#but yes - the show has been messed with from all sides

[cigarettesuga]

꒰꒰⠀⠀⠀opposites don’t attract, they destroy⠀✸⠀(⠀⠀pjm⠀⠀) chpt. O3

pairing: fuckboy!park jimin x proud & stubborn!reader, slow-burn potential with softboy!namjoon x reader

genre: college!au, smut, angst, slow-burn romance, love triangle, situationship mess, emotional repression, she fell first/he’s falling harder

warnings: explicit sexual content — protected sex (condom mentioned but still be safe irl), brat taming kink, fingering (public-ish space), oral sex (f receiving), use of toys, dom!jimin energy, light degradation, a little rough, slight overstimulation, consensual power play, possessiveness, jealousy, emotionally confusing hookups, mentions of casual sex outside the situationship. also: toxic patterns, emotional whiplash, unresolved tension, and rowan being the obsessed hookup™.

word count: 14.1k

summary: things spiral after an unexpected interruption. (y/n) starts questioning everything with jimin — what it is, what it isn’t. but just when she tries to pull away, he makes it nearly impossible — especially when he knows exactly how to pull her back in. still, a part of her wants more, or at least different, and when sora introduces her to someone who’s everything jimin isn’t… she starts to wonder if maybe she’s been settling for chaos all along.

lu's note: chapter 3 is finally hereeeee after a while!! these two need to get their shit together for real. anyway, this chapter is long bc i wanted to make up for the time i left y’all without an update — i seriously got way too deep into their dynamic and couldn’t stop writing. things are spiraling, there’s angst, there's heat, and a certain dimpled man may just start shifting the game 👀 enjoy!!

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⠀ ⠀ "he feels safe"

the next morning creeps in slowly, grey and uninvited, leaking through the blinds like a secret. (y/n) doesn’t get out of bed. not right away. she just lies there under her covers, eyes on the ceiling like it might offer her an answer she’s too tired to find herself. her phone buzzes somewhere on the nightstand. again.

she doesn’t look at it. she knows who it is.

jimin’s name has lit up her screen half a dozen times since last night—calls she didn’t answer, texts she left unread. she saw the last one pop up around two in the morning:

[park jimin 🐣]: are you okay?

like he had the right to ask.

and maybe he did. maybe she’s being dramatic. maybe it wasn’t what it looked like, some girl from his past showing up in the middle of their moment—but the thing is… there’s no their. there’s no us. there never was. she told herself that from the start.

so why does it sting so fucking much?

she rolls onto her side, tucking her hands under her cheek like it might keep her together. her throat feels tight. her stomach’s been turning since last night. she’d left without saying a word—no yelling, no scene. just grabbed her bag, shoved on her hoodie, and walked out of his apartment barefoot with her shoes in hand. she didn’t even slam the door.

maybe that’s what makes it worse. that she didn’t ask. didn’t demand an explanation. just left. because what would she have been fighting for, anyway?

she’s not his girlfriend. she’s not even someone he talks about out loud.

just a girl he calls over. a distraction. a routine. a body, warm and convenient and quiet.

and the more she thinks about it, the more she realizes—god, she’s been so dumb.

it wasn’t romantic. it wasn’t some twisted, angsty, almost-love situation like she used to write stories about in high school. it was messy and addictive and full of every red flag she chose to ignore.

he flirted with other girls in front of her. he never looked at her like she was his. and she?

she kept acting like she didn’t care. laughing it off. letting it slide. climbing into his bed anyway.

was the sex good? yes. but sex doesn’t mean someone’s gonna hold your hand the next morning. it doesn’t mean they’ll choose you in front of other people. it doesn’t mean they’ll stop answering the door for old flames.

and she’s sick of pretending it does.

the phone buzzes again. she sighs. pulls the covers over her head like she’s sixteen again and wants the world to disappear.

maybe she romanticized it because she was lonely. maybe jimin made it easy. maybe she let herself want something more in all the empty spaces he wouldn’t fill.

and now she’s left with silence. and an ache in her chest she doesn’t know what to call. but she sure as hell isn’t calling him.

the door creaks open like it’s got something to say too, and (y/n) doesn’t even move.

“damn,” sora’s voice cuts through the fog of the room, bright and teasing, like usual. “somebody didn’t sleep well.”

(y/n) stays facedown on her pillow, groaning softly. “can you not.”

sora pauses by the door, toeing her sneakers off, and yeah—she knows. not the details, but enough. she’s been watching this slow-motion crash for a while now. best friends always do.

she sets a coffee down on the desk without asking if it’s wanted. “so. you wanna talk about it?”

there’s a beat. just the hum of the mini fridge and the click of sora’s rings against the plastic lid.

(y/n) doesn’t cry. not because it doesn’t hurt, but because she’s not even sure what she feels. it’s not heartbreak—it never got the chance to be that. it’s not betrayal, not technically. it’s more like… disappointment. in him. in herself. and a creeping kind of embarrassment that makes her want to peel off her skin and start fresh somewhere else.

she shifts slowly, pulling herself up to sit against the headboard, hoodie swallowing her frame. “yeah,” she finally says, voice rough. “yeah, I probably should.”

sora doesn’t push. she just pulls the desk chair around to face her, knees tucked up, eyes soft but steady.

and so (y/n) tells her. everything.

starting with the closet.

“it was two months ago,” she mutters, avoiding eye contact, eyes fixed on the swirling condensation of her coffee cup. “that day I was all pissed at him for messing around in class? I pulled him into the janitor’s room.”

sora blinks. “wait, you initiated?”

“don’t start,” she groans, but the smallest flicker of a smile curls at the edge of her mouth, already crumbling under the weight of her own choices. “I don’t even know what came over me. we were arguing and then I just… grabbed him. it spiraled after that.”

sora listens, quiet but alert, and (y/n) keeps going. the backseat. the texts. the way it became a routine, something unspoken, like a second language only they knew how to speak. how every time she tried to act unaffected, he’d crawl deeper under her skin—his stupid smirk, the way he touched her like she was his, even though he never said it out loud.

“it wasn’t just sex,” she admits softly. “i mean—it was, but it wasn’t. we had these… moments. you know? and I let it mean something. even though we both said it didn’t.”

sora sighs gently, shaking her head like she’s been waiting for this to come out.

“and then last night,” (y/n) swallows, “we were at his place, and it was like, actually good, soft almost. and then someone showed up.”

sora lifts a brow. “someone?”

“an ex-hookup. walked up to the door like she still had keys to his life.”

“ouch.”

“yeah,” she says, voice flat. “I didn’t ask questions. I just left.”

“and he’s been calling you?”

“nonstop.” she picks at her sleeve. “i haven’t answered. i don’t even know what I’d say. like… what do you even say when you realize you were just a filler between someone’s options?”

“you weren’t just that,” sora says firmly, but she doesn’t argue the facts. she knows (y/n) wouldn’t feel this way if jimin had made her feel chosen.and he never did.

“i think,” (y/n) says, quieter now, “i think I let myself believe we were something. and maybe i liked the idea of it more than what it really was.”

and that’s the part that hurts the most. not losing jimin. but losing the story she built around him in her head.

“so what now?” sora asks softly, the question sitting between them like a dare and a lifeline. she’s sipping her coffee, one leg crossed over the other, as if pretending this is just another morning. but they both know it’s not. it never is when it comes to jimin.

(y/n) exhales slowly through her nose, sinking further into the pillows behind her. “nothing,” she answers after a pause, voice even. maybe too even. “there’s nothing to do. he made it clear what this was from the beginning. and if that’s how he wants to keep playing it, then I’ll match his energy.”

she says it like it’s simple. like it doesn’t feel like peeling skin off bone to distance herself, even just a little. but she’s not going to let him have the satisfaction of thinking she’s spiraling. he might’ve gotten under her skin—fine. but she’s not about to let him know he stayed there.

“so you’re not gonna talk to him?” sora asks carefully, reading her like a book with the spine cracked wide open.

“no,” she replies, then amends, “well, not really.”

because she already has. already sent him one text—dry, short, boring as hell. sorry, was tired. fell asleep.a lie, of course. she’d spent half the night staring at the ceiling and the other half convincing herself not to cry about someone who never even promised her anything. but he didn’t need to know that.

she wants him to squirm a little. to overthink the silence. he’s used to girls crawling back. texting first. asking what they are. she won’t be that girl. even if it kills her, she’ll make him believe she’s over it. that she could drop him like a bad habit if she really wanted to.

“i’m not gonna be soft about this anymore,” she says, mostly to herself. “i was letting him in too much. giving him space he didn’t earn.”

sora hums. “you do have a pretty mean side. he’s not ready.”

“he doesn’t get nice girl me anymore,” she smirks without humor. “he gets bitchy, distant, unbothered me. if he wanted closeness, he should’ve acted like I was more than a convenience.”

it’s not a new game. she knows how to play cold. how to side-eye his flirting like it’s beneath her. how to brush past him in hallways like he’s just another warm body. it’s the version of her he fell for, ironically. now he gets it again—just with fewer orgasms and more emotional whiplash.

but beneath it all, there’s this tiny, gnawing truth: she still likes him. maybe more than she wants to admit. maybe more than she should. but she can’t tell him that. can’t give him the power to decide whether or not she’s worth more.

so instead, she tightens the grip on her own pride and puts her armor back on—lipgloss, smugness, silence.

she’ll make him miss her. not just her body, not just the mess they made together—but the way she laughed when she forgot to be guarded. the way she looked at him when she thought he might actually care. he’ll miss that softness once it’s gone.

and she’ll let him.

—----

monday’s breeze is too soft to matter, brushing through the quad like it’s trying not to disturb anyone. the campus is buzzing, students passing by with earbuds in and backpacks slung low, rushing toward lectures or dragging their feet toward midterms.

sora and (y/n) stroll somewhere in the middle of it all, iced coffees in hand, jackets barely zipped. the mood is easy—comfortable, even. sora’s talking about her boyfriend again, something about him nearly burning down his kitchen trying to “infuse” oil like some kind of youtube chef.

“i swear to god,” sora says, laughing, “he’s got the humor of a divorced forty-year-old and the culinary instincts of a frat bro.”

“and yet,” (y/n) teases, sipping her drink, “you’re still letting him reorganize your bookshelves and take you out for pasta.”

“listen, seokjin is hot and employed. those are rare resources in college ecosystems.”

(y/n) chuckles. she doesn’t hate hearing about them, honestly. they’re a weird pair on paper—sora’s chaotic brilliance and jin’s dry dad jokes—but they work. they’re affectionate without being clingy, stable without being boring. (y/n) has only had a handful of conversations with seokjin, but he’s always nice. warm. and most importantly, he shows up for sora without ever being asked.

she wonders, briefly, what that might feel like. to be wanted in the open.

but before she can spiral too deep into that question, a familiar voice slices through the crowd like a blade.

“hey…”

her spine stiffens.

jimin.

he appears out of nowhere, like he materialized out of her bad decisions, hoodie half-zipped, eyes locked on her and only her. he’s not even trying to look casual.

“um—can we talk?”

(y/n) blinks at him, eyebrows raised like he’s just said something in klingon. she glances at sora, then back at jimin, letting the silence drag for effect before deadpanning, “i was literally in the middle of a conversation.”

jimin doesn’t budge. “please. just for a second.”

he looks… off. like her coldness is finally hitting him somewhere he didn’t expect. good.

she steps closer, not in a flirty way—more like she’s examining something unfortunate she stepped on. she lifts her finger and presses it to his forehead, barely touching him.

“are you sick?”

he pulls back, brows furrowing. “what?”

“you’re acting weird.” she tilts her head, voice flat. “why would I want to talk to you?”

jimin looks genuinely confused now, caught between frustration and something softer he’s trying not to show. “because… we usually do.”

“do what?” she asks, tilting her head again, mock-sweet. “hook up? you can just say it, park.”

he flinches—just barely, but she sees it. and it’s satisfying in a low, petty way that she won’t apologize for.

“what do we even have to talk about?” she adds, stepping back beside sora, who’s sipping her drink like this is the best episode of a drama she didn’t know she was starring in. “seriously.”

“(y/n),” jimin starts, but there’s no follow-up. no smooth line. no apology. just her name sitting heavy in the air like maybe that’s supposed to mean something on its own.

but it doesn’t.

not anymore.

she gives him a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes and turns away. “have a good day, park.”

and she walks off with sora without looking back, her pulse ticking at her throat like a warning.

“okay but like,” sora says the moment they’re out of earshot, voice halfway between impressed and genuinely worried, “you didn’t just shut him down. you obliterated him. that was… art. i mean it. textbook.”

(y/n) just sips her coffee, keeping her eyes straight ahead. “he deserved it.”

“oh, totally. i’m just saying…” sora eyes her sideways, tone softening, “you okay?”

“yeah.”

“you sure?”

(y/n) shrugs. “I’m fine.”

sora hums. the kind of hum people make when they know you’re full of shit but they love you too much to call you on it directly. “because I know you,” she adds carefully, “and when you act like you don’t care, it usually means you care so much it’s physically painful.”

(y/n) stops walking just long enough to whip around and blink at her. “wow. did you take a psych elective this semester or something?”

“communication major, babe. i’ve been reading between your lines since freshman year.”

(y/n) rolls her eyes, and they start walking again, slower this time. she opens her mouth, probably to deflect again with some sarcastic retort about being totally unaffected by Park Fucking Jimin when she sees her.

across the hallway. shoulders squared. jaw set like she’s walking into a fight she’s been mentally rehearsing since last night.

rowan.

her heart drops somewhere behind her ribcage.

she looks just like she did standing in jimin’s doorway: annoyed, maybe a little defensive, like she has something to say and it’s only a matter of time before she finds the audience.

(y/n) falters mid-step, instinctively grabbing sora’s arm, leaning in close to whisper, “it’s her. the ex.”

sora’s eyes follow her line of sight, landing squarely on the girl striding past a bulletin board full of club flyers, hair tied up, expression tight.

“oh.” she straightens. “she looks… intense.”

“she showed up at his place last night. in the middle of everything.”

sora’s brows rise. “everything-everything?”

“everything.”

they both glance again. rowan hasn’t noticed them yet—or if she has, she’s pretending not to.

“think she’s gonna say something?”

“no clue,” (y/n) mutters, pulse ticking again. “but if she does, I’m not doing this. I’m not playing that game.”

“i believe you,” sora says, then gently adds, “even though you’re clearly losing your mind.”

(y/n) takes a deep breath through her nose, chin lifting. “not losing it. just momentarily misplacing it.”

but even as she says it, she can feel the crack forming in her façade.

because it’s one thing to pretend you’re over it when he’s the only one around to fool. it’s another thing entirely when the girl from his past is now walking the same halls, brushing past the same walls, maybe still carrying pieces of him that (y/n) thought she was starting to understand.

and it’s suddenly very, very clear: whatever this is between her and jimin— it’s nowhere near finished. but it might be about to unravel.

“ugh, i gotta run,” sora says, glancing at her phone with a sigh, the schedule app glowing with judgment. “ta’s gonna take attendance and i already used my fake sickness last week.”

“you and your tragic academic career,” (y/n) deadpans, pulling her hoodie sleeve over her hand and lightly smacking her arm. “go. be mediocre.”

sora smirks, brushing imaginary lint off her shoulder. “you sure you’re good?”

“i’m golden,” (y/n) lies with a smile.

sora doesn’t press further. just gives her a final look that says be careful, then jogs off into the slow-moving tide of students.

and then it’s just her. standing by herself under the wide-open quad sky. sipping her coffee. pretending she’s not emotionally bruised.

until she’s not alone anymore.

a presence sidles up beside her, calculated and cold like a shadow you don’t want to acknowledge. (y/n) doesn’t turn her head. not at first.

but the voice is unmistakable.

“so you’re the reason he’s been acting different.”

(y/n)’s lips curl before she even looks. slow, practiced, unbothered. she turns toward the voice, gaze gliding down and back up with pointed disinterest. rowan stands there with her arms crossed over her chest, lips pursed, like she’s already decided she’s got the moral high ground.

“you’re gonna have to be more specific,” (y/n) says calmly, eyebrow lifting. “a lot of people act weird around me.”

rowan doesn’t smile. “i’m talking about jimin.”

“oh.” she sips her drink, shrugs. “you could’ve just said that.”

“don’t play dumb with me. i know what’s going on between you two.”

“yeah?” (y/n) tilts her head, giving a once-over like she’s trying to decide whether she’s impressed or bored. “then you probably also know how it ended last night.”

that flickers something in rowan’s expression—tightens it, sharpens it.

“you really think this means something to him?” she snaps, taking a step closer.

(y/n) doesn’t flinch. if anything, she leans in a little, a cruel sort of softness in her voice now. “if it doesn’t, then why’d he ask you to leave?”

rowan opens her mouth, but no sound comes out.

“look,” (y/n) continues, smiling now but it’s all teeth, “i don’t do the whole ‘mark your territory’ thing. if he’s yours, go ahead and claim him. tattoo your name on his forehead. but as long as he keeps calling me at night—well…” she steps past her, brushing her shoulder as she turns, “i’m just gonna keep having fun for a little longer.”

rowan stares after her, stunned into silence.

(y/n) doesn’t stop walking. doesn’t look back. her coffee’s almost empty, her heart’s pounding in her chest, but her face is unreadable.

and god, if she doesn’t love being the one who gets under everyone’s skin— even when she’s bleeding just beneath her own.

she makes it to class five minutes late, breath shallow from speed walking across campus, still slightly warm from her run-in with the ex. her hair’s a little messy, her coffee’s long gone, and her tolerance for bullshit is basically at zero.

and of course—of course—the only open seat is next to him.

park jimin sits there like he owns the row. sprawled out in that casual, cocky way of his, hoodie sleeves pushed up to his forearms, one knee bouncing like he’s got too much energy and nowhere appropriate to put it.

she slides into the chair without a word, slams her bag down harder than necessary, and doesn’t even look at him.

but she feels him smirk the second she’s close.

“you’re late,” he whispers.

“and you’re still talking,” she shoots back.

he chuckles under his breath, leaning just a little closer. “you missed the part where the prof said our midterm is online. you’re welcome.”

“oh, so now you’re doing public service?”

his lips part like he’s about to come back with something smug, but she cuts in before he can:

“by the way,” she whispers, still facing forward, eyes on the projector, “you should really keep your girlfriend in check.”

his body stills beside her. “rowan’s not my girlfriend.”

his voice is too quick, too sharp. too defensive.

she lets it simmer for a beat before letting the smirk curl at her mouth.

“yeah, well,” she says, keeping her voice low and biting, “i don’t think she got the memo. she looked about two seconds away from keying my face.”

he groans quietly, scrubbing a hand down his face. “i didn’t ask her to come over. she just showed up.”

“so did I,” she mutters. “difference is you actually wanted me there.”

that earns her a glance. one of those slow, heavy looks from the corner of his eye that lingers longer than it should.

she doesn’t return it. she can’t. not when she’s still pissed at herself for wanting this at all.

but god, she wants it. even now—especially now.

the professor’s voice drones on, something about behavioral economics and social theory, but she leans in just enough for only him to hear.

“hey…” she whispers like she’s asking something innocent.

he hums in reply, still staring at the screen.

“do you wanna hang out later?” she asks, so casually it could be mistaken for small talk. “you still owe me something.”

his head snaps slightly in her direction, and this time she does meet his eyes. deadpan. unreadable. but her gaze is heated.

he swallows hard, tongue running along the inside of his cheek like he’s trying not to react. trying not to smile.

she hates herself a little in that moment. for wanting him. for wanting to be wanted by him. for feeling it in the pit of her stomach already, the tension pulling tight again like a rubber band ready to snap.

but if she’s going to let herself spiral, she’s at least going to look good doing it.

—----

they don’t even bother heading to their next period.

the air’s still cool and quiet, campus only half-awake, and they’re walking fast without saying anything. (y/n)’s a solid two feet ahead of him, arms crossed, jaw set, sunglasses on even though it’s barely 9 a.m.

jimin follows like he’s tethered to her, fingers twitching at his sides. his hair’s still a little tousled from class, and his hoodie’s too loose on him—but the tension rolling off him is tight. he’s not speaking, because he knows her. knows silence pisses her off more than flirting ever could.

they hit the edge of the parking lot, gravel crunching underfoot, the weight of everything unsaid between them suddenly too much.

the second they reach his car, he snaps.

one hand slams the door shut behind her before she can open it, the other catches her waist, spinning her around and shoving her up against the passenger side with a thud. the sunroof glass rattles with the impact.

his mouth crashes onto hers, bruising and breathless, all tongue and teeth and rage barely hidden under lust.

she gasps against him but doesn’t resist—no, she leans in, arms looping loosely around his neck like she’s bored of the whole thing already.

“i know you’re mad at me,” he breathes into her mouth, eyes flicking between hers. “you don’t have to pretend.”

“i’m not pretending,” she mutters, dragging her nails up the back of his neck, “you’re just not that interesting.”

he laughs. low. dark. the sound of someone who loves getting slapped and kissed in the same breath.

his hands slide up her sides, under her top, palms burning against her ribs. “you want me to fuck the little attitude out of you?” he murmurs, nose brushing hers.

“you think you can?” she shoots back, tone dry as hell, lips barely brushing his. “please.”

that has him grinning—something unhinged and gleaming with teeth. “you are such a brat.”

“and you’re obsessed with it,” she replies coolly, but her body’s already betraying her. she shifts against him, hips brushing his. “you like when I give you a hard time.”

“i like when you shut up.”

“then make me.”

his hand moves down to grip her thigh, hoisting it up against his hip, grinding in just enough to make her inhale sharply. but her face? her face stays unimpressed. lips parted, eyes heavy, a smirk tugging at the corners like she knows she’s got him wrapped around her finger—even now.

he looks wrecked already, forehead pressing against hers.

“get in the car,” he growls. “before I fuck you against the window.”

she slides off him like silk, flicks her sunglasses up to rest on her head, and opens the door without saying another word—her smirk doing all the talking.

the car hums low beneath them, tires rolling steady down the road, early morning sun creeping higher as the rest of the city slowly wakes. but inside jimin’s car? it’s anything but quiet.

the music is low, bass thumping soft under the dashboard. one of those moody R&B playlists he pretends he doesn’t keep just for this kind of thing. the windows are cracked. the air’s warm. and his hand is on her thigh.

(y/n) sits pointedly still in the passenger seat, staring out the window, arms crossed like she’s not burning from the inside out.

but his hand? his hand is deliberate. casual, almost. just resting there at first, fingertips lazily tapping along the bare skin just beneath the hem of her denim shorts. thumb brushing back and forth, light and slow.

he doesn’t look at her. doesn’t have to.

she shifts her weight a little, like she’s trying to create space without making it obvious.

he notices.

of course he does.

his hand slides up. just a little. inching higher with every red light. knuckles skimming higher on her inner thigh like he’s testing her patience—testing her restraint.

she breathes deep. doesn’t move. doesn’t react. not visibly anyway.

that’s when he grins. because she’s playing the game again.

he palms her. flat over her shorts. firm, deliberate pressure where he knows she’s starting to feel it. just enough friction to make her thighs twitch together. and god, the denim is making it worse—coarse and tight and hiding nothing.

“you’re quiet,” he says, glancing at her with that smug, slow-lidded look.

“you’re annoying,” she replies, voice thin, every syllable laced with tension.

his fingers shift, pressing down harder. his palm rolls slightly, a subtle grind right where she’s most reactive.

“mhm,” he hums, “but you’re wet.”

she turns her head slowly, jaw tight, eyes practically daring him to keep going.

“i will bite you, park.”

he laughs—soft and cocky, pulling up at a red light, letting the car idle as he turns slightly in his seat to face her more.

“promise?”

she swallows, blinking down at where his hand still rests between her thighs. then back at him.

cool. unaffected. absolutely lying.

“i’m not giving you the satisfaction.”

“baby, you already did.” he smirks. “like five minutes ago when you clenched your thighs.”

her lips part, but she has no comeback—just a soft little breath of indignation and the flush crawling up her neck.

she doesn’t say anything.

doesn’t spit out some clever one-liner or roll her eyes like usual. instead, she just slowly parts her legs—barely an inch. just enough.

enough to say: fine. try me.

his breath hitches, quiet and shallow.

his hand moves immediately, like muscle memory, sliding just under the edge of her shorts with practiced ease. she’s still facing the window, jaw clenched, brows tight like she’s bored with him—but he can feel the tension humming under her skin. she’s wired tight, her pulse racing just under her thigh, her breath carefully measured, like she’s fighting not to give him the satisfaction of seeing her react.

his fingertips move slow. teasing. tracing up and down the soft skin of her inner thigh, skimming maddeningly close but never quite touching where she wants him. his fingers are warm and sure, featherlight, dragging slow little circles as if they’re not parked in broad daylight in front of a campus dorm.

“still annoying?” he murmurs, voice low, barely audible over the thrum of the engine.

she swallows hard. doesn’t look at him. “you’re a joke.”

he laughs under his breath. “yeah? you gonna keep pretending this doesn’t feel good?”

he dips his fingers higher, the pads of them brushing over the edge of her panties. his grin only grows when he finds the damp spot already soaking through the cotton, evidence of her undoing, even if she won’t give him a single word.

“fuck,” he whispers more to himself than her, tongue darting out to wet his lips, “you’re soaked.”

she exhales, slow and tight, her back pressing deeper into the seat like she’s trying to melt into it. her thighs twitch, hips subtly shifting toward him, betraying her every attempt at aloofness.

he leans in, voice like honey and fire all at once.

“say it,” he whispers, sliding a single finger over the wet fabric. slow. purposeful. “say you missed this.”

she doesn’t. won’t. can’t.

but she tilts her hips again.

and that’s all he needs.

his fingertip slips just beneath the damp fabric, barely grazing her, enough to make her knees tense and a soft breath escape her lips. not a moan, not even a gasp—just air, tight in her throat, caught between pride and want.

he moves again. slower this time. dragging his finger up and down the center of her, collecting slick and spreading it deliberately, like he has all the time in the world.

she grips the edge of her seat, knuckles pale.

he’s grinning like he’s won. like she’s his favorite game and this is the part he never gets tired of.

“tell me to stop,” he murmurs, teasing now, daring her.

she turns, just enough to meet his eyes, her face impassive but her pupils blown wide, cheeks flushed.

“i’ll let you know when i feel something,” she says coolly, voice like smoke.

and that is when he slides a second finger against her—more pressure this time, more confidence, watching her mouth twitch just slightly, just enough to know it’s getting to her.

“yeah?” he murmurs with a grin. “you’ll feel it in two seconds. promise.”

she doesn't flinch when he slides his fingers in.

not outwardly, at least.

her legs stay relaxed, parted just enough. her hands stay in her lap, nails lightly pressing into the fabric of her shorts, knuckles taut—but her face? still unreadable. no fluttering lashes. no bitten lip. no dramatic sigh of surrender. just that same neutral expression as before, eyes fixed somewhere past the windshield like she’s thinking about class or lunch or literally anything but the two fingers knuckle-deep inside her.

but he feels it.

the way she clenches around him, tighter than before, like her body didn’t get the memo her mind’s trying to stick to. the tension in her thighs. the sharp, shaky breath she tries to hide by coughing into her sleeve.

his smile is cruel.

“you’re so full of shit,” he mutters, watching her face carefully, his thumb brushing the edge of her shorts where they’ve ridden up.

her only response is a soft scoff. not quite a laugh. not quite denial.

he curls his fingers just slightly, testing her, grazing that spot inside that always makes her suck in air like she’s drowning on dry land. and there it is—just the tiniest hitch in her breath, the subtle roll of her hips forward, so slight it could’ve been nothing… but he knows it wasn’t.

his voice drops, barely audible beneath the soft click of the turn signal as the car idles on the curb

“you gonna keep pretending?” he whispers, fingers moving slowly inside her, more deliberate now, dragging along every wet, pulsing inch.

still, she doesn’t give him much. just a long, quiet exhale through her nose, lips slightly parted now but her eyes don’t waver. don’t look at him. not yet.

“you’re shaking,” he adds, cocky and amused, pressing in a little deeper, his palm dragging against the curve of her thigh as he moves. “that little attitude’s slipping, baby.”

finally, finally, she turns to him—face flushed now, the tiniest sheen on her brow, but her mouth still curved in that stubborn little smirk he wants to ruin.

“drive,” she says lowly, lashes fluttering once like a warning.

he raises an eyebrow. “drive?”

“yeah,” she murmurs, voice thick and strained, “or i’ll make you fall apart next.”

and he swears under his breath, biting his lip because fuck, he’s obsessed with this girl. even now. especially now.

but he pulls his hand back anyway, slowly, dragging every second out like a punishment. and when his fingers slip out of her, glistening, he watches the way her thighs twitch from the loss.

he doesn’t say a word. just turns the key in the ignition.

and the ride the rest of the way?

silent. tense. electric.

every red light feels like a countdown to something neither of them are ready to admit they need.

the hallway is quiet when they get to her floor, just the faint hum of fluorescent lights and the occasional muffled door slam somewhere behind them. she walks ahead with her keys in hand, eyes fixed on the door to her dorm. doesn’t check if he’s following—she knows he is.

jimin’s just a step behind, hands shoved in his pockets like he’s trying to keep them from doing something reckless. like sliding them under her shorts again. or yanking her flush against him right there in the stairwell.

but he waits.

waits until she unlocks the door, pushes it open, walks in without a word. he steps in after her, kicks the door closed behind him, and the second the latch clicks shut—

she peels off her hoodie.

not in a dramatic, attention-seeking way. not even trying to look sexy.

just—matter-of-fact. like she’s tossing off the weight of the morning. like she’s tired of pretending she’s not already aching from the ride over.

her tank top clings to her, a sliver of skin peeking out above the waistband of her shorts as she tosses the hoodie to the side. she still hasn’t looked at him. hasn’t said a single word since they left the car. but her body speaks for her: shoulders tense, movements sharp, hair falling loose over one shoulder as she reaches down to untie her shoes.

she’s done pretending. and they both know exactly what this is.

jimin’s eyes trail the line of her spine beneath her tank, the slight curve of her waist, the way her shorts barely cling to her hips. he licks his lips and swallows hard, staying by the door for half a second longer than necessary—like he’s bracing for something.

she tosses her shoes toward the corner, stands straight, finally looks over her shoulder at him.

just one look.

blank. unapologetic. devastating.

then she turns back and walks toward the bed, slowly sliding the strap of her tank off her shoulder like it’s just another thing in the way.

and that’s all the invitation he needs.

he’s moving before he knows it, already toeing off his sneakers, pulling his hoodie over his head, eyes locked on her like she’s gravity and he’s just something caught in orbit.

no words. not yet.

just clothes shedding to the floor, tension thick in the air, and the silent understanding between two people who are too far gone to stop.

she doesn’t say a word—just climbs up onto the bed, slow and unfazed, like she’s stretching, not seducing. her knees sink into the mattress first, then her elbows, chest folding down with a soft exhale as she settles near the edge. her hair spills over her shoulder, cascading messily down her back, catching on the soft glow of the lamp on her desk.

her shorts ride up just enough to leave nothing to the imagination.

and then she looks over her shoulder. face half-lit, brow arched in that way.

she doesn’t blink. doesn’t even tilt her head.

just stares at him with that expression like: are you going to do something or just stand there gawking?

jimin’s tongue darts out to wet his lips. his jaw tightens as he exhales through his nose—low, deep, amused. he’s already shirtless, belt undone, standing a few feet away like he’s trying to commit the view to memory.

