#but it's something i needed to get off my chest

[ssweeterthanfiction]

Blabbermouth

johnny storm x fem!reader content warnings: none! all fluff! summary: on a mission, Johnny gets sprayed with something that makes him way too honest. you try to keep him quiet, but he blurts out all the things he’s been holding back, especially how long he’s been in love with you. wc: 2k

masterlist.

It was supposed to be a standard sweep.

Alien bunker. Low threat. Weird tech, strange symbols, and enough glowing crystals to make Reed’s voice crack with excitement. Johnny had been bored from the start—hovering in the back of the group, tossing a ball of flame between his fingers while Ben kicked open doors and Sue cleared the path.

“I could be on a beach right now,” Johnny muttered, singeing the edge of a scorched blueprint with his pinky. “I deserve to be on a beach.”

“You got terrible sunburn last time,” Sue reminded him without looking back.

“It was a controlled burn.”

The air in the corridor felt stale, like something hadn’t breathed in there for centuries. They moved cautiously through the underground chamber, scanning for trip wires or pressure plates. Nothing. Just strange writing etched into the walls, humming with quiet energy.

That was the first sign something was off.

The second?

The pod.

It sat in the corner of the room. Dull silver, cracked slightly open, leaking a strange violet mist that curled and floated like it had a mind of its own.

Johnny, naturally, poked it.

“Johnny.” Ben snapped, too late.

The mist shot upward in a perfect puff—like a firework in reverse—right into Johnny’s face.

He blinked. Coughed once. Waved the smoke away.

“What the hell was that?” Sue asked, backing up with her arm half-raised for a shield.

“I’m fine,” Johnny said, squinting. “That was barely a breath. Not even spicy. Smelled kind of like lavender.”

Reed was already scanning him with some handheld monitor, muttering calculations under his breath.

Johnny grinned. “Relax, I’m fine. I feel great, actually.”

Then he looked at Sue and said, completely deadpan:

“By the way, your meatloaf sucks.”

A beat of silence.

“Excuse me?” she said, affronted.

“I’ve been pretending for years. I’m sorry. It’s bad. It’s like sadness in a pan.”

And that was when Reed declared the mission over.

The Baxter Building lobby smelled like smoke.

Not the scary kind. No alarms, no shouting, no flaming holes in the ceiling. Just a lingering warmth in the air, like someone had lit a match and forgot to put it out. You looked up from your notebook as the elevator doors slid open and the Fantastic Four filed in, one by one.

Reed had a sample tube in his hand. Sue was wiping green goo off her shoulder with a sigh. Ben was muttering something about “next time, I swear I’m bringing a flamethrower.”

And Johnny…

Johnny was beaming.

“Hey, guys!” he said way too brightly, his eyes going wide when he spotted you. “Look who it is! It’s the prettiest person in the tri-state area. No, the planet. Actually, the universe. Easy.”

You blinked. “Johnny?”

He marched right up to you with zero hesitation and zero regard for personal space.

“Hi,” he said, grin full blast, cheeks flushed. “You look amazing. I love that shirt on you. And your hair? Perfect. Is that a new lipstick? It’s making me go crazy. In a good way.”

“…Are you okay?”

“Me? Never better,” he said, rocking on the balls of his feet. “Got sprayed with a weird puff of alien gas in a tunnel, but I feel fantastic. And also, I’ve been thinking about how your laugh sounds like windchimes, and how it makes my chest all floaty and-”

“Johnny,” Reed interrupted from across the room, brows furrowed behind his glasses. “I need you to sit down.”

“I am sitting down,” Johnny replied.

“You’re standing.”

“Well, emotionally I’m sitting. Emotionally I am in a beanbag chair. Staring at-” he turned back to you, “a literal work of art.”

Sue groaned and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Reed, tell me he didn’t breathe that stuff in.”

“He did,” Reed said grimly. “And based on his current behavior, I’m hypothesizing a psychochemical compound similar to a truth serum. But stronger. Less filtered. More impulsive.”

“Sweet,” Ben said. “So he’s just gonna be running his mouth until it wears off?”

“Correct.”

“Oh, this is gonna be good.”

You turned back to Johnny, whose attention hadn’t wavered once. He looked like a golden retriever that had just discovered affection. His smile was stupid. His eyes were shining. His hair was a little windblown and he had a small scratch on his cheek, but he looked annoyingly good.

“I am so sorry,” you whispered, placing a gentle hand on his arm. “You probably don’t feel like yourself right now.”

“I feel great,” he replied. “Your hand is soft. Did you know that? Have I told you that before?”

“Johnny-”

“And I love that perfume. It’s not too much. It’s, like, subtle but deadly. I would let it kill me.”

“Okay-”

“I’m in love with you, by the way.”

Silence.

Your mouth dropped open.

Sue choked on her coffee.

Ben muttered, “Aw, hell.”

Johnny blinked. “Oh. Should I not have said that?”

The words just…hung there.

Like a balloon popped in the middle of a silent room. Time slowed. You felt your ears go hot, your heart skip. Johnny stood there, blinking at you like he didn’t just say that, like he hadn’t just detonated the emotional equivalent of a nuclear bomb in the middle of the Baxter Building.

“Okay,” you said, voice tight. “Okay. So you’re, uh. You’re drugged. That’s cool. That’s fine. Everything’s cool-”

“I’m not drugged,” Johnny said proudly. “I’m just finally free.”

Sue set down her coffee with a loud clunk. “Johnny, shut up.”

“I won’t!” he declared, like he was giving a toast. “I have been in love with her for, like, six months- maybe more, who’s counting, not me, except that I definitely wrote it in my notebook at one poin=t”

“Oh my God,” you whispered.

“And I didn’t say anything because I thought, hey, you’re normal, right? And I’m me. Human torch. Fire boy. Disaster man. I figured if I told you, you’d run for the hills or laugh or worse. But I think about you all the time.”

“Johnny-”

“Like, all the time. Like, embarrassing amounts. Like I have quotes you’ve said stuck in my head like song lyrics.”

"Johnny can you-"

“I memorized the way you say my name,” Johnny added, eyes wide, honest to God sincere. “You say it different than everyone else. It’s like…softer. Like you’re letting me be someone else when you say it.”

You wanted to disappear.

No. You wanted to melt into the floor.

Or maybe fly into the sun.

But instead you stood there, frozen, while Johnny kept going, still not done.

“One time I flew over your apartment window to make sure you got home okay after that dinner with that guy you didn’t like. And I pretended it was a patrol run, but really I just wanted to make sure your lights turned on. And I saw them. And I smiled for, like, an hour.”

“Oh my God,” Sue muttered into her hands.

“Also!” he added brightly. “I have a collection of vinyls in a box labelled ‘If She Ever Lets Me Kiss Her’ and I will be playing it in full if that moment ever comes."

Ben was red in the face now, shaking with laughter. Reed just looked concerned.

You finally grabbed Johnny’s arm and pulled him into the hallway with a rushed, “I just need to talk to him, excuse us.."

Once the door clicked shut behind you, Johnny looked up at you with a dreamy smile.

“You’re holding my arm,” he said, like it was the best part of his whole day.

You stared at him. “Johnny.”

“Yes?”

“You are not in your right mind.”

“I’m in love.”

“No, you’re chemically compromised.”

He grinned wider. “Wow. That’s my favorite way someone’s ever said that.”

You ran a hand down your face, trying not to laugh. Trying not to feel the way your heart was pounding.

“You can’t just…say all that to me,” you whispered. “You can’t say things like that and not mean them.”

Johnny paused.

The smile softened. For the first time all afternoon, he looked a little serious. A little still.

“I do mean them,” he said quietly. “Every single word.”

You stared.

He wasn’t grinning now. He wasn’t performing. He was just looking at you like you were the only real thing in the room. No sparks. No flash.

Honest.

Open.

Yours, if you wanted.

“But,” he added, blinking slow. “If you don’t feel the same, that’s okay. I can…walk that back. Just, like, tell me, and I’ll make myself forget. Or I’ll pretend this never happened. I’ll do whatever you want. Just…don’t stop being in my life. I need you. Even if I don’t get to have you.”

You didn’t realize you’d moved until your hand was on his face, fingers cradling his jaw, thumb brushing the side of his cheek.

He leaned into it instantly, heat curling off his skin like instinct.

“You didn’t even ask if I feel the same,” you said softly.

“Do you?”

You nodded. Barely.

He didn’t say anything.

He just kissed you.

It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t fiery.

It was warm. Solid. Real.

He tasted like cinnamon gum and something a little electric. He sighed into it like it was the one thing he’d been holding his breath for all this time.

When you pulled back, he looked dazed.

“You taste like strawberry chapstick,” he whispered. “I knew it.”

You laughed, breathless, forehead pressed to his.

“What happens when the serum wears off?”

“I panic. Sue makes fun of me. Reed writes a report. I pretend I don’t remember any of this.”

“And then?”

He looked at you again.

“Then I kiss you again,” he said. “But on purpose this time.”

By the time Johnny woke up the next morning, the serum had long worn off, and the crippling realization of everything he’d said had kicked in.

He lay on his back in his bed, arm over his face, replaying it all in horror:

“I think about kissing you, like, constantly.” “I flew past your window to make sure you were safe.”

He groaned. Out loud. Into the void. Into his pillow.

“Oh my god.”

There was a knock at the door.

He flinched. “Go away.”

The door opened anyway.

“Morning, lover boy,” Ben said, way too cheerfully.

“I said go away.”

“Too bad. I brought company.”

Sue followed behind, sipping her coffee. “How’s our little truth bomb?”

Johnny rolled over and buried his face in the pillow. “Dead. Gone. I’m quitting the team.”

“Aw, come on,” Ben said. “You were adorable. Real rom-com material.”

“Kill me.”

“I didn’t know your middle name was ‘romance’” Sue added.

“I swear to God-”

“And Reed says he’s almost done charting your ‘emotional spike timeline,’” Ben said. “Apparently you got more honest every time she smiled at you.”

“I will burn this entire building down.”

A soft knock interrupted his growing spiral of despair.

You stepped into the doorway, holding two mugs of coffee. One of them had little flame doodles on the side. Johnny peeked over his pillow, eyes wide like a scared cat.

You gave him a slow smile. “You, uh…remember yesterday?”

He groaned. Again. “Please say it was all a dream.”

“Nope.”

You walked over and handed him the flame mug.

“But it was a very good dream for me.”

His ears turned red. Bright red. Like the serum had activated all over again.

You sat gently beside him on the edge of the bed.

“I liked hearing the things you said,” you added. “Even if they were…sudden. And chaotic. And a little concerning.”

“So…you’re not never speaking to me again?”

“Nope.”

“You don’t hate me?”

“Definitely not.”

You leaned in, brushed your hand across his cheek, and kissed the corner of his mouth, warm and quick and real.

“I kind of want to hear more of the truth,” you murmured. “This time without the alien chemicals.”

His eyes widened. “You do?”

“Only if you promise to show me that collection of records.”

Johnny grinned, wide and stunned, like he couldn’t believe his luck.

“I’ll even throw in choreography,” he said. “But I’m warning you—it’s a lot of finger guns and dramatic pointing.”

“Perfect.”

And for the first time in twenty-four hours, Johnny Storm thought:

"Yeah. That wasn’t so bad after all."

[satoruined]

18+ phone sex with bsf!gojo

your legs are propped against the wall to encourage circulation. your body aches in that diffuse, overstimulated way it gets after hours of inertia mistaken for rest. you’ve been toggling between apps, forgetting what you opened and why. your thumb keeps opening your messages, closing them, then flicking back to your home screen. nothing new. nothing waiting. the ambient glow of your lock screen washes the sheets in a sickly blue. your phone buzzes once in your palm, abrupt and physical, a nudge more than a ring. incoming call… satoru. the name flickers at the top, options below: reminder, message, accept, decline.

you accept without really consciously deciding to, thumb tapping green and sliding upward. your phone stays cradled in your hand as it switches to the full screen. elapsed seconds appear beneath his name. you press speaker.

“you’re still up?” his voice is muffled slightly, like he’s under blankets or speaking into his pillow.

“m’talking to you, aren’t i?”

“you touching yourself?”

“excuse me?”

“dunno.” he yawns. “you’ve got that voice.”

not much to say to that. whatever the fuck that was. your legs are starting to go numb, so you let them slide down the wall, toes dragging the drywall on their way down.

“what voice?”

“that sleepy one.” he murmurs. you hear fabric rustle near his mic, he must be turning onto his side.

“y’know, the ‘if-you-tell-me-to-touch-myself-i-will’ voice.”

“pervert.” you wrinkle your nose, more out of embarrassment than indignation.

“only ‘cause i’m thinking about you.” he yawns, “i’m so sleepy.”you roll onto your side, legs curling toward your chest, screen still lit beside your pillow.

“then sleep. duh.”

“i want to. but.”

there’s always a but. sometimes you think it's a habit he hasn't outgrown—leaving unclosed parentheses, little excuses to keep you on the line.

“but my dick’s being annoying.”

“what’s new.”

the groan is theatrical, yet he’s too tired to commit to the bit.“you’re supposed to say something nice,” he grumbles. “or offer to help. or at least sympathise.”

“you’re calling me just so you can jerk off, aren’t you?”

“not just,” he insists. “i wanted to see your face, too.”

he says it like the truth needs no defence, as if needing you while touching himself has always been this transparent. a clause built into the friendship somewhere between hey, what’s for lunch and you up?. this is what you are to each other.

“aw, so sleep blue-balled,” you singsong. he makes a noise that sounds genuinely pained. “that’s evil. why would you say that.”biting your lip, you smile against the warm side of your pillow. “erm… because you deserve it?”

rustling fabric fills the lull. in your mind, you can picture him with such clarity: his arm flung across his eyes, white hair sticking up at odd angles.

“seriously though,” he says. “can i?”

“can you what?”

“jerk off to your voice. need the greenlight or it feels weird.”

a pause. the blanket slips down your thigh as you shift, one leg exposed to the cool air. goosebumps gather without effort.

“shit. you’re really gonna?”

“only if it’s cool with you.”

the phone is starting to heat against your ear, screen warm with prolonged contact.

“want to FaceTime?”

a shallow inhale. his response comes in a rush.

“i didn’t even know that was an option. fuck, yeah.”

“yeah, okay. i’m picking up.” your thumb taps end on the call screen, and within seconds, the incoming FaceTime flashes the usual translucent overlay, your lock screen dimmed behind it.

you swipe to accept. the screen jumps from your own dim reflection, eyes bleary in the front camera, to his.

his face takes up most of the frame. so close you’re able to count the pores in his skin. harsh yellow lamplight catches on the angles of his cheekbones and the translucent fringe of his lashes, almost insubstantial when he blinks. they rest briefly on the apple of his cheek, then lift again.

you smile. he smiles back.

“hi.”

“hi.”

in full view now, satoru looks uncharacteristically shy. mouth parted, bottom lip moist where he’s licked it, eyes flickering between the screen and something out of frame.

“was waiting for you to say something dirty.”

“and how long would that’ve taken?”

“dunno. ten minutes…twenty. i would’ve stuck it out.” he sounds tired, but lucid. not fully wanking off yet, if you had to guess—probably still palming himself over his boxers, getting worked up on pure suggestion. you roll onto your side, and the phone wobbles, catches the edge of the fitted sheet. your hand snakes out to right it again.

the mic picks up the faint squelching noise. somewhere out of frame, his hand’s already moving. the camera stays fixed on his face, and it’s all the more intimate for it. he wants you to see what it does to him.

you pretend to be unaffected, but your body makes a liar of you. viscous heat pools in your loins, your thighs pressing together as if that might contain it. the lighting in his room throws everything into a jarring gold. shadows stretch over the planes of his body, carving out the dips of his collarbones, the curve of his shoulder where it slopes into bicep. all rendered in movement—small, involuntary flinches that betray how far gone he already is.

wet and uneven shlick shlicks between his shallow breathing, and your imagination fills the gaps. his fist working at the base, moving up along the shaft. the flushed crown seeping into his palm. the part of him you haven’t seen, haven’t touched, yet already crave.

“can i see?” you blurt out, immediately embarrassed. so little time pass between the inquiry and the rustle of cotton, followed by a faint clatter of his phone being repositioned against something more stable. the camera tilts from his face to the slope of his torso, and below that… christ.

his cock fills the centre of the screen, thick and gleaming in his grip. the tip is flushed a dark pink that’s nearly red, leaking precum on his knuckles and clinging in filmy threads between shaft and fist. each upward pull draws a soft twitch from the base. your panties are wet and your mouth is dry.

“fuck,” he groans, “say something.”

you wet your lips. try not to pant into the mic.

“what do you want me to say?”

“anything,” he whines, almost ashamed, “…tell me you’re thinking about me. even if you’re not. your voice’ll get me there.”you know satoru doesn’t mean to sound that pitifully truthful. the strongest sorcerer rarely lets insecurity take hold. he crushes doubt with bravado, but right now, the façade slips. thumb tracing the screen’s bevel, your own face stares back at you from the dark, no longer innocent—if it ever was.

“you always say you want honesty.” hand sliding between your thighs, settling into warmth. “but then you sound like that.”

“what kind of dirty talk-”

“i am thinking about you,” you interrupt, breathless. “i do that all the time. more than i should.”

he moans. not a sigh, but a sound much deeper, as though his entire body flinched from the force of it.

“fuck. fuck, that’s hot.”

your hand move faster between your thighs, knees knocking together under the blanket.

“come for me, toru.”

his face twists—eyes squeezed shut, brows pulled together in an fashion that could be pain if not for the rosy flush streaking his cheekbones. lips parted, he lets out a broken sound as he spills across his abdomen. the camera catches it in motion: streaks catching light on the dip of muscle, glistening where it hits pale skin. seconds pass. his head drops back onto the pillow. a ragged sigh slips out as the camera tips back up to his face.

“you okay?”

his eyes crack open, irises ablaze. bright as arc welders, or sea glass under radiation. the whites nearly indistinguishable from the iris, both eclipsed by some cold, internal flare that burns behind the striations of his pupils.

“yeah,” he mumbles. “thanks. felt good hearing you.”

[rawme-price]

Pleeeeeeeeeease part three of secret dragon reader pleeease my soul is yours

[Part 1] [Part 2]

Price is still pacing when gaz finds him.

The sergeant instantly tucks himself into prices wing, and smiles internally when his captain lets out a light puff of smoke. He heard what happened, and knew price would he handling it poorly. He always did lean on his hoard for emotional support.

"So...a dragon, huh?" Kyle only knew what others had been saying, he wanted confirmation from the source.

"Yeah," Price tugs kyle a bit closer, a hand coming to rest on his neck, thumb pressing at kyles pulse. "...I cant believe i didnt realize it before. Its so obvious now, the posture, the jumpiness...fuck i probably triggered all sorts of instincts without realizing."

Price scrubs a hand over his face in frustration, chest rumbling. Hes obviously been going over every interaction hes had with you, trying to spot the signs.

Kyle opens his mouth to reassure price, but at the same time the clinic door opens and a doctor steps out. Hes frowning, and price instantly tenses up. The doctor hands price a clipboard, smiles apologetically "...maybe its best if youre in the room when this is discussed. Im not...well versed, in the more psychological impacts this will have."

Prices stomach rolls when he glances over the clipboard of everything wrong they found. Fuck...this wasnt good. Not the worst, but its not anything price would wish on someone. He takes a deep breath, lets the fire-warm air spread through him, and follows the doctor into your observation room.

Its worse when price lays eyes on you. Sprawled out on your side, extra supports attached to the bed to hold your wings spread out. Thet tremble like a newborns, twitch with every breath. Price couldn't guess what type of dragon you are, not with how under developed and muted your wings are. Your tail isnt much better where it peaks out from the hem of the hospital gown, pale and malformed in a way that makes prices stomach twist.

Your eyes turn to price slowly, lidded and Grey. The IV drip in the crook of your arm, the various monitors hooked to you, it makes you feel like a spectacle in front of your captain. Your head hurts, and whatever the doctors gave you is making everything hurt. Especially your wings, which strangers have been grabbing and touching for the past three hours. It makes you teeth ache with the desire to fucking bite one of them to get them to back off.

The doctor is talking again, telling you what needs to happen to make you better, but all you can focus on is price. The way he looks at you, like youre a fucking hatchling. Hes nodding along with the doctor, clearly intent on following every order, but his eyes never leave you. If it werent for him, youd be in your bunk snuggled into a warm blanket. With a dismissive turn, you face the wall and tune out the doctor.

You were fine. You felt fine. Now, all you feel is embarrassed and ashamed for something you dont really understand.

[bloatedandalone04]

For The World

Summary: Clark had promised you that he wouldn’t miss your Graduation for the world, but when the day comes and the world needs Superman, he ends up breaking both his promise to you, as well as his own heart.

Word Count: 4.3k | I do not give consent to having my work republished or posted to any other platform or profile other than my own.

Warnings: angst, so much angst, swearing, crying, heartbreak, mentions of sex, all that good stuff.

Today was supposed to be a great day. 

It was supposed to be a fucking amazing day. 

And it started out as just that as Clark woke up to you in his arms, your head resting on his chest instead of your actual pillow. Everything was supposed to be perfect as he kissed you on your forehead and promised he’d see you later - at your Graduation Ceremony - then left your apartment to start his work day after telling you how proud of you he is. 

After three grueling and stressful years, you were graduating Law School, and Clark had never been more proud in his life. He’d met you while you were halfway through your second year, and he’d been your biggest supporter ever since. He was your support system, and you were his. 

Even though you’d been together for a year and a half now, Clark still hadn’t met your family or friends yet. With you being in class and studying and job searching every day, and him working at The Daily Planet and, you know, being Superman, there wasn’t a lot of free time either of you could spare. And when you did have the time, you preferred to spend it with each other and no one else. 

That was supposed to change tonight though, at the ceremony. He was supposed to meet your parents and congratulate them on raising such a smart and talented and amazing daughter, and he was supposed to ease and erase all your friends’ doubts about the mystery man you’d been seeing for the last 18 months. 

Keywords; supposed and to. 

Clark got out of work early today after sitting through countless hours of his co-workers teasing him about how whipped he is for the girl none of them have even met yet. Hopefully that could change soon now that you’re done with school. 

He rushed to get home and shower and change into his black suit he only wore on special occasions, and this one was at the top of the list. He tamed his curls as best as he could, then slid his glasses back on his face, and then he was out the door within that same hour of returning home. 

Clark was heading to the auditorium that is holding the ceremony when he reached into his pocket to text you and let you know that he’s on his way, but his eyes caught sight of a flower shop before he could open up yours and his text thread. He put his phone away and bought you a bouquet of your favorite flowers, and when Clark had them in his hand, he was sure you were near him, because they smelled just like you. 

Then he was back to his original route that would take him to the place where he would finally meet your parents, sit next to them in the front row, and watch you walk across that stage with a big, dumb smile on his face. 

That was the plan. But plans don’t always work out. 

As Clark was walking, he felt his body react in the way it always does when something isn’t right and when danger is near. Something was off, and he could feel it deep in his bones. His apartment was only a block away, and he turned around and headed in that direction without a second thought. 

Just as he changed out of his tailored suit and into the one that could handle all things destruction, he heard the sound of screams, and the sound of glass breaking. 

He was out of his apartment pretty quickly after that. 

Chaos had broken out downtown, and of course, it required the assistance of Superman. He could help out, make sure everyone was okay, then he could get back on track and get back to you. He thought it wouldn’t take long. 

Clark was sure he’d be done in time to see you, his perfect and stunning girl walk across that stage like you owned it, and take the diploma you worked your ass off for. He was sure he’d be up from his seat, cheering and clapping the loudest, and then he would give you your flowers, take you into his arms, spin you around and kiss every inch of your face afterwards. 

But he was wrong. 

Clark had missed the entire thing. 

He found that out when he raced back home and changed back into his black suit, completely forgetting to grab the flowers as he practically sprinted out the door and down the street, then saw that the auditorium was locked and all the lights were off. The ceremony had long since ended, and no one was here. It was dark out, and no one was around.

He tried to convince himself that he’d gotten the wrong address. That you hadn’t graduated yet. He couldn’t come to terms with the fact that he missed your fucking graduation after promising you months ago that he’d be there. 

When he got to your apartment, you didn’t answer his knocks on your door, or the endless buzzing of the intercom. But he needed to see you. It was like he couldn’t even think straight because of how guilty he felt. 

He ended up climbing up the three stories to your balcony, and when he saw you through the glass sliding door, Clark felt his heart break. 

You were no longer in your dress - the one that had been hanging up on your closet door for weeks -, and your graduation cap was on the cushion next to you as sat on the couch. You were wearing a cotton tank top and your sleep shorts, and you looked miserable as you stared down at the cake on the coffee table in front of you. It wished you a happy graduation, and had your graduation year in bright blue icing. 

The plan had been to go out for dinner after with your parents, where he could gush over you all he wanted and you wouldn’t get to do a damn thing about it, then he was going to take you back home, where you and he would eat that very cake until your stomachs rejected anymore food. 

The celebration sex would’ve come either before cake or after it, he didn’t really care. 

But now he feared he wouldn’t get to celebrate with you in any way at all, when all he wanted to do since he woke up this morning was prove just how proud of you he is. 

Clark felt his heart crack in his chest as he stepped towards the door. It was locked, he found out, and he placed his palm flat on the glass. “Baby,” he called out softly, hoping you would meet his eyes as he took another step forward. “Doll? Please, unlock the door. Please let me in.”

He could see the way your shoulders tensed up and the way you were building walls up around you. You were guarding yourself from him, and he fucking hated it. 

“Darling, please,” he begged, his heart breaking more and more as you kept your face turned away from his. 

You were tense, he could tell. And you’d also been crying. The single lamp next to the couch was enough to show him the streaks on your face, and the way your bottom lip couldn’t seem to stop quivering was all he needed to see for him to confirm that he is the worst boyfriend ever. 

He watched as you shook your head. “No,” you whispered, nearly inaudible, and yet he heard you as clear as day. “I don’t want to.”

He felt like he’d been punched a thousand times in the gut. His heart clenched painfully in his chest. “I’m sorry. God, doll, I’m so sorry. I never wanted to miss it for the world,” his head fell forward and he pressed his forehead against the glass. “I should’ve been there. I never meant to ruin today. I wanted it to be perfect.”

Clark’s hand hovered over the door handle, hesitating since you still wouldn’t meet his eyes. All he could see was the side of your face. He wanted to see all of you. He needed to. 

He curled his fingers around the handle but didn’t do more than that, even though he easily could have. “You deserved so much better than that,” he whispered, hating how weak he sounded. He hated how weak he felt. “Y/n, come on…please, baby, open the door. I need to see you. I need to hold you. I need to tell you how incredibly proud of you I am.” 

You shook your head again as you buried your face in your knees. “You weren’t there,” you cried, every word piercing through Clark like a sword. “You have no idea how embarrassing that was for me. I told everyone that you’d be there. That they’d finally get to meet you. And then I had to go home by myself after cancelling dinner with my parents.”

Clark hated the way your voice cracked with every sentence. He hated seeing you cry. He had done everything in his power in the past to never see you cry, and up until now, he’s never made you cry. 

He fucked this up so bad. 

He pressed his hand harder against the glass, wanting nothing more than to cradle your perfect face and wipe those tears away. The sound of your sobs tore at his very soul, and he’s never felt this lost or panicked in his entire life. 

“I’m so fucking sorry, baby,” he mumbled, “You have no idea how much I wish I could go back and change what happened. I should’ve been there, and I know no excuse is good enough.”

You lifted your head and finally looked over at him, and you and he stared at each other for a few moments. He could see the embarrassment and humiliation and hurt in your eyes, and he knew he was the cause of all of it. 

You stood up from the couch and walked over to him, unlocking and opening the door. The cool air instantly flooded your apartment, and you crossed your arms over your chest. 

Clark stayed outside while you looked up at him. “Where were you?” you asked, and he could hear how hoarse your voice is now that there was no barrier between the two of you. “What could have possibly been doing that took two and a half hours?” 

Jesus, was it really that long? He was sure it’d only been an hour at most, but then he remembered how he was stopped for questions afterwards, and all the press that were begging for his attention and a statement from The Superman. He stayed way too long. He should’ve left as soon as the threat was eliminated, public image be damned. 

He failed you. 

“There was an emergency…downtown. A building was hit and it collapsed and people were in danger and I…had to help them,” he rambled, but his explanation sounded hollow even to him. He could see how you hadn’t bothered to take off your makeup as streaks of mascara were lining your cheeks, and all he wanted to do was take you into his arms and apologize until you forgave him. “I thought I could handle both, and that I could still make it, but…I was wrong. I’m so sorry.”

You pressed your lips together as you looked up at him. “I guess that’s a pretty good excuse, actually,” you mumbled, shaking your head. “But I’m still hurt, Clark.”

His shoulders dropped and his voice sounded desperate as he held off on reaching out to you. He needed to respect your boundaries, and right now he was almost positive the last thing you wanted right now was for him to touch you. “Nothing in this world means more to me than you,” he said, pleading with you through his voice and with his eyes to believe him. 

Clark usually felt in control, and he could keep his emotions in check when he needed to, but right now he felt powerless. This wasn’t going well, and he could feel his control slipping. He didn’t feel in control right now at all. 

Your expression softened, but just for the briefest, slightest second, then you were shaking your head and turning around, leaving him standing there while you slumped back down on the couch. 

Clark stepped inside your apartment and softly closed the door behind him, and yet that was still the loudest sound that could be heard right now. It was so quiet, way too quiet, and it was making him squirm uncomfortably. 

Things have always been easy with you. He felt free with you, free to be himself, but he felt anything but that right now. He felt like he was suffocating, because he knew that this was on him, he knew that you were heartbroken, and he didn’t know how he was going to fix it.

Clark walked towards you and kneeled down in front of the couch. He hated seeing you so distant, all curled in on yourself like a wounded animal. Everything inside him screamed at him to fix this, but also give you the space you so clearly need right now. 

“If I could change what happened, I would in a heartbeat. I’m so incredibly proud of you, baby,” he murmured, placing his hands on your knees with a barely-there pressure. 

On a normal day, his words would’ve brought a big, dumb smile to your face, but there was nothing normal about today. Today was the day you finally realized that you would always come in second place to him. You’d never be his first priority. “I don’t know where to go from here,” you whispered, avoiding his gaze as you looked at your hands. “I don’t know what to do.”

You sounded so lost, so uncertain and fragile, so unlike the strong, confident woman who’d stolen his heart almost two years ago. What had he done to you?

“I want to tell you that it’s okay,” you spoke again before he could say anything. “That I don’t mind that you missed my graduation because you were too busy saving the world. But that’s not really fair to me, is it? And now I feel selfish for thinking I’m more important than that to you. It’s all so messed up.” 

Clark’s heart shattered when he saw just how deflated you looked and how distant you sounded. The fact that you felt like you came second in his life left an ugly taste in his mouth. He hated that you were starting to doubt your place in his life. He hated that he’d been taking you for granted. 

“No, it’s not fair to you at all,” he said, his grip instinctively tightening on your knees. “You’re my top priority, doll. You always have been, and you always will be. What happened today…it won’t happen again. I promise you that.”

At least he hoped he could promise you that. 

But you saw right through him, like you always did. 

You let out a sad laugh as you shook your head. “You can’t. You can’t promise me that, can you?” you murmured miserably, and the room felt so thick with tension, it almost felt suffocating. “You say that now, but one day you’ll miss an anniversary or you’ll miss my birthday or something will come up on our wedding day. Please, Clark, don’t make promises to me that you can’t keep.” 

Clark felt like he’d been punched in the gut again. It felt like his heart was being ripped in two. That was the only way to describe the pure agony he felt as he listened to your words. You seemed to have accepted that he would always fail you, and that hurt worse than anything. 

You were right. 

As much as it killed him to admit that, you were absolutely right. He can’t promise that one day he won’t have to put the world first on a day where he’s supposed to celebrate you again. Or that he won’t have to miss his wedding to save the day if something were to happen. Or even the birth of his child. Those were all very real moments he might not get to experience with you, all because he was Superman. And he’d fallen head over heels in love with you. 

“You’re right,” he muttered, and he felt his own eyes sting, but he didn’t cry. There was no way he was going to cry right now when this was all his fault. This was all because of him. “I can’t promise you that, no matter how hard I’ll try to prevent another day like today. But I can promise you that I will always, always love you with everything that I am.”

Clark slowly stood up and moved to sit next to you on the couch, leaving a little space between you. The last thing he wanted to do was crowd you, but he couldn’t stop himself from reaching over and taking your hand in his. He cradled it like it was the most precious thing in the world, which to him, it was, because it was a part of you.

“I can’t control everything that happens, but I need you to know that you’re first in my heart,” he placed your hand on his chest as he tried to get you to meet his eyes, but you weren’t letting up. “Every single day, you’re all I think about.” 

Your hand was limp in his, no matter how hard he tried to get you to hold him back. It felt like you were giving up. Like you were already checking out, and he felt that panic begin to creep back in. 

“I don’t know if I can do this,” you mumbled, and Clark could see more tears forming in your eyes. When you finally looked up at him, he held your hand a little tighter, because he did not like what he was seeing in your eyes. At all. “I don’t think I can. Maybe…maybe if we had a normal relationship…Maybe if we were normal.” 

He knew exactly what you were saying and where you were going with this. He knew you and he didn’t have a ‘normal’ relationship because of his double life, but he thought you were okay with that. You had told him you were okay with that, so clearly he’d missed the part where you stopped being okay with that. 

