when he felt the pulse from you pound into his thigh he had to fight off. You were dreaming, and not only that, but having a wet dream. He very nearly rolled his eyes, thoughts turning to hours beforehand when he had you pinned underneath him again and realizing you truly were greedy in want. Yet Vergil knew he wasn’t one to speak of that matter without sounding like a hypocrite, the feeling of you steadily soaking and warming his thigh, along with the tantalizing aroma of you still assaulting all sensible reasoning, sending a jolt of pleasure curling into his abdomen until it slid down towards his cock.

He sighed. If he wasn’t awake before, he was then.

Briefly he wondered if you could feel his glare on the back of your head in your sleep, your slight squirming making him bar his arm down and curl over your abdomen harder, until he jerked his thigh up for a reaction from you. He got the reaction he wanted when a soft keening noise left your mouth and you rolled your hips to grind along his thigh, the movement stimulating his hardening cock and making him suck air through his teeth in a hiss while tucking his face into the side of your neck, his pointed nose pressing into your earlobe.

Vergil called your name once to wake you, yet you didn’t stir.

He snuck his hand up your shirt and flattened his palm against your abdomen, his other arm’s hand twisting into the pillowcase where it laid under the pillow below your head as he realized there would be no going back to sleep for his – and yours – predicament. While you had vouched that you didn’t mind if he touched you in your sleep, he didn’t necessarily ever want to do it that way, he found it more pleasing when you were awake and knew what he was doing to you as much he liked the expressions that crossed your face. Shamefully, he all but had a one-track mind when it came down to carnal desires, and having you lay so pliant and so… wanting, responsive for him was almost making him throw reason out the window and use you as he wanted right there.

Vergil’s control seemed to still loosen when it came to you, much like a tightly wounded spring coming uncoiled either in slow circles or altogether too fast for him to comprehend, and regardless of how many times he found himself lost in the never-ending, treacherous paradise that was you, it never seemed to help in building back up the sense of self-control.

One way or another, he was utterly drenched in sinful and covetous desire for you, and against better wishes for himself (and your own safety and life), he kept coming back for more.

Much like he was then; him gritting his teeth and hissing into your skin when he found his hips rocking back against you while you sloppily grinded on his thigh, all the while your sighs and slight inhales stoking that fire burning in his loins as your cunt only pulsed harder to match the drum of your heartbeat that he could hear. It was to the point he couldn’t ignore it any longer, nostrils flaring in a heavy breath as the texture of his pants began to stick to his thigh from your juices, and the flexing of his quadricep only whisking you on as you stimulated yourself for whatever was in your dreams.

He had made up his mind then, his blood pumping down towards his cock too fast for his liking and the heaviness it brought within his balls too much for his self-control. Vergil didn’t feel the slightest bit of guilt for trying to wake you, thinking back to the many times you had awoken him wanting sex from him, and despite the iron will he tried to put around you, he always was one up for it. So what was it if he did wake you up for once?

Surely you wouldn’t mind.

He tried waking you again, lips skimming up along your neck in a circle until they were pressed against your earlobe, and he exhaled heavily into your ear, “Wake up.”

You still did not stir, your subconscious determined to keep the hold it had over you and continue on whatever was happening inside of that mind of yours (a feat he wasn’t sure he ever wanted to truly know). He felt his eyes narrow into another glare, lips down turning into another hard frown as he surmised it must have been one Hell of a dream for you to remain asleep after he whispered into your ear – something that normally made your pulse skyrocket and tickled your skin. You were far away from him then; attention plagued by whatever you conjured in that abyss and leaving him to watch as you fell into throes of pleasure without him.

He was annoyed about it.

However, it was no doubt you were dreaming of him given the nature of your relationship and knowing he had been the only one you had been active with (another thing that ballooned his ego, though he wasn’t about to admit that), yet if it was something you could do awake with him, then why dream? He nearly cursed himself for sounding so deprived, yet he couldn’t take the grinding against his cock any longer or how hot and heavy it felt without having any proper attention in the matter.

His lust won out in the end once more, and for that he slid his lips slowly down the slope of your neck, cool breath grazing over an area he had bitten hours previously, before he inhaled once more for your dizzying scent and did something he knew that would finally awake you.

Vergil bit into your neck.

It worked and you jerked as you awoke, stretching like a cat and a long breath leaving your chest as you slightly wiggled in his hold and lulled your head about away from his bite. He released your skin, tongue tasting of you running along his teeth feeling for every crack until he had to bite onto his cheek whenever your back arched and your ass rubbed along his dick again. Damn you.

Brat.

You must’ve not heard the barely concealed grunt he let out into your neck, a long sigh pushing past your lips as you tipped your head back to lay further into him. His nose scrunched as your scent hit him harder, the saliva in his mouth growing as his palm pressed down harder onto your stomach to keep you from moving any more that would’ve jeopardized his want to keep things in his hold. It was a few moments of silence, and he had wondered if you had just fallen back asleep until you spoke, voice groggy with sleep and barely intelligible if he hadn’t possessed the hearing that he did.

“Mms’fuckin’ early, Vergil,” you grumbled, seemingly unaware of the underlying issue that was in-between your legs and pressing into your back. You complained more than you realized he noted, and yet even with you complaining about him awaking you, you still didn’t move away from his ministrations or his hold. Instead you spoke again, remaining still in his hold as you continued to gripe at him, “Mm’arm’s asleep… What time issit?”

Vergil’s eyes slid towards the clock on the nightstand of your side, the glowing, red lettering a stark contrast to the cool darkness and pale shine of the moonbeams shining in through the window. It was 3:07 A.M., and a sliver of humor found its way into him as he realized the meaning behind the time he had awoken and in turn awoke you. Witching hour; Devil’s hour, and yet despite the circumstances regarding his species compared to your own, he had called you a Succubus seeking him out of lust, when in reality he was the one preying on your malleable form in your dreams true to his status as a demon.

However, despite that, the way your body looked stretched out against his own in the streams of the moonlight that came through into the bedroom at that moment indeed made you look like an otherworldly phenomenon sent from the depths of the unknown yet to be discovered by humanity.

Siren. He had many names for you, and yet none seemed to justly fit the criteria and effect you had on him.

He let the thought pass, a fleeting observation on his part, as he answered you and removed his eyes from the clock to flutter his eyelashes against your neck, “3:07.” He felt the inflow of your breath at his voice, a shakiness to it at his proximity that you tried to play off, yet the influx of chills rising along your skin and the skip of your heartbeat lying for you in the end. He didn’t comment on it, deciding to wait it out in his play for you to answer.

And you didn’t take long in spite of your grouchy state.

“Why are you biting me at three in the mornin’?”

