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artficlly · 5 days ago

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show me again [one-shot]

marvel au bucky x mutant!reader

you were born a mutant, gifted with the power to manipulate bodily sensations. until now, you've only ever used it to cause pain. but now, stuck in a remote safehouse with bucky for the next few months, tension crackles between you. when you finally confess that your ability can also bring pleasure, he looks at you differently, more than a little curious to experience it first-hand.

Warnings: 18+ content minors dni, smut, magical smut??, fingering, edging!!, praise kink, so much sexual tension, vague enemies to lovers, forced proximity, lowkey brat reader at times??, soft dom! bucky (at times), kissing, angst, miscommunication (not badly), protective!bucky, grumpy!bucky, bodyguard!bucky, mention of torture, wound description, injuries, mention of human trafficking, hurt/comfort, there's some plot if you squint, reader has survivors guilt, reader is horny lol, use of the pet name sweetheart, no use of y/n, lmk if i've missed anything

Word Count: 17k (jesus fucking christ)

A/N: hi this is a fucking monster of a fic. i've been working on this for weeks now. if it flops i might cry and go die in a hole. pls like/reblog/comment etc <3 sorry for any typos - not proof read.

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In the short time you had been acquainted with Bucky Barnes, you had quickly learnt three things.

One, he didn’t talk much, if at all. Most of your conversations consisted of little more than grunts, terse glances, or unimpressed scowls. He didn’t ask questions, nor did he answer them. At one point, you suspected he might have had his tongue cut out. That changed when you began to hear him muttering under his breath as he stomped past, his heavy boots reverberating through the safehouse. ‘Securing the perimeter’. Always the same phrase, always delivered in the same grim tone.

Two, he was paranoid. He never turned his back on you. Always kept you in his line of sight. There was always a weapon within arm’s reach. He checked every door and window twice. His movements were systematic, almost compulsive. He prowled the safehouse like an animal on the hunt, slipping into view when you least expected him. More than once, he’d startled you so badly you’d dropped something. A shattered coffee mug still lay in the trash as proof. And each time you flinched, his eyes would narrow slightly, suspicious, as if trying to decide what exactly you were hiding, why someone like you could be so easily spooked. You didn’t know what his employers had told him, but obviously it was not the whole story.

And three, he didn’t want to be here.

He made no effort to hide that fact.

You bit your tongue more often than not, swallowing every snide remark that burned its way up your throat. Surprise, I don’t want to be here either, assshole. But you knew better than to lash out at the only person you'd be stuck with for the next few months. The only person standing between you and whatever might come crawling out of the woods. Protection wasn’t something you could afford to alienate.

The officials who dumped you here had been full of promises. They said you’d be safe, hidden, far from the reach of the Menagerie. They told you to wait. This storm would pass, and when it did, you could return to your everyday life.

But after two years under the Menagerie’s thumb, normal didn’t exist anymore.

What even was normal?

This safehouse felt like the eye of a hurricane, but you could sense the storm circling just beyond, the pressure building in the air, the wind pressing at the windows. It was only a matter of time before it rolled over and consumed you whole. And maybe that was the truth of it, that you were already in the belly of the beast, already chewed up and digested. There was no normality to return to.

There never would be again.

The safehouse sat on a stretch of farmland, tucked far enough from the world that it felt like the end of it. No internet, no cell service, not even a TV. Just enough power to keep the lights on and the water running. It was midsummer, and the air was thick and syrupy, heavy with the scent of clover and sun-warmed hay. At night, the frogs and cicadas sang in overlapping rhythms, insects tapping softly against the mesh of the window screens. Rolling meadows stretched in nearly every direction, grass tall and wispy, swaying lazily in the breeze, cattle grazing along the fence line. Beyond the weather-worn red barn, the woods waited. You could sometimes hear deer calling in the dusk, birds chattering high in the canopy.

You’d tiptoed downstairs about a week after your arrival, barefoot on the old wood planks, a floral sundress brushing your shins as you crept through the lounge. The sky outside was streaked with soft orange and watercolour pink, the quiet hush of dawn holding everything still. Bucky was asleep on the couch again, arms folded across his chest, his boots still on. He rarely slept, and when he did, it was always here, not in the bedroom just across the landing from yours.

You hadn’t asked why.

Maybe he was afraid he wouldn’t hear someone break in. Maybe he didn’t trust doors. You were half convinced he’d sleep on the porch if you hadn’t caught him doing it once and given him a look harsh enough to make him reconsider. Not that it mattered, he seemed to wake at the slightest shift in the air. Twice already, you'd startled him by just breathing too loudly on your way to make morning tea, trying to be as quiet as possible as you filled the kettle and set it to boil.

This time, he didn’t stir. Or maybe pretended not to, just so that he could avoid your regular awkward morning exchange. You slipped past him, easing open the front door, wincing as the screen squeaked. The sun hit you square in the face, gold and blinding, warm even this early. You stepped out into the grass with a long breath and crouched, brushing your fingers through the delicate strands as the world slowly began to stir.

The farmhouse had a few animals, just enough to feel lived-in. A small coop of chickens, a handful of cattle, and a scraggly white barn cat who seemed to claim the place as her own. You called her Alpine, after the word etched into one of the barn beams above the old hayloft she slept in. Whoever carved it there had long since disappeared, but the name remained, half-claimed and half-given.

“It’s not safe out here alone.” The gruff voice shattered your moment of peace, and you jumped, heart lurching in your chest.

Bucky stood behind you, all shadows and hard edges.

He filled the doorway without trying to, broad shoulders bracketed by the frame, thick arms folded across a chest that strained the seams of his faded henley. He was massive in a way that made rooms feel smaller, as though the very architecture had to shift to accommodate him.

Even when still, he gave the impression of movement barely restrained, like some great machine idling under the surface. His frame was built like something forged rather than born, towering over you with muscle carved deep into every inch of him, from his sculpted chest to the veined forearms visible beneath pushed-up sleeves.

His stance was always solid, unmoving, as if the earth itself would sooner shift than he would. The glint of his vibranium arm caught in the low morning light, brushed in gold from the rising sun, each plate moving in smooth precision as he adjusted his stance.

His face sported an unimpressed scowl, his jaw shadowed by stubble, brows drawn low over stormy blue eyes that swept the fields behind you with disinterest. And though he said nothing, you could sense his irritation as clearly as the heat rising off the sun-touched grass.

He had a particular hatred for you being outside alone. Most days, he’d trail after you reluctantly, watching with narrowed eyes as you wandered the fields for an hour or two. When his patience wore thin, he’d herd you back inside like a sheepdog. He preferred enclosed spaces. Contained. Controlled.

Places where he could see you—track you—where your every movement could be accounted for.

You were beginning to feel like you escaped one prison just to enter the next.

“You gonna roll around in it next, sweetheart?” he called, voice stern with impatience.

Sweetheart. That damn condescending nickname. It wouldn’t have got under your skin so much if it didn’t make your stomach twist and flutter every time it rolled off his tongue.

You didn’t answer, but you could feel his gaze like a weight between your shoulder blades. Any second now, you wouldn’t put it past him to stomp into the grass and haul you inside himself, fingers fisted in the back of your dress like he was pulling a wayward stray by the scruff of its neck.

“Come on. Inside,” he barked again. “I haven’t checked the perimeter yet.”

Ah. Of course. The perimeter. God forbid a tree shifted in the wind without his knowing.

Suppressing an eye roll, you finally pushed to your feet, brushing bits of grass from your palms. The porch creaked under your steps as you ascended, pausing as he stepped aside with his usual stern silence.

You gave him a sugar-sweet smile as you gripped the handle of the screen door.

“Well, don’t let me stop you,” you said, voice light but laced with venom. “Go check your precious perimeter.”

The muscle in his jaw twitched. He didn’t answer, but the scowl that crept across his face said enough. He caught the bite in your tone, felt the edge beneath your pleasantry.

You didn’t wait for a response. The door snapped shut behind you, a little harder than necessary, rattling the frame.

—

The next time you saw Bucky was early afternoon. You’d been irritated enough to barricade yourself in your tiny room, thumbing through the stacks of old paperbacks until you finally landed on something vaguely interesting. It was some tacky romance novel that was amusing enough not to let your mind wander, but not quite good enough to engulf you completely.

Though, eventually, it was hunger that won your imagined standoff, your stomach growling so loudly you were half-convinced it had gained sentience and was protesting its conditions.

Bucky was still on the couch, right where you’d left him hours ago. You couldn’t make out what he was doing from the doorway, his broad shoulders alone blocked most of your view, but he appeared to be fiddling with something in his hands. You didn’t ask. You weren’t in the mood for another grunt in place of conversation. Instead, you turned sharply into the kitchen without a word.