Clark could never provide you with a normal relationship, he knew that. But that never stopped him from trying. The thought of losing you, of you deciding that you deserved better than the chaos of dating Superman, terrified him more than anything. He knew you deserved that, a chance at a normal life, but Clark was selfish when it came to you. He always had been. 

“We’re not normal, you’re right, and I wish we could be, but, baby, you’re everything to me. I love you more than anything. It’s the most normal thing about me, and about us,” he leaned in closer to you, your hand still limp in his own. “All I need, all I’ve ever needed is you. Please, don’t give up on us. On me.”

When you tried to look away again, Clark reached up with his free hand and took your chin between his thumb and index finger, making you look at him once more. “Come on, Clark,” you mumbled, your voice shaky and uncertain. “You don’t need to make this harder than it needs to be.”

He didn’t like that. He didn’t like that at all. 

What the fuck were you talking about?

“I’ve been thinking lately,” you trailed off as you sniffled, and your actions were so clearly betraying your words right now, it wasn’t even funny. “About us. About how we don’t work.” 

Now that wasn’t true. That was something you weren’t right about. 

You were just trying to hurt him back at this point, because he knew damn well you hadn’t been thinking about that. You and he have plans to move in together now that you’re done school and will have more time. Not once had he ever thought that you and he didn’t work, and he knew you didn’t believe that either. 

And yet Clark still pulled back as if your words burned him, his eyes staring into yours in disbelief. It wasn’t like you at all to push him away like this. “Don’t say that. That’s not true and you know it. Don’t say things you don’t mean just to get back at me,” he pleaded. “The plans we’ve made, us moving in together, none of that has changed for me.”

You sniffled again, and the way your expression turned to one of guilt let him know that you just said that to try and get even with him. “Maybe I didn’t mean that,” you said quietly, looking down at your joined hands. “But I don’t know what to do here. I don’t know how to compete with everything in your life, Clark. I knew what I was getting into when we got together, but today was really eye opening for me.” 

That brought a little relief to him, as sad as that sounded. You hadn’t fully given up on him. Yet. “Compete? There’s no competition, doll. Sometimes things just happen that aren’t part of our plans, like today. And I can’t tell you how sorry I am for that,” he leaned in and pressed his forehead to yours, needing to be close to you after feeling so far away all night. His hands came up and cradled your face, his touch the most gentle it’s ever been. “Don’t go back on our plans, baby. Move in with me.”

You sighed and wrapped your hands around his wrists, and this was the first time you’ve touched him all night. “I want to,” you whispered, but then you gently pulled his hands away from your face. “But I don’t know if I can anymore. At least not right now.”

Clark’s hands fell to his lap as he watched you get up from the couch and cross your arms, taking a few steps back to put some distance between the two of you. 

“You should probably…you should probably go now,” you said quietly, and the fact that you hadn’t raised your voice at him once the entire time he’s been here was not lost to him. 

But now you wanted him out. You wanted him gone. This was not how he thought today was going to go at all. He wanted to keep apologizing to you, but you clearly had your mind made up before he even got here. 

It wasn’t going to end. Not like this. Not at all. 

“No,” he said with a surprisingly steady, deep voice. He stood up from the couch as well, towering over you but also keeping a respectful distance. “I’m not going anywhere, Y/n. Not until we figure this out. Pushing me away won’t solve anything, you know that. What do I need to do to make you see how sorry I am about today?”

You pursed your lips and shrugged. “I don’t know what you need to do, Clark. I don’t know what to think or how to feel right now, alright? I’m just confused,” you said, your voice laced with frustration. “I just need some time, okay? Give me some time. I’m tired and I’m not thinking clearly right now.”

Clark didn’t like the resignation in your tone, but what was he supposed to do at this point? Refuse to leave? That would just make things worse. Get down on his knees and start begging? That would just overwhelm you. 

Time. You just needed time. He could give you that. He would give you that. 

His hands curled into fists at his side as he nodded slowly, his eyes never leaving you as he stepped back. “Okay,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’ll give you time. All the time you need.” 

Even though the thought of being away from you right now made his chest ache.

He wanted to tell you that he would wait forever for you to come back to him, but he wasn’t sure that would help the situation in any way. So he kept those words to himself. 

This was not how he thought he’d be ending his day. Not at all how he thought tonight would go. By now, he thought he’d have whisked you away to bed for the night, where you and he wouldn’t leave until late tomorrow morning. He thought he’d be telling you every sweet thought that came to mind by whispering them against your skin. Thought he’d wear you out to the point of you begging him to take the day off tomorrow so he could spend it with you instead. 

And of course, he would’ve. 

But that wasn’t happening. That wasn’t even close to happening. 

Clark’s eyes were stinging again as he moved further away from you, even though every single part of him screamed for him to go back to you. He needed to give you what you wanted right now. 

All he could do was hope that you’d be willing to talk more tomorrow, and hopefully things will get figured out. 

“You know where to find me, how to reach me,” he mumbled miserably, and you just nodded. He walked to the door that leads out to the hallway instead of the balcony, then turned to look at you again. “I love you. More than anything.”

And then he left and closed the door behind him, and the entire time he was walking away from your apartment, he had the worst feeling in his stomach. 

One that told him tomorrow wouldn’t be any better, and one that told him this was the end.

-

Ouch. Ouch. I do have a part 2 in mind if someone needs it. Please need it.

[33lol]

Practice

Pazzi (paige x azzi)

SMUT

warnings: sexual content, first time, coming out, oral, fingering, squirting, slight nipple play, fluff

wc: 3.4k

MDNI

The two were laying in bed one night. Paige insisted that Azzi sleep with her because her body was lonely. Azzi obviously folded when Paige gave her the puppy eyes and pouted lip. She still was going to get in with her anyway though. She settled in next to her, Paige wrapping her arm around her shoulders. They shared a bed most nights, unless they were sick or Azzi needed a break from Paige tickling her. Azzi rested her head on Paige’s chest, sighing into her presence.

“You good mama?” Paige asked, looking down at her in concern.

Azzi smiled faintly and nodded against her body.

“You sure?” Paige pushed just a little further knowing Azzi was a little off that day.

Azzi took a second to think before responding, biting her lip in contemplation. “Yeah just,” she moved so her head was now resting on Paige’s arm. “I want to tell you something.”

Paige furrowed her brows and pressed a kiss to the top of her bonnet. “Ok, take your time baby,” she eased.

Azzi looked over at her, letting her fingers absentmindedly play with the hem of Paige’s shirt.

“I think I like girls. I mean...I know I like girls,” she admitted, stumbling on her thoughts.

Paige smiled and tilted their foreheads together. “Is that why you were all in your head about today?”

Azzi nodded against her head, huffing out a breath through a smile. “Yeah I don’t know why I built it up so much.”

Paige kissed her forehead again, letting her lips linger for a second. “You know you can always tell me anything. Not that that’s something you ever need to feel pressured to tell.”

Azzi smiled in appreciation. Paige’s eyes gleamed in the dim room before she spoke again.

“Want me to be honest though?”

Azzi’s eyebrows furrowed curiously, then Paige continued, “I could’ve guessed. I mean you’re always reading lesbian books and turning guys down at Ted’s. Hell you might be gayer than me!” She joked, keeping their conversation lighthearted.

Azzi laughed at the lesbian book mention and relaxed her shoulders, flipping onto her back, but still on Paige’s arm.

“Yeah I’m gonna get you to read one at some point.”

Paige smirked, “Do they have good sex scenes?”

Azzi laughed again. Of course Paige would ask that, and of course she could make a meant-to-be-serious conversation light.

“Yes Paige, they have good sex scenes. They’re also very informative,” she said while picking at her nails.

“Well shit, then I guess I need to look into them too.”

Azzi turned her head, not wanting to assume what she thought Paige meant by that. Paige could see every question Azzi wanted to ask etched in the crinkles of her face.

“To learn…and understand,” she helped clarify. Azzi began fidgeting with her own t-shirt hem now.

“You mean…” she trailed off, still not wanting to assume anything.

Paige nodded, “Mhm. I haven’t done anything yet. So I guess the books would be informative for me too.” Paige could tell Azzi was surprised, making her break the tension by gigging a little.

Azzi softened her face, dipping her head and smiling. “Sorry, I don’t know why I thought you had. I guess I just had this version of you in my head that was like ahead of me sexuality wise..that I just thought maybe you already had.”

Paige shook her head slowly, a big toothless smile spreading on her face. “It’s okay to not have everything figured out right away, Az. The college pool just hasn’t been something I’m interested in. But that doesn’t mean I don’t think about what having sex would be like.”

Azzi nodded her head, hearing and valuing what she just said. “It kind of overwhelms me when I think about it. Like I know the general idea…but it just seems intimidating. That’s what makes me scared that my first time would be bad.”

Paige brushed her knuckle over her cheek. “It’s intimidating to me too.” Azzi scooted closer, leaning into the touch. Paige looked into her eyes, her own gears turning in her mind though.

“Y’know if you’d want, we could always like…practice? Like with each other.”

Azzi’s throat caught for a second, then she let the idea sink in. “You mean, like go down on each other?”

Paige nodded softly, then added, “Or just fingers, or whatever you want..but only if you want. Could help ease the worries maybe,” she continued to stroke Azzi’s face.

Azzi moved her hand to Paige’s wrist, holding her there lightly. “Are you sure?”

Paige’s gaze didn’t waiver, “Only if you are.”

Azzi nodded and slowly guided Paige’s hand down, dragging it over her stomach and pausing when she was at her waistband.

“I don’t really know what I’m doing, so just tell me what feels good ma.” Azzi nodded in reassurance, “Do what feels right.”

Paige slipped her hand into her boxers, gliding her fingers delicately through her folds. She watched Azzi’s face for signs and reactions. She gathered her slick and ran it over the bud of her clit. Azzi’s eyes fluttered closed, her legs spreading for a better angle.

“That feels really good,” she said with her voice hoarse.

Paige kept her circles slow and steady, letting Azzi enjoy the warmth of her fingers. After a minute she dipped her fingers lower and leaned by Azzi’s ear whispering, “I’ll go slow.”

Azzi nodded in appreciation, the corner of her mouth twitching up. Paige dipped her middle finger in and began pumping slowly. Azzi sighed, melting into the touch. Paige curled and let her palm hit against her clit. After a little bit, she pulled back just enough to tease two fingers at her entrance. Azzi nodded and Paige pushed back in. Azzi let out a hum at the bigger stretch.

“Doesn’t hurt, does it?” the blonde asked out of care. Azzi squeezed her bicep and murmured an mm-mm.

Paige kept up her curls and thrusts, occasionally rubbing her thumb over her clit instead of her palm. She watched Azzi’s face lighten, all tension resolving. She whispered again, “You can make noise if you need to mama.

Azzi tilted her head back, breath coming a bit faster. Paige knew she was getting close. She slowed her fingers a bit, “Is it okay if I try with my mouth too?”

Azzi smiled and huffed a short breath, “Yes P, and don’t think too much about it. You’re already doing great.”

Paige kissed her forehead briefly before moving between her legs and using the hand in her boxers to slide them off.

Paige couldn’t help but admire Azzi before her. “You’re beautiful,” she said as she began kissing up the inside of her thigh. She took her time, wanting to get it right—not in a performative way, but a pleasing one. Azzi rested on her elbows so she could watch. Paige started by licking gently over her clit. She gave a few kitten licks to it, then closed her mouth over it.

“Woah”

Paige looked up and pulled off of her. “Too much?”

Azzi smiled and stroked a hand through her hair. “Not enough.”

Paige giggled and went back to sucking on her clit. She was gentle at first, flicking her tongue, pulling it with her lips.

“Fuck—keep going”

Paige flattened her tongue, looking up at Azzi and shook her head. The roughness of her tongue with the vibrations of the motion had Azzi’s jaw fall open. She dipped her tongue lower, wanting to explore her core entirely. She licked over her entrance, then tried pushing in. She used her hands to spread Azzi’s legs further, easing the angle again. She sucked, curled, flicked. Taking her time to engrave her ministrations in her mind. She migrated back up to her clit and reintroduced her fingers to her cunt. She pulsed her mouth harder over the swollen flesh and thrusted higher into her walls. Azzi gripped her hair, not rough, just holding.

“Mm—P I’m coming”

Paige rubbed her thigh with her free hand as she worked her through her high. When she felt Azzi’s stomach uncoil and thighs fall dead, she pulled away.

“A+,” Azzi smiled through her ragged breathing. Paige adjusted onto her knees and giggled. Azzi grabbed her wrist, “Can I try now?” Paige could only nod, knowing her voice would crack under the intensity of the moment.

They switched spots, Paige lifting her hips so Azzi could pull her shorts and underwear down. She laid back, keeping her knees parted for her. Azzi gulped, a little hesitant of where to start. Paige felt the pause and looked down.

“Hey,” she said to get Azzi’s attention. “Just try to do what you felt from me. There’s no wrong, it’s you.”

Azzi smiled and nodded, exhaling whatever worries her head was filled with. She moved her eyes down and started with a kiss to Paige’s clit. She could taste the wetness already having accumulated through her folds. Paige’s hips bucked at the contact, so she did it again. She kissed again, while clawing her nails on Paige’s thighs. She licked hard, testing what the pressure would feel like. Paige’s back arched slightly, and then deeper when Azzi licked again while moaning against her.

“Unh—s’good Az”

Azzi pulled her mouth off and replaced her fingers over her clit. She rubbed gently at first, then faster back and forth. Paige’s hands flew to the sheets to grip something, but her hips stuttered. Azzi didn’t try to confine her, she just adjusted with her movements. Azzi trickled her fingers down her core and circled them over her hole. She watched her fingers slowly be engulfed by her cunt. The wet walls being stretched easily. She curled up, deep, immediately hitting Paige’s sweet spot.

Her jaw flew open and eyes squeezed shut. “Unnh—shit—more”

Azzi smirked and started her fingers at a steady pace. She watched Paige’s face contort when she scissored her fingers and then quickly thrusted them in and out. She reattached her mouth over her clit and flicked her tongue aggressively over it.

“I’m so close—fuck”

Paige’s hips were practically riding Azzi’s face, in which Azzi didn’t care. She dug her nails into her thigh and pushed her to the edge. Paige’s thighs began shaking, then settled flat on the mattress. Azzi came away and crawled up to lay by her again. She stroked her hair, letting her take her time to come out of her haze.

Paige leaned into her touch and gave her a crooked smile. “A++.”

They didn’t say much more about it yet, but they both felt line shifting from best friends to more. They let the moment settle, and their tired conversation carry them into sleep. The next evening, though, opened the window of opportunity again.

Azzi was lying on the couch, reading a (non-lesbian) book and under a blanket. She was warm, cozy. Paige was beside her, toying with the edge of the blanket, and thinking. She was biting her lip—the words she wanted to say on the tip of her tongue. She slowly glanced up at Azzi, who didn’t notice right away. Azzi flipped the page then felt Paige stop her fidgeting. She looked over, furrowing her brows.

“What’s up ma?”

Paige bit her lip harder, not exactly sure if she should ask. Azzi set the book against her chest to mark her spot, then moved one hand to cup Paige’s face.

“P what is it?”

Paige took a deep breath, her voice coming out quiet. “Can I…go down on you? Like to practice again?”

Azzi’s lips parted in a bit of surprise.

“I mean only if you want it. Or whatever, I don’t know why I asked sorry—” Paige rambled out nervously and embarrassed. Azzi cupped her face with both hands now and cut her off.

“Hey, hey. Baby you can ask me anything. And yes of course you can,” she eased the blonde down from her overthinking. “But um, I’m not like wet or anything because I was just rea—”

Paige shook her head, “S’okay, I don’t care. You ain’t even gotta try and come for me or focus on that ma—”

Azzi smiled softly and squeezed her cheek, brushing her thumb over it and nodding.

“Just want to taste you,” Paige said a bit softer. More timid.

“You don’t have to say anything else baby. Come on,” Azzi said, lifting the blanket over her legs and starting to pull her shorts and underwear off.

“I feel bad for interrupting you though Az. You looked peaceful.”

Azzi threw her clothes on the floor and grabbed her book again.

“Then I’ll keep reading if you want me to. And you can do anything you want…and for however long.”

Paige nodded and leaned in, kissing the corner of Azzi’s mouth before moving between her legs.

“You just keep reading and relax mama,” the older girl said while wrapping her arms under the brown thighs. Azzi spread her legs a bit further for her and smiled before picking her book back up. Paige pulled the blanket over her head, letting her be in her own world. Azzi snickered and picked back up where she was reading. Paige started slow, licking a long stripe up the length of her cunt to her clit. She wasn’t trying to work Azzi up, not really. If that’s where it went, of course neither one would complain. But Paige kept it steady, unhurried. She wanted to learn Azzi—savor her. Taste each individual fold like Azzi’s core was her personal alter.

She licked soft, coating her tongue with Azzi’s slick slowly starting to seep out. She used her tongue to spread the sweet arousal, then up to swirl around her clit.

Azzi kept reading, having to reread a sentence every once in a while because she didn’t retain the words, but she was relaxed. She appreciated that Paige didn’t pressure her to get into it. She just let Paige be. Unhurried, deliberate, leisure—but intentional.

Paige sucked against her folds, tending to her whole core rather than just her clit. She let her own spit merge with Azzi’s increasing wetness. Her tongue ran over her clit, small kitten licks, then flattening her tongue. She felt no rush. No pressure. She just did what felt right—what she thought Azzi would like. Azzi had made it through two entire chapters before she really couldn’t retain anything more she was reading because Paige had added her fingers as well. She set her book aside, not saying anything to startle Paige or make her feel rushed. She closed her eyes, tipping her head back. Azzi pulled her bottom lip between her teeth, holding back her full smile from the pleasure. She spread her legs further, now completely open for the girl between them. Azzi slowly pulled the blanket back, over Paige’s head, revealing her flushed cheeks. Paige looked up at her briefly, pulling away slightly thinking Azzi wanted her to stop. Azzi cupped her face and brushed her thumbs under her eyes.

“No no, you can keep going ma. Just couldn’t read anymore,” she said blushing softly.

Paige let a breathy laugh out as she hid her face by putting her forehead right above Azzi’s core. Azzi smiled and started running her hands through Paige’s hair.

“And I’m not rushing you either, you really can stay there as long as you want,” she confessed, making Paige look back up at her eyes. “You feel good.”

Paige smiled gingerly. Not wanting any more attention to make her blush, she focused her gaze back down. She started curling her fingers again—still slow, drawn-out strokes. She pressed a kiss to Azzi’s clit, then another. She then added tongue to her kisses, beginning to almost make out with her folds. She scissored her fingers, pumping and twisting.

Azzi let her head fall back again, eyes closing at the sensations. Azzi kept her fingers in the blonde hair, brushing it out of her face. Paige was pussy drunk at this point, never wanting to come up for air. She doesn’t know how long she’d been down there, losing complete track of time. She didn’t care. And neither did Azzi. Paige decided to switch where her fingers and mouth were. She removed her fingers from Azzi’s cunt and slid them to her clit. She replaced her fingers with her tongue, tasting the origin of her sweetness. She rubbed slow circles on her clit, making Azzi’s stomach grow warm. Paige kept her tongue inside, but closed her lips around it and began sucking.

Azzi couldn’t help but let out an involuntary moan. She looked down saying “Oh my god,” then threw her head back again. Paige smiled into her, keeping up her movements. She kept her fingers circling slow, just pressing firmer. Azzi exhaled heavily, humming in response. Azzi stroked her hair more, running her thumbs over the smooth skin of Paige’s face. Paige’s eyes fluttered closed, completely surrendering herself to pleasing Azzi. She sucked harder on her cunt, pulling slick straight from her hole into her mouth.

Azzi’s mouth fell open, back arching slightly. Paige felt it and opened her eyes, watching every reaction. Paige curled her tongue, pushing against her walls while still sucking.

“Ahh—feels so good Paigey,” she said breathy.

Paige circled a bit harder on her clit now, seeing Azzi scrunch her face and her stomach tense. She pulled off just enough to ease Azzi.

“Baby breathe for me, stay relaxed ma. I gotchu.” Then she reattached her mouth to her cunt. Azzi sighed into the feeling, making sure she doesn’t hold in her air or words.

She whimpered high from her throat and moaned deep from her gut. Paige saw it all. Saw the way her face twitched when she sucked so hard she accidentally blew a raspberry against her core.

Azzi gasped and cupped her cheek, “Do that again.”

Paige’s face was hot from slight embarrassment, but Azzi’s quick gratification gave her confidence to do as she was told. She lined her tongue against her hole and blew. The vibrations sending jolts of pleasure through Azzi’s body, along with the warm circles over her clit.

“Unnh—fuck”

Paige watched Azzi lift her shirt, running her hands over the swell of her tits. She brushed her nipples with her fingers while squeezing the flesh. Paige moaned at the sight and blew again. Azzi arched much deeper this time, now moving her legs over Paige’s shoulders and trapping her there.

“I’m close,” Azzi choked out.

Paige switched back to thrusting her fingers in and out while flicking her tongue over her clit. She sucked hard, watching each inch Azzi’s back lifted off the couch. She curled a couple more times, right on that perfect spot while keeping her tongue’s rough surface on her swollen bud. She enhanced her effort, still watching the beauty of Azzi writhe in front of her.

“Unnnhh—hah—fuuuck” She squeezed her legs around Paige’s head as her body shook.

“Wait—oh my god!” Azzi heaved, acknowledging what she thought her body was about to do.

Paige tasted Azzi’s cum, but then immediately felt a burst of liquid gush over her chin. Paige let her ride out her high, not pulling her fingers out until she went limp. Azzi looked down, meeting Paige’s eyes. The blonde admired her as she kissed her way up her body. She kissed over her stomach, the peak of each breast, then her forehead. She began to lie next to her, wanting to hold her close, but Azzi grabbed her face instead.

She pulled her face close with both hands, giggling into her words. “I’m not gonna let you eat me out for forty five minutes and make me squirt, just for you to not kiss me!”

Paige laughed, but didn’t waste anymore time. She climbed on top of her, straddling her bare stomach and crashed their lips together. The kiss was everything mixed together—innocent, hard, slow, filthy, and soft. They let that linger too, for however long they were able, kissing until they physically couldn’t. Lips only leaving each other for oxygen. Azzi brushed the blonde hairs out of her face and pulled her onto her chest.

“You know I want you right? Like…as more.” Azzi posed in the gentleness of the moment.

Paige lifted her head and rested it on her hands over her chest. “Yes baby,” she spoke as her dilated eyes pierced into the brown ones. “And I think it’s pretty clear I want you,” she said smiling while cocking an eyebrow.

Azzi laughed, a real laugh. The one only Paige can get out of her—where her nose scrunches and her dimples come out. Paige smiled up at her, memorizing and savoring the vulnerability of the moment. At some point they migrated to their room, cleaning up and settling in for the night—though not without saying “I love you” and holding each other while drifting to sleep.

[pucksandpower]

Fallen Angel

⟡ Chapter 9

⟡ Oscar Piastri x Sainz!Reader

You were supposed to be a good girl, a quiet wife, a family secret. Instead, you ran straight into the arms of the one man they loathe — and he’s not letting you go.

Warnings: religious trauma, toxic family dynamics, arranged marriage, purity culture, and possessive behavior

Series Masterlist

Carlos knows before he knows.

It’s something in the way Lando says it. Offhanded. Light. Like it doesn’t mean anything.

They’re in the back of a truck bed during the driver parade, rolling slow along the track perimeter, waving to fans under a brutal European sun. Carlos hasn’t slept properly in days. There’s a tightness behind his eyes that caffeine can’t touch anymore, and the weight of the lie — that you are tucked away in a Florentine convent, reflecting and repenting — is getting harder to carry with each headline.

Lando’s chattering away. Something about the heat. About sprint format. About how Max crashed into a scooter the other night trying to avoid a cat. Carlos isn’t listening.

And then, “By the way, your sister’s doing alright, yeah?”

Carlos turns his head. Fast.

“What?”

Lando shrugs, sipping from a water bottle like he hasn’t just detonated a nuclear device. “Y/N. Saw her the other day. Looked good. You know, peaceful. Better than last time I saw her.”

Carlos’s blood goes cold. “Where did you see her?”

Lando squints up at the grandstands. “Uh … Monaco? Yeah. When I was doing that long run last week — my route runs right past Oscar’s building. I saw her on the balcony with him.”

Carlos doesn’t hear anything after that.

The sun fades. The crowd noise dulls. Every muscle in his body locks up, chest tightening around a slow-building rage he’s barely been able to suppress since you vanished.

You.

His sister.

With Oscar Piastri.

His jaw clenches so hard it aches.

He doesn’t say a word until the parade ends.

He’s polite to the fans. Smiles tightly when he needs to. But his eyes are dark, unreadable.

As soon as he can, he’s off.

He ditches his engineers, his PR officer, even his father — who’s waiting at the Williams hospitality suite with a strained grimace and furrowed brow.

Carlos just walks.

Straight to the McLaren motorhome.

Security moves to stop him, but one hard look is enough. The man steps aside.

Carlos barges in through the paddock door, shoulders rigid, expression unreadable. Papaya uniforms blink in confusion, parting like the Red Sea. His boots echo on the tile.

“Where’s Piastri?” He says flatly.

No one answers.

He doesn’t wait.

Oscar is suited up, debriefing with his race engineer when Carlos finds him. There’s a bottle of electrolyte water on the table, a telemetry graph on the screen, and a look of complete calm on his face.

Until he turns.

And sees Carlos.

His expression hardens instantly. “What the hell do you want?”

Carlos doesn’t raise his voice.

“You have my sister.”

Oscar’s brow ticks. “That’s not your business.”

“You think I’m joking?” Carlos hisses. “You think I won’t drag her out of that glass palace of yours myself?”

Oscar stands.

He’s taller than Carlos remembers. Not by much. But it counts. Especially when he steps forward, full of the quiet, unshakable authority that’s turned him into a championship leader in record time.

“She came to me,” Oscar says, low and lethal. “You don’t get to act like the victim.”

“She’s a child.”

“She’s a woman.”

Carlos laughs. Sharp and bitter. “You don’t know her.”

Oscar’s voice stays cool. Too cool. “I know enough to see she ran from something that made her feel small. Terrified. And that you — her family — chose your pride over her peace.”

“You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Oscar doesn’t blink. “Then explain it to me.”

Carlos steps closer, chest heaving. “You’re using her to get to me.”

Oscar’s mouth twitches into something almost like a smirk. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? If this was about you.”

“You think she’s strong enough to survive the kind of press this’ll bring?” Carlos snaps. “The headlines? The speculation? If they find her in your bed-”

“I haven’t touched her.”

Carlos freezes.

The words land with a weight neither of them expected.

Oscar takes a breath. “I haven’t touched her. Not like that. And I never will unless she asks.”

Carlos scoffs. “Like hell she will.”

“She already has.”

Silence.

Carlos looks like he might hit something.

Oscar watches him. Calm. Controlled. “She kissed me. I said no.”

That silences the room.

Carlos turns his back.

Runs a hand down his face.

And for a brief moment, the fury cracks — splintering into something colder. Sharper.

“She doesn’t know what she’s doing,” he says. “She’s confused. Afraid. She ran because she thought she had no other choice.”

Oscar folds his arms. “Maybe she didn’t.”

Carlos spins back. “You’re not part of this family. You don’t know what we’ve been through. What she’s been through.”

“No,” Oscar says. “But I know how it feels to be treated like a pawn.”

Carlos stiffens.

And Oscar presses forward. “You used her. All of you. And now you’re angry because she found someone who didn’t.”

“You think you’re the hero?” Carlos growls.

Oscar shakes his head. “No. I just think I’m the only one who listened.”

There’s a long, tense silence.

Then Carlos turns and walks out.

He doesn’t look back.

***

You feel it before you know it.

Something shifts in the atmosphere of the penthouse that weekend. The air feels charged. The sunset slashes gold across the floor, and your skin itches like it’s waiting for a storm.

Oscar walks in the next day at 7:43 p.m.

He looks … sharp. Tense. Wound tight like piano wire.

You’re curled up on the couch with a mug of tea, one leg tucked under you. You set the cup down slowly.

“What happened?”

Oscar doesn’t answer at first. He walks to the window. Stares out over the harbor. 

“Carlos knows.”

Your heart stops.

“What?”

“He knows you’re here.”

You rise, fast. “How?”

Oscar exhales through his nose. “Lando saw us. On the balcony. Mentioned it during a training run.”

You cover your mouth. “Oh my God.”

“I handled it.”

Your voice trembles. “What does that mean?”

“It means,” Oscar says carefully, “I told him the truth.”

You freeze. “What truth?”

“That you kissed me,” he says. “And I didn’t kiss you back. That I haven’t touched you. That you’re safe.”

Your face burns. Humiliation floods every inch of your skin. You sink back onto the couch like your knees can’t hold you.

Oscar watches. “I didn’t say anything to shame you. I said it to protect you.”

You nod, barely.

“I told him,” Oscar adds, quieter now, “that you’re not his to control anymore.”

That hits something deep.

Your eyes fill, hot and fast.

“And what did he say?”

Oscar’s jaw tightens. “He said you don’t know what you’re doing.”

You don’t answer.

Because part of you believes that. Still.

But another part — the part that stayed behind in this apartment when every voice in your head screamed to run — whispers you do.

You know what it feels like to breathe.

To want.

To choose.

You press your palms together. Murmur, “Did you mean it?”

Oscar turns. “Mean what?”

“What you said. That I’m not a pawn.”

He studies you. Eyes unreadable. “I’ve never lied to you.”

You nod again. Swallow. Your throat aches.

“Thank you,” you whisper.

Oscar doesn’t move.

But something in his face shifts — like he’s remembering the night on the kitchen floor. The kiss. The quiet hunger you’re both still trying to silence.

He clears his throat. “We’ll be careful. No more balcony.”

“Okay.”

“And you need to be ready.”

“For what?”

“For when he comes.”

You stiffen.

Because that’s no longer a possibility.

It’s a promise.

***

It’s a little after noon when the storm hits.

Not the kind that arrives with rain or wind, but the kind that shakes the air before it enters the room — so heavy and loud that even silence feels like thunder.

You feel it before the knock comes. Something visceral in your chest.

Oscar’s been out on the balcony with his laptop, wearing noise-cancelling headphones and tapping through emails. You’ve just emerged from the kitchen with two glasses of water, about to offer him one, when it comes:

BANG. BANG. BANG.

Three sharp, violent pounds on the penthouse door.

Oscar freezes.

His head lifts, slow. The look on his face drains of calm, drains of ease.

Then another round, harder this time — BANG BANG BANG — and the voice that follows cuts the air like a blade.

“Open the damn door, Piastri.”

Your stomach turns to ice.

No.

It can’t be.

Oscar sets his laptop down. Stands.

You whisper, panicked, “Is that-”

“Yes.”

He moves quickly, intercepting your steps before you can bolt toward the hallway. “Go to the bedroom.”

“But-”

“Now.”

You hesitate for a heartbeat too long.

So he cups your shoulders. Gently, but firm. “Don’t give him what he wants. Don’t let him see you afraid.”

Your hands shake as you pull away, but you nod. Walk backward down the hall. You shut the door quietly. Lock it. Then sink to the floor beside the bed, knees to your chest, heart galloping.

Outside, you hear the deadbolt slide.

But not the door opening.

Oscar’s voice is calm. Too calm. “You need to leave.”

Carlos doesn’t.

Instead, he snarls, “I’m not leaving without my sister.”

“You shouldn’t have come.”

“You’re hiding her.” A shove. The door rattles in the frame. “I know she’s in there.”

“She’s not a prisoner.”

“Then let me in.”

“No.”

Another blow — Oscar’s hand must be on the reinforced lock because the door holds, but just barely.

“You’re scared I’ll take her back,” Carlos snaps.

Oscar exhales, almost a laugh. “I’m not scared of you.”

“You should be.”

“No,” Oscar says smoothly. “I really shouldn’t.”

Silence.

“You think this is romantic?” Carlos spits. “You think you’re rescuing her? A knight in shining armor?”

You press your palm to your mouth.

“She’s fragile,” Carlos is saying. “She’s not made for this world. She’s trusting you, and you’re using her.”

Oscar doesn’t answer.

And then, voice quieter but somehow colder, “She came here on her own.”

“She doesn’t know what she’s doing.”

Oscar’s tone sharpens. “You keep saying that like it excuses everything. But have you considered, just maybe, she ran because she does know?”

“You’ve corrupted her,” Carlos accuses. “And you did it to spite me.”

That’s when Oscar really goes quiet.

For a beat.

“I don’t need to ruin your sister to ruin you,” he says, voice low and lethal. “She’s already better off without you.”

Your breath catches.

The silence that follows is like a fuse burning.

You scramble to the door — grip the handle, unsure if you’re about to stop them, defend Oscar, beg Carlos to leave. But you freeze when you hear footsteps. Pacing.

Carlos speaks again, the rage in his voice dulled into something quieter but more dangerous.

“She was never meant for someone like you.”

Oscar doesn’t flinch. “And someone like you thinks she belongs in a cage.”

“She belonged in her world.”

“No.” Oscar’s voice drops an octave. “She belonged to it. That’s the difference.”

You sink down to the floor, trembling. You don’t know what’s worse — the fight or the fact that everything Oscar’s saying is what you were too afraid to admit yourself.

“If you care about her at all,” Oscar says, “you’ll leave. Now.”

There’s a pause.

And then footsteps. Fading.

The elevator. A low chime.

Gone.

You sit there for a long moment, just listening.