“you always this bossy when you’re needy?” he mutters, voice low and warm, filled with quiet laughter.

she doesn’t answer. just shifts her hips back slightly, an unsubtle reminder that she’s waiting. that he’s the one wasting time now.

so he steps closer.

his hands come to her waist, one sliding around her hip, fingers splaying across her stomach while the other glides down to the curve of her ass. he squeezes lightly—like he’s testing, admiring, owning.

"you really think that little attitude makes you less obvious?” he murmurs, leaning down until his mouth hovers near the shell of her ear. “you’re dripping through these shorts, baby.”

she rolls her eyes. “you talk too much.”

“and you never shut up until my hand’s over your mouth,” he counters, grinning into her skin, brushing his lips just beneath her ear. “but please, keep pretending I don’t have you exactly where you want to be.”

his hand slides under the waistband of her shorts, slow, almost lazy—like he has all day to take her apart.

and from her silence, her stillness, the faint hitch in her breath?

he knows she’ll let him.

but she’ll never admit it.

and fuck if that isn’t his favorite part.

he presses into her slowly, his chest brushing her back, hips pushing against the swell of her ass still wrapped tight in her shorts. they’re both still half dressed, but the friction feels criminal—the rough fabric of his jeans grinding against her in a way that makes her thighs tense, breath catching somewhere in her throat.

her hands fist in the sheets beneath her, jaw clenched, still pretending this doesn’t do anything to her. still trying to play the unbothered girl even with the weight of him bearing down on her.

but jimin knows better.

he slides one hand around her waist again, fingers dipping just beneath the waistband like he owns the space there. his other hand? the one on her ass—lingering, affectionate at first. his thumb traces a slow, lazy arc on her skin, dipping under the hem of her shorts.

and then—

crack.

his palm lands with a sharp sting against her ass, the sound loud in the otherwise silent room.

she jerks forward instinctively, her breath knocked short by the sudden slap. not hard enough to hurt—just enough to leave heat. a bloom of sensation that burns and tingles, the echo of it painting fire beneath her skin.

“there she is,” he murmurs, his voice smug and low and so satisfied.

she huffs out a breath—almost a laugh, but not quite. her face turns against the mattress, muffling the sound. still refusing to give him the reaction he wants.

but her body gives her away. it always does.

he feels the way she pushes back into him, subtly but certainly. the way her thighs spread just a little wider. the way her hips stay lifted, waiting.

“still annoyed?” he asks, rocking forward again, dragging his clothed length against the seam of her shorts. “or finally admitting you need me?”

she tilts her head just enough to glare at him over her shoulder. her lips are parted, cheeks flushed, a single strand of hair caught in her lashes.

“touch me again,” she says, voice dry, “and don’t waste time talking about it.”

and jimin? fuck, he loves her like this.

headstrong. infuriating. soaked.

he grins, already reaching for the button of her shorts, mouthing along her shoulder as he mutters—

“anything for you, baby girl.”

her shorts hit the floor in a rush of fabric, and still—still—she’s got that expression on her face. like she’s unimpressed. like she’s bored. like she’s not clenching around nothing and biting down on her own tongue to keep from whimpering the second his hand touched her.

and jimin notices. he sees all of it.

the fake eye roll. the smug smirk. the feigned indifference. she’s baiting him—again.

and this time? he’s taking it.

“oh?” he hums, dragging his hand up the back of her thigh again, warm palm skimming the curve of her now-bare ass. “you’re still gonna act like you’re not begging for it? really?”

she shrugs. shrugs. as if he isn’t kneeling behind her, half-hard and starving.

“it’s not that deep, park.”

oh, she wants to be punished.

he lets out a low laugh—one that doesn't quite reach his eyes. “got it,” he says quietly, reaching for the bottom drawer of her nightstand like he knows exactly where everything is now. he finds what he needs in two seconds flat. the bottle of lube. a fresh condom. and just for good measure—her toy, the one she thought he didn’t know about.

her head snaps around. “what are you—”

he cuts her off with a sharp look, one hand already ghosting over the back of her neck, gently but firmly guiding her face back down into the mattress.

“don’t play dumb. you wanna be a brat?” his voice is calm now, cool and measured in a way that makes her pulse jump. “then you’re gonna learn what happens when you act like one.”

and she should say something snarky—she always does—but there’s something different in his tone. something dangerous. delicious.

she stays silent.

“good girl,” he murmurs, almost mockingly, letting the words drip over her like syrup as he trails a line of open-mouthed kisses down her spine. “see? already learning.”

he presses her thighs apart further, kneeling between them. she’s soaked already—of course she is. and now she’s quiet. breath shaky. head turned into the mattress. her hands curled into the sheets.

jimin leans in, whispering just beside her ear, his voice low and cruel and addicting.

“you’re not gonna come until i say so. and if you do? i’m gonna edge you until you’re crying.”

she shivers.

he grins.

and when he finally presses inside her, deep and slow and devastating—one hand gripping her hip, the other wrapping around the back of her neck—she doesn’t say a single word.

but god, she feels everything.

he pushes in deep—inch by inch, like he’s got nowhere to be. like the clock doesn’t exist. like the only thing that matters is dragging out the moment just long enough to make her beg.

and she hates that it’s working.

her body reacts before she can even try to stop it—hips twitching back to meet him, thighs tightening, her hands already white-knuckling the sheets beneath her. but he’s not picking up the pace. at all. if anything, he’s slowing down further, grinding into her with a slow, punishing rhythm that’s more pressure than thrust—just deep enough to leave her breathless, but not enough to tip her over the edge.

“mm,” he hums, voice almost playful, breath hitting the side of her neck as he leans in, so fucking composed. “what happened to that mouth, huh?”

she doesn't answer. she can’t—not with the way he’s moving, rolling his hips in slow circles, deliberately avoiding that perfect angle. not with the way her body is already trembling, so sensitive she could cry if he just moved a little faster.

“not so mouthy now,” he murmurs, smiling against her skin as he trails a kiss down her spine, his fingers pressing into her hips like they’re sculpting her into submission. “what, baby? all that attitude gone the second i touched you?”

still, she says nothing. won’t give him the satisfaction.

but her legs are shaking.

her back arches on instinct.

and when he pulls all the way out and doesn’t move for a full beat—just leaves her there, empty, clenching around nothing—her breath catches like a hiccup and her hips buck without her permission.

that’s when he laughs. low, dark, mean.

“yeah,” he whispers, dragging his fingers along the mess between her thighs. “you’re fuckin’ ruined for me.”

he pushes back in hard this time—not fast, just deep—pressing flush to the base, holding there, stretching her until she whimpers into the mattress.

“you wanna come?” he asks, casual. too casual.

she nods, but it’s barely a twitch. like even moving her head might set her off.

he tsks. “use your words.”

she forces them out through clenched teeth, her voice wrecked and hoarse. “yes. fuck, please.”

but he only pulls out again, slow as ever, and she nearly sobs at the loss.

“not yet,” he murmurs, dragging his lips across her shoulder, breath hot, smirk cruel. “you’re not sorry enough.”

and oh, he’s loving this. the tension. the way she’s twitching underneath him. the way she’s desperate now—no more smartass remarks, no more fake eye rolls. just panting. trembling. waiting.

and jimin?

he’s going to take his time. she wanted to be a brat?

now she gets to be his favorite toy.

her voice is thin, already frayed around the edges, dragged raw from holding everything back. but eventually, it breaks—shattering into the thick air between them like glass under pressure.

“jimin,” she gasps, voice barely audible, cheek pressed against the mattress. “please. please, i—I can’t…”

his grin is slow, predatory. he hums like he’s considering it, even though he always intended to make her beg. always wanted to hear it roll off her tongue like that—wrecked and reluctant.

“can’t what?” he asks, maddeningly calm, hips still moving in that same, slow grind. deep. aching. controlled. “can’t handle it? can’t admit you need me?”

she makes a noise in the back of her throat—something between a whimper and a curse, fingers clawing at the bedsheets like they can save her.

he finally gives her a little more—just a little. his pace picks up barely, enough to make the heat swirl tighter in her belly, enough to give her a flicker of hope.

and then he’s reaching for the bottle on the nightstand without stopping, popping the cap with one hand like he’s done this before—because he has. a hundred times in his head, every time she walked past him on campus, every time she rolled her eyes at something he said like he wasn’t the only one who could get her to come undone.

his other hand slides beneath her stomach, lifting her hips slightly, giving him a better angle as he shifts behind her. she whimpers again—almost instinctively now—and he leans forward to kiss between her shoulders.

“don’t worry,” he says, and there’s actual softness there, threaded beneath the smugness, barely-there but present. “not gonna hurt you.”

then she feels it—the cool slickness of the lube hitting his cock, dripping down where their bodies meet, mixing with the mess already between her thighs. his thrusts don’t stop—still deep, still slow—but the slide becomes smoother, easier, sending a ripple through her that makes her curse into the sheets.

her body jerks forward, her thighs trying to close around him—he stops that instantly, one hand pressing her knees apart.

“no, baby,” he says, low in her ear. “you asked for it. now you take it.”

and she does—biting her lip, panting, begging again under her breath because it’s still not enough, not yet. he’s making sure she’s comfortable, taken care of—and still fucking denying her at the same time.

it’s cruel.

it’s maddening.

and it’s making her obsessed.

he’s got her pinned—head turned to the side, one hand heavy at the back of her neck, not squeezing, just holding. Keeping. she’s got no choice but to look at him, her cheek flattened against the mattress, lashes wet, mouth parted as she gasps around every thrust.

he’s still moving slow, goddamn meticulous, hips rolling deep and deliberate like he's got something to prove. like he wants to fuck the shape of himself into her and take his time doing it.

but she’s trembling now, legs barely holding her up, her voice falling into these broken little sounds that aren’t words anymore. every time he pushes in, she lets out a soft, breathless moan—punctuated by frustration, desperation, need.

“jimin,” she pleads, again and again, tone dipping just enough to soften his name into a whimper. “please—”

he leans over her, mouth hovering next to her ear, his breath hot and smug and fucking infuriating.

“please what, baby? use your words,” he murmurs, a hand slipping between her legs for just a second, two fingers brushing where she needs it most—barely. “you want me to keep going? want me to fuck you like the needy little brat you are?”

she squeezes her eyes shut, too embarrassed, too ruined. but her body answers for her—hips pushing back, thighs twitching.

he lets out a low, rough chuckle.

“you love it when I make you beg, don’t you?” he presses, voice darker now, but still calm—too calm. “look at you. always pretending you don’t want this. but I’ve never seen you so wet. so fucking desperate.”

she chokes on a moan, tears gathering in the corners of her eyes, mascara smudging under the strain.

“say it,” he demands, tone sharp now, that cocky edge turning into something that bites. “say you want it.”

and she finally breaks.

“i want it—i want you—fuck, please, jimin—just fuck me already!”

and that’s it.

he snaps.

the hand on her neck tightens just a little—not enough to scare her, just enough to ground her—as his hips pull back and slam into her hard, the sound obscene, skin meeting skin with a wet crack. she yelps, mouth falling open in a gasp that pitches too loud to be controlled.

“oh, now you’re ready?” he snarls, thrusting again, hard and fast this time, his body crashing into hers like a fucking wave. “you wanna be a brat, and then cry when you don’t get what you want? this is what you’ve been begging for?”

she can’t answer. there are no words. only sounds—breathless, frantic, ruined sounds as he fucks her into the mattress, rough and unrelenting, every snap of his hips making the headboard knock into the wall.

he’s not going slow anymore. he’s feral.

and her moans? they turn to cries.

not of pain.

of relief.

he’s panting now, but still relentless. sweat slicking his back, hair stuck to his forehead, his grip on her hips bruising as he drives into her with every ounce of control he has left. she’s shaking under him—crying out, trying to breathe, trying to hold herself together.

and then he slows just slightly, only to lean over her again and reach toward the nightstand, dragging open the drawer like he knows exactly where it is.

she doesn’t even register it at first. not until she hears the soft buzz—low and steady and unmistakable.

her head snaps up weakly, eyes wide as she watches him turn around with her toy in hand, smirking like the devil.

“thought you said this wasn’t a thing,” he murmurs, voice low, mocking, dark. “but you keep all the essentials ready for me, don’t you, baby?”

her lips part, but no words come out. she’s trembling now, thighs twitching from overstimulation, slick everywhere, muscles sore, her brain trying to catch up with her body.

and jimin? he’s enjoying every second.

he reaches out, takes her hand gently but firmly, and places the toy in her palm.

“go ahead,” he says softly, a breath against her ear. “hold it there for me.”

she looks back at him, breathless, still trying to figure out if he’s serious.

he just raises an eyebrow, cock still deep inside her, rolling his hips slow to make her feel it.

“what?” he taunts. “too much for you now, baby girl? thought you liked being a brat.”

her grip tightens around the toy, and slowly, trembling, she brings it between her thighs, pressing it right there—right where she needs it.

her whole body jolts.

“fuck—” she gasps, and immediately bites down on her bottom lip to keep herself from moaning too loud.

he grins.

“good girl. now keep it there.”

he starts moving again, steady and deep, every thrust pressing her harder against the toy, every movement making her legs twitch uncontrollably.

“but you don’t get to cum,” he adds, almost too casually. “not until i say. and if you do? i’ll make sure the next time you come is on my tongue, after hours of begging.”

her fingers tighten around the toy, and she sobs out something wordless. he’s not going easy. every thrust now is measured for torment. the sound of wet skin, the low buzz of the toy, her wrecked little whines—it all fills the room like a symphony of her downfall.

she’s close.

so close.

and he knows it.

“don’t you fucking dare,” he growls behind her, voice sharp, hips pounding. “you better hold it. i’ll know if you cum.”

and the worst part?

he would

her legs are shaking uncontrollably, the toy still buzzing in her hand, every nerve in her body screaming. she’s biting down on a moan so hard her jaw aches, fingers white-knuckling the sheets beneath her, desperate not to fall apart. because if she does—if she lets go without permission—she already knows what’s coming.

but she can’t take it anymore.

“please,” she gasps, voice cracked and wrecked, tears pooling at the corners of her eyes. “jimin—please, i can’t—i’m trying, i swear—”

and he’s still behind her, hips rolling into hers with that cruel, deep rhythm that keeps pressing her harder into the toy. she’s right there. dangling. one more thrust, one more second—

“i need to come—please—please, i can’t—”

and then her body betrays her.

she doesn’t even mean to do it—she’s not trying to disobey. but it hits her all at once, like her body just gives out, like her muscles snap and melt and twist all at once. she cries out, her voice shattering like glass, her thighs locking tight as she—

doesn’t.

not yet.

but jimin does.

with a sharp groan through gritted teeth, his pace stutters—finally losing it—burying himself deep one last time as he spills into the condom, his forehead pressing between her shoulder blades, hand gripping her hip like a vice. his groans are low, guttural, breathless—completely undone.

but it’s her broken sob that brings him back down.

he pulls out slowly, careful, still panting. the toy is slipping from her hand now, barely buzzing, and she’s collapsed onto the mattress, thighs twitching, body begging for release.

“baby,” he murmurs, voice softer now, as he kneels behind her. “i told you… if you came without asking…”

“i didn’t,” she whimpers, voice wrecked and trembling. “i didn’t. please—just—please—”

he pulls the toy from her weak hand, tosses it aside, and doesn’t say anything else. just spreads her thighs gently and leans in.

she gasps when his tongue makes contact.

a long, flat lick from the base of her folds all the way up to her clit, slow and mean, like he’s savoring her. and then he does it again. and again. until she’s crying—literal, choked sobs against the mattress, hips bucking, thighs locking around his head but he doesn’t stop.

he eats her out like he’s starving. like her pleasure is his revenge. his hands slide beneath her thighs to keep her in place, and he buries his face deeper, tongue flicking, sucking, moving in maddening circles.

her fingers claw at the mattress.

“jimin—fuck, please, i’m gonna—i can’t—”

and then he says it, voice muffled against her soaked skin:

“come for me.”

and she does.

like she’s never come before. her whole body arches off the bed, thighs squeezing around his head, a strangled, high-pitched cry ripping from her chest as she finally lets go—everything breaking at once. pleasure crashing through her in endless waves, tears slipping down her cheeks, her vision blurring as she rides it out, trembling violently under his mouth.

and he doesn’t stop.

not until she’s twitching too hard to handle it, not until she’s begging him to stop through hiccupped gasps and aftershocks, her body collapsing into the sheets—completely wrecked.

he finally pulls back, chin glossy, lips pink and swollen, looking up at her with a smug little smile and a rawness in his eyes that almost—almost—looks like something more.

“told you you’d be sorry,” he whispers, kissing the inside of her thigh.

the room is quiet now. heavy and thick with the remnants of everything they just did—sweat cooling on skin, the low hum of the AC in the corner, the rustle of her adjusting the sheets under her stomach like she can somehow make herself disappear into them.

he's sitting at the edge of her bed, trying to catch his breath, head bowed, hands braced on his knees. she hasn't looked at him since he licked her clean. not once. her back is turned, and her face is unreadable.

“you okay?” he asks after a beat. voice rough but low. soft, even.

she nods. too quick. too practiced.

“fine.”

he looks at her, sees how her mouth pulls tight like she’s trying to seal something in. like she’s already rebuilding that damn wall she always hides behind. and the worst part is—it stings. more than it should.

he runs a hand through his hair, frustration starting to bubble. “you’re not, though.”

(y/n) doesn’t answer. instead, she grabs her hoodie from the floor, slipping it on with her back still facing him. casual. distant. like they didn’t just share something that had her sobbing into the mattress.

he exhales sharply. “you always do this.”

“do what?” she mutters, tugging the zipper up.

“this whiplash shit,” he snaps, standing now, pacing a little like he can’t stay still. “one second you're climbing on top of me like you need me, and the next you're acting like i'm just some guy you tolerate because you're bored.”

she opens her mouth to respond but her phone rings—perfect timing. she glances at the screen and sighs, answering it with a tired voice.

“hey.”

it's sora.

“where the hell are you? you didn’t show for lunch, are you okay?”

(y/n)’s eyes flick toward jimin like she forgot he was still standing there. her voice switches to casual, cool, detached.

“yeah, i'm fine. just had a headache. i’m at the dorm. you coming?”

“yeah, i’ll be there in like ten. just checking in, babe.”

they hang up and the silence creeps back in. she turns to jimin, not even trying to sugarcoat it.

“you have to go.”

he blinks. “seriously?”

“sora’s on her way,” she says simply, tugging her hair into a messy bun. “you don’t need to be here anymore.”

and it hits him like a slap—how final she sounds. like he was a transaction, not a person. like he did his job and can clock out now.

he hesitates. there's something in his eyes—not casual, not cocky. just… confused. raw.

“when can I see you again?” he asks, and there’s a weight behind it. a tone that implies he doesn’t mean it like before. that maybe, for once, he’s not just asking to get laid.

but she hears what she wants.

she scoffs, already turned away from him again. “jesus, park. already thinking about round two?”

his jaw tightens, but he doesn’t argue. he just watches her for a second—searching. then nods.

“right.”

and as he reaches the door, she doesn’t stop him. doesn’t look at him. just drops back onto the bed like it’s already erased.

“i don’t know,” she mutters, voice muffled into her pillow. “i’ll text you.”

he leaves without another word.

and the second the door clicks shut behind him—she closes her eyes, jaw clenched tight like if she keeps her face neutral long enough, she won't cry.

(y/n) had barely cracked the window open, letting in the early afternoon air, stale and cold and not nearly strong enough to clear the weight in the room, when the door clicked open.

“a headache, huh?”

sora didn’t even drop her bag, arms crossed over her chest, a perfectly sculpted brow raised as she looked (y/n) over with that older-sister energy only best friends know how to master.

“yup,” (y/n) replied flatly, voice muffled from where she stood near the window like she was considering just jumping out of it and vanishing into a new identity.

sora hummed. “right, right…”

she kicked her sneakers off, took her sweet time walking in like she wasn’t about to drop a bomb, then glanced toward the window again.

“you wanna tell me what was park jimin doing leaving this building looking like he wanted to break every surface between here and the quad?”

(y/n) didn’t even flinch. she shrugged, eyes heavy-lidded and distant as she dropped onto her bed, pulling her hoodie over her head like it might hide the truth.

“i don’t know,” she mumbled. “he’s probably having sex with that blonde girl down the hallway. wouldn’t put it past him.”

sora paused.

then—chuckled.

not sweetly. not kindly. it was that you’re unbelievable but I love you anyway kind of laugh that only best friends can manage without it sounding mean.

“if you’re gonna lie,” sora said, stepping forward with the confidence of someone ready to be annoying, “at least try.”

she pointed, very pointedly, at the bottle of lube still sitting half-tucked behind the lamp on the desk and the unmistakable glint of a silver foil wrapper tossed into the corner of the trash can. the lube was still half uncapped. the wrapper hadn’t even been shoved all the way down. clearly, damage control was not (y/n)’s strong suit.

(y/n) groaned. long and loud.

and flopped face-first into her pillow, arms stretched out like she was about to be taken by the void.

sora waited.

and then, from under the pillow:

“i’m so stupid.”

it was quiet. muffled and slightly wet-sounding like her voice had cracked on the way out.

sora sat at the edge of the bed. didn’t touch her. didn’t crowd her. just breathed out softly.

“no, you’re not.”

silence.

“you’re just—” sora paused, searching for the right word. “emotionally constipated. and dating a walking hormone.”

“we’re not dating.”

“mhm. you’re just accidentally raw dogging and crying over him.”

“we’re not—crying—” (y/n)’s voice cracked again.

sora smiled to herself.

“look, you don’t have to say it. but you’re not fine. and i think you’re finally starting to realize that wanting him doesn’t mean you like how he makes you feel.”

(y/n) didn’t answer. not right away.

she just curled tighter into herself, fingers gripping the corner of her blanket, lips pressed shut like if she let anything else out, she might not be able to hold the rest in.

the silence that filled the room wasn’t uncomfortable. not really. just full. full of the weight (y/n) didn’t want to unpack and the affection sora didn’t quite know how to hand over without making her best friend flinch.

sora stared down at her hands, fiddling with the charm on her bracelet, debating.

and then—softly, almost hesitant:

“actually… i was wondering if you’d be down to meet someone.”

(y/n) didn’t move. didn’t even lift her face from the pillow.

“…what?” came her voice, muffled, dry with sarcasm. “are you playing cupid now? that desperate to get rid of me?”

“obviously,” sora quipped, but the smile in her voice was warm. teasing. “i already have the wedding planned. you’re going to wear that one dress you hate just to spite me.”

“cute. can’t wait to be emotionally destroyed by someone new.”

sora rolled her eyes and leaned back on her hands.

“no, seriously. jin and i… we kind of—well. he has this friend.”

that made (y/n)’s ear twitch against the pillow. not enough to give away her interest, but sora caught it anyway.

“he’s, um… nice,” she said, like it was a confession. “and hot. but not like ‘jimin hot,’ you know? not, like, slutty hot. like… handsome.”

“wow, love that for me,” (y/n) muttered. “maybe i can trauma-dump over coffee and he can write a sad indie song about me.”

sora snorted. “honestly? he probably would. he’s kinda deep and stuff. he reads. like, actual books. not just quotes on tumblr.”

“does he own a tote bag and drink overpriced black coffee too?”

“probably. and he’d remember your birthday without having to check instagram.”

(y/n) finally turned her head, face half-squished by the pillow, one brow raised.

“this is sounding suspiciously like you’re describing your dream man and just trying to pass him off to me.”

“hey, i already have one golden retriever boyfriend. i don’t need two. jin’s enough work as it is.”

that made (y/n) crack a tiny smile. just barely. but it was there. fragile and fleeting and stitched together with exhaustion—but real.

“you don’t have to say yes,” sora added gently, nudging (y/n)’s foot with her own. “i just thought… maybe it wouldn’t hurt. talking to someone who’s not gonna fuck with your head.”

another pause.

then—

“what’s his name?” (y/n) asked, like she didn’t care. like it didn’t matter. like she wasn’t secretly trying to memorize it in case she decided to google him later.

sora smiled.

“namjoon.”

sora pulled her phone from her back pocket, tapping quickly through her gallery like she’d been waiting for the perfect moment to break this out. (y/n) was still lying face-down on the mattress, now with her cheek smooshed against her pillow, eyes barely open and squinting in the sunlight slipping through the blinds.

“okay. you have to see this,” sora said, her voice laced with a mischievous kind of warmth.

“if it’s another video of jin falling off a couch, i’ve already seen it.”

“nope,” she grinned. “better.”

she leaned over, holding the screen out so (y/n) could see. and there he was—namjoon. laughing so hard he was practically doubled over, his face pink and scrunched, clearly tipsy, a half-empty beer in one hand and the other braced against seokjin’s shoulder. the older boy was mid-rant about something ridiculous—something to do with sock conspiracies and IKEA furniture—but namjoon wasn’t even listening anymore. he was just laughing, full and loud and unfiltered. the kind of laugh that made other people want to laugh, too.

(y/n) didn’t smile. not really. but something shifted in her chest.

“he already thinks you’re beautiful, by the way,” sora added, casual but not. like it was a secret she’d been sitting on and couldn’t hold in anymore.

“you showed him my insta?” (y/n) asked, but her voice wasn’t angry. more like tired curiosity.

sora shrugged. “he asked. i said you were out of his league, but that didn’t seem to stop him from wanting to meet you.”

(y/n) rolled onto her back, lips pursing as she stared up at the ceiling again. “doesn’t know me, then.”

“no,” sora said softly. “but he’s willing to. and that counts for something.”

she hesitated.

then: “we could totally arrange a double date that’s not really a double date, if you don’t want to be alone. it doesn’t even have to be dinner. we could just do coffee or a bookstore or something stupid. zero pressure. i promise.”

(y/n) was quiet for a long moment.

she didn’t say it aloud—didn’t even shift her expression much. but in the corner of her mind, something uncurled. a tiny flicker of vindication. of pettiness, even.

it’s fair, she told herself.

if jimin was still out here sleeping with whoever the hell he wanted—acting like what they had was just a routine, nothing serious—then what was stopping her from at least meeting someone who might actually give a shit?

she bit the inside of her cheek.

“he reads actual books?” she asked, almost like it was a joke.

sora smiled, sensing the change, the small fracture in her resistance.

“and he volunteers at the campus library on weekends. he knows the dewey decimal system.”

“wow,” (y/n) said dryly. “that’s hot.”

but there was a quiet sort of consideration in her voice now. something that wasn’t there before.

“fine,” (y/n) said, her voice soft. a little hoarse from everything, from him, from the morning. “i’ll go.”

sora blinked. froze for a second like she wasn’t sure she heard right.

“…wait—you’ll go?”

(y/n) nodded once, still flat on her back. “i mean, it’s not a date, right?”

“not a date,” sora agreed immediately, practically vibrating. “just four very attractive people grabbing coffee while two of them try to emotionally salvage their best friend’s love life—nothing suspicious at all.”

(y/n) let out a huff that almost sounded like a laugh. barely. her eyes didn’t leave the ceiling, but a faint smile curled at the corners of her mouth before she pressed her phone to her chest.

“i have to tell jin,” sora squealed, grabbing her phone like it was a matter of national importance. “we’ve been waiting for this moment. you are not ready for namjoon’s quiet man rizz. he’s like… polite but intense. like he’s always three sentences ahead of the conversation and still listening to every word.”

“okay, calm down,” (y/n) muttered, rolling onto her side, eyes flicking to her own phone again.

still no messages.

not even a double text. not even a shitty meme.

she swallowed hard, thumb tapping aimlessly at her screen. locked it. unlocked it. then locked it again.

figures, she thought. maybe that was the whole point. maybe this was the moment she finally started playing the game the way he did—cool, distant, unreachable.

“coffee’s on wednesday,” sora said from across the room, already texting, cheeks flushed with the thrill of matchmaking. “just after class. no pressure. and i’ll be there the whole time.”

(y/n) nodded again, still curled under her blanket.

her phone buzzed once.

her heart jumped.

it wasn’t him.

and so she sank deeper into the mattress, wrapped in silence and resolve, whispering to herself in the quietest voice:

just coffee.

just coffee.

just a start.

—---

she had managed to avoid him like the plague for the past two days.

not that it was particularly difficult—jimin had apparently found new places to stick his tongue down rowan’s throat all over campus. the student center. the quad. even the hallway leading to the library, where anyone with a pulse could see them pressed against the lockers like a poorly scripted indie film.

(y/n) had simply kept walking. shoulders squared. expression blank. her heart? a mess. pounding. bruised. aching in the worst kind of private way.

today, she had a free period—one he used to know by memory. the one where they’d usually disappear into some forgotten corner of the campus: a storage closet, an empty lecture hall, the back seat of his car.

not today.

today, she locked herself inside the cleanest, quietest bathroom on the top floor of the liberal arts building. she stayed longer than necessary, pretending to check her makeup, her messages, her nonexistent emails. anything to kill the time. anything to not remember.

but the second she stepped outside—there he was.

leaning against the tiled wall like he belonged there. black hoodie half-zipped, head tilted like he wasn’t trying to look casual. hands in his pockets. smirk already cocked like a loaded gun.

her jaw tightened. she didn’t slow down.

“did you get bored of your girlfriend?” she asked, not even glancing at him as she walked past.

his smirk widened. the kind that made her want to slap it off and kiss it in the same breath.

“don’t act jealous now, princess.”

she scoffed. not even dignifying him with a full-body reaction.

“you wish.”

he pushed off the wall, falling into step beside her. their shoulders close but not touching, his steps a half-beat too synced with hers.

“you said you’d text.”

“i lied,” she said simply. her voice light, sarcastic, but the bitterness beneath it hung heavy in the air.

he chuckled. low, smug, infuriating.

“what, you got separation anxiety, park?” she murmured, casting him a quick side glance, venom sweet on her tongue.

“only when you ghost me.”

her laugh was sharp, humorless. “you’re fine. you’ve got a perfectly capable tongue warmer already.”

he didn’t answer that.

not immediately.

just looked at her. really looked. and for a second she could feel it—like the way he used to stare at her when she was on top of him, hair sticking to her temples, lip caught between her teeth, like she was the only girl in the goddamn world.