The safehouse was well-stocked, rows of canned goods crammed into the cupboards, their faded, illegible labels boasting things like beef stew, baked beans, and mystery meat in gloopy gravy. There were jars of peanut butter with oil slicking the top, stale crackers sealed in military-grade packaging, and boxes of instant mashed potatoes that looked more like powdered chalk than food.

On better days, you had the garden out back, knobbly carrots, bitter greens, the occasional undergrown zucchini, and the chickens, who begrudgingly gifted you eggs when they felt generous. You found yourself wishing for a dairy cow, not that you had any idea how to milk one, just to be free of the powdered imposter you stirred into your coffee every morning. Whatever it was, it tasted like plaster.

You could feel Bucky’s gaze flick toward you through the doorway. You didn’t look up, instead pretending to study the cans as if they held the answers to life’s greater mysteries, silently tossing up between which mystery soup you would try today.

Before the Menagerie, you’d loved to cook, baking especially. Anything stuffed with chocolate chips or drowned in frosting had your full attention. But you dabbled in savoury dishes too, the kind your mother used to call ‘real people food’. The two of you would stand shoulder to shoulder in the kitchen, elbows knocking as you bickered over seasoning or whether the onions were truly caramelised. Your father and brother would crowd around the TV, shouting and drinking cold beers while watching the big game.

You swallowed hard at the thought of it. You wondered where their headstones lay, if they had even been buried at all. Who would’ve organised their funeral? That thought soured quickly, festering as your eyes dropped to the stove. The idea of putting time and care into a meal now felt wrong. Hollow. Maybe two years ago, you would’ve tried, scavenged herbs from the garden, scrubbed the vegetables clean, dared to open one of the suspiciously labelled cans of meat. But today, it felt like a step too far.

Bucky didn’t cook for you. It was clear from the start that you were on your own in that regard. A true fend-for-yourself arrangement. Come to think of it, you hadn’t seen him eat a single bite since your arrival. You weren’t even sure the man had taste buds.

Mystery soup it was.

Your curiosity got the better of you. You stole a glance over your shoulder, narrowing your eyes. He was still planted on the couch, and for the briefest second, his gaze met yours before flicking away again. He turned toward the empty fireplace, posture drawn tight like he was trying to fold himself out of sight, which, of course, failed rather comically since he was a beast of a man.

You sighed and pulled two cans from the shelf, the metal clinking dully as you set them on the counter. You’d heat the soup for both of you, maybe as a peace offering, maybe just an effort at civility. Either way, it felt a little ridiculous. But at least you could say you tried.

—

You dropped one of the bowls onto the coffee table with a soft clack, Bucky blinked, slightly startled, his eyes flicking from the bowl to you as you sank down cross-legged on the floor across from him, the wood grain sticky against your thighs.

“Food. For you,” you said simply.

He didn’t answer at first, still hunched over the thing in his hands, something metal and half-disassembled, probably a weapon. His shoulders shifted, just barely. Like the faintest show of surprise, or maybe gratitude he didn’t know how to express.

“Bit hot for soup,” he muttered, glancing toward the window. He wasn’t wrong. The sun had been relentless all day, and the old farmhouse was holding the heat like a kiln. The single desk fan that you’d claimed did little more than hum uselessly upstairs. You were sure it was a fire hazard from the sheer amount of dust it had collected on its plastic blades.

You shot him a look.

“Fine. Suit yourself. Make your own damn food—” You’d barely started uncrossing your legs when his hand lifted, palm open in a wordless command.

“Sit down.”

You did, settling back into place with a muted huff. He set the metal part aside, definitely part of a gun, now that you were looking. He picked up the spoon beside the bowl, eyeing it like it might bite him, and you watched as he took a mouthful, wincing slightly at the heat.

“Bland.” He commented.

You rolled your eyes. So, he did have taste buds after all.

“It’s from a can, god knows we’ve got enough of those to last the next ten years, let alone a few months.” You replied dryly, and you could’ve sworn the ghost of a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

You both ate in silence for a while. The soup was as terrible as you had anticipated, watery broth, sad carrot chunks, and what might have once been chicken. It was bland, just as Bucky had stated, but you wouldn’t give him the pleasure of admitting it.

It was only as you were halfway through your bowl, the sound of spoons scraping against the ceramic, the occasional creak of the old farmhouse settling while the cicadas droned outside, that you finally found the words to speak up.

“Your employers,” you began, eyes still on your soup, “did they tell you much?”

Through your lashes, you saw Bucky’s head lift slightly.

“No.” He stated. Simple. Gruff. Then he hesitated, leaning back on the couch, eyeing you in that analytical, quiet way of his. You could practically hear the thoughts ticking behind his silence. You, small—in comparison to him, at least—unassuming, wrapped in a floral sundress, hardly looking like a threat. How dangerous could you be? How much danger could you truly be in to warrant exile in the middle of nowhere, locked away like a state secret? “Just said you were mixed up in that mess with the Menagerie raid. That someone might be looking to hurt you.”

“Right…” You stuffed another spoonful of soup into your mouth to keep from saying something foolish, letting the heat sting your tongue.

Silence stretched. He’d already emptied his bowl, positively licked it clean—so much for being too hot and bland. Meanwhile, while you pushed a discoloured chunk of carrot in slow, grinding circles, the handle of your spoon tracing the rim of your bowl. His eyes hadn’t left you.

You inhaled deeply, then blurted it out before you could stop yourself. “Do you know how long I have to stay here?”

He hesitated, just long enough to tell you he didn’t know either. “As long as it takes to eliminate the threat.”

You finally looked up, catching the shift in his gaze. Less neutral now, more calculated… Suspicious. You recognised that look, it said I’m piecing something together. Like the soup had been some sort of tactic. A quiet kindness with strings attached. That you were slowly manipulating him with every gentle smile and soft word.

Like he was finally seeing you clearly, and not liking the picture.

“If you’re being this well hidden,” he said slowly, “you must’ve been real deep in it. What were you, a mole? Scared they’re gonna hunt you down for revenge, sweetheart? You don’t look like the usual type they send out for infiltration.”

You froze, soup curdling in your stomach, your appetite gone before he even got the last syllable out. You placed your half-eaten bowl on the coffee table before you, refusing to meet his eye.

“I wasn’t a mole.” You clarified, though your tone did not sound anywhere near convincing.

It was like he could smell the guilt and shame you reeked of. His mouth curled slightly. Not a smile. Not quite.

“An informant, then?” He pressed. There it was, the snide bite you were waiting for. He thought this was some glorified babysitting gig for a rat. “Too scared to put you in prison in case you are killed before a court date?”

“No, I—” The words jammed in your throat like splinters, and all you could do was stare down at the coffee table. Coffee rings. Cigarette burns. Ghosts of the past.

Bucky leaned forward, forearms braced on his knees, voice lower now.

“So what was it that made you finally turn on the Menagerie, huh? A guilty conscience, fear?” He asked, a disgusted sneer joining his words. “Or did your morals only click after they started trafficking mutants, caging them and tagging them like inventory?”

Your throat closed up.

He thought you were part of it.

He thought you were one of them.

“Or was it just about self-preservation?” He continued.

You hadn’t said it aloud. Not properly. Not in a way that made it real. The interviews after the raid had scraped the words out of you, hour after hour, voice raw, eyes dry. Endless questions. Demands. ‘Be specific’, ‘Start from the beginning’, ‘What did they do next?’. They made you relive it again and again until your memories felt like ash in your mouth, so many retellings that they stopped sounding like your own.

Some mornings, you still woke to the phantom scent of damp stone and bleach. Still braced for cold concrete beneath your palms, for the echo of distant footsteps clattering through narrow halls. You could see it all too clearly in the dark, that stone labyrinth, windowless and humming with distant electricity

You’d think of the auctions. The buyers. Their laughter. The way the air thickened with rot and perfume. The casual smiles of men who knew they wouldn’t be stopped. The shouting.

The cages.

The screaming—

Still, sometimes, you thought you could hear it, just beneath silence. Not memory, not quite. Like something still screamed through you.

“You don’t know shit about what I went through.” You spat out finally.

“No,” he admitted, coldly. “I don’t. But from where I’m sitting, you’re not exactly making yourself look innocent, sweetheart.”

You stared at him, stunned for a heartbeat.

Part of you wanted to cling to that flicker of delusion, that at least he cared. That the horrors of the Menagerie upset him, that he hadn’t brushed it off the way so many others might. There was something almost noble in his anger, in how deeply the injustice of it all seemed to affect him.

But the moment cracked and fury surged up like bile, but it caught in your throat before it could be spoken. You opened your mouth, then closed it again, useless. The words wouldn’t come. They never did. Not the right ones.

Because how could you explain it? How could you possibly untangle the last two years into something coherent, something clean, when nothing about it was? You wanted to scream that it hadn’t been your fault. That they’d taken everything from you. That you’d been a victim.