Only when the quiet has stretched too long do you unlock the door and step out.

Oscar’s still by the door, hand braced against the frame like he’s trying not to punch straight through it.

You whisper, “He’s gone?”

He doesn’t turn.

You cross the room, silent, until you’re close enough to see the red tension around his knuckles.

“Oscar.”

That gets his attention. He turns his head.

You search his face. “What did you say to him?”

“Everything he didn’t want to hear.”

“Did you mean it?”

He looks at you for a long time. “Yes.”

Your chest aches.

You reach for his hand.

He lets you.

But there’s something simmering beneath his skin, some fierce need to protect you colliding with the way you look up at him now — small, worried, stunned by the lengths he went to for you.

He brushes a strand of hair from your cheek.

Whispers, “You okay?”

You nod slowly. And then, quieter still, “This won’t be the last time, will it?”

Oscar doesn’t lie.

“No.”

Your throat tightens.

You already know.

Carlos will be back.

And next time, he won’t come alone.

[miange1]

HE CAN'T FUCK YOU LIKE I CAN.

the blessing. . .᭝ ᨳଓ ՟. . . : best friend x crush male reader

the blessings words. . .𓂋 🪽. . . : toxic mindset , manipulation , gaslighting , breaking someone up , taking advantage of someone's feelings , rough sex , dacryphillia , cheating(kind of not really) , doggy style , dirty talk , reader got a fat ass , asshole referred to as pussy , breeding kink , dumbification

background knowledge of the prayer. . .𓆩 𓂋 𓆪. . . your best friend has had a crush on you since before you even spoke to him. took him forever to get the courage to talk to you in the first place. it was perfect, before your little boyfriend ruined it. but he had the aspects of ruining it.

angels note. . .⁺‧₊˚꒰ა⋆♱⋆໒꒱ ˚₊‧⁺. . . : back from my lil hiatus. i never proofread

god, he was guilty for loving the way you cried. you just had to be so pretty, it was to the point he had to put a pillow over his lap as he comforted you. poor you..your boyfriend had cheated on you with some random bitch a whole five states away. you couldn't believe it. your boyfriend was so sweet, cheating on you didn't even seem like something for him to ever do. but he did.

well, sort of— not really. thing was, your boyfriend wasn't here first it was your best friend. i mean anyone would want their place back after someone else took it, that's all he was doing. he didn't want to hurt you completely but this was the only way to do it. the only way that ensured the two of you wouldn't get back together.

your phone kept blowing up. text after text from your boyfriend and his friends, trying to prove that those screenshots were fake! he would never cheat on you not ever. but your friend silence your phone, keeping your head on his chest as you cried. "shh..its gonna be alright." his thumb wiped at your tears, palm holding your face gently.

"don't even worry about him, okay? im here." he would always be there for you, you just needed a push to realize that. "you didn't deserve that, not at all. much too sweet for fuckers like him, no?" his hand slid down, fingers lightly gripping at your waist as a form of possessive action. "ay, look at me okay?" when you did, he was so close to you, nose lightly brushing yours. he was leaning closer though and fuck you were going to push him away. going to tell him the two of you were just friends and only that. mouth opening to tell him to back up but you couldn't. you just needed someone to fill the hole.

literally.

he fucked you like he was proving himself to you. proving ain't nobody else could have you as he did in only five minutes. his hand kept you grounded down, his palm hard against your ass as he thrusted like he was going to war. he winced through his teeth, adams apple bobbing in his throat when he groaned from your tightness. "fuck– fuck, fuck, see how you got me?" wasn't much of a question, he just wanted you to know what you did to him. he stopped moving only for a second, his knee kicking between your thighs just so you can arch deeper.

he started up again, your ass bouncing each time his hips came in contact and clapped at your wet skin. you couldn't speak, only having incoherent words when you tried and slobbered moans. he snickered, lip curling upwards from his ego. "mmm.. coño muy apretado. might snap my dick off." his eyes darted all over your body, watching how your body tried to roll and grind backwards to get him deeper inside.

"yeah, knew you wanted me from the beginning." he huffed through his nose, teeth grinding together. his hand gripped at your hair, pulling you up so you could look back at him. "say it. don't fuckin' deny it, hear me?" you nodded to your best abilities, swallowing your saliva down harshly. he clicked his teeth against the top of his mouth, shaking his head. "you don't listen bebé. say. it." wanted to hear it. you gasped wetly, blinking away any tears only for them to spill out anyway. "wanted— wanted you from the beginning! needed you so bad..'m losin' my mind, don't stop.."

he let go of your hair, your cheek hitting the soft mattress. "there we go. wasn't that hard, now was it?" he tilted his head, like he was curious. "but how would i know that," his palm smacked down at your ass, the cheek already bruised up. "maybe i should get this tight ass filled with my nut– you gon' take it real good and well ain't you." he demanded and you nodded, nodded like you even knew what the fuck he was saying.

—

he knew he was petty, wouldn't admit it. he got what he wanted and had you all cuddled up to him and comfy. his marks were all over you, from neck down to between your thighs. bite marks, bruises, hickeys, even a few scratches. his phone was in his hand, thumb swiping at the photos he took of you sleeping. he scent it on your phone, right to your boyfriend making sure most of those marks were visible.

he fucking giggled when he saw the three frantic bubbles pop up as your boyfriend(ex) typed. he fingers were already quick across the screen.

'damn. consequences of your own actions? 🤷'

[cosmicmunsonwrites]

teachers pet pt. 3

brothers best friend!rafe x thornton!fem!virgin!reader

cw — minors dni, fingering, oral (f receiving), kissing, reader is very innocent, slight insecurity

summary — when sarah leaves you alone in her home, her brother uses it to his advantage.

authors note — thank you guys so much for all the love on this mini story. it actually makes me so excited to continue because i wasn’t even sure people would like this idea!! i love you guys and appreciate all the kind things you guys have been leaving in the comments 💕

part one | part two | part three | part four | part five

do not copy or post my work anywhere else.

the movie was playing in front of you, yet neither you or sarah were paying attention. she was on her phone and you were dozing off. the background noise was almost annoying at this point. it was some sort of horror with lots of loud screaming.

sarah laughed at something on her device then powered it off and placed it down on her bed. “i’m hungry,” she blurted out. “wanna go get something from the pantry?”

you rubbed the sleep from your eyes and forced yourself to sit upright. “sure,” you grumbled. the two of you headed downstairs and got to work searching for something to snack on.

she searched the pantry while you looked through the fridge. footsteps approached behind you, which you just assumed was your best friend. that was until your felt a familiar firm chest press to your back and an arm by your head grabbing the milk from the shelf.

a squeal of surprise caught in your throat. he disappeared as quickly as he came, now standing with his back to you by the island.

“what are you doing home?” sarah asked curiously, still rummaging through the snacks. thank god she hadn’t seen his little act. “i thought you were supposed to be out with topper and kelce.”

rafe shrugged lazily and continued making whatever concoction he was whipping up. “i had some work to get done,” he replied. “we’re about to head out to the gym now.”

she nodded and shut the door. “there’s nothing good in here. got anything?” she asked you.

you opened up the freezer and found a tub of ice cream. “i think so,” you stated, picking it up and inspecting it.

“you guys high or something?” he questioned, looking between the two of you and shaking up his protein drink. “why are you guys searching for food like you’ve been starved for days?”

sarah rolled her eyes. “no. just hungry,” she muttered. “unless you’re offering to get us food.”

a fake laugh left his lips. “very funny,” his tone was dry and careless. “but i’m leaving. be back in an hour.”

and with that, he was walking out of the house and shutting the door behind him. the two of you went back upstairs with your tub of ice cream and two spoons to return to your movie.

you must’ve fallen asleep a few minutes in because when you woke up, sarah was tapping at your arm frantically with a giddy smile on her lips. “are you up?” she asked for the fifth time. “i need a favor.”

“what?” you grumbled, looking around as your eyes adjusted to make sure you weren’t missing something. “what are you talking about?”

she began to stand and shrug on a jacket. “john b is outside. can you cover for me tonight?” she asked, practically begging. “i promise i’ll repay you.”

a sigh slipped out before you could stop it. thankfully her parents and wheezie weren’t home, which meant you’d only have to lie to rafe. “fine,” you mumbled. “but don’t be gone long. i can only come up with so many lies.”

an excited grin stretched across her lips. “thank you so much,” she said happily. “i owe you big time.”

and before you knew it, she was slipping out of the window. it annoyed you slightly to be left here alone for the next few hours, possibly even the night. part of you wished you’d just stayed home.

nonetheless, you made yourself comfortable in her bed and turned on a different horror movie, one you’d never seen before and began to scroll on your phone. until you got a certain notification.

rafe:

you still here?

you had to roll your eyes at that.

you:

yes

why?

there was a small pause where the bubbles appeared for a minute or two.

rafe:

wyd rn

that was it? all that typing for three letters?

you:

watching a movie

and another pause.

rafe:

come to my room

i wanna show you something

you let out a huff and rolled over onto your side, far too tired to walk over there.

you:

i’m watching a movie w sarah

rafe:

ik she snuck out

i heard her and john b laughing outside my window

you had to giggle. she’s gonna die when she hears about that tomorrow.

you:

i’m still watching

rafe:

you can watch in here

my tvs bigger

he was persistent, you had to give it to him.

you:

don’t wanna walk over there

rafe:

i’ll carry you

i’ll beg if you want me to

you couldn’t help but smile. you definitely looked like an idiot. it was almost embarrassing how giddy you felt just reading his text.

you:

i’ll be waiting

rafe was quicker than you’d expected. he opened up the door and scooped you up bridal style. and when he heard you laugh, he felt his knees give out a little. he would never admit what he was willing to give up to hear that laugh over and over again.

“you better not drop me,” you said pointedly, wrapping your arms around his neck just incase.

he smirked and slowly, carefully, made his way through the halls. “i’m offended, sweetheart. think i’m weak or something?” he teased.

then he lowered you quickly as if he were to let go, making you gasp and hold onto him tighter. he had to laugh. you smacked his shoulder. “that’s not funny, rafe. what if i died?”

“dramatic much?” he said jokingly. “i wouldn’t let you die.”

you leaned your head against his firm chest and let him carry you into his room, gently placing you onto his bed. “what exactly am i doing in here?” you asked once he settled in beside you.

“why? got somewhere else to be?” he said sarcastically, already knowing you didn’t. “hot date or something?”

you eyed him suspiciously. “not until tomorrow.” if he wanted to play this game, you were going to play.

there was a shift in him. one that was hard to put a finger one. “i still don’t understand why you’re goin’ on that. he’s a fucking loser,” he muttered, turning onto his back to scroll through netflix.

“i’d be careful rafe,” you began, a slight teasing tome in your voice. “you’re almost starting to sound like your jealous of the guy.”

“what if i was?” he asked with a softer voice than before, propping his elbow up on the bed and resting his chin on the palm of his hand to get a better look at you through the dark. “what’s so bad about that?”

you shrugged as best you could. “don’t see why you would be,” you mumbled. “you’re the one who gets to teach me all these things.”

“and at the end of the day, you’re still going back to him,” his tone was almost disgusted. like talking about enzo physically repulsed him.

“not true,” you replied, huffing out a soft laugh. “if you want to be technical, i always go back to you at the end of the day. i ask you to pick me up, i ask you to teach me.”

his gaze analyzed your face for a second. “and he’s the one you’re willing to learn all of this for.”

the way he sounded almost broke your heart. rafe was a confident guy, never really had to compete for anyone he wanted. and if he did, he always won. but right now? he felt like the biggest loser. and it was showing. he was being vulnerable with you, something he rarely ever did.

“doesn’t matter,” you said after a moment of silence, finding his free hand and holding it in yours. “you’ll always mean more to me than any guy.”

it was as if time stopped for a second. the two of you just staring at each other with the same look in your eyes. one that told the other that you guys were dancing around the truth, just waiting for when it spilled out. it made you both wonder who would crack first.

rafe leaned forward and pressed his lips to yours tenderly, making you smile against him and wrap your arms around his neck. he moved to situate his legs between yours, his body covering your much smaller one.

you could die happily here. him kissing you, his warmth on top of you acting like a blanket, his hand cradling the side of your jaw. part of your mind wandered to a place you’d been trying to shove down since this started last week.

one where things could be like this all the time. where you didn’t have to do stuff in secret. where he could parade you around as his girlfriend. where you didn’t have to use another guy as an excuse to be with him. one where you guys just had each other.

maybe you’d only ever be able to dream about it. and you were okay with that. as long as you had him here like this.

he began to kiss down the side of your jaw and to your neck. “wanna teach you a new lesson today, sweetheart,” he mumbled against your skin, sucking light enough to not leave a mark.

“yeah?” you asked a little breathless, eyes closed as one hand lightly scratched his scalp while the other draped over his shoulder. “what’s that?”

“yesterday, i taught you how to make someone else feel good,” he mumbled, pressing more kisses down to your collarbone. “today, i wanna show you what if feels like when someone else makes you feel good.”

you almost died. never had you had words spoken to you like that. you’d only ever heard these things happening in movies.

it was like your heart was beating out of your chest and your cheeks were bright red. “you don’t have to, rafe,” you choked out, trying to make sure he didn’t feell pressured to do anything for you.

he nodded and moved so he could look directly into your eyes. “i know, angel. i want to,” he whispered softly. “what kind of teacher would i be if i didn’t treat you for always bein’ so good to me?”

butterflies erupted in your stomach more than ever. you knew you had to be as bright as a tomato by now. his words had too much of an impact on you and he’d barely even touched you.

you nodded eagerly and pulled him back down to your level to kiss him. his hands slipped under the bottom of your shirt to hold your waist while yours came down and tugged at the hem of his.

he leaned up on his knees for a second to pull it off and throw it somewhere on the floor then returned to his previous position. the things you’d give to live in this moment forever would probably have you sent away for good.

“can i take this off?” he mumbled against your lips, bunching up your shirt in his hands slightly.

“mhm,” you hummed and say up slightly to help him a little. he pulled it from your body and added it to the mess on the floor carelessly.

there was a moment of silence where he just stared. you began to feel small under his gaze, especially being bare from the waist up since you hadn’t worn a bra, wondering what exactly he was staring at. it was hard to pinpoint with his eyes wandering all across your face and body. “you’re a fuckin’ dream,” he smiled to himself and leaned down to mouth over your shoulders and chest.

if this was anyone other than rafe, you’d be embarrassed at how damp your underwear were. you could feel it sticking to you in the most uncomfortable way imaginable. never once had you experienced something like this.

“tell me if you want me to stop, ok?” he said firmly, pausing so you’d pay attention. you nodded. that made him shake his head. “i need to hear you say it, baby.”

you nodded once more, too lost in everything to actually function. “i’ll tell you,” you breathed out. truthfully, you just wanted him lips on you again.

the wish was granted almost instantly. he began to kiss over the tops of your breasts, his hand kneading one while his mouth gently sucked on the other. you took your bottom lip between your lip to suppress any noises and allowed your eyes to flutter shut.

after he’d moved onto the other one, he began to slowly kiss down your stomach and to the hem of your baby pink underwear. “can i take these off?” he asked softly.

you nodded. “yes.” even though your heart was about to burst out of your chest, you felt oddly warm with him. the intimacy of the situation made your body relax slightly, feeling like putty in his hands and slightly fuzzy.

he gently peeled the fabric down your legs, leaving you completely naked under him. “you’re so beautiful, angel,” he muttered, mostly admiring your face with a soft smile on his face.

before you could even reply, he was settling between your legs and hiking your legs up over his shoulders. his lips ghosted over your inner thighs and left an occasional kiss over the sensitive skin there.

a pit formed in your stomach from nerves. you’d never actually thought you’d be able to be this comfortable with someone to allow yourself to be vulnerable.

he must’ve noticed because one of his hands came up to grab yours as a silent reassurance, intertwining your fingers and letting you squeeze whenever you needed.

your body shuddered when his tongue licked a long, slow stripe up your center. another shaky breath escaped your lips when he kissed your clit with a gentleness you hadn’t been expecting.

once he was sure you were comfortable to the new feelings, his tongue began to work over your cunt. you squeezed his hand tight and moaned. if he wasn’t making you feel this good, you’d have to disappear from how that noise sounded.

rafe was loving it though. having you fall apart because of him. to finally get you to lose that goody-two-shoes persona while he fucked you with his tongue was enough to make him come right then and there.

his free hand found the back of your thigh and pushed it up slightly to open you up more for him as he lapped up your juices.

“fuck. oh my god,” you mumbled, closing your eyes. your hips repeatedly jerked involuntarily.

he smiled to himself and pulled away for just a second. “feel good, angel?”

you nodded quickly, eager for him to keep going. “mhm. feels so good,” you replied, whimpering when he began to suck on your clit and smooth over it every now and then.

one of his fingers came down to gently prod at your sopping hole, carefully pressing inside. your back arched off the bed slightly when the tip of it hit that certain spot. you’d never dared to touch yourself, let alone put anything inside of you.

you were expecting it to hurt more but you felt pure pleasure. maybe it was how wet you were. or because of how much rafe turned you on.

if this was any other situation, you’d feel bad for how hard you were squeezing his hand now, especially as he added in a second finger. your body was spasming as sparks ignited in your stomach and a knot formed.

and the sounds. god, the sounds were obscene. the way he was lapping at your cunt like a starved man. the way his finger fucked into you with little resistance. you wished you would’ve done this earlier if this is what you were missing out on.

“rafe, oh—�� you cried out when the pads on his fingers curved upwards and pressed deep inside of you. the knot in your core began to pull harder and your legs began to shake. the feeling was indescribable, unlike anything you’d ever felt before.

“i know, baby. i know,” he mumbled against your center. he always seemed to know exactly what you needed. “i’ve got you. jus’ relax.”

he was completely enamored by you, completely drunk off of the taste and smell of you. if he could relive this moment everyday of his life, he’d never complain again.

the way your hand was holding onto his for dear life, your other one raking through his buzzed hair, your cunt fluttering around his fingers. all because of him. not anyone else. and he’d make sure you never found pleasure like this with anyone else but him.

and when you finally did allow your body to relax, you felt a wave of ecstasy wash over your limbs. you loved it. a whine slipped past your lips as he continued to lap up every last drop of your juices and thrust his fingers into you until your high was slowly coming to an end.

he slipped his finger from you and placed them into his mouth, sucking the liquid off of them as he stared at you. “tastes so fuckin’ good, baby.” he grinned. you might’ve died right then and there. he took his time placing kisses to your thighs, your stomach, collarbone, throat, and finally your lips. he swallowed down your moan when you tasted yourself. “you okay?” he asked, barely pulling away and resting his forehead on yours.

you nodded and smiled, cheeks flushed and lips slightly swollen from biting them so much. “i’m good,” you whispered, scared of speaking too loud and ruining the moment.

he pecked your lips once more and rolled off of you, grabbing his shirt and tossing it next you for him to help dress you in a minute. “stay here, ‘m gonna grab a few things.” he headed into the kitchen first to get you a water then into the bathroom to grab a towel.

maybe this wasn’t so bad, you started to think to yourself. maybe you didn’t need to see anyone else. maybe you didn’t need to keep denying yourself of something real.

maybe you’d just found that something with him.

hi guys!! sorry for the wait but it’s finally out. lmk what you think. also, so sorry if i’ve missed anyone who asked to be added to the list

teachers pet taglist —

@sublimepenguinpeach-blog @deeznuggetsbebussin @nonbeliever1 @elvislover1967 @strawberrymilk99 @hkhkhkhj @matthewswifeyy @hbuhhiumij @rafeysangelbaby @sophibennet @sweetnastybunny

[yslgreen]

Need Every Inch.

PAIRING : No outbreak!Joel Miller x f!reader

SUMMARY : Joel needs a last-minute suit for Tommy’s wedding. You happen to be a tailor, one Joel didn’t expect to be so attracted to. Maybe those definitely-not-professional jokes you make mean you're not indifferent either?

WARNINGS : 18+ SMUT MDNI, no outbreak AU, no ellie, no y/n, slight age gap, oral m! recieving, fingering, unprotected p in v (wrap it up people!), creampie, praise, pet names, so many innuendos, teasing, sexual tension, slightly insecure! Joel, fluff, slight inappropriate behaviour from reader but let’s close our eyes pls.

A/N: I wanted to write something from Joel’s POV this time, so this started as a quick oneshot & of course it ended up being much longer than I intended. Sorry not sorry about that! And because men in suits get me all hot and bothered here we are.... Full disclaimer: I know absolutely nothing about tailoring beyond what Google has taught me for this fic, so apologies in advance for anything inaccurate!

Here on AO3 | 18 k (I dont know what came over me)

Joel definitely needed a new suit.

He knew it before he even looked in the mirror. Felt it the second he pulled the damn thing on. The jacket was too short for his arms. The shoulders hugged too tight. The fabric strained across his chest like it was begging for mercy. And the buttons? He couldn’t get a single one to close.

A puff of laughter came from behind him.

“When’s the last time you wore that thing?” Tommy asked, smirking from where he sat perched on the edge of Joel’s bed, watching his brother with far too much interest.

“Years ago,” Joel muttered with annoyance, tossing the jacket somewhere in his room.

The answer was vague, but he knew exactly when it was. Almost two decades ago, the day he and Sarah’s mother said yes in a courthouse. Too young and too rushed. The suit had been bought just days before, off the rack and not even altered. Even then, he hadn’t cared about the suit itself. It was just something he had to wear.

He never bought another one. Never needed to.

Joel lived in work pants, worn-in T-shirts and if you asked his daughter, way too many flannels. Suits were for men with office jobs or lives that required polishing. He didn’t have either. And they weren’t cheap, anyway. Raising a daughter on his own meant every extra dollar went to more important things: shoes she’d outgrow in a month, school supplies, dinners that didn’t come from a can.

Spending money on something as useless as a suit? Not a chance.

He’d kept this one tucked away in the back of the closet, thinking naively that it would still fit if he ever needed it. That time hadn’t changed him that much. But years of hard living, heavier lifting, and broader shoulders had reshaped him. And the suit hadn’t gotten the memo.

Tommy leaned back on his palms, eyebrows raised. “And you were plannin’ on wearin’ that to my wedding ?”

Joel shot him a look. “Didn’t figure it’d be this bad.”

“Joel… you couldn’t button it if your life depended on it.”

Joel grunted. “Didn’t ask for your commentary.”

Tommy just smirked. “Well, I can’t have my best man standin’ next to me at the altar lookin’ like that. Sure, it’d make me stand out more, but still.”

“I’ll find somethin’,” Joel said simply.

“I’m gettin’ married in two weeks,” Tommy said pointedly. “You should’ve figured out weeks ago that thing wasn’t gonna cut it.”

Joel didn’t have much of a defence. Truth was, Tommy was right. He’d had plenty of time, but between long hours at work, planning the bachelor party, helping out with wedding errands, and just… life, it had fallen to the bottom of the list. He wasn’t proud of it.

“You need a proper suit,” Tommy continued, standing now. He looked at Joel through the mirror, their reflections side by side. “Not somethin’ off the same rack you buy your flannels from. A real one. Somethin’ that fits. Tailored.”

“I got no need for that,” Joel muttered, already unbuttoning his shirt, eager to change into something comfortable.

“You do,” Tommy said, folding his arms. “For my wedding. For Sarah’s middle school graduation in a few years. Hell, for your own funeral if Maria sees you without a proper suit at our wedding.”

Joel barked a dry laugh despite himself. “That’s a threat?”

“It’s a guarantee,” Tommy said, grinning. “And Maria’ll back me up.”

Finally in something more comfortable, a soft cotton T-shirt and old jeans, Joel turned fully to his brother.

“And where the hell am I supposed to get a proper suit,” he echoed, dragging out the word with emphasis, “in two weeks?”

“Give me a sec,” Tommy said, already pulling his phone from his pocket.

Joel watched as his brother tapped out a quick text, thumbs flying. Probably to Maria. Who else? Tommy was hopeless over her — had been from the jump — and far as Joel could tell, he didn’t make a single decision without her blessing. Not that Joel minded. She was sharp, the kind of woman who always had a plan.

He glanced at his reflection again, at the man staring back in the quiet morning light.

A new suit ?

It wasn’t like ten years ago. Hell, it wasn’t even like five. Joel had built something since then. Built it from the ground up, with his own two hands. A good life. He and Tommy ran a solid contracting business. He had a two-story house with an actual yard. Sarah had everything she needed and more. 

And for once, he had a little room to think about himself, not just what was necessary. He could afford it. A real suit. Something that wasn’t just practical or durable or bought on clearance. Something that might actually make him feel… good. Confident. Hell, maybe even a little handsome. Not that Joel thought he was an ugly man, never had. He knew how he came across. Rugged, solid. That quiet, hard-working edge that some women seemed to like. He didn’t have the easy charm Tommy had, but he held his own.  But it had been a long time since he felt it for himself. Since he’d looked in a mirror and seen someone worth dressing up. Worth the effort. 

“Maria’s got a place,” Tommy said, cutting through Joel’s thoughts. “Tailor shop over near East 6th. She says if you tell them you’re comin’ on her word, they’ll squeeze you in. Deadline and all.”

“And?”

“And what?”

Joel gave him a look. “What else did Maria say?”

A grin spread across Tommy’s face. “That you better be the world’s most polite client. Or she’ll personally kick your ass.”

Joel huffed out a laugh. “Yeah. That sounds about right.”

That’s how, later that day, with the sun dipping low behind the buildings, Joel found himself standing in front of a little shop he’d never noticed before. Not that he drove this stretch of road often, but still, he’d lived in Austin his whole damn life. He liked to think he knew the city pretty well.

Then again, there’d never been a reason to notice it before.

Frank & Co. Tailoring.

The lettering on the sign was neat, understated. Just enough to catch the eye if you were searching for it. The place was classy, but not showy. The wood-panelled front had a warm, worn-in charm, the kind that said the shop had been around a while, quietly doing good work. In the window, a few sharp-looking jackets stood on mannequins, their fabrics catching the last of the afternoon light. Below them, a neat rack of ties and bow ties added colour, from deep blues to muted reds and subtle patterns,  all carefully arranged to invite a second look.

Joel leaned closer, peering through the glass. His brow furrowed; the place looked empty. He wondered, for a beat, if he was too late. He’d meant to get there earlier, but work, as it often did, had dragged longer than planned. He hadn’t even changed out of his slightly dusty clothes. Not the worst shape he’d ever been in after a day on site, but still… it felt like he should’ve made more of an effort.

But the lights were still on, and the little sign hanging on the door clearly read Open . So after brushing some dust off his pants like that was gonna make any real difference, Joel stepped inside.

A bell above the door chimed softly as he entered, and a voice called from somewhere in the back. “I’ll be there in a sec!” 

He stood there a moment, hands at his sides, suddenly very aware of how out of place he felt. The shop was smaller than he expected, but not in a bad way. Just… personal, he’d say. Wood tones, soft lighting, rows of folded shirts and fabric samples displayed with care. A few mannequins stood off to the side, dressed in sharp, clean lines, everything neatly arranged:  charcoal suits, earth-toned linens, deep navy wools. All of it well-made and tasteful.

Joel moved toward the front counter, his eyes drifting as he walked. Off to the side, he spotted what had to be the fitting area: a tall mirror framed in dark wood, a low platform in front of it, a tape measure draped over a nearby stool like someone had just stepped away mid-task. Private enough that someone standing there wouldn’t be seen from the front window. Toward the back, through an open doorway, he could make out what had to be the workroom: bolts of fabric, half-finished pieces on hangers and the low buzz of a machine humming somewhere out of sight. 

Almost without thinking, his fingers brushed over the sleeve of a red velvet jacket. Bold. Not his style in the slightest, but even he could tell it was quality. The fabric was soft under his fingertips. It made him wonder for a second what kind of man wore something like that and didn’t feel like a damn fool doing it.

“Hi! Sorry for the wait. How can I help you?”

Joel turned toward the voice. And stopped. You weren’t what he expected.

Maybe it was the movies' fault, but when he thought of a tailor, he pictured an older man, probably bald, Italian for some reason, with a measuring tape around his neck and a heavy accent like the place doubled as a front for some mafia. He didn’t expect a woman, younger than him by maybe ten years, hair a little tousled, like you hadn’t planned on more clients tonight. An easy, professional smile. Warm eyes. 

Pretty . That was the word that struck him first, clear and fast.

He cleared his throat, voice rougher than he meant it to be. “I, uh... I need a suit.”

You gave him another smile and slid behind the counter, setting the folded fabric you’d been holding onto the back of a nearby chair. “Well, you’re in the right place, then. What’s the occasion?”

“A wedding,” 

“Oh, lovely.” You reached for the small notebook resting near the register and flipped it open, pen already in hand. “When’s the big day?”

“In two weeks.”

You froze mid-scribble. Slowly, you lifted your eyes to meet his. “Two weeks?” you repeated, like maybe you hadn’t heard him right — or hoped you hadn’t.

He gave a small, sheepish shrug. “Yeah.”

You blinked once. The edge of a smile was tugging at his mouth. You were looking at him like he’d just told you he’d shown up for brain surgery with a pocketknife.

“Maria sent me,” he added, as if that might help.

That earned a very different reaction.

“Did she now?” you sighed, setting your notebook down a little harder than necessary. Joel noticed the way your brows pinched in what looked like familiar frustration. “Fucking hell,” you muttered under your breath.

But Joel heard it, and the corner of his mouth twitched. Not quite a smile, but close.

You spun back around a second later, as if remembering he was still there. “Sorry. That wasn’t very professional.”

“S’all right. I know this isn’t exactly a normal request.”

You exhaled slowly. “Yeah. Making a full suit in two weeks is…”

“Impossible?”

You gave a tired, dry laugh. “Definitely difficult.”

There was a pause, and Joel figured this was the part where you told him no. And fair enough, he wouldn’t blame you. Two weeks was damn near impossible, and he’d left it too late. A suit off the rack would do. Not great, not impressive, but it would do. Tommy might roll his eyes, but I'll be too busy at his wedding to do anything about it. He didn't want to think about what Maria might say to him, or the way she might scold him like he was a child. Sarah… well, he could already imagine the look on her sweet face. Disappointed, but trying not to show it.

But then, instead of sending him away, you pulled out the chair next to you and sat down, nodding toward the other one across from you.

“Have a seat.”

Joel hesitated, just for a second, then did as told.

“Do you know what kind of suit you’re looking for?” you asked, reaching for your notebook again.

“What kind?” he echoed, brow furrowed.

“There’s classic, slim fit, modern fit, double-breasted, three-piece, tuxedo, unstructured—” you rattled them off quickly, like someone who didn’t have time to waste.

Joel held up a hand. “Whoa, whoa…slow down.”

You laughed, soft but amused, and Joel found himself leaning just slightly toward the sound.

“Sorry,” you said, not sounding sorry at all. “Tight deadline. If we’re doing this, I need to get started tonight.”

“Right. Sorry.”

You shook your head, more gently this time. “Don’t apologise. It’s my job. Just trying to get a read on what we’re working with.” You clicked your pen. “Have you ever had a tailored suit before?”

“Never,” he admitted, like it was something he maybe should’ve been embarrassed about.

But you just nodded, unfazed. “That’s totally fine. Do you at least know what you like?”

The look in his eyes told you everything. You didn’t wait for him to fumble for an answer.

“Take a look around,” you offered, gesturing to the space. “Is there anything here that stands out to you? Something close to what you're picturing for yourself?”

Joel turned his head, taking his time as his eyes moved across the room. He glanced at a few mannequins before his gaze landed on one near the back.

“That one,” he said, nodding toward it. “I guess.”

You followed his gaze and gave a thoughtful little hum. “Alright. Clean cut, traditional silhouette.” You tapped your pen lightly against the notebook. “Are we talking black? Or are we open to a little colour?”

“Black,” he said, and the amused lift of your eyebrow made him wonder if you’d already guessed that would be his answer.

“Can’t go wrong with that,” you murmured with a small nod as you flipped to a new page. “Any want for the fabric?”

Joel hesitated, searching for the right words. “I want somethin’ that lasts. Somethin’ I can wear again if I ever need to.”

You smiled softly, like that was the right answer. “Timeless, then.”

Turning to one of the nearby shelves, you pulled a few fabric samples from a wooden tray and laid them out in front of him. You explained each one — worsted wool, twill and more — pointing out the subtle differences. How some were softer, others more durable. How they caught light differently. How some aged beautifully, and others needed a little more care. Your fingers moved over each fabric with ease, and Joel found himself watching your hands more than the cloth.

He listened more intently than he expected to. Maybe it was the calm certainty in your voice, or the way you clearly knew what you were talking about without making him feel dumb for not knowing it himself. You spoke with the kind of quiet confidence that only came from being good at what you did, and caring about it.

It was… nice, he thought. Watching someone be good at something. Watching you.

After a few more questions, things about budget, lapel preferences, if he wanted anything embroidered (he didn’t), you moved on, your pen scratching notes across the page. You asked about accessories next.

“Do you need coordinated pieces? Tie, bow tie?”

“A bow tie,” Joel said, watching the way your lips twitched into the faintest smile.

You nodded. “Pocket square? Always a good way to add a little pop of color.”

He gave a noncommittal hum. “Maybe.”

“Perfect way to match with your wife’s dress, for example,” you added, smiling.

“No wife,” he said quickly. Maybe too quickly?

You looked up at that, and Joel noticed the brief flick of your eyes to his hand, confirming the absence of a ring. He felt his gaze drop to yours in return. Also no ring. But that didn’t mean anything. Maybe you didn’t wear one at work. Maybe you weren’t married. Maybe you were.