“what are we even doing?” he asked under his breath.

her chest squeezed tight, but her face didn’t budge.

“nothing,” she said. “we’re doing nothing.”

and she didn’t let herself look back as she walked away.

he was still following her.

his footsteps weren’t loud, but they were steady. like he hadn’t gotten the very clear message that she wanted nothing to do with him. or maybe he had—and just didn’t care.

“hey, um…” his voice came low from behind her, casual, like the conversation from two minutes ago hadn’t been a punch to the gut. “wanna come over? around lunch?”

she didn’t stop walking. not for a second. the answer was already on her lips before he could even finish the question.

“can’t. i’m going on a date.”

that stopped him. completely.

she didn’t have to look back to know it. she felt the hesitation in his pace, the way his silence caught like a sudden storm break—his breath, audible in the way it halted, like she’d just sucked all the air out of his lungs with one clean swing. and god, it made something twist in her gut. vicious satisfaction. a petty kind of pride.

because finally, she’d managed to land a hit.

she kept walking. eyes straight ahead, hands tucked in her pockets, her expression unreadable even as her heart thundered in her chest. she didn’t want to admit how much it cost her to say that. to make it real. to push the words out like they didn’t mean anything when they meant everything.

a date.

not with jimin.

not with someone who used her like a stress relief valve between other girls and then pretended it didn’t matter. no—someone who might actually see her as more than a warm body and a bratty smirk. someone who might mean safety instead of destruction.

he caught up with her again a few seconds later, but his voice was different now. tighter. still trying to sound amused, but his ego had definitely just taken a hit.

“you?” he asked, that little scoff laced into the back of his throat. “a date?”

she didn’t look at him. didn’t blink. just nodded once.

“yup.”

it was almost cruel, how nonchalant she sounded. how she delivered it like the weather—just another fact, another shift in atmosphere.

he laughed then. forced. hollow. more confused than anything else.

“so… who’s the unlucky bastard?”

he meant it as a joke, but she heard the tension underneath. the need to know. the fact that he couldn’t handle the idea of her giving even a fraction of what she gave him to someone else.

and that?

that was enough to fuel her for days.

she glanced at him then. Just a flick of her eyes, like an afterthought.

“none of your goddamn business, park.”

he opened his mouth again, like he had something else to say, but she was already walking faster. already turning the corner. already gone.

and for the first time in weeks, she left him standing there speechless.

—---

she wasn’t expecting much, really.

namjoon was handsome, sure. tall, broad-shouldered, and the kind of naturally put-together that made him look good in a plain t-shirt and worn sneakers. his vibe—at least from what sora told her—was chill, maybe a little philosophical. smart, funny in a dry way, emotionally aware. the complete opposite of what she was used to.

the complete opposite of jimin.

so, she walked toward the coffee shop with her expectations set somewhere below hopeful. this wasn’t a real date anyway. just coffee. just a distraction. a lifeline, maybe, if she let herself think dramatically. which she always did. the air was warm, sun flickering through the trees lining the street. her shoes hit the pavement in slow, reluctant steps.

when she saw the terrace, she spotted them instantly—sora and jin already seated, their heads tilted in laughter, and across from them—

him.

namjoon.

he was leaned slightly forward, elbows resting on the table, listening intently to whatever jin was saying. his fingers wrapped loosely around a coffee cup, and there was this ease to him. like he fit in every room he walked into without trying. the kind of calm that settled into the space instead of rearranging it.

she was halfway through apologizing as she reached the table—something about running late, something about traffic—when he turned to look at her.

and smiled.

not wide. not flashy.

just a dimpled, polite, heart-achingly sweet smile that made her lose the rest of her sentence entirely.

her mouth stayed open for a beat too long. her chest tightened, her fingers curled around the strap of her bag. and for the first time in a long time, she felt something soft unfold in her belly. not lust. not adrenaline. just... warmth.

“hi,” he said, quiet but clear. his voice deep, gentle. smooth like good coffee and rainy sunday mornings.

she blinked.

closed her mouth.

“hi,” she said back, quieter than she meant to.

sora shot her a knowing look, barely hiding her grin. jin covered his chuckle behind a sip of his drink.

(y/n) sat down slowly, the cushion cool beneath her. she tugged at the hem of her sleeves to hide how her palms had started to sweat. get it together, she told herself. this wasn’t anything. not really. but her mind was already whirling, catching on dimples and calm eyes and the way he hadn't even looked at her body—just her face.

she couldn’t remember the last time that happened.

namjoon offered her a soft "glad you could make it," and the way he said it? like he meant it. like it wasn't just something polite people said.

and just like that, something shifted.

she didn’t know if it would last, if it meant anything, if she’d let it mean anything.

but she knew one thing for sure.

this coffee was already different.

it started slow, like most things that turn out to matter.

small comments. shared glances. little pauses where their eyes lingered a second too long, just enough for someone paying attention to notice. sora and jin definitely noticed.

they’d all been talking for a while now, easy chatter over lattes and croissants on the coffee shop’s sun-drenched terrace. sora had her arm hooked casually around jin’s, legs crossed under the table as she tossed in commentary like a pro. jin had taken to teasing (y/n) mercilessly, half about her general attitude and half about things sora clearly told him in confidence—like how she refused to use dating apps because “if the universe wants me in love it’ll drop it in my lap, not on a screen.”

namjoon laughed when jin said that. not a mocking laugh, but a soft one. amused, kind of impressed.

“you really said that?” he asked, tilting his head at her.

(y/n) rolled her eyes, cheeks warm despite herself. “don’t believe everything sora says.”

“but i want to believe it,” namjoon replied, chin resting in his hand, eyes flickering over her face like he was trying to memorize it. “it’s very poetic. delusional, but poetic.”

sora snorted into her drink. jin pretended to fall off his chair. and just like that, the tension drained out of (y/n)’s shoulders. she was smiling before she realized it. something about namjoon just let her relax.

he wasn’t trying to impress her.

he wasn’t trying to seduce her.

he was just there. present. thoughtful. funny in a quiet way that made her want to lean in and ask questions just to hear how he’d answer.

and he did lean in.

more than once.

at first it was to joke about jin and sora, something low and quick and conspiratorial like: “are they always like this? because I’m both amazed and concerned.”

she laughed. loud enough for sora to glance over and raise an eyebrow.

then it happened again. namjoon leaning close, his voice low near her ear, his fingers brushing the table between them like he was trying not to move too much but couldn’t help it. she said something sarcastic and he deadpanned right back, his words clever and dry and so perfectly timed it made her laugh again.

a real laugh. unguarded.

and suddenly, for those small, glittering moments, it felt like the world narrowed down to just the two of them.

jin noticed first. he sipped his drink, quirking a brow at sora across the table.

“oh god,” he mouthed dramatically. “we created a monster.”

sora barely fought back her grin. “they’re cute,” she mouthed back.

(y/n) didn’t notice. neither did namjoon.

he was looking at her like she was the only thing in the room worth focusing on. not in a possessive way. not in a you’re mine kind of way. just—genuine. curious. gentle.

she didn’t remember the last time she felt that seen.

the air was mellow, the sun beginning its lazy descent behind the campus rooftops, casting soft orange light across the quad as the four of them walked. sora and jin hung back, wrapped up in their own bubble of teasing laughter and inside jokes, while (y/n) and namjoon walked a few paces ahead. it felt natural—unforced—the way their strides matched without thinking, their conversation floating easily from music to professors to jin’s obnoxious collection of novelty mugs that sora had apparently been trying to “accidentally break” since they started dating.

she was laughing, genuinely. not the kind of laugh she gave at parties, polite and performative, but the kind that came from somewhere loose and unguarded in her chest. namjoon’s voice was easy to listen to, deep but soft around the edges, the kind of voice that made every observation feel like a secret. he was funny in a subtle way, clever without trying too hard, his smile tugging at the corner of his mouth whenever she threw sarcasm back at him.

it felt... peaceful.

she liked the pace of it. how no one was trying to impress anyone. how she didn’t feel the need to armor herself in sharp edges and cold glances just to keep control.

until her phone buzzed.

she felt it before she looked. that familiar little twist of anticipation and irritation curling low in her stomach. she glanced down.

[jimin.] “so... how’s the date, princess?”

cocky. smug. he probably sent it leaning back in his chair, that stupid grin on his face, fingers loose around his phone like none of this meant anything to him.

her smile faltered just slightly. she didn’t stop walking, but she exhaled through her nose—sharp, annoyed—and locked the screen before namjoon could see what it said.

but he already had.

not the contents, but the name. she saw the flicker of recognition in his eyes. he didn’t react with surprise or judgment—just a calm, thoughtful blink.

“you and jimin, huh?” he asked casually, his tone laced with curiosity but nothing sharp. just genuine interest.

she gave him a dry laugh, pushing her hair back from her face. “it’s nothing but a headache, really.”

and he nodded. no need for more.

“wanna change the subject?”

she looked at him, smiled. “desperately.”

so they did.

they spent the next few minutes talking about a book he’d been meaning to finish and the worst professor she’d ever had. when they finally reached her dorm building, the sky had deepened to gold, and the air had that quiet kind of stillness reserved for the late afternoon—the in-between of day and night.

he slowed to a stop in front of the steps. she did too, her hand hovering near the strap of her bag.

“this was nice,” he said, and meant it. his voice had a different weight now—not heavy, but intentional.

she nodded, already tugging at her lip with her teeth before she could stop herself. “it was.”

there was a beat of silence, not awkward, but tentative. like they were both standing at the edge of something just slightly out of view.

“can I get your number?” he asked then, tone light. “no pressure or anything. just thought it might be cool to hang out again sometime.”

she hesitated—not because she didn’t want to—but because she did. and deep down, she wanted him to be enough to make her forget jimin. to stop wanting things that hurt.

but she didn’t say that.

instead, she smiled, reached for his phone when he offered it, and typed in her number.

“i’d like that,” she said, handing it back.

and she meant it.

even if jimin’s message still lingered in her pocket like a ghost.

quietly always, cigarettesuga.

taglist Ꮺ @aaclariww @mar-lo-pap @h6rtf9lt @wynterlove @rpwprpwprpwprw @annyeongbitch7 @namgimini @princesstiti14 @alextgef @pjmxxjmdipity @cherryminnie95

[flamesofday]

Lucien can feel her ire, and he wonders if its purposeful or simply a slip through their bond. He'd gotten under her skin, truly. Not just surface level avoidance, for once, it felt as if Elain truly had feelings towards him. Even if they weren't positive. It had to count for something. Elain approaches, every bit of looking like a scorned female. Lucien should count himself lucky, Cassian may have actually saved him. Real. She keeps using that word as if this isn't tangible between them.

His head tilts as she approaches, he hadn't braced himself and the influx of her scent has his head spinning. Would he try this hard if they didn’t have the bond? His hands flex at his sides, jaw clenched so tightly it aches. Yes. He would of, and that's what so damning about it all. “Elain,” he says through gritted teeth, “you really think I’m doing this just because the Cauldron told me to?” In part, yes. He would of accepted her, would of been a good mate. But this? Now? It was something else. It was real, it was yearning, it was torement to know he'd never make her smile, or hear her laugh. The last two years have taught him one thing. Elain Archeron is a forced to be reckoned with. One he wanted. And one momentary lapse in his judgement, a slip of two fucking words, and she's written him off.

His eye flashes, not with cruelty, but something hurt. Something furious in how much he wants her to understand in the jumbled mess of words he's laid out. “Do you think I enjoy being strung along? Pushed away? Looked at like some stranger who doesn’t belong in your world?” He scoffs, sharp and bitter. “Because I have tried. Is it you personally throwing away my letters or am I not good enough for even that? I’ve stood here—again and again—while you questioned every reason I might care about you, and I’ve never once said the thing I’ve wanted to say.”

He steps closer, towering now, but it’s not menace, it’s emotion. Raw. Unrelenting. “You ask if I’d be trying this hard without the bond?” His hand finds her waist, tugging Elain until she's against his chest. Without thought, no reason simply just to prove that he does feel, he is not unaffected by her, or this. “Elain, even if there were no bond, even if you were just some stranger across a room, I would still look at you and think you’re the most beautiful female I’ve ever seen. I’d still catch myself staring when you make some wicked, clever remark because I like the way your mind works. I’d still notice the quiet kindness you think no one sees, the way you care for everyone in the Night Court without so much as a thank you for making them fucking dinner." A breath, "I’d still find you captivating.” Lucien breathes it like a confession, like the truth might set fire to his very lungs. Maybe it already has, because something in him feels like it's burning from the inside out. At some point, his hand has risen to cradle the back of her neck, fingers threading through her hair. His head dips closer, and all he can think is that he's going to burn for her.

She has to tilt her chin to meet his gaze, and mother above, he likes that. His mouth quirks, the heat in his voice tempered by something smug, something fond and entirely Lucien. “Careful, Elain,” he murmurs, “You realize what you've done, don't you? In front of Cassian?” His thumb brushes her jaw where it can reach, and he leans in just a breath closer.

“You made a choice,” he says, the corners of his mouth curling now, teasing and warm. “And this time… it was me.” And then he kisses her. It’s everything he’s been holding back from her. His anger, ache, desire, proof. His hands frame her jaw, not to trap her, but to make sure she feels every ounce of the truth he’s tried to show her.

Because if words won’t convince her, then maybe this will.

Because yes—he’d still want her.

Elain  merely  nods  when  Cassian  casts  her  a  second  look  before  finally  leaving  them  behind.  she  watches  until  he  disappears  into  the  clouds,  only  feeling  relief  once  he’s  completely  out  of  sight.  ah,  alone  with  Lucien  again  .  .  .  it’s unsettling how  natural  it  feels  when  it  hadn’t  ever  felt  this  way  before. 

and  she’d chosen  it.  she’d chosen  Lucien  —  to  go  home  with him.  her  heart  stirs  traitorously  at  the  thought  but  she  forces  it  down.  it's  true,  she  hadn’t  hesitated  for  even  a  heartbeat  when  Cassian  had  offered,  but  it's  because she  already  knew  that  she  wouldn’t  leave  without  Lucien  —  not  until  they  finished  whatever  this  is. and  it  certainly  didn’t  feel  right  to  part  ways  after  he’d  called  her  a brat. Lucien  had  been  lucky  — so  damn  lucky  —  that  Cassian  interrupted  when  he  did. she’d  been  ready  to  flay  Lucien  alive  with  her  tongue.  what  had  he  meant  by  it  anyway?  she  hadn’t  asked  him  to catalog her  flaws,  hadn’t  invited  his judgement. but  if  he  thinks  her  such  a burden  — then  he’ll  get  exactly  what  he  expects.  she’ll  be  the  brat  he  thinks  she  is,  and  he  can  suffer  through  taking  her  home.

she  watches  him  pinch  the  bridge  of  his  nose,  and  it  draws  an  irritated  pout  to  her  lips.  like  she’s  a  petulant  child  he’s  too  tired  to  deal  with.  then  his  hand  drops  and  her  lips  part  in  surprise  at  his  invitation,  gesturing  for  her  to  come  closer.  the  audacity  of  it  —  telling  her  to  come  to him  after  everything  —  draws  a  breathless  laugh  of  disbelief  from  her  throat.

she  turns  away,  shaking  her  head,  but  even  as  she  does,  her  feet  are  already  moving. traitor  body,  traitor  heart.  she  has  no  idea  why  she's  walking  toward  him,  why  she's  giving  him  what  he  wants,  but  she  can't  seem  to  stop  herself.  “   today?   ”  she  says,  her  voice  calmer  now  though  it  still  carries  a  hint  of  her  anger  still.  she  gestures  at  the  space  between  them,  at  the  invisible  thread  that  seems  to  pull  them  together  and  push  them  apart  all  the  same.  “   this.  all  the  screaming,  everything  I’ve  told you,  everything  you’ve  told me  —  this  is  the  only  real  thing  we’ve  had  between  us.  ”   Elain  stops  close  enough  that  she  has  to  tip  her  head  back  to  meet  his  eyes.  “  you  asked  if  I  think  this  bond  isn’t  real  — ”  her  brown  eyes  narrow,  even  as  her  voice  softens.  “  but  do you?  truly?  if  we  didn’t  have  this  mating  bond,  would  you  even  try  this  hard  to  get  to  know  me?  ”

[lovewilltellamillionstories]

Real talk, I hope Nic and Luke are ok.. only just saw how much Netflix and Bridgerton socials are being flooded with complaints. Yes I have my opinions, but they did incredibly with what they were given.

[daryltwdixon]

Summary: You’ve never felt fully at home in your own skin, but that has never stopped Joel from showing you just how much he wants you. One night, you gather the courage to show him what you’ve been too afraid to share, and he shows you exactly what it means to be wanted, worshipped, and seen.

|| smut MDNI 18+, Joel is down bad in love, self conscious reader, no physical description (except 'soft belly') but reader is insecure of their body, no specific timeline, age gap mentioned but not specified, pinv, f!receiving oral, little bit of (f!receiving) ass play, dirty talk, praise kink, daddy kink, soft!joel, he calls you like every pet name in the book. some aftercare || notes: joel miller in reading glasses hello? dont kill me for being a little bit of a cornball in here. joel is a cornball when he's in love. Yes I know I wrote the word pretty a lot! That’s the point!!! Inspired by this request

Joel’s bed became home long before you were ready to admit it.

It’s where you feel safest. It’s where he tugs you into his chest first thing in the morning, rough hand splayed over your back like it belongs there, murmuring something low and sleep-thick against your temple. It’s where you read curled into his side at night, him propped up against the headboard in that worn old Henley, eyes flicking lazily over the pages of whatever book you handed him, while yours is gripped a little tighter, the latest thriller mystery that has your heartbeat ticking up by the final chapters.

He had told you to stop reading them before bed once, but he didn’t really mean it. Not when you curled tighter into him, not when your hand slid across his stomach and stayed there gripping him like you needed to be close to something steady, something warm. Something like him.

Joel loves you like this. Warm and soft and pliant in his bed.

It’s one of his favorite places. Not just for pressing you down into the mattress and filling you, not just for the pretty, breathy sounds you make when you’re too far gone to think about what you look like or where his hands are. No—he loves the quiet moments, too. The ones where your limbs are tangled up with his, hair a mess, lips kiss-swollen, your skin still carrying the ghost of his touch.

And every now and then, when you’re asleep on his chest or laughing at something dumb he said, he still finds himself wondering how the hell he ended up with a girl like you.

You’re so much younger. So much softer. He doesn’t know what you see in a man like him—older, rougher, carved from all the years you haven’t had to carry yet. You could’ve had anyone. But you chose him. 

You’ve been together a few months now, and he still hasn’t wrapped his head around it. Still doesn’t know what he did to deserve your trust, your sweetness, your sharp quick wit when he least expects it.

He tried to keep his distance at first. Tried not to look too long when you smiled, not to follow the sound of your voice like a damn tether every time you were in the room. Told himself it wasn’t right. You weren’t for him. You were good. But you kept coming closer.

And once you started to pursue him—sweet and fearless and so goddamn certain—his resolve didn’t just crack. It collapsed.

The years between you didn’t matter to him anymore. The guilt didn’t matter. The voice in his head that told him to stop, that warned him he was too old, too jaded, too broken to ever deserve you—it all went quiet the second you looked at him like he was worth wanting.

He had to have you. To feel you, hear you, know you. So he gave in.

But there was still something there he didn’t quite understand, even now. Something that never quite leaves him.

Because every time he takes you to bed with the singular thought of getting you naked, of taking you until he gets his fill, until you’re trembling and wrecked and crying out his name—every single time, he sees it.

That flicker of hesitation.

He watches your shoulders shrink inward. Watches the way your hands move to cover your belly the second his fingers slip beneath your shirt. The way your breath stutters like you’re already bracing for something—even if it’s just his eyes.

You never say it out loud. You don’t have to.

And every time he settles over you, broad chest looming, palms sliding down your sides with reverent slowness as he lays you down on his bedspread, you ask him in that sweet, uncertain voice:

“Can we turn the light off?”

And Joel… hesitates.

Just for a second. Just long enough to take one more look at your face—flushed and perfect and lips swollen from letting him kiss them until they’re bruised. He always obliges. Always reaches over and clicks off the bedside lamp without a word, even if something in his chest aches as the room goes dark.

In the low moonlight, he can still see pieces of you. The softness of your belly. The curve of your thighs. The arch of your back when you start to melt beneath his touch. And he reveres it. All of it.

Worships you like you’re something holy.

But even in the dark, he notices everything.

The way your breath hitches when he kisses down your body—not with pleasure, but with discomfort. The subtle tension in your limbs when he trails his lips past your ribs. The way you squirm when his mouth lingers at the tender skin between your stomach and mound. Not because it’s too much. But because you don’t want to be seen.

And it kills him a little every time.

Because he wants to see you. All of you. Wants you to know that there is not a single inch of your body he doesn’t adore.

But still, like many nights before, he obliges you tonight and reaches over to turn out the light at your request.

The room falls into darkness.

Joel wakes to the warm and golden light of the morning, the kind where sunlight filters through the blinds in soft, slatted beams, pooling across the hardwood floor. The kind where the world outside feels far away, like it can wait a little longer while the house stays quiet.

His mind fully catches up to the scent of coffee and the soft creak of floorboards.

The bed is empty beside him, blankets still warm, your pillow carrying the shape of your head. He rubs the sleep from his face and swings his legs over the edge, the weight of last night still humming low in his chest.

He finds you in the kitchen.

You’re at the counter, barefoot, wearing nothing but his t-shirt—one of those older ones, soft and stretched out, the hem barely brushing the tops of your thighs. Your hair’s a little messy, skin still marked in places from where his mouth had worshipped you in the hours of the night.

You’re so focused on pouring coffee into your favorite mug—the pink one with the little chip at the rim, just big enough to catch your lip if you’re not careful—that you don’t hear him come in.

He steps in behind you, silent as ever, warmth radiating off his chest before you even feel his hands.

One arm slips around your waist, the other gliding up beneath the hem of the shirt you’re wearing—his shirt—until his hand splays flat across your stomach. His lips find your neck a second later, soft and unhurried, brushing along your skin as he breathes you in.

You stiffen, just a little. It’s not resistance, you could never resist him, but your body goes still beneath his touch, that automatic flicker of self-consciousness rising to the surface like it always does when he touches you in the daylight.

Still, you don’t move away.

Joel’s voice is low and rough in your ear, all gravel and morning warmth, “‘Mornin’, darlin’.”

You smile, small, a little sheepish, but it’s there. “Morning.”

His hand drops lower, fingers brushing the curve of your hip, then sliding up again, slow and lazy. His other arm tightens around your front, keeping you pulled against him as his lips trail from your neck to your cheek.

“Joel—” you murmur, half a protest, half a laugh, squirming under his touch.

“You look so pretty like this,” he says, voice thicker now, rougher with sleep and want. “So sexy in my shirt, honey.”

You go quiet. Not because you don’t like it. But because it still hits that spot—the part of you that flinches at being seen. You press your lips together, focus on the coffee in your hand, as if the words might disappear if you just don’t look at him.

But Joel sees it. Feels the shift. The way you tense ever so slightly when he calls you nice things. Like the words don’t fit, not yet. Like you still haven’t figured out how to wear them.

He kisses your cheek again, slower this time.

“I mean it,” he adds softly.

You nod once, a breath catching in your chest before you murmur, “I know.”

Joel leans in and kisses the back of your head, just behind your ear, then murmurs against your skin, “Put the coffee down for a second.”

You glance over your shoulder, suspicious but smiling. “Why?”

“Just do it, baby.”

With a soft sigh, you set the mug back on the counter. Before you can ask again, he’s turning you in his arms, hands firm but careful on your hips and over the shirt, as he spins you to face him.

He steps in close, real close, until the backs of your thighs press against the cabinets and his hands come up to cradle your face. Big, warm palms on your cheeks, thumbs brushing the softness there like he’s memorizing the way you feel under his touch. 

Then his hands squish your cheeks between his hands, just enough to puff your lips out like a fish.

Your brows furrow as you try in vain to pull away. “Joel—!”

“Say it,” he says, dead serious despite the ridiculous hold he has on your face.

Your eyebrows knit further as you still. “Say what?”

He smirks, dipping his head until your noses bump. “Say: I’m pretty.”

You groan, giggling despite yourself as you try to wiggle free. “Joel, oh my god—”

He holds on, pressing exaggerated kisses to your squished face—your cheek, your forehead, your nose and your puffed out top lip. “Say it. Go on. I’ll wait all day.”

“Fine!” you huff, lips barely moving from the way he’s still holding your face. “I’m pretty.”

He grins, loosening his hold just enough so you can speak properly, though he keeps his hands right where they are. “Didn’t hear you.”

“I’m pretty,” you repeat, cheeks heating as you say it, soft and unsure but not sarcastic. Not deflecting.

Joel beams, eyes crinkling at the corners, kissing your lips as he loosens his hold on your face. “Damn right you are. Prettiest girl I ever saw.”

You can’t help but smile now, wide and a little bashful. You duck your head, but he catches you again, presses a kiss to your lips again, sweet and unhurried.

And when he backs away and you finally reach for your coffee again, cheeks still warm, he’s watching you like he’s already counting the seconds until he gets to do it all over again.

That night starts like any other night.

Late, quiet, the house dipped in soft shadows. The windows are cracked just enough to let in the evening breeze, the hum of cicadas drifting in with the warm air. Joel’s in bed already, reading glasses sliding down his nose, thumbing through the same page of his book he’s read three times without taking in a single word.

He’s waiting for you to join him, your book is still closed on the side table. You’d excused yourself to the bathroom before you could even cuddle up in bed beside him. You had said you needed two minutes.

That was fifteen minutes ago.

He figures you’re brushing your teeth. Or lost in one of your little bedtime routines—rearranging things on the counter or doing your 10 step nightly skincare. He doesn’t mind. He’s gotten used to your rhythms the more you stayed over. Grown to love them, even.

But then he hears the bedroom door open, and when he glances up, expecting to see you in one of your usual pajamas, his breath catches. You’re not wearing one of his big T-shirts or those soft cotton sets you like so much.

You’re standing in the doorway in white lace, delicate and sheer and almost ethereal in the low glow of the lamp light.

It damn near knocks the air out of him.

He forgets all about the book in his lap—doesn’t even feel it fall to the mattress as his gaze rakes over you, slow and disbelieving. His jaw goes slack as he removes his glasses and sets them on the side table.

The bra—he doesn’t know what it’s called, not that it matters—looks daintier and more delicate than anything he’s ever seen in his goddamn life. Feminine in a way that hits him right in the chest. It wraps around you like it was made for your body, hugging your curves in all the right places. The straps are thin, dipping into the softness of your shoulders, and the lace cups give just enough to let his imagination blur with what’s already in front of him.

The matching bottoms sit high on your hips, scalloped lace tracing the tops of your thighs, giving him a perfect view of the skin he’s only ever touched in the dark.

Your hair is pulled back behind your shoulders—intentionally, he thinks, like you wanted him to have the full view.

Your lip is tucked under your top teeth, and your eyes flick down for a second, uncertain—then back up again.

But then you smile.

Shy, but proud. Like you’re showing him something precious and a little terrifying. Like you finally believe, even just a little, that he might actually mean every word he’s ever said about you.

Joel shifts to the edge of the bed, jaw tight with restraint as he beckons you to him. Slowly, you make your way over, and he soaks in the look of your thighs as you move, the way your body is begging to be marked and taken. His hands curl against his own thighs like he’s afraid to touch you too fast, too hard, and shatter the moment.

But when you move to stand between his knees, and he lifts his eyes up to meet yours, you don’t flinch.

He lets out a long, shaky breath. Then his hands lift slowly, reverently, palms brushing along the outside of your thighs, up to your hips.

His voice is low, almost reverent. “Christ, baby… look at you.”

You let out a nervous laugh, eyes dropping for a second—but you don’t cover yourself. Don’t twist away like you usually do. You stay right there, between his knees, close enough for him to smell the soft scent of your lotion and whatever little perfume you’d put on just for him.

Joel lifts his hands, slow and sure, and holds your hips, warm, steady, splayed wide like he wants to cover all of you. His thumb strokes gently over your skin where the lace ends, just above your hipbone.

“You did this for me?” he murmurs, looking up at you.

You nod once, eyes still shy but glowing with something soft. “I wanted to. I…I know I usually…”

“I know,” he says quietly, thumbs stroking your skin under his touch. “Don’t gotta explain nothin’ to me.”

His voice is gentle, but there’s something else beneath it now. Thicker. Hotter. Like he’s barely keeping a lid on what he really wants to say.

You bite your lip again, tucking it under your top teeth as you gauge his reaction. Joel leans in, eyes never leaving yours, and presses a kiss between the valley of your breasts—slow, open-mouthed, just wet enough to make your breath stutter.

You exhale, body already leaning into him, melting under the heat of his mouth, the drag of his stubble, the way his hands are rubbing slow circles along your thighs. His fingers toy with the hem of the lace between your legs, pinching the delicate fabric between them, like he can’t decide whether to rip it off or worship it.

“You know what this does to me? What you do to me, angel?” he rasps, voice rough now, filthy and unfiltered. “You got me starin’ like a damn animal. Don’t even know where I wanna taste first.”

He kisses the underside of your breast, and even though it's covered by lace, he bites softly at the curve, tongue soothing the mark he leaves behind. His hands move to grip your ass tightly now, pulling you closer, positioning so your stomach and hips are flush against his chest.

“You’re so fuckin’ pretty, baby. Every time I think I’ve seen all of you, you go and give me this?”

His eyes flick up, hungry and reverent. You squirm, a tiny whimper slipping past your lips, but Joel doesn't back off. He presses another kiss to your stomach, then just above your belly button, murmuring into your skin.

“Timid little thing—but deep down you like it, don’t you? Like when Daddy talks like this?”

Your thighs twitch under his hands and you nod.

He grins, feral and soft all at once. His hands slide up your sides, palms hot and steady against your ribs, thumbs brushing the edge of lace as his mouth follows—slow, open-mouthed kisses trailing higher, tongue flicking against the fabric covering your breasts. His tongue pokes out over the lace of your bodice right where your nipple would be, teeth grazing over the hidden but pebbled skin. Your jaw falls open as you watch him.

“Goddamn,” he mutters, breath catching against your sternum. “You wore this just to drive me crazy, didn’t you?”

He doesn’t wait for an answer.

One hand lifts, fingers tugging gently at the strap of your bralette, sliding it down your shoulder. Then the other. His movements are careful, almost reverent, as he peels the lace down and away, baring you inch by inch.

And when your breasts spill free, his breath catches audibly.

“Jesus Christ.”

He sits back just far enough to look. Just for a moment. Just to see you.

“Prettiest fuckin’ thing I’ve ever laid eyes on,” he murmurs, thick with awe and heat. He brings his hands up to grip the flesh of your breasts, kneading them together, “Bet you don’t even know what you do to me, baby.”