But the voice in your head always whispered something else.

You’d done what you had to do. Survived the only way you could. But survival had never come without cost. Not in that place. And even if you knew that you hadn’t chosen any of it… there were still stains on your hands. Still moments when you looked in the mirror and didn’t see someone worth saving.

You couldn’t find the words to defend yourself.

Because maybe, just maybe, you didn’t deserve to defend yourself.

“Fuck you.” You seethed.

You shot to your feet so fast your knee clipped the coffee table, rattling your half-eaten bowl. The room tilted slightly, breath caught between rage and something dangerously close to grief. Your legs carried you before you could think, before you could cry. You crossed the room in quick strides, soup abandoned, the sting of unshed tears heating your face.

—

A week of silence had followed your argument with Bucky.

You moved around each other like ghosts, haunting the same space but never touching, orbiting in sullen, silent patterns. You ate meals in silence on opposite ends of the house. Dishes piled beside your bed. Books stacked on the floor. You let yourself be swallowed by the mattress, the weight of silence slowly pulling you under.

When you did venture downstairs, it was only for chores. The division of labour had happened wordlessly. He’d take the barn, the treeline, his perimeter. You’d feed the chickens and cattle and refill the water troughs. Alpine was the only creature who seemed to move freely between you, accepting a can of tuna from Bucky one day, curling up against your legs the next when she wasn’t out prowling for field mice.

You’d stopped asking him anything. Stopped trying to close the gap with awkward, tense conversation. And he seemed relieved, like silence was some kind of reward. At least now he didn’t have to pretend to care. His silent judgment was not something you were blind to. It followed him like a cloud of smoke, obscuring his vision as he regarded you as something malicious rather than wounded. So you started wearing your own bitterness like armour. Met every cold glance with a glare of your own.

If he wanted to hate you, you could make it easy.

You already hated yourself enough.

The heat had been unbearable all afternoon, the worst it had been since you arrived. It was the type of heat that made the air feel thick and heavy, clinging to your skin no matter what you did to cool down. You opened every window in the house, splashed cool water on your face, tied back your hair, and even stood with the fridge door wide open, ignoring the quiet huff of disapproval from behind you. Still, it wasn’t enough to distract you from the fact that you were boiling alive in your own body with every passing hour.

Bucky, of course, was perfectly composed. During your second attempt to fold yourself into the fridge, he sat at the kitchen table like a statue, sharpening a knife with slow, meditative strokes. Not a bead of sweat on his brow. Like the fact that you were both slowly roasting to death didn’t bother him at all.

You wanted to scream.

It wasn’t just the heat. It was him. His silence. His stillness. His looming, suffocating presence, like he was pressing the full weight of himself onto your chest without ever touching you.

You needed air. Space. Anything that didn’t feel like breathing your own recycled breath. You were going to lose your mind in this goddamn house. And if it came down to who’d walk out of here alive, it wasn’t going to be you. Not at this rate.

You had laced up your boots and stormed down the stairs before the thought had even fully formed, impulse overriding reason. Bucky didn’t look up at first. From his silence, you could guess he thought you were just being dramatic again, stomping around like a sulking child.

It wasn’t until your fingers curled around the doorknob that you heard the scrape of his chair against the kitchen tiles. “Where are you going?”

You didn’t look at him. You shoved the screen door open and muttered flatly, “The woods.”

He paused. You could feel it, the change in pressure, like the atmosphere thickened just from him standing up. The summer heat already clung to your skin like syrup, yet somehow it had become one step closer to suffocating.

“No.”

You turned, one foot already on the porch. Bucky was rounding the corner from the kitchen fast, eyes sharp, shoulders tense, like he was bracing to grab you by the arm if you took another step.

“I need air,” you snapped, backing away slightly. “It’s like five thousand degrees in here. It’ll be cooler under the trees.”

He didn’t flinch, just stared at you with that wolfish intensity, jaw tight, eyes narrowed. You could see the twitch of frustration behind them. Not anger exactly, but something more primal. Protective, maybe. Possessive. Something you didn’t have a name for.

His nostrils flared as he narrowed his eyes.

“It’s not safe,” he said, stepping closer like a warning. A hunt was unfolding between the two of you. You took a step back. He mirrored it forward.

Your eyes flicked down. He wasn’t wearing shoes.

Interesting.

You glanced at the couch, his boots tossed haphazardly at the base, probably kicked off after his last perimeter sweep. A grin tugged at your lips, sharp and cunning. You released the screen door with deliberate calm.

“Don’t you dare—” he growled, voice already rising, warning.

The door slammed shut behind you as you took off, boots hammering down the steps, sundress flying around your legs as you sprinted into the field.

You could already hear him swearing behind you, scrambling for his boots, but you didn’t look back. The grass was tall and wild, slapping against your calves as you tore through it, laughing breathlessly as you darted toward the barn like a madwoman. The sun beat down mercilessly, warming your skin, but you didn’t stop. Not when you heard your name shouted, not even when the chickens exploded into squawking chaos as you shot past the coop.

The fence loomed just ahead, waist-height, made of metal wire and wood posts. You’d never gotten close enough to inspect it properly before now. The top was wrapped in barbed wire, coiled like a snake. Of course it was.

“Shit,” you hissed, skidding to a halt and eyeing the fence with frantic calculation.

Behind you, Bucky’s footsteps thundered across the clearing. You glanced back once, just once. Your breath caught.

He was a storm.

Boots only half on, shirt clinging to his chest with sweat, barreling toward you with terrifying speed. Determined. His eyes on you like a target.

This was your only shot.

“Fuck it,” you spat, grabbing the fence and hoisting yourself up. The metal rattled under your weight, one foot jammed between as you swung a leg over. You hissed as your dress caught, barbs slicing the fabric and catching the tender skin of your thigh. Pain spiked up your leg, but you didn’t stop.

You heard him yell your name just as you dropped down the other side, hitting the dirt hard, knees skidding through dry grass. You shoved yourself upright, wiping your hands on your dress as Bucky skidded to a halt on the other side of the fence, face wild with disbelief.

“What the fuck are you—”

But you were already gone, vanishing into the trees.

The woods swallowed you whole. The world shifted the moment you passed beneath the canopy, sunlight shattered across the leaves, scattering gold and green over your skin as branches closed above you like cathedral arches. You ran until the burn in your thighs twisted into fire, until the pounding of your heart drowned out everything else. Behind you, his voice grew distant, swallowed by underbrush, bark and birdsong.

You didn’t know where you were going.

You just knew you needed to be gone before he caught up.

And for a fleeting moment, you thought you’d done it, lost him in the thick underbrush, outpaced him through the tangles of low-hanging branches and bramble. The heat had begun to slip from the air, replaced by the cool breath of the woods and the low, rhythmic drone of cicadas. A sea of green unfurled before you, layered in moss and leaf-shadow, still and quiet now that your footsteps had slowed—

The world tilted.

You hit the ground hard, air knocked from your lungs, before your mind even registered that he had caught up to you. A blur of limbs and gritted teeth, the two of you rolled through the dirt and fallen leaves, snapping twigs and kicking up soil as you struggled against each other in a mess of instinct and fury.

You twisted, tried to scramble away, but his body was too heavy. His arm caught your leg as you kicked, his weight pressing you down, pinning you like prey.

When the momentum stopped, he was already on top of you, straddling your hips, shoving you deep into the damp forest floor. His hands pinned your wrists above your head with effortless control. His face loomed close, his eyes dark and glittering, and his breath harsh from the chase.

“Are you done?” he growled, voice low and raw, every syllable biting.

You glared up at him, chest heaving. “Get off me—”

Your voice caught as he laughed, a low, humourless sound, breathless but amused. There was dirt smeared across his cheek, a leaf tangled in his hair, and his shirt clung to him with sweat and blood. He looked wild. Feral. Alive in a way that made your stomach twist.

“I’ll take that as a no,” he muttered.

And then he was moving, the sudden loss of his weight a brief mercy, but it didn’t last. Before you could twist away and draw in a proper breath, his arm was around your waist, and you were tugged up, slung over his shoulder like a sack of grain. Your stomach hit the edge of his metal shoulder blade with a thud that knocked the wind from you again.

“Hey, put me down, you asshole—!” you protested, breathless, your voice muffled slightly by the sway of his shirt against your cheek.

But he was already moving, circling back toward the house with slow, deliberate strides like he hadn’t just chased you through half a mile of forest. His arm was iron around your thighs, locking you in place against the solid plane of his shoulder. You bounced with every step, your ribs pressing painfully against the hard ridge of his collarbone and the metal edge of his arm.

“No,” he barked, tone clipped. “You’ll just bolt again.”