“No one to match with, then?” you asked, tone casual, but there was something in the way you said it. A thread of curiosity woven in, just enough for him to notice.

Was that just good customer service? Or something more? A subtle way of asking if he was spoken for? He couldn’t be sure.

Joel shifted slightly. “I’ll check with the groom. See if there’s a color I need to match. If not…” He hesitated, just for a moment. “Might match with my daughter instead.”

Your face softened. “That’s sweet,” you said, and meant it. “Well, no rush on that. You let me know when you find out.”

You glanced down at your notes, flipping back through the pages as if checking your list, making sure you had everything you needed.

“Well,” you said after a moment, “the good news is you’re not asking for anything too over-the-top.”

“I’m not exactly known for my bold fashion sense,” Joel replied dryly.

You shrugged lightly, not even looking up. “Good-looking men don’t need a loud suit to stand out anyway.”

It was offhand, almost dismissive, like it wasn’t meant to land as a compliment. But it did. Joel’s eyes widened a little, not expecting that. You were already back on your notes, like you hadn’t just called him good-looking, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. And maybe to you, it was. Still, the words settled in him. A flicker of something quiet and pleased. It wasn’t vanity exactly, but there was something deeply satisfying about knowing that you looked at him and saw a man worth noticing. That the interest wasn’t entirely one-sided.

You were focused again, pen gliding across the page as you started drafting the order summary: measurements, fabric, deadlines, deposit terms. But midway through, your hand paused. You looked up at him, eyes meeting his again. You had pretty eyes. 

“I forgot to ask your name,” you realised. 

“I’m Joel,” he replied, reaching out his hand automatically. “Joel Miller.”

There was a flicker in your expression at the name. Something small, but noticeable. Recognition, maybe? Or something else he couldn’t quite place. But before he could dwell on it, you were already offering your own name along with your hand. The handshake was brief and professional, but something about it lingered. The warmth of your skin, the subtle firmness of your grip. When you let go and his hand dropped back to his side, Joel felt his fingers twitch slightly. 

Once you were done, you slid the document across the counter, letting Joel skim through it. Everything looked in order. He picked up the pen, signed with a steady hand, and passed it back to you.

As you stood, he did the same, instinctively mirroring your movement. When you walked around the front desk, he assumed it was to politely see him out, and turned toward the door.

But he’d barely taken a few steps when your voice came from behind him.

“Where are you going?”

Joel paused, half-turning back. You weren’t following. You were standing near the fitting area, head tilted slightly like you were trying not to laugh.

He blinked. “I thought we were done for now?” he offered, glancing toward the shop window, where the sun had all but slipped beneath the horizon. “Didn’t mean to keep you. It’s almost night out.”

“Well, Miller,” you said, tone light but pointed as you crossed your arms, “if you want that suit ready for this wedding, I need to take those measurements tonight.”

“Measurements?”

You gave him another look, amused, a little exasperated, but still smiling. “Yes, measurements,” you said, drawing the word out like he was being deliberately slow. “I know I’m very good at what I do, but I haven’t quite figured out how to make a custom suit without them.”

Right. Yeah. That tracked. He hadn’t expected it to happen tonight, though. He figured you’d give him an appointment, send him on his way, and get to it sometime in the next few days.

“And… you’re the one taking them?” he asked, and he knew the moment the words left his mouth that you caught the flicker of surprise in his tone. It wasn’t about your skill. He had no doubt you were very capable. Hell, he just spent less than twenty minutes with you, and he already thought you were excellent. It was the realisation that you were going to be the one putting hands on him. He’d assumed there was someone else. Frank — that was the name on the shop window, wasn’t it? An older man in the back room with a measuring tape around his neck, doing this part of the job.

Not you.

You tilted your head, that same teasing glint in your eyes. “My uncle usually handles the men’s measurements,” you explained, like this wasn’t the first time you’d had to say it. Men either got awkward or a little too enthusiastic once they realised that this was also part of your job. “But he’s on vacation until next week. If you’re uncomfortable, I can reschedule you for when he’s back. But...” You didn’t need to finish that sentence.

Joel did it for you. “I’ve got a deadline.”

Your smile deepened. “Then I’m all you’ve got, Miller.”

There was a beat of silence. Joel cleared his throat, the sound a little rougher than it needed to be. “Okay then,” he said finally. “Guess I’m in your hands.”

“Lucky you.”

Joel walked back the few steps he’d taken. “Where do you want me?”

The corner of your mouth lifted just slightly, like you were holding back an answer. Instead, you tilted your head toward the raised platform near the large mirror, tucked in the corner of the shop. “Over there.”

He followed your gesture, noting how the soft, golden lighting of the room caught in your hair, making it glow. He tried not to notice, but he did.

“Take off your jacket for me, please.”

“Yes, ma’am,”

You let out a quiet hum as you turned away to retrieve your measuring tape. When you turned back, he was already standing tall on the platform, his jacket draped over a nearby chair.

Your gaze moved over him. It was quick. Professional. Measured. But not entirely detached.  The subtle tilt of your head, the way your eyes lingered just a second longer than necessary. Joel told himself not to read into it. He reminded himself this was just part of the process. That you weren’t really looking. Not like that.

Even if, for a second, it felt like maybe you were.

“Well,” you murmured, your eyes sweeping over him one last time, “you’re a lot broader than I expected.”

Joel blinked, not sure what to make of that. It could’ve been a purely professional observation but the way you said it made it land differently. Or maybe that was just him, reading too much into everything.

“Is that a bad thing?” 

You didn’t hesitate. “Not in my opinion.”

Was it a compliment? Just a statement of fact? 

You stepped closer, measuring tape in hand, and gave him a quick, teasing smile. “Alright, Miller. I’m gonna need to get my hands on you,” you said, voice smooth with amusement. “Hope that’s not a problem.”

Joel opened his mouth, then closed it again. He wasn’t sure how to answer that without sounding like a teenager. Because no, it definitely wasn’t a problem. Quite the opposite. So he cleared his throat, trying to keep his voice steady. “Go ahead.”

You gave a knowing little smile, as if you’d heard what he didn’t say, and moved into his space. “I’ll start with your neck circumference,” you said, raising your hands, measuring tape between your fingers.

Joel stood still as you moved, watching as you rose onto your toes to loop the tape around his neck. He was quite taller than you, and the platform added just enough height to make the reach difficult for you.

“You want me to crouch or somethin’?” he asked, brow lifting as he glanced down.

You just smiled. “It’s alright. I’ve handled bigger.”

Joel breathed a little heavier. He wasn’t sure if you meant it to sound that way. You didn’t seem to register what you’d just said, or maybe you did, and you were very good at pretending otherwise. Either way, you carried on.

Joel said nothing. He couldn’t trust his mouth not to betray what his brain was doing, which, at the moment, was a mess of thoughts he had no business entertaining. His jaw tightened slightly as your fingers brushed the side of his throat, the tape snug against his skin. You stood so close now, barely a breath between you. He could feel the warmth of you, could smell something faint and clean on your skin, your perfume or shampoo probably, something sweet that made his chest tighten for no good reason.

He didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. And when you stepped back a second later, noting the number with a little nod before writing it in your notebook, he swore the air felt colder without your touch.

“Shoulders,” you murmured.

Your fingers brushed over the top of his shirt, finding one shoulder seam, then carefully extending the tape across to the other. Joel held still, jaw tense. He was looking at your face again before he could stop himself. The subtle crease between your brows, the way your bottom lip caught briefly between your teeth as you made sure the tape sat just right.

“Chest now,” you said softly after noting the new number down.

You stepped back in, close enough that the brush of your arms sent a pulse straight through him. You wrapped the tape around his chest, your fingers grazing the fabric of his shirt with just enough pressure to make him notice. Your hands lingered a second longer than they strictly needed to. You hummed, pleased, maybe even appreciative, and Joel couldn’t stop the subtle inhale that followed, chest rising just slightly under your hands. His pulse kicked harder. You didn’t comment. Just shifted lower, sliding the tape down around his waist.

“Hold still.”

You worked methodically, adjusting the tape around his midsection with firm, careful movements. Your knuckles grazed over his belt as you adjusted the measurement, and Joel had to lock his hands at his sides, fingers curling into his palms to keep from reacting. He could feel the warmth of your body near his, the brush of your wrist, the ghost of touch through his shirt. He was sure you weren’t doing anything intentionally; you were just doing your job, but Christ, his body didn’t know the difference.

Next came sleeve length and arm circumference, and still you didn’t rush. Your touch was feather-light, barely there, the backs of your fingers grazing his forearm as you measured from shoulder to wrist, then wrapped around the thickest part of his bicep.

“You go to the gym, Miller?” you suddenly asked with just enough edge to make him wonder if you were teasing.

“No?” he replied quickly, trying not to let his voice betray anything he was feeling at the moment.

You glanced up at him, one brow raised. “Could have fooled me”

He didn’t have time to respond or think about what, exactly, you were implying before you stepped around him again and moved on. You crouched slightly, measuring his wrist, your fingers circling his skin with quiet precision. Then you stepped around him to measure his hips. Joel locked his jaw and focused on breathing. Every touch made him feel self conscious. And he knew you weren’t trying to fluster him. You were just doing your job. But every so often, he caught a look: a glint in your eyes, a hint of knowing in your smile, and wondered if you weren’t enjoying this just a little.

He swallowed hard. If you were, you hid it well.

He tried to focus on anything else. The soft scratch of your pen as you paused to jot down another number. The sound of distant traffic beyond the shop window. The quiet hum of jazz drifted from a speaker in the corner of the shop. Anything but the heat crawling up the back of his neck.

But then your eyes lifted to his, a smirk tugging at the edge of your mouth. “Spread your legs for me, Miller.”

His breath caught, sharp in his throat. “...Sorry?”

You gave him an entirely innocent look, but the sparkle in your eyes told a different story. “For your inseam. I need to measure it. You know… for the pants?”

Right. Of course.

He shifted, clearing his throat as he obeyed, feet spreading slightly apart. This was normal. Routine. You probably did this a dozen times a week.

Still, Joel’s body didn’t seem to care about that fact. You crouched in front of him, and he tried, really tried, not to think about anything he shouldn’t. Not about how close your face was to his zipper. Not about how your fingers moved with quiet precision along his inner thigh. Not about what it might feel like if this were a different kind of situation entirely. Fewer clothes. A lot more touching.

He absolutely shouldn’t be thinking about the shape of your mouth. Or how those lips might feel wrapped around his—

Jesus.

Your voice broke the spiral, smooth and steady. “Open your legs just a little more…”

He hesitated, just a beat too long, and then you glanced up at him with a sly little smile that nearly knocked the wind out of him. 

“Come on, Miller,” you teased. “Don’t be shy. I need every inch .”

Okay. There was no way you weren’t doing this on purpose.

Joel stood frozen for half a second, caught between disbelief and the slow burn building under his skin. He didn’t know whether he was supposed to laugh, clear his throat, or just walk straight out the door and into the cool night air until his head stopped spinning. But he didn’t move. Couldn’t.

He clenched his jaw. He had to use every single ounce of willpower not to let the image settle exactly where it wanted to. His fingers twitched at his sides, and he forced them to stay there, not to fist in your hair, not to drag you closer, and do everything his mind was thinking about. But his body wasn’t listening. Not when your hand brushed the inside of his thigh to adjust the tape. Not when you looked up through your lashes with that smile like you knew exactly what you were doing to him.

And maybe you did. Maybe you meant for him to stand here, rigid and barely breathing, fighting the very real, very telling reaction threatening to make this whole thing impossible to ignore.

This was dangerous. You were dangerous. 

You tilted your head, smiling just enough to make him feel like you’d noticed every one of his reactions and were choosing not to comment on any of them. 

Joel shifted slightly, widening his stance as you’d asked. And just like that, you went back to work, cool and composed, as if the heat crawling under his skin wasn’t radiating off him in waves. As if none of this affected you. Like you weren’t kneeling between his thighs with your hands so goddamn close, and your voice still lingering in his head.

He stayed quiet, letting you move around him, your hands efficient. What if you weren’t trying to rile him up? What if this wasn’t anything more than routine to you? Just another suit fitting, another client? God, maybe you said the exact same things to everyone? 

Something twisted in his chest. What if all of this, the touch, the look, the low voice, was just him seeing what he wanted to see? Reading into nothing because he was just… starved. For something as small as a look, a smile, a moment of attention from a beautiful woman like you? What if he was just a tired, lonely man letting his body betray him in a tailor shop because someone had been kind? The thought lodged like a stone in his throat.

The shame crept in slowly but sharply; hot behind his ears, down his neck. He clenched his jaw and stared straight ahead, grounding himself with the weight of it. He couldn’t afford to be wrong about this. The mere idea of you looking at him with disgust, of realizing what was going through his mind, was enough to make him freeze. Enough to shame him into stillness, into silence.

He forced himself to breathe, to think of anything else. The old woman across his street with too many cats and a porch full of junk. That goddamn client who changed his mind every  damn week and left him redoing work for free. Maria’s face if she ever found out what he was thinking right now. The disappointment in her eyes. Her fury. He’d never hear the end of it.

This was nothing. A fitting. Just fabric and numbers and tape. That’s all it was supposed to be.

Joel let you finish your work in silence. You moved around him with practiced ease, measuring his thigh, then the circumference of his knees efficiently. He appreciated that you didn’t say anything else, didn’t try to fill the space with small talk or more of those comments he couldn’t quite figure out. Just a quick glance now and then, probably to make sure he was standing right. He kept his eyes forward, staring at a fixed point on the far wall, like it might anchor him.

“Alright,” you finally said, straightening up with a soft stretch. “That’s all I need. Thank you for your patience. You can step down.”

He gave a short nod and stepped off the platform, reaching for his jacket without a word. As he pulled it back on, you were already making your way to the front desk, flipping open your notebook and jotting another thing down. Joel followed, slower this time, careful not to walk too close behind you, careful not to let his thoughts wander again.

You looked up and offered him a smile that was all business now, but still warm.

“Well,” you said, “I think I’ve got everything I need to get started. Would you be able to come back in… let’s say, a week?” You tapped your pen thoughtfully against your lip. “I should have the base of your suit ready for the first fitting by then. If we’re lucky, one fitting will be enough.”

“Sure. What time should I come back?”

“Same time works if it does for you,” you replied, eyes flicking up to meet his again. “I don’t mind late nights.”

That last part lingered in the air a half-second too long. 

“Fine by me,” he said, grateful that it wouldn’t pull him away from work.

You scribbled something final into your notes, then shut the notebook with a quiet snap. “Perfect, then,” you said, and looked up again. This time, your gaze lingered on his for a second, mouth parting like you were about to say something else, but then you didn’t. He took that as his cue to leave.

Joel tapped a knuckle lightly against the desk. “Thanks again… for takin’ this on. Appreciate it.”

“My pleasure.” You smiled softly. “See you next week, Miller.”

“Yeah,” he said, backing toward the door with a short nod. “See you then.”

The bell above the door jingled softly as he stepped out. The evening air hit him square in the chest, and he still felt warm, more than he should’ve. Like your voice was still curling in his ear, your fingertips still ghosting over his skin.

He walked toward his truck with his jacket half-zipped, hands shoved into his pockets. Trying not to think too hard. He told himself he was being stupid. Reading into things that weren’t there. He really shouldn't think about you. 

But later that night, when his cock was hard and aching in his hand, it was you he couldn’t stop thinking about. The way you’d looked up at him from your knees, lips slightly parted, like you were ready to taste him the second he let you. He imagined the soft, desperate sounds you might make with his hand tangled in your hair. The way you'd moan if he’d bent you over that front desk. And when he finally came, spilling over his knuckles and stomach, it was your name that slipped out of his lips.

The week passed both too slowly and far too quickly for Joel.

He would’ve lied if he’d said he hadn’t thought about you. In truth, your face crossed his mind more than he cared to admit. Stupid things stuck with him: the tilt of your smile, the sound of your laugh, the soft way your fingers had brushed his skin when you took his measurements. He’d spent less than an hour with you, and yet he couldn’t seem to get you out of his mind. 

Even Tommy had noticed something was off. His younger brother kept shooting him looks every time Joel was deep in thought. When one morning Tommy asked, “How’s that suit comin’ along?” Joel barely looked up from his cup of coffee. 

“Fine,” he said simply. He didn’t trust himself to say more. Tommy knew him too well. One extra word, and he’d start digging. And Joel really didn't want to explain he was like that over what was basically a crush . Christ. A crush. He was pushing forty for godamn sake. He wasn’t some daydreaming kid anymore; he was a grown man who really shouldn't be thinking so much about you.  

But here he was, exactly a week later, parked in front of the shop, leaning against his truck, wondering if he looked like a fool. 

Because this time, he had made an effort. He’d left work early just to shower, change into a clean shirt that didn’t smell like drywall and sweat, and even put on cologne. Not just deodorant. Cologne . The one Sarah got him last Christmas, the nice kind.

His hand raked through his hair for what had to be the tenth time. He’d tried to slick it back before leaving, but on the drive over, his nerves had undone most of the effort. Now it just looked tousled and unruly, and he hoped it didn’t give the impression he’d just got out of bed. 

He let out a heavy breath. He shouldn't be so nervous for a fitting. One last glance in the truck’s side mirror. One last adjustment to his shirt collar. Then he finally stepped inside, the bell above the door jingling as he did.

This time, someone else was in the shop. A man, a bit older than Joel, was adjusting a jacket on one of the mannequins near the window. He looked up immediately at the sound, turning toward him with a practised smile.

“Good evening,” he said, his voice warm and professional. “What can I help you with today?”

“Hi, I’m Joel Miller,” he said as the door shut softly behind him. “I’m here for a fitting?” His eyes flicked around, instinctively searching for you. But you weren’t out front.

At the sound of Joel’s name, something shifted in the man’s expression. His smile widened, like he knew something Joel didn’t. He turned toward the back of the shop and called your name.

“Your appointment’s here!” 

A muffled response floated from the workroom: “Coming!” At the sound of your voice, Joel stood just a little straighter.

The man turned back to him, his eyes gave Joel a once-over, just enough to feel like he noticed the neat collar, the fresh shirt, the clean shave. His smile grew just a little bit wider, and he offered his hand. “I’m Frank. This is my shop.”

Joel shook it politely. “Nice to meet you.”

“Come on, she’ll be right out,” Frank said, gesturing toward the fitting area. “She’s been working pretty hard on your suit, you know? You’re gonna look sharp.”

“Sorry if I made too much work for her,” Joel muttered, adjusting the strap of his watch.

Frank waved it off. “Don’t be. She doesn’t seem to mind. Honestly, it’s been a while since I’ve seen her this invested in a piece.” He paused, glancing toward the back room again, then added with a hint of amusement, “Especially for something as simple as a classic suit…You’d think she was tailoring for a celebrity the way she’s been fussing over it.”

Joel shifted his weight, not quite sure what to do with Frank’s comment. Surely, you were just passionate about your work? 

Before Frank could say anything else, you appeared from the back, brushing your hands on your hips. “Sorry! Just had to finish a last detail,” and then your eyes landed on him. “Hey,” you said softly, your smile warm, which Joel couldn’t help but mirror immediately.

“Hi.”

Frank cleared his throat politely, though the grin on his face gave him away. “Well, I’ll leave you two to it. Unless you need me to stay and supervise?”

“I think I can handle it,” you replied smoothly, without looking at him.

Frank only chuckled, grabbing a few papers from behind the counter. “I’m sure.” His voice was teasing, and Joel caught the way you rolled your eyes at him without missing a beat. The older man moved toward the door, lifting a hand in farewell. “Call me if you need anything. And Miller?” He gave Joel a quick, almost conspiratorial smile. “I hope you like the suit.”

“I’m sure I will,” Joel said, offering a polite nod as Frank stepped out, the bell above the door jingling as he disappeared into the street.

You watched the door for a moment, then turned back to Joel, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “Well, let’s get to it… unless you’re planning on staying the night.”

Joel blinked. Just an harmless joke, but the image of what a night with you would look like hit him fast and uninvited. He pushed it away before it could settle.

“Hope I didn’t give you too much trouble,” he said, clearing his throat as you gestured toward the fitting area.

You let out a soft laugh. “I won’t lie, my sleep schedule’s seen better days.”

“Sorry,” he offered genuinely. But you looked over your shoulder with an easy smile.

“Don’t be. I liked working on it.”

Joel smiled faintly. “So I heard.”

You shot him a puzzled look. “How so ?”

“Frank.”

You groaned softly, and Joel couldn’t help but smile at the mix of affection and annoyance in your expression. 

You disappeared into the back room for a moment and returned with the suit folded neatly in your arms. You nodded toward the small changing alcove at the far end of the room, separated from the rest by a simple curtain.

“Here,” you said, offering the suit to him. “Go ahead and change into it.”

Joel took it from you, careful as his fingers brushed yours. His jaw tightened at the touch. Christ, he really, really , needed to stop reacting like a teenager with a school crush.

“Call me if you need help putting it on,” you added with a small, playful smile.

He didn’t know if you were joking. He hoped you were joking. But there was something in your tone that made it hard to tell, just like last time. You gave him another smile as he stepped behind the curtain and tugged it shut.

The suit felt soft beneath his fingers. Smoother and heavier than anything he owned. He could already tell it was quality. He started undressing, taking off his jacket, then his shirt. His fingers worked quickly over his belt, and soon he was down to nothing but his boxers and socks. He stood there for a moment in the quiet of the curtained alcove, his hands paused at his hips.

Outside, he could hear you humming softly, some tune he didn’t recognise. Probably working on a mannequin while you waited. He turned toward the mirror, catching his reflection, and he hesitated.

What would you think if you saw him like this?

It was a stupid question, but it was still rooted in his mind. He looked at himself longer than he meant to. He wasn’t soft, not exactly, but he wasn’t built like the kind of man who hit the gym five days a week either. His body wasn’t bad. Broad shoulders, thick arms from years of heavy lifting and construction work, strong legs that could still carry their weight. But the soft curve of his stomach reminded him that he wasn’t twenty-five anymore. He didn’t have the abs the guys in magazines did. Never had. His muscles were earned, not sculpted. His stomach was softer now than it was in his twenties, curved slightly under the line of his ribs. A bit of age. A bit of life. A bit of beer and second helpings.

He wondered if that would matter to someone like you. Someone younger, with sharp eyes, surrounded by beautiful things all day. Maybe that’s what you liked in people, too.

He pushed the thoughts away and focused on the task at hand. He began to get dressed, pulling on the tailored trousers with care, then slipping his arms into the dark dress shirt. With the jacket on, he took a breath and turned to the mirror again to finally see himself. Dressed in all black. Clean lines. The structure emphasised his shoulders, slimmed his waist, and lengthened the line of his legs. The fit wasn’t perfect yet; he could feel it. A slight pull at the chest when he shifted his arms, the pants still a bit too long at the ankle. Even with that, it already looked very nice. 

He stepped out from behind the curtain. You turned at the sound, and your eyes landed on him. You didn't speak, just looked him over, taking your time, top to bottom. Your eyes were focused, not just admiring but evaluating. Joel felt himself stand just a little bit straighter under your watchful eyes. Then you met his gaze and smiled, proud and a little pleased with yourself.

“Looking good Miller.” 

He gave a small huff, not quite a laugh, and ran a hand down the front of the jacket, adjusting it more out of instinct than need. “That right?”

You crossed your arms, eyes lingering a second too long. “Mm-hmm. You fill it out nicely. Not every man can.”

He met your gaze, and a part of him wanted to ask: What makes me different, then? But he didn’t. 

“How does the suit feel?” you asked, stepping a little closer.

“Feels good,” he said honestly. “I like it.”

Your smile in response was warm and unguarded, a look he really liked on you. “I’m glad.” You gestured toward the small raised platform. “Can you step up? I want to see you better.”

Joel nodded and moved into place, the soft creak of the wood under his feet the only sound for a moment. You circled him slowly, your practised eye sweeping over every seam and line, noting where the fabric hugged him right and where it didn’t. 

You stepped in front of him again, pulling a small cushion of pins from your wrist. “Alright. I’ll need to mark some spots for adjustment. Don’t worry,” you added with a small grin, “I’ll be gentle.”

Joel’s throat bobbed as he swallowed. “Hope so.”

You started at his shoulders, gently tugging at the fabric there, smoothing it, fingertips dragging just enough to feel the weight of him beneath. Joel stood still, solid as a statue, but you didn’t miss the way his jaw tightened when your hand brushed the curve of his bicep.

You tugged gently on the sleeve of his jacket, eyes narrowing in concentration. “Feels tight here?” you asked, brushing your fingers over the fabric along his upper arm.

Joel flexed just slightly. “A little. Not much.”

You nodded, pinching the seam to mark the alteration. “I’ll let it out a quarter inch. Should give you enough room to move.”

You stepped around him again, the scent of your perfume brushing past him as you moved behind. Sweet, like last time.

“Arms up,” you instructed gently. 

He did, and you took that moment to tug at the fabric under the arms, smoothing it again against his body. Your fingers brushed lightly across the fabric at his back, marking something near his shoulder blade.

“Gonna open the jacket now,” you said, already reaching for the buttons. Your fingers worked them open one by one, and Joel didn’t move, just watched you, half entranced by the quiet focus on your face and the way your hands moved.  He couldn't help but enjoy the sight of you. Couldn't help but think about how many times this week he'd imagined you late at night, undressing him slowly just like that.

You peeled the jacket back over his shoulders, and he slipped his arms free without a word. He passed it to you, and you handled it with care, folding it across one arm before setting it down neatly on the chair nearby. Then your eyes returned to him, checking how the shirt sat against his chest. You touched the buttons next, fingers sliding down the centre of his torso as if to test for tightness. You stopped near his belt line, fingers still resting there, the pressure light but still too heavy for Joel.

“Shirt fits pretty well already,” you said, glancing up at him again. “Though I might have to tighten the waist just a little.”

Joel’s voice came out low. “Whatever you think’s best.”

His hands itched to move, to adjust his watch, run a hand through his hair. Maybe even touch your waist. Just lightly, just once . But he kept them clenched at his sides.

“Alright,” you said, stepping back. “Let’s talk pants. How do they feel?”

“A little tight,” he admitted. “Mostly around the knees.”

“Okay… Take a few steps for me please? I want to see how they sit when you move.”

He nodded and stepped down from the wooden platform. He took a few slow steps toward you, then turned, walking away so you could assess the fit from behind. 

You clicked your tongue softly. “Little extra fabric here. I’ll smooth it out for a cleaner line across the back.” You looked back at him with a smile. “Thank you. Go ahead and step back up.”

Joel obeyed without a word, and he barely had time to settle before you crouched in front of him. His breath caught in his throat, same as last time. Maybe worse. 

Don’t move. Don’t think .

He stayed still, eyes anywhere but on you, barely breathing, as you pressed your fingers to the end of the pants, checking how the length sat around his ankles. “Little loose,” you murmured, half to yourself, before reaching for a pin. 

You moved slowly, your hands travelling from the bottom hem upward. Fingertips smoothed fabric over his shins, then over his knees. You adjusted a small fold and pinned it, working with quiet concentration. When your fingers skimmed over the inside of his thigh, flattening the fabric there, he clenched his jaw. 

“Fabric pulls here when you walk,” you said. “I’ll let it out just a bit.”

He nodded, stiff, afraid his voice would betray him if he opened his mouth. 

“You alright?” you asked lightly, as if your fingers weren't getting closer to the most sensitive parts of him.

“Yeah,” he managed. “Just standin’ real still.”

“Mmh,” you hummed. “You’re doing great.”

And as your hands reached the top of his inseam, fussing with a pin just inches from his growing problem, Joel squeezed his eyes shut. He could already feel the unmistakable pressure building beneath his waistband. Half hard and rising, despite his best efforts to stay grounded. He just prayed you wouldn’t notice.

But of course you did. 

“This part needs a bit of letting out,” you murmured, fingers brushing along the inseam. “Seems a bit tight here.”

Joel couldn’t help the low grunt in response. You looked up at him from where you knelt, chin tilted just slightly. Jesus, that view was killing him. How were you so pretty? 

“Too tight?” 

He cleared his throat, gaze snapping to some vague point across the room. Anywhere but you. “It’s fine.”

You smiled then, devastatingly slow, your fingertip resting right on the metal pull of his zipper. “Are you sure?” you teased. “That’s…quite a bulge.”

Your name slipped from his lips, rough, strained, close to a warning. “Don’t—”

You tilted your head, still kneeling before him, eyes full of feigned innocence that didn’t fool either of you. “Should I take that as a compliment to my work? Or…?”

“You…” he ground his teeth together, pulse pounding in his throat. “You need to stop sayin’ things like that…”

“Like what?”. 

He let out a low, shaky breath, fists clenched so hard at his sides he could feel his nails dig into his palms. “You know damn well what.”

“Why?” you murmured, fingertips still teasingly close to the bulge straining against the front of the pants. You traced just a whisper of touch along the zipper line, and Joel felt his knees nearly give. He was getting painfully hard now. There was no denying it.

“Because,” he ground out, voice rough, “I’m gonna get ideas. Bad ones. I’m gonna start thinkin’…” He hesitated, almost embarrassed to let the words leave his mouth. “That you’re hittin’ on me or somethin’.”

You couldn’t help it; you laughed, a bright, disbelieving sound that made his cheeks flush hot, the tips of his ears burning, thinking you were mocking him. But then you looked up at him again, your smile still there but your eyes warm and serious. “Miller…” you breathed, half amused, half exasperated. “I am hitting on you.”

For a beat, Joel couldn’t breathe. The words hit him square in the chest. You were? It wasn’t just in his head? He wasn’t just some starved old man seeing what he wanted to see? Hearing what he wished to hear?

“Really ?” That was all he managed to say, as if he needed another confirmation. 

Your smile deepened, and you shook your head, incredulous. “Oh my god, Miller. It’s not like i’m being subtle about it. I’ve been laying it on so thick I’m surprised you didn’t call me out sooner. I don’t think I’ve ever been less subtle in my damn life.”

He stared at you, still kneeling in front of him, one hand resting so casually on his thigh, the other one too close to his crotch and yet not close enough, like it was the most natural thing in the world, like confirming his wildest thoughts wasn’t shaking him to his core. It made him dizzy, made his mind go blank.

“Why?” he finally managed to ask, voice hoarse.

You tilted your head, studying him like you couldn’t believe he needed to ask. “Why am I hitting on you?” you repeated, and when he nodded, you huffed a quiet laugh, shaking your head. “Have you seen yourself?”

He couldn’t help the tug at the corner of his lips, a faint, disbelieving grin breaking through. The way you looked at him, he saw it clearly now. Openly, hungrily, with the same wanting he’d tried so hard to bury, made him feel like a fool for ever doubting it. You’d been eyeing him, just like he’d been eyeing you. And now that he knew for sure, it was almost a relief, like a tension snapping loose in his chest.

“You told me you were single,” you went on. “And I just…I couldn’t help it. You bit your lip for a moment, then sighed. “Not the most professional thing I’ve ever done, I admit. I was worried last time I’d made you uncomfortable since you were so damn quiet… If it wasn’t for this ,” you let your eyes flick down pointedly to where the fabric of his pants was still straining against him. “I would’ve thought you weren’t interested.”

Joel gave a rough laugh, low in his chest. “Oh, believe me. I’m interested.” He loved the way your smile widened. How you could be even prettier, he had no idea. He wasn’t complaining, though.

“Mmm, I know. I can feel it.”

There was no pretence now, no false professionalism. Your hand slowly palmed him over the fabric, and Joel grunted, low and unfiltered, finally not having to refrain his reactions. His eyes slipped closed. He was so hard it hurt. So hard for you.

“These pants,” you said with a teasing hum, “are definitely too tight now.”

Joel let out something between a groan and a laugh, his hips bucking instinctively into your touch, searching for more friction, needing more friction.

But then, you took your hand away.

He opened his eyes, chest rising and falling a little faster now, searching your face for a reason. That voice in his head, the one that second-guessed everything, wondered if he’d misstepped, if he was being too eager, going too quick, too soon.

“I’m gonna need you to take off those pants,” you said, reaching for his zipper again. “Can’t risk you staining them.”

And just like that, the voice went quiet.

“Can't have that”, Joel agreed, his tone low and amused. He didn't need to be asked twice. 

It was the right decision; he could feel the front of his boxer already stained from his leaking precum. He was almost surprised at his restraint, at how carefully he was slipping out of the pants, mindful not to damage your work. You helped guide the trousers off, taking the pants away when he was finally out of them, leaving him in his boxer where his aching cock was waiting diligently. You tossed the pants aside near the jacket, not even looking when they landed, never leaving your spot on your knees. Joel blinked at that, at how quickly you discarded them, as if your work was less important than what was in front of you. He grinned at your eagerness, as if your work was just an annoying barrier keeping you away from what you wanted. He liked this look on you, hunger mirroring his own. You looked up to him, your lips pursed a little, and he so wanted to kiss you. He was just about to ask if he could when you spoke first.

“Can I suck you off?” You asked then, and Joel felt like he could come right there. On your knees, your eyes looking up at him from under your lashes, asking him so sweetly was better than any dreams he could have. 

“You don't have to–”

“I want to. I really want to. Please?”

Oh, he could definitely get used to the way you asked, the way you looked at him as if not being able to taste him right now would truly ruin your night. 

“Of course. Fuck– Of course you can.” 