You bite your lip again, that flicker of shyness still dancing across your face—like you have to physically restrain yourself from trying to cover the revealed skin. But no. Not this time.

Joel leans in and licks a slow stripe over one nipple, making you gasp. He drags his tongue in a lazy circle, then sucks it into his mouth, groaning low in his throat like he’s tasting heaven.

You whimper, your hands flying to his shoulders, fingers gripping him as your back arches on instinct.

“That’s it,” he growls, pulling back just to press a kiss between your breasts before taking the other into his mouth, this time sucking harder, leaving it damp and peaked from his tongue. “Let me hear you, baby. Wanna hear every sound you make when I touch you like this.”

Your hips roll against him, thighs trembling as you stand between his legs.

“Sensitive little thing,” Joel mumbles against your skin. “Just needed someone to show you how fuckin’ perfect you are.”

He kisses lower, down the underside of your breast, then back up again, licking softly, sucking just enough to leave the faintest mark.

“M’gonna take good care of you tonight, baby,” he breathes, dragging his mouth back to your nipple. “Gonna take my timeand take every fuckin’ inch of this sweet body. You gonna let me?”

You nod, breathless, voice caught somewhere in your throat,“Y-yeah.”

Joel looks up, eyes blazing, lips slick from kissing you.

“‘Yeah’, what? Tell me, honey.”

Your begin to squirm as you tell him, “I want you to, Daddy. Please.”

Joel groans like it physically knocks the air out of him. His hands trail back down your sides, slow and reverent, fingertips grazing the lace waistband still hugging your hips.

“You’re killin’ me, baby,” he murmurs, dragging his mouth lower. 

He kisses down your stomach, tongue peeking out to trace the little dip of your navel, his hands smoothing down your hips and behind to cup your ass again, fingers squeezing tight. The lace panties are all that remain, soft and delicate, slightly damp already with your arousal. He noses along the waistband, breathing you in.

“Fuck, you smell so good,” he growls, teeth catching gently at the fabric. “Bet you taste even better.”

Your hands slide into his hair, tugging gently as he tongues over the lace, not pulling it down yet—just feeling you through it, his mouth wet and hungry over your hips and tummy.

You moan, your hips grinding against him again as he teases you, his one hand reaching down to drag his fingers over your clothed mound, the slick of your folds soaking through. He groans at the feeling before pulling back with a sharp exhale, looking up at you with wild eyes.

“On the bed. Hands and knees. Now.”

You blink, heart leaping, but you don’t hesitate. You scramble onto the mattress, crawling forward on shaky limbs until you’re positioned right where he wants you—on all fours, back arched, breath quick and needy.

Joel groans behind you at the sight, pulling his shirt over his head before dragging a hand up your spine, slow and heavy.

“Goddamn, baby. Look at you.”

Once he’s climbed onto the bed behind you, spreading your knees a little wider, he kneads at your ass with both hands, reverent and gentle. He settles his body lower, shifting on the bed until his face is level with your center. He drags his thumbs along the backs of your thighs, spreading them a little wider, groaning low when he sees how soaked the lace of your panties is—slick and clinging to your folds, a perfect puffy outline of everything he’s about to taste.

“Look at this,” he breathes, like it’s something sacred. “Fuckin’ drenched for me.”

You gasp when you feel his mouth again—not on your skin, but over the lace. A slow, deliberate kiss right to the center of you, hot and wet and perfectly placed. His lips part, tongue nudging against the fabric, teasing your clit through the sheer barrier.

It’s maddening.

He hums, the vibration making your hips twitch.

“Fuck, baby… I could spend all night like this. Kissin’ you through these pretty little panties. Smellin’ you. Feelin’ how worked up you are for me.” He nuzzles in deeper, breathing hot against you, licking a wide, slow stripe up the center of your heat—through the lace—then mouthing at it, sloppy and wet, soaking it even more.

You sob, spine arching, thighs quivering where they try to stay upright. Joel groans against you.

“Can’t believe you wore this just for me,” he mutters, dragging his tongue back down. “So fuckin’ soft. So sweet. Pussy’s beggin’ for it, ain’t she?”

You nod frantically, already breathless. “Yes—God, Joel, please—”

He chuckles darkly, biting gently at the fabric. “Please what, baby?”

“Take them off,” you gasp. “Please—need you.”

Joel pulls back, and you feel the shift in the air before you feel his hands—rough palms curling under the waistband of your panties, fingers brushing the skin of your hips as he peels the lace down slow. Agonizingly slow.

“Anything for my girl,” he says.

Joel’s broad, warm hands palm at your ass, kneading every inch as he situates himself behind you. He dips lower, mouth pressing open-mouthed kisses into the flesh of your left cheek, then the right, before his teeth sink down into the soft meat.

You yelp, hips jerking at the sharp nip.

“Prettiest noises too,” he murmurs into your skin, kissing the sensitive mark he left behind. His hands spread your cheeks, thumbs firm as they open you up for him—and when you peek over your shoulder, you find his eyes locked on your center, gaze dark and fixated, the pupils blown wide.

When he catches you looking, his eyes flick up to meet yours.

“She’s flirtin’ with me,” he says, grinning like the devil.

Your face burns, and you let your head drop into the pillows, hiding from the embarrassment that curls through your belly—hot and helpless, tangled with molten want.

Joel’s lips find your skin again, slower now, more reverent as he holds you open. His tongue drags between your cheeks, a deep, teasing stroke that makes your whole body tense. He kisses your slick folds with a wet, lewd sound that makes you gasp.

He hums, low and satisfied, then laps at your dripping arousal like it’s his first taste of water in weeks.

“And the prettiest pussy,” he rasps, lips brushing your folds. “You know that, darlin’?”

You moan, unable to answer, as his tongue pushes deeper. He flattens it and licks slow, wide strokes up your slit before circling your clit. His nose bumps your entrance, barely prodding, teasing you as his tongue works your clit in tight, filthy circles.

Your hips start moving without your permission, grinding into his face, seeking more.

Joel groans like you’re his favorite meal, tongue flattening again, letting you push into him.

“That’s it, baby,” he coos, eyes fluttering shut. “Ride my face.”

You mewl, your body bucking, wild and desperate, grinding into him like a goddamn bronco at the fair. Your walls flutter, your core pulsing with pressure as it builds, and builds, and builds.

Your thighs begin to shake.

Joel’s grip on you tightens as he takes over, tongue working your clit with expert flicks, fast and relentless.

The pressure in your belly snaps like a pulled cord, your spine arching as your orgasm crashes over you. You cry out, pushing yourself deeper into his mouth as you come, loud and wrecked, your fingers gripping the sheets.

Joel moans into you like he’s the one coming undone, tongue never faltering, coaxing every last wave of pleasure from your trembling body. Even as you start to come down, breath catching in your throat, he doesn’t stop. He just slows, letting you twitch and gasp and shake through it.

Then, you feel it. The warm, wet pressure of his tongue pushing up past your folds, over the skin between, then circling your tighter hole. You jump at the intrusion, a sharp gasp breaking from your lips—but the haze of your orgasm makes your body soft, receptive, already melting for him.

You whimper, hips twitching. Joel just groans again, closing his lips around your sensitive rim, suckling gently.

“F–fuck,” you whisper, unable to think, to move, to breathe.

He licks you there once more before planting slow, open-mouthed kisses up your spine, up to the small of your back, your shoulder blades, and finally your neck.

Then he’s curling over you, beard scratchy against your skin, his lips brushing your cheek.

“Turn around,” he whispers, voice low and rough, "Wanna see your face when I stuff you full a'me,"

You can’t help but giggle at the tickle of his scruff against your neck, still dazed, still boneless, but do as you’re told—twisting under him until you’re on your back, staring up at him.

Joel’s eyes, though dark with hunger, hold something else too. Something deep and aching. Something sweet.

And then, with that same steady tone he uses when talking patrol routes or fixing fences, he says, “Now. Here’s what’s gonna happen, sweetheart.”

His lips brush your jaw, then your ear.

“I’m gonna fill you up so deep, fuck you so full of my cock, my cum, me, that when you look in the mirror tomorrow, all you’re gonna see is how fuckin’ beautiful you are—‘cause you’ll still be wearin’ what I did to you tonight.”

Your chest heaves, the words settling deep in your stomach, curling there like heat and honey.

“Joel, I—” you start to say, only to gasp when you feel the hot, thick head of his cock nudge at your entrance.

“You feel this, honey?” he murmurs, pulling back to look down between you, voice rough and reverent. “Feel how bad he wants you? How bad I want you?”

You nod, gripping his forearms tight, your thighs falling open even wider for him.

He notches just the bulbous tip inside you and hisses at the wet heat.

“Jesus,” you breathe. “I feel it, Joel, I—I… pleasepleaseplease—”

“I know, angel, I know,” he pants, his thumb stroking your inner thigh, grounding you. “Now I wanna hear you say it.”

Your brain lags, thick with need, swimming in lust and love and the ache to just feel him.

“W-what?”

Joel watches you, eyes burning into yours.

“Say, ‘I’m pretty, Daddy.’”

Your whole body flushes, lips parted in disbelief, already whining at the way he just knows how to unravel you.

You groan wordlessly, bringing your hands to your face to hide. He is so on your shit list for this.

Joel chuckles darkly, pushing in another inch, and you whimper behind your hands.

“I’m waitin’, darlin'.”

You squirm under him, thighs trembling, skin turning hotter and hotter by the second. Every nerve in your body is screaming for him to move, to fill you, to do something.

But Joel waits. He always waits—until you give in, until he gets what he wants.

You lift your hands from your face slowly, eyes hazy, cheeks heated, lips parted. He’s watching you like a man possessed, one hand gripping your thigh, the other wrapped around his pulsing member with agonizing patience.

“M’pretty,” you whisper.

Joel’s brow arches, lips curling, “Not quite, sweetheart. You know how I want it.”

Your chest heaves. Your pussy clenches around just the tip of him, and even though you see the twitch in his jaw, he still waits.

So you gather your courage, heart pounding in your throat: “I’m pretty, Daddy.”

Joel’s smile breaks across his face, so bright and full of something so tender it nearly knocks the air from your lungs. It almost pulls you out of the heat of it, the haze of arousal, until your core clenches and he sinks into you just a little deeper.

You gasp, the stretch sharp and perfect.

He leans down slowly, hands braced in the pillows beside your head, lowering himself onto his forearms until his chest is flush with yours, until there’s no space left between your bodies.

He’s still not fully sheathed in you.

“Again.” 

“I… I’m pretty, Daddy,” you breathe, voice shaky as your pussy tries to adjust around the thick stretch of him.

“The prettiest,” he nods, and his lips mold to yours as he finally pushes all the way in. Your mouth falls open with a gasp, the sound swallowed by his tongue slipping between your lips, hot and hungry, as he bottoms out. His balls press firmly against the slick, wet crevice of your ass, and the mess between your thighs is obscene—your arousal dripping, sticky and hot, soaking the sheets beneath you.

Joel groans into your mouth, loud and wrecked like its been trapped in his chest for hours. His hands come up to cradle your head, keeping you right there beneath him as he begins to move, slow at first, pulling out a few inches before rolling back in, the full weight of him rocking your body with every deep thrust.

“Shit,” he mutters, voice low and reverent. “Pussy’s so damn tight.”

He pulls out slowly again, then drives back in hard, enough to jolt you up the bed, the sound of it lewd and perfect. His brow furrows, eyes fluttered shut as he focuses on the way your walls cling to him.

“Fuckkkk,” you mewl as he continues sawing into you, filling you and stretching you around him, buried to the hilt.

Joel grins, feral and hungry, sweat starting to bead at his brow.

“Sound even prettier when you take my cock.”

He sets a rhythm—deep, grinding thrusts that hit all the way up, filling you to the brim. His body covers yours, chest brushing your nipples, beard scratching your throat as he nips and kisses every inch he can reach.

“Been thinkin’ about this for so long, baby” he grits out between thrusts, hips slapping against yours. “The way you’re always hidin’ yourself from me, coverin’ up like you’re not the most beautiful fuckin’ thing I’ve ever seen.”

Your hands claw at his back, your legs wrapping around his waist, trying to pull him impossibly closer.

“I got you, honey,” Joel pants, head dropping to your neck as his arms wrap around you, pulling you into him even tighter. “And you’re gonna start seein’ it for yourself,” 

His pace picks up, rougher now, slamming into you with the kind of need that’s barely human.

“Gonna fuck you so full you forget every goddamn lie you ever told yourself in a mirror. Gonna make sure the only thing you remember is me—how you sounded, how you looked, when I wrecked this perfect little body.”

You’re gasping, whimpering, shaking beneath him, stars flashing behind your eyes as he pounds into you like he’s never going to stop.

“That’s it, baby. You take it,” he growls. “Take my cock so good, like the good girl you are for me. Fuckin’ made for me.”

“Joel—” you cry, voice breaking.

He lifts his head, eyes wild and tender all at once.

“Say it again, sweetheart. Tell Daddy how pretty you are.”

“I—I’m pretty,” you choke out. “I’m—fuck, I’m so pretty, Daddy—”

He loses it.

His hand slides under your thigh, hooking it up, opening you wider, deeper. His hips slam into you harder now, the rhythm filthy, brutal, perfect.

“I know, baby. I know. Look at you. My good girl, look so beautiful takin’ it so fuckin’ well.”

His other hand comes up to cradle the back of your neck, guiding you forward as he sits back—craning your head up so you can look down, see exactly where you’re joined. 

Your mind barely registers the softness of your belly, too focused on the thick stretch of him splitting you open, the obscene way you take every inch. You both watch as he drives into you, slick and deep and devastating, a ring of your last orgasm glistening around his cock. The pressure builds again, white-hot and unbearable.

And Joel knows—he feels it in the way you clench, the way your voice goes high and desperate, the way your hands grip him like you’ll fall apart if you let go.

“You gonna come for me again, sweet girl?” he pants, fucking you into the mattress. “Gonna let Daddy feel you pulse around his cock?”

“Yesyesyes—Joel, I—please—”

“That’s it,” he snarls, “give it to me.”

You shatter.

Your orgasm crashes through you with a scream as he releases your neck, letting you arch your back, trembling as you milk his cock with spasms so tight it makes Joel curse, a broken sound from deep in his chest.

And then he’s coming, hips stuttering, burying himself to the hilt as he spills inside you, filling you just like he promised. His voice breaks on your name as he grinds through it, hands gripping you enough to leave bruises, breathing ragged.

Neither of you move for a long moment. Just the sound of your breathing, tangled and uneven. His chest heaving against yours. Your legs shaking around his waist.

His hand slides up, cradles the side of your face. His thumb brushes gently beneath your eye, even though you’re not crying—but something about the touch makes you want to. Makes your throat ache.

“Hey,” he whispers, voice all gravel and reverence. “You okay?”

You nod, eyes still fluttered shut, heart pounding. “Y-yeah.”

Joel presses a soft kiss to your lips—barely a touch, like he’s afraid of ruining you more than he already has. Then another, and another, until you're giggling quietly beneath him, too dazed to hold it in.

He smiles, the kind of smile he doesn’t show anyone else. The kind that barely reaches his eyes, because he’s still looking at you like you’re a dream that might disappear if he blinks too hard.

“Look at me, baby.”

You do. You always do when he asks.

“You’re so beautiful,” Joel murmurs, voice low and rough with what sounds almost like awe. “You know that?”

The words hit you deeper than they should. You suck in a sharp breath, trying to even out your breathing, but your lungs don’t cooperate. Your eyes dart away, suddenly misting and too overwhelmed by the intensity in his gaze—by the sincerity written all over his face. It's too much. Too close. Too real.

But Joel’s hand is already there, catching your chin gently, tilting your face back toward his. His thumb grazes the edge of your jaw, soft and steady.

“No,” he says, barely more than a whisper. “Don’t do that. Not tonight. Not after everything you just gave me.”

Your chest stutters, emotion building so fast and so sharp you feel like you might spill over with it. Your fingers twitch against his back before finally settling, drifting across his damp skin in slow, absent circles. You take deep, calming breaths to settle yourself. Breathe in, breathe out.

He’s still inside you, still heavy over you, like neither of you are ready to let go just yet. Your limbs are tangled, the air still thick with sweat and heat and something quieter—something softer.

The room is quiet now, the kind of quiet that doesn’t feel empty. Just your shared breaths, slow and unsteady. The low thump of his heart where his chest presses to yours.

Joel shifts only slightly, just enough to press a kiss to your cheek. Then another to your jaw. Then your temple. The way he moves is unhurried, like he’s memorizing you. Like he’s kissing more than just skin—like he’s kissing the pieces of you he’s afraid to speak out loud.

It makes your chest ache.

“You’re being so sweet,” you whisper, throat tight almost like it’s a secret.

His lips hover at your lips, pressing gently but not fully,  “I don’t know how not to be,” he says softly. “Not with you.”

You close your eyes, pressing your face into the curve of his neck. His scent wraps around you—salt and skin and something warm and comforting that’s just him. The warmth blooms under your skin again, curling around your ribs, spreading down your spine.

“I love you.” he says, like it’s always been there, waiting. Like it’s not a confession so much as a truth that finally found its way out.

Your breath catches. Not from fear, not from panic, but from the sheer weight of it. The gravity. The sound of those words, spoken into the low light of the room while he's still buried inside you, holding you like you’re the most precious thing he’s ever touched.

Your eyes flutter open. You don’t move. Not yet.

Joel doesn’t either. But his voice dips low, softer now. A hint of uncertainty laces the edges. “Too much?”

You shake your head instantly, and your hands rise to cradle his face, looking up at him, fingertips brushing his temples like you need to anchor both of you in this moment.

“No,” you whisper, a tear finally escaping your eye. “No, not too much.”

Your fingers slide into his hair, tugging gently as you pull him down and press your lips to his. And when you pull back, your words are trembling but sure.

“I love you too.”

He exhales like he’s been holding that breath for years.Then he kisses you—slow and deep and home, his mouth moving against yours like he’s sealing the promise between your bodies.

taglist: @mrs-hardy-hunnam-butler-pascal, @anxiousscribbling

[thepencilnerd]

And Through It All

pairing: Dr. Michael “Robby” Robinavitch x F!Doctor!Reader summary: What starts with years of coffee, rooftop conversations, and quiet closeness unravels in the aftermath of a violent patient attack. As the hospital reels, so does Robby—until everything he’s buried comes to the surface. warnings: depiction of violence towards women genre: slow burn, pining, angst, fluff, you both suck at feelings word count: 3.6k a/n: yes this show still has me in a chokehold, this man is old enough to be my father, and protective/emotionally constipated Robby has consumed my every waking thought. also someone please sedate me because I don't know how I'm going to make it between episodes.

p.s. also check out my other Dr. Robby fics (Not Enough | Feels Like Trouble) if you're interested

Dr. Michael "Robby" Robinavitch always clocked in just after you.

It started as coincidence—years ago, when you were a new year-2 resident fumbling your way through charting and sleep deprivation. You’d arrive blurry-eyed at 5:58 AM, and two minutes later, he'd walk through the side door with two cups of coffee. One always ended up in your hand.

"This is my warm welcome to the pit, I’m not on coffee rounds," he’d grumbled the first time.

"Yet, my savior, here you are," you smiled, taking the cup. "Thanks, Dr. Robby."

He gave you a look, dry and fond. "Don’t get used to it."

Needless to say, you both did.

Now a senior resident, you’ve long since earned your stripes—but the morning coffees kept coming. So did the banter.

"That differential on bed 7 was a mess," Robby muttered one morning.

You sipped from your cup. "I was experimenting with chaos as a teaching strategy."

He stared, deadpan. "Rein it in, Nietzsche."

Late nights sometimes ended on the roof—shoulders nearly touching, silence stretched long between you. The rooftop was a liminal space: above the noise, between shifts, between you and him. You'd talk about patients. About medicine. About what the job takes and what it leaves behind.

One night you’d murmured, "Do you think we make a difference? Or are we just putting out fires that never stop?"

Robby didn’t answer right away. You could hear him breathing. "Some burning buildings are worth running into," he said eventually, voice low like he was admitting something he'd carried a long time.

It wasn’t romantic. It wasn’t not. You were close—so close it blurred. You never noticed how often he drifted into your orbit. But others did.

"So... you and Robinavitch—what’s the deal?" McKay would tease with a grin.

You furrowed your brow, genuinely confused. "What do you mean?"

She leaned on the nurses' station, unbothered. "C’mon, you really don’t see it? The way he looks at you? Brings you coffee every morning? Steps in before anyone else can when the ball rolls downhill?"

You waved a hand dismissively. "He just… cares. That’s his job."

McKay raised an eyebrow. "Sure. Except he doesn’t bring me coffee. Or look like he’s going to deck someone if they so much as raise their voice at me."

You opened your mouth to reply—but the sliding ER doors slammed open. A gurney rushed in, shouting echoing off the walls. Without thinking, you turned and ran toward the trauma bay.

"Saved by the bell," McKay called after you, but you were already gone.

But you didn’t see how his eyes tracked you in a crowded hallway, lingering just a second longer than necessary—guarded, but unmistakably drawn. How he'd appear at your side before anyone else when things turned sideways, voice calm but stance protective, like he was positioning himself between you and whatever chaos had just erupted. The way his jaw would tighten when residents spoke too casually around you, especially if their tone dipped into flirtation. The moments when his voice dropped low, quiet and edged with something softer, when asking if you’d made it home safe after shifts—always phrased like a passing question, but one he never failed to ask.

Earlier that week, Robby had been leaning against the counter in the break room with Dana and a few of the nurses clustered nearby. He was sipping bad coffee and flipping through a chart when Dana nudged him lightly with her elbow.

"You know," she started with a smirk. "You're getting pretty soft on that senior resident."

Robby didn’t look up, adjusting the frame of his glasses. "Yeah? What makes you say that?"

Princess glanced at Perlah, who grinned. The two exchanged a few rapid lines in Tagalog—something teasing and full of mischief. Robby raised an eyebrow.

"Just because I don’t speak Tagalog doesn’t mean I don’t know exactly what you’re saying," he said dryly, finally taking off his glasses and staring at the nurses judgementally.

Dana just about cackled. "Come on, Robby. You bring her coffee every morning, you hover when she’s in a tough case, you barely let interns breathe near her."

Perlah added, "And you always look at her like you’re trying not to."

Princess laughed. "Sir, that’s not just coffee—that’s courtship."

Robby rolled his eyes, biting back a smile. "You all have too much time on your hands."

"We're just saying," Dana said as she turned toward the door. "If you're gonna pine, at least be subtle."

He shook his head and muttered, "Back to work, people."

Then came the day everything cracked.

The patient had come in hostile—angry at the world and bleeding from a cut above his brow—muttering about how no one respected him, how women thought they were better than him. According to his chart, he had a record of violent outbursts and a chip on his shoulder the size of the hospital.

"You think you're smarter than me, don't you?" he sneered when you entered the bay, his arms crossed and chest puffed like a bull ready to pick a fight.

You kept your voice calm and professional. "Sir, I'm just here to update your chart and make sure you're getting what you need."

He laughed—sharp and bitter. "What I need is for people like you to stop looking at me like I'm some kind of freak. All you female doctors think you're so much better."

You froze for just a second. "I'm here to provide care. Nothing more."

"Don't lie to me!" he spat. "I see how you talk to the others. You think you're above me like some queen. But you're not. You're just another stupid cunt—"

"I'm going to get another physician to help with your case," you said quickly, trying to disengage, stepping back toward the call button.

"You walk away from me, and I swear—"

The second he was out of your peripheral vision, he lunged.

You cried out as his weight slammed into you, sending you hard to the ground. Everyone around you scattered, the staff protecting patients and patients protecting themselves.

Your elbow struck tile and pain bloomed across the crown of your skull. Your head snapped back like a slap bracelet. He loomed over you, shouting a string of vile insults, hands grabbing at whatever they could. Another set of fingers clamped around your throat. A scream pierced through the air shouting, "Robby!" Only after a set of doors burst open did you realize it was yours. 

Before you had time to process what was happening, he was there.

Robby knocked the patient off of you with brute force that stunned the entire hospital staff. Without help, Robby pinned him to the floor facefirst with practiced strength, knees braced, and jaw clenched. "Security!" his voice thundered.

Subduing the attacker by his wrists, Robby's knee dug into the man's back thigh without mercy, making him cry out in pain. "Collins! Dana!" he barked, voice sharp and commanding, reverberating through the trauma bay like a shockwave.

You were on the floor, dazed, breath knocked out of you. The two women rushed to your side in the blink of an eye. All around, med students and residents stood frozen, eyes wide.

They had never seen Robby like that.

No one had ever seen Robby like that.

The patient struggled once more before Robby leaned in and drove his knee harder into the attacker’s thigh, his grip unrelenting, voice low and deadly calm. "Stay down."

Security took over a moment later, but Robby didn’t move until he was sure it was safe. Then he stood, exhaled once, and turned to Dana and Collins.

"I'll be over as soon as I can, brief me later," he said. "I'll assess her myself."

Dana crouched beside you, one hand firm on your shoulder. "We've got you," she said gently, then glanced over her shoulder. "We'll be in 4."

Collins helped you up with care, guiding you slowly down the hall while Dana kept close at your side. You were still disoriented, a sharp ringing in your ears, but you caught a glimpse of Robby speaking to security. He didn’t even glance your way—focused, furious, deadly calm.

In Exam Room 4, Collins set you down on the cot, already checking your pupils with a penlight. "You hit your head?"

"Yeah," you managed, wincing as you moved. "Elbow too. Think I caught most of the floor on the way down."

Dana pressed a cold pack into your hand. "You’re in shock. Just breathe. We’ll handle this."

Collins nodded, gently examining your face and palpating around your ribs. "No obvious trauma, nothing broken. Expect some bruising around your throat the next few days. We should get you in for a head CT just to be safe. You took a hard hit."

"I'll get that booked ASAP," Dana said, giving your arm a reassuring squeeze before stepping out to handle the order. She paused at the doorway just long enough to exchange a glance with Collins—an unspoken check-in—before disappearing down the hall. 

Moments later, the door opened again. Robby stepped in, his expression unreadable but his eyes scanning you like he was cataloging every mark, every breath.

"I’ll take it from here," he said quietly to Collins.

They exchanged a glance, then wordlessly stepped out.

And then it was just you and him.

He crossed to your side, kneeling. His hands moved automatically, gently tilting your chin to check for swelling, eyes flicking to your pupils, then the scrape along your cheekbone. "Can you look up for me? Good. Follow my finger."

His voice was low and clinical, but his touch was careful—too careful.

"Headache? Nausea? Double vision?" he asked, bringing your hand into his and turning it over to assess for any injuries.

"No, just a little dizzy," you murmured.

He nodded, eyes narrowing slightly as he assessed your elbow, then the bruising along your neck. Then the questions stopped. His hands stilled.

He just looked at you—really looked at you—and the silence took hold.

His jaw flexed, like he was trying to say something but couldn't. Something had cracked open in him. Not just from what happened. From what it revealed.

And you could feel it—the weight in the room. Something unsaid between you, thick as blood and twice as loud.

You tried to fill the silence. "Dana said she'd put in a rush order for a head CT. Collins didn’t think anything was broken, just some bruising and—"

"Don’t," Robby said, almost too softly.

Your words faltered. You watched him—how his shoulders stayed tense, how his eyes didn’t move from yours, how still he was, like saying the wrong thing might make everything unravel.

"Robby," you said gently. "It's okay, I’m fine."

His jaw clenched, masseter muscles carving his sunken cheeks like a marble sculpture. "No, it's not. You’re not."

He said it so quietly, like he hated the truth of it. Getting up, he ruffled his hair and shook his head, voice still quiet but heavy. "Just... give me a second."

It wasn’t the injury that had shaken him—it was the realization. That in those terrifying few seconds, the worst thing he could imagine had nearly happened. And it wasn’t because you were his resident. Or his colleague.

It was because you were you.

You watched him pace as the silence dragged, your heart still pounding faintly in your ears. "Robby," you tried again, softer this time. "I'm okay, really..."

Still, he said nothing.

You gave a half-scoff, half-sigh, trying to shake off the tension. "I’ve had worse nights. Dana and Collins already cleared me—CT’s just precautionary. Nothing to worry about."

His movements stilled and eyes didn’t leave yours.

"What is it?" you asked, finally, your voice gentle but steady—like you already knew the answer but needed to hear it.

That cracked something in him. He looked away for a beat, jaw flexing again, his breath hitching as if he was holding back something too big to name. When he spoke, his voice was hoarse, raw—nothing like the sharp, composed attending everyone else knew.

"I didn’t know it would feel like that." 

He rubs the back of his neck, a self-soothing gesture in an effort to hold back whatever threatens to overflow. "Seeing you on the ground. Hearing you scream. For me. I’ve seen worse—God knows we all have. But nothing’s ever felt like that."

You froze.

His eyes met yours again, and the walls he always held in place—stone and steel and professionalism—weren’t there anymore. He looked at you like he wanted something he had never allowed himself to want. Like he was terrified of the feeling and already grieving it.

You felt the shift like gravity tilting. Like the air changed around you. It was as though the ground beneath you had tipped on its axis.

And suddenly, everything between you was different.

Not unspoken anymore, just unbearable to say aloud.

You felt yourself retreating into the space between what you wanted to feel and what you needed to believe. The part of you that ached wanted to lean forward, close the distance, tell him you felt it too—that terrible, awful, beautiful clarity.

But another part held you back. The part that lived in hospital hallways and stared at name badges and remembered what it meant to be professional. To be younger. A resident. His resident. The part that convinced you it could never be more.

You searched his face, trying to decode what this moment was, or if it had always been there, hiding in quiet coffees and rooftops and restrained glances. And still, he said nothing. Maybe he was waiting. Maybe he didn’t know how to cross that final line either.

So you just sat there in the quiet with him, suspended between the ache and the boundary—between what was true and what you were still too scared to say.

Eventually, you broke. Your voice came out barely above a whisper. "I'm sorry."

His brows furrowed instantly. "For what?"

You shook your head, feeling heat rise behind your eyes. "I don’t know. For not calling for help. For being alone in there. For... allowing this," you gestured between the two of you, "to happen." You sniffled. "For letting myself—"

"Don’t," he cut in sharply, but not unkindly. "Don’t you dare apologize for any of that, you did nothing wrong."

You blinked.

He leaned in slightly, voice steady now, like he needed you to hear every word. "You did everything right. You followed protocol. That man was unstable, and what happened wasn’t your fault."

Your lip trembled, but you didn’t speak.

His voice softened again. "And if this is about me... if you think you’ve done something wrong because of how I feel about you—how I care about you—don’t."