Your stomach was twisted sideways over his shoulder, blood rushing to your head until your vision pulsed at the edges. It was dizzying, the world tipping and tilting with his gait, trees, sky and earth passing upside down in a blur. His shirt clung damply to his back beneath your arms, soaked through with sweat and forest humidity. Every inhale brought the scent of dirt, pine, and something distinctly him into your lungs.

“I won’t! I swear, just—” you tried, squirming, but he adjusted his grip and hoisted you higher with a grunt, one hand sliding firmly up the back of your thigh to keep you from slipping.

“You lost any of my trust when you decided to hop that fence, sweetheart,” he said coldly.

His hand stayed there, splayed wide and strong, fingers flexing against the curve of your leg in a way that made something flutter low in your stomach. You writhed, trying to ignore the way your skin heated under his palm, how aware you suddenly were of every place his body touched yours, his forearm hooked tightly around your knees, his breath steady and close.

“Put me the fuck down!”

“Shut the fuck up, or I’ll find something to gag you with.” His voice turned harsh, and the end of his patience showed. “I’m sick of your whining. This is your own fault.”

“My fault?” you choked out, exasperated, pushing at the small of his back, which did absolutely nothing. “You’re the one keeping me locked up!”

“It’s for your safety, or did that little detail slip your mind?” he bit back, unbothered by your wriggling.

“We’re in the middle of nowhere!” you snapped. “Who the hell is going to find me out here if I go for a goddamn walk to cool down?”

“I’m not worried about people.” His grip on your thighs tightened again, just enough to send another shock of awareness through your core. “I’m worried about animals. Do you know how many bears, cougars, and other shit that can rip you in half live out here?”

You froze, the fire in your chest faltering. “…There are bears out here?!”

“Yes,” he snapped, voice rough. “Now would you shut the hell up? Every living creature within a hundred miles already knows where we are thanks to your squealing.”

You clamped your mouth shut, heat prickling at your ears, though whether it was from embarrassment, exertion, or the lingering burn of his hand against your thigh, you weren’t sure. Upside-down, half-breathless, and bruised with indignity, you told yourself it was just the blood rushing to your head that made your heart beat like that.

He reached the fence a few seconds later, barely slowing his pace before tossing you over it with an unceremonious grunt. You yelped as you hit the ground with a solid thump, your knees scraping against the packed dirt and scattered stones. Pain bloomed across your palms as you caught yourself, your breath stuttering.

You looked up at him just in time to see him plant his boot on the middle rung and vault the fence with practised ease. He landed beside you, his chest rising and falling with the exertion, his expression furious.

Your eyes caught on his shirt, the fabric torn open across the side of his ribs. Blood welled from a sharp gash beneath it, slow and dark, soaking into the material. He must’ve hit the barbed wire trying to chase you down.

The fence: two. You and Bucky: zero.

You shifted uncomfortably, your own thigh still stinging, a warm line of blood trickling down your leg. The barbs had bitten deep. It felt like the forest had left its mark on both of you.

Bucky stared down at you with a scowl.

“Now…” he said slowly, “do I need to carry you all the way to the house, or are you going to be a good girl and walk by yourself?”

You blinked up at him, heart hammering, pulse still roaring in your ears and gulped. “I’ll walk.”

—

Bucky didn’t seem to care that he was smeared in a mixture of dried blood and dirt as he slumped heavily onto the couch with a grunt, his broad shoulders sinking into the cushions. He kicked off his boots with a purposeful carelessness, one of the pair nearly smacking you in the shin as you shied out of its path.

He’d practically herded you back into the house, his gaze never leaving you as you limped your way up the porch steps. His scowl never wavered, only deepened with irritation as he finally realised the state you were in, hair tangled and sticking to your damp forehead, your dress torn and stained with streaks of mud and blood.

You stopped in front of the empty fireplace across from him, arms crossing tightly over your chest, jaw clenched. You leaned slightly on your right leg, the pain flaring hot in your thigh. The cut burned like it had been licked by flame, no doubt packed with dirt and whatever else you'd rolled through during your messy scuffle. But your eyes drifted from your leg, caught instead by the quiet rustle of fabric. Bucky peeled off his shredded shirt with little fanfare, exposing the sheer, ridiculous expanse of muscle beneath. His torso looked sculpted from stone, every line and shadow painfully defined. And yet, infuriatingly, even in all his dishevelment, he looked good. Unfairly so. It was almost nauseating how perfect he looked.

You bit the inside of your cheek and tapped your fingers against your arm, gaze snagged for a beat too long as he examined the fresh gash slashed across his abdomen. He winced slightly, dragging a finger through the blood and grime that caked the wound. It was a deep cut, raw and filthy, and the dirt clinging to it made you pause. You knew that kind of wound, the kind that festered fast if left unchecked.

“Where’s the first aid kit?” you asked, stepping forward despite yourself. “I’ll get it for you—”

“No.” His voice cut through the air, low as a growl, stopping you cold. “You’ve done enough. I’ll get it.”

You blinked, the words catching in your throat. “Hold on—”

But then he looked at you. Really looked at you. And whatever flicker of protest had been building inside you died right there.

“Sit. Down.”

You sank onto the couch without another word, the tension knotting in your shoulders as he disappeared up the stairs. You ran a hand through your tangled hair, wincing as your fingers snagged on leaves and twigs embedded in the strands. Somewhere above, you could hear him rummaging through the bathroom cabinet, drawers slamming and clattering as he searched.

Your attention dropped to your leg. You hesitated, then slowly hiked up your skirt, trying not to wince as you exposed the wound. The barbed wire had torn a lash up your inner thigh, the skin swollen and angry. Blood had dried in thick, flaking streaks down your leg. You hissed as you prodded the edges, trying to gauge the depth through the grit and grime. It stung like hell, sharp, hot, and pulsing, and the thought of cleaning it out made your stomach churn.

Bucky thundered down the stairs behind you, dumping the first aid kit on the coffee table. A few medical supplies spilt out from the jolt. He barely looked at you before muttering, “Stop fussing. You’ll make it worse.”

Your hands stilled instantly, retreating to your lap. You didn’t dare test his patience again, not when he was like this, all bruises and blood and stormclouds behind the eyes.

He sank to his knees in front of the couch, wedged between your legs and the coffee table, and reached for you without hesitation. His grip was firm as he caught your leg, fingers wrapping around your calf and sliding upward, tilting your thigh to get a better look at the damage.

Your breath hitched, chest tightening. The cut stung, but it wasn’t the pain that made you tense, it was him. The heat of his skin against yours, the way his rough palms guided your leg, thumb grazing perilously close to the seam of your underwear. Your dress had ridden high, bunched around your hips, leaving you far too exposed. And his face, god, it was right there, inches away from the softest, most private part of you—

You let out a small yelp, the sharp sting of antiseptic dragging you back to reality as he pressed a wipe over the wound with no warning, scrubbing away dried blood and filth like it was nothing. You squirmed on instinct, gasping.

He tutted with annoyance, locking your leg in place with his forearm like you were nothing more than a twitchy animal.

“Stop squirming.”

“It’s kind of hard when you’re manhandling me—”

“I’m not in the mood for babying you, sweetheart,” he shot back, glaring up at you briefly, his voice low and cool.

That shut you up.

You swallowed hard and stared past him, fixing your gaze on the constellation of scars across his chest and shoulders. Old wounds. Some shallow, others deep. Your heart thudded against your ribs, the silence between you prickling with static.

He dipped his fingers into a small tin of ointment and began slowly and deliberately, working it into the wound. His touch was firm, steady, maddening, his hand creeping higher with each pass, inching up your inner thigh until his knuckles grazed dangerously close to the pulsing heat between your legs. Your entire body shuddered lightly, a tingling up your spine, and for one wild moment, you were sure he was savouring this. You could feel his every breath against your thigh, every callused inch of his palm.

Your breath hitched audibly. Embarrassingly.

“There you go,” he murmured, almost to himself, patting your knee. “Good girl.”

A whimper escaped your lips before you could stop it.

Then, he was gone. Peeling off some large sticky bandages and slapping them on hard enough to make you jolt in surprise.

You jerked your leg back, retreating into yourself. Your fingertips hovered at the edge of the bandages, trailing the sticky outline. He didn’t seem to notice—or maybe he did and didn’t care—as he climbed up off the floor and took a seat beside you on the couch, the cushion dipping under his weight.

You sat there with your mouth slightly agape, still recovering, still too aware of how much of you had just been laid bare.

He stared at you.

“Are you even listening?” he barked.

You jumped. “Sorry—what?”

“I said,” he gestured toward the gash slicing across his torso, “I need you to help me clean this cut, repeat the steps I just did for your leg.”

You floundered uselessly like a fish for a second.

“Did you hit your head?” he asked, voice laced with irritation. “Do I need to check you for a concussion—?”

“No!” you blurted, too fast. “No. I’m fine. I can do it.”