Before he could say anything more, you pulled down the last remaining barrier keeping you away from what you wanted. Joel cock sprang free, throbbing against his stomach. You looked at his hard, thick length, the tip of it glistening with precum. There was something smug in your expression, something deeply satisfied, proud of having drawn that kind of reaction from him. Your eyes found his again, steady and unashamed, and the smile that curved your lips was so soft, so achingly pretty, Joel knew he’d be thinking about it for months. And then, without a word, you finally closed the distance.

Joel inhaled sharply as your lips enveloped the head of his cock, your tongue swirling around his sensitive tip, teasing his slit. A low growl slipped from his throat, and his hand instinctively tangled in your hair, both for balance and because he could finally touch you. He felt you hum against him in quiet approval, the sound sending a subtle shiver through him. You started bobbing your head, taking more and more of him in your warm, wet mouth. One hand still resting on his thigh, the other wrapped around the base of him, stroking what your mouth couldn’t fit. 

“That’s it… Yes, just like that…” Joel panted through heavy breaths.

The feeling of you was so fucking good, better than anything he could have fantasised. He kept his gaze on you, watching you through hooded eyes as you worked him. The sight of your lips stretched around his cock, the sounds of your mouth with every thrust, it was almost too much for him to handle. When he felt you taking him a bit further, he rocked his hips slightly, feeling the back of your throat. It felt like heaven. Your nose was pressed against the dark patch of hair around the base of his cock, taking in his scent, your tongue playing around him. After a good moment choking on his length, you took him out of your mouth, catching your breath for a second, your hand never stopping pumping him.

“Taste better than I imagined,” you whispered, your eyes shining as you appreciated the dazed look on Joel's face before taking him back into your mouth.

Fuck. You’d imagined this too. You’d thought about tasting him, about doing exactly this. Had it crossed your mind last time, the same moment it crossed his? What else had you thought about? He wanted to know everything. Wanted to take those thoughts and make them a reality.

But then he felt your other hand palming his balls, applying just the right kind of pressure, and it was too perfect. Too close. He said your name in a low, rough growl, using every ounce of restraint he had to gently pull you back. You looked up at him, his hand still tangled in your hair, your lips swollen from working his length, a soft pout forming as you began to part them, to ask why. But before a single word escaped, he lowered himself toward you.

“If you keep going…I’m gonna cum like a freakin’ teenager,” Joel confessed, his voice strained. “And I really, really want to feel you come around my cock.”

And oh , if he could frame the way your pupils dilated at the sound of his voice, the way your breath caught and grew heavier with each word he spoke. It was intoxicating, watching you unravel just from the sound of him.

“You want that?” He teased, voice low. “Want me to fuck you?”

“Miller, I thought you’d never ask,” you replied with a knowing smile.

He scoffed, moving to join you on the floor, until you raised a finger to stop him.

“Take your shirt off.”

“Is that so I don’t ruin your work, or because you just want me naked for yourself?”

“Both, but mostly the latter,” you replied as he obeyed, peeling off his shirt and slipping out of his boxer and tossing them casually toward the pile of clothes. 

He looked down at you, leaning back on the floor with your weight supported by your elbows, eyes locked on him. You were still fully dressed, and there he was, towering over you, as naked as one man can be.

“Well, I definitely feel underdressed now.”

You arched an eyebrow, a playful grin tugging at your lips. “Are you? Kinda like this look on you.”

“I’m sure you do. You should try it too,” he said in the same playful tone as you. Then, lowering himself to the floor, he settled over you, his bare knees on the side of your still-clothed legs. His hand slid slowly up your thigh, tracing a path from your knee all the way to the buttons of your jeans. His finger lingered on the zipper, just like you had done earlier, a teasing glint in his eyes. “I can even help.” 

“Such a gentleman,” you teased, sliding the soft cotton sweater you were wearing over your head and letting it fall away. Beneath it, you wore a delicate, lacy bra, the kind of lingerie that felt too intricate for an ordinary day, as if you’d picked it knowing someone special would see it today. Maybe you knew damn well what was going to happen. His eyes drifted over the curve of your breasts, a flicker of appreciation lighting up his gaze.

“Doing what I can now,” he murmured, leaning closer to you, “because I can’t promise I’ll be as much of a gentleman once I feel you around me.”

His fingers found the button of your jeans, undoing it slowly, his eyes never leaving yours. He was completely absorbed in every subtle reaction he could get from you, the way your breath hitched, the slight parting of your lips, the flutter of your eyelashes. At the same moment, you unclasped your bra, letting it slip off your shoulders and fall softly beside your sweater. 

He felt his cock throbbing at the sight of your nipples perking for him, begging him to touch them, pinch them, bite them. He would do all that soon. 

“Don’t want you to be,” you said at last.

Joel didn’t need to be told twice. His hand slid to the back of your neck, fingers curling there with a tenderness that contrasted with the heat in his eyes. And then he pulled you to him with no hesitation, no second-guessing, and kissed you like he’d been holding back to do. It wasn’t gentle. It was hungry. Certain. All the want and need for you crashing into that single moment. His lips pressed to yours, firm and consuming, and you met him just as fiercely, kissing him back like you’d been waiting for it just as long. Maybe you did. He hoped you did. 

His hand cupped your breast, rolling your nipple between his fingers, pulling a soft moan from you directly into his mouth. Such a pretty sound. He needed a thousand more of them. 

His other hand slipped to the waistband of your open jeans, fingers curling around the edge. He glanced up at you, waiting for permission, but you were already nodding before he could ask. The two of you shared a quiet laugh at that same urgency mirrored in each other’s eyes. You lifted your hips, and he made quick work of pulling them down, your panties sliding off with them in one fluid motion.

Finally, you were as naked as he was. Joel took a moment, a full, reverent breath, to drink you in. The beauty of your body. The way heat seemed to radiate from your skin, all of it in response to him. A faint sheen of sweat kissed your collarbone, and it made him wonder how sweet you’d taste, how you’d shiver under his mouth.

His gaze dropped, lingering between your thighs. You followed his gaze, parting them for him, unashamed, the glisten of arousal right where you needed him most catching his eyes. He loved that. That confidence of yours. Loved how you showed him exactly where you wanted him, without any ounce of embarrassment. He needed to touch you. To taste you. To fuck you. 

“The door?” he asked suddenly, the thought breaking through the haze. You weren’t exactly in a bedroom where he could do everything he wanted without caring about the outside world. The fitting area was tucked away from view, but still, Joel wasn’t in any rush to have a client , or worse, Frank, walk in on this.

“Closed it when you were changing,” you murmured against his neck, your lips trailing soft, warm kisses along his skin.

He let out a low chuckle. “Had everythin’ planned, didn’t you?”

You answered without words, just a playful nip at his bottom lip, pulling it gently between your teeth before letting go. Then you kissed him again, deeper this time, and when he opened his mouth to you, your tongue met his in a way that made Joel wonder if he had ever liked kissing someone more. 

Two of his fingers went to your cunt, parting your glistening folds, and he exhaled shakily when he felt how wet you were. It was something to see it, it was something else to feel it. To feel the concrete evidence of how much you wanted this. How much you wanted him. 

“All that just from havin’ me in your mouth ?” He murmured against your lips.

Your hand found his hair, fingers curling in deep before giving a playful tug, breaking the kiss for just a second.

“Was wet for you from the moment I saw you at the door.”

Joel couldn't help a half-choked breath. Eyes never leaving yours, His thumb found your clit immediately, pulling out a more than appreciative whimper out of you. His two fingers easily slid into your dripping cunt. He gave you a second to accommodate the intrusion of his fingers, kissing that spot just under your ear, before he started to pump them in and out of you, curling them just right to hit that sweet spot inside of you. 

“Feels good? He asked, even though the soft moans that kept escaping your soft lips were confirmation enough.

You nodded fervently, your hips moving in rhythm against his hand to feel his fingers deeper in you. You didn't have time to ask him; he gave in to you, circling your clit harder with his thumb as he picked up the pace. At the same time, his mouth explored your body, hungry to taste every inch of you. He trailed soft kisses to your jaw, under your ear, to your neck. His other hand went to your back, bringing you closer to him as his mouth met your hardened nipple, biting it, his teeth grazing perfectly. He drank in every sound you gave him, every breathy moan guiding his touch, telling him just how to please you. He could feel you getting closer, your walls fluttering around his fingers, your breath coming in ragged gasps, getting more and more shaky from his touch. 

“Come on, beautiful… let go. I’ve got you.”

With a final thrust of his fingers, Joel sent you over the edge. You closed your eyes as the sensation overwhelmed you, white spots blurring your vision. Your pussy clamping around his digits, pulsing and contracting as you let out the most beautiful sound. Joel kept his thumb circling your clit, applying just enough pressure to let you ride out your orgasm. He held you there, his other hand still on your back, as you came down from your high. 

When your breathing finally slowed down, His fingers left your cunt, and you whimpered at the sensation, already missing the feeling of fullness they brought you. You opened your eyes, as Joel's lips found yours, gently kissing you. 

“Good ?” He whispered, holding you close.

You laughed sweetly, a sound he already knew he could never forget. “Perfect.” 

Your hand found his cock, still as hard as before, just enough to pull a low moan deep in Joel’s throat. He needed to be inside you now.

“Fuck,” he realised at the same time, “I don't have a condom.” 

Even though it was hardly the time to think about his brother, Joel couldn’t help but remember all the times Tommy told him to keep one in his wallet. In case you remember how to get your dick wet, brother! Fucking Tommy and his damn advice. But for once in his life, Joel really should’ve listened to him.

He felt your hand gently trace the line of his jaw, fingers brushing over his scratchy beard. “I’m clean, and I’m on the pill…” You hesitated for a moment, searching his eyes. “If you want…”

He gulped. “Are you sure?”

“I really want you to fuck me, Miller”

He kissed you again, deeper and more urgently than before. He leaned over you, hands braced on either side of your head on the floor, pinning you gently beneath the weight of his broad frame. You brought his cock against your entrance, his tip brushing against your clit, a shared moan escaping from both of you at the sensation. Joel looked down at where he was nestled against your folds, your arousal coating his length. He couldn't look away as he started to push forward, the thick head of his cock stretching your entrance. 

“God, you're so tight… Just relax, beautiful.. Let me in.” He coaxed, one hand cupping your face tenderly.

He pressed his lips to yours, as if he couldn't stay away from you for too long, distracting you as you accommodated to his size. His other hand came up to cup your breast, kneading the soft mound, his fingers teasing your nipple. Slowly, as if he were afraid to break you, he pressed deeper, feeling how perfectly you were taking him, your walls gripping his cock.

“Fuck– You're so–” You were a breathless mess beneath him, words tumbling out in fragments. “You're so big…”

“I know Baby… I know.”

He felt the way you tightened around him at the petname, and his lips curled into a knowing smile against yours. Finally, he hilted himself entirely inside you, his heavy balls pressing against your ass. He had to wait a second before he could move again, waiting for you to relax and for him to take a second to breathe, or he would be coming undone too quickly. You just felt so good around him, so tight and perfect. When he felt both your breathing steadying, he slowly withdrew his cock until only his tip was still inside you. You whimpered under him, your hips begging him to come back. He kept you there for a second, his hands grabbing your hips hard, fingers digging so tightly it wouldn't be surprising if you bruised there tomorrow. Joel liked the idea of you having a reminder of this, of him. 

“What’s it that you said last week, uh?” He taunted, your eyes fluttering open to watch him. “When you were riling me up and I was doing everythin’ to be good?”

You mumbled something incoherent, too focused on trying to get more of him inside of you, to feel that delicious stretch again. You didn't care about last week; you cared about him, right now, but Joel's grin grew wider. 

“Oh yeah, I remember… I need every inch.” he cooed, imitating your voice. “Yeah, you fucking do.”

And then he slammed back in you, his cock hitting the deepest part of you. You let out a cry as the sensation, your arms immediately wrapping around his shoulders to bring him closer to you. He gripped your hips with a low growl, pulling you flush against him as he pounded in you, wanting to go deeper with each thrusts. 

“Joel–” you mewled between whines. “Oh fuck!”.

He wasn’t sure his name had ever sounded that good on anyone’s lips.

“Again.”

You blinked up at him, dazed. “Uh?”

“My name. Say it again.”

So you did, singing his name like it was the only word that you could remember as he kept snapping his hips against yours. His name a desperate plea, a prayer. Joel Joel Joel.

For a moment, the shop was nothing but the sound of your voice crying out his name, the raw slap of skin against skin, and the rough, reverent praise he growled into your ear.

Doin’ so good for me, baby. 

You feel incredible… you’re so fuckin’ beautiful

Sweet pussy so tight for me, so perfect..

Joel leaned down to capture one of your nipples in his mouth, sucking and nibbling the sensitive bud. His pace didn't falter, his cock hitting that sweet spot inside you with every stroke.

“I'm.. Joel–” You gasped under him. “ Fuck Joel– I'm close…”

He could feel you tightening around him, your body tensing as you got closer to your release. His own orgasm was building, threatening to overcome with every sound you made for him, but he was holding back, determined to make you come first, to give you the pleasure you deserved. His hand travelled to your clit, his thumb moving in half circles, making your whole body shake with pleasure. 

“Come for me, baby, please,” Joel said in a choked exhale. “I want– I need to feel you come on my cock.”

Your cunt clutched around him at his words, your sweet moans filling the room as your orgasm took over you, and Joel swore he was brought to this earth to hear those sounds. The sensation of you, fluttering around him, his name escaping your lips as you did, was his undoing. He couldn't hold himself any longer. He knew you could feel it too, your eyes opening to watch him, your hand grabbing his arm instinctively.

“Baby…” Joel started, but he didn't have time to ask. 

“Inside. Please, come inside me.” 

And if Joel were a better man, he might have refused. But in this moment, all he could feel was you, so tight, so perfectly made for him. So he wasn’t a better man, and honestly, he’d already made his peace with that if it meant having you. He buried himself deep with a final slap of his hips, his cock pulsing as he came hard inside you, your name leaving his lips as his hips jerked with each spurt of his release. He kept grinding against you, working his cock in and out of you as long as he could, prolonging both your orgasms. He could feel your mixed come seeping out of you around his cock with every movement. It was filthy. You both loved it. 

You grabbed his hair, pulling him down to capture his lips in an eager kiss as both your orgasms started to subside. His thrusts finally slowed down to a stop. He rested his forehead against yours, both of you panting and glistening with sweat. You looked at each other, both with a satisfied smile on your lips. 

“That was–”

“Fucking amazing,” you finished for him, and the two of you laughed gently. 

He finally pulled out of you with a satisfied grin, not without appreciating the sight of his cum slowly making its way out of you. He pushed it back inside with his fingers, noticing how you watched him do it with appreciative eyes. Finally, he rolled on his back next to you, your shoulders brushing against each other on the wooden floor of the shop. 

He turned his face toward you, only to find you already watching him, your body instinctively angled in his direction. Your eyes met his in a shared, dazed gaze as his chest finally slowed down. A strand of hair clung to your forehead, damp with sweat, and he gently brushed it back, tucking it away. When his hand lingered to cup your cheek, you leaned into his touch without hesitation, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

I…” Joel paused, unsure what the hell he was supposed to say now. “I don’t usually do this.”

“Me neither,” you said, brushing a quick kiss to his lips, too quick for his liking. “Believe me, Miller, you’re the only client I’ve ever crossed the line with. The only one I’ve ever wanted to.”

“You’re gonna make me blush,” he muttered, meaning it as a joke, but it landed closer to the truth than he expected.

Because knowing you found him attractive enough to make a move, multiples even, to risk the usual boundaries, to toss professionalism aside just to see if the attraction was mutual? It set something warm in his gut, a heat creeping up the back of his neck. He was sure it wouldn't go away for a long time, didn't want it to. 

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” you teased, reaching for a nearby scrap of fabric nearby to clean the mess between your legs. Joel briefly wondered if the small cloth was something expensive, but you didn’t seem to care, and he didn’t ask. His attention was caught instead by the way the fabric darkened with your shared release, the evidence of how deep he was inside you just moments before. 

“I never blushed,” he muttered, eyes flicking back to your face, though the spark in your eyes told him you were just as affected as he was by the sight.

“Don’t go all shy on me now. I liked watching you try to keep it together. You were cute, trying so hard to hide it.”

“I thought I was being subtle,” he groaned, running a hand through his hair, clearly embarrassed.

“Oh, sure,” you smiled, shifting closer and letting your fingers trail lightly over his chest as you tilted your head toward his. “ So subtle. You know, most clients don’t moan when I measure their inseam.”

His brow furrowed, gaze narrowing on you. “I didn’t moan.”

“Yeah, you did.”

Did he? God, he wasn't sure. 

You gave him a wicked little smile, and he couldn’t help but pull you closer, guiding you fully onto him. The warm press of your still bare skin against his made something in him settle, his thoughts only focused on how good you felt. He kissed you again, slower this time, unrushed simply because he could. Because you were there, perfect and fitting against him as if you were meant to.

“Fuck,” Joel cursed softly between two kisses, “If I’d known a proper suit would lead to this, to you… I would have come sooner.” 

You giggled softly against his lips before turning your head toward the scattered pile of clothes on the floor, just a few feet away. Joel felt you shift slightly against him, and his hand moved in slow, soothing strokes along your back.

“I really hope we didn’t ruin the suit,” you said, glancing back at him with a hint of concern. “Should’ve been more careful with it. I seriously don’t have time to fix any major damage.”

“‘S my fault. Gave you an awful deadline, and then here I am keeping you away from your work. I’m a terrible client.”

He gave you a sheepish smile, and you let out a quiet laugh. “Then I must be a terrible tailor,” you replied, “because I really, really like when you keep me away.”

Joel felt something tighten in his chest. Did you even know what you were doing to him? He wondered if you could feel the way his heart beat harder beneath your hand, like it was answering only to you. You were funny, kind, ridiculously talented, and so damn beautiful. Was it foolish of him to think this felt like more than a simple moment of pleasure? To hope this wasn’t just a one-time thing? He wanted more. To see you again, outside this shop. Somewhere he could be the one to make you blush. 

You were saying something about the deadline, about how the wedding was creeping closer when Joel cut you off.

“You should come with me.”

You blinked. “What?”

“To the weddin’. You should come with me.”

“You want me to… come to the wedding? With you?”

Joel shifted, sitting up and taking you with him, guiding you into his lap like it was the most natural thing in the world. He pressed a slow kiss to the curve of your neck. He couldn’t help himself, not with your skin so close and inviting.

“I do,” he murmured against your skin, then pulled back, needing to see your face, to gauge what you were thinking. The look you gave him was unreadable, and it made his stomach twist just a little. “I mean–yeah, I probably got the order a little backwards. Should’ve taken you out first, done this right,” he said, a sheepish smile tugging at his lips. “But better late than never, right? And… I do have a plus one.”

There was a beat of silence where you just looked at Joel, expression unreadable, and for a moment, he wondered if he’d pushed too far and ruined whatever moment you were having. But then you gave him a curious smile.

“You want to take me on a first date to a wedding?”

He tensed, trying to sound casual. “Too weird?”

“Between that and the suit,” you teased, “I’m starting to think you’ve got a thing for rushing things.”

He let out a quiet breath, running a hand over the back of his neck. “Forget the weddin’, then. Just…let me take you out. A real date. Please,” he added, the word slipping out faster than he meant to, a flash of uncertainty creeping in. Maybe this was just a one-time thing for you?

You didn’t answer right away, and Joel braced himself for the gentle letdown. But then you said, “Once your suit’s done… I should have some time for a real date.”

Joel smiled instantly. A real, full smile. The kind he rarely gave. The kind that pulled out that faint dimple Sarah always teased him about. You couldn't help but smile back, warmed by the sight of it.

“By the way,” you said, shifting slightly on top of him, “I think you should come get your suit the morning of the wedding if that’s okay with you? I know it’s a little last minute, but I really want to make sure it’s perfect for you.”

Joel nodded as he leaned back on his elbows, his eyes never leaving you as you spoke. He wasn’t in his twenties anymore, but looking at you, naked and perched over his waist, your tits rising slightly with each breath, your pussy still wet from and for him, he knew it wouldn’t take him long to be ready for another round. His hands itched to reach for you again, to be inside you one more time.

But before he could entertain the idea, the familiar sound of his ringtone cut through the moment. You glanced toward the sound with a knowing smile still on your lips — the same lips he hadn’t finished kissing yet.

Joel let out a low groan as he stood, dragging himself away from the warmth of your body. He stepped back toward the pile of clothing, finding his discarded jeans and fishing out his phone. Tommy’s name lit up the screen.

Of course it was his brother.

Joel shot you an apologetic look before answering. “What’s up Tommy?” he said, his eyes still trained on you. You were propped on your elbows, unabashedly ogling his nakedness without any shame. He liked this look on you. 

“Hey Joel. Sorry to bother, I know you're at your appointment,” Tommy started, “but when do you think you'll be headin' home?

Joel’s stomach dropped. Tommy was at his place, keeping an eye on Sarah. His brother never called when he was babysitting. Never needed to. “Why?” he asked sharply, already reaching for his jeans. “Is somethin’ wrong? Is Sarah okay?”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw you rising to your feet, your expression shifting. You were gathering your clothes quietly, understanding without needing to ask that whatever you’d just shared had been cut short. He hated that, almost as much as the panic twisting in his chest.

​​“She’s okay,” Tommy said on the other end, his voice calm but laced with that careful tone people used when they didn’t want you to panic. “She’s got a bit of a fever. Nothin’ serious, I swear. Gave her some medicine, but she’s restless…won’t go to sleep.”

Joel’s chest tightened. He pictured Sarah, his sweet girl, curled up under a blanket, cheeks flushed, sniffling and tossing in bed. She needed him. She always had, and he needed to be there, to hold her hand, stroke her hair, whisper that everything was going to be alright.

“Shit,” he muttered under his breath, already tugging on his shirt. “Alright. I’ll be home in twenty.”

After a quick see you soon from his brother, Joel ended the call, patting his pocket to make sure his car keys were still there and not lost somewhere on the floor, before grabbing his jacket. When he turned around, you were already dressed just like him, but barely put back together. Anyone walking in could tell what had happened between you. Both of you were flushed, your hair a mess, lips still swollen from kissing, skins still glistening and carrying the scent of each other... God, he didn’t want to leave. Not when all he could think about was pulling you close again, hearing those filthy little sounds you made, and finally bending you over that damn counter the way he’d imagined since he first walked in. But reality tugged at him harder. He had to go: Sarah was waiting. 

And somehow, like you could hear every unspoken thought racing through his head, you gave him a soft, knowing smile.

“Go. It’s okay,” you said softly, stepping closer and resting your hand over his chest for just a moment.

“I’m sorry–” Joel murmured, but you were already shaking your head.

“Don’t be. You’ve got important things to do… and so do I.” You nodded toward the half-finished suit waiting on the floor. “Need to make sure we didn’t pop any stitches. The deadline’s already tight enough.”

A smile tugged at his lips despite everything. “Can’t have that.”

He lingered for a beat, then leaned in and pressed a brief but meaningful kiss to your lips.

“See you the day of the weddin’?”

You hummed against his mouth, smiling. “Yes. Now go,” you said, stepping back from him like it took as much willpower for you to leave this moment as it did for him.

He never hated the sound of the bell above the door more than that night. 

The wedding was nothing short of beautiful. Tommy and Maria exchanged their vows in a rustic, converted barn just south of Austin, surrounded by the warmth of family and friends. Sarah served as the flower girl, her laughter ringing out as she gracefully walked down the aisle in a beautiful purple dress. Standing beside his brother as best man, Joel felt his chest swell with a fierce, tender love watching his daughter so carefree and happy. He caught every word Tommy spoke, his little brother’s voice usually so steady and confident, cracking just slightly with emotion as he vowed his love to his now wife. Many wiped away tears as the couple finally said "I do" beneath a canopy of flowers and fading sunlight. 

It might have been the perfect day, if not for one thing. Or rather, the absence of one person. Yours.

Joel never saw you that morning. He’d thought about you all week, a constant pull deep in his chest, forcing himself not to swing by the shop just for a glimpse of you. Instead, he threw himself into work and wedding prep, trying to dull the itch of missing you. He cursed himself daily for not asking for your number. One night, when the longing twisted too sharply in his chest, he searched online and found the shop’s listed phone, but the thought of Frank picking up stopped him cold. He didn’t want to seem overeager, didn’t want to scare you off with his restlessness. It had been so long since he’d felt this way, since wanting someone had felt this easy and this terrifying. He missed your voice. Your laugh. The press of your body against his. And though he was certain Tommy had picked up on the shift in his mood, for once his brother didn’t tease, too focused on the biggest day of his life fast approaching.

So to say Joel had been eager to get to the shop that morning would’ve been a massive understatement. The nice cologne had been used again and he looked more put together than he had the week before, groomed for the wedding later that day but thinking only of you. He wanted to see your eyes on him again. Wanted to know if you’d look at him like you had last time, to know if you wanted him just as much.

It was the only thing on his mind as he pushed open the shop door. But instead of finding you behind the counter, he saw Frank. Joel’s heart sank a little, though he tried not to show it. Still, he asked, as casually as he could, if you were in the back, maybe finishing up the final touches. But the look on Frank’s face said everything before he even opened his mouth.

You weren’t there. 

Joel’s stomach dropped. You hadn’t kept your word. Well… "word" was a bit of a stretch, you hadn’t promised exactly, but he’d clung to that moment, to your smile and the softness in your voice when you said you’d see him on the morning of the wedding. He’d replayed it more times than he cared to admit.

He must not have hidden the disappointment well, because Frank cleared his throat and spoke up, his voice more gentle than Joel expected.

“She was working on it ‘til late this morning,” he said. “Pushed herself too hard, I think. Took the day off to rest. But it was worth it… the suit looks incredible. One of her best, if you ask me.”

So that was it. You weren’t here because of him. The irony of it twisted something in his chest.

Frank disappeared into the back to retrieve the suit, leaving Joel alone with the silence of the shop. His eyes drifted, unbidden, to the spot on the floor where just days ago your bodies had been tangled together, breathless and blissful. 

Would he see you again? Should he wait for you to reach out? Or come back in a few days with some excuses in hope of catching you? 

Maybe this was your way of letting him down easy, skipping this morning to avoid saying it out loud. Maybe agreeing to the date was something you said in the moment to smooth the goodbye. Joel wasn’t sure which version stung worse: the possibility that you didn’t mean it, or that you had… but changed your mind.

Still, he tried to tell himself he was lucky. That if this was the end, at least it ended on a high note, one that had kept him awake in bed most nights this week, haunted him in the shower, followed him even in his truck one morning when the memory of you was getting too much. 

Frank reappeared, the suit neatly encased in a protective garment bag. After settling the payment, Joel took it with equal care. Hands steady, heart anything but. There was a strange mix bubbling in his chest: anticipation to see the final product you’d worked so hard on… and the quiet ache of knowing you weren’t here to show it to him.

He was about to thank Frank and say goodbye when the older man stopped him, reaching behind the counter.

“Hold on,” Frank said, offering a small box with a knowing smile. “She picked this out for you. Took her time with it.”

Joel’s brows drew together in confusion as he gently opened the box. Inside was an elegant, perfectly folded green pocket square. He stared at it for a moment, thinking back to the first appointment with you. That made his throat tighten. With everything going on, he had never told you what colour he wanted. This choice, this detail, was all yours. 

You'd thought of him.

Perhaps you meant what you said, and maybe you’d been thinking about him just like he’d been thinking about you. A small, involuntary smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. He’d be coming back, there was no question about it now. He wasn’t going to let this — you — become a fleeting moment. Not when it could be something more.

He looked around the shop one last time, his gaze lingering on the space where he’d kissed you last, a moment he had replayed more times than he’d admit. With a soft exhale, he nodded to Frank.

“Tell her thank you… for everything,” Joel said quietly.

“Will do,” Frank replied with a knowing look.

The bell above the door jingled as Joel stepped out into the sunlight, suit in one hand, pocket square in the other.

When he put it on the suit later that day, standing in front of a mirror in Tommy’s room, he allowed himself to smile. The final suit was beautiful, more than Joel could have imagined. Every stitch was precise, every seam perfectly aligned. He could feel the care you'd poured into it, the way it moulded to him like it had been made by someone who knew him intimately. And, in some ways, you did. 

He looked good, and he wasn’t the only one who noticed.

Tommy let out a low whistle when he caught sight of him. “Well, damn,” he laughed, clapping a hand on Joel’s back. “Didn’t know you cleaned up this good.”

Then came Sarah, who gasped the moment she saw him. “You look so handsome, Dad!” she giggled, running into his arms. He picked her up easily, heart swelling as she beamed at him so wide in her pretty flower girl dress. 

Throughout the reception, a few other guests surprised Joel with compliments. Some people he knew, some others he didn't. A few words on the quality of the suit, or just telling him how handsome he looked tonight. He wasn't used to this kind of attention; he was a man usually more at home in jeans and work boots, and felt a rare heat rise to his cheeks with each kind word. It was a strange thing, being the centre of attention, but beneath the initial awkwardness was something deeper. Some kind of pride. Not just in himself, but in you . People were admiring your work, and by extension, they were seeing him the way you had.

Joel was leaning against the bar, his eyes on the dance floor where Tommy and Sarah were spinning in tight little circles. His daughter stood on her uncle’s feet, clinging to his hands as she laughed with that bright, unfiltered joy only kids could muster. Her giggles rose above the music, and Joel couldn’t help but smile into his glass as he took another sip of whiskey. He wondered how long he had before Sarah would come barreling back to pull him out for another dance. At least now, in this new suit, he wouldn’t look like a wrinkled mess doing it. The thought of the old thing made him grimace; he would’ve been sweating through it by now.

He adjusted that deep green pocket square you'd picked for him as his mind drifted again. To you. It kept happening every time someone complimented him tonight, when a couple swayed close together, and he imagined you in his arms instead. When he caught sight of that guy across the room, who looked vaguely like Frank, when–

“I do love a man in a suit,” a soft voice said behind him. “Even more when I’m the one who put him in it.”

Joel turned so fast he nearly knocked over his drink, his heart jumping into his throat. His eyes widened the moment he saw you. There you were, smiling at him like a dream.

“Hi, Joel,” you said gently, stepping closer to him. You were in a stunning green dress that hugged your body in all the right places. Just devastly beautiful. He opened his mouth to speak, but the words dried out before they could form. Before he could ask you anything, How did you get here? How are you even more beautiful than last time? Did you miss me like I missed you? A voice from the side cut in.

“There you are!” Maria’s arms were suddenly around you, pulling you into a tight hug. “I was starting to think you’d skip the whole thing.”

“I missed the ceremony already,” you said with light guilt showing in your voice, pulling back and taking in her look, “I couldn’t possibly skip the party too.” Your eyes lit up as you looked her over. “You look incredible . That dress…it’s perfect on you.”

Maria grinned and spun in place, holding out the sides of her dress as if she were on a stage. “I know, right?” she said with an almost disbelieving laugh. Then, eyes shining, she added, “Can you believe it? I’m married !”

You leaned in to kiss her cheek. “I can, and I couldn’t be happier for you. Congratulations.”

It wasn’t until the laughter faded that the two of you seemed to remember the man standing just a few steps away, watching in silence. Slowly, you turned back toward Joel. He was staring between you and Maria like he was trying to solve a puzzle he was missing a piece of. You. At the wedding. Hugging Maria like you belonged here.

Maria glanced over and smiled. “I believe you two have met?”

“We did,” Joel prayed his voice didn’t betray his confusion.

You looked at him calmly, maybe even amused by his reaction. “How are you liking the suit Miller?”

Joel met your eyes. “It’s perfect,” he answered truthfully. The way your smile deepened at his words made something in him stumble. His heart, maybe.

“He really does look amazing,” Maria added, throwing you a sincere look. “You did such a great job. Hope he wasn’t too much trouble.”

You held Maria’s gaze for a beat before turning your eyes back to Joel, something unmistakably teasing flickering behind them. “Not at all,” you said, your voice smooth. “He was very… memorable.”

Joel swore the collar of his shirt suddenly felt too tight. His hand instinctively tugged at it as a flush crept up his neck. Before he could say anything, someone called out Maria’s name from across the dance floor. She gave your hand a quick squeeze before she was swept away into the crowd, off to hug another relative or accept another congratulations. 

You turned toward the bar, ordering something light and fizzy from the bartender and Joel’s eyes followed you, tracing the line of your dress, the way the soft fabric hugged every part of you he hadn’t stopped thinking about all week. Just minutes ago, he’d been wondering if he’d ever see you again. Now here you were, real and stunning and close enough to touch.

He stepped closer, barely thinking before the words left his mouth. “You’re here.”

You turned, now holding your drink, and leaned against the wooden bar as you gave him a faint smile. “I’m here.”

“I don’t understand…” Joel admitted as he mirrored your position. “You know Maria?”

“Old friend from college…well, roommate actually,” you said with a small shrug, watching him closely. “Honestly, I thought you knew, since she’s the one who sent you to me. Well… I did right up until you invited me to the wedding.”

Joel huffed a soft, breathless laugh. “A weddin’ you were already invited to,” he said, shaking his head.

You gave a small, almost guilty nod, lips tugging into the faintest smile.

Joel stared at you for a moment. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Your eyes lingered on his, a teasing glint there, but also something warmer underneath. “Didn’t want to ruin the surprise.”

Joel’s smile twitched at the corners, but he couldn’t help himself. “Is that why you weren’t there this mornin’?”

You winced just slightly at his words. The regret in your expression was clear, and you stepped in closer. Close enough that he noticed your perfume was different from what clung to his memory. Spicier, but just as enticing. It wrapped around him, and it made him ache to lean in, press his mouth to the hollow of your neck and find out if it tasted the same.