A huff escaped him then, feeling your body twitching at the suddenness of his cool breath blowing across a sensitive part of your skin before he removed his hand from the spot on your stomach and curled two fingers under the collar of your shirt. He pulled your shirt away from you, exposing your shoulder to him and air as he ran his nose along the skin there – discreetly inhaling as he went – until he was settling his lips upon your shoulder. He kissed it once, before nipping at it and sighing whenever you jolted at the action and beginning to trace a path along your skin there as he noted the rate of your pulse picking up.

Vergil eventually answered you, arm sliding back around you and teeth snapping against the flesh of your trapezius as his breathing got heavier when you started to grow more aroused, “You were dreaming.”

You wriggled in his grasp again and he unflexed his thigh to keep you at bay for the teasing he wanted to bite at you for dreaming so carelessly for things you could have awake. “Yeah, people do that when they sleep, Vergil,” you mumbled, yet the tilt in your voice told him you were distracted.

“Brat,” he voiced aloud that time in a hiss, accompanying another bite onto your skin for your sass. He allowed you another moment of squirming against him before he realized he couldn’t wait any longer with all the movement against him, a hum vibrating deep in his throat and rumbling out of his chest against your back as he released your skin free from his teeth and glided his lips back up to your earlobe. The shudder was not lost on him, his nose against your temple and voice raspy wisping along your skin for his desire, “Hmm, obviously so… Mind telling me what you were dreaming of then?”

He knew he had you had caught when your breathing hitched, the pulse pounding through your panties matching your heart once more as he flexed and pressed his thigh up further into you again. A small grunt passed your mouth finally, and your one free hand gripped onto his wrist, nails prickling into his skin in a pathetic hold that held no pain over him, with your hips rocking forward to rub what you could of your clit against his protruding muscle and backwards to rub your ass against his pelvis once more. Vergil had to hold back his groan for the moment, the sensitivity in his cock growing the longer he played around with you.

You spoke, quiet and shaky, and the slight waver in your voice betraying the way you tried to keep up the act, “You’ve never asked before, what’s changed now?”

“Mm, curious…” Was all he offered you, yet he made his intentions known dragging his fingers down your naval in a slow draw before he ran a lone index finger along the lining of your panties.

The bones in your shoulder blades popped when you arched your back again, ass pressing further into him as you caught onto the obvious bulge in his pants. His nostrils flared against your cheek that time, your smell growing stronger for your growing desire and his own impatience growing the longer you stalled. You eventually answered though, a haze in your voice and lucidity lost on parts of your limbs as you continued to grind on his thigh.

“I… I don’t remember –”

“Lies,” he hissed, snapping the elastic of your panties against your skin and jerking his thigh harder up into your cunt, enjoying the louder, gasping pant that left you, “Don’t play coy with me… Tell me, what you were dreaming of that had you this wet and shamelessly using me for.”

The temperature of the room grew to boiling, his bloodstream feeling as if it was fueled by fire rushing through his veins regardless of his body temperature running a warmer degree due to his heritage. Your skin was warmer than usual too, yet the heat radiating from your inner thighs was the real source of it all and it was hard not to imagine – and remember – just how warm you felt inside and how you would still somehow heat his cock up when he got inside of you. It made him scowl, irritation for himself for growing greedier and greedier each time he got close to you in a licentious manner fast enough to furrow his brow and clench his jaw, but your voice breaking through the silence and giving into him was swift to diminish that.

“You… I was dreaming about you,” you confessed, lifting your hips up a fraction and circling them back onto his drenched thigh for a faster route to pleasure.

Vergil could feel his lips twitch upwards for a split second, his pride boosting that he was right as he rewarded you by slipping his finger down into your panties and placing the pad of his middle fingertip onto your clit. An audible hiss did escape him however that time, your clit swollen under his finger and you wetter than he had originally thought guiding him to ease onto you with slow circles to get you lax and submissive in his hold again. You sighed then, a high-pitched sound he had committed to memory, as your muscles relaxed and the tension in your shoulders released while your hips followed along with his movements.

He didn’t let you off the hook so easily though, his curiosity to know just what you were dreaming of that got you the way you were (and dreaming of it anyway since he had taken you mere hours before), and he slid his arm out from underneath the pillow where your head rested and curled it around your throat. He didn’t press down right away, only pleased with your immediate reaction to tilt your head further back into him so that he had a better look of your face and a better hold on your form to touch you in the way he so wanted.

Watching your eyelashes flutter over your hazy eyes, Vergil pressed down hard onto your clit, holding a dark chuckle back at your flinch and the way you tried to close your thighs around his hand if it wasn’t for the presence of his own in-between them. He hummed again, flexing his fingers on your throat and pressing his nose to your earlobe once more, “Tell me more. What was I doing?”

Your mouth parted, puffy lips coated in salvia with wet sighs falling free as you answered quicker that time in a show of your neediness for his touch, “Do you remember that time in that church? When you bent me over the altar and made me repent for letting a demon defile me?”

A sharp, electrifying shock prickled down his spine and Vergil paused in his ministrations, finger sliding off of your clit for a brief moment as he was glad his face was still slightly behind you and you could not see well in the dark because you would’ve seen the way his eyes widened a portion and saw the dilation he felt in his irises whenever he remembered the incident. Another pang of shock twitched his cock and tingled inside of his balls; how could he forget? It was… debauch in all its intentions for doing that to you, but it was also extremely pleasing to him whenever he you indulged him in that little fantasy and how much he realized he liked the idea when telling him.

He had blamed it on his devilish lineage of course, the repeating chanting you did that night of saying you were his and belonged to him in a church something he etched into his memory and thought more of than he would’ve ever admitted. The idea of corrupting a being much like yourself (and he realized he had truly corrupted you given your penchant for suggesting more of the sinful of ideas in the bedroom, and how you were particularly happy to please him for his own side) something that nearly made his eyes roll back – and they did when he had you pinned down on that altar and started rocking himself inside of you – and fueled a different type desire for you in the end that had to be put out before it grew too strong.

And yet, the burning sun of want and need for you in all your carnality and your emotionalism only surged as the days passed and the more time he spent with you, a notion he donned a fee of damning sin and a gift of blissful redemption on his behalf.

Vergil swallowed and narrowed his eyes; minx, he knew what you were doing. For that he dropped his thigh away from you, ignoring your little whine for the loss of friction, before sliding his fingers down your slick folds and deftly pushing his middle and ring finger inside of you until he was three knuckles deep of each finger into your soaked cunt again and curling them against your soft walls for your oncoming release. Your back arched again for the suddenness of his actions, a louder gasp bubbling up from your lungs while you clenched around his appendages and urged him to move by a slight rock of your hips.

“I remember,” he answered, voice thick with barely concealed control and teetering into delirium for you, “Though, were you truly dreaming of that, or are you toying with me?”

You lulled your head back again, though that time you pressed your nose into his hot cheek and sneakily slid your hand away from his wrist and down his bare abdomen, a nail dragging along each individual, flexing, abdominal muscle until you were rubbing the back of your hand along his cock through his pants. He felt himself twitch again at the long-awaited touch, fingers slightly squeezing down on your throat in warning when you teased him by curling your fingers around him through his pants.