The silence that followed wasn’t empty. It was everything neither of you knew how to name. It sat heavy between you—thick with the ache of things buried too long and the sharp edges of everything that couldn't be said. You could feel it in your chest, pressing against your ribs and threatening to claw itself out, the unspoken confession of a man who just laid bare more than he meant to, and your own desperate need to pretend you didn’t hear it.

But you had. You’d heard it in his voice, in the way his hands had trembled just slightly when he touched your face, in the way his eyes wouldn’t leave yours even when they should’ve.

And now, as your chest rose and fell too quickly and your heart tried to find steady ground, all the small moments you’d buried—or maybe just refused to examine—rushed back like a crashing wave. His hand guiding yours during your very first incision, firm but not overbearing. The coffees every morning—always your usual, always on time. The time he’d found you on the stairwell after you lost your first patient, sobbing uncontrollably, and he didn’t try to fix it—he just sat there beside you until you could breathe again. The rooftop shifts when you couldn’t quiet your incessant thoughts, he somehow always found you there.

The silence that needed no explanation.

It had always been there. A quiet, steadfast presence. Not loud, not showy—but constant.

And now, undeniable.

And maybe you were still trying to find the line between what had always been there and what had just changed—but the silence was no longer uncertain. It was waiting.

You decided to break it.

"Can I kiss you?" you whispered, eyes searching his, breath catching somewhere in your throat.

Robby didn’t answer. Not with words.

He leaned in slowly, giving you every chance to pull away. His eyes searched yours, one last moment of hesitation flickering there—one last out, if you wanted it.

But you didn’t. Instead, you met him halfway.

His lips brushed yours, featherlight at first, reverent, like he still couldn’t believe he was allowed. His skin was warm against yours, soft in a way that surprised you. Your fingers found his jaw, the roughness of his beard brushing your palms as your hands slid down slowly, until they came to rest at the curve of his neck—right where his pulse thrummed hard beneath your fingertips.

The kiss deepened a breath later, quiet and aching, full of everything you’d both held back for far too long. His hands rose to cradle your face, holding you like something fragile, like if he wasn’t careful, you might break. His thumbs grazed the corners of your cheekbones, grounding and gentle, anchoring you both in the impossible tenderness of it.

There was nothing hurried about it. Just warmth and softness and the quiet admission of something real. Something that had lived in the silence between you for years.

When he finally pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours, exhaling shakily.

It wasn’t just a kiss. It was a confession.

He let out a breath, rough and shaky against your cheek. "You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that," he murmured. His voice cracked just slightly at the edges—like the truth cost something to say. And maybe it did.

You pulled back enough to see him clearly, your hands resting on his neck, feeling the steady, trembling pulse beneath your fingertips. He looked at you like the moment might vanish if he blinked.

For years, probably. You just hadn’t let yourself admit it. Not through the early mornings or the long nights. Not even when he stood too close, or when his voice turned soft just for you. Not even when your heart always found him in a crowd. But now, with his breath still warm against your lips and his hands still cradling your face like something precious, you couldn’t pretend anymore.

You’d been his and he'd been yours, long before either of you were brave enough to say it. You pulled back just enough to look at him—really look—and gently stroked his cheek, admiring his freckles like newly formed constellations in the sky. 

His eyes drop ever so slightly. "I'm old," he starts. "My work-life balance is absolute shit. You deserve someone who can give you what you need."

You stare at him, puzzled. For a second, you think he’s serious—like he's about to start building walls where they’d only just crumbled.

Then you catch the flicker in his expression. The barely-there smirk at the corner of his mouth. He’s only half-serious. Nervous. Teasing you.

You grin, easing the weight with a well-aimed jab. "At least you're not old enough to be my father. And it's not like my hours spent outside work ratio is any better."

He scoffs, ducking his head before shaking it all too lightheartedly.

"And for the record," you add, tapping his chest with a pointed index finger. "This is not some personification of daddy issues, I'll have you know that my father and I have a very healthy relationship."

"Well, that’s a relief," he murmurs, his smile softening as he encloses his fingers around your hand.

You sit back, playful. "I’ll keep you up to date on all the hottest trends the youths engage in. Like cat cafés and strawberry milk matcha lattes. And emotional vulnerability."

He groans, rubbing his face shyly. "God help me."

You grin, careful not to laugh too hard, and lean into him again. "Too late for that, Robinavitch. You’re stuck with me." 

"Yeah," he whispered. "I really hope I am."

Outside, the hospital buzzed as it always did—pages overhead, heels echoing on tile, lives beginning and ending behind curtain walls. But for a moment, the noise faded. The only sound was your breathing, his.

And the quiet hum of something long overdue settling into place.

You didn’t know what came next—how this would unfold outside the safety of Room 4, outside of bruises and adrenaline and low-lit confessions. But for now, with his forehead still resting gently against yours, and the weight of unspoken feelings finally aired between you, it didn’t matter.

You had time.

Until a round of cheers and high fives broke the stillness like a confetti cannon bursting into the air.

Both of you jerked apart, startled. Just outside the half-closed door to Room 4 stood a cluster of med students, nurses, residents, and paramedics—huddled together like a peanut gallery, barely containing their glee.

Fire. Fire beneath your cheeks igniting your face like the depths of hell and embarrassment. You buried it in Robby’s chest as he turned around slowly, one hand instinctively coming up to rest on your back as he started to laugh.

Langdon, of course, was the ringleader. He held up a neon orange post-it like a trophy, waving it proudly as the group chuckled and whooped behind him. In black Sharpie were the words:

UNPLANNED CONFESSION - Langdon & King—the bet circled and underlined. And below it: $7/week. Scribbled in tiny pen just beneath that, barely legible, was a date—six months ago.

He high-fived someone out of view next to him just before giving the two of you an exaggerated thumbs-up, grinning like he’d just won the Super Bowl. On cue, Mel stood up from beside him and gave you a quick wave and a shy smile, arms held tightly by her sides.

You groaned, still pressed into Robby's chest. "I swear to God, if they made a bracket—"

"Oh they definitely made a bracket," Robby said, laughing into your hair.

You peeked up at him, still mortified but grinning. "Are we seriously the plot twist in someone’s trauma bay soap opera?"

"Apparently," he muttered, pulling you closer. "Should we give them something to talk about for next week's episode?"

You scoffed, swatting lightly at his chest. "Take me out to dinner first, will you?"

Outside, the group began to scatter—some called back to rounds, others still giggling as they walked off. But you stayed there, tucked into Robby’s side, warmth blooming in your chest despite the chaos. Whatever came next, you’d figure it out. Together.

And if the hospital had front-row seats to your slow-burn becoming a soft landing? So be it.

[bulbasaursim]

Relieve your stress

When Sunghoon’s stress piles up, Jake finds solutions, strange as they may be.

Sunghoon x reader

Warnings: blow jobs, face fucking, voyeurism, muffling moans, is it gay to jack off your friend?(probably), hand jobs, hair pulling, inexperience, reader is Jake’s gf.

𖦹 𖦹 𖦹 𖦹 𖦹 𖦹 𖦹 𖦹 𖦹 𖦹 𖦹 𖦹 𖦹 𖦹 𖦹 𖦹 𖦹 𖦹 𖦹 𖦹 𖦹 𖦹 𖦹 𖦹 𖦹 𖦹

Jake, who has always been such a good friend, can be very selfless. Lately he’s noticed that Sunghoon’s been unusually stressed out. And, as the good friend that he is, he’s tried to help.

He’s tried ordering his favorite food, asking him if he wanted to talk, doing him favors, even taking on some of his responsibilities without being asked. But even when he finally agrees to watch the movie Sunghoon’s always wanted to watch together, he could still notice his leg bouncing in anxiety and his inability to focus.

It’s like he could feel the tension hanging onto every strand of Sunghoons being, and well, what are friends for if he wouldn’t do absolutely everything in his power to make sure that his Sunghoon felt better?

Jake is selfless, really, he even lets Sunghoon have sex with his own girlfriend.

When Sunghoon’s eyes roll to the back of his head, he knows he’s done the right thing, and that finally, maybe after this he’ll be back to his normal, calm, and passive state.

Sunghoon gasps, “oh my god.”

He has his wet cock in your mouth, leaning back against Jake’s chest as he sits on the side of the bed, your knees on the floor. Jake wraps an arm around Sunghoon’s shoulder.

“Yeah baby, just like that. Make him feel good,” Jake says in between all the wet noises. At his praise, you speed up your movements, taking Sunghoon’s perfect cock further down your throat. You look up to see if Sunghoon likes it, and honestly, you’ve never seen him less composed in your life. He’s panting irregularly, soft gasps and moans making their way in between. His thick eyebrows are slightly furrowed and his plump lips are slick and tinged with his own saliva. They only get more wet as he gets louder and he bites down on them, trying to muffle his moans, although they only turn more desperate. When he releases his lips, they’re stained red from his ministrations. Suddenly, he thrusts up, making you choke.

“Sorry, I’m sorry,” he says with a worried face, half mindedly putting a hand on your head in an innocent act of consolation. You cough a little and shake your head to signal that it’s okay.

“Let Sunghoon use you a little, okay baby?” Jake asks softly.

Sunghoon goes to take his hand off your head, but you put your hand over his to keep it there, looking up at him and reassuring him, “Show me how you want it.”

Sunghoon’s mouth drops slightly at the exchange. And out of nerves and, presumably, his lack of experience, he doesn’t bring himself to move.

“C’mon Sunghoon-ah,” Jake encourages, moving your head with his free hand back onto Sunghoon’s cock and moving it up and down.

You both hear a soft gasp come from Sunghoon from the sudden stimulation.

“C’mon,” Jake says again. And at that, Sunghoon puts his hand firmer on your head and starts bobbing it up and down like Jake had, while Jake strokes the parts of his member that you don’t have in your mouth.

Sunghoon’s cheeks are red, mouth hanging wide open and eyebrows twisted together like he’s in pain.

“Yess, yes, ohh,” he chants, moving your head more rapidly.

Without noticing, he starts thrusting into your mouth, getting louder and louder as he chases his high. Tears well up in your eyes, but you let Sunghoon use you. You’ve seen how stressed he’s been lately, and how worried Jake’s been of him. It’s the least you can do.

“Don’t-don’t stop,” Sunghoon mewls before letting out another loud moan. Scared that the other members will hear, Jake puts the hand around Sunghoon’s shoulders on his mouth, covering and muffling him. Sunghoon’s a mess; strands of his hair are draped over his face as his head falls backward onto Jake’s shoulder, his moans muffled but desperate. Your mouth never lets up, relaxing your throat and sucking on Sunghoon the best that you can as you give him what he needs.

He’s so close, and as he reaches his peak his grip absentmindedly tightens on your hair, pushing you all the way down on his cock before lifting your head up and slamming it all the way down again, as he lets out constant loud moans of pleasure.

You try to endure it as you choke on his hot cum, milking him entirely during his high.

When he finally comes down, you pull your head off of his cock and begin a fit of coughs.

“Oh no, shit i’m sorry,” he says tiredly, but undeniably filled with worry.

You laugh, “It’s okay, looks like you really needed it huh?”

Jake laughs behind Sunghoon and pats him on the back, “feeling better?”

With his eyes closed and head still on Jake’s shoulder, he nods, “thank you, both of you.”

And somehow, you and Jake both know that Sunghoon’s gonna be back to normal after this.

[miaoua3]

Stay The Night?

Pairing: CEO! Choi Seungcheol x f!reader

Genre: shamless smut (MDNI), piv sex, oral (both receiving), mentions of the ex (ew), hickeys and scratches, no protection (don’t be silly wrap the willy guys, don’t make me smack you all),marking in general, possessive choi seungcheol, smallest amount of spanking, squirting

Description: after spending the night with the CEO and (unsuccessfully) trying to sneak away, Choi Seungcheol asks you to stay the whole day and later on, even the night. Will you say yes?

Or

Basically part 2 to “Stay The Morning?”

Note: late present from me to you for 1000 followers on tumblr and 10k on tiktok🥰🫶 and also because i had the chance of smelling creed aventus aka the perfume cheol uses more regularly than the one i smelled that inspired part one of this and i got the urge to suck this mans dick so….bon appetit🥰

Warnings: yet again barely proofread lol im sorry i just hate doing that

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

“take that dress off and get back in here, i want cuddles…and maybe something more.”

and who were you to deny him anything?

well, you were you, and so naturally you cross your arms over your chest, tilting your head to the side as a playful smile spreads on your face, in a mockingly offended voice you said “i’m not taking anything off or letting you anywhere near me until you brush your teeth and feed me something. what, you thought the last night was completely free? you’re a businessman, you should know better honey.”

cheol chuckles deeply as he stretches, the blanket slowly sliding down his bare torso, giving you a delicious view of his chest, ribs becoming more prominent the further he reaches with his hands above his head.

groaning in satisfaction, he then throws the whole blanket off of him before sitting on the edge of the bed, softly messing with his bed hair. looking at you with the cutest smile, he then gets up.

in only his boxers. the muscles all over his body softly flexing. his thighs looking deliciously big as he takes the slow steps towards you.

sweet baby jesus.

the moment he’s standing right in front of you in his naked glory, you feel your throat go dry with need and desire.

well i’ll be damned, i already got my christmas present, and it’s not even december.

almost as if he can sense your thoughts, cheol chuckles deeply before quickly dipping his head lower so he can press a gentle kiss on your neck, his tongue lightly grazing your skin. goosebumps irrupt all over your skin at his action, a shaky breath leaving your mouth as he moves away a little, just enough for his face to end up right in front of your own.

staring at your eyes, his own a deep shade of brown, almost black with desire, cheol slowly exhales, almost like he’s trying to control himself.

stretching to his original height, he then takes ahold of your dress with his fingers, lightly tugging on it.

“you should go take a shower while i make breakfast, this dress must be uncomfortable to wear. i will have someone deliver you some clothes before you’re done in the bathroom.”

you raise an eyebrow, amusement playing in your eyebrows.

“or you could, y’know, give me one of your shirts. like all the normal guys do.”

something dark suddenly appears in his eyes, the little smile that has been tugging on the edges of his lips disappears at your words.

he takes another slow step towards you, so that there’s barely any space left between your warm bodies. looking down on you, he darkly says “i’m not like other men. you should know that until know, baby.”

you swallow hardly, but not out of fear or anything like that.

you swallow because that was so fucking sexy of him.

good lord, i need him again, as soon as possible.

he then slowly kisses your cheek, like a gentleman that he is, before he takes ahold of your hand and starts pulling you out of the bedroom.

“c’mon, i’ll show you where the bathroom is and how everything works. any special wishes for breakfast? anything you prefer or not? allergies? would you like coffee or tea maybe?”

you chuckle at his questions, quickly stopping him to gently kiss his cheek before looking at him with your doe eyes.

“coffee is fine, i’m not that big on breakfast but you have spent all of my energy last night, so maybe something light but filling would be good. and i’m not allergic to anything, not that i know at least. now, before you start to terrorise the kitchen, brush your teeth, romeo.”

you push him through the entrance of the bathroom door, his skin soft and gentle to the touch as you do so.

cheol just chuckles before he starts rummaging through his drawers, finally finding you a spare toothbrush so you both can get rid of the morning breath.

as you stand side by side, dutifully brushing your teeth, you both sneak glances of each other in the mirror.

you eyes focus on his bare chest and how they move with every little movement, how his soft stomach jiggles a bit too, as well as the dark happy trail on his lower stomach. the way his biceps pops put by him holding his arms so high is just as delicious as the rest of him.

his own eyes are trained on your face, how beautiful it looks with barely any makeup from last night left. but also because he’s only a man after all, he lets his eyes also travel down your body, lingering on how your boobs jiggle as you continue brushing your teeth.

what can he say, he’s a weak man.

after you’re done, you kick him out of the bathroom in order to take a quick shower, almost letting a “wanna join me?” slip out of your mouth, but he leaves before you can do as much.

the warm water feels amazing on your aching muscles, relaxing you so much so that you almost fall asleep while standing.

after a few minutes, you finish up in the shower, looking around for the clothes that he promised you, but to no avail.

just as you open the door to yell for help, you notice a bag waiting for you on the doorstep.

opening it, your jaw drops at what you find inside.

white lingerie. with a white slip on and a white silky robe, accompanied by white house slippers.

this sneaky little-

“so, is this what the big-shot and ceo of the prestigious company, choi seungcheol, dreams at night? what he lusts for and what he desires?”, you say as you walk in the kitchen, crossing your arms over your chest, raising an eyebrow at him as you wait for an answer, signaling to your outfit with your head.

cheol just smiles innocently, his eyes just two lines from how wide he’s smiling.

“no, this is what a simple man who you have wrapped around your finger, cheol, dreams of.”

you roll your eyes with a smile at the smoothness of his answer, failing to add anything else to his answer.

he then pulls out a chair and points with his hand for you to sit on it. not used to this type of treatment from men, you almost giggle as you sit down.

he sits right beside you, taking your plate in his hand and slowly filling it with all the food that he made (which is way too much amount of food for two people, or so you think until you see him devour everything like he hasn’t eaten in months.)

you chat lightly as you eat, laughing at some of his very badly made jokes-is the laugh out of pity or because he’s just so cute? you will never tell know.

“so, any plans for today?”, he suddenly asks you.

you look up, pondering for a moment if you had anything planned, but nothings comes to mind.

“no, not really. maybe clean my apartment a bit? haven’t done that in a minute, understandably so.”, you chuckle emotionlessly, thinking about how your heartbreak prevented you from functioning normally.

cheol just gives you a weird look, not understanding why you would say that.

it is in that moment that you realise that he doesn’t know anything that has happened with your ex three weeks ago.

you reluctantly sigh, looking him directly in the eyes. “not to be party pooper, but i actually broke with my ex just a few weeks ago, because i found him cheating on me. with his coworker. in my bed. in my apartment. in my silk sheets. that i paid for. with my money.”

for a second there’s no sound coming from either of you, when you suddenly starts giggling a bit, wiping away a little imaginary tear, you continue “you could say that i’m a bit bitter-“, and then you take a look at him.

cheol just looks at you, or rather somewhere past you, his eyes murderous, hand gripping his fork so tightly it could snap in two any second.

your breath catches in your throat, an unfamiliar emotion overcoming you.

finally looking you directly in the eyes, still with the same look in them, he asks darkly “what’s his name?”

you gulp, looking away as you quietly say “it’s not important, I don’t want to think about it anymore.”

sensing that your mood has changed for the worse, cheol breathes in deeply and then out as a way to calm himself down before taking your hand in his, rubbing his thumb over the back of it as he quietly says “for the record, he doesn’t realise just what hell of a woman he lost. and that his loss is somebody else’s gain, so. he’s stupid, who in their right mind would cheat on you?”.

your eyes move to look at him, his eyebrows scrunched a bit as if this is hurting himself.

you can’t remember the last time that a man went out of his way to make you feel so seen and appreciated. it makes your heart do this weird thing. like it stops beating for a moment but also like it sped up by a big notch.

you smile gently at him before you lean towards him and, for the first time since you two woke up, gently kiss his lips for a moment.

pulling away, you just respond “let’s finish eating before it cools off.”

seungcheol, as if in a daze from your kiss, just nods a bit, a dopey smile taking up half of his face.

you quickly finish up, helping him put the dishes into the washer before he leads you to the humongous leather couch that is right in front of even more humongous tv.

he sits down first, right in the middle of it before he pulls you down. seemingly he had a vision for everything that is happening right now, because before you can even get comfortable, he pulls your legs over his thighs, letting a hand rest on the bare thigh, massaging it lightly as he wraps his other arm around your shoulders, your head falling on his shoulder as he does.

well, okay then you think to yourself as you wrap your own arm around his bare stomach, rubbing his hip gently.

he turns on the tv, more so as a background noise, before he starts asking you all sorts of questions- what your hobbies are, who the two friends from last night were, where you are from as in like the city, you favourite colour and many other questions, the weirdest one being “have you ever thought how the dogs think? like are they barking in their mind, or is it maybe english or korean? or whatever the language of the country they’re in is? what about deaf dogs?”

you spend hours talking and laughing, for the most part you. he tells you the stories of his childhood, stories of his brother and how he accidentally smacked him with a baseball bat on the hand which inevitably ended up being broken, how he fell from the tree, stories about his friends who he met in college and still talks to on the daily, calling them “his kids”, all while he traces the hickeys and bite marks on your neck and shoulders.

you two talk until your mouth gets dry and he fetches you a glass of water for it.

deciding that he should take a shower, he says that you can put whatever you want on the tv and watch it while he does so, saying he won’t take long before he disappears behind the door.

you turn something random on, a documentary you think??? when you suddenly realise that you haven’t been on your phone the entire time, just like you haven’t heard from your friends since the last night.

looking around for it, you find it on the little table in front of the large window, the one you stood in front of as seungcheol kissed you for the first time.

you turn it on to see hundreds of messages and missed calls from jihyo and sana.

the last message from your group chat read “that’s it, if she doesn’t answer in the next 10 minutes, i’m calling the police.”

the message was sent 7 minutes ago.

lucky.

you sheepishly reply with an “heyyy guys haha what’s up”

you immediately get spammed with the messages, variating from “WHERE THE HELL HAVE YOU BEEN” to “WAS THE DICK GOOD”.

i think it’s pretty clear which one of them sent which message.

you respond that you are still at cheol’s to jihyo’s message and that you probably will be home later tonight and that you can meet up then for the detailed story time of your escapades, and you respond with a photo of your collarbones and neck full of hickeys to sana’s message, sending a little wink emoji.

you can see that both of them are losing their minds, writing messages all in cap locks. just as you were about to read them all, you hear the door of the bathroom unlock.

you write a quick “gotta go, the man of the hour is back from his shower, gotta go and make him sweaty again ;)” before turning your phone off and focusing on him.

the sight makes you want get down on your knees and send a quick thank-you prayer to the god.

because there stood cheol, in all his naked and wet glory, black wet hair messily falling on his forehead.

and he only had a towel wrapped around his hips.

you unconsciously bite your lip as you watch him, sitting up straight as you see him walk towards you.

he finally stops right in front of you, his hips on the same level as your face. you go from looking at his happy trail to slowly raising your eyes to look him the eyes, his bulky form towering over you.

his dark eyes are trained on your face, his eyes as dark as midnight as he watches your teeth bite your lips in need.

his hand comes to your face, before his thumb slowly pulls on your bottom lip, releasing it from your teeth.

you don’t put any effort in closing your lips, letting them stay agape.

the same thumb starts to rub your lip, lightly dipping inside your mouth, your tongue poking it unconsciously.

suddenly, in the deepest voice ever, he says two words that make you completely lose all your self control.

“pretty girl.”

you grab his arm and pull him down towards you. he gasps in shock as he starts falling down. luckily, he has fast reflexes, so he quickly grabs the backrest of the couch, so he’s bent over you.

you loop your arms around his neck and pull him closer so you can kiss him.

cheol groans the moment he feels your lips on his, tongue prodding, asking for entrance to his own mouth. he obviously grants it, making your tongues meet in a battle for dominance.

you try pulling him even closer, making him kneel with one knee between your own legs. it is a wonder that the towel still stayed on up until this point. adamant on changing that, you use one hand to harshly pull it away, making his half hard on spring free.

like a woman possessed, you quickly use your hold on his neck to pull him to the side, making him fall on the couch.

just as he adjusts so he’s sitting comfortably on it, you slowly stand up in front of him.

eyes trained on you, unblinking, cheol’s mouth fall open when he sees you taking off the white robe, proceeding to take the white slip off too.

cheol never believed in heaven, but as you stood in front of him, in white matching lacy lingerie, with all of his marks on your body from last night, looking like an angel, he truly started to believe that this is the closest to the heaven that he will get.

reaching with his hands towards you, so he can pull you on his lap, you lightly redirect them, holding them in your own.

you are apparently set on giving this man a heart attack at ripe age of 29, because you then proceed to drop to your knees.

right in front of him, between his legs.

with his hard dick right in front of your face.

his dark eyes, pupils blown with desire, trace every movement you make.

you first adjust your hair a bit, so it’s not getting in your way, looking at him with what he can only describe as hunger of a lioness.

keeping the eye contact, you slowly lick the whole palm of your hand, making sure that it’s extra wet with saliva.

cheol gulps.

the moment that that very same hand wraps around his dick, he’s throwing his head back, a loud gasp escaping him at how sensitive it feels. his back comes off the couch, hand looking for anything to grasp on, only finding his towel instead.

you pump him a few times, looking at him, focused solely on his face, to see how he’s reacting to your touch-to you.

his eyes flutter shut, a groan rumbling somewhere from the depths of his chest, his torso expanding with every deep breath he has to take in order to control himself and not cum on your face this very second.

god, that last thought didn’t help him, at all.

you pump his dick some more, your hand not even being able to wrap itself around his dick fully, making you shiver at the thought of having the very same dick inside of you later.

deciding that enough is enough, you slowly lower your face when he’s not paying attention, until your lips wrap themselves around the head of his cock.

cheol moans the second he feels your wet mouth on him.

his eyes barely open themselves, he basically forces himself to keep them open, watching as you slowly push your head down more and more, until half of his dick is inside your mouth, hitting the back of your throat, making you pull back up.

you repeat the motion a few times just as slowly as you did the first time, enjoying his moans and groans every time the head of his dick hits the back of your throat.

deciding that you want him to be a complete mess, you start bobbing your head faster, hand wrapping itself around the base that your mouth can reach.

god, do you love the fact that his dick is so big you can’t even suck it fully.

something you certainly couldn’t say about your ex.

your mouth engulfs him, the wetness of it making him see stars. and when your tongue does that little things where it first wraps around the head, before sliding along his slit, right where he’s the most sensitive?

cheol sends a prayer up in hopes that he won’t cum right this second.

a strand of hair falls into your face, making you scrunch your face in mild annoyance.

seungcheol jumping to opportunity, quickly gathers all of your hair in his hand, making a ponytail out of it.

and as you go on, bobbing your head up and down his dick, saliva sliding down til it reaches his balls. cheol uses his grip on your hair to control your movements, moving your head in fast pace. you choke repeatedly as his dick hits the back of your throat, and seungcheol seems to like that very much, letting out a groan every time he feels your throat close around the tip of his dick.

as tears stream down your face, you feel yourself being so wet, you fear you might start dripping all over his carpet.

god, you truly hope you aren’t, because that is one dry cleaners you cannot afford.

you watch his beautiful face, head thrown back, long and black eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks, lips red from him biting on them to suppress his moans.

he’s so beautiful, if you could, you would stay right here, between his legs, just so you can watch his face in pleasure.

“fuck, baby, that mouth. you’re gonna make me cum, ah, shit. look so pretty on your knees for me, sucking on this cock.”, he raps out, every few words interrupted either by a moan or a groan.

you feel him move your head even faster, as well as his hips buckling upwards, a clear sign that he’s close.

“shit, gonna cum in that mouth of yours, ah fuck, baby- you gotta- gotta stop if you don’t want to swallow it- i- ah-.” he continues to blab, but you don’t pay him any mind, focusing on sucking the head every time he moves your head upwards, and tracing the little vein with your tongue every time he pushes it back downwards.

his moans get louder, his hold on your hair gets tighter, hips stuttering as he’s right there, on the brink of cumming.

you remove your mouth completely away from his dick, immediately replacing it with your hand. looking him directly in the eyes, you say the words that finally push him over the edge.

“cum for me baby, all over my face.”

and that does it for him, spurts of pearly white cum falling on your cheeks, nose and lips. the last few drops you catch with your mouth, wrapping your lips around his sensitive head again in favour of swallowing every last drop of his cum, making sure that nothing is wasted and that he’s as clean as possible.

he moans loudly at your action, pulling your head away because he can’t endure the delicious torture.

you both pant, his chest moving up and down fast, beads of sweat gathered around the crown of his head.

you take the opportunity to finally take a deep breath in, feeling a little bit lightheaded due to being deprived of real oxygen for this long.

cheol slowly opens his mouth, looking at the artwork that is your beautiful face decorated with his cum. with a thumb, he swipes a bit of it away, holding it in front of your mouth as an offer.

you don’t hesitate a second before you wrap your lips around his finger, sucking on it like it’s the most delicious thing you have ever tasted.

cheol groans at the sight, quickly using the same hand to wrap it around the back of your neck, pulling you upwards so that he can kiss you. his tongue invades your mouth, massaging your own in such an erotic way it makes you squeeze your thighs together.

with the other hand, he reaches for your thigh, wrapping around the back of it and pulling on it. you gasp at the sheer strength of this man, because he lifts you up from the floor solely by the hold he has on your leg. for a second, you fly through the air, until your knee finds the couch.

you quickly straddle him, careless sitting down on his lap, his dick rubbing against the lacy material of your panties. he gasps at the sensation, still sensitive from the best head he has ever gotten from a woman.

in order to save his dignity, he wraps his arm around your waist, pulling you against him so your hips lift a bit from his dick, his lips still eagerly kissing, biting and sucking on your lips as he does so.

your hands find their home on his cheeks, holding his handsome face as you kiss him back just as enthusiastically.

at some point, after a few minutes, your lips naturally separate, but they stay close. panting in each others mouth, you use your hold on his cheeks to lightly brush your thumbs against them in comfort.

he takes a deep breath before he says in a hoarse voice “fuck baby, even though you look like an angel, that mouth of yours is so devilish.”

a giggle escapes you, leaving a quick peck on the corner of his lips. “i’ll take that as a compliment.”

he takes the towel to wipe the remains of his cum off your face before he directs your head so it’s resting on his shoulder, leaving a fleeting kiss on your neck.

“gimme a few minutes baby, i will eat you out then so good, you’re gonna cry.”

and your only response is the shiver that runs down your spine.

for a few moments you just sit there on his lap, playing with his hair while his hands rub your back, lips leaving kisses every few seconds across your shoulders and neck.

you breathe in the smell of his shower gel and his natural smell, mixing in a way that it makes your eyes flutter shut on their own.

that’s another thing, you never found anyone to smell so good like you find cheol does. something about his natural smell is just so…him, and manly, and makes you feel safe and protected.

you wish you could stay here forever.

suddenly cheol’s kisses on your neck start to linger a bit longer, a bit wetter, and his hands start to stray a little bit more on your ass than usual.

you shift slightly just to get more comfortable as your legs started cramping, when you feel his half hard on. your mouth fall open upon realising that it’s showtime.

ever so slowly, you move your hips back, almost dragging your clothed pussy over his bare dick, making him inhale deeply at your action.

he lightly nibbles on the shell of your ear, before whispering directly against it “you little devil.”

you turn your head towards him, looking all innocent and coy as you say “but i thought i was an angel according to your previous statement?”

cheol narrows his eyes, before taking your thighs in his hand and picking you up slightly so he can basically slam you against the couch.

you gasp at the action, adrenaline filling your veins more so than the blood does.

he hovers over you, his hands caging you as he leans on them right beside your head.

you look at each other for a second, waiting to see who will play the first move, when suddenly, cheol rolls his hips right into your own, his dick catching on the lace of your panties.

you gasp at the action, nails immediately imbedding themselves into his back, eyes rolling so far back in your head you can see your thoughts.