Your fingers brushed the front of his vest, then slowly traced down the line of his jacket. Joel felt his pulse stutter. “I’m sorry,” you said gently. “I really meant to be there. But I was working on this until the sun came up.” You gave the lapel a small tug, grounding your words. “I needed a few hours of sleep if I was going to be any good for the party tonight and–”

“And you knew you’d see me tonight,” Joel finished for you, his voice laced with something hopeful he couldn’t quite hide.

You nodded, your hand still resting lightly against his chest. His eyes followed the movement as your fingers drifted downward until they found the silk of his pocket square. You let your touch linger, smoothing the fabric with a kind of absent affection that made his heart thud harder in his chest. His gaze flicked between your hand and your face, catching the subtle lift of your lips as your smile teased at the corners. 

“It’s the same colour,” he finally murmured, more for himself than for you, as he glanced between the green silk and your dress in that same shade.

You looked up at him then, meeting his gaze fully. The smile you gave him wasn’t coy. It was bold, just like you. 

“Did you… pick this so I’d match you?” he asked then, his voice a little breathless.

“Maybe,” you said in a softvoice, eyes not leaving him. “I wanted to see if you'd wear a little piece of me.”

Joel swallowed hard, warmth blooming in his chest. It was something he’d nearly forgotten how to feel, to be this openly wanted. He wanted to reach for you. To rest his palm against your cheek just to see if you’d lean into the touch. He wanted to kiss those tempting lips of yours, just to feel that low, breathy sound you made when he last had the pleasure of touching you. He wanted to take your hand and find somewhere quiet, somewhere he could reach under that dress and do everything he’d been thinking about since last week. But the night still belonged to his family, and he didn't want to be that guy missing out on this special occasion. 

He turned his head, letting his eyes follow the sound of Sarah’s laughter. She was still on the dance floor, now sandwiched between Tommy and Maria, the three of them a perfect painting of joy. And then his gaze slid back to you. Somehow, he was sure the canvas could only be better if he took your hand and led you into the light. Would you let him? 

“Does Maria know?” Joel wondered, nodding subtly toward the bride. 

You didn’t even blink. “About you fucking me dumb on the shop floor?” you said casually, and Joel nearly choked on nothing but air, coughing into his fist.“No, didn’t really come up yet.”

“Yet?”

“Mmhm.” You nodded slowly. “I mean, you’re still taking me out on that date, right? Then I’ll consider telling her…if it goes well, of course.”

“Of course,” Joel echoed, his hand settling gently at your waist, his thumb absentmindedly tracing the fabric of your dress. Just then, the music that was playing faded into something softer just in time for Joel to lean in and ask: “Can I have this dance?”

You raised a teasing brow. “You got moves, Miller?”

“Plenty of 'em.” 

“Perfect, I’ve been waiting to see this suit in action,” you smiled as Joel took your hand, guiding you toward the dance floor. You leaned closer, your voice dropping to a teasing murmur only for him. “But I do have a question about it…”

Joel raised an eyebrow, curiosity sparking in his eyes.

“Will you let me take it off you later?”

Thank you for reading! Please tell me what you thought! Leave a comment, a reblog, or even an ask! It would mean a lot :)

[kryptos-aunt]

You didn’t mean to nearly kill your boyfriend. Clark also didn’t mean for you to find out he was Superman by writhing on your floor and almost dying.

Your living room had tapestries on the walls, incense burning and crystals on shelves. You adored the witchy vibe and aesthetic.

The crystal shop you frequented the most had got a new delivery and you couldn’t wait to see what they had in stock. The lady behind the counter knew you well at this point and always pointed out what she thought you’d like.

Your eyes immediately went to the dark green crystal on the shelf. Malachite? Vivianite? You weren’t sure but it was beautiful. The light hit it at just the right angle, it almost seemed to glow and you couldn’t leave it behind.

With your new purchase wrapped up as well as a few other items you convinced yourself you couldn’t leave without, you headed home to start on dinner. Clark wouldn’t be far behind and you wanted to get all your new purchases displayed and start on the cooking.

As soon as Clark walked through your door, you knew something was wrong. His eyes squinted together, he rubbed his temples and let out a small groan. You stood on your tiptoes, fingers gently rubbing his temples.

“Headache?”

Clark grunted again, the headache seeming to grow worse as he came in. Clark didn’t get headaches. Well, human Clark would if he wasn’t Superman. But, of course, you didn’t know that.

“Sorry baby, is the incense too strong?”

He shook his head, another grunt passing his lips, “I don’t know.”

“Why don’t you take your glasses-”

Before you could finish your sentence Clark dropped to the floor.

“BABY?!” You dropped to your knees beside him, dinner long forgotten. “Clark? Baby talk to me. What’s wrong? Do you need an ambulance?”

“I’m,” he wheezed, “I’m fine.”

“Clark, you’re not fine.”

His glasses shifted and you had to shake your head. Clark wasn’t in front of you anymore. No. You’d recognise that face anywhere…Superman?

“Oh fuck.”

“Language,” he croaked out.

“Fuck Clark, wait Superman? Clark? Whatever you’re called, I think I bought Kryptonite.”

He rolled over to meet your gaze, “w-what? Why did you?”

“Well I don’t know?! I just saw a pretty crystal and bought it. I didn't know it’d kill you the minute you walked through the door!” Your breathing picked up with your panic.

“It’s okay,” he spluttered out.

It very much wasn’t okay.

“Fuck, sorry. Shit. What should I do?” You asked as you ran towards the shelf that held your now ex-prized possession. Without thinking you grabbed it and threw it out the window.

With the item now out of harm's way, for now, Clark took in a gasping breath as he sat up. “Why did you do that?”

“I panicked?!” You shouted back.

Clark rolled back onto his back, his breathing now steadying somewhat. You made your way to his side, laying down next to him and cuddling up to his chest.

“It’s okay. I’ll be okay,” he tried to reassure. “Just need to sleep it off.”

“Let’s get you to bed.”

With a lot of effort, you managed to manhandle him towards your bedroom and unceremoniously dump him onto your bed with a grunt.

“So…Superman?” You said as you climbed under the covers with him.

Clark sighed sleepily, “didn’t plan on you finding out like this.”

“Didn’t plan on nearly killing my boyfriend tonight.”

He let out a laugh followed by a groan. You cuddled up to his side, tracing lazy patterns on his chest. You didn’t realise how big Clark was until now. How you didn’t notice before. But that was a conversation for another day, when he was stronger.

[dark-night-hero]

Imagine Yandere! Caleb who also happens to be your best friend's older brother.

Imagine you always feel like Caleb was a little too good to be true. Too gentle, too thoughtful. Too kind in the exact way you needed, exactly when you needed it. Like a compass that always pointed toward your pain before you ever said a word.

Imagine he was supposed to be MC's brother. That was it. The older sibling of your best friend since freshman year, the boy who floated in and out of your life with barely a word at first, quiet and cold and distant. Until he wasn't.

Imagine that was until you broke your arm and he sent flowers before MC even told him. Until you had your phone stolen and a week later, the girl who'd taken it transferred schools. Until your ex left you crying in the hallway and the next day, he transferred too. To another city.

Imagine you thought it was coincidence. A string of strange but unrelated kindnesses. Caleb always seemed to be in the right place, right time. You told yourself he was just looking out for you because you were his sister's best friend.

Imagine you never noticed how his gaze lingered a little too long. How his voice was always gentler with you than anyone else. How his fingers brushed your thigh just slightly when you sat beside him on the couch waiting for MC to finish getting dressed.

Imagine you never noticed how those accidental touches stopped being accidental.

"Do you want to wait in my room?" Caleb's voice is soft, the way velvet would sound if it spoke. "MC's still in the shower." You shake your head quickly, flustered by the idea. "I-I'm good here."

Imagine the way he smiles. That slow, unreadable smile that makes you forget what you were saying. "You've always been shy around me." "I am not." "Aren't you?" He tilts his head, studying you. "Or is it just me?" Your cheeks burn. "Caleb-"

"I'm joking." He says, voice light, like he didn't just twist something tight in your chest. "You don't have to be scared of me." "I'm not scared of you." You murmur.

but Imagine you are. Not in the way you should be. You're scared of what he makes you feel. Scared of what you know MC would say if she knew. Scared of how easily you'd fold if he ever asked for more than this. And that's exactly what he's been waiting for.

Imagine Yandere! Caleb doesn't push. He never does. Not directly. Just little things.

Imagine the way his hand was on your lower back when he guides you through a doorway. A brush of his knuckles down your spine when you're distracted. A kiss to the cheek that lingers just a second too long, long enough that your breath catches but not long enough to question.

Imagine that one time, when you were tired and half asleep in their living room, you leaned against his shoulder. His hand had come up and stroked your hair so gently you nearly cried.

Imagine you never noticed how his lips brushed your temple. How his eyes closed for a moment like he was savoring it. You never saw how he smiled when you mumbled his name like a prayer. You never heard the whisper he murmured when you'd already dozed off. "You're doing so well, darling. So sweet. So easy to keep."

Imagine your fights with MC started small. A passive aggressive jab. A growing silence. And you kept apologizing for things you didn't do. She kept pulling away without saying why. And Caleb? He never said much. He just listened. Poured you tea. Sat beside you while you cried.

"You don't have to chase after someone who doesn't see your worth." He murmured once, thumb brushing your jaw as he handed you a tissue. "Some people are only your friend when you're useful." "She's not like that." You said, weakly. "She's just… overwhelmed."

Imagine the way his hand cupped your cheek. Warm. Steady. "She's always been jealous of you." You flinched. "That's not-" "She has. And I think she hates that I see you the way she never could." You froze. His thumb traced the edge of your lip. "Do you know how hard it is to pretend I don't care when she's around?"

Imagine the way your heart pounded. He was too close. You were too warm. Everything felt blurry. "I can't help it anymore." He murmured. "You come to me when you're in pain. You let me take care of you. Doesn't that mean something?"

Imagine you didn't answer. You couldn't. So he kissed your forehead. Then your cheek. Then, slowly on the corner of your lips. Not quite. But close enough. You pulled back, breath shaky. "I- I should go." He let you. Because he knew you'd come back. You always came back.

Imagine you didn't notice how MC stopped calling. You didn't notice how the only person who ever texted you first anymore was him.

Imagine you didn't notice how he had slowly replaced every thread of comfort in your life with himself. Because why would you? Caleb was always there. Always kind. Always gentle. Always warm. Your hero. Your safe space. Your trap.

and Imagine, by the time you realized it. You had already curled up inside it. Smiling. Trusting. Yours. Just the way he wanted.

Imagine you don't even know when the shift truly happens. Maybe it's the day you show up on his doorstep, eyes red, voice small, saying. She said she never really trusted you. That you were just another one of them, wanting to get close to her to get ber brother. Maybe it's the way he opens the door for you without a word, arms ready before you even fall into them. Like he was waiting. Like he knew.

Imagine you don't even ask if MC's home. You don't think to. You just stay.

Imagine it was late. The kind of late where the world is quiet, and it feels like nothing exists but the sound of your breathing and the calm, warm rhythm of Caleb's voice beside you.

Imagine you are curled up in his bed. The one he offered without hesitation. Said he'd sleep on the couch like he always does. Always so gentle, so good. But you asked him to stay. You don't know why. You just didn't want to be alone. And he didn't hesitate.

Imagine you're there, lying shoulder to shoulder, the silence heavy with something unsaid. His fingers ghost over your wrist in a lazy pattern. Back and forth.

"You're warm." You murmur, head turned toward him. He turns to look at you, his eyes taking in every detail. That same expression you always mistake for patience. "I'm always warm for you." You let out a quiet laugh, half asleep, half melting.

"I don't know what I'd do without you." He doesn't respond. Not immediately. You think you catch the faintest tremble in his breath. Then, finally, so soft you barely catch it. "You'll never have to find out."

Imagine, the kiss is slow. Painfully slow.

Imagine it starts as a brush, barely there. A question he lets linger on your lips, not quite touching. You tilt your head before you even think to stop it. And when your lips meet his, he exhales like he's waited years for this. He has. But it's not desperate. It's reverent.

Imagine the way his hand cradles your face so gently you want to cry. Like you'll break if he squeezes too tight. Like you're glass. Or porcelain. Or a prayer.

Imagine you don't know when your body shifts beneath him, when your fingers clutch the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer. You do not realize how badly you wanted this. How long it's been burning just under your skin.

Imagine he whispers your name like he owns it. Like he had always owned it. You nod. Not sure what you're agreeing to. Just that it's him. And that's all that matters right now.

Imagine when he kisses you again, deeper this time, his hand slides along your waist, slow and deliberate like he's savoring every inch of you under his fingertips. "You don't have to be afraid." He whispers into your skin. "Not with me. Never with me." "I'm not." You breathe. "I trust you." And that's all he's ever wanted.

Imagine Yandere! Caleb always takes his time.

Imagine every touch, every movement is meant to calm you, not ignite. But it still ignites. You're trembling under him, not from fear but because it feels too much. Too good. Too soft.

Imagine you didn't see the possessiveness in those purple eyes. You did not feel the tremor in his breath as he drinks in the sight of you bare beneath him. You did not hear the whispered finally as he settles over you, lips brushing down your neck like devotion.

Imagine he was slow. Meticulous. Like he was memorizing you from the inside out.

Imagine the way you whispered his name again and again and he kisses it off your lips, swallowing every sound. Every moan. Every promise you don't even know you're making.

"You're mine now." He breathes, when your fingers curl into his back and your mouth parts beneath him in pure, aching surrender. "I've always been yours." You say without thinking. And it's the truth. Not the one you know. But the one he made.

Imagine the way you lie on his chest after. Eyes half lidded, skin warm and aching in the best way. He strokes your hair with long, lazy fingers. You didn't even notice how tightly his other arm is wrapped around your waist.

Imagine you don't even notice how his lips brush your forehead like a seal. You don't hear the smile in his voice when he whispers, just for himself. "I told you, darling. You'll never leave me." You just hum softly in reply. Content. Oblivious. His.

[ⓒdark-night-hero] 2025°

: because I can’t write full blown smut. Anyways, still put on the sign just to make sure. Also, this is the definition of. If you see me being manipulated by a 6+ footer who flies fighter jet, former DAA fighter pilot and is now a Colonel who like apple. Leave me alone, I pray for that.

[kunawned]

﹙ ᰔ ﹚.  .  toji going absolutely feral when seeing you in his tee  ❤︎  !

✉️ ྀི . .  with the toji account gone </3, i will begin re-uploading those works here slowly & i'll start off with the first one i wrote on there :3

toji comes back home, exhausted and blood-stained after a particularly distressing assignment. he's got a frown on his face, cursing under his breath at how annoying his client had been this time around. he had gotten the task completed, sure, but oh my he felt like killing the client rather than the target. 

the only thing keeping him grounded was knowing he was coming back home to you — his dolly little girlfriend. 

he rings the doorbell and hears the pitter-patter of your footsteps thudding from behind the door. a small smile immediately spreads across his face, his shoulders relaxing and a deep sigh of relief leaving him. he hears the door unlock and then he sees you and his eyes go wide and his dick is now straining against his boxers. 

you're wearing one of his infamous black tees that's practically engulfing your whole frame and he just thinks you look so adorable in it. the way you're prettily looking up at him with that sweet smile of yours — he can feel the pre making a stain on his boxers. 

"baby!," you exclaim sweetly, throwing your arms around him. "you're back! i missed— oh!"

you're cut off mid-sentence as he picks you up, tucking his hands underneath your ass and making a beeline straight for the bedroom. your head is buried in his neck, taking in his scent — a mix of his sweat, his balmy cologne, and some dried blood. it's something that you've grown to love, the smell of him nearly dumbing your senses and making your core grow warm. 

he throws you on the bed like a mere rag-doll, and then comes atop you, trapping you under his large and sinewy body. you can see his arm muscles rippling underneath his t-shirt, the sight making you almost salivate. his eyes are roaming over your body, something primal and hungry glinting in them. he leans in closer, face grazing against yours, his stubble rubbing on you which makes you squirm slightly. 

"doll," he says lowly. "where'd ya get my shirt from, hm?" his hand runs up your side and it slips under, coming up to cup one of your breasts and squeezing one softly which makes you let out a soft sigh. 

"from your closet," you answer in a quiet voice, wrapping your arms around his neck and carding your fingers through his hair. he lets out a content hum, eyes fluttering shut at your touch. he opens them and takes in your figure once more — clothed with his black tee, making you smell just like him and it's as if something short-circuits in his brain that is making him need you right at this moment.

oh, with the way you look so cute and how you answer in such a meek voice — his cock is throbbing and begging to be let out. and he's dying to ruin you right here, right now. 

soon, he has you on top, knees hiked up as he abuses your poor hole with his thick, large cock. he's practically splitting you open, feeling every vein and ridge of him within your velvety walls and you squeezing him so tight as if wanting to mould yourself to the shape of him. he's got you clamping your teeth down on his tee so that he can get a pretty view of your tits bouncing in front of him every time he thrusts up into you. 

"fuckkkk," he drawls out, plunging somehow deeper into your syrupy pussy, the squelching salacious sounds echoing throughout the room, making your cheeks tint red. he notices and that shit-eating grin spreads across his face as he quickens his pace, the sounds of your dripping pussy and his slick cock only growing louder. "you're so — fuck — so good f'me, dollface."

all you can do is whimper helplessly, hands coming to rest on his chest to keep yourself steady. he groans at the way you claw at his flesh, leaving red dark lines as if to show he's all yours and that his him groaning and grunting, pounding into you, his fat raging tip abusing your poor cervix. 

toji pulls you in by your waist so that your body is flush right against his, both bodies sweaty and sticky. his burly arms wrap around your torso, the new angle making you see stars as he ruts his hips deep into your velvety walls. you're crying his name out, cute whines leaving your lips and he just cannot get enough of you. 

"t-toji 's shooo good," you whimper, sweet cries ripping from your throat, your hands entangled in his hair as you pull on them. you're blinking the tears that are pooling at your lash lines, the feeling of his thick cock stretching your walls out so deliciously making you feel so dumb that you're not even able to think straight and the only thing on your mind is him.

"yeah say my name just like that," he growls by your ear, squeezing your ass, leaving his hand imprints on them that you're sure will be bruised till the end of the week. in a pathetic little voice, you whimper out his name like the meek little puppy he's turn you into. 

with the way he's pounding into you ruthlessly, your mind has practically turned to mush, your pussy gooey and slick with your arousal and forming a lil' ring around toji's girthy shaft. "mmm~ i'm gonna cum, toji! 'm gonna cum — hngh! — 'm cumming!," you wail, gripping onto him as your whole body trembles from the near euphoric orgasm that comes crashing down on you. he's holding you tight as he soon shoots ribbons and ribbons of his warm cum inside of you, your walls being coloured a cream white. 

the both of you calm down from your highs, breaths in sync and chest rising and falling together. he tells you to lift your head so he can see you — hair sticking to your forehead and cheeks flushed a cherry red. he gives you a tiny peck on your nose and he smiles at the way you scrunch your face up when he does so. "you gotta wear more of my tops, dollface," he says, giving you a light kiss to your cheeks, spanking you one last time before carrying you to the bath to clean you up. and  possibly go for round two ♡ !

[lazysoulwriter]

that sound you make ── .✦

content: pure fluff, soft!Pedro being whipped, silly jokes, cuddling, giggly kisses, domestic vibes, that feeling of “i’d do anything for you”

Pedro loves your laugh.

No — loves is too weak. He’s obsessed with it. Addicted. A man possessed.

It started subtly. The first time you met, you laughed at a dumb joke he made (something about a sandwich, he doesn’t even remember it now) and he swears he blacked out a little. Like someone punched the air out of his lungs. It was loud and warm and real and maybe a little snorty at the end and it became his favorite sound in the entire world.

And now?

Now he spends most of his days trying to get you to do it again.

It’s not even for attention. He just likes watching it happen. The way your face scrunches. The way your body curls in when it really hits. The way you try to stop and end up laughing more.

He lives for it.

Today, you’re both on the couch, legs tangled under a shared blanket. Pedro’s in sweatpants and your hoodie (he keeps stealing it), holding a half-eaten cookie while reading dumb facts off his phone.

“Did you know,” he says between bites, “that sea otters hold hands when they sleep so they don’t drift apart?”

You blink. “Wait, that’s real?”

“Mmhmm.” He wiggles his eyebrows. “Like this.”

He grabs your hand with both of his and smooshes it to his chest.

You laugh. “You’re an idiot.”

“A sexy, affectionate idiot,” he corrects.

You giggle again — that soft one, the build-up. Pedro watches you like he’s watching a sunrise.

“And get this,” he continues, serious voice activated, “ducks… have regional accents.”

You full-on snort.

He gasps. His eyes widen like you just blessed him.

“There it is,” he whispers dramatically, pressing a hand to his heart. “That sound. My muse.”

You shove him. “Shut up.”

“I won’t. I can’t. I need it again.”

You’re already laughing harder. He leans in, chasing your giggles like they’re oxygen.

“Please,” he murmurs in a fake-posh accent. “One more snort, m’lady. Just one. I shall perish otherwise.”

“Pedro—”

But you can’t finish because he’s tickling your sides now, and you're shrieking and laughing and trying to push him off while he refuses to stop. “Gimme that laugh, baby,” he grins. “I live for it.”

Eventually you both collapse, breathless, tangled in each other and sweaty from the dumbest wrestling match of your life. You’re still giggling, pressed into his chest, and he kisses your forehead so gently you almost melt into the cushions.

“I really love it,” he says quietly, serious now. “The way you laugh. It’s my favorite thing.”

You glance up at him, cheeks warm. “Yeah?”

He nods. “I’d do anything to make you happy. But hearing you laugh like that?” His thumb brushes your cheek. “Makes me feel like I already have.”

You stare at him, soft and a little stunned.

Then you giggle again.

And he grins like a fool, like he just won the lottery.

And maybe he did.

✦ please do not copy, repost, or translate this work. © lazysoulwriter // i write with a lot of love and care, so please respect that.

[minholuvr333]

soooooo monster skz 👀 werewolf chan??? siren felix?? vampire seungmin 👁️👁️ kyuubi jeongin! incubus hyunjin :000 orc or half orc changbin. jisung as some kind of hybrid (cat? dragon? bunny? who knows ¯\_(ツ)_/¯)

Do with this information what you will ✨

monster!skz drabbles i can’t stop thinking about

sweet anon… you opened the floodgates that is my monsterfucker brain. i hope you enjoy my devolve into madness >.< this is a long ass post sorry (not sorry at all btw)

pairing; skz x reader (minho is posted here!)

tw; monsterfucking, fem reader, NSFW!, pet names, unprotected sex (be smart), manhandling, blood drinking, oral (f and m receiving), blood and guts, semi public scene, vague manipulation, abo dynamics, ropes, claws fangs scales and fur (*blushes*), some degradation, biting, branding, temperature play (?), poor y/n is about to be exhausted

bang chan;

it’s late when you first meet him. you’re walking home from a night out, hands pulling your skirt down on the dimly lit street. the full moon gives an eery glow to the otherwise dark, lonely concrete path.

and yes, you know it’s stupid to walk home alone. you know you’re a little tipsy and should have called an uber, but alas, you thought the ten minute walk could clear your head. you had a fight with a friend and felt too heated to get into the stiff air of someone else’s car- so, the chilly night air seemed like a better alternative.

this alternative, however, also included a giant fucking wolf in the tree bank. you still completely when you see it, eyes glinting off the moon light, hunkered down like it waits for prey. your heart drops to your ass, surely, you’re dead. surely, you’re about to be on the morning news, torn to shreds and beyond the point of identification.

the wolf watches you from a distance. when you scoot closer to the corner, ready to make a run for it, the wolf suddenly snaps its head in the direction of the woods. you inhale- it runs off, darting back into the thick greenery.

you run.

the next day you feel like you’re caught in a haze, glowing eyes meeting you every time you close your own. so you think, maybe you need a pick me up. maybe you need a coffee.

the coffee shop is a nice, day-lit walk. the overcast sky and gentle air remind you that you are alive and well- not torn to shreds. not a late night snack for a giant beast. as you’re walking, a body brushes yours. when you turn, a man is staring back at you.

“oh! my bad,” the man says, voice smooth, grin splitting his face and dimpling his cheeks. you feel your heart skip a beat in your chest as he looks over your body. he seems to catch himself, clearing his throat and sticking out a large, scratched hand. his knuckles are bruised. “i didn’t mean to startle you. i’m chan.”

you don’t remember giving him your name, but you love the way it rolls off his tongue. it sounds like a sigh, an exhale, he says your name like you’ve met before. old friends, even.

chan starts popping up more and more, he becomes your best friend. loyal, strong, muscular- fucking hot- he’s the whole package. he’s the type of friend that makes it easy to blur the lines, makes it easy to see how far you can push before he pulls away. but he never does. he pushes back, closes in on you every single time.

chan is acting weird. it’s been about a month since you met, since he became so important to you, and today feels… off. you try to ask him to hang out, but he brushed you off, saying he wasn’t feeling well. instead of taking his word for it, you decide to check up on him.

you’re not crazy. if you didn’t have such a horrible pit in your stomach, such a terrible feeling, you wouldn’t bother him. but it’s nearing midnight and you can’t sleep- restless at the thought of something bad happening. so, you go to his place. you take the spare key from the potted plant next to his door, and you walk in.

chan is on his couch. chan is panting, noticeably sweating, hair mussed from constant tugging. he’s barely wearing any clothes- only boxers- and you pause as you look at him.

chan is alert, snapping his head toward you in a way that’s almost too fast. he stands on wobbly knees, frantically looking towards the night sky through his open window before looking back to you. his eyes are glowing.

“y/n,” chan pants out, brows furrowed. “fuck- go home. now!”

you aren’t quite sure what happens next. one minute, you’re standing in the entryway of chan’s apartment, watching in horror as his body starts to contort in ways that cannot possibly be real. the next minute, you’re slammed into the carpet, claws digging into the floorboard by your head and a snarling set of canine teeth way too close to your neck.

chan- at least, you think it’s chan- is above you. he is growling, sharp and animalistic. between low noises you hear a single word, filled with the need to claim, to mark you. mine.

you would have to be massively fucked up to find this hot- your pussy clenches at the sight of him, though. not quite wolf, not quite human, and you gasp loudly as claws rip through your shirt. fuck, maybe you are massively fucked up.

“you shouldn’t have came here,” chan growls, voice ripping from his throat. “stupid puppy, need your alpha to teach you some respect, hm?” you whimper. chan absolutely demolishes your clothing.

you’re soaked, probably need to pay to get the carpet cleaned, but chan doesn’t seem to mind. he growls, sniffing at your neck right where it meets your shoulder. you feel his cock- large, pulsing, hot- against your thigh and a moan passes through your lips. chan can’t help but rut into your thigh, now nipping at the skin of your neck.

“spread your legs, darling. good girls take their alpha without whining, yeah?” chan grumbles, voice a low timbre next to your ear. you shiver violently, legs spreading open as he lines up with your entrance. no prep, no lube, just your soaked cunt and his precum covered cock to ease the way.

you scream when he thrusts in, you can’t help it. it’s rough, the stretch making your vision blurry. it’s so good. you feel like you’re being split in half, marked and claimed entirely by him. you are chan’s, and in return, he is yours.

“my sweet puppy,” chan moans, rutting into you frantically. his clawed fingers grip your hips hard, sure to draw blood. you hope they leave angry red scratches. you hope your blood stays under his nails forever. you beg, a string of please please please chan please leaving your lips, although you aren’t even sure why. all you know is that your stomach is tightening, hands balling up into fists, and chan’s sharp canines are grazing the fragile skin of your neck.

“gonna mate you- fuck, y/n-“ chan is panting now, teeth grinding together like he wants nothing more than to sink them into you. you want him to so bad, you bare your neck for him. “shit. gonna fill you so full, you’re gonna take my knot-“

chan’s teeth sink into your neck. you moan loudly, the noise ripping from your throat like an animal of its own, and you cum- hard. then chan is cumming too, pumping his load into you and thrusting in to the hilt, a large bump at the base of his cock wedging inside of you and staying there. his knot, probably.

you spend an uncertain amount of time- maybe minutes, maybe hours- on the ground, panting and allowing chan to lick your neck clean. he’s practically purring, hands no longer clawed as they run through your hair. finally, he is able to pull out. you whine, earning a sweet hushing sound from the man as he carries you to lay down. a gentle kiss is pressed to your forehead. you fall asleep laying in your mate’s arms.

changbin;

the last thing you expected when you heard a loud bang on your front door was this.

a man stands towering over you. huge- well over seven feet tall, muscles the size of your head, and the expression of someone that would easily murder you without blinking twice. holy fucking shit, you’re dead.

when he bullies his way into your apartment, opening the pantry door and killing a fucking demon right in front of your eyes, you’re surprised to say the least. a demon was messing with your pancake mix and shit.

the man- the orc, rather, tells you his name is changbin. he’s grumpy- a little pissy all the time. you tell him you’re fine, but he insists on staying around a little longer to ensure your safety. humans are too dumb and fragile to be safe on their own, he grunts. he wants to make sure the threat is eliminated.

he stays with you for months. not only in your home, but physically with you. all the time. honestly, you assumed this would annoy you. you consider yourself to be pretty independent, but you would be lying if you said you didn’t like having scary guard dog privileges.

changbin is bigger than any human man you could ever meet. no one approaches you, no one tries to pick you up when you’re having fun with your friends. changbin is always there, like a statue next to you, ready to fight (and kill) anyone who looks at you wrong. it’s oddly peaceful. you feel safe.

the thing is, changbin does not make empty threats. he told you he would keep you safe, and he has proven that he will. the demon in your pantry was the first instance; the sleazy man in denim staring you down from across the room will be the second.

sometimes, men have no survival skills. you can tell this is one of those times as the man wobbles on his feet, stalking towards you and flopping down into the chair to your right.

immediately, you say you’re not interested. why would you be when you’ve been fucking yourself to the thought of your hot orc bodyguard every night? but the man doesn’t take no for an answer. his hand moves to touch your bare thigh.

it never makes contact. instead, there’s a sickening crack as the man falls from his seat with a loud cry, holding his wrist. you didn’t even see changbin move, but suddenly he’s towering over the figure and raising his fist in the air.

you dart out of your seat, tugging at changbin’s snug shirt and whining about wanting to go home. obviously, murder would be a hard crime to plea innocent for- especially when half the bar is staring in your direction. changbin is still for moments, then he huffs loudly. grumbling, he circles your wrist with two large fingers and drags you towards the exit of the bar.

you can tell he’s pissed. and really, he doesn’t give you a chance to ask him about it. as soon as the door to your apartment is locked, he’s throwing you over his shoulder and taking large strides towards your bedroom. you punch and kick at him, telling him to let you down, but it’s wasted energy. he throws you onto the bed without breaking a sweat.

“ridiculous,” he scoffs, arms crossed and visibly fuming. “can’t even go out of the house without having useless humans beg for your attention.”

then, he’s closer. caging your thighs in between muscular legs and pinning your wrists at your head. “but i don’t have to beg, right y/n?” he asks, voice still tinged with anger. “no, i don’t. you will, though.”

your clothes are ripped away in seconds, the cotton fabric feeling so flimsy under his strong hands. changbin undresses next, leaving you panting and your eyes bulging at the sight of his massive cock. it’s almost as big as your forearm. you’re about to be ripped apart, just like your clothes.

“don’t worry, fragile little thing,” changbin huffs. “i’ll get you nice and wet. ready to take what i give you.”

and he does. changbin’s tongue, large and dripping with his spit, licks a stripe through your already wet pussy. he moans at the taste, sound vibrating your sensitive clit as he moves his tongue and lips. your hands thread in his hair, legs spread wide open around his strong, solid shoulders.

changbin’s tongue fucks into you deeper than anyone has ever been, your own fingers couldn’t even do it justice. he prods at your bundle of nerves, with each press of his tongue fire zips up your spine. he can tell when you get close- legs trying to squeeze around his head but unable to move much- and he… stops.

you whine and cry for more, begging for the release you could practically taste, but changbin doesn’t respond to your cries. instead, one solid arm flips you over in a single movement; you’re on your stomach now, large hands wrapping around your hips and pulling you to your hands and knees.

“have to make sure stupid assholes know who you belong to,” he grunts, hands tightening on your hips. you’ll have finger shaped bruises on your lower stomach tomorrow. the dimples of your back with be marked with purple kisses. the thought brings you that much closer to desperation.

when changbin lines his cock up with your greedy hole, you clench in anticipation. he grumbles in annoyance under his breath, large thumbs spreads your cunt open to make way for his length. then, he slides home.

your eyes roll back when you feel his hips press against your ass, head falling to hang between your arms. his hand stretches over your stomach- palming himself from within your body. fuck.

changbin starts thrusting, hips smacking into your ass and turning it bright red. you hold onto the headboard, hoping it doesn’t break- the bed is creaking. mattresses are expensive. each and every thrust inside you leaves you dripping, and if you were capable of forming any thoughts you would be embarrassed of the wet sounds coming from the place where the two of you are connected.

changbin shifts, long fingers coming to press against your clit and move in tight, fast circles. then he’s groaning, forehead resting between your shoulder blades as he moans, “fuck, you feel like heaven- cum for me, pretty girl. wanna feel you squeeze my cock-”

and then you cum. harder and more earth-shattering than you ever have in your life.

you get impossibly tighter around his length, pussy throbbing with every wave of the most intense orgasm you’ve ever had. changbin isn’t far behind you, pounding into your heat once more before burying himself deep inside you and cumming, stuffing you full.

when you come back down from the clouds, changbin is wiping your body with a warm washcloth. you blink sleepily at him, smiling in your dazed state at the feeling of his gentle movements, as if afraid to hurt you now. when he is done, he climbs into bed beside you. large, strong arms wrap around you like a blanket, a kiss lands in your hair. as you’re dozing off, he mumbles out a last breath into the night air- a promise.