In spite Vergil pressed up against your hot walls – the feeling of them akin to nothing of comparison but just plush comfort – right under your clit, and enjoying the squeal that left you and the way you clenched up around him and pulsed around his fingers. He began to truly move his fingers then, an agonizing curl and dip for your part as he listened to each squelch your body made and felt each gush of liquid coat his fingers when you rolled along with him. He nearly missed the way you slid your hand into his pants and you twisted your wrist around his cock if it wasn’t for a fingertip pressing down into his cockhead leaking of precum and gently stroking along his slit.

That time, he growled.

Your chest was heaving and your body was moving like tides in the ocean, following along each way he curled his fingers and pulled back to push against that spongy spot lying within you. Vergil’s mind was spinning by then, your smell and the feeling of you pleasuring him with your soft, cool hand so unlike his own making him sloppy in his movements and totter on his hold of control and his ability to hold out for what he wanted to do. His fingers felt as hot as the blood roaring through his veins did, and he all but had to strain to hear you speak again to keep himself from tipping out of self-control and flipping you over for his own gain.

“Why would I lie? It’s one my favorite memories,” you turned your head and sighed in his face, while he hissed from the tone your voice had taken and the increasing speed of your hand around his cock. You continued though, never one to take precautions for his slipping control, “You can’t say much… You’re already so hard, how long were you laying there awake debating what to do with me?”

He closed his eyes then, his skin beginning to prickle and hackles rising for an entirely different reason as he felt the familiar sticky, oozing of his precum soak into your hand and coat his cock each time you slid your hand to the base of him, and all the way back to his tip. It was scalding in combination to the coolness of your hand, the heat of his cock growing tenfold and pulsing along to his balls when he felt the distinct feeling of a release along the way.

The first pleasure-laden grunt left him that time, his fingers harshly pressing into you to stretch your plush walls as much as he could for a reaction, and you gave one in the form of another jab at him, taking up his silence for the time being as your own time to shine.

You sighed in a particular way that made his fingers press down harder onto your throat, a light wheeze leaving you as he dipped his face back into your neck and huffed against your skin when you began to match the speed of which he was fingering you to rub away at him. “You didn’t have to wake me up, I told you that you could fuck me in my sleep and use me how you want.”

Vergil felt a jolt inside of him, static prickling his nerves as he bared his teeth against your neck, “Stop.”

He didn’t mean it, and he knew that you knew that.

“But I wouldn’t get this chance, and I know you like it when I talk to you like this… Did you wake me up because you wanted me so bad?”

He exhaled heavily, “No.” He did.

Your head rolled and you swiped your thumb across his swollen cockhead, “Mmm, it’s okay if you did… Dreaming of you fucking me doesn’t compare.”

His expression scrunched up, fingers shoving up into you faster – harder, almost desperate to get you to cum so you would be quiet and he could relinquish all control for the session. You nearly moaned then, the obscene sound of your cunt drenched along his hand and fingers adding to the sound of both of your labored breathing and his growing growls and hisses. Every time you prodded at him, and every time he fell into it.

And every time he gave in for you.

Vergil hissed against your skin then, nerves haywire and bones tightening as you pulled him free of his pants and into the air of the bedroom before you ran a slow line of your finger along the protruding and pulsing vein on the underside of his cock. Though you had let him know what you had wanted, he was never one to not make you beg a little; a cruel part on him perhaps, but it was something your depraved-self liked just as much when he could feel your pulse pick up and pick up the staunching of your arousal each time he edged you along.

He never said he was a fair lover in the bedroom.

Vergil squeezed your throat again, relishing in your cunt closing in around his fingers – which had to have been completely furrowed with how wet you were and sopping into his skin with each push of them inside of you – and let his mouth kiss along your jaw and cheek before finding your ear once again. He blew air into your ear for a brief moment, feeling the shiver rock your body that he wondered if was from the sensation of, or for when he pressed his finger against the skin underneath where your clit laid again and purposefully rocked his hips into your hand for the last bit of foreplay between you two.

A brief thought of how easily you complied him into your hands crossed his mind, and he was close to really sitting there to ponder over who corrupted who for how you two danced around each other.

He didn’t settle on thinking on it too long, lips parting back open slowly and tongue searing as it slid along your earlobe before he whispered hotly into your ear one final time and he knew you sealed the deal for the both of you.

“Tell me, or I leave you to your own hands.”

It was an empty threat, and he knew that you knew that.

He was just trying to wrangle in the control he had beforehand over you (and the control he was steadily losing for his sensuous desires).

Your whine that time was louder, the grogginess in your voice all but vanishing as you pulsed and tightened up around his fingers whenever those words left his mouth. You could’ve came then and there, but you were holding yourself back he had acknowledged, and that revelation sent a hard throb throughout his body pulsing down through cock and balls in the end when he figured out what you wanted. His growled again; all you had to do was say it.

“Say it.”

Your pussy pulsed again and you were close, the rapid rising of your heartbeat warning him as it ended, but before you did so you finally spoke, a raspy moan from the hold he had on your throat egging him on and nearly making his eyes cross when he heard what he wanted.

“Vergil, please, I’m yours. I wanna cum with you inside of me – Wanna feel you fuck me again, please.”

He obliged you then with a snarl, too thoroughly fed up with your teasing words and his own edging over you and pulled free his fingers from inside of your soaked cunt to trade them in for curling in the fabric of your panties to pull them to the side. Thankfully he didn’t have to free himself, only pushing his hips back far enough to make you release the hold you had on his cock before you slightly turned onto your back and lifted your leg over his hip to give him better access to inside of you. Letting his eyes fall over your nipples peeking through the material of your – no, his (hishishis) shirt, he began to wonder how he ever could resist you.

Vergil didn’t dawdle any longer, head dizzy with lust and senses overridden with everything that pertained to you as he slid his cockhead along your slit for a moment and tried to ignore how engorged and raw his cock looked from the amount of time it took before he was able to give it any attention. He wouldn’t last…

There was always that initial sensation of when finding himself back inside of you, a certain type of unmatched warmth that tickled his nerves all down the nerves and veins of his cock, but his tip prickling with satisfaction when sliding against the soft, gripping walls of you outdid it all. It felt… unreal; unreal in the life he had lived, and the rush of adrenaline and excitement that sparked a deeper emotion in his brain he fervently had tried to fight away, but the satisfying feeling that came from the warmth you supplied him was too much to bear.

(If Vergil could akin it to anything, it nearly felt like going underwater; waterlogged and the satisfaction of your entire body cooling reminded him of slipping himself inside of you. The feeling of heat brushing along his cheeks on a cold day; lying himself along velvety sheets and wrapping himself in the comfort of them as solace found its way inside of his mind and body.