“bad, bad girl. trying to play all innocent…”, he pauses before he leans even more in, so his lips are right against your ear again “…when just a few minutes ago you were choking on my dick, so prettily and desperately.”

unconsciously you inhale deeply, making him smirk a bit.

“what, don’t tell me you’re still thinking about it? still not satisfied? cumming down your throat wasn’t enough for you?”, and the condescending voice, the smirk, the satisfaction in his voice.

it pissed you off a bit.

harshly grabbing the back of his head, your nails digging into his scalp as you pull him in a harsh kiss, your other hand purposefully dragging your nails down his back, which makes him shiver.

you break the kiss off just as harshly before you answer to his question “no, i’m still not satisfied, so you better get to it, before i found somebody who is willing to do it.”

his eyes turn black with jealousy, fire lighting up in them. within milliseconds, he’s grabbing your neck and kissing you just as harshly as you kissed him, teeth biting harshly on your lips.

you moan as he continues to kiss you, almost like he wants to prove a point to you. teeth clashing, hands clawing at each other, his hand around your neck squeezing tighter and tighter, making you wrap your legs around his hips tighter and pull him into yourself as he does so.

he pulls away aggressively, and his next words sounding like a fact, like it’s written in the stars, linger in the air for a second.

“even if you wanted to, you could never find somebody who would fuck you as good as i do.”

eyes laser focused on each other, you just utter two words as a response.

“prove it.”

getting right to it, his mouth attaches itself on your neck, sucking even more hickeys to the pre-existing ones from last night. while his mouth is busy with marking your skin, his hand wiggles under your back, fishing for the bra clasp. once he finds it, he quickly undoes it, pulling it down your arms before throwing it somewhere over his shoulder with no care whatsoever, even when it sounds like it crashed into what suspiciously sounds like the vase he got from one of his business partners.

choosing not to care, he lets his lips travel from your neck, to your collarbones, over the navel of your breast, straying to one side so he can suck on one of your tits, softly biting your nipple that causes you to moan loudly and grasp his hair in your hands.

he does it for a few more seconds, letting his hand massage the tit that isn’t getting the same attention as the one in his mouth, before resumes kissing a trail down your body.

once he gets down to you hips, he looks up to you over his short bangs that are getting in his eyes. the said eyes look at you like a hawk, preying on you, excited to see your anticipation and shiny eyes looking back at him.

he just lets his lips and nose travel of the skin of your lower belly, making it flex from the tickling sensation. once they reach your left hip, he lets his lips envelope the skin there and suck on it, a hickey forming on its place.

letting his lips pop, he looks up at you as he lets his head move even lower, until his lips are hovering right over the lacy panties you are wearing.

you hold your breath as you wait to see what he next move will be.

god, you hope to god that he will just-

just as the thought crossed your mind, cheol puts his opened mouth over your clothed pussy, prodding at the covered slit with his tongue, paying the special attention to your clit. the fabric that is still on you makes his action all that more stimulating, making you throw your head back as you moan.

hands fly to his still wet hair, pulling on it harshly, maybe in hopes that you can pull him in deeper, make his tongue finally enter your hole.

almost as if he can read your mind, he pushes your underwear to the side with the two of his fingers. the moment he sees your pussy, glistening with wetness, his lips are on you, parting your lips with his tongue, entering your pussy. he swirls his tongue around the entrance, gathering all your precum before swallowing it all, moaning at the taste.

quickly he starts pulling on your underwear, mumbling something along the lines off “off, off, i need these off now.”, before he throws them over his shoulder too.

placing your legs so they are resting on his shoulders, he immediately prods with one of his fingers at your whole, letting your walls swallow it whole. his lips wrap themselves around your clit, sucking on it just the right way.

you close your eyes in pleasure, your desires finally being fulfilled just like you dreamed of them to be.

not only was choi seungcheol a walking dream, sex appeal on legs.

he was also between your legs.

he continues to fuck his finger in you, twisting his hand when he’s pushing it in and un-twisting it when pulling out.

after a minute or so, he pulls the finger completely out in favour of pushing two back in. you squeeze your thighs around his head as he does so, moaning his name.

“cheol…”

choosing to ignore you, he just speeds up his movements, tongue still playing with your clit.

you taste so good on his tongue, it makes cheol close his eyes and groan every time he swallows.

the longer he eats you out, the more careless and messy he gets. he lets saliva cover your whole pussy, almost dripping on his leather couch. he lets his fingers push in and out of you at merciless speed, the fingertips grazing your sweet spot every time he tries to reach deeper inside of your pussy.

it all makes you feel lightheaded, moaning mess, your back arch, so much so that your whole upper body almost lifts off the couch.

“ah! cheol, more, ple-please!”

cheol never one to deny his lady anything, just speeds up his motion, sucking on your clit while his tongue pries at your entrance along with his fingers.

just as you feel yourself on the brink of cumming, your moans getting so loud they ring inside of cheol’s ears, he pulls completely away, slowly getting on his knees to admire the mess that he made of you.

tears streaming down your cheeks, your hair making it look like you have a halo around your head.

your chest heave up and down as you try to regain some of the air, nipples rock hard under his gaze.

your skin so prettily lathered with the hickeys, marking what’s his.

cheol just then realises that he started calling you his inside his head, no other reason other than the fact that you earlier mentioned the possibility of going to other men to get what you want.

he will be damned before he lets that happen.

and then your pussy. god, it looks so pretty, glistening under the light, his spit mixed with your juices, smeared all around your lips and thighs.

cheol was never that interested in art that much, but he’s pretty sure that this-you, is what a masterpiece is supposed to look like.

he suddenly realises that you have been calling his name the entire time, whining and almost crying in frustration-in need.

“cheollie please just-just fuck me already.”, you say as you pull on him with the hold of your legs that have wrapped themselves around his hips.

he immediately leans down over you, caging you with his arms around your head, his lips immediately finding yours in a hungry kiss.

just as his hand reaches down to take his dick so he can finally push it inside your gaping pussy, he suddenly remembers.

fuck, he forgot the condom.

humming in your mouth, he mumbles against them “wait baby, I forgot the condom, let me just get it from the-“, but he feels your legs just tighten around his waist, arms wrapping themselves around his neck, preventing him from getting up.

you mumble through a kiss “if you get up now, i will cry and make myself cum, all without you.”

well, alright then.

cheol just groans at the thought of having his dick in your pussy, with no condom to get in the way of truly feeling the wetness of your pussy.

little to excitedly, he takes his dick in his hand, and for a second just teases your folds with his tip, sliding it up and down, catching on your clit as he pulls it down.

as you start whining softly in desperation, telling him “hurry up” in a soft voice, cheol decides that it’s time.

and then he’s pushing in.

you both gasp at the feeling- you at the mere girth of his cock, and he because of how wet it feels to have his dick in your pussy.

he pushes a bit more in, but once he feels resistance due to you clamping on him almost painfully, he just kisses your cheeks in comfort, mumbling against them “relax baby or i won’t be able to give you all of my cock.”

you breathe in and out in hopes that it will help you relax, and it does, with help of his kisses and his hand rubbing your waist in comfort.

after a minute or so, you nod as a way to tell him that it’s okay for him to move. he continues to pepper little kisses on your face as he pushes his dick more in, groaning every so often at the feeling of your walls squeezing around him.

when he finally bottoms out, cheol lets a big breath out, relieved that he didn’t cum, which he felt multiple times almost happen due to your tight little pussy milking him so much.

i can’t, not yet, she has to cum first before i do.

with that thought, he starts to slowly rock his hips, making a fluid motion out of it. he feels his tip grazing your sweet spot, which makes you gasp and moan lightly, as well as rocking your hips into his a little bit.

you turn your face towards him, your eyes telling him clearly what you want from him.

he immediately kisses you, tongues dancing a beautiful and harmonious dance for a second and then pulling away just to do the same not even a second later.

he continues with the slow pace, rolling hips so professionally it makes you second-guess his profession.

but once you breathlessly whisper “more” against his lips, he’s doubling his pace, his hips slapping against the back of your thighs.

you stop kissing him in favour of moaning directly in his face, which seungcheol seems to enjoy just as much as your kisses.

“feels good, baby? yeah? fuck, you moan so prettily, all for me, only for me, hm? nobody fucks you as good as i do right? the same way nobody begs for my dick as beautifully as you do.”

you try to focus on his words and to answer him, you truly do, but his cock filling your pussy, sliding in and out of you, and hitting your spot repeatedly makes you forget all and every thought, only being able to respond “yes yes yes” over and over.

he groans as your pussy pulses around him, making him quicken his pace even more, his hips and balls slapping almost violently against your skin.

the words keep leaving from his mouth, but you’re just too focused on enjoy him fucking you like nobody has ever before, that you don’t even answer a question he asked you.

seungcheol doesn’t like that.

he stops his hips from moving, and as you open your mouth to complain, he quickly leaves a strong spank on the side of your ass, a gasp leaving your mouth instead.

“i said- is this my pussy, pretty girl? nobody can fuck you the way i do, hm?”

his eyes as black as obsidian, looking for an answer in your tear filled ones.

you nod your head, moaning as you try to rock your hips into his.

cheol doesn’t like that either.

he spanks you one more time, just as hard, a little scream escapes you as he does. “use your words baby, or i won’t make you cum.”

you nod as you respond “yes, yes, only you can, nobody ever fucked me so good as you.”

he kisses you quickly, tongue teasing your lips for a second before pulling away to ask “who does this pussy belong to baby? remind me again.”, he finishes with another spank to your cheek.

you moan as you desperately respond “yours, belongs to you, only you, p-please stop teasing me-“.

before you can continue, he starts fucking you again, hips slamming into you that you feel yourself move upwards on the couch from the mere force.

you scream as he rocks his hips, tears freely falling from your eyes now. you don’t even realise just how tight your nails have imbedded themselves into his back, pretty sure that you are drawing blood from them.

not that cheol seems to mind, he just groans at every little thing you give him, groaning “yes baby, just like that” in your ear.

still, deciding to spare him an ER visit, you switch to pulling on his hair instead.

which seems to be an even better thing, because he in return moans so loudly, eyes scrunched up in pleasure as you do so.

“fuck baby, don’t do that or i’ll cum right now right inside you.”

the thought makes you bite your lips, as well as clam your walls even tighter around him.

he notices this, causing a little smirk to play on the edge of his lips. “oh? would my pretty girl like that? for me to cum inside you? to cream your walls? hm?”

he looks carefully for your reaction, hoping that he isn’t crossing any lines with what he’s saying. but as you nod your head quickly, desperately saying “please! please please please please cum, cum inside of me-“, he just groans, the thought of cumming inside you, painting your walls white while your pussy takes in every last drop makes him almost cum right there and there.

seeing that he can’t go on for much longer, he lets his fingers find your clit, rubbing it just as fast as he’s fucking you, putting on just the littlest of pressure on it, knowing that it’s enough to make you finish.

your scream echoes through the room, hands pulling on his soft but wet hair like a maniac, feeling your end nearing at rapid pace.

“i need you to cum for me princess, now, fuck, cream on it baby, lemme feel you-“

and it’s done, with a cry, you throw your head back, your thighs squeeze his hips and you cum. you cum so hard that you squirt a little all over his thighs, making a mess out of him.

he, seemingly also almost there, just needs a little bit of your help, mainly just you saying “cum, please, cum inside me, need it so bad cheollie-“, he thrusts once, twice before he’s cumming inside of you, moaning in your face as he does so.

rocking his hips for a bit, to make sure that every last drop of his cum is fucked deeply inside of your pussy, he then drops his whole dead body onto your own, his legs shaking from how hard his orgasm hit him.

although he is a bit heavy, you don’t complain at all, instead hugging him even closer, welcoming his bulky body to squish you. it’s almost like it makes you feel grounded, as well as helping you clear up your mind, haziness due to your own finish clearing up the longer he lays there on you.

you two just breathe heavily for a minute, trying to regain your breaths as you rub his back, while his lips softly kiss your neck and cheeks.

he turns your face to his own so that he can kiss you gently, rubbing his thumb on your cheek in comfort.

he breaks the kiss off, his boba eyes looking at you as he gently asks “are you okay baby?”

you just nod your head with a tired smile.

“i didn’t overdo it, right? everything was okay? wasn’t too much?”

your smile spreads a big wider as you whisper “it was perfect…you are perfect.”

he smiles a little before softly pecking your lips, stopping only at one kiss in favour of whispering back “you are the one that’s perfect…my baby.”

you just loop your hands around his neck to pull him towards you, kissing him deeply and slowly, letting all your feelings and words you don’t trust to say out loud speak for themselves through that kiss.

after a minute or so, you feel his dick slowly get hard again, making you realise that he hasn’t pulled out the entire time.

you softly say “sorry about the mess i made on your couch.”

cheol just chuckles as he responds “i could care less about the couch, especially not after i just had you squirt all over it.”

you shyly hide your face in his neck, groaning in embarrassment as he chuckles some more.

suddenly, he grabs your thighs before going to slowly stand up, all while still holding your body wrapped around his.

you gasp as you get picked up, clamping onto his dick as you feel the shift in the angle.

cheol just groans as he starts carrying you towards his room, spanking your ass one more time as he walks.

“i’m not done with you yet.”

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

after two more rounds of wild and fast sex, you two lay there on his bed, both on your sides as you face each other, a thin blanket covering your bodies as the sweat on your bodies starts to slowly cool off.

seungcheol just looks at your face, almost like he’s in awe that a woman like you is truly in his bed and that has given him a chance, running the back of his finger up and down your cheek as you two quietly talk in what now has turned a dark room. the night slowly crept on you two, which you didn’t even realise until you fell onto the bed after you had just finished riding him into oblivion.

night, which reminds you…

you should slowly go home now.

you push his silky black hair back, looking at his youthful face and small smile.

god he’s so beautiful, I want to see him again.

you smile small, a little bit of bittersweetness visible in it, as you say quietly“i should probably go home soon.”

his mood sours immediately, a pout replacing the smile on his cherry red lips.

the arm that has been wrapped around your waist under the blanket tightens, pulling you closer to his body, almost likes he’s trying to prevent you from getting up.

ever so quietly, he whispers in the mostly dark room “do you have to?”.

the lamp that is turned on and is your only source of light illuminates his handsome face, eyes sparkling from the said light, begging you not to go.

you smile sadly as you respond “i should.”

he stays quiet for a second, teeth gnawing on his lip as he thinks about your words.

you just lean in to leave one last kiss on his lips, letting your presence and smell linger for a bit before you pull away and start to get up.

as you are sitting on the edge of the bed, looking for your things, you hear him shuffle behind you, but don’t pay him any attention, thinking that he’s probably just going to walk you out.

which quickly changes once you feel his arms wrap around your hips from behind, face nuzzling in your neck.

you turn your head to look at him surprised, the top his head only greeting you in return.

he tightens his hug around your waist, his legs spread so that you’re basically sitting between them.

and then, in the quietest and most unsure voice he asks you.

“stay? please? tomorrow is sunday after all…and-and I don’t want you to leave… i don’t want this to be over yet…”

you unconsciously start pouting yourself at his voice, heart breaking at how sad he sounds that you have to go.

you fish with your point finger for his chin, saying a little “cheollie, look at me, please baby.”

after a second or two, he lifts his head from your shoulder, face red from the lack of oxygen.

you smile a little at him before you say “okay, i’ll stay, but tomorrow i really need to go, because i have work on monday and i can’t miss it.”

you pause for a second to gulp your nervousness down before continuing “and…”

he just looks at you with puppy eyes, seeing you get flustered in real time, but doesn’t say anything to interrupt you.

you just look at him a bit embarrassed as you finish “…who says that this has to end?”

cheol just blinks for a second before the implication of your words finally delivers in his head, making a big smile explode on his face.

quickly kissing you, he lets your bodies fall back on the bed, his arms still tightly wrapped around you, making it hard for you to turn around so you can kiss him properly.

god, choi seungcheol, what are you doing to me?

[beforetimes]

au with disciple shen yuan and shizun luo binghe is a classic but i need it with luo binghe going through the worst depressive episode known to man when shen yuan transmigrates. he sees this intimidating otherworldly figure he's read about and realizes that his shizun is just a complete mess who's been isolating himself and getting more and more irritable and miserable and depressed. he decides to make it his goal to try and coax him out of the bamboo house because no one ever really sees luo binghe anymore outside of when he travels for peak lord meetings.

in my head everything else is the same except for shen yuan and luo binghe switching roles entirely. shen yuan is a half-demon antagonist meant to be defeated by luo binghe after being pushed down the abyss and returning to get revenge but shen yuan just tells himself over and over that if he gets on luo binghe's good side surely everything will be okay? because the system won't let him leave cang qiong mountain and wander the world as a rogue cultivator and he knows that the immortal alliance conference if where everything is going to fall apart. so he's convinced himself that he just needs to game the plot by fixing shen qingqiu's reputation and his relationship and things will be fine. surely!!

and, like, it gets off to a rocky start. luo binghe throws him out of the bamboo house for about two weeks straight before finally snapping at him and asking what his deal is, to which shen yuan lets him know that the other disciples just haven't seen him in so long and they've all been worried and shen yuan just wants to make sure he's okay. and shen yuan knows he's playing the scum villain disciple but he isn't aware of the fact that this sounds so out of character coming from shen qingqiu that it snaps luo binghe out of this dissociative state he's been in for the past few months.

all of a sudden shen yuan's a sort of pet project for luo binghe. his shizun keeps inviting him into the bamboo house and probing him for seemingly benign answers to random questions, getting to know him, etc. and shen yuan thinks that wow his plan is working so well all the other disciples are saying this is the most they've seen him in the past few years. showing up to classes and everything! (of course, they're only shen yuan's classes)

eventually the investigation on luo binghe's part calms down and he hasn't figured out the truth of the matter but shen qingqiu is, all of a sudden, so much more interesting and alluring than he was when he first dragged himself up to qing jing peak a few years ago!

and what starts as a morbid obsession with a puzzle piece that seems out of place slowly moulds into like. genuine fondness on luo binghe's part. because even after the appropriate amount of time where shen yuan could go back to his regular routine and forget about needling luo binghe without seeming rude, he sticks with him anyway! always pulling him away from paperwork after hours to remind him to eat, offering to brush his hair, painting him fan's and landscapes under the guise of practice for class.

(of course, shen yuan's just! fanboying a tad! luo binghe was probably his favourite protagonist he's ever read about, only downside being the unfortunate novel he happened to be written into with the world's most unnecessary harem)

but yes. luo binghe goes through the five stages of grief before becoming inexplicably obsessed with his cute disciple and shen yuan is more than happy to dote on his favourite protagonist under the guise of getting on his good side.

there are still bumps in the road. luo binghe is stubborn and unwilling to look past the somewhat simple view of the world he's constructed in his head of demons being evil. he knows cultivators aren't all angels but the former is common sense, obviously. and he has a temper that flares in a way that makes shen yuan's body flinch in a well-practiced way. shen yuan has his bouts of intense anxiety and depression and brief near-psychosis at remembering the fact that he will have to lose all this if his crackpot half-plan doesn't work. and even if it does he'll still have to go down the abyss and he's just not ready for it, he doesn't think he'll ever be ready, not when his shizun won't be there with his kind eyes and steady form of comfort and command keeping him safe and anchored to the world. but the world keeps turning and so they both keep going until the day comes.

it's a shitshow. shen yuan's seal gets removed and luo binghe watches the demonic energy pour out of him, so numb it feels like he's been stuck in a winter snowstorm for an hour. shen yuan is pleading, desperate, forgetting half the words he tried scripting years in advance because he's at the edge of a cliff to hell and the one person he hoped would believe in him enough not to push him down there is staring at him like he's a stranger. and disciples are still screaming in the distance and the earth is quaking and the system is screaming at him while shen yuan's resolve crumbles and he starts to come to the conclusion that luo binghe will kill him here. he will. and luo binghe is just trying to breathe while he watches his kind and clever, mischievous disciple break down into tears in a way he has never seen before in his life. it sends icicles through his heart. and shen yuan is pleading but when luo binghe comes forward, sword in hand, he can't stop himself from grabbing the blade with his bare palms out of some sort of desperation. hoping and praying that just holding onto the metal means luo binghe won't try to cut his head off.

and it doesn't even matter in the end because luo binghe barely gets a word out before the ground crumbles beneath shen yuan's feet and luo binghe flinches forward, reaching out for him only to push him backwards into the gorge because of the sword that still solidly held by shen yuan, slicing through his skin.

and shen yuan falls. and luo binghe watches. and when liu qingge and yue qingyuan find him after the dust has settled, he looks too much like he did all those years ago, eyes blank and his prized disciple's spirit sword held in his hands, limp. alone again, after a taste of a life that could have been brighter.

masterpost

[importantpuppystarfish]

Total Mass Destruction of Wonyoung!

Male reader or Y/N x Wonyoung

Warning: Very much hardcore & rough, humiliation, degrading, whipping, BBC, extreme deepthroat, total mess in facefucking, pissing & gangbang (in pt2)

Note: please this is all just a fantasy for reading and stuff, this can be uncomfortable to read so if ur weak hearted or a fluff enjoyer, typically do not read.

part one:

Wonyoung, the gorgeous Kpop idol, with her stunning visuals and captivating stage presence, she has millions of adoring fans around the world.

But she has a naughty secret - she's obsessed with big black cock. Her stash of videos consists entirely of BBC gangbangs. She fantasizes constantly about being stuffed and breed by multiple strong black men. Her skinny Korean frame aches to feel the immense girth and length only they can provide. Yet she keeps this side of herself hidden from her cutesy idol image.

While in the US for her group's performances, Wonyoung can't hold her curiosity any longer. She decides to go to a popular nightclub known for bringing out the biggest, blackest cocks in town. Her heart races thinking about finally living out her fantasy. She slips out of the hotel after wearing a revealing outfit to show off her famous figure, ready for anything.

Wonyoung is not a virgin anymore and has already been intimate with her own family members, satisfying her brother and father already. Now she burns with desire for something new - the bbc which she sees in porn videos.

She sees a huge smart guy approaching her. He's wearing a suit and handsome.. The guy welcomes Wonyoung to the area and asks her if she is new and where is she from.

Wonyoung's heart leaps as she spots the imposing figure of the well-dressed, rich-looking black man. She steps closer to make out his deep, rumbling voice.

"Oh I just arrived here from Korea," Wonyoung responds sweetly with a flirtatious bat of her eyelashes. "My name is Wonyoung. And you?"

She can feel something stir behind his suit as he looks down at her body up and down. A knowing grin spreads across his face.

"Pleasure to meet the beautiful Korean princess Wonyoung," he purrs, extending a large hand. "I'm Y/N."

Wonyoung gets excited when she hears his deep voice and sees his big hands… Wonyoung replies "Pleasure to meet u too. What do you do?"

"I'm a business and an influencer from California," Y/N says mysteriously, sending Wonyoung's interest soaring even higher. She realizes the guy must be very more richer than her.

Wonyoung feels his hot breath on her ear and shivers. "How old are you beautiful?" he asks, raising an eyebrow.

"19 and you?."

Y/N grins. "19? Haha I actually expected that. You do look like a young teenager." Y/N chuckles. "A girl should be curious about a man's age. I'm 35 but don't let that fool you, I've got the stamina of a much younger man."

"Interested to go and eat something somewhere private?" He whispers, his voice husky.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As they develop a positive relationship, Y/N takes Wonyoung to an upscale sushi restaurant where they enjoy a private dining experience. He orders expensive champagne and sushes her questions about herself while blatantly checking out her body. Wonyoung flirts shamelessly in return, feeling giddy and alive. She's living out her fantasy – seducing an older, wealthy black man. By dessert, his hand rests high up her thigh under the table. Wonyoung doesn't know whats coming next.

As they have few conversations on the date, y/n takes Wonyoung to his place after the date. They enter the luxurious penthouse. Wonyoung's eyes widen at the view of the city and how rich Y/N is.

Wonyoung follows Y/N into his stunning penthouse, amazed by the opulence. She turns in a circle, taking it all in – the floor-to-ceiling windows, marble floors, expensive artwork on the walls.

"Your place is incredible," she breathes out. Y/N leads her to his bed. Wonyoung is amazed to see such a huge bed. Wonyoung asks if he stays alone.

"Yes sweet thing, I stay here alone." He confirms, sitting down on the edge of the huge bed and patting the space next to him for Wonyoung to join. "My last few girlfriends couldn't handle being with an older, successful black man. They ran scared."

Y/N gives Wonyoung a smug look, his eyes roaming over her body possessively.

"Oh damn? How many girlfriends do u have?", Wonyoung asks curiously. "Let's see… I lose count after a dozen or so. Different women but they all want this but couldn't handle me." He gestures down at his crotch, bulge visibly straining against his pants. "I'm assuming you don't get intimidated easily?"

He reaches out to trace a finger lightly along Wonyoung's thigh.

As Wonyoung sat near him. She feels so small next to him. "Haha, I only had sexual stuff with my own brother." Wonyoung says.

Y/N's eyebrow shoots up at Wonyoung's admission but a hungry look fills his eyes. "Is that right? Your own brother eh?"

He grabs her chin firmly, tilting her face up to look at him. "And what about your daddy? Did you play with him too?" He asks bluntly, his deep voice sending a shiver down Wonyoung's spine.

"You're quite the naughty girl aren't you?"

"Wait how did u know? Yes…but i didnt feel like mentioning it.." She admits sheepishly.

Y/N chuckles darkly, clearly thrilled by Wonyoung's confession. "Baby you don't have to hide anything from me. I love that sweet little mouth of yours has been used so much already."

He pulls her closer by the hip until she's straddling his lap. "Mmm and now I get to use it."

One big hand cradles her jaw again as he draws her into a deep interracial forceful kiss, staking his claim on the young Kpop idol.

Wonyoung kisses back deep. They start french kissing. It's Wonyoung first time kissing with a black guy.

Y/N groans against her lips, tasting her sweet innocence. As he explores Wonyoung's mouth, his large hand slides under her top, palming one of her perky breasts over her bra.

The contrast between Wonyoung's petite frame and Y/N's muscular form is stark as they kiss. She sits tiny and delicate on his lap, his dark hand standing out against her fair skin as he fondles her. Their mouths move hungrily together, Wonyoung's small lips parted allowing his tongue inside. She clings to his broad shoulders as they French kiss, her face flushed with excitement. Y/N devours her young lips, clearly dominating the kiss, making it clear who is in charge.

Y/N grabs Wonyoung tighter. She feels his strong arms wrapped around. She can feel his chest too. Wonyoung feels so small, so breakable in his arms.. Y/N tears her outfit. Wonyoung is shocked as her outfit gets torn so easily, also it was very expensive.

"I'm going to ruin you darling…" Y/n growls, making no move to stop the destruction of her outfit.

"B-but Y/N…this is Gucci!" Wonyoung exclaims in shock, referring to her ripped top.

Y/N laughs at her. "I've got hundreds of thousands of gucci outfits more expensive tied up in this place and those clothes would also look good on you but still they doesn't suit you. Naked does."

He stands suddenly, holding Wonyoung by the wrists, he pushes Wonyoung on the bed and tears off all her clothes.

Wonyoung starts to feel uncomfortable as her outfit is totally torn and destroyed. Lying there completely exposed beneath Y/N makes Wonyoung feel incredibly small and vulnerable. His dark form looms over her petite frame as he begins unzipping his pants, freeing his massive, throbbing erection.

"You're u scared and skinny.," he purrs, kneeling between her thighs. "I'm gonna tear you apart now."

He runs his fingers roughly over her inner thighs, gradually moving closer to her folds.

Y/N is way too strong for Wonyoung. She feels like a fragile sex doll in front of him. He could easily crush her with his fingers. Wonyoung gets scared.

"Take it inside ur mouth!" y/n grins. Wonyoung opens her mouth welcoming the huge giant black length.

Y/N guides his engorged tip to her lips, a drop of pre-cum glistening there. As Wonyoung parts them obediently, he slowly pushes forward, his thick shaft entering her mouth.

"Good girl…" Y/n praises, the heat of her mouth enveloping him, her tiny tongue trying to accommodate his girth. He groans out in pleasure, a hand cradling the back of her head.

Inch by inch, Wonyoung feels him stretching her oral cavity to its limit. Saliva drips down as y/n invades her throat. y/n seems determined to make her choke and gag on every inch.

Despite Wonyoung's best efforts, Y/N's enormous size proves too much for her mouth. With a wicked grin, he sees that his full length cannot fit.

"Aww…" y/n drawls mockingly, pulling her head forward to try shoving the final inches in. She chokes and gags as her lips reach the base of his shaft, tears welling in her eyes from the effort.

"Looks like your little mouth just can't take all of me can it?"

Y/n withdraws from her mouth, a thin string of saliva breaking as his tip pops free. Wonyoung gasps for air, coughing and wheezing as she clutches her throat.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Wonyoung's eyes go wide with fear as Y/N ignores her discomfort, forcing his colossal rod back into her mouth. She feels powerless to stop him as the massive rod stretches her oral cavity to its absolute limit. Her lips are crushed beneath his girth, saliva dripping down in abundance. Tears stream down her face as she gags and chokes repeatedly, her muffled cries stifled by his relentless thrusts.

Each deep push into her mouth bruises her throat, leaving her feeling used and violated. She tries in vain to push away but he holds her head firmly in place, intent on violating her mouth regardless of the agony he inflicts.

Y/N sets a brutal pace, fucking Wonyoung's mouth without mercy now. His powerful hips snap forward, driving his black beast into her throat over and over with such force the bed shakes. Her whole head bobs along with his thrusts as he uses her mouth like a cheap fleshlight.

Wonyoung's eyes bulge as she feels him strike the back of her throat on every downward plunge. She's completely at his mercy, gagging and retching with each deep invasion. Saliva dripsdown her chin and chest in waves, drool puddling beneath her as she's ruthlessly facefucked without concern for her wellbeing. He pays no mind to her choking cries, consumed by his own pleasure as he claims her innocence in the most degrading way.

She can't breathe. She tries to pull back but he holds her head down, pushing further.

"Don't fight it bitch, be a good slut and take this cock." Y/N growls and reveals his dark side. His grip tightening as he forces her head down even deeper.

"You wanted this when you let me tear those clothes off slut!."

He looks down cruelly as tears stream down Wonyoung's red, splotchy face. Ignoring her pained gasps, he continues his aggressive facefucking, determined to break her.

"That's it, choke on this dick you little whore. You're learning your place aren't you?"

Wonyoung is choking hard now. Her eyes rolling back a bit. She tries to grab his arm but he slaps her face hard. Y/n continues facefucking her.