Without waiting for permission, you slid to the floor, knees brushing against his shins as you settled between his legs. Your fingers fumbled through the mess of gauze, scissors, and ointments strewn across the coffee table, deliberately avoiding his gaze. When you found the antiseptic wipes, you cleared your throat, peeled one open, and hesitantly pressed it to the wound carved deep into his side.

The muscles under your hand were corded tight, heat and tension rising from him like steam. You dabbed lightly at first, uncertain.

“You’re gonna need to press harder than that, sweetheart,” Bucky muttered, voice rough. “You’re not picking up all the—”

You shot him a look flared with annoyance and dug the wipe in harder than necessary.

He hissed, breath catching between gritted teeth, and his abdomen flinched beneath your hand. The skin twitched as you worked, dragging out a stubborn patch of grit and dried blood. You grimaced, wiping again, watching the red bloom spread.

The gash was far worse than yours. Red, angry, and deep. The kind of wound that would’ve sent someone else into shock. When you pulled the wipe back, it was streaked with fresh blood, revealing a glimpse of raw muscle beneath.

“This is going to need stitches, it’s too deep—”

“It’s fine.” He shook his head, his breath uneven as you reached for a fresh wipe. “It’ll heal faster than a normal person.”

You paused, cloth hovering just above the end of the slash curving around his ribs. “You’re a mutant?”

That stopped him cold.

His body stiffened, almost imperceptibly, but you felt it. His jaw ticked, and the muscle beneath your touch turned to granite.

“No, uh—” He began, and the words faltered. For the first time since you’d met him, his voice wavered. This voice was uncertain. Defensive. It didn’t match the sharp-edged man who barked orders and silenced you with just a glower. You looked up in time to catch the flicker of frustration in his expression, the way his brow furrowed, not in pain, but regret. Like he’d just given away something he wasn’t supposed to.

“Super soldier,” he muttered finally, quieter like the words tasted bitter.

You frowned, forcing yourself to keep your fingers moving as you continued to clean the lash.

“Super solider… like serums?” You dared to mumble in question.

“...Yeah.”

You nodded. You were familiar with the rise of serums and super soldiers, they had been a hot commodity, just as coveted as mutants. Weapons given flesh. The perfect stock for the Menagerie to peddle. Easier to control, more predictable than the mutants among their inventory.

“There were a few of those at the Menage—” The words slipped out before you could catch them. As soon as they crossed your lips, your stomach dropped. “I—Nevermind.”

You didn’t need to look up to feel it, the shift in his posture, the way his presence recoiled. Not from pain. From you.

He was flinching from you.

Shame roared up your throat like bile. You didn’t have to ask what he was thinking. You could feel it. The disgust. The assumptions. You could almost hear his thoughts shaping you into a creature of cruelty. A collaborator. A willing participant.

Did he think revealing this information would illicit a perverse curiosity within you? That you’d start viewing him in the same way the Menagerie had viewed you?

And for once, there was a sadness that lingered. A sadness that you couldn’t tell him, couldn’t explain. You let him believe you were complicit, that you were broken in a way that was your own fault. Would it have been better to tell him? To offer up the whole, rotting truth and see what he did with it? Not one clouded by the lies and falseities you used to punish yourself?

When you had stumbled free of that place, you had sworn never to use your powers again. Never be a weapon again. Never let anyone twist your gift into something cruel and unrecognisable.

What if this was different?

What if you could use it for good this time? Not to tear someone apart from the inside out, not to entertain monsters, but to soothe. To help.

Would that balance the scales, even a little? Would that scrub the blood from your conscience, the memory from your skin? Would it make you more than what they turned you into?

Would it make you… better?

Your hands had stilled. The wound was only half-cleaned, blood still trickling sluggishly along his side. You looked up.

His expression was unreadable, like a wall had been placed between you.

Your voice came quiet and uncertain. “Can I… can I show you something?” you asked. “I think it’ll help.”

He tensed. His jaw was tight, the suspicion in his gaze sharp and waiting, as if he expected you to pull a knife, like your soft-spoken words were nothing but bait in a trap he hadn’t seen yet. But you didn’t wait for a reply. For once, you wait for a command. You balled up the bloodied wipe in your fist and tossed it aside, the fabric landing with a wet slap on the cluttered table behind you. Then, without ceremony, you raised your hand above the wound stretching across his ribs.

His mouth parted, breath catching, ready to protest, but you were already committed, brows drawn in concentration as your palm began to glow. The light bloomed, like dawn bleeding through morning mist. A ball of pale, gold light that cast long beams between your fingers, casting his skin in a haze.

You didn’t dare look up at him.

Instead, you pressed your focus into the magic pooling in your hand, letting it spill like silk across the jagged tear in his flesh. As you touched your fingers to him, you hovered a moment longer than necessary, and a soft, invisible pulse of heat radiated from your palm to his abdomen.

He didn’t flinch.

That was the point.

The knot in his abdomen uncoiled. His muscles slackened, his body loosening inch by cautious inch beneath your touch. Your fingertips hovered over the torn skin, skimming the edges. When you finally dared to glance up, his face had slackened in sudden, jarring relief.

He stared at you like you weren’t real. Disgust turned to horror and then to shock.

You didn’t stop. Your palm pressed lightly to the curve of his ribs, the glow now flickering as your focus thinned and the pain siphoned away. The magic never hurt, not directly, but it drained you all the same. You could feel it in the weight of your limbs, in the tremble behind your knees. Your breath had turned shallow. Sweat prickled along your hairline.

“You’re a—”

“A mutant,” you interrupted quietly, light fading as you squeezed your hand into a fist. “I know.”

The silence was thick as you reached behind you, grabbing a clean antiseptic wipe from the dwindling supplies. He didn’t move. Didn’t flinch. Didn’t even blink as you swept it gently through the remaining dirt and grit, revealing clean, ragged flesh beneath. Crimson welled at the edges like dew.

“I took the pain away,” you clarified as you blindly searched the table for the small tin he’d used earlier. You couldn’t meet his eye, couldn’t deal with any guilt he was likely feeling. “My powers… I can change how the body perceives sensations. I can nullify nerves or amplify them. Make you feel things that aren’t there, or take away feeling entirely.”

You found the tin at last, fingers fumbling slightly as you pried it open with a soft metallic click. A faint herbal scent rose as you scooped a generous, pearlescent smear of ointment onto your fingertip. It clung thickly, catching the light like a melted pearl.

“You were a victim,” Bucky said, voice breathless and stunned, like he’d received a punch right to the gut. “Sweetheart, why didn’t you tell me you were a victim?”

You didn’t answer right away. Instead, you pressed your fingers to his skin, spreading the salve along the length of the wound in slow, deliberate strokes. The half-translucent mixture turned pink as it blended with the fresh blood that beaded the surface.

“It’s complicated,” you muttered, eyes fixed on your hands instead of his.

But he didn’t let it go.

Of course, he didn’t.

Bucky Barnes, ever the soldier, ever the protector of the broken and bruised. That part of him, the part that saw pain and didn’t look away, that part that burned with justice, that was maybe the only thing you’d truly admired from the start.

Not the cold commands, not the steel-blue stares, not the way he could make your breath hitch with just a word.

It was that he cared.

Beneath the hard edges and combat scars, he gave a damn. About the ones who couldn’t fight for themselves yet. About the ones others would write off. When he looked at something shattered, his instinct wasn’t to discard it—it was to fix it.

“You’re a victim. When they pulled you out of there, why didn’t they send you back home? Back to your family?”

You swallowed hard. “Like I said... It’s complicated.”

When you dared to look up, he was looking down at you like he was expecting an answer. You sighed.

“My powers, it’s a gift and a curse. They can be used for good, like this.” You nodded toward his side, where the blood had begun to clot under the thin sheen of ointment. Withdrawing your hands from him, you tucked them into your lap, fingers curled inwards, guilt weighing heavily in your chest. “Or it can be used… used to create pain.”

His brow creased. “Pain?”

“You think the Menagerie were above torture?” you asked, sharper than you meant to. Then your face twisted apologetically, and you looked away quickly. “Sorry. I just—”

You drew in a breath, steadying yourself.

“When they captured enemies, or anyone who defied them, they interrogated them. Asked their questions. And if they didn’t get what they wanted…” You paused, voice tight. “They brought me in.”

His face changed, eyes sharpening, expression folding inward.

“They made me hurt people,” you explained. “Amplify their pain, make them feel things that weren’t even real. The body doesn’t know the difference. It responds anyway.”

You rubbed your wrist with your other hand, as if scrubbing the memory away. “Sometimes… sometimes they made me do it for fun. For their entertainment. Just because they knew how much it broke me—” Your voice broke on the last word, the sound caught between a sob and a gasp.

Turning away, you reached for the coffee table with trembling hands, shoving through the disordered supplies until you found the large, sticky bandages. Only as you felt confident that your voice wouldn’t tremble, you spoke up again.