He’d never admit it to anyone, not even you, content with keeping his own findings in the matter of physical and emotional to himself. You had known well that he was more of a man of actions rather than words.)

He blinked a couple of times at the thought until he pushed the tip of himself in with a low sigh, testing your keening sigh for any signs of possible discomfort, only to completely shove his cock in to fill you to the brim with one single push, and it was hard then to not slip out of the fragile control he had on you to take you as relentless as he usually did when he watched you take in all of him with that high-pitched moan combined with your expression.

He knew he was a lot for you to take in, and when you still felt so tight after all the stimulation from before it was so hard for him to stay still for the moment. You were already squeezing him, his entire cock coated with you and how warm you were throbbing around him was sending him into a frenzy again. Yet he managed to pull through when your slight trembling came to a rest as he sat still inside of you, your hand skimming up along his chest again until you were twirling fingers into the messy locks of his hair, that for once laid over his forehead as opposed to his usual slicked back appearance.

You sighed as you drug a nail over his scalp, his spine tingling at the attention for a brief moment, until he knew it was the sign. It wasn’t as if you needed it, you were very accustomed to the feeling of him inside of you, and you knew what it felt like. Yet like how it was different that he woke up to an entirely different circumstance that night, there was something different in the wave his hips began to roll into you in a slow tempo that was just equal parts of pure torment and bliss.

It was languid the way he rocked you both; in and out. It nearly felt like you both could liquefy into the mattress from the smooth way he moved along with you. Generally Vergil tried to have you gasping for breath each time around he pushed himself inside of you in deep and fast strokes, his desire to always have you cum before him too strong to ignore until he had you all but shaking underneath him. Usually he was all but fucking you like it was the last time he ever would; always so hard, fast, rough, and just pure raw, near animalistic sex on his part, but there was something that made him give in to a slower form for the time being.

(Personally he wanted to just pin it on his fatigue and your own, or perhaps he was going so slow because he knew he wasn’t going to last long if he pulled you down on his cock like he normally did, but either way it had him feeling an odd mixture of affection along with a growing of fatigue for the lazy movements.)

You seemed to enjoy it as well, if the airy, “Vergil” escaping your lips was anything to go by. Vergil rumbled low in his throat, all control back inside of his mind as his pulse slowed down and the tingling of static rising in the room dissipated, craning his head back down to mouth at your neck in various forms of bites, sucks, and kisses that grew in harshness the longer you two moved. It was another form of leverage he used to keep himself in check, not one for triggering in his somnolence, and the erratic jolts of pleasure sent to his cock each time he pushed in as far as he could go and you clenched up was enough for him to bite down to hold himself together.

Of course, if he was feeling as exhausted, he could always fuck you back to sleep as well.

Vergil’s hand had taken to gripping your hip, the bones in his fingers tight and popping as he grasped onto you harder before leaving your hip bone altogether and sliding his hand back up into your shirt to clutch onto the breast closest to him. He squeezed it in tune with how he scraped his teeth along your shoulder, fingers twisting around your erect nipple the way he knew that you liked until he had you squeezing around him again and arching your back from the repeated pleasure slipping down your body.

“Vergil – fuck,” you cursed under your breath, craning your head back farther for his mouth when he squeezed your throat gently once more, your hips trying to desperately rock back into his own to meet him pace for pace. He bit down hard on your neck in return, a yelp escaping you as you rolled back down on him again for push him as far as he could go inside of you. The copper taste invading on his tongue and salivating his gums made him realize he had drawn blood, and he sent a swift swipe of his tongue along the wound, leaving a trail of his saliva after doing so before moving to suck back at your jaw.

The noises you made always spurned him on, especially when you moaned out variations of his name whenever he did something he knew you liked. It was reprehensible for how you had him but a strand around your finger; a slight tug from you having him pulled forward as much as it seemed the other way around. He had you, but you had him just as much, and he curled to you in a way far from the way you did for him, but all the same in the weakness.

Vergil’s eyes slid open and he growled into your skin, his hold on the slow pace he had faltering the longer he let his thoughts run rampant, and the longer he subjected himself to the warmth of you.

His ears tuned in to the sounds of your bodies, almost muted by the comforter lying over both of you if he didn’t have that heightened sense. The temperature in the room continued to rise as you both continued to stagger on down into pleasure with one another, the sweat on your bodies growing and slicking each of your bodies. The sounds resonated in his head and off the walls of the bedroom, coating you both in a blanket of something warm, and suddenly it didn’t feel like it was enough.

He moved then, perhaps quicker than was needed for you, pulling free from the plushness of your cunt and rolling atop of you in-between your spread thighs. Even in your previously awoken state you were quick to curl them around his waist, your soft thighs caging him in as he felt you lock your ankles at his lower back as he paused for a brief second to take in you beneath him. He was mystified; always would be despite it all, that someone like him had entangled you in his grasp.

You couldn’t see in the dark, but he could.

It was a hypnotizing sight every time you were below him, yet there was always that want to see more from you each time; the want to be the one to bring that out in you raging every time you were tangled in each other’s pleasure.

A longing sigh left you and he trailed hot, calloused hands up your abdomen to skim upwards past your breasts, gently pressing down on your erected nipples, tingling your collarbones, and swiftly wrapping around your neck before one hand was sitting at your nape and the other was grasping your cheeks in a squeeze and angling your head to meet his an opened-mouth in a kiss. A kiss full of redemption and desire that left your skin puckering into eager chills as your hands threaded into his hair for comfort, all the while his weight coming down atop of you once more as he interwove your bodies with a low grunt he bit into your lip and a keening gasp you sent into his mouth as his tongue delved deeper into your mouth and his hips rocked greater into your entire being.

With your mouth preoccupied with his own, Vergil moved his hand away from your face and grasped the breast above your heart, your heartbeat quickening as he tightened the grip on it before kneading it and making you cry out. It was louder that time and vibrated against his tongue, his self-control withering away as his pace left that slow roll and quickened to something more used to how you two usually had sex. He filled you with every thrust, your body bucking and arching with the sensation of being completely full of him, an overwhelming feeling on his end as well when he broke away from your lips and the hand behind your neck moved to slam onto the wall above your head.

He was ravenous, dizzyingly hungry for his yearning of you that it nearly made him sick and starved for that sweet satisfaction you brough mere hours beforehand yet again. He was glad you couldn’t see in the dark, his eyelashes fluttering with each blink as he tried to fight off the feeling of them rolling in back from how good you felt, and how soft – you were always so soft – and just how warm you were around him and so compliant and bending to his will…

It was maddening… You were maddening.

Vergil pressed weight into his hand harder onto the wall, the drywall caving underneath his strength as he heard the new noises of the bed and louder pleasure echoing off the wall and joining obscene sounds of you both. It was him; he that time was making the noises into the air that assaulted his ears more than anything else. He could still hear you below him however, a sigh of his name here and there in a combination of your soft moans, though his vision was swirling with the invasion of all his senses erratic by the onslaught of the physical pleasure being given to his body, and the rushing of the chemical imbalance that his emotions were taking.