Y/N seems to enjoy the feel of Wonyoung's tiny hands attempting to push him away, so he decides to punish her further. His free hand strikes her inner thigh, leaving a red handprint on her delicate skin.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"No using hands slut, mouth only."

He resumes his brutal pace, his hips pounding against her as he splits her mouth more wide open out of her limits. She's completely at his mercy, her body shaking and convulsing from lack of air. Saliva and tears mix on her face in a sad puddle. Each thrust makes her body lurch but he pays it no mind, intent on using her pretty face to satisfy himself.

"Look at you…a total mess already…and we're just getting started…" he taunts with a twisted grin.

Her vision starts to blur, she feels lightheaded and dizzy…

As Y/N reaches his limit deepthroating her, Wonyoung feels hot jets painting her tongue and throat, his seed pouring into her stomach without pause. Simultaneously, a warm, bitter liquid fills her mouth - it's his piss. He shows no mercy, marking every inch of her young mouth.

"Drink it up," he demands, holding her head in place as his fluids overwhelm her senses. She struggles weakly beneath him but cannot escape. His piss mixing with his load, it's too much, she has no choice but to swallow or drown.

"Mmm wow, you've proven your mouth belongs to me." Y/N pulls out, leaving Wonyoung gasping for breath. Wonyoung starts coughing continuously.

Wonyoung gasps for air desperately, her throat raw and hoarse from Y/N's brutal use of her mouth. She coughs and retches, trying to expel the bitter tastes coating her insides.

Her eyes water as she glances up at him, a mixture of fear and humiliation shining back. She shakily tries to push herself into a seated position, her hands bracing on the bed.

At this moment, Y/N rises from the bed and casually strolls over to a closet in the corner of the room. He returns with a wicked-looking leather whip and a coil of thick rope in hand. Wonyoung's eyes widen in terror as she sees what y/n just bought, her body shuddering.

"Now that you've tasted a sample, it's time for the real fun to begin." His voice is dark and promising punishment.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Wonyoung scoots backward on the floor, away from him, her vulnerability evident. She tries to speak again but only a raspy whimper escapes her swollen, used lips.

Wonyoung tries to run away. She understood its her fault to seduce black guys and shes not in the level for taking them ---- but its too late.

Y/N laughs cruelly as Wonyoung tries to flee, easily grabbing her ankle before she can get far.

"Oh no you don't."

He yanks her back roughly, sending her crashing to her belly on the floor. Pinning her down with his knee, he reaches for the rope.

"Stay still for me darling." He commands, his expression serious.

Before she can escape or struggle again, he binds her wrists together behind her back with tight knots. She thrashes beneath him but it's no use - the rope holds firm.

"You shouldn't try to leave when I've made it clear you belong to me now."

Wonyoung trembles, knowing her punishment is coming and shes fully tied up. Wonyoung looks at him pleadingly, her eyes wide with terror and regret. "Please sir..don't…" she whimpers, tugging at the rope binding her..

Y/N's eyes gleam with malicious delight at Wonyoung's pitiful begs. "You should have thought of that before that pretty mouth of yours tempted me."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He brings the whip cutting through the air and smashes her backside with a loud smack. Red welts immediately rise under the harsh lashes as she cries out in a mix of pain and shame.

Another strike rains down, harder this time, and he watches the young girl screaming. She is completely at his mercy now, helpless and vulnerable as he carries out his dark desires.

The pain is intense but Wonyoung knows she has to obey. With each subsequent strike, Wonyoung's cries grow louder and more raw. Her high pitched wails fill the room, laced with agony and defeat. As the whip bites into her tender flesh again and again, her voice cracks and breaks.

"AHH! !" She sobs, her body shuddering violently. Each new cry echoes off the walls, a haunting symphony of torment. Her throat begins to burn from the excessive screaming but she knows she must keep counting or face even worse consequences.

Y/n now positions Wonyoung to fuck her.

"Please…be gentle…" Wonyoung begs with her broken voice.

He pulls back up to stare down at her with a wicked grin. "Gentle isn't what you need."

"Ready or not, here I come."

With a single powerful thrust he plunges into her innocence, ripping through her barrier and making her cry out sharply in a combination of searing pain and fullness. This time Y/N continues still to whip her chest & tits.

She cries, the whip has marked her deeply. Her chest is now all red and bruised from the harsh lashes. Wonyoung near faints from the relentless pain and punishment. Her throat gets raw from screaming.

"Look at the beautiful mess I made of you." Y/N groans approvingly, pausing to take in the damage he's inflicted.

Wonyoung's cries turn to weak whimpers as she hangs limply, on the brink of unconsciousness. Her mangled body shakes beneath him.

"Still with me cutie?" He taunts, reaching down to run a gentle finger along her jawline.

Ignoring her pathetic state, Y/N begins to move within her, the wet slap of flesh echoing off the walls. He starts a brutal rhythm, using her sore, torn holes without care or concern for her welfare.

He leans down to bite down hard on her shoulder to muffle any louder sounds, savoring dominance over the broken girl.

Wonyoung screams at the top of her lungs, the pain unbearable. She loses consciousness, hanging limply now. Y/N continues fucking her anyway, not caring about her state.

Wonyoung's lack of response and only screaming only fuels his sadism further. He grips her hair, yanking her head back at an uncomfortable angle as he drives deeper.

With a more deep thrust, Y/N forces his entire length brutally into Wonyoung's tiny, ravaged pussy. She's so weak and unconscious that she doesn't fight back. The extreme intersection of his rod inside her stretches her to her limits causes Wonyoung's inner walls to tear painfully.

Y/N does not finish and doesn't pulls out. Wonyoung is a destroyed mess. She's out cold. Y/n seems to continue tearing Wonyoung inside apart, not stopping even once. Wonyoung's insides feel like mush.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Y/N's sadistic bloodlust knows no bounds as he continues mutilating Wonyoung's innermost depths without mercy. Her inner walls are in tatters beneath his relentless pounding. Thick fluid drips down his length each time he withdraws just to spear her open body again and again.

"Fuck yes…take it u little whore," he roars, oblivious to anything but causing her maximum pain. His heavy sack slaps against her destroyed entrance with every brutal thrust.

He doesn't care that she's unconscious, barely holding together. The lewd wet sounds of tearing flesh fill the room including Wonyoung's crying noises. When he eventually does tire, it's not from exhaustion - just a wicked hunger satiated, if only temporarily.

Finally as Y/n reaches his own limits, spending himself, Y/N feels victorious as his hot seed fills Wonyoung's mutilated core. Wonyoung is totally breeded by y/n, her pussy full with his seed. Yet his cruelty isn't finished.

He aims to Wonyoung's face and begins to urinate directly onto her mouth & face. The warm liquid rains down, mixing with his cum flooding her mouth, nose, eyes. It's a brutal, degrading bath that shows just how little she means to him beyond a receptacle for his waste.

"Drink it up you filthy bitch!" He demand to Wonyoung cruelly, not stopping until he's emptied himself over her bruised and broken features. Wonyoung faints and collapses at the moment.

Even unconscious, Y/N's property must endure his most base impulses. With a final kick to her side, he withdraws from her violated body, leaving her a bruised, torn, piss-soaked mess.

He wears his clothes back with a satisfied swagger. The room reeks of their depravity now. Crumpled ribbons of rope and discarded clothes litter the floor. Y/N pauses, bending to retrieve his phone and snapping a pic of her broken, unconscious form before she regains consciousness to ruin it further.

"Enjoy your nap, princess." He purrs mockingly. "When you wake, things will only get worse."

With that chilling promise hanging in the air, he lets himself out, eagerly anticipating round two. Wonyoung is all his now - a plaything for his darkest desires.

part two:

1 hour later, Wonyoung starts to regain consciousness. Her body aches and stings all over. She can feel something warm and sticky dripping from…down there…

As her hazy eyes open, the world spins dizzily. A dry, cracked tongue flicks across parched lips trying to find moisture. The scent of sex and urine assaults her nose, the source immediately clear as she gazes down at her violated body.

Y/N's seed and piss trickle from swollen, wounded folds. She cries at the burning pain radiating through her pussy, each throb a harsh reminder of the beast who'd used her so brutally while she was unable to stop it.

"Oh god…" she whispers, the words barely audible.

She sees the restraints around her hands still tied…She tries to move but every inch of her body hurts.

Her heart pounds as the sound of footsteps approach, dread filling her to the core.

"Good, you're awake." Y/N says, voice dripping with malice as he reenters the room. "Miss me?"

This is far from over...he's just getting started. 9 friends of y/n enters the room. All are BBC and giant compared to wonyoung.

Wonyoung's eyes go wide with pure terror as she sees the group of imposing black men file into the room, their massive sizes dwarfing her skinny frame. She shakes her head frantically, whimpering "No, please no…"

Y/N grins wickedly at her panic. "Looks like I got you a little party, cutie."

The men lick their lips as they approach, their massive rods clearly visible through their pants. Wonyoung thrashes against the restraints, her body shuddering. She knows she cannot handle any more but she is completely at their mercy now.

One of the men kneels down, forcing her chin toward him. "You gonna be a good girl and open up?" He asks menacingly.

1 of them grabs her chin roughly, another one unbuttons himself. Wonyoung feels like she's going to pass out again just from the sight of them. 3 of them come closer, pulling off their shirts. She see their ripped muscles. One of them speaks up "You ready to be used like a hole? .. Others start touching Wonyoung's pure naked body, hungry to taste and eat her.

Wonyoung trembles violently as the trio of hulking men expose their chiseled physiques, beads of sweat glistening on tanned skin. She tries to shrink away from their roaming hands but there is nowhere to hide, trapped as she is.

"Please, no more…I can't…" she begs through choked sobs.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"We gonna destroy every last hole, girl."

Panic overwhelms her as they position themselves, the leader at her mouth, another at her sore pussy, and a third readying to claim her backside. They smirk down at her maliciously, ready to make her break completely.

3 more friends join, making it 12 total. They start untying Wonyoung's ropes and drag her to the middle of the room. She's completely surrounded. 2 of them grab her arms and legs to hold her down. She tries to struggle but their strength is unprecedented. They start to fuck her now.

Wonyoung cries out as the men overpower her tiny frame between them, rendering her limp body immovable as they use her limbs as they wish. She's sandwiched between 3 of them now, each plowing into a different hole without care for her screams and pleas to stop.

"Getting tighter!" One grunts as he pummels her raw entrance.

"I like it when she fights!" Another laughs, gripping her throat with a hand.

The room echoes with the lewd smacks of flesh colliding, the acrid smell of sex, Wonyoung's loud screams of horror and exertion thick in the air.

The additional men take turns at her mouth and backside, stretching her limits impossibly further. She feels like she's being torn apart as they claim every inch relentlessly.

The men laugh manically as two of them force her legs back towards her head, exposing Wonyoung completely.

"Get ready slut, you wanted this," one growled before spitting on her exposed holes.

To her horror, two of them position themselves at her asshole (rear entrance) and pussy simultaneously. There's no preparation, no mercy. With a brutal thrust they drive into her at once, tearing her apart with the double penetration on both her pussy and asshole at the same time.

Wonyoung's screams become a hoarse, wailing shriek. Her body convulses, sensation overwhelming every nerve. More agony than she ever thought possible. Just when she thinks it can't get worse, a third man slides his tip into her mouth, silencing her cries.

The mens begin moving in rhythm, the friction and impactsend white hot pain shooting through her core. She feels like a ragdoll being used, stuffed full by these giant cocks. They pound without pause, grunting and swearing. Her limp body shakes violently beneath them.

Now as the triple penetration initiates, Wonyoung's scream reverberates through the room, raw and primal. The men work methodically - fucking her mouth, fucking her pussy, and fucking her asshole.

Slowly but surely they force their impressive girths into her tight holes. She feels utterly and completely full beyond anything imaginable. Hot shafts glide alongside each other within her, the thin walls separating her holes offering no resistance anymore as they violate every depth.

"Fuck yes, stretch that pretty little whore out!" One of them roars, savoring the vice-like grip of her body accommodating three beasts simultaneously.

Wonyoung's vision blurs from the intense sensation. Her insides are being rearranged, the men's powerful thrusts sawing in and out of her in a grueling rhythm. They use her mouth, pussy and ass as one connected pipeline, their movements synchronized to maximize her suffering.

"Damn…so fucking tight…gonna pop these bitches…" another grunts, picking up speed.

Wonyoung has never been so utterly and completely taken, stuffed to the limit in the most depraved way imaginable.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Wonyoung's screams morph into wordless cries of torment and agony as her body is pushed to its extreme limits. Her voice cracks and give out from the intense overstimulation. She's little more than a ragdoll sandwiched between the mass of men, taking them all simultaneously.

2 cocks in her mouth, one in each hand, another 3 in her pussy, and 3 more stretching her anus - a total of 10 dicks claiming every hole at once. She's being utterly and completely ruined.

Her mind goes blank as she's pounded without mercy. The men above her use her lifeless form like a fucktoy, their flesh meeting with obscene squelching sounds. Each deep thrust draws more whimpers from her lips, her body shaking from the force of it all.

Wonyoung has shattered. Her spirit lies in tatters, beaten down by the relentless barrage of man meat. She no longer tries to resist or escape - she simply accepts, knowing she cannot fight back against these numbers. She's just a vessel for their carnal pleasure now.

Her holes feel utterly devastated and destroyed after taking 10 dicks simultaneously. The delicate tissues have been stretched beyond limits nature intended, left raw, swollen and bleeding from the brutal stretching.

Wonyoung can hardly feel anything besides a deep, throbbing ache - her nerves overwhelmed into hypersensitivity.

The constant gangbang fucking is unbearable, yet the men show no signs of stopping. Her holes are totally ruined permanently and torn apart. Slick fluids mix and drip down her thighs as wet, sloppy sounds fill the room with lewd evidence of her defilement.

It feels as though she'll never be whole again after this - that she'll carry the memory of this violence forever etched on her wounded flesh.

As Y/n takes his length out from Wonyoung's anus after fucking it deep, he starts to deepthroat her mouth as he slaps her face roughly, letting Wonyoung taste the insides of her own anus.

The dehumanizing "gawk gawk gawk" sounds she makes send a shiver down his spine, knowing he broke her completely.

He forces her head to bob faster on his length, face twisted in dark delight. The other men cheer at the spectacle, still pounding away at her ruined holes.

She simply accepts whatever they do to her mouth like a mindless automaton.

Y/N feels close. "Get ready for your last order, pet." He says coldly before shoving her head down hard, holding her in place as he reaches his climax directly into her throat.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

4 friends roughly grab Wonyoung's arms and legs, holding her down on the floor.

Wonyoung offers no resistance as the men seize her limp limbs, pinning her prone body to the cold floor. Her breaths come in short, ragged gasps, her voice hoarse and sore from screaming and gagging.

With her held down, all the men exchange hungry grins, their eyes manic with depraved delight.

One gives the signal - it's time.

They all target their hard length across her face, specifically her mouth. Wonyoung feels them swell, knowing what's coming next.

"Get ready for your shower, whore," Y/N growls.

The first hot jet strikes her chest, warm liquid running down her tits. Others join in, raining down on her face, in her hair, over her used, abused body. She's powerless to escape as they mark their territory.

"Let it all out boys, drench her!" a voice calls out.

Streams of yellow join the torrent, the humiliation complete as they piss on Wonyoung like an animal. Tears well up again but don't mask the shock etched on her features. She's utterly degraded, soiled and saturated from their release and waste. A used, broken toy left discarded on the floor.

As the hot, bitter liquid splashed over her face and body, Wonyoung tried to turn away but the men kept her pinned down firmly. Her face was instantly drenched, eyes stinging from the onslaught. Piss trickled into her gasping mouth and nose, choking her.

She shook her head from side to side but it only served to spread it through her silken hair.

As more and more hot liquid continues to fill her mouth, Wonyoung is forced to drink all of their urine spilling over as she tries to consume it all. Wonyoung closes her eyes, surrendering completely now.

She feels the warmth spreading through as she gulps down load after load, the smell of urine now thick in her nostrils. It's disgusting yet something about submitting to this vile act makes her body tremble.

The men laugh and high-five as she dutifully drinks their offerings, leaving her belly bloated and full. She's their obedient little toilet, and a dark part of her responds to pleasing them this way. When they finally finish, she lies there panting, piss dripping from her mouth, hair totally wet, face totally full of piss.

Wonyoung's body trembles uncontrollably, her legs spread and shaking. Her holes are gaping open, lewdly stuffed with ropes of white seed oozing out to mix with the spent yellowed streams covering her.

She feels raw, used up, and yet…alive.

As she lays there exposed, dazed eyes drifting shut, she knows she's changed irrevocably by this brutal encounter. A dark, insatiable hunger stirs within her now craving more. More humiliation, more depravity - does wonyoung still yearn for it?

[dcxdpdabbles]

I found and read this cute story on AO3, about Frostbite being Danny's legal parental guardian. In the story Bruce Wayne runs into Frostbite (in his full yeti glory no disguise) who is setting up for school bake sale. Got me thinking about what if Danny's past rogues took turns filling in and doing parental stuff especially at school functions. Like Frostbite does the bake sale, Pandora shows up for his games, Ghostwriter goes to all of the PTA meetings, Clockwork goes to teacher meetings, so on and so forth.

The 43rd Annual Gotham Academy Bake Sale by Faeriekit

Ohhh, that sounds good! I'll get it a read when I have some time. Thank you for the rec!

Danny Fenton is one of the lucky few who have a very involved household. His various family members would always sign up for any school event the boy needed support in. It didn't mean that the boy won everything, but as a teacher for nine years, Emily has come to learn how much it mattered to just have someone show up.

She had seen students whose entire faces light up after spotting someone in the crowd in the same amount she saw a student's hope crumble after they scanned the room.

Danny was a polite young man, a bit on the shyer side, but kind and not a troublemaker, his previous school had her believe. If anything, he seemed to struggle with fitting in, but no students blatantly disliked him.

The general opinion of Danny matched, as her students would say, "I know him from class, but I don't really talk to him. He seems cool though".

Maybe that's why so many people were supposed by his family to march into the auditorium during Danny's talent show. Seeing him wave at the row before starting his gymnastic act had been such a surprise.

Now, Gotham wasn't a close-knit community, not with the size of their city and the millions of people living within it, but everyone would have noticed that Danny was adopted.

After all, he was the only one that wasn't glowing or a large humanoid animal. They cheered the loudest among the crowd; uncaring Danny got bronze- having lost to Joey's tapping dancing for second and Damian's spectacular multi-instrumental cover of a meme song for first place- and Danny beamed back at them.

Gotham was known for not being meta-friendly, but that was only due to a few mean people who shouted the loudest on media outlets. Many of Emily's students were meta, had family that were meta, or knew someone meta. It wasn't a common enough trait one would encounter a meta on every outing, but you would see them in Gotham well enough.

Everyone knew, but no one said it out loud. In the same way, she knew which students' parents were in the country illegally but worked harder than anyone else. Saying anything would help the cops, or worse, the rich running Gotham.

Even the most prejudiced Gothamite would rather be spat on then give them aid. And those who were so prejudiced to help the poor man's enemies, well, Emily has lived here long enough to know they vanished rather quickly. The smart ones kept their mouths shut.

No one could forget what happened to that guy who accidentally insulted Penguin. His grandmother had been an illegal immigrant on his mother's side.

No one messed with that side of the family.

"Hello, Mrs. Jackson." Danny's adoptive father, Dr. Frostbite said, ducking down to avoid banging his head on the door. On one of his shoulders was a box of hotdog wieners; on the other were multiple bags of bread. "I'm here for my snack bar shift."

Emily tilts her head back to look the Yeti in the eye. He had been shocked the first time they met, but she could admit that Dr. Frostbite was a relatively gentle and wise soul. "Welcome aboard. The girls are just about to take the field. You can put that down by the crock pot over there."

The mountain of white fur brushes by her with the grace of a king as Dr. Frostbite does as she says. There were no customers at the window, so she leaned on the counter and offered him a smile. "Did you enjoy the game?"

"Yes. I was saddened our team did not win, but Danny hit a home run." Dr. Frostbite's sharp smile could have been frightening if he wasn't oozing parental pride. "I caught it all on video."

Emily opens her mouth to respond when a hand lands loudly on the counter with a loud crack. Her heart leaps, and she looks into Danny's Ember. She isn't one of Emily's students, though she does appear to be a teenager in appearance.

You know. If it wasn't for her hair made of fire. Or her blue skin. Or her glow.

"I set a boy on fire," She announces with a cackle.

"That's so?" Dr. Frostbite gently rips open the box, taking out the hotdog packages. With one large claw, he rips a hole into it and lets the few weiners slide into the crockpot with a gentle splash. "What did he do?"

"Tried to slap me on the butt." She huffs, rolling her eyes, but her smirk doesn't lose an edge of smugness.

"Well done." Dr. Frostbite praises placing the lid back on. It always surprised Emily to see such careful actions from the large creature. "I assume you did so out of Pandora's line of sight?"

"Naturally. I don't want her lecturing me in front of the whole community." Ember scoffs, crossing her arms. Behind her, the top of Pandora's head can be seen swinging side to side over the dugout, keeping an eye on the ball.

She was the best volunteer referee because even the parents knew not to shout insulting things when she was present. Emily doesn't think she has had such peaceful games in a long while. Hopefully, Danny will try out again for baseball next year so the woman can return.

"Oh hey, you're Danny's English teacher, right? Mrs. Johnson?" Ember asks, leaning on the counter to give Emily a curious look.

When the blond nods, holding out her hand for a shake. "That's right. It's nice to see you again, Ember."

The girl's hair flairs a little as a grin grows on her face. Her hand is ice cold to the touch, but she's got a firm grip that her husband would appreciate. "Likewise. I got a message for you from Ghostwriter. He sent the notes for the last PTA meeting to you and the revision playwright for the musical you two were working on."

Emily's mood brightens up. "That's wonderful. Could you tell him I'll check it out when I get home and get to my laptop since my phone broke in the last Two-Face attack?"

Ember's hair flickers in the wind when she nods, but Danny bounces right up behind her just as she opens her mouth to speak. He's wearing his Gotham Acadamy Baseball uniform with pride despite them losing. "Hey, Frostbite, can I go with Tim and Duke to get Peoeria Pizza? We'll be back before the girl's game ends."

"Only if you take Ember with you," Dr.Frostbite says, nodding to his daughter, who looks alarmed to be included. "She needs more friends."

"Hey!"

"Sure. Come on, Ember, you'll get along with Duke. He likes old-school rock."

"It's not old-school!"

Emily laughs, watching the two siblings bicker as they stride away, blending into the crowd with no one batting an eye at the glowing girl anymore. How blessed that boy was.

"I'm glad Danny has gotten comfortable here. I always worried he never was going to have a normal childhood." Dr. Frostbite confesses to swirling the hotdogs around in the water to ensure each one is cooked.

"I think you and the rest are doing a wonderful job. You're a great father." She assures him, thinking wistfully of her William. He's been on deployment for a few months now and will likely miss the holidays again, but his contract is almost up. They may try for a child when he gets in the reserves. "How are things at the clinic?"

"Oh, wonderful. I'm grateful that Mr. Wayne has allowed the expansion of Thomas Wayne Memorial Clinic. Dr. Thompkins will be covering the east side of Gotham while I help those on the west. It's much more fulfilling than working in some hospital that demands funds for the silliest things. Back home, that would have been illegal. The people would have burned me at the stake if I had allowed anyone to pass away due to greed."

"My kind of people." She laughs. A sharp crack sounds from the field as the bat makes contact with the ball, and the crowd goes wild. It's a wonderful day.

[ofstarsandvibranium]

Don’t Mess with My Girl

Fandom: Marvel (Mob Boss AU)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

Summary: You come home from work and you make the mistake of telling Bucky that a guy has been harassing you at work.

Warning: harassment from a male coworker

A/N: the snippets of Bucky in the Thunderbolts trailer have ignited my love for him again omfg.

Bucky Barnes Masterlist

Bucky's already home when you arrive from work. You let out an exhausted sigh as you place your things on the kitchen island and kiss Bucky's cheek, "Hi, lovey."

He hums and looks at your slumped figure, "What's wrong?" he asks with furrowed brows, concern written all over his face.

"Just a rough day at work," you reply, opening up the dishwasher to grab a cup and snort as you see Bucky's metal prosthetic resting inside.

You turn back to him, "Explain," you say pointing at his arm.

He gives a sheepish grin and shrugs, "Today was a bit messy, is all." You chuckle and roll your eyes. You grab a cup from the top rack of the dishwasher and grab Bucky's arm, laying it on the counter.

"What happened today?" you ask as you fill your cup with water from the fridge.

Bucky shakes his head, "Nope. I asked you a question first," he walks over to you and cups your face with his right hand, "What's made my girl all upset?"

You groan, "A new hire, Noah. He's very...persistent."

"Persistent how?"

You shrug, "He just keeps asking me out, getting a little too close-"

"Fire him," Bucky immediately says.

You groan, "But he's a good employee!"

"Doesn't matter if he keeps harassing you."

"I wouldn't say he's harassing me..."

Bucky cocks a brow and places his hand on his hip in a very intimidating manner, "Does he get aggressive when you reject him?"

"...yes."

"Is he constantly berating you and not taking no for an answer?"

"...yeah."

"Does he scare you?"

"A little bit."

"Baby, that's harassment," he says as he walks over to his metal arm, placing it onto the notch and locking it in. He looks down and flexes his arm, "I can take care of him for you, easily. The fellas and I can grab him and-"

You immediately wave your hands and shake your head, "No, no, no. No! Don't hurt him! I'll-I'll handle it. I'll talk to Joan and let her know what's been going on."

"Good and if that doesn't stop him then, I'll pay him a visit," you give him a playful shove and he chuckles, "What? No one messes with my girl and gets away with it!"

____________________________

As soon as you got into the bookshop the next day, you immediately tell Joan of Noah's behavior. When he comes in, Joan pulled him aside to talk to him. You thought that everything would be good after that...but you were wrong.

When you were in the back, putting books away, Noah corners you, "Did you really have to tell Joan our business?"

You can't help but scoff at his audacity, "Well you wouldn't stop asking me out after I said no and reminding you that I have a boyfriend."

It's Noah's turn to scoff, "Oh yeah, your boyfriend," he says with air quotes, "You say you have one but you don't have him as your lockscreen and you haven't showed any pictures of him."

"He's a private person, but that's not the point! I told you 'no'! You should've stopped after that."

Noah rolls his eyes, "Oh just because someone says 'no', doesn't mean they mean it! Means they want you to try harder."

"Actually, it just means 'no' and you fuck off," a deep voice cuts in-between the confrontation between you and Noah.

Both of you turn to see Bucky standing there with a hard glare on his face.

You gulp, "Bucky, what're you doing here?"

He holds up your lunch bag, "You forgot your lunch at home," he holds it out and you rush over to him, grabbing the bag and remaining at his side.

Noah looks at Bucky with wide eyes and then at you. His face loses color as he realizes, "W-Wait, you-you're dating the White Wolf of Brooklyn?"

Bucky smirks at his nickname, "Yeah, she is. And my girl told me you wouldn't leave her alone. Sounds like even with your job on the line, you still don't seem to get the hint." He slips off his blazer, handing it off to Steve. He then starts rolling up the sleeve of his metal arm, the dim lighting of the book shop reflecting off its metal plates.

"I can definitely figure out a way to get the message through to you."

Noah stutters out a response, "N-No. Th-That's not necessary, s-sir. I-I won't bother, Y/N again, I promise."

Bucky hums, "If I see or hear you harassing my girl or anyone else, I'll make sure your body will never be found again. Scum like you don't deserve second chances, but I'm feeling a little gracious today."

Noah nods, "Thank you. I-I won't behave like that ever again."

"Good. Now apologize to Y/N," he nods to you.

Noah gulps and stutters out an apology. You simply reply with a nod and Noah scurries away.

You let out a deep breath that you didn't know you were holding. You look at Bucky, "Thanks."

He shrugs, "Anyone gives you a problem, they have to go through me," he mumbles pecking your lips.

"Y/N, do you know why Noah suddenly qui-ah," Joan turns the corner to see you and Bucky. The older woman puts her hands on her hips and gives Bucky a scolding look, "Barnes, what did you do?"

Bucky shrugs, "Just gave him a warning, ma'am. He shouldn't have been treatin' my girl like that!"

"Very true, but you know I don't condone violence in my shop."

He holds his hands up, "No violence happened, ma'am. Just a little threatenin'." Joan looks to you for confirmation and you nod.

She sighs, "Very well. Guess I need to look for another employee again."

An idea came to mind, "Actually, I know someone!"

______________

"Seriously, Y/N, I owe you one for this!" the young brunette exclaims as he follows you with a box of books in his arms.

You chuckle, "It's no problem, Peter. Besides, we both get something out of this. You're doing a much safer job like your Aunt May and Tony wanted and you get to keep an eye on me for Bucky. It's a win-win situation."

The bell above the shop's door rings and Peter immediately places the box of books down, "I got it!" he rushes to the front, "Hi, welcome to-oh! Y/N!" Peter's voice echoes through the store.

You shelf a book and head to the front, "Yeah?" you break out into a smile as you see Bucky there.

"Hey!" you approach him, giving a little wave to Steve, who stands behind him. Steve waves back, but says nothing else. You wrap your arms around Bucky and peck his lips, "What's up?"

"Had a meeting at Wanda's shop, brought some pastries for you, Joan, and the kid," he hands over the maroon pastry box with Wanda's logo on it.

"Yay! Here, Peter," you hand it off to the young man and he jaw drops, "Oh, sweet! Thanks, Mr. Barnes!" and he heads into the back to share the pastries with Joan.

Bucky places his hands on your waist, "How's he doin'?"

You chuckle, "Fine. He's very enthusiastic and a hard worker. Plus, he doesn't hit on me because he's in love with MJ."

Bucky's brows shoot up in surprise, "Jones' kid? Pft. Good luck, Parker."

You giggle and then back away, "Alright, big mob boss, I need to get back to work."

"Fine. But seriously though, you feel better? Safer?"

You nod, "I do. Thank you," you kiss his cheek and he softens, "Like I said, no one messes with my girl," he gives you a wink and wave as he exits the book shop.

[urfavnewgirl]

you're in your polka dot pajamas, sheets freshly changed, nestled into your queen sized bed, book in hand. to any fleeting observer, the sight of you, face bare, skin glowing from recently applied moisturizer, would likely suggest a state of utter relaxation.

if that fleeting observation turned into a long-lasting one, however, the suggestion would instantaneously transform into one of nervousness.

it starts with your fingers, twitching around the spine of the novella resting atop your lap. next is your profile itself, furrowed brows, your eyes fixated on the same sentence for far too long.

so yes, you may seem calm at first glance, but you're not, and your discomfort shows in a melange of micromovements, one matching your interior chaos. the entangled mess in your brain, running over millions of scenarios, all involving him. in pain. bleeding. alone. he, who has been hurt so many times, you've lost count.

you sigh, run a hand over your face in a desperate attempt to ease your worries. sit up straight, tug the hood of his sweater further down. it's nearing midnight now, no sign of him. more reading it is, then, or pretending to, at least.

until you hear the ever familiar sound of a window opening an hour later, and he stands on the opposite side of it. tossing the book aside at a speed that would drive publishers mad with fury, you stumble off the bed.

hands grip his shoulders, push him into the bathroom before he has any time to react. “i'm putting a tracker in your head.”

he leans against the sink, looking at you with a mix of fatigue, amusement and something you can't quite place. “hello to you too, sweetheart.”