“I was their prisoner, their weapon for two years. Decided I was to be kept, too valuable to be sold like the rest of the product,” You mumbled, the plastic crinkling as you tore one free, fingers fumbling with the edges.

“That’s why you’re here,” Bucky said at last.

His voice was quiet, like he was speaking more to himself than to you. You watched the gears turn behind his eyes, watched the truth slot into place piece by piece.

“You know too much,” he murmured, breath catching in his throat. “The Menagerie... they’re not hunting you because you ran.”

You didn’t move. Didn’t speak.

“They want you dead because you know. You know too much.”

His gaze snapped up to meet yours, the initial shock gone. Something had shifted. The realisation landed like a crack of thunder as anger reared its head, hot and bitter.

“And the officials…” He shook his head, his jaw tightening. “They don’t care what it costs you. They just want you on that stand. They want a witness.”

His hands curled into fists at his sides, a tremor running through his arm.

“God,” he muttered. “They used you. All of them. They’re still using you. They’re all just passing you around like you're fucking evidence.”

You nodded, blinking hard as you peeled back the adhesive strip. “Not a rat, you see?” you said with a brittle sort of humour, trying to cover the tremor in your voice.

He looked down at you sharply, eyes dark, nostrils flared, coiled tightly enough you were half-convinced he was going to march out there and tear them apart himself. “I’m sorry.”

That startled you more than it should have.

“Shit, sweetheart. I was wrong about you, very wrong,” he added. “From the start. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you murmured. “I should’ve… I should’ve just told you. I just—”

Your fingers splayed out as you smoothed the bandage carefully across his ribs, palms gentle as you coaxed it into place. “It’s hard. To defend my actions. To relive it over and over again, to think of what I could have done differently, what I could’ve done to stop it. And I’m sick of people telling me it wasn’t my fault, sick of the nightmares and the memories I—”

The warmth of his skin still lingered under your touch. You were about to pull away when he caught your wrist. You jolted, breath stuttering. His grip wasn’t tight, just enough to hold you there. His thumb circled slowly over the inside of your wrist, right over the soft thrum of your pulse.

“No, I… I get it.”

Your lungs stalled, breath coming out in a sharp wheeze as you looked up at him, wide-eyed.

“It’s hard sometimes,” he said, gaze haunted, “to justify defending yourself when you feel like a monster. Even when you weren’t the one who chose the violence.”

He glanced away, then back, not with judgment, but understanding. Maybe even shame.

“But you’re not that,” he affirmed. “You never really were.”

You got the sense he wasn’t just saying it for your sake. Not entirely. That maybe he was saying it for himself, too.

—

Bucky had been truthful. Within a few short days, his wound had knit itself into a pink, raised scar, the kind that would fade in time.

Yours, however, wasn’t healing nearly as well.

It wasn’t an infection, you knew that much. Bucky’s borderline militant efforts to clean and dress your wound had paid off. No, the problem was its intimate placement. Too high on your inner thigh, too close to where the skin was soft and constantly moving. Every step rubbed it raw. Every shift of your legs, every twitch or stretch, irritated it further. The adhesive bandages clung stubbornly, chafing the tender flesh surrounding.

And the weather wasn’t helping.

The dry heat had broken sometime during the night, replaced by a soupy humidity that clung to everything. It made your clothes stick to your back, your sheets damp, your skin slick with a sheen of sweat you couldn’t seem to shake. That morning, as you fed the cows, Bucky had tilted his face to the sky, eyes narrowed.

“Storm’s coming,” he muttered, gaze fixed on the horizon where dark clouds had begun to crawl over the hills like an advancing army.

You’d followed his eyes and silently agreed.

It was the third day since your reckless dash through the woods, and you could feel every inch of it. Your body ached with dull protest, knees bruised, but it was the wound that made you grit your teeth every time you moved. Bucky had noticed, of course, he noticed everything. He’d watched you hobble halfway down the stairs that morning, frowning in that deeply displeased way of his, jaw set like he was at war with the world.

Ever since your reluctant confession, something in him had shifted. The hostility had bled out of him, replaced by an overwhelming guilt. You felt sorry for your dejected bodyguard. You both knew it wasn’t his fault, that he had acted true to his nature with the information given, yet he still reeked of regret.

His protectiveness had turned soft at the edges. Where once he’d shadowed you out of suspicion, now he hovered like a sheepdog with a wounded charge, not willing to leave your side for a moment.

He gave up his place on the couch without a word, fetched things before you asked, and adjusted pillows behind your back with silent focus. When you’d had enough of being babied and escaped upstairs to your room, he’d only watched you go with those impossibly blue eyes, gaze desperate and stricken.

But today… Today, he took it further, determined to take his coddling the extra mile.

You only made it to the corner of the stairs before you saw him coming up with purpose written in every line of his body.

“Wait—Bucky, I can walk—!”

Your protest was cut short by a startled gasp as he swept you effortlessly into his arms, cradling you against his chest like you weighed nothing at all.

Your breath caught, not just from the motion, but from the sudden, intimate closeness. His body radiated heat, even through his shirt. You could feel the curve of his shoulder beneath your cheek, the steady beat of his heart beneath your palm.

“I can walk myself down the stairs,” you tried again, more weakly.

“You keep aggravating it,” he said simply, descending with slow, sure steps.

With uncharacteristic gentleness, he placed you down on the couch. He crouched in front of you, one knee pressed into the floor, his eyes scanning your face with quiet intensity before dropping to your thighs.

You opened your mouth to argue—too late.

The hem of your dress was already lifted.

“Hey—!” You flinched, hands moving to cover yourself, but he was faster. His fingers curled gently around your knee, not forceful, but firm enough to stop you from snapping your legs shut.

“It’s irritated. Look.” His voice was low, focused, the pad of his thumb brushing dangerously close to tender skin as he inspected the wound.

You inhaled sharply, trying to ignore the heat that jolted through you at the contact, the way your body betrayed you with the pulse that bloomed low in your belly. His breath ghosted across your inner thigh as he leaned closer, and it was all you could do to hold still.

He pointed, fingertips skimming just above the angry, raw skin. “See that? It's from friction. The humidity is not helping. The bandage is rubbing it raw.”

You tried to speak, but he was already speaking over you.

“I’ll change it over,” he said, already rising to grab the supplies. “Stay here.”

“It’s fine, really—” you began, trying to wave off the concern in your voice, but Bucky hit you with a look so sharp it cut your words clean in half.

His brow dipped, jaw tight. “Don’t be like that.”

“Like what?” you shot back with a whine, already shifting upright from where you’d been slumped between the couch cushions. The movement made your thigh throb.

Before you could get far, his hand shot out—broad, calloused, and unbothered—pressing gently but firmly against your middle. The ease with which he pinned you back made you blink.

“I said stay,” he said, with exasperated authority. “What is it with you and always making things difficult?”

Your mouth hung open in disbelief. “I don’t want to be babied.”

“I’m not babying you.”

“I feel like dead weight.”

His brows shot up, incredulous. “If I were to describe you as anything, it would not be dead weight, sweetheart.”

“Oh?” you challenged, folding your arms, eyes narrowing. “Then what would you describe me as?”

That made him pause.

His hand fell away slowly, drifting up to rub along his jaw. He turned his gaze downward and away, suddenly studying the floorboards like they held some grand revelation. You could see the calculation flickering behind his eyes, like he was deciding if his true answer was worth whatever calamity he was anticipating or not.

Your heart kicked in your chest.

You held your breath, shamefully hopeful. Like some stupid, soft part of you, some battered, longing part, was enamoured with him. Even when he’d been cruel, cold, dismissive... you'd wanted him to see you. Wanted him to like you. And now, beneath all the banter, you were hanging on the edge of a confession you weren’t even sure you wanted to hear.

He finally looked up. His eyes, storm-dark and unreadable, met yours.

“If this is some ploy to distract me,” he said, voice rough, “it’s not working.”

You deflated, oddly disappointed and sank back into the cushions with a huff. “Fine. I’ll play along. Just get one of the books from my room, would you? If I’m stuck on this damn couch, I’d rather not die of boredom.”

His expression broke into a crooked, lazy grin. “Sure thing.”

And before you could blink, he was halfway up the stairs, taking them two at a time.

You let out a breath through your nose, dragging a hand down your face. The house was suffocating you. The stillness, the isolation, the tension that bloomed every time he entered the room. Maybe it was the ridiculous number of romance novels you’d burned through. Maybe it was the heat. Or maybe it was just him—Bucky, with his quiet protectiveness, so noble with his brooding silences, and the way his hands had felt against your bare skin in the forest.

You bit your lip, cursing yourself.

His rough palms. The way his body had pinned you down, heavy and solid, the way his breath had ghosted across your cheek, your thigh. It was a memory you couldn’t scrub out, no matter how hard you tried.