He couldn’t necessarily begin to explain what it was doing to his mentality.

(Lust, there was lust, but something there as well clawing at the edges almost seeming taboo to him; something he felt like he couldn’t ever tell you.)

Your hands were on him, so soft and slender, smaller than his own, tracing along the contours on his chest until you were wrapping your fingers along his skin of his biceps. The ivory tone of his skin all but shined in the moonbeams continuing to pour in from the window, the scars he no longer possessed marking his skin something that you had absently traced over as they were a witness to himself of the life he had lived and the battles he had gone through to get him where he was then.

An itch began to grow at the base of his spine, his cock beginning pulse in tune to how you continued to grip him with every deep thrust he surged into you, your pelvises remaining more connected than he realized. He was so deep inside of you; he was losing himself once more to you as he brushed along something in you that was so sinful and so rewarding, he had you shuddering and your thighs beginning to shake as that stoking fire of pleasure inside began to brim towards its edge.

Vergil could feel it building up inside of you, your orgasm a forgone conclusion each time around he was fitted into the raw wetness of your cunt. It spurned him on harder, that relentless speed you were both used to showcasing again as the noises of you both grew perhaps too loud for the silent night, yet he was too far gone to even begin to care when he had you so sweetly laid out before him.

Your hands skimmed to his back, nails tapping along each shoulder blade as you pressed yourself closer to him and drew your mouth to his ear. He could feel the hairs on his neck stand up when you panted so hotly into his ear, your thighs tightening around him as your heels dug into his lower back with each roll of his hips into you. You were close; you were desperate for something, and your expression and the gleam in your eyes gave that away before you tried to hide yourself from him. Your pulse was picking up once more as he heard you inhale once before you moaned into his ear.

“I want it,” you slurred, a nail dragging down his spine as he pressed his face into the pillow next to your head. He didn’t speak at first, willing you to continue on speaking and let him hear what you were so desperate for. “Vergil, I want it – I want you to cum inside of me.”

His brow furrowed, the sinful words that poured free like honey off of your tongue too easy for you say. He had heard it countless times before in your sessions together, yet each time it sent a hard burning down towards his loins and churned a deeper, new feeling in his mind that he had only ventured towards so few times. He was going to do so anyway, it was the only place he ever did release in you, besides your mouth, and he supposed he spoiled you for it when he didn’t ever make you ask or beg for and gave it to you freely.

Truth be told, he was just as desperate for it.

Though his silence of the matter apart from his grunting and hissing apparently wasn’t enough for you, your back arching as he planted the hand that had held your breast onto the bed next to your ribs and pressing your chest farther into his while squeezing your thighs around his waist. For a split moment he figured you were about to cum, ready to fall into relief just behind you if it wasn’t for your damn mouth moving again and whispering like Siren luring him from the rocks into his ear.

“I want it… I want you to cum and put a baby in me.”

Vergil faltered; his mind, his body, his words, his tempo, everything stuttered for a beat or two as those words traveled so wickedly into his ear until it stuck to his brain like adhesive. He had moved his face into your neck before you had whispered those damnable words, his teeth baring against your skin again in rebuttal for your little stunt. He wasn’t so pissed for the dirty talk that it completely ruined the moment, more-so he was agitated and how much it fueled him to jerk harder into you, his cock twitching inside of your trembling cunt in agreement for what you wanted.

His hissed into your skin, hand grasping onto your ribcage and flexing his fingers onto each bone, “What did you say?” he groaned out, raising his head away from you to watch your expression morph in desperation for your words. He watched you closely, your mouth parted, eyes glazed with desire and that fatigue still there, and skin so dewy layered with sweat. Damn you.

“Put a baby in me, Vergil,” you repeated, unabashed for how they sounded and the underlining meaning below them. He could feel your cunt gush around him again, the sensation blurring him for a moment as he felt all the blood from his brain rush down to his cockhead and felt his balls burn with the want of doing what you had said.

It wasn’t so much of the actually ‘putting a baby in you’ aspect of it, supposing that it was the risk. He knew that and you knew that. How many times had he cummed inside of you and you hadn’t gotten pregnant? Far too many for him to even count, and he wasn’t sure if that was perhaps something on his end or the contraceptive you used that prevented it, but it was the risk that got him going. The risk of cumming inside of you and making sure you were forever given something of his; the risk of the responsibility there by being irresponsible much like he had before; it was all in the risk.

He liked the risk of it all.

Vergil’s nostrils flared as he inhaled your scent once more, breath huffing against your face as he threw himself into deeper, feral pace again. That languid pace of sex he had been trying to chain himself into doing was gone at once, the overwhelming need to fill you full once more too strong to withstand as he snapped at your bottom lip for the words and grew closer to his release.

Once again, he was bending to your world and falling into the pool of his never-ending desire for you.

“Is that what you want? A claim on you to let be known that your mine?” he snarled out into your mouth, breath turning hot as that familiar static began to fill the air again. He needed to finish you off before it snapped out of his control. “Say it,” he hissed again, the overbearing weight of his orgasm ready to crush him the more he pushed in and out of your sinful body.

You blubbered, thighs shaking in their hold on his hips while your nails began to scratch down his back in a phantom sense of pain while you bounced back and forth on the mattress below him, “S’all I want… Make me yours, Vergil. Breed me and let no one else have me, please – Vergil!”

He very nearly slapped his hand over your mouth for the octave your voice had taken on that last cry of his name, but you cut off into a choked gasp when he had pressed his face back into your neck and bit into your skin hard for your plea. He could feel it, the scent of you altering and your pulse shattering as the last of your wobbling hold on a clear mind fell over the cliff and the rushing of your cunt busted forth and surrendered to that lurch in your gut.

There, with the increasing speed of his hips slamming into yours and cock all but ruining the inside of your cunt, he felt your muscles lock around him, your pussy squeezing him hard as you were suddenly thrown into the throes of pleasure and helplessly arching and moaning incoherently through your orgasm. He took it all, greedily continuing to fuck you through it as the hand he had on the wall slammed back down onto the next your head, ready to tear the pillow to shreds, and your nails became violent in the way they scratched down his back, his skin mildly stinging from how hard you were dragging them through his flesh. It was to be expected, the way he was also repeatedly shoving himself back inside of you for the growing crescendo of his own release, something that too close for comfort and too close for him to comprehend as it slammed into him all once the moment your orgasm began to subside and he felt that throbbing of your cunt vibrate into his cock.

It was always nearly impossible to hold out so long after you, the way you would convulse and constrict around him, and the way you smelled, the way you sounded, and just the way you felt – so warm and so tight – Shit.