“are you okay? did you get hurt?”

"i'm fine."

“take off your shirt.”

“take me to dinner first.”

you glare at him. he takes off his shirt. when your gaze meets his bare skin, you're relieved not to discover any possible new scars. “you have a scratch on your face. i need to clean it.”

he doesn't protest, not when you rummage through the first aid kit, and especially not when the softness of your fingertips comes in contact with his left cheekbone in the gentlest of movements. not when you treat him in a way that transforms even the sting of antiseptic into a feeling of love. of care. he can't even be mad at the hello kitty band aid you top it all off with.

“there. now take a shower. i'm not dealing with the sweat of a man on my new linen sheets.”

“and here i thought we had something.”

you scoff. “fresh clothes are laid out on the washing machine, you big baby.”

“you forgot something, though.”

“what? are your legs inju-”

he grins, steals a brief kiss, purposefully prodding his sweaty fingers into the fat of your cheeks, and the bathroom door shuts before you can react to anything. 

-

it doesn't take long for the mattress to dip slightly, and you relax as soon as you feel him behind you. a pair of strong arms wraps around your middle, pulling you into a comfortable embrace. somehow, he manages to stay warm, even after spending the dreary nights of gotham winter outside.

when your hands rest atop his, his fingers engulf yours, rugged skin across a pattern of smoothness. he leans forward, kisses your shoulder, nuzzles his chin into your space. it is only when he's this close to you, no room for secrets left, that he allows himself peace. 

“love you, jay.”

too fatigued for a verbal answer, you merely feel his grip tighten in response, but it's enough for you.

if an observer passed by the two of you this very instant, no matter how long their glance may last, they would be able to identify solely one thing: tranquility.

[nanaslutt]

minors and ageless blogs do not interact

toji getting his ass absolutely drilled by sukuna

sukuna is shoving his head into the sheets, his fingers halfway inside tojis mouth that’s hanging open, drooling like a slut. his back is arched so deep, angled for sukuna so perfectly so he can fuck right against his prostate

“ugghhh- ngh-“ toji squeezes around sukuna when he cums for the third time, cock bobbing heavily with each thrust as sukuna fucks the cum out of him.

sukuna grips the fat of tojis ass so hard his sharp nails dig into his skin. his eyes roll back into his head as tojis hole tries to milk his cock. “did anything even come out? you’re shooting with every thrust, zenin.” sukuna teases, releasing tojis ass before smacking it roughly.

he’s rewarded with a grunt of pleasure from toji. “i can fuck your-“ tojis words cut off in a long groan when sukuna presses his fat cock to the hilt of his ass and rolls his hips in a circle. “f-fuck your mouth and cum down your throat if you don’t believe me.” his eyes are glossy and his face is flushed beyond beleif, but he still has a cocky, cock drunk smile on his lips

sukuna pulls back almost entirely before slamming back in, making toji borderline scream as he sets a fast and brutal pace so hard toji has to place his hand against the headboard so he doesn’t bump into it.

“bold words, sorcerer killer.” his cock leaks inside him. “but id rather watch you squirt on your own face while i ride your hole.”

in moments, toji is on his back with one of sukunas hands wrapped around his throat, which looks so small in comparison to his hand now. sukuna uses his other hand to push one of his knees back against the bed, folding toji in half.

toji grips sukunas thick wrist with both hands, mouth agape and eyes locked on the demon as he pounds his hole. “f-uuuck, fuck.”

“yeah.” sukuna grunts, his fangs showing with his smile. “just a stupid slut when i have you on my cock. where did that fight go?”

tojis nails break the skin of sukunas arms, making his cock twitch from the pain. “still here.” toji chokes out, his breath scratchy and breathy from how hard sukuna is gripping his throat.

his response makes sukunas smile grow. toji begins rolling his hips back to meet sukunas thrusts as best he can, his mouth falling open when his moans start to quiet.

“going to squirt, sorcerer killer?” toji’s mouth closes and he grits his teeth together hard, tears of pleasure falling from the corner of his eyes. sukuna’s heavy balls throb, and he has to unclench the muscles in his pelvis to try not to cum at the sight.

leaning down over him, he crushes him with his body weight while not relenting in his thrusts. tojis sopping wet cock drips between them, making a mess on their abdomens. sukunas tongue flicks out, and he licks up the tear that fell from his eye.

“i do thoroughly enjoy it when you cry. give me more.” tojis lips part and his whole body tenses on a shout. “A-ah!!”

sukuna watches with pleasure as toji’s cock bursts, and he squirts all over his own chest and face. he’s too fucked out to even care about the mess he’s making, as he fumbles for his leaking cock to stroke himself through his climax.

sukuna beats him to it, slapping his hand out of the way to jerk him off quickly, making toji whine as his head thrashes side to side trying to excape the painful pleasure. “sukuna!!” he yells, legs shaking around his large body so violently it nearly looks painful.

“yes pet, again.”

sukuna gets what he wants when toji cums again, though this time nothing comes out. sukuna fucks him through it all the same, jerking his cock harshly that’s been rubbed raw. the tip is so red, and he’s so wet it’s making the most vulgar noises.

when sukuna slows his thrusts, still hard and throbbing inside his ass, he pulls his now drenched hand off of tojis cock and lifts it to his mouth. toji’s tounge lazily swirls around his fingers, tasting his own cum, but that’s not good enough for sukuna.

releasing his throat, he pinches his cheeks together roughly, forcing him to suck on his fingers properly. his cock gives a twitch inside his tight hole when he presses them down his throat and toji gags in response.

“can you take more? or are you nothing but a broken toy now?”sukuna asks, pretending to be more brutal because he knows how much it turns toji on.

sukuna grunts when toji bites down hard around his fingers before smiling like the brat he is. “f-fuck you, i can’t be broken. you still have to check if i have any cum left in me, or if that was just a fluke. unless, you can take anymore…”

he knows he’s taunting him, but he can’t help but fall right into his trap. the vein in his forhead pulsates, and he smacks tojis face harshly, making the other man smile.

“when i’m done with you, you will have no more fluids left to give me.”

(he’s talking abt tears there ^… not uh…. not anything else….. just had to clear that up…. anyways hope u enjoyed…. freaks…….)

[hwallazia]

WARDROBE MALFUNCTIONS – 최산

⋆ synopsis. you help san in a very special way with his outfit before he gets on stage.

pairing. idol bf! san & hairstylist fem! reader.

wc. 3,1k

warnings. soft dom! san & sub! reader, cussing, semi-public sex (they fuck in a men’s restroom tehee), unprotected sex (boo 👎), creampie, cowgirl position, implied handjob & blowjob (didn’t write that part explicitly), quickie?, begging, male masturbation, accidental erection, sannie is unable to cum with just his fist so he asks reader for help <3, dirty talk, praise, pet names (sannie, princess, jagi & more), in conclusion they’re DESPERATE.

nic’s notes ⋆ the wip has been posted 🙇‍♀️ four san fics in a row tho... YES SIR !! 🗣️ dw i’ll post a hongjoong one shot soon <3

the ambience was calm, the ac provided the room with cool air, the murmurs were a bit lower than usual so it was at the ideal volume and the members were naturally getting ready to go on stage, the screams of the excited and frenetic fans that non patiently waited in the stadium bleachers belied the calm atmosphere in the room.

as you were taking care of mingi’s hair and making it your job to make it look spectacular, you saw your boyfriend’s figure on the mirror. his reflection showed a bothered san, struggling with the zip of his shiny white pants. you redirected your eyes to mingi’s scalp, spraying small bits of glitter onto it.

“all done, princess” you chanted, meeting the man’s satisfied grin in the mirror; a smile unconsciously taking place on your face.

“it’s princess indeed.” he double checked his just-styled hair before rising from the chair, rotating his body towards you; back facing the mirror. “you seriously are an artist”

“wouldn’t be working in here if i didn’t have that title” you teased a little bit, stealing a charming laugh. you continued chatting with him for a couple more minutes, looking over his shoulder from time to time to see the cute pout formed on san’s pink lips. he let out a soft huff and made his way out of the room, your iris following his every movement.

“excuse me, mingi-ah. gotta finish up the work.” you explained before hearing an overshadowed humming of their song called “work”. chuckling, you tracked your boyfriend’s course.

you walked past a closed door, but you stepped backward when you noticed its threshold beaming a clear light. you hit your knuckles against the wooden door in a funny musical rhythm before hearing and seeing the handle of it twist open, revealing san’s figure; his makeup half messed up.

his annoyed features beamed up when he saw you, a hint of relief in his orbs. ”baby! so glad you’re here. come on.” he grabbed your hand not too gently but still without hurting you and pulled you to him, closing the door behind you quickly without giving it much of a thought that you were a woman inside a men’s restroom.

“s-sannie! what happened?” you analyzed his face for a moment, noticing smuddered powder of eyeshadow along the sides of his eyelids and his foundation slightly botched.

“uhm. kinda feels like this outfit doesn’t fit in the right places, if you know what i mean.” he spoke sheepishly, his muscly thighs uncomfortably restrained against the tight fabric of the pearly white pants.

your hands reached the sides of his pants. you tugged the piece of clothing twice with enough force to feel how snug it was.

you gasped lowly. “how did this happen?”

he sighed, rising and lowering his shoulders in surrender. “i don’t know how they keep messing up my measurements.”

you couldn’t help but ask the stupid question that had struck your thoughts the moment you saw him. “how did you even manage to get yourself inside those pants?”

he whined, sulking. “i don’t knowww, just get these off me.”

a soft blush heated your cheeks. “love, you gotta be on stage in less than thirty minutes, we can’t do—”

“not what i meant, filthy girl.” he deadpanned, the red on your face deepening. “not a bad idea though.”

a rush of embarrassment made your skin hot. you landed a sharp, yet light smack on the side of his shoulders. the emitted sound exaggerated how harshly you had hit him. “choi san! focus!”

“you’re the one who gave the idea!” he defended himself, arms closing around his chest.

you sighed before humming lowly, submerged in thought, your brain already trying to scheme a solution as san dedicated himself to pout cutely, huffing softly, clearly annoyed at the uncomfortable, leg-numbing fabric.

a click sounded inside your head. “i’ll go find and see if there’s another pair of those. if not, then i’ll get you something similar. just wait here.” you uttered as you stretched your opened palm in front of you.

he nodded. “okay, go,”

you gave him a little smile before vanishing from the tiny restroom. after hearing the door clicking shut, you sprung towards the dressing room, where wooyoung and seonghwa were conversing trivialities. yunho noticed you and your fast heartbeat the moment you spawned at the door.

his eyebrow quirked up for a bit. “what’s up? why were you running just now?”

you exhaled in an exasperated sigh. “i need to find inseol”

inseol was your friend and also the head of the dressing department, she designed and planned every single one of ateez’s stunning and mind-blowing outfits. “haven’t seen her.” yunho simply responded.

“me neither.” the two other men replied in unison, the low curse you huffed going unheard by them.

“why though? we’re all dressed up already.” wooyoung questioned.

“sannie’s having a problem with his pants. they’re way too tiny and therefore, tight.”

the thought alone of san dancing his soul out on that stage with senseless, numb feet makes your head spin in the worst way. you had to help your boyfriend somehow, and inseol not being in sight was complicating things.

“are you serious?” hongjoong stepped into the room, and you felt your blood run cold.

if there was something kim hongjoong hated, it was unforeseen events.

you managed to compose yourself the best you could. “yes but i’m already taking care of it!”

your words did almost nothing to calm hongjoong’s growing boiling stress. you closed your eyes for a tiny second, already accepting your fate and mentally preparing for hongjoong’s temper tantrum, but seonghwa’s wise and soothing voice intervened. “hongjoong, she said she’s already taking care of it. so let her do what she gotta do, we’re all under the same circumstances and pressure.”

hongjoong heaved a sharp sigh, frown relaxing, limbs letting go of the way-too-quickly accumulated tension. “you’re right. sorry, go ahead.”

you smiled sweetly in an attempt to reassure hongjoong. “it’s okay. i’ll figure this out — no need to worry.” you said as you eased your way out the door, but not before mouthing a genuine ‘thank you’ to seonghwa, who only nodded politely as he gave you a tiny grin.

as you walked towards the room where your sannie was, your mind anxiously scrambled for a quick solution, but with so many limited options, your stress only grew bigger. you mumbled under your breath some possible resolutions, yet nothing ingenious came to mind.

it wasn’t until you passed by this chair, overloaded with a black and seemingly heavy and full backpack with pieces of clothing on top. your eyes flickered toward the overused chair and you instantly started roaming through the mountain of fabric, wishing for a similar pair of white pants to come into sight.

in the distance, you could hear the voices of your coworkers murmuring about how much time was left until the concert started. 20 minutes was all you had.

then, a miracle happened. the low percentage of chances of you finding the exact cloth you needed elevated drastically to one hundred the moment the almost identical pearly white pants covered your opened palm.

you almost squealed when you found it, but you had to remain collected and professional. instead, you cleared your throat and headed towards the men’s restroom with hurried steps, where your poor sannie awaited for your savior-like presence.

you twisted the door handle once you were face to face with the men’s restroom symbol, opening and closing the door behind you quickly.

you expected him to be fighting against the tightness of his pants, huffing and groaning, full of stress.

“jagi,”

you definitely weren’t expecting him to be half naked on the floor, with a throbbing cock in hand as he panted breathlessly, the snug fabric of the pants still rubbing against his covered balls. his makeup was already fucked up because of the blanket of glistening sweat his face was covered in. his half-lidded eyes and shiny lips only invited you to sink into sin with him.

but you couldn’t. not when he had a stage to be on, a performance to give.

your eyes stayed widely open like plates as you blurted out. “sannie, what are you—”

“i tried getting out of these but it just kept rubbing against my dick every time i tried to move.” he blabbered, soft sobs hitching his breath. “i really didn’t mean it but ‘m so hard, jagi. i don’t know what to do and it just doesn’t go down.”

your mouth dried as you intently stared at his velvety tip, enveloped with his big hand, fully covered in precum, pulsating and aching under his fingers.

oh, your poor sannie.

so endlessly helpless and sensitive.

“help me, please.” he begged, his voice cracking, yet so fucking cute.

and of course you’d lend him a helping hand.

you cooed at him as you approached him, the slow steps of your low heels clicking against the wooden floor.

“oh, baby. so sensitive as always,” you caressed the side of his messed-up hair. you internally sighed since you had to redo your hard work.

but that thought faded in a blur, ’cause now you had more important things to do.

and that thing was sat obediently in front of you, waiting for your magical touch to send him into another dimension in less than ten minutes.

’cause that was all you had to get the deed done.

“‘m sorry, love, but—” he gulped before pleading. “can you suck it? please.”

naturally, your sweetheart of a boyfriend hardly ever lets you suck his cock, since he prefers pleasing you first, prioritizing your release before his.

desperate times call for desperate measures, though. so of course you knew he wouldn’t be asking you this if he had another alternative, another solution that didn’t mean resorting to such a filthy act, in such a short time, and in such a place.

“of course baby.”

five minutes.

only five minutes had passed until he was practically begging you to let him fuck you.

”please, jagi, it’s the only way it comes down” he used as an excuse. it was valid, though, the clenching walls of your pussy were the ultimate method to soften up san’s girthy length.

after a brief moment of considering it, your hand movement came to a stop, his reddened cockhead slapping against his uncovered abs, a sticky line of pre-cum dirtying his happy trail.

“we’re going that far, huh?” you teased, kissing his jaw as you positioned yourself on top of him. he tried to whine out an excuse, a reason why he wanted to fuck you with only a few minutes before his show, but you shushed him quickly, grabbing his girth by the base and aligning it towards your welcoming entrance. “we gotta be quick, though.”

he exhaled, taking in the view that unraveled in front of him. “i know.”

after giving him a warm smile, you sank down slowly, your body instinctively leaning slightly forward, your palms laying flat on his firm chest, using as the perfect support. you took him inch by inch, until your pussy lips grazed his balls. a satisfied sigh left your mouth, san’s head immediately rocking back as he grunted deeply, your warming insides always felt so heavenly divine.

the way you clamped down him forced him to lock gazes with you again, his low hiss cutting through the air. then, he realized that you weren’t actually moving, so he breathed in to ask, but you were faster, replying to his untold question. “fuck me, then.” you leaned closer, your faces just a few inches apart. “take what you need, sannie.”

san stared up at you with an intoxicated, loving gaze, a silent “thank you” dripping from his sparkling eyes. his hands landed on your hips, holding you steady before lifting them up, a few inches of him withdrawing from the cozy embrace of your cunt. whilst he held your body up, you purposely squeezed his cocktip and san cursed under his breath. he started with a slow pace, driving his hardness up against your pussy, filling you all the way up.

you arched your back when his tip stroked that divine spot in you, eyes almost rolling back to your skull. “s—sannie, oh my fuck!” you kept moaning and panting breathlessly on top of him, completely powerless.

he dove his head into your breasts, nuzzling his mouth in the middle of them. your bouncing tits rubbed against his cheeks with every jump, san’s blood rushing towards his face. his half-lidded eyes and curled-up feet were the only evidence needed to prove that he was actually enjoying this.

“oh princess.” he exhaled endearingly, utterly in love with your bouncing figure. “i love how you feel.” he uttered as he massaged your sides, ramming his cock to your convulsing pussy, repeatedly hitting your g-spot. “that’s the spot, isn’t it?”

his voice penetrated deeply inside your eardrums, your trembling core almost failing to keep its balance as you came closer and closer to the edge. “y-yeah, ‘m so close, so fucking close—ugh!”

your moans grew louder with each thrust, your hands holding onto his arms as they squeezed the heart muscle of his biceps. saying that you were a mess was an understatement, your white shirt had been discarded a while ago, a trail of sweat falling in between your breasts like rain; skirt hiked up to your marked hips. your mouth hung open in satisfaction, the sensation of being filled to the brim tipped you a bit.

“fuck— how much have we got left?” san groaned, hissing breathlessly.

“i—“ you stuttered as you raised your wrist up, staring at the clock that decorated it so elegantly.

5 minutes.

“we got five minutes, san. you gotta hurry.” you exhaled, looking desperate for your boyfriend’s release. he was the one who needed to be on that stage in less than ten minutes, after all. so you prioritized him thoughtfully.

”fuck, princess — you have to come.” his fingers reached down your sensitive clit and started rubbing circles on it. you squirmed on top of him as he kept thrusting his cock up your velvety walls.

you would’ve protested, claiming that it was actually him who had to come, if he hadn’t stimulated your bundle of nerves. your core twitched nonstop as your back arched beautifully. a string of incoherent pleas and san’s name spurted out of your mouth thoughtlessly.

in a warning manner, you clenched around him once or twice before coming undone all over his hardened dick, your body surrendered and crumbled down, your cheek colliding with his shoulder as you panted nonsense.

“that’s it, just like that, princess. you did so good.” he praised before grunting lowly. “so fucking good f’me.” he hammered your hips down his pelvic bone as he kept pistoning his hardness against your overstimulated, convulsing pussy. “gonna come inside you, fill you up reaaal good—yeah, y’ want it?” he growled, grasping your ass cheeks, definitely leaving his signature mark.

you blabbered a weak “yes”, too blissed out to even formulate coherent sentences. “‘course you want it, my dirty little princess.” san squeezed his eyes shut and moaned when he felt your walls clamp down on him for the nth time, this time bringing him closer to the abyss of pleasure though. “ugh— ‘m coming, ‘m coming, baby—“ he announced in a low, gravelly groan as he emptied his heavy load deep inside, filling you with his cum to the bone; eyes dilated.

he slowed his pace down before sitting completely still, your cunt still welcoming the white shoots of cum that his cock spurted out helplessly. you encircled his neck with your weakened arms for a moment, almost forgetting about the fact that your boyfriend had a concert to give. your body jolted as the reminder hit your head. “fuck, baby — you need to go now.”

and seemed like your boyfriend had forgotten about that little detail as well. “shit, you’re right.” he uttered before sliding his arms under your thighs and back, lifting you off him and placing you on the floor again as he rose up.

his head shook incessantly, searching for the whole reason why you were there. the word “pants” left his lips quietly, like a mantra. you stared up at him and helped him, pointing where the pair of pants was at. “behind that chair, sannie.”

he turned his head abruptly to where you had pointed at, the problematic pair of white pants coming in sight. he sighed before grabbing them and putting them on at the speed of light. you got up weakly and walked your way towards him.

san looked at you and immediately rushed to help you. “baby, stay still, you can barely walk.”

you locked gazes and you replied. “and just sit down on the floor of the men’s restroom?”

you quirked your eyebrow up and san shrugged a bit. “‘m just trying to help.” he sulked cutely and it made your heart swell with love.

you giggled as your fingers reached up to his messy hair. “i know you are, sannie, ‘m just kidding.” your fingers coiled around a lock of hair, curling it up. “now let me help you.” you repeated the action with the rest, finally perfecting his hairstyle with nothing more than your skillful fingers. meanwhile, san adjusted his pants and moved his legs around, doing silly movements to test the elasticity of the fabric, humming in approval when he felt nothing but comfortable.

you stepped back, taking in your work of art, nodding and sighing proudly. “perfect” you uttered.

”thank you, princess.” he leaned closer to peck your lips before his fingers brushed the door handle. “i’ll get going.”

”go kill that stage, pretty boy.” you encouraged, pride dripping off your tone.

san puffed his cheeks cutely, his eyes turning into pretty crescent moons. “yes, ma’am.”

and with that, he disappeared through the door, carefully clicking it shut. when the door closed, you crumbled down, shaky knees keeping your core shuddering. you stared down at your dripping pussy, gushing and coating the floor with san’s heavy cum. a strong blush heated your cheeks as you took in the view.

after a few minutes, the shakiness ceased and you were able to get up and clean the mess you and san had left on the tiles of the black marble floor. in the background, you could hear the sudden shouting of thousands of atinys combined with the faint sound of their song “halazia” reverberating throughout the whole arena, a sweet smile forming on your lips.

you remembered hongjoong’s angry demeanor when he overheard that san was having a problem with his outfit. so, you muttered under your breath, imaginatively responding to him. “told ya i’d take care of it.”

| masterlist

[forgwater]

"Ah, yes. Me, my beloved Prefect and my lookalike tsum from another dimension."

Twst Boys and their reactions to you cuddling their tsum instead of them Headcanons

part 1 part 2 part 3

tagging: @darkflowerav

Trey Clover

This might as well happen.

The Universe just keeps throwing things Treys way doesn't it...

He was hoping for a chill night.

But no. The tsum had to mess that up.

It's fine. He's not gonna get jealous of a plush toy.

He'll let you have your fill of cuddles from the tsum.

But beware should you only show affection to the tsum and ignore his open arms he will pay you back for the entire next week by not giving you cuddles and kisses.

He doesn't hold grudges, he swears.

He does. He holds grudges.

Ace Trappola

Come on!

He's right here you know!

He can see you ignoring him and only paying attention to this tsum!

He swears it is looking down on him. Ugh!

.... Is this about the joke he made this morning? It was just a joke! He already apologized.

No, Deuce, he's not jealous! (he is.)

He already got teased all day about this!

Cuddle him? Pretty please???

He's giving you puppy eyes. The tsum redirects your attention back to it every singe time he does.

Ace is not amused.

Ruggie Bucchi

After a full day of running errands and looking after his tsum, Ruggie is ready to fall into bed and your arms.

Hey, what's the tsum doing here?

Oh, well, fine. It can have one corner of the bed.

What do you mean you plan on cuddling it to sleep and not him???

But he needs your cuddles! They're the best part of his day! ...Night?

Anyways! You promised him cuddles and one single hug won't do it.

He'd use his UM and make you up the tsum away... but he doesn't want to see you upset.

So as long as you promise to drown him in affection tomorrow, he'll let you have the tsum for the night.

You do wake up in the middle of the night with Ruggie hugging you. He's also not letting go.

Jamil Viper

He just can't catch a break, can he?

He'll live.

Jamil is not happy about the new arrangement. But he'll have to make do.

When you ask him about the sour look on his face he says he's fine.

He's obviously not thrilled about the tsum.

So you decide the three of you will cuddle.

You're pretty sure Jamil and his tsum are side eyeing each other.

Neither on of them moves tho. So it should be fine... right?

You'll make it up to Jamil tomorrow for letting you have your cuddles with his plush lookalike.

Vil Schoenheit

Vil enjoyed his tsums company well enough.

It was not doing anything that would get either one of them in trouble.

What a well mannered tsum. He expected no less.

Vil allowed it to be pampered by you for the day.

And he's even allowing it to sleep in the bed with the two of you. As long as it makes you happy he's willing to make a few exceptions.

But this is ridiculous!

You're not even paying attention to him!

Him! Vil Schoenheit! YOUR BOYFRIEND.

It's been such a long day and you're lavishing all of your attention on a plush and not him!

This is unacceptable!

...Perhaps he should test the new makeup products he just got on the tsum first.

And you! You'll have to make it up to him with lots of affection. Tomorrow.

Idia Shroud

It's okay. He'll just... play some games.

Idia knew you wouldn't be able to resist the cuteness of a tsum. They're perfectly made to be cuddled with.

It's alright. He expected this.

He can't really complain when it's HIS tsum that's making you so happy.

.....

BUT WHY THE HELL DOES HE FEEL LIKE HE'S THIRD WHEELING THE TWO OF YOU!?!??!

HE'S YOUR BOYFRIEND.

The tsum should respect this and back of a little!

A few cuddles here and there are fine! But come on! Pay some attention to him too!

At this point Idia can feel his hair turning orange.

You better calm down your gamer boyfriend before some unsuspecting player gets caught in the crossfire.

Malleus Draconia

So far Malleus has been unbothered with the tsum appearances.

They're quite interesting creatures.

He's been happily spending time with his lookalike. It's good to have an ice cream eating buddy.

Truly, he's enjoyed the company.

Malleus thought nothing of it when you brought the plush in the bed.

He was fine with it. Everything was fine.

Until the tsum started hogging your attention, that is.

The Diasomnia housewarden is a hair width away from incinerating his plush lookalike.

....Are those storm clouds forming in the distance?....

Maybe you should pay more attention to your boyfriend.... and quick.

Silver

Luckily for everyone Silvers tsum is a calm one.

I fact, both Silver and the tsum were already asleep when you were done changing in your pajamas.

You know Silver was trying his best to stay awake so you just give his temple a quick peck for his attempt.

And one for the tsum as well.

It looks like you won't have cuddles tonight since they're both sleeping.

To your surprise you do wake up in the middle of the night sandwiched between your boyfriend and his plush counterpart.

Nice and comfy~

[unorthodoxfaithxx]

Super happy, puppy dog yandere boyfriend that’s happy to have sex with you for the first time

afab reader ; nsfw

You look so beautiful in bed, all dolled up and pretty just for him! And only for him! He’s so excited that his pants feel way too restrictive, and if he had a tail you bet it’d be wagging a mile a minute. 

He looks at your soft curves, your bashful, oh-so-cute-eyes, and the rosiness of your adorable cheeks with so much love. Because he loves you. And he really REALLY means it. And wants to show you how he really feels tonight. He was so happy that you’d agreed to go all the way with him. 

When he undresses and leans over your body, hands squeezing your hips and inner thigh, you feel him trembling with anticipation. You giggle at the sight, and he swears your voice is like an angel from above singing holy scripture into his ears. 

You unclasp your bra, throwing it to the side of the room. He imagines smothering his face between your tits until you slowly peel your laced panties out from under you, revealing a perfectly pink pussy that has him practically drooling, all sense of self restraint bursting at the seams.

He’s all over you before you can even say a word, face between your legs, boyish hands keeping a vice like grip on your thighs to keep you open as he laps and laps away until he’s satisfied. Which in the moment, he thinks he’ll never be with how good you taste. His drool gets everywhere, coating your already wet cunt with his own juices. He apologizes for the mess and eagerly goes to clean it up with his tongue, sucking on your mound like a dog gobbling over a chew toy. 

Did he already say your voice sounds like an angel? Because your moans are so immaculate he can just listen to you say his name and ONLY his name all damn day. Just you and him. Together forever and ever and ever and ever —

The thought of spending eternity with you puts him over the edge, and he practically whines for you to let him put his cock inside. 

“Please, baby? I promise I’ll make you feel good. I promise! I wanna feel you so bad. I can’t take it anymore.”

You find his begging cute, but would be a cruel woman to tell him no when he’s staring at you with such puppy-love, lust ridden eyes. When you say yes, he’s over the moon, already covering your body with sloppy kisses and thank yous, muttering promises of how he’ll make you feel oh so full, oh so good, and that he’ll take care of you forever. 

He knows you’re not a virgin but he doesn’t care. He would have loved to be your first but that doesn’t matter now, the only thing that matters is making you his right this moment and making it to where you’ll never want another man ever again, just him. 

When his cock plunges into you he moans just as loud as you, if not more. You feel his heart pounding like crazy and reach to kiss him, sending him into a frenzy of ‘I love you’s and ‘Mine, mine, MINE’. He latches onto your tits like they’re a lifeline, feeling so high with adrenaline that he almost zones out and ignores your moans. Uh-oh, can’t do that! He wants to hear every noise you’ll make for him tonight. 

He’s fucking you so fast and so good you can barely think straight, and your fucked out expression just sends him over the moon. He squeals at your adorable face and holds you tighter, biting into your neck and laughing when you gasp at his actions. He hasn’t bothered counting how many times you’ve come. He just knows it’s been more than three. 

You ask him to take you from behind, doggystyle, and he happily obliges. He fucks you deep, slamming into you as hard as he can, gripping your ass and giving one cheek a nice smack. With a pull of your hair, he’s got you on both knees pressed flush against his body. He gives you another hickey on your neck, but not before another bite. 

“Oh you’re doing so good for me baby. Just like that! Yeah. Go ahead and cum for me.” He encourages. 

Boy, does he want to come inside you so bad, make you his and mark you, but he knows how you feel about that and opts to come outside instead, all over your perfect ass. 

When he finishes, he flops into bed next to you and holds you tight, looking at you with concerned but hopeful eyes. 

“How was that?? Was it good? You won’t leave me know will you? I know I liked it, but did you? We can go another round if you want. I wanna make you—“

You hush him with a reassuring kiss on the lips.