“i’ll always keep you safe, baby. you can count on me.”

hyunjin;

really, you’ve had plenty of stupid ideas in your life. this one might take the cake.

summoning a demon with the intention of trapping it, with the intention of tricking it into hunting someone down for you, is a bad idea. you know that. when your best friend had proposed the idea, handing you an incantation that predated modern latin, you had told him exactly how bad you thought the idea was. but here you are- black candles lit in a circle of salt, a bowl of your own blood resting in the middle.

granted, you probably should have learned old latin pronunciation. or maybe even like, new latin. really, any form of latin. but you didn’t, because the idea was already bad. how could it get worse?

in the end, the incantation didn’t even work. the candles burnt out, your blood remained cold in the ceramic bowl, and you were left with nothing but vague frustration as you cleaned your kitchen floor of the mess.

you lay down for the night shortly after, snuggling under your blankets and feeling the softness of them against your smooth, bare legs. with a sigh, you sleep.

then you wake up- sweating, heart racing, bolting upright to dart your eyes around your room.

you can’t shake the feeling that something is wrong. you feel the urge to bolt from your bed, run out the door and keep running. someone- something- is watching you. you can’t explain how you know, you just know.

then, you see it. from the corner of your dark room, there is a figure crouched in your floor. you sharply inhale when crimson eyes meet your own, the shadow tilting it’s head in observance. slowly, the figure stands.

as it comes into the abysmal light from your window, you can start to make out certain features. elegant legs taking graceful steps, slim fingers attached to large, veiny hands. long, black hair cascades over broad shoulders, and those eyes- blood red, glinting with mischief in the sliver of light.

it’s a man, you think. a shockingly beatiful man. you feel the bed dip as hands press down on the mattress, the figure slowly crawling up until he is caging you in from all sides.

a low hum rumbles in his chest, then, “it has been centuries since i have been called upon, millenniums since the being was so… mouthwatering.”

the man leans in close, stealing the breath from your lungs as he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. “so tell me, y/n. why did you call?”

oh, so he knows your name. fantastic.

“i… i need to kill a man.” you mutter, doe eyes batting upwards in nervousness. you were much more confident when you went over your script in the bathroom mirror. the man laughs breathily, shifting his weight to trail fingertips down your neck, collarbone, and downward. the fingers stop at your cleavage- right where your tank top starts.

“you called me for a murder? darling, i never get my hands dirty. i prefer to feed on those who are more than willing.”

shit. you really should have learned how to pronounce that incantation.

you gulp audibly, hand shaking as it moves to the demon’s chest. your intent had been to push him off of you, but now that your hand has made contact with chilled skin and strong muscle, you can’t find it in yourself to drag it away.

“do not lie to yourself, doll. why did your heart call to me?” the demon mutters, his hand enveloping your own on his bare chest. he moves your hand down, down further, until it rests at the silk fabric above his groin. your fingers curl into it without thinking.

“maybe-“ your voice cracks, so you try again. to your humiliation, the demon grins. “maybe i wanted… to forget?”

now, the fingertips at your cleavage move further, dragging your top down and off your shoulders- off your body all together. you fight the urge to whine as cool air hardens your pert nipples, the demon locking eyes with you as your shirt leaves your body. his grin widens, dark and warning. your heart accelerates against your ribcage.

“that, i can do. it is what i was made for, after all.”

the demon wastes no time revealing your body, strong hands leaving chills in their wake each time he removes more clothing. next, the silk around his hips unfolds, revealing the biggest, prettiest cock you have ever laid eyes on. and you have never thought a dick to be pretty in your life.

your mouth is watering- the demon coos at you like he knows. his hand wanders into your hair, petting the strands before gripping you tightly and moving forward so that his length is just out of your reach. with glassy eyes and a breathless sigh, you open your mouth for him. and he takes full advantage.

his cock is heavy on your tongue, throbbing when you whine around him and close your lips to suck at the tip. he pushes further in, continuing to use your hair as a guide to push and pull your mouth on his length. he groans, low and deep, when you feel him hit the back of your throat and you swallow.

“good, darling. worship me,” he hums. and you do.

drool leaks from your lips, down your chin, as the demon uses your mouth to his content. when you move a hand up to stroke him, he gently slaps it away with a hush. with one final tug of your hair, he leaves you panting, mouth open, and tears falling from your eyes. you aren’t sure if you are thankful for a breath of air- you want to choke by his hands.

“stop whining, doll. i will give you what you desire most,” he grins, sharp teeth glimmering in the darkness of the room. his eyes are brighter somehow, red pools of blood swirling in otherwise black irises. your legs spread wider, bracketing his sharp hip bones as his length presses to your entrance, running his cock head through your soaked folds and watching you clench around nothing in desperation.

when he presses in, it’s slow. deliberate. like he wants to make sure a space is carved out for every inch. when he is buried to the hilt, hips pressed flush to yours, he lets his head fall back with a sigh- as if embracing a lost lover. he pulls out just as slow, you feel him pulse as just the tip of his cock rests inside your wet, messy hole.

then, his hips snap.

the pace he sets is immediate- bruising, deep, pulling your thighs so that your legs are around his broad shoulders, ass lifted off the bed. his hands grip your hips like he will never let go, the promises of bruises seared into his touch. and you scream, hands reaching for his arms and clawing at his skin, sure to draw blood. instead of a complaint, the only thing to fall from his lips is a long, animalistic groan.

it’s all so much- so many sensations pulling you in so deep you feel like you’re suffocating. one of his hands moves to your nipple, plucking and pinching meanly just to feel the way you clench around him.

the demon can tell when you’re close, it only makes him double his efforts. his claws prickle your hip where they draw blood, he pants and moans loudly when he licks his fingers clean.

“fuck- darling, you taste so good. show me how you feel when you fall apart, when i take what is mine.”

with those words, you’re completely swallowed in pleasure. as you cum, moaning and sobbing and shaking, the demon moans too. his eyes roll back, snapping his hips once more before burying himself to the hilt inside your pulsing cunt and cumming- long, thick ropes covering your walls.

the demon shushes you gently as you cry with the aftershocks, turning you onto your side and slipping in behind you. you’re a mess; sweat covered skin, blood drying on your hip bones, cum leaking from your aching cunt. he doesn’t seem to care, just pushes your hair away from your face and mouths at the place where your neck meets your shoulder.

“you did amazing, doll. perfect for me,” you hear him hum into your back before your eyelids grow heavy.

you black out. you know you do, because when you wake it is to the sound of birds chirping and early morning light. you’re fully clothed, your pjs from the night before hanging off your body- wrinkled, but clean.

that was the hottest dream i have ever had, you think, stretching and groaning when your limbs pop after being still for so long.

you go to the bathroom groggily, still foggy brain barely wincing at the bright lights. when you look in the mirror, you pause.

the back of your shirt has a large, dark red stain. blood. it has to be.

your heart drops to your ass as you gently lift your shirt in the mirror, gritting your teeth as sensitive, aching flesh hits the cold air. then you gasp- wide eyes staring at your back in shock.

right between the dimples at the bottom of your spine, large and dark crimson from dried blood, lies one word. italicized cursive, a stamp on your body that will surely take forever to heal; a brand that will stay scarred long after the pain subsides.

hyunjin.

jisung;

in hindsight, you probably should have done a background check on your new roomie before he moved in.

but really, your intuition is so good! and han jisung did not seem like a murderer or stalker- he seemed like a very strange, very hot, loser.

and for fucks sake, that’s your type.

so he moved in shortly after responding to your craigslist ad, shortly after you met for coffee to get to know each other. and to be fair, things haven’t been bad. just… odd.

jisung might be a little weirder than you had initially thought. the man has a metric fuck ton of trinkets- and hey, you love trinkets! but he brought boxes full of things; little gold coins, gold statues of various animals and deities, ashtrays with golden flecks molded into them. you had initially joked that you were more of a silver girl, jisung had just wrinkled his nose and huffed at you. huffed.

not only does he have a hoarding issue, but jisung is also like, incredibly clothed. all the time.

here’s the thing: it’s the middle of fucking july. there is no reason for jisung to be wearing sweatpants and a hoodie, t shirt tucked in underneath. you sweat just looking at him. and he wears these weird ass contacts- all the time. bright blue eyes were jarring to see staring back at you in your kitchen at first, but whatever. you got used to it.

about a month after moving in, jisung started leaving you gifts. little crystals, flowers that he had definitely picked himself- they were never creepy, he always tried to play it cool, but the blush high on his cheeks made you hide smiles behind your hands. you knew he wanted you to like him, and it was working.

you’re a simple gal- when jisung comes home from one of his late night walks, silently placing a rock next to you (a geode, split open and glimmering delicately in the low light) it makes you swoon a little. when he knocks on your bedroom door and holds out a beautiful silk fabric, emerald green and expensive to the touch, mumbling something about how he had too many clothes and you deserve it, you melt. he’s just too damn cute.

the longer jisung shared your apartment, the more time the two of you spent together. suddenly, you couldn’t imagine your life without jisung. he’s your very best friend. he’s clingy in the same way you are, love language shown in his effort to spend quality time in your presence and give you pretty things. living with jisung comes easy, natural.

you have never seen jisung mad.

he’s a chill guy. a nice dude. he is frustratingly calm all the time, laughing off jabs directed towards him, grinning in amusement when you try to push his buttons. nothing gets under his skin, like ever. and it drives you crazy, because you want to get under his skin- just once. just to see what would happen.

jisung is very adamant about having time alone. part of the reason the two of you work so well living together is because he works from home and you work in an office, meaning he gets to be by himself from 9-5 every weekday. jisung also values honesty. he is incredibly loyal, never leaving your side whenever you’re at home or spending time around the city together, and he expects the same from you. he expects honesty, loyalty, and his alone time.

which is why you plan to break all three of these expectations at once. just to see what will happen.

you have another friend who you love dearly. he thinks you’re a little insane, suggesting your master plan to him, but he also lives for the drama. it isn’t hard to get him on board with your idea. it isn’t hard to call into work and say you’re sick. it is a little hard to look jisung in the eyes and tell him you’re leaving for work that morning- but you hope he will forgive you.

“it’s just a prank, relax,” you huff to your friend, walking down the hallway to your apartment door. he rolls his eyes, whining behind you.

“i literally don’t know this man, he could kill me!”

you laugh in response but say nothing more as you quietly step up to your front door. when you have slowly turned the key, unlocking it, you look back to your friend with raised brows. now or never.

he sighs, grimacing in annoyance before grabbing you by the waist and leaning into your neck. he whispers i hate your guts into your ear before you back into the door, opening it quickly.

you don’t see jisung immediately, but you know he sees you. you giggle and thread your fingers into your friends long hair, trying not to actually laugh at the feeling of his lips pecking your neck. there are no butterflies, no arousal pulls in your stomach, it feels almost clinical- but you pull out your best acting skills to moan softly.

you hear the tv show playing stop as jisung pauses the tv, cursing loudly. when you peak an eye open, pushing your friend away in fake shock, jisung is covering himself with a blanket. for a moment the room is silent. you stare at jisung with wide eyes, fighting a grin as he stares back at you, chest heaving from the unexpected entrance.

“shit, sungie- i didn’t realize you would be home,” you curse, faking an apologetic look and smoothing out your skirt. jisung blinks back at you, stare blank for a moment. then, his eyes turn to slits- head tilting as he looks between the two of you.

“y/n,” jisung states, calm. too calm. “could you tell the other thing to leave? we should chat.”

your friend has his hand on the door before jisung is even finished- coward. he mutters something about hoping your lay is worth his life, and as the door closes you lock it, biting your lip when you turn back around.

it’s too quiet. jisung has his legs crossed under the blanket, whole body covered by the fabric, but his eyes are still pinning you to your spot. when you open your mouth to speak, jisung holds up a hand to stop you.

“you know, y/n, i think this is really funny.” he says, looking entirely unamused. his tongue pokes into his cheek as he shifts under the blanket- uncomfortable in his seat. “it’s so funny that you just- what? conveniently forgot i work from home? forgot i am always here, every weekday? forgot i don’t like having uninvited- pests, in my home? touching my things?”

your mouth is dry. you can’t speak, can only squeeze your thighs together and try to squeak something out. “sungie, i-“

“no. there’s no need for that,” jisung cuts you off again. “you know what i think you’re doing?”

then, he stands. the blanket is left to fall on the ground, and you immediately notice three things.

one: jisung is wearing baggy shorts and a tank top. you have never seen this much honey skin- if your mouth was dry before, now it’s like cotton.

two: jisung is jacked. biceps protrude from his top, strong calves and thighs, huge pecs-

three: jisung… has fucking scales. honest to god scales- red and orange crawling up his arms, down his legs, and peaking out from under his tank top. you flush, suddenly feeling too sweaty in the cool air of the room.

jisung doesn’t stop until he is right in front of you, now looking down at you through thick, dark lashes. his eyes are even orange- bright, with cat-like pupils. that explains the contacts.

“i think, you knew i would be home.” he murmurs, tongue (forked fucking tongue) peaking out to lick his bottom lip. when your breath catches in your throat, he grins- too-sharp white teeth making your knees feel wobbly.

he doesn’t stop talking. “you know i’m always home, you know i don’t like people in my space, and you know i don’t fucking like lying. so you’re either really, really stupid, or you did this on purpose.” jisung leans in closer, eyes practically glowing as he huffs through his nose, agitated. his hand comes up to your neck, holding the side of your throat in his grasp- not applying pressure, just holding, as if to say i could hurt you if i wanted to.

“so y/n, which is it? are you just really fucking stupid?” then, he gives your throat a shake- jostling your head like a doll. “or was it on purpose?”

you’re silent. speechless. stunned and blinking dumbly at your roommate. you can see the vibrant scales on his arm from the corner of your eye, reminding you jisung isn’t fucking human- at least, not entirely. suddenly you feel like an animal, small and weak and trapped in the hunter’s lair.

your pussy throbs. holy shit.

jisung is waiting for you to speak, so you muster what little words you can remember through the fog in your brain. “you- you caught me, ji. it was on purpose.”

jisung’s tongue pokes into his cheek as he raises an eyebrow, head lifting condescendingly. “oh really? and what made you think you could get away with that?”

you flush, thighs squeezing tighter together. jisung notices this time, cat-like eyes flicking down to your legs before they’re back on yours. you clear your throat, his hand briefly squeezes before letting go to simply hold you again.

“maybe i didn’t think i could get away with it,” you whisper, batting long eyelashes up at him. “wanted to know how far i could push before you pushed back.”

that seems to be all it takes. jisung laughs once, nodding as if he had just made a decision in his head. then, you’re being shoved back into the wall- hand on your neck pinning you to the surface. his other hand moves to your top, pulling it down roughly and revealing your hard nipples to the air. you gasp at the sudden shift, but the sound is swallowed as jisung kisses you harshly.

all you can do is moan as jisung kisses you, meanly biting into your bottom lip until your mouth opens and his forked tongue meets yours. the hand not gripping your neck tugs on your thigh and you take the hint, wrapping your legs around his waist and leaning your weight into the wall behind you.

jisung breaks away from the kiss, lips traveling to your neck to bite and lick across the skin. then, his mouth is on the top of your breasts. “you wanna see me push back, baby?” he breathes into your skin, making eye contact with you briefly. “this is me pushing back.”

jisung’s mouth wraps around one of your nipples, sucking it into his mouth. you moan breathlessly, head tilting back into the wall. jisung’s mouth is warm- but it gets warmer. it gets hot, tongue like liquid fire as he kisses across your chest to tease your other pert nipple.

“fuck- jisung, that-“ you gasp, moaning at the heat blooming into your skin. you feel him grin against you, lips pressing a chaste kiss to your chest before he raises up.

“you like that? like feeling that flame, baby?” jisung purrs, pupils dilated to near-circles. you whimper as he flips your skirt up around your waist, nodding quickly.

you do like it, the feeling of his molten tongue leaving a searing trail over your sensitive skin. in your half-delirious state you wish it would leave marks. then jisung moves his hand from your neck, rubbing his thumb up and down your soaked underwear and laughing to himself.

“shit, baby. already a mess and i’ve barely done anything, hm?” he coos, pressing harder against your clit through the thin fabric. you whine, trying to grind your hips into his hand. he takes pity on you, tsking once before finally pulling your panties to the side.

you sharply inhale when jisung’s finger enters you without warning- jisung inhales too, mocking you. the look you get when you raise your head to weakly glare at him makes you clench around his finger. not only is he enjoying this, but he knows you are too. jisung is always so nice, so gentle, but now? seeing him mean and biting, teasing you with dexterous hands and a mischievous glint in his eyes? you’re so turned on it hurts. you need him- bad.

but you know jisung. you can feel his hard cock pressing into the swell of your ass, you know he wants this just as bad as you do. he slides a second finger inside of you and you moan as he curls them, pressing insistently into that sweet bundle of nerves.

“fuck, y/n- you’re putting on such a good show,” jisung grins, fingers moving faster. “my hand is dripping, rockstar.”

you whine, long and drawn out, hands clenching on his shoulders. “god- close, jisung! please, please don’t-”

you feel his lips on your neck, heat licking up your spine as he growls into the skin. “cum, baby. cum all over my fingers.”

you fall apart just like that; your thighs shake, sensitive cunt tightening and pulsing around jisung’s fingers. then, you feel his fingers leave you as something way fucking bigger takes their place.

jisung thrusts his entire length into you in one swift motion that has you sobbing- hands clawing at his shoulders hard enough to break skin while you’re still pulsing from your orgasm. you feel his cock splitting you open, the stretch of it aching in a way that makes you feel dizzy. you’re still throbbing, pussy clenching around his length as you come down from your high, and he doesn’t even give you time to adjust before he’s adjusting his grip on your ass and shifting his hips.

“just like that, baby,” jisung pants, snapping his hips forward like he’s starved. “gripping me so tight, that little cunt is greedy, huh?”

all you can do is moan, tears falling from your eyes at the overwhelming pleasure. jisung uses his thumbs to spread your pussy, watching himself fuck in and out of you with a half-manic look in his eyes. he bites down hard on his bottom lip, starting to rub your oversensitive clit in tight little circles while nailing your g spot with every thrust- you might die like this. to your shock, you feel close again.

this time, you barely open your mouth before your orgasm is slamming into you, white-hot and licking up your spine like a fire. jisung groans loudly, forehead falling to your chest, hips moving quicker as his thrusts grow sloppy.

“just like that, rockstar. squeeze my cock- fuck,” he rambles, pistoning his length into you for a few more seconds before moaning and squeezing his eyes shut, mouth falling open as you feel his release coat your aching walls.

you’re still whimpering when jisung pulls you off the wall, shushing you gently as he carries you to his room. you register vague details, like the shiny trinkets littering his shelves and the heaps of soft, silky blankets you’re deposited onto. when jisung crawls into the bed behind you, spooning you under the warm, weighted blankets, you hear him purring.

“next time you want attention, just ask baby.” jisung huffs, rubbing your back tenderly. “i would be happy to give it to you.”

felix;

you have never really liked the ocean.

it’s creepy- being in water that is so vast, knowing you could be swallowed deep in a seconds notice, no one to hear your screams over the roaring waves- it’s scary. you’re much safer on dry land, where you can walk and breathe fresh air.

going on a cruise is genuinely the last thing you ever wanted to do. but your best friend bought the tickets for her birthday, and it would be decidedly shitty of you to say no. so you find yourself here- laying on the deck with your friends surrounding the pool, waves looking darker under the rising moon. the sun had set half an hour ago, and the lull of the waves crashing into the ship has rocked you into a sense of security. your eyes are half closed, breath coming softly.

“psst, y/n,” your best friend shakes you, making you look up sleepily. “i think we’re heading back in. coming?”

you nod, yawning and stretching. “in a second, my leg is asleep. i’ll catch up,” you chuckle, trying to rub the pins and needles out of your calf. you watch your friends head back inside, sighing and leaning back against the cheap plastic chair again.

you fell asleep- like a fool. you don’t know how much time has passed when you blink your eyes open, but the moon is hanging right above you in the sky. you shiver, the chilled night air causing goosebumps to appear on your bare arms and legs.

the thought of being alone, on the ship’s deck in the middle of the night, leaves an eery feeling in the pit of your stomach. you sit up quickly, trying to calm the anxiety in your throat, when you hear someone behind you clearing their throat softly.

your body jerks- head snapping towards the sound so fast your neck pops.

behind you stands a man. a gorgeous man. clear honey skin, long blond hair, full pouty lips. you blink at he waves and draws closer, trying to even out your rapid heart rate. when he sits down gently beside you, you feel much calmer. a deep breath leaves you.

“hello, beautiful. what’s got you out here so late?” a deep, soothing voice rumbles from the man’s chest. you feel your breath come easier, as if his voice is giving you oxygen.

“i fell asleep…” you mutter softly, raising an eyebrow as you take in his body- dripping wet, by the way. “what’s got you soaked?”

the man grins, sharp white teeth and freckled cheeks and crinkles by his eyes. the moon is above you, but you feel the warmth of the sun. you grin back at him, almost subconsciously.

“i just showered,” the man laughs. “can i have your name? i’m felix.”

“yeah, it’s y/n. you showered fully clothed, felix?” you ask, brow furrowed although you don’t feel as confused as you should be. the more felix talks to you, the more you sink into your chair. you could listen to him for the rest of your life.

felix flashes a dazzling grin again, but his eyes seem somehow sharper- like he knows something you don’t, like you just handed him a golden ticket. you barely blink when he shifts closer, shifting your legs into his lap so he can sit in the lounge chair with you. the closeness makes you feel dizzy; a warm, swooping feeling running down your spine.

“enough about me, love.” felix says calmly, thumb running back and forth on your bare thigh. “who left you out here all alone?”

your friends- you had forgot about them. “oh, my friends… i should head back to the room.” you pout, so comfortable where you are.

felix blinks at you like he feels sympathy. like you’re a toddler who doesn’t understand anything about the world around you. he tsks at you, lifting your chin with his index finger and thumb. holding eye contact when he whispers, “or… you could stay with me, right?”

right. you could do that- why didn’t you think of that? felix smiles softly at you, looking proud. it makes your cheeks flush and your stomach clench. felix’s eyes are glimmering, little silver specks of glitter wafting through pools of deep, dark ocean water. the thumb holding your chin moves to your bottom lip, opening your mouth gently. then, he’s leaning in.

his tongue slips into your mouth. immediately, you’re gone. you moan softly into his touch, letting his tongue flick behind your teeth and circle your own like he’s claiming you. his hand tightens on your thigh and before you can really comprehend it, he has flipped your positions so that you are straddling his waist.

“are you gonna fuck me, gorgeous? hmm?” felix hums, smiling when you nod rapidly. his shorts are pulled down, long cock heavy against your stomach as he pumps himself. “go ahead, love. show me how good you can be for me, yeah?”

you whimper, hips grinding against his length as the words wash over you. felix is holding your hip steady, taking his other hand away from himself to move your bathing suit bottoms to the side and reveal your wet cunt to the cold air. you gasp, rocking back and forth and getting more soaked at the feeling of felix’s hard cock between your folds.

you feel so good- too good. you could cum just like this, pussy dripping onto the length of his pretty cock. but felix has different plans, he taps your thigh lightly to get you to stop, lining his member up with your clenching hole, and pushes in.

you feel like you’re drowning- fully seated, feeling his tip kiss your cervix and rub against that sensitive bundle of nerves inside of you. you whimper quietly, circling your hips to get used to the feeling. when felix’s hands tighten against your hips, you slowly start moving.

at this angle, his cock hits your most sensitive spots with every thrust. all you can do is bury your head into the side of his neck, moaning and bouncing on his length, fucking yourself like your life depends on it. you want to feel good, of course, but you want felix to feel better. the thought of giving him pleasure, making him cum, makes you more soaked with every thrust.

“look at me, angel,” felix says, the words rolling off his tongue like a song. he grips your hair firmly, using it to pull your head up.

you moan, the sound turning into a gasp when your eyes settle behind him before you meet his gaze. the boat- you’re still on the boat. you’re out in the open, being fucked within an inch of your life by the most beautiful man you have ever seen.

“what if someone sees us?” you whimper, eyebrows furrowing as you slow to a halt. felix laughs breathily, shifting you on his lap so he can bend his legs.

“let them see, i want everyone to know how good i fuck you.”

felix’s hips snap- his length moving in and out of your ruined cunt hard.

you scream.

you hope the sound is drowned out by the waves- the waves that have gotten rockier since the last time you can recall. beyond the sound of water crashing into the ship, all you can hear is felix, and felix doesn’t seem to care about the waves.

his hips continue to meet your ass, the pace so harsh it might bruise (you hope it does). you’re breathless, but felix is still talking.

“that feel good, baby? tell me, who do you belong to now? who’s pretty little pussy is this?” he grunts, leaning forward to press biting kisses to your chest.

“you- fuck, it belongs to you!” you whine, trying desperately to meet his thrusts. your legs have gone useless, thighs made of gelatin, but you still try. you want to make him feel so good.

“that’s right, baby. all mine to use,” felix groans, hand moving from your hip to your ass. suddenly, there’s a long fucking finger- and it’s pressing into you. right beside felix’s length.

you whine one more time, the feeling of being stuffed full enough to have you blacking out as you cum. your body is in overdrive, spine zipping with lighting, stars bursting behind your eyelids, pussy clenching around felix’s length and finger tight.

the feeling has felix gasping, pretty glittering eyes rolling back in his head as he cums, hot and deep inside you. you feel full to the brim, ropes of the sticky substance hitting your walls and making you throb again. you feel owned.

felix is still inside you when you come down from your high, face buried in his neck. he smells like sea salt and fresh air. you feel him tap your thigh again, causing you to blink at him sleepily, still feeling trance-like. he smiles softly at you, tucking stray hairs behind your ear and wiping tears from your face. when had you started crying?

“are you ready to go home, beautiful?” he asks, deep voice making you feel safe and satiated- warm despite the night chill. you nod softly, leaning into his hand as he cradles your face.

“yeah,” you mutter, yawning. “take me home.”

felix pulls out of you, gently hushing your whines of emptiness. he pulls your bathing suit back into place, scooping you up in his arms. you look out at the blurry scenery, watching as felix walks the two of you to the ledge of the ship. the waves are calm again, brushing the boat like a small animal saying hello. it feels inviting.

“let’s go home, love.” felix hums. and you do.

you go home.

seungmin;

a vampire lives in the creepy old castle on top of the hill by the cemetery. you’re sure of it.

your friend group jokes about this all the time- let’s go say hi to the vampire, i’m sure the vampire at the cemetery would love a snack, etcetera, etcetera. it’s one of the longest running jokes your friends have.

“okay, y/n- i dare you to go say hi to our friendly neighborhood vampire.”

still, it never gets old.

you laugh, running a hand through your hair as your friends whoop and holler, encouraging you to take the dare. rolling your eyes, you say, “what if he doesn’t want my company?”

another friend giggles, “c’mon y/n, don’t be a coward! are you… scared?”

really, that’s how you end up here- at the cemetery gates, one in the morning, your friend group yelling and pointing their phones at you as you walk inside.

“if i die, i’m haunting every single one of you bitches,” you laugh, shaking your head. you turn towards the cemetery, just barely able to make out the shape of the eery, desolate castle in the distant fog. well, it’s now or never.

the further you get into the fog of the night, you start to shiver. it’s cold out, late autumn air making your skin tingle. you’re sure the corpses around you are staying warmer. when you arrive at the foot of the hill, you wipe your sweaty palms against your long skirt and start your ascent.

from afar, the castle is big. up close, standing in front of the long, towering doorway, you realize it is gigantic. the gothic, stained glass windows and cobblestone exterior are beautiful, but the sheer mass of the building has something stirring in your gut. nerves attack your stomach as you raise your hand to knock.

knocking is the most reasonable thing to do, right?

there’s no answer- shocker. it’s the middle of the night, and if anyone truly does live here, they would be asleep. though, you doubt anyone actually resides in the castle. you’ve never seen anyone coming or going, the cobwebs on the door knockers proof of the vacancy. whatever. this was a waste of time.

your phone chimes, a message from your group chat stating go in or you lose!

annoyed, you huff. apparently, this will continue to waste your time.

you steadily grip the intricate door handle, polished stone carved with symbols you don’t understand, and twist the knob. at first it doesn’t budge- but then, a loud creak as it is pushed open.

you grunt with the force you have to exert, but manage to crack the door wide enough to squeeze inside. once you’re in, the door slams shut behind you, sealing your fate with an ominous click. the sudden silence makes your ears ring.

taking a deep breath, trying to ignore your rapid heart rate, you look at your surroundings. to your left is a large living area, deep red silk covers each sofa with yellow vines sewn into the fabric. a matching red rug sits underneath a large, mahogany coffee table, which is in front of a massive fire place. you breathe in deeply, smelling the lingering scent of burning wood.

someone has been here.

you carefully make your way further into the room, running fingers over books lining a shelved wall. no dust- you blink at your fingertips.

turning towards the fireplace, you squat down to hold a hand over the burnt wood. heat emits from the pile, warming your palm. then, you still. you didn’t feel it before, but you do now. something is behind you.

“oh, the spider caught a fly.”

you stand in record time, fighting the black spots dotting your vision as you twist to stare at the man before you. dark, elegant suit pants, a tan silk shirt, and heavy rings adorning calloused fingers. dark brown hair feathers out over his forehead, leading you to stare in shock as he looks back at you with crimson irises.

“well?” the man questions, raising a single eyebrow. “i would start running, little one.”

you run.

your feet stomp against the wooden floorboards as you try to sprint back to the door. when you had came in, it was only a handful of steps. now, it feels like the door keeps getting further and further away. when you successfully make it past the living room threshold you reach a hand out for the polished doorknob.

you hear a ripping sound, followed by an oomf! as you crash onto the floor. looking back you realize-

your fucking skirt got hung on a loose nail.

of course it did. you aren’t the final girl in some fucked up horror movie, this is real life. if anything, you would be the dumb one that dies in the first fifteen minutes.

you hear a low chuckle as the man slowly comes closer, shoes clicking in the silence of the room. you can’t hold back a whimper as he towers over you, feet planted on either side of your hips. you couldn’t move- couldn’t try to run anymore. he would just catch you.

he crouches down, smiling small and sharp and a little cruel as he looks you in the eye.

“that was pathetic,” he mutters. you nod slowly; it was pathetic. “what’s your name, little lamb?”

your voice is shaky when you reply, “y/n.”

“y/n,” the man mumbles, tilting his head as if deciding how it tastes on his tongue. he reaches out a hand, lifting your chin between his pointer finger and thumb. he is holding you a little roughly, making your lips pout slightly as you furrow your brow.

“it is a pleasure to meet you, y/n. call me seungmin. can you repeat that for me?” the man- seungmin- asks, although you don’t feel like you have much of a choice.

“…seungmin?” you whisper, the name foreign on your tongue. you might be delusional, but it tastes good in your mouth- like heady incense and metal.

when he grips your chin harder, sharp nails digging into your soft skin, you wince. that only serves to make him hold tighter, shaking your head slightly. “no whining. do you know why i asked you to say my name?”

you shake your head slowly, eyes watering at his grip. seungmin grins, and your blood runs cold. fangs. honest to god fangs are seated where his canines should be.

a vampire lives in the creepy old castle above the cemetery. you fucking knew it.

“because after i’m done with you, it is the only name you will remember.”

you’re hauled off the ground before you can process the words, and you’re being tossed onto silk sheets before you can even question how you got up the large, winding staircase in the hall so quickly. you yelp as he plops you onto the bed, not harshly but not soft. he treats you like a thing- an object he doesn’t care to break.

seungmin considers you for a moment, eyes dragging over every inch of your body. you feel naked and exposed, fragile and prey-like, and he hasn’t even touched you.

“i will only say this once,” he mutters, hands behind his back as he steps forward. he sits on the edge of silk sheets, looking every bit like some ancient, biblical statue of god. he smirks at you, unable to hold it back, like he can read your mind. and maybe he can- do vampires have superpowers like twilight made them out to?

“i am hungry, y/n,” seungmin says quietly, snapping your focus back to the present. he raises a hand, one singular finger running over your exposed calf. your breath hitches like you’ve been touched with a live wire. the ghost of a smile turns his lips upwards- feeling your reaction to him.

“i am starved,” he continues, fingertip trailing up and up, taking the bottom of your skirt with it. his movements stops half way up your thigh, pausing right before your skirt is moved to expose everything underneath. then, locking eyes with you:

“but you will let me feed, right?”

your chest rises and falls as if you’ve ran a marathon- panting for air and locked in a staring contest with something ancient, magic thrumming through his veins and curling down your throat heavy enough to make air scarce in your lungs.

you’re shaking, terrified, but beneath all the adrenaline and sweat clinging to your skin- you’re fucking soaked.

the realization makes you squeeze your thighs, knees knocking together. seungmin notices- of course he does- his sharp eyebrow raises.