Vergil clenched his eyes tightly shut to keep them from rolling back, the loud groan he gave muffled by the skin of your throat as a harsh snap pulled at his abdomen and the pressure in his balls rapidly unraveled while the harsh-like rapture of his orgasm hit him by the force of wave crushing him underneath its raging waves. He didn’t fight it, but it was still rough to pull through while shoving himself into you as hard and as much as he could to completely coat your insides with his cum and fill you to point you couldn’t hold it in you. His hips jerked with each spurt he let out, the muscles in his abdomen twitching while listening to your huffs whenever he sharply rutted into you and felt your clit twitching against his lower abdomen. It was sweet relief once more, and there was that defining, underlining meaning to the moment, words, and the way he poured everything out into you and only you.

You were his. You always would be his.

And for that in return, he was yours, the implications not lost on him as a foreign word tasted bittersweet on his tongue and resounded in his brain fueled by the endorphins his body and mind were encased in.

It wasn’t long for his sensitivity to overrule him, his cock too vulnerable for the feeling of your pussy any longer as he let out a long huff and pulled himself free of you. Nearly like a cork in a wine bottle, he seemed to pop out of you, a shuddering exhale leaving you from the thick loss of him and a low sigh he let his out before he turned and landed on the bed face-up next to you heavily with a bounce. Vergil blinked for a few moments until his mind stopped spinning, until he was no longer dizzy with all his senses invaded by you, and he was blinking through that foggy, euphoric-like state his brain had been subjected to. It didn’t take long for him to find clarity as his blood cooled and his nerves settled, the scratches on his back beginning to heal as the pleasurable tension left his body and he relaxed his shoulders back onto the mattress, all the while listening to your breathing level out and heartbeat once more calm down as you both laid there basking in post-coital bliss.

Neither of you spoke, content for time being with the comfortable silence the orgasmic bliss brought to you both. There were no words needed, something he found increasingly grateful in you for since he wasn’t sure how to handle words so easily (as well as never knowing what to actually even say).

He gave a slow blink, the ceiling becoming less clear as he realized his predicament.

He was tired; sleepy.

And he very nearly could’ve fallen asleep like that so quickly if you hadn’t shifted next him, your lips finding way towards his jaw in a lazy kiss before you pressed your face into his collarbone and threw your thigh over his waist, a position reminiscent of the mornings where he’d awake and you’d be clinging to him. It wasn’t like he wasn’t accepting it either, but the way his eyelids continued to grow heavy over his eyes and how he had to remind himself to blink them back open was putting off like he was ignoring your affection. He wasn’t, more for letting you express it than himself and curling up and around as much as you wanted in private, he was just tired. And that was something you seemed to take notice of.

Though… he was for once surprised you didn’t tease him with, “Pussy put him to sleep” like you had done once before, instead pressing your cheek into his warm skin in a lazy manner that almost had his male pride skyrocketing when he realized he had tired you back out as well. He forced himself to remain awake as he listened for you to fall asleep, a sigh leaving him as his eyelashes tampered with his vision when he heard your heartbeat settle into that steady murmur. It was endearing, though he’d never admit it to you, your ability to sleep so soundly so close to him reminding him of the same way he slept easier so close to you.

Vergil could feel himself blink slower, body completely pliant to keep you still and asleep on him that he didn’t want to move into a more comfortable position. He was supposed it was fine that way, mind already falling into the arms of sleep as he subconsciously turned his head towards you and buried his nose back into your hair.

He could deal with all the repercussions of the following day for seeming so careless that night, for pulling your chest beating so vividly with your heartbeat against his in a semblance of your existence and humanity felt entirely wrong on his half.

And for that he let drumming of it lull him back into a fraction of dreams, sleep coming smoother to him with your presence and never seeming a problem for as long he felt your heart beat against his own.

#{🩸} nee fics #vergil x reader #vergil x you #vergil x y/n #vergil dmc #vergil devil may cry #vergil #vergil smut #dmc x reader #dmc #devil may cry #dmc smut

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beloveds-embrace · 6 months ago

Note

I read your distress from the DukeDom 141 AU and....ajbslywbsoauwjs

You have broken the system, I LOVE the anguish when somehow karma acts and there is divine justice (and König it's divine 🫦🫦🫦)

Do you have some more crumbs for this hungry girl? Pretty please with sprinkles on top? 🥺🥺🫶🏼✨️✨️✨️

Thank you!! The anon who sent the angst ask is just so damn big brained. Phenomenal i hope they know their impact. Enjoy!! 💕💕💕

John stares at you, his eyes unreadable and a little frown on his face. Embers within the fireplace crackle, keeping the study warm against the November chill, while rain pelts against the windows. Despite it being only 2 in the afternoon, the sky is dark and cloudy enough to be mistaken for late evening.

You wait patiently, standing in front of his desk with your hands in front of you. Your face is colder than his.

“So?” You ask at last.

“…why?”

Your eyes close for a few seconds, and then you open them. Your purse your mouth, and then speak.

“Because I want one.” You say, shrugging delicately. “I will be back before the annual winter gala. All work has been finished and submitted, and what can’t be done now has been appropriately delegated with your approval. As such, I would like to go on a holiday, just for a few weeks.”

None of that is an issue, John thinks to himself. You are so cold now, dear wife. Colder than I’ve treated you. None of that is an issue except-

“Who will be you taking with you-“

“König.” You don’t hesitate for a single second. To John, it feels like you are attempting to match the attitude of thunder and lightning outside. “He will be my knight, as he’s always been. I care not for what others guards may join. The estate I’ve chosen already has maids and cooks to upkeep it, yes? That should be everything.”

John wants to say no.

There’s been a shift in you, and he knows they are to blame yet he so terribly dislikes it. König has become your… everything, in a sense. The maids already whispered about you and didn’t help you, and so now you care very little about what they’d say about König being the one to help you get ready for the day. He is your shadow; he brings you food himself, John knows, has seen Johnny grit his teeth and bite his tongue so he doesn’t say how ashamed he feels that he’s made someone feel like they can’t eat his food.

It is aslo König who holds your arm, and takes you on walks. König who listens to what you want, what you ask for, and doesn’t treat you as an afterthought. The one and only time you have spoken to Kyle lately is to simply ask him if he knows where König is.

König was close to you in the way John had been distant to you. In the way all of them had been distant to you.

Now, it feels like you are keeping the distance, despite their attempts at fixing this. It feels like König is keeping the distance, your second shadow. John isn’t blind to the hatred König carries for them, isn’t blind to the possessive way König holds your hands.

And your waist. John had heard how you called out König’s name, one night. He’d seen the delicate way you’d had to sit, seen the way König had been fussing over you.

The implications left his mouth bitter for the rest of the day.

And now….

He wants to say no. He truly does. But if he does it, then he knows he will be subjecting you to more pain. It would mean keeping you here with König, and John having to see it all.