And now, you were wondering… wondering how it would feel if he pinned you to this couch—

You jolted upright as Bucky returned, slapping the first aid kit and one of your smuttiest romance novels onto the coffee table like a dealer laying down a hand of cards.

He didn’t say a word, but his lips twitched at the corners. His poker face was cracking.

Your face burned.

You reached for the book, praying he wouldn’t comment on the shirtless man with windswept hair on the cover, but of course, he didn’t have to. That stupid, knowing smirk was already doing the talking.

So much for subtle.

You swallowed thickly as he settled between your legs again, his weight pressing into the couch, his broad shoulders framed by the curve of your thighs. There was something maddeningly composed about him, like none of this fazed him in the slightest. If anything, he almost seemed amused by your discomfort, eyes flicking upward just enough to catch the squirm in your hips, the shallow hitch in your breath.

He looked far too comfortable for someone in such a compromising position, like he knew the effect he had on you, and maybe even enjoyed drawing it out.

He gave your knee a light pat, a silent signal to open up. You obeyed hesitantly, and he brushed back the hem of your skirt. Your underwear, thin and barely holding modesty, was now fully on display. You bit down a wince as he took hold of a loose corner of the bandage. He tugged gently, slowly peeling the adhesive away from the inflamed skin. Pain flared sharp and immediate, white-hot beneath the stretch of gauze.

A soft, involuntary whimper escaped your throat before you could muffle it. Your hand shot out, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as you gripped his shoulder for stability, or maybe just to anchor yourself against the sudden wave of discomfort.

Still, he didn’t flinch. Didn’t look up. His voice came low and steady, a rumbling murmur as his free hand drew calming circles into the uninjured thigh. “Nearly there, sweetheart. You’re doing great.”

Your nails dug into him as your head lolled back, breath ragged. Every muscle was taut, braced against the conflicting signals. Pain prickled your nerves, comfort stirring from his voice and touch. You weren’t sure whether to pull away or lean in.

“You’re doing so well,” he continued. “Just hang in there for me, won’t you?”

The bandage continued its slow ascent, dragging higher and higher up your thigh, until his knuckles were brushing the very edge of your underwear. The skin there was more sensitive, flushed, overheated, and the gentle pull of the adhesive felt too much, too raw, too close. You hissed through your teeth, muttering a broken string of half-coherent words.

“Shit—ah—”

A particularly harsh sting made your hips buck. Your legs tried to snap closed on instinct, but Bucky was faster. He caught your knee with his forearm and pressed it down, holding you open, firm and immovable.

“Easy,” he murmured, steady as a rock. “Don’t tense up. You’ll just make it worse.”

You squirmed beneath his touch, back arching slightly, breath caught between agony and embarrassment. Finally, he peeled the last sticky corner away, and your skin gave a soft snap as it sprang free from the bandage’s grip. The rush of fresh air was immediate, and with it came a strange kind of relief, tinged with something dangerously close to arousal.

“See?” His voice dipped into something almost indulgent. “Good girl. It’s all done now.”

You nearly passed out on the spot. Your head swam, vision dancing at the edges. A ragged exhale wheezed out of you. “God... Sorry. You probably think I’m being dramatic—”

“It’s okay, sweetheart,” he said, smoothing a hand briefly down your thigh. “That’s a nasty spot. Fence got you good.”

You finally dared to look down at him, cheeks flushed, heart a mess in your chest. You were almost certain there was a wet patch on your underwear now. You prayed to whatever higher being was listening that he hadn’t noticed, but when you chanced a look at him, down between your legs, a wave of heat coursed through you. You could see it now. The slight flare in his nostrils. The way his jaw tightened. He knew. And he wasn’t saying a damn thing.

His attention drifted only briefly from your wound as he balled up the used bandage and tossed it somewhere behind him with little care.

“Why don’t you ever use your powers?” he asked, casually. “To stop your own pain?”

You exhaled, long and slow.

“Doesn’t work that way,” you muttered. “I can use it on others, sure. But not myself. I don’t know why. Maybe it’s a mental block or something... I just... can’t read my own body the same way I can read others. Or maybe the universe just hates me.”

He didn’t reply immediately, just nodded slightly in understanding as he cleaned the area with another antiseptic wipe. You winced, hissing through clenched teeth as the sting bit into your already flayed nerves.

“Sorry,” he murmured. “One more second.”

You braced yourself again as he smoothed a fresh bandage over the wound. You could feel the ghost of his fingers lingering there, just for a moment longer than necessary, just enough to make you question it.

—

Outside, the sky had deepened from moody grey to near-black, the clouds rolling like smoke across the heavens. The wind picked up, rattling the windows. Somewhere far off, the first crack of thunder rumbled.

You had expected Bucky to drift off somewhere once he had finished tending your wound, the kitchen maybe, or the porch to watch the storm roll in, or even just to sit on the floor nearby. Anywhere that wasn’t with you. You’d stretched yourself out across the length of the couch, limbs heavy and warm, your upper body propped up by a mess of pillows and the armrest as you lost yourself in the pages of your book. It was a position meant for solitude.

So when Bucky returned from putting the first aid kit away, he didn’t hesitate. With casual ease, he lifted your outstretched legs and sat down, settling your feet squarely in his lap, like it was the most natural thing in the world. But the moment his hands touched you, your entire system short-circuited.

He did it so easily, like it was a habit. Like it was his right.

Your breath caught mid-page.

You didn’t dare move. Didn’t speak. Your fingers hovered over the paper, your eyes glazed across the lines, but your brain refused to register a single word. Your heart pounded in your chest like it was trying to break free. It took twenty agonising minutes, maybe more, before you could even pretend to read again.

And what didn’t help, what made the entire ordeal a million times worse, was that your book had finally reached the scene, the one everyone waited for. The part where the tension cracked wide open, and the protagonist was getting thoroughly ravished against a wall in some expensive villa by the kind of dark, brooding man that only existed in fiction... or maybe sat next to you.

You swallowed dryly, heart lurching again as the male lead slid his hand up the heroine’s thigh, just like Bucky’s had earlier when he’d peeled off your bandage. Only… you’d imagined it going further. Higher.

Maybe you were delusional, but every time he’d touched you, even under the guise of first aid, you’d felt it—the maddening restraint.

You bit your tongue hard, forcing yourself not to let your thoughts spiral, even as arousal simmered low in your belly and pooled with heat between your thighs. You were already flushed and aching and halfway to combusting, and now he had the audacity to sit there, thigh under yours, body close enough to feel his warmth, like he wasn’t slowly unravelling you.

You were seconds away from imploding, from throwing your shitty romance novel across the room and throwing yourself at the goddamn furniture—

“Did you know,” Bucky drawled suddenly, voice low and casual and way too close, “that super soldiers have enhanced senses?”

You practically jumped out of your skin. “What?”

“I can hear your heartbeat,” he continued, that smug glint in his voice unmistakable. “It’s pretty fast. Erratic.”

Your mouth opened, then closed. Your cheeks went up in flames.

He added, far too pleased with himself, “That’s actually how I found you in the forest. I followed your footsteps and your pulse.”

“You’re unbelievable,” you hissed, snapping your book shut with a hard thwack, trying—and failing—to sit up with any grace.

Outside, rain hit the house in a violent curtain, a sudden hisssssh as the skies split open and water poured down in thick, slanted sheets. It rattled on the roof like pebbles hurled from the sky. Wind clawed at the windows, moaning through the seams.

He chuckled, one hand sliding over your shin, fingers curling around your ankle as he held you in place. “Couch rest,” he reminded you, voice dipped in that annoyingly firm tone.

You struggled half-heartedly, but he didn’t let go. Instead, he tugged gently until you sank back into the cushions, his hand still wrapped securely around your leg.

“No,” he scolded, like he was denying more than just your movement.

Your blush deepened, spreading to your chest. You let out a breath, half-frustrated, half-flustered, and melted into the cushions like you wished they’d just absorb you whole.

His thumb brushed a soft, slow arc along your calf—

Then, with a sharp pop, the power snapped off.

The lamps blinked out. The steady hum of the fridge died mid-breath. Silence swallowed the room for a single heartbeat before a thunderclap shattered it, a crackling whip of lightning illuminating the windows in a brief, unnatural white.

You jolted in fright.

Bucky didn’t move right away. He remained seated, your legs still draped across his lap. You squinted into the darkness, instincts already urging you to move, to rush and shut the open windows before the rain crept in.

Bucky’s grip on your shin tightened, silently reminding you to stay put.

“I’ll get them,” he said quietly, voice calm as thunder rumbled loudly overhead once more. “The windows. And some candles.”

You nodded, throat dry, unsure if he could even see the gesture. He moved slowly, easing your legs off his lap and lowering them onto a pillow with tenderness. Then he vanished into the gloom.