“i need an answer,” he states, monotoned and deadpan, as if he didn’t look between your legs like you were the juiciest steak in the world. you would think he remains unaffected if you hadn’t noticed his blown out pupils; black fills his irises, animalistic and ready to pounce.

you nod, he doesn’t move. “a verbal answer.” he states, reigning in impatience. his fingers move on your leg, just barely raising your skirt more. just enough to reveal the barest hint of your aching core and wet panties.

your head feels heavy, the only thought playing on repeat is please, please, please- though you aren’t sure what you’re begging for. you say it aloud anyway, because maybe seungmin will know.

“i want it,” you say, voice coming out like a whimper. “please.”

the sharp grin you get in response makes you burn.

seungmin takes his time undressing you, as if he hadn’t said he is starved at all. if anything, he is patient. your clothes are taken inch by inch, until you’re left in nothing but the silk sheets around you; you shiver, trying to use the sheet to cover your chilled body.

you don’t make it far- seungmin grips your wrist as soon as you pull the blanket towards you, thumb pressing harshly into your fluttering pulse point.

“don’t try to hide,” he chides, eyes flitting from your own, to your chest and hard nipples, traveling down to your stomach, and finally pausing on your glistening pussy. you clench from the attention, empty and wanting so badly to be full. not only full, but whole.

he settles between your legs, hands coming to spread your thighs wide. you whimper- pitiful, you think. the voice in your head sounds like his.

seungmin is laser focused, leaning down and dragging open mouthed kisses over your neck. you heart stutters when he pauses by your shoulder- and he huffs a laugh into your skin. mean, teasing, like he knows what you’re waiting for.

suddenly you feel long, rough fingers- feather light touch running up from your entrance, circling your sensitive clit, then moving back down. you moan loudly, when your hips jolt to get closer to the touch his hand moves away. he chuckles at your resulting whine.

“what’s wrong, little lamb?” seungmin purrs, hand gripping one of your thighs tightly to hold you open. the fingers of his other hand continue to barely press against you, making you feel more and more desperate for ruin.

“please-“ you borderline sob, hands grabbing his shoulders through his shirt just for an anchor. finally, finally, you feel him move.

two fingers slide into you in one smooth thrust, immediately curling upward with pinpoint precision and making you cry out. seungmin mutters something, you can take it, as he starts pumping and scissoring them. your cunt is soaked- dripping onto the silk bedsheets and ruining them as you hear the wet sounds of his palm hitting your sensitive clit.

seungmin leans in again, mouth ghosting over your neck just long enough for you to clench around his fingers in anticipation. then, he passes by your neck entirely. instead he focuses his attention on your nipples- hard and already too sensitive- pressing his tongue directly to one before closing his lips around it.

you moan loudly, hips grinding down so that his fingers are pushed deeper inside you. seungmin huffs out an amused sound against your tits, the vibration around your nipple causing you to whine and beg for more.

“please, please,” you borderline yell, nails clawing at clothed shoulders. “need more- fuck, need you-“

seungmin slides a third finger into your eager pussy, the stretch sending you spiraling into more fucked-out whining. you feel like you’ve been lit on fire, desperate to have him own you in every way possible. you want his fingers, his tongue, his cock- fuck, you would probably let him carve his name into your ribs as long as he promised to finally fucking bite you.

“so needy,” seungmin hums, lifting from your nipple and moving to give the other one the same treatment. “you gonna beg for it, little one?”

“seungmin,” you whine, feeling the drag of his long fingers against your sensitive walls. you’re close already- you’re fucked. “god, please! i need you i-inside me, please!”

you’re crying. you hadn’t even realized. you are so overcome with need that your body doesn’t know what to do with itself. but then seungmin is shushing you, whispering that he knows exactly what to give you- exactly how to take care of you. then, he’s shedding his clothes.

his cock is mouthwatering.

he is long, curved just slightly at the tip, a blushing vein running under his shaft and precum leaking from his tip. you know you aren’t the only one affected now. seungmin wants you so bad.

he curses under his breath once, spreading your folds to watch as he lines his cock up with your entrance and teases the tip around your aching hole. he leans down to your ear, about to speak.

he pushes in to the hilt in one smooth, deliberate thrust.

then, his fangs sink into the fragile skin of your neck.

you scream. you absolutely shatter around his length, buried inside you as you come undone.

your neck is fucking sore- white hot pain quickly morphing into dizzying pleasure as you feel him pull the blood from your veins. his hips grind into yours, not pulling out. just a dirty rhythm to make your toes curl while he drinks from you.

“fuck, that’s it. squeeze my cock, work for it,” seungmin is moaning, eyes rolling back in his head as you throb around him. you see stars, panting and clawing at his arms hard enough to leave angry red lines. he pulls away from your neck, eyes glazed over as he looks down at you.

he starts thrusting.

the pace seungmin sets is deadly- hips pistoning into you with measured, fast punches. his cock kisses your cervix with every full, deep thrust. you swear you can feel it in your stomach. it’s like your body is rearranging its organs specifically to make room for him.

“please,” you whimper out again, entirely unsure what you’re begging for. you’re fucked dumb. and seungmin knows it, grinning at you with blood stained teeth and still-hungry eyes.

“already fucked stupid?” he asks, looking sympathetic. “unfortunate. i’m just getting started, pretty girl.”

seungmin’s hands move, one anchoring your hip to the bed for easier control, one coming up to your throat to grip you tight. the air fights to pass into your lungs, your moans turning broken and fragile at the added pressure. seungmin’s thumb is right above the puncture wound from his fangs, and when he shifts he presses directly over the still-tender wound in a way that makes your body seize up, squeezing him tight.

your moans grow an octave higher- that feeling sparking in the pit of your gut once again as seungmin drags his cock over that sweet bundles of nerves that makes you melt. he shifts, hand that was on your thigh now coming to circle your clit with precise, sharp fingers.

“gonna cum again, little one?” seungmin asks, huffing in amusement even as he starts to lose the pace of his thrusting. “go ahead. milk me dry, darling.”

your legs twitch on either side of seungmin’s waist, thighs clenching shut around him as you cry out- loud, voice cracking, eyes rolling back. seungmin squeezes your neck once more, a harsh reminder of who you belong to from this point forward.

you cum. hard.

the second orgasm you have makes your vision go white. you can feel seungmin lean back down to puncture your neck, the side he hadn’t already bit, and another wave of pleasure moves through you. your legs shake, vision going blurry, as you weakly grab onto the hair at the back of his neck.

seungmin pulls away, using your pliant body to thrust once, twice more before holding himself deep inside you with a guttural groan, breaking apart while seated deep inside you.

you can feel him throbbing, pulsing with every wave of his orgasm. when you both ride out your highs, the room is silent aside from your panting and seungmin’s quieter, deeper breathing.

he pulls out slowly- you both wince. he disappears for a minute only to come back with a soft cloth, damp and warm where it touches the skin of your thighs. seungmin cleans you up, focused on every bit of the mess the two of you have made.

when he deems you clean enough, he lies down beside you on the wrinkled sheets. your heartbeat stutters as he wraps you in an oversized, silken button down, a large comforter enveloping the two of you right after. he brings a hand to the back of your head, pulling you gently into his chest.

“i have unfortunate news for you, little lamb.” seungmin mutters, lips to your hair. you furrow your brow and look up, not responding. fingers card through your hair.

“i plan to keep you in this bed, forever. you’re mine now.”

seungmin’s fingers trail down, stopping at the fresh puncture wounds on your neck. you gasp, eyes fluttering as he presses down teasingly over the wound.

“til death do us part.”

jeongin;

getting lost in the middle of a forest was not on your bucket list. but if it had been, you could put a little check mark next to it now.

you had laid a trail of flower petals when you entered the forest. all of the townspeople always warn against going in without a clear way out- the winding paths and overgrown flora make even the best cartographer fall into confusion. however, you live on the very edge of this forest- however dense and intimidating it may be, you always follow the tree-line to pick seasonal berries and honeysuckle from the bushes. the forest makes you feel at peace.

today you decided to venture farther in than usual. the season has been bountiful, but rumors detail more forage buried deeper in the intricate canopy of trees- berries you can’t even find unless you dare walk into the unknown. so you picked flowers from your garden, shed them of their petals, and left a colorful trail behind you as you walked into the thick greenery.

you had thought you were lucky. you had thought the petals would keep you from getting turned around. now, so deep into the trees and bushes that all you can see is more trees on all sides, the flower petals you remember leaving trails of liberally are gone. as if swept away by the wind- or picked up as soon as you had placed them.

you sigh as you slouch onto a large tree that had fallen over. you tried going back the way you came, only to feel deeper in the woods. the sun is slowly moving overhead, slowly making way for the moon, and the sweat beading on your forehead is only partially from the temperature.

you’re lost. thoroughly.

oddly enough, you feel less worrisome than you should. the forest has always been a second home to you, now you have just explored farther into its walls and deeper into its crevices. as long as you make it home by sundown, there is no need to fret. the fresh honey suckle in your basket relaxes you, the berries ready to provide nourishment when you feel hungry.

the sun goes down.

you have been wandering for hours- feeling no closer or further away from home than you had been during the day. dusk quickly approaches, every owl hooting and deer rustling the nearby fallen branches makes your heart kick in your throat. you feel faintly dizzy, how had you passed the same tree four times now?

another fallen branch snaps nearby; undoubtedly, another deer trying to remind you it’s time to leave. you step backwards, ready to turn around and walk in a straight line until you can see something that isn’t green, but your heel hits a large root.

a muted thud- just as you trip on the tree root, hitting the damp dirt, ass first.

ouch.

you groan in frustration, pitifully kicking your legs as you squint up through the leaves above you. hours ago, the sun had been overhead. now, the moon takes it’s place, glimmering and twinkling like it is amused by your struggle.

“are you lost?” a smooth voice, quiet and to your left. your head quickly snaps towards the sound, heart beating like that of a wild hare as you look at the crouching figure beside you.

you hadn’t heard him approach, but the man is close now. elbows on his knees, loose fitting pants tied around slender hips with a simple rope. when your gaze tilts upwards, you find a wide, mischievous grin and sharp, white teeth.

the man is gorgeous. jaw-dropping, like he just walked out of ancient greece. The taught muscles of his biceps and large thighs let you know his body matches the gods you compare him to.

the fox-like figure raises an eyebrow, plush lips curling upward in an amused grin. you blink at him, unable to remember what he had said.

“what?”

the man grins fully, laughter curling around your body and settling beside your brain. he reaches a hand out towards you, slender fingers and manicured, pointed nails aiding in getting you to your feet.

“i said, are you lost?”the man hums, dimpled cheeks and mischievous eyes luring you in. you shake your head, smoothing out your dress and picking a stray leaf out of your stockings.

“no! of course not,” you scoff, completely lying. “i just… got a little confused. i’m on my way home.”

the man still grins, undeterred by your uncomfortable posture. he raises his eyebrows at you. “oh yeah? i’m on my way home, too. wanna walk together?”

you pause. normally, trusting a man you don’t know in the woods would be a terrible, horrible idea. but really- this guy seems… fine. maybe your survival instincts are just dulled because he’s hot. and what other choice do you have? wander until a larger animal finds you?

you nod. “sure, lead the way.”

he does lead the way; you watch the man’s broad back as he walks half a step in front of you, hands in his pockets and humming to himself. slowly, you begin to relax. you aren’t really in danger, you will be able to go home.

the trees don’t get any less dense the longer you walk. however, the man suddenly comes to a halt and turns to face you. you jump, almost running into his solid chest, but stop yourself at the last second. when you look up, the moon shines in his glimmering pupils.

“well, you’re welcome to come in. get a good night’s rest then start home tomorrow,” the man hums, grinning still. you furrow your brows, but your eyes widen when you peak behind him. there’s a whole cottage in the middle of the thick, twisting trees.

“you live here?” you ask, incredulous. the man laughs, eyes turning to sweet crescents. his laugh makes your ears ring, like a siren song.

“i do,” he nods, heading towards the wooden door. you follow quickly behind, afraid to be left alone again. “i can get you home, but it’ll have to be when the sun is up. i can’t see well at night.”

you pause in the threshold of the wooden cottage, watching as the man walks into his kitchen and stirs a large, boiling pot. as you cautiously step further into the home, closing the front door, your mouth waters. you smell stew- it smells heavenly.

you shuffle closer to the pot, stomach rumbling. apparently, berries and honeysuckle are not the best source of nutrition when you have been walking aimlessly for hours. the man notices your starved state, wetting your lips as you peek into the large pot. he clears his throat softly.

“you can have some, you know.” the man smiles, pulling two wooden bowls from a shelf above. he scoops a large portion into both bowls, handing one to you.

“oh- thank you…” you smile sheepishly, trailing off as you realize you don’t have his name.

he tells you it’s jeongin.

the longer you spend in jeongin’s presence, legs criss-crossed on a mat beside a large, stone fireplace, the more relaxed you become. jeongin is nice; he is witty, sharp-tongued, yet comforting to be with. you finish the stew fast, stomach full and bones content to rest.

jeongin takes your bowls back to the kitchen. when he sits down on the mat again, his knee brushes yours. the feeling, oddly, makes your stomach swoop.

“y/n,” jeongin murmurs, eyes quickly cataloguing the details of your face, the relaxed state of your body. whatever he finds when he looks at you makes his lips quirk up at the edges.

“are you tired? you are more than welcome to sleep in my bed. i can take the couch.”

you furrow your brows, pouting slightly. jeongin’s eyes flit down to track the movement.

“no way, i can sleep on a couch. it won’t kill me,” you say. you move to twist your body, back cracking as the tension from the day is released. as you groan from the feeling, jeongin laughs softly. his hand comes to gently rub your spine.

“please, your body needs proper rest. you should take care of yourself- if not, you’ll get weak.”

the hand on your back draws lazy circles, making your breath hitch. your half lidded eyes fly open, wide and doe-like. when you make eye contact with the man, sharp teeth bite into his bottom lip. briefly, you imagine them at your jugular.

“really, it’s fine.” you breathe out, pulse thudding against your temples. you can’t pinpoint why, but you feel cornered. trapped.

jeongin’s nails graze your skin through the thin fabric of your dress. while running them lightly over your back, one of his fingers catches on a torn seam. you feel the cut of the thread as his nail snags it, breaking the hemming.

suddenly, the contentment you felt earlier is replaced. while you expect to feel terror, you can’t bring yourself to move away. you realize with startling clarity that you aren’t afraid. your pussy throbs- you’re soaked.

jeongin’s mouth splits wide, like a cat that caught a mouse. self-satisfied, confident in his domain. he lives in these woods; if you chose to run now, he would find you. catch you.

you don’t want to run.

“what made you so quiet?” he hums, tilting his head. “you’re like a mouse, baby.”

you squeak. he laughs.

then, he leans in. whispering right by your ear, “come here. let me show you what these claws are for.”

jeongin pulls you into his lap, leaving you gasping and holding his broad shoulder with shaking hands. with a hand gripping your jaw, claws digging into your cheeks, he opens your mouth and takes exactly what he wants.

the second his tongue meets yours, you both moan. the wood burning in the fireplace behind you crackles, heating the room as your skin breaks out into a sheen of sweat. jeongin uses the hand not on your face to run up your thigh, under your dress, and grip your bare waist in his rough grasp. your hips grind downwards unconsciously- the feeling of claws gripping your skin and his cock heavy underneath you makes your panties stick to your wet core. you want to wake up tomorrow and find nail-shaped marks on your body.

“fuck, i can feel how wet you are, baby.” jeongin purrs, lips turning upwards against your skin as he leaves open mouthed kisses down your neck. “soaking my pants too, hm?”

you shudder, tilting your head back so he has more access to your neck. “please, jeongin- i need you, please-“

“shh, sh, sh,” he shushes you gently, looking at you with pity in his eyes. you whine against him, circling your hips harder and causing his eyelids to flutter softly. “don’t worry, lovely. i’ll give you what you need.”

jeongin lifts you effortlessly, laying you on your back, legs spread wide on the mat below you. he helps you remove your dress, leaving you in your ruined panties and nothing else. his eyes are hungry, starving even though you had just ate. when he glances back up at you, he’s panting.

“you look absolutely delicious,” he moans, hands gripping your thighs and spreading your legs wider. you whine as his head lowers, nipping teasingly at the sensitive skin near your core.

“i just have to taste you.”

jeongin slides fingers into your panties, slipping them to the side before he is devouring your cunt. you cry out at the first pointed, precise flick of his tongue against your clit, trying to close your legs around his head. the thought is useless; jeongin keeps your legs open with his hands, tongue fucking in and out of you at a pace that makes your toes start to curl already.

“please- too much-“ you beg, tears prickling the corners of your eyes as your hands grip thick, dark hair like it is your only tether. you have never felt so close so fast in your life. no slow build, no wave of pleasure, only white-hot, pinpoint pressure that makes your vision go blurry. it feels too good, has your pussy clenching on his tongue before he’s even been between your legs five minutes. it’s embarrassing, how fast you’re hurdling towards orgasm.

you feel more than hear it, the vibration of laughter against your sensitive clit. jeongin is laughing at you- at your pitiful, needy sounds. the thought makes a fresh wave of slick arousal leave you.

jeongin’s tongue moves upwards again, flicking over your clit and encasing the sensitive bud between his lips, sucking on it until your legs are trembling. then, claws dig into your thighs again- you’re reminded the man below you is not quite human.

you break. thoroughly, completely shatter.

your thighs try to snap shut, but jeongin holds them open with rough, calloused hands. his tongue moves through your orgasm, steadily working you until you’re reduced to nothing but whimpers and twitching joints. with one last wide, flat lick to your core, he rises to his knees between yours legs.

“fuck, baby-“ he groans, head tilted downward so he can untie the rope of his pants, pushing the fabric down around muscular thighs. “you’re perfect, needed me to find you, hm? needed me to bring you home?”

you nod faintly, biting your bottom lip harsh enough to taste metal. jeongin is huge- cock pretty, vein running up the underside of his shaft, head pink and leaking precum that makes your mouth water. he notices you looking, a sharp, calculating glint in his eye.

“what is it, pretty?” he tilts his head, looking down at you with half lidded eyes as he taps the head of his cock against your pussy teasingly. “wanna beg for it?”

you whine, clenching at the wet sound of your cunt trying to pull him in. “please! jeongin, i need you- please, please, please-“

he laughs again, has the audacity to lean down and hook his thumb into your mouth just to shut you up. when you try to glare at him through watery eyes, you still completely.

there are three- no, four tails coming from behind the man. you watch the way they curl and sway like a cat, unable to move as more and more pop up. in total, as the fur fans out in a peacock-state, you count nine orange and white appendages springing forth from behind him.

holy fucking shit. definitely not human.

jeongin sees your distracted state, glancing behind himself with little care. when he turns back to you his eyes seem somehow sharper, more aware of his surroundings. more aware of you.

the thumb in your mouth presses down on your tongue, causing spit to pool around your teeth. you blink up at him, eyes wide and expression deer-like.

“still begging, baby?” jeongin murmurs, narrowing his eyes.

against all warning signals flaring in your head, you nod.

the grin you get in return is borderline feral, all sharp canines and pearly white teeth as jeongin lines himself up with your entrance and bottoms out in one long, smooth thrust. you cry out around his thumb, biting down on it in your attempt to ground yourself. the sting of pain makes him hiss, the pace he sets is immediately brutal.

jeongin drags his thumb away from your mouth, dragging your own salvia down your cheek before gripping both thighs to pull your legs over his shoulders. his hips snap in time with your loud cries and his own panting, hitting that sweet spot inside you that makes your heart stutter every time he thrusts in. your hands fumble to grab onto something- anything to keep you stable- but come up short. instead, you can only grab the edge of the mat to pray for sanity.

“fuck, you’re so tight,” jeongin moans, head tilting back to bare his neck. the tails are wrapped around him now, curled like tentacles and fluffed up in a show of dominance. if you were capable of thought, you might think they’re pretty.

“please- j-jeongin, i can’t-“ you babble, whining out the words in between your own moans, pleasure zipping through every atom in your body. your blood pumps in time with his thrusts, your heart beating in his clawed grip. even now, you know nothing will ever compare to this feeling. you’re undoubtedly ruined for anyone else.

“baby, god. you getting close?” jeongin asks, bottom lip once again taken between sharp teeth. you nod frantically, head bobbling as you feel the coil in your stomach tighten for the second time. this time, the feeling builds slower. the peek of pleasure is just up ahead, and all you can do is squeeze your eyes shut and pray that the spiral leaves you still breathing.

jeongin moves his hand and your eyes snap back open with a broken moan. his deft fingers meet your clit, pressing tight, fast circles to the bud of nerves. faintly, you can tell his thrusts are getting sloppier too. less precision, more desperation.

“cum on my cock, pretty.” he groans, fucking into you at a faster pace, using all of his energy to push you that much closer. “fuck me, just like that.”

your body locks up around him- coil in your stomach finally snapping as you shudder through a second orgasm.

it lasts for what feels like decades, pussy convulsing and throbbing around his cock. then, as you’re finally coming down jeongin groans. he thrusts into you once, twice more before burying himself to the hilt and cumming deep inside you.

when the rhythm of your heart finally returns to normal, jeongin pulls out. you almost groan in annoyance, but the feeling of soft warmth enveloping your body has you sighing instead. looking to your left, jeongin looks back at you with puffy lips and pink cheeks. nine tails surround the two of you, cocooned in safety and comfort in the woodland cottage.

you wake up to the bright light of the morning sun. looking around with a furrowed brow, you feel discontent with your cotton sheets and silk pillowcases. the thought of fur and a beating heart still haunts you. had you dreamt the whole thing?

the dense treeline of an evergreen forest still peeks at you from beyond your bedroom curtains. when you finally crawl out of bed, your lower back aches. there are small, claw-shaped scratches littered along your hips. none of this convinces you of the truth, though. no-

the thing that convinces you of reality lays on your kitchen table. your basket, fresh berries and honeysuckle piled on one side. the other holds a large mason jar, delicious stew from your memories seated inside. there’s a piece of parchment attached to the lid, when you pick it up you can feel the warmth emitting from the glass.

when you miss me, come to the forest.

i will find you.

-y.j.

a/n;

this was so tremendously fun to write and i put my whole pussy into it so please lmk what u think :3 /gen i worked on this every day for like two weeks bc i wanted to make sure it was perfect

i can’t stop thinking about jisung being a dragon like im crawling on the floor i need him so bad

requests are open!!

[gay-space-diaries]

“Do you ever find it weird that we’re the only ones not in committed relationships?” Eddie asks one night after dinner. They wandered to the couch for late night beers and to continue to binge watch a tv show that Eddie has lost all sense of the plot. Something about it though had got him thinking about Hen and Karen, Maddie and Chimney, and Bobby and Athena before pinpointing that every friend he has is married. Even Ravi is supposedly seeing someone though no one knows any details about his mystery partner.

Buck shrugs, still half caught up in the show. “Maybe you’re just a bad kisser.”

“I’m a bad kisser?” Eddie wrinkles his nose. “I don’t see you out on a date tonight either.”

That finally gets Buck’s full attention—it’s too easy; sometimes Eddie can just say one word and Buck is all his. His smile, though, slightly concerns Eddie. “Guess you’ll just have to prove it. Put your money where your mouth is.”

“Put my money where” —Eddie shakes his head, exasperated; he sighs— “And how do you suggest I do that?”

Buck lounges against the corner of his couch like a cat. One arm is thrown across the back, the other on the arm rest. His legs are too long to fit on the couch without ending up in Eddie’s lap so they’re half curled towards him, half hanging off. It can not be comfortable yet he looks perfectly at home. Enough that he stares at Eddie as he cocks his head and taps his lips. He wears a smirk that Eddie fears might be one of those leftover remnants from Buck 1.0 based on the stories he’s heard. “I’ll be an impartial judge, I swear.”

Eddie has had one too many beers tonight, clearly based on his current thoughts. Though strangely he doesn’t remember even finishing the first one. In fact, it sits half drunk leaking condensation onto his coffee table. So really nothing can explain why he says,

“Well only if you’re impartial.”

Buck’s eyes widen when Eddie starts to scoot forward, like he didn’t think he’d actually get this far or maybe excited that he has. Eddie doesn’t care. He’s just happy to prove Buck wrong that ‘no, the reason he is not currently in a loving relationship is not because he’s a bad kisser.’ Neither Shannon, Ana, nor Marisol ever remarked otherwise. His relationships broke for all sorts of different reasons but never because of that.

Buck waits for him patiently, not making a single effort to meet Eddie in the middle. He’s way too pleased with himself. Or perhaps he’s scared of jostling Eddie back to reality.

Eddie cradles Buck’s face until they’re sharing a breath between them like a piece of gum. His heart thumps against his chest, two beats, before he parts his lips and steals the gasp from Buck’s mouth. Buck reciprocates almost immediately; barely a second passes from the time his breath hitches from the shock of the contact to fully falling into Eddie. Buck’s nighttime stubble scrapes against his chin as he deepens the kiss. His hand slides into the messy curls on top of Buck’s head. Hours it takes to separate or maybe it’s only been minutes. Either way, when Eddie breaks off the kiss, both of their mouths are kiss-bitten and wet.

“How’d I do?” he asks, never breaking eye contact from Buck.

“Mm, don’t think kissing’s been your problem,” Buck mutters, fingers toying with his lower lip, a stark pink just like his birthmark. He bites at the pad of his thumb.

Pleased, Eddie returns to where he’d been previously sitting. “Told you.” He makes a grab for his half drunk beer but still doesn’t take another sip. 

“Wait. You need to judge me now.” And Buck suddenly follows him to the other side of the couch and kisses him just as passionately. Eddie barely has time to set his beer down before he gasps, surprised.

Eddie’s never been kissed with so much tenderness and care. There’s heat laced in the movements but Buck brushes his thumb against Eddie’s cheekbone as he pulls himself impossibly closer. Every point of contact buzzes against his skin: the scratch of Buck’s stubble, the weight of his body straddling Eddie’s lap, his hands digging into his hair, blunt nails against his scalp. It’s different kissing a guy than any woman he has before—and now this is his second time in as little as a minute.

When Buck breaks away, he blinks before a slow smile works its way onto his face. “So, how was it? You have to be impartial too. It’s only fair.”

“I don’t think I can let you date anyone if you kiss like that.”

“That bad, huh?” Buck laughs, knowing Eddie teases. But Eddie isn’t joking. He’s serious. Why would he let Buck date someone else after all this?

“I think we’ve both been extremely stupid for a long time.”

Buck blinks, mouth snapping open like a fish before he regains control of himself to utter, “Eddie—”

“Buck.”

A silent understanding passes between the two of them as Eddie refuses to lose the staring contest and Buck feeds that competitive streak. Slowly that 1.0 smirk returns with a vengeance. “More kissing practice, talk later?”

Eddie already starts to lean into him. “Sounds good to me.”

[rina786549]

★ STRAY KIDS REACTION: They take care of you on your period

★ PAIRINGS: Stray kids x fem!reader | ★ GENRE: Romantic, Fluff, Comfort,Light angst due to period pain | ★ WORDS COUNT: 1,480 words

★ NOTE: This is a fan-made, non-profit work created out of appreciation for the original content. All rights remain with the rightful owners. I'm just sharing my version for fun—hope you enjoy!

★ BANG CHAN / 방찬

You were curled up in bed, your face buried in a pillow as cramps stabbed at your abdomen like a knife. The heating pad had gone cold, and you didn’t have the energy to get up.

Just then, the bedroom door opened gently, and in came Chan holding a tray: a fresh cup of chamomile tea, your painkillers, and a new heating pad.

“Baby… I got you everything you need. I even warmed up your favorite hoodie—it’s fresh from the dryer.”

You sat up slowly, touched by the gesture. He knelt by the bed, brushing hair from your face with a gentle smile.

“You don’t have to do all this…”

“Of course I do. I love you,” he said, tucking the blanket around you. “You always take care of everyone else. Let me take care of you for once.”

He crawled into bed beside you, letting you rest your head on his chest. His fingers traced soft circles on your back as you sipped your tea.

“You know,” he whispered, “you’re the strongest girl I know. Periods suck, but you handle it with so much grace. I’m seriously in awe of you every month.”

Your heart melted at his words.

“I love you, Chan…”

“I love you more,” he whispered, kissing your forehead. “Now close your eyes, baby. I’m not going anywhere.”

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

★ LEE KNOW / 리노

You were cranky, sore, and bloated. Minho walked in just as you were about to snap at your hot water bottle for not heating up fast enough.

“Woah there, warrior princess,” he teased gently, placing a hand on your shoulder. “I come in peace—with snacks.”

You looked down and saw him holding a bag filled with all your period favorites: chocolate, spicy chips, strawberry milk, and fuzzy socks.

“Minho…”

“Shh,” he said, pulling you to the couch and tucking you in. “I’m gonna run you a warm bath next, but first—cuddles.”

He sat beside you, resting your legs over his lap and massaging your feet. You melted under his touch.

“I hate this,” you murmured.

“I know. But even when you’re annoyed and in pain… I still think you’re the most beautiful girl in the world.”

You looked up at him, surprised by his softness. He smiled and kissed your knuckles.

“What did I do to deserve you?”

“Nothing,” he smirked. “But I must’ve done something incredible to get you.”

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

★ CHANGBIN / 창빈

You were lying on the couch with a frown, wearing his oversized hoodie and hugging a pillow like it could fight your cramps.

Changbin walked in with a determined expression and a notebook in hand.

“Okay! I have researched the top 10 ways to ease period cramps. You ready?”

You blinked at him, and despite the pain, a laugh escaped your lips.

“Binnie… you didn’t have to��”

“Nope. I wanted to. You’re in pain, so I’m going full boyfriend mode.”

He sat beside you and read the list dramatically. Then he started checking off each item.

“Snack: check. Cuddles: check. Warm drink: double check. Compliments? Oh yeah—you’re gorgeous, radiant, and stronger than the Hulk.”

You burst out laughing as he tackled you with a gentle hug, careful not to squish your stomach.

“Thank you, Bin…”

“You don’t need to thank me, baby. Taking care of you is the easiest thing. I hate seeing you in pain, but I love being the one you lean on.”

He kissed your forehead and held you tighter.

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

★ HYUNJIN / 현진

You were trying not to cry over a dog food commercial when Hyunjin walked in with a sketchpad.

“Jagiya? You okay?”

You sniffled. “I hate this week…”

He sat beside you and offered a soft tissue.

“I drew something for you.”

You looked at the page—there was a sketch of you, curled up in bed, surrounded by floating hearts and fluffy clouds.

“That’s… me?”

“Yeah,” he said shyly. “Even when you’re in pain, you look like a dream to me.”

You blinked, touched beyond words.

“Hyune…”

“I mean it,” he whispered, cupping your cheek. “I’d take all the pain for you if I could. But since I can’t… I’ll hold you instead.”

You leaned into him, burying your face in his neck as he wrapped his arms around you, warm and protective.

“Stay with me?”

“Always.”

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

★ HAN / 한

You groaned loudly, clutching your stomach as Jisung peeked into the room with a sheepish smile.

“I come bearing… memes and ice cream.”

You looked up. He held out his phone in one hand and your favorite pint in the other.

“You’re ridiculous,” you chuckled.

“But effective,” he said proudly, spoon-feeding you while you lay on the couch.

He flopped beside you, wrapping an arm around your waist.

“This isn’t fair. You have to suffer every month. I get sad when you’re not your bubbly self.”

“I feel gross,” you whispered.

“You’re still the cutest human on this planet. Like, have you seen yourself?”

He played a silly video to make you laugh, then turned serious.

“I love you, Y/N. Period or no period. Bad mood, tears, cramps—I’m here.”

“I love you too,” you mumbled into his chest.

“Good. Now eat your ice cream, woman.”

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★ FELIX / 필릭스

You woke up to the smell of brownies. When you shuffled into the kitchen holding your stomach, Felix turned around, smiling like sunshine.

“Morning, my little mooncake. I baked these just for you.”

He handed you a plate and pulled you into a long, warm hug.

“I know you’re hurting. Let me pamper you today.”

He sat you down and massaged your shoulders while you ate, whispering affirmations into your ear.

“You’re doing amazing. You’re allowed to rest. You’re more than enough.”

Later, he brought out your favorite cozy blanket and laid next to you on the bed, hand on your stomach, giving gentle pressure.

“It helps with cramps,” he murmured.

“You’re perfect,” you whispered.

“Only because I have you.”

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★ SEUNGMIN / 승민

Seungmin noticed you were quiet all day. You didn’t complain, but he saw the winces and the way you held your lower belly.

“Come here,” he said softly, opening his arms.

You leaned into him, and he held you without a word, stroking your hair.

“You don’t have to pretend with me,” he said. “You can cry, whine, nap—I’ll still think you’re the most beautiful girl alive.”

You closed your eyes, letting yourself relax in his arms.

“Why are you so good to me?”

“Because I love you. And because I know if the roles were reversed, you’d do the same.”

He kissed your temple and whispered, “Just let me be your safe place today.”

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★ JEONGIN / 아이엔

Jeongin paced nervously before finally approaching you with a warm rice sock, a plushie, and three different kinds of tea.

“I wasn’t sure what helps most so… I brought options.”

You smiled weakly. “You’re so sweet…”

He looked shy but proud.

“I just want you to feel better. You don’t have to do anything today. Just let me hold you.”

You laid your head in his lap, and he stroked your hair gently.

“Does it hurt a lot?” he asked softly.

You nodded.

“I hate that I can’t take it away,” he whispered, voice full of sincerity. “But I promise I’ll stay right here until it passes.”

You took his hand and kissed it.

“You being here already helps.”