“Very well.” He sighs at last, something green and tight curdling in his stomach. He doesn’t acknowledge it. “I will make sure everything will be ready for you, wife.”

“Thank you.”

And not once do you look at him with that warm, special smile you have only for König.

#noona.asks #cod x reader #cod #cod x you #tf 141 x reader #tf 141 #tf 141 x you #cod imagines #konig x you #konig x reader #konig drabble #poly 141

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rueclfer · 11 months ago

Text

Fake Dating // Bakugou

a/n: hi all, i am back from the dead with this shit that took me DAYS to finish bc my brain is def not used to writing anymore. pls enjoy and maybe keep a look out for PART 2 if people want it !

You stare at your phone in disbelief. The audacity he had to tell you where to go, how to dress, and to essentially perform in front of everyone for him. Of course this was a mutually beneficial agreement, but at least you only dragged him along to your family functions sparingly.

You two had come to this agreement early last Winter when family members kept pestering you about potentially finding a love interest at your new University, and for him when he couldn't shake off all of the romantic confessions from the students in the other classes.

No one else knew about your arrangement. What made it so much more unbearable was the fact that you shared the same cohort and friend group, so it was a constant facade whenever you're in each other's presence with the others around.

You felt a bit awkward coming to the party alone, and a few hours late. You could hear the bass thumping through the door from the front yard, and from the looks of it, there were far more people than you expected, but on the bright side, it'll be easier to be invisible within the crowd than have to hold up this facade all night.

You approached the front to see Jirou catching a breath of fresh air. She had a drink in one hand and her other interlocked with Momo's

"Are you guys already tapping out?" You asked, taking the steps up the porch.

"Y/N!! For a second I thought you weren't going to make it!" Jirou says, releasing Momo from her grasp and giving you a big hug. "I'm so happy you're here."

"Can't blame me for always being fashionably late” You embrace her back.

"Better now than never." She drunkenly chuckles “Bakugo’s been a moody bitch all night please go contain him”

“Are we surprised?” You roll your eyes and laugh. “Where are you two off to?”

"I'm gonna take Momo out for some air and to maybe vomit, but go inside and I'll find you later!"

“I love you Y/N!! Take a shot for me!!” Momo slurs and blows you a kiss as Jirou drags her away.

"I love you too, Mo! I'll catch you guys inside."

Once you stepped foot inside, it felt like the air from your lungs were instantly replaced with the thick fog of weed and cigarette smoke. It was suffocating, but all too familiar at the same time. You recognized many of the faces around from campus, but none of which were your close friends.

Before anything else, you decided to stop by the kitchen to pour yourself something to drink. To be honest, you weren't picky with your liquor. As long as it did its job, you weren't going to complain. You grabbed a red solo cup off of the stack and poured in a shot and some change worth of cheap vodka.

Mina has to have some red bull somewhere around here…

You quickly down it and refill another cup to carry around while you look for your ball and chain, Katsuki. You wander around the crowd for a few moments, waiting for someone you knew to catch your attention, but no one did. You decide to take a break to lean against a wall and to send Katsuki a text to see where he was hiding. Before you could even get your phone unlocked, you received a notification from him.

After he sent the last message, you looked up and searched for his meeting eyes. He said he was looking right at you, but for some reason you couldn't find those fiery eyes.

“Looking for someone?” A low voice breaks you from your search.

You turn to see Katsuki leaning up against the wall right beside you, almost shoulder to shoulder.

“Hmmm yeah I am, actually. Have you seen my boyfriend?” You turn to him fully. “He’s tall, messy blonde hair, kind of has a stupid look to his face, really hot though, trust me, and also like a medium build?”

You catch a glimpse of the smallest smirk on his face.

“Yeah? Well I’ll be sure to keep a lookout for him. In the meantime though, can you keep an eye out for my girlfriend? Angel faced, toothy smile, obnoxious ass laugh though, like if you hear honking, it's probably them.” He retaliates.

You both stare at each other in silence before you break character and playfully punch him in the arm. “Shut up, idiot. I don't honk.”

“You do. Like a goose.”

"You're so good at this flirting thing, Katsuki. Keep it up." You say sarcastically.

"It is my job, after all."

He stealthily wraps his arms around your shoulder, bringing himself in closer to you. He damn near was caging you in against the wall, blocking out the rest of the party with his back.

“So what's the game plan for tonight?” You peered up at his towering figure.

“Hang out for a couple hours, do all that lovey bullshit and then I’ll take you home. Don't get too messy tonight either. I’m not trying to babysit.”

“Worry about yourself, lightweight.” You roll your eyes.

“And is this straight vodka?" He looks into your cup with disgust. "Are you mentally ill?"

“I couldn't find the red bull.” You shrug.

“So it's either that or straight vodka?”

“Yeah and? You have a problem with that?”

“Yeah I actually do. It's fucking insan-” He starts.

“Bakugou!” A voice interrupts behind him. “There you are!”

You two lock eyes for a brief second. Just when you were actually starting to enjoy yourself with annoying Katsuki, you remember that you were only here for one reason. Katsuki's jaw clenched as he turned over to lean back against the wall beside you.

“Oh. Y/N you’re here too.” They say in a deflated tone. “I was just wondering if you could give us a second to chat?” They bat their eyelashes.

“I'm not in the mood to chat.” He says, pulling you closer by the waist.

“We’re actually about to go meet up with the others. Catch him next time.” You smile sweetly, interlocking your fingers with his and dragging him towards the backyard.

To your surprise, your friends were actually all there surrounding the firepit.

Denki was the first to spot you. He gasps and jumps up from his seat.

"You're here!" He nearly trips over his own feet trying to get over to you. He pulls you in a big hug, sweeping you off your feet. "Oh my god Y/N I missed you so much I could cry right now."

He was clearly a drink or two over his limit. His cheeks were bright red and he was already starting to sweat through his shirt.

“I missed you too, Denks.” You let yourself get twirled around by him.

“Finally you're back, I’m tired of holding onto your nasty drink.” Kirishima says, passing a red solo cup to Katsuki once he sat down.

You tried to take the empty seat next to him, but he immediately grabbed your wrist to pull you to share his chair. Your eyes widen at his own, as if you could telepathically curse him out. You clench your jaw as you feel a hot flash across your face.

“It’s cold. Stay close.” He simply says.

You nervously chuckle. “There's a fire right there, babe.”

“Do it for me then.” He smirks.

You silently groan to yourself as you lean back into his chest in defeat. Luckily, the chair had enough width to allow you to not have to fully sit on his lap, moreso just a leg slung over his own.

“Try this.” He lifts the solo cup to your lips.

You peer down at the dark red liquid in his cup. The smell burnt your nose. You shot him a weary glance before you downed his concoction, having to pinch your nose right after to subdue the burn. The shock of spicy and tangy residue left your throat burning with every inhale.

"What the fuck is that?" You choke out, continuing to pinch your nose.

"Fireball, lemon juice, and OJ." He smiled mischievously. "Thoughts?"

"The nerve you have to comment on my drink after sipping on this bullshit all night? It tastes like piss.”

He shrugs, wearing a lazy smile as he grips the softness of your inner thigh, with his other arm wrapped around your shoulder, fiddling with a lock of your hair.

You were internally screaming. Usually, there would be a hand holding or an arm around the waist or shoulder, but he was never this touchy whenever you had to act like a couple in front of your friends or even in front of the people trying to get at him.

You look around the firepit to see that all of your friends were in loud conversation with one another- laughing, arguing, and definitely not paying you two any attention.

“What are you doing?” You say low enough that only he could hear. “You're like, all up in my shit."

“5 o’clock, babe.” He simply says.

You slightly turn your head to your right to see the person from earlier, trying to not-so-obviously stare at you both.

“Tryna give them a show or something? You roll your eyes.

“Only if you'd let me.” He whispers.

You felt a chill crawl up your spine. God he's being gross. But you liked it. When you first made your little arrangement, you swore to yourself to not to catch any type of feelings for him, but the more time you spent charading around as a couple, the deeper you fell into this infatuation despite how hard you fought against it or played it off as a part of the bit.

“Don’t kill me, okay?” You whisper, meeting his eyes and forcing a smile.

You turned your head to fullyface his own and leaned in. Both of you were caught by surprise- his eyes widening right before you made contact. You two had never crossed this line before, let alone talked about it. It was only ever the unspoken rule of “don't catch feelings” and “no couple shit when we’re alone.”

His lips were soft and swollen as if he spent the last hour biting down on them. Once your lips crashed into his, it felt like your stomach was turning inside out, and a fire lit within.

It's fine, it's for show. It’s fine, you agreed to this. It’s fine, it’s not real.

You were fucked. You hated him, but you liked him. Maybe it was more than like. Maybe like isn't even the right word at all, but all you knew was that you needed to stop and take a second to reevaluate what you were doing with Katsuki.

In reality, the kiss lasted no more than 10 seconds, but it felt like you had fallen into the fire pit and laid in it for hours. Your body was on fire.

Once you broke away, you two stared at each other blankly, blinking away the realization of what had just happened. You didn't know whether to laugh and slap him on the shoulder, or start crying.

“I-I'm gonna go get another drink!” You suddenly exclaim, getting up and leaving him in his chair.

I'm so FUCKED.

You quickly snake your way through the large crowd that had filtered their way to the backyard. You stop by the kitchen to pour yourself a heaping cup of whatever liquor bottle was closest to you, down a large gulp, and take the rest with you to the bathroom.

Your head was starting to feel a bit hazy from the mix of second hand smoke as well as your drinks from earlier starting to settle in your stomach. Did you even eat anything before drinking like this? You weren't really expecting to have anything more than one drink, but after your kiss with Katsuki, you suddenly feel the need to forget it all.

You were sitting up against the bathtub, wallowing in your complicated mass of feelings, and now fully intoxicated. You let your head rest on top of your knees while you replayed every single interaction you've had with him tonight.

Your phone started buzzing on the floor next to you. You opened the screen, eyes squinting to adjust to the brightness.

Of course it was Katsuki.

You sat and stared at your feet for a few minutes until you heard pounding on the door. Judging from the force of it, it was either a fucking SWAT team or Katsuki.

You grab a hold of the side of the bathtub to hoist yourself up, stumbling a bit while doing so and unlocked the door. Of course behind it was the latter.

He lets himself in and shuts the door behind him, leaning back on it.

You were wildly embarrassed for a multitude of things. You were on the verge of messy drunk, your face was stupidly hot and flushed, you kissed your fake boyfriend and ran away, you're swallowing down your feelings, and now here he is to reprimand you for all of it.

"Water as per requested." He pops open the cap of a fresh water bottle and hands it over to you.

"Thanks." You mutter and drink the water in silence.

"So are you upset at me?" He finally asks.

"Yes."

"And why is that?" He cocks his head to the side.

You were drunk, no doubt about it, but this unserious playful tone in his voice that pissed you off was clear as day. Why were you the only one freaking out? Did he not care? It surely confirmed that he does not and never have felt the same as you and truly did think of your "relationship" as nothing more but a transaction.

You purse your lips and remained silent.

"Because... you kissed me?"

You nodded.

"So you're upset at ME... because YOU kissed ME..." He states once more.

You were on the verge of tears. He loved making you look stupid but this was tenfold now. Not that he was wrong, but you weren't in the mood for it.

"So what if I am?" You choke out, tears now brimming over.

Katsuki's eyes widened, clearly not expecting you to break down so easily after a couple of harmless questions. You steps towards you and grabs your shoulders, not quite sure what to do or how to react.

"Hey hey hey, what the fuck? Why are you crying all of the sudden? Seriously, Y/N it's not a big deal."

"It is." You whine. "It is and you don't even care!"

He finally pulls you into him, letting you sob into his shoulder. His hand caressing your back in comfort.

"You idiot." He says after a moment of silence. "You're such an emotional drunk. This is why I told you not to get messy." He scolds. "I do care. But I won't if you don't want me to."

"I do want you to care. I want you to like me. Not just like me, but like-like me." You confess.

You feel him stiffen under you. Clearly your drunken state had forced you to say the wrong thing, but you didn't care.

"But do you like-like me?" He asked back, pulling you back to look at your tear stained face. "Drink some more water and sober up a bit before you answer okay?" He brings the water up to your face.

"I don't want anymore water!" You push his hand away. "I like-like you and I hate being your fake girlfriend and lying to everyone and myself about it!"

His smile grew, but he shook his head. "Okay angel face, let's talk about it then." He moves his thumb up to your cheek to wipe away stray tears.

"You're so wasted, you may not even remember this for tomorrow. But I think you're the coolest person on this fucking block, okay? And I like being around you even though you annoy the shit out of me sometimes. So stop crying and feeling bad. We're fine."

"But we're not! I don't want you to be my fake boyfriend anymore. I think you're cool too and you make me laugh and feel stupid in the heart and I fucking hate you for that, so that's why we shouldn't do any of this anymore."

He doesn't reply, but instead looks down at your sad face, lip still quivering, makeup smudged around your eyes. His hand continued to cup you cheek, forcing you to look back up at him.

Katsuki leans down and presses a kiss to your forehead, letting it linger for a second longer.

"That's okay. We can do something about that when you're sober. If you even remember any of this, anyways. Let's get you home."

He grabs your hand and swiftly leads you out of the bathroom. You wonder what you had just done, whether it was going to blow up in your face (if you even remember the next day) or work itself out? Would it even matter?

#mha x reader #my hero academia #mha #bakugou #bakugou katsuki #bakugou x reader #bakugouxreader #bnha oneshots #bnha x reader #boku no hero academia #fakedatingau

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