You tracked him by sound, the soft thud of his feet on the floorboards, the swift click of windows shutting, one after the other. Each flash of lightning lit the farmhouse like a shuttered camera flash, brief glimpses of movement, shadow, and form. You caught sight of him once, silhouetted in the doorway, jaw set.

When he returned, he carried a bundle of stubby candles and a matchbox. He set them on the table in front of you, crouching low as he arranged them.

He struck a match, the flare hissing into life, and held it up to one of the candles.

You watched, horrified, as he held it aloft for too long. Far too long. The flame crept toward his fingers, the wood blackening, curling with heat. It licked the vibranium tips, skimming the grooves like the metal had been soaked in fuel.

“Bucky—!” you gasped, lurching forward. “Doesn’t that hurt?”

He blinked up at you, brow furrowed in quiet confusion.

“The vibranium?” he asked, glancing at his hand like it was some borrowed object. “It doesn’t feel pain. The tech…there are no nerves.”

You stared at the charred ends of the matchsticks and the still-glowing candlelight flickering against his dark silhouette. The flames cast golden halos along his jaw, his cheekbone, glinting off the grooves of his metal fingers.

“You looked terrified, sweetheart,” he murmured, amusement warming the edge of his voice. “You okay?”

“I just—you let it burn you.”

He smiled, slow and crooked. “It’s not me. It’s metal.”

But you didn’t agree. Not really. Because it was him. That arm, the weight of it, the precision and restraint in it. It was as much a part of him as the careful way he spoke, or the way he touched your leg like it might bruise.

You swallowed again, watching as he struck the final match. It flared to life with a dry rasp, briefly lighting his face in warm gold before he tipped it to the last candle. The wick caught with a soft sputter, the flame settling into a steady flicker. He sat back on his heels, eyes lifting to meet yours. Smoke curled faintly in the air, mingling with the subtle sweetness of melting wax.

Your voice was small. “It is you. All of it.”

He didn’t say anything at first. Just watched you, something in his gaze softened. Then, slowly, deliberately, he reached out again, resting one calloused palm on your shin. His thumb moved in an easy rhythm

“Explain it to me,” you breathed. “How it works.”

Bucky seemed to turn that over in his mind. A low rumble of thunder murmured outside as he eased himself up, returning to the couch beside you. His hand lingered on your leg, tracing up the curve of your shin in thought, pausing lightly over your knee.

“The technology…it simulates nerves, mimics what touch feels like,” he said quietly. “I can touch an object and understand I’m holding it. Feel its weight. Its texture. But I can’t feel temperature… not heat, not cold. I can’t feel pain. I could sink my hand into a fire or take a bullet straight through the palm and feel nothing.”

You didn’t answer. Not right away. Instead, you reached out, your touch featherlight as your fingertips skimmed the metal of his wrist. There was precision in the construction, elegant, engineered, but it was still him. You traced along the inside of his forearm, up to the sharp line of his palm, feeling the grooves, the seams, the impossibly subtle notches between each plate. Then you curled your fingers gently around his, lifting his hand.

You turned it upward. Candlelight caught along the joints of his fingers, gleaming in liquid amber.

And then, deliberately, intimately, you ran your hand down the back of his vibranium hand. Knuckles to wrist.

“Can you feel that?” you breathed.

He inhaled quietly, eyes locked on yours. “Yes.”

You traced your thumb across a seam in his palm, a soft circular motion like brushing the edge of a scar. “Not temperature. But touch?”

“Yeah,” he said. His voice was rougher now. “I can feel the pressure. The motion. Just not... the heat of your skin.”

You didn’t speak. Just guided his hand upward, toward your face, your breath catching as the cool pads of his vibranium fingers grazed your cheekbone and rested there. You could’ve sworn he shuddered. A thrill passed through you at the sensation, not for you, but for him, a quiet hope that maybe this gesture still meant something, even if he couldn’t feel the warmth.

“And now?” you asked, voice barely audible over the rain.

His gaze dipped to your lips, then back up. The flickering darkness had devoured the familiar stormy blue of his eyes, leaving only a hungry void in its place.

“I feel your skin,” he said, low. “It’s soft. Smooth.”

His fingers flexed gently, tracing the line of your jaw in a slow descent. “But I can’t feel the warmth. Just… the shape.”

A small, involuntary smile tugged at your lips, bittersweet. A silent war was waged behind his expression, trapped between desire and duty. Between what he wanted and what he was allowed to reach for.

“I used to have another arm,” he said suddenly, his voice quieter now, like the admission cost him something. “A silver one. I couldn’t feel anything with it. Not even this.”

Your brows furrowed.

“I don’t know what’s worse,” he murmured. “Feeling everything… or feeling nothing at all.”

You leaned into his touch, your cheek pressing fully against the metal. Even if it didn’t give him warmth, maybe it gave him presence.

“I think,” you mumbled, “that feeling is the most natural thing of all. It’s the experience of living. Of life.”

His hand stilled against your face.

“People who try to push aside feeling,” you said, softer now, “to cut it off and pretend it doesn’t exist… they’re the ones who are suffering the most. Not the ones who feel everything.”

His breath left him in a slow exhale. A subtle release, like he hadn’t even realised he was holding onto something tight in his chest until now. The candlelight caught the faintest tremble in his throat as he swallowed, as though your words had struck a nerve.

“I feel everything now,” he said at last, voice barely above a breath, like a truth he hadn’t meant to say aloud, like it had just dawned on him. His fingers twitched, then slowly withdrew, curling into a loose fist in his lap.

Silence settled between you, and you watched as the plates in his metal arm shifted with a subtle hiss, the faint whir of unseen mechanics clicking into place as he flexed his fist open, then closed again. The movement was restless, almost unconscious, like his body was speaking the turmoil he wouldn’t voice. You could feel the heat where his hand had just been, the ghost of his touch clinging to your skin.

For a second, you worried he was retreating inward again, lost to whatever troubles consumed him, but then his voice, low and quiet, cut through the static.

“Come here.”

You blinked, unsure you’d heard him right. “What?”

“Just... closer.”

You moved without thinking. Slowly, cautiously, you slid forward on the couch, knees grazing his, breath shallow in your throat. The space between you disappeared. You could feel his warmth, his stillness, the quiet restraint in the way he held himself.

When he reached up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, you didn’t flinch. His fingers lingered against your cheek, almost like he was afraid you might vanish if he wasn’t gentle.

“I’m not gonna lie,” he murmured, his voice barely audible beneath the rain. “You’re killin’ me here.”

You let out a shaky breath. “I thought you didn’t notice.”

“Sweetheart,” he said, voice rough and honest. “I notice everything about you.”

Your breath caught, lips parting on instinct, but no sound came.

God, was this really happening? You could feel it, his gaze, the pull of something simmering just beneath the surface, waiting for a spark. But was this wise? You were holed up here, alone together for who knew how long. If you were wrong and misread this current thread between you, it would ruin everything. There’d be no slipping away, no easy out, just long days and longer nights of awkward silence and sidestepped glances.

You didn’t know if you were ready to be seen like that. To be touched like that. To fall headfirst into something that might not let you come back the same. You swallowed hard, unsure if you wanted to lean in or away.

And then you took the plunge.

“Let me… let me show you something.”

His breath hitched almost imperceptibly, but he didn’t pull away. “Yeah?”

You focused, just a small pulse of energy through your fingertips, a delicate twist of sensation sent skimming through his nerves like a shiver. It bloomed slowly at first, a gentle, spiralling warmth that coiled from where you touched and then unfolded, spreading like ripples in water.

He inhaled sharply. Eyes fluttering closed. A tremor ran through him, his spine arching ever so slightly as the feeling expanded, not sharp or overwhelming, but deep. A full-body shudder, unforced and unguarded.

You squeezed your fist shut just as his eyes opened in shock. “What was that?”

“Pleasure.” You muttered, almost sheepishly, as heat crawled up your neck. “It’s just another way I can manipulate the senses. Pain, pleasure, hot, cold—”

“Show me again.”

You blinked, unsure if you’d heard right. Momentarily stunned as your nervous ramble melted to nothing on your tongue. “What?”

His eyes met yours. There was no teasing in them, no bravado. Just raw honesty. Curiosity. Need.

“The feeling,” he said. “The pleasure.”

You hesitantly pressed your fingertips gently to the curve of his throat this time, just under his jaw. A warmer spot, closer to where his pulse thrummed, let the sensation unfurl more slowly this time. Syrupy and coaxing, a velvet ribbon of warmth that traced along his neck, over his chest, down his sides.

He exhaled sharply through his nose, body caught somewhere between a shudder and a squirm.

“Jesus,” he breathed.

You bit your lip, focusing, and let it continue, sliding up through his arms, his back, the curve of his stomach. A steady rise and fall of sweetness and shimmer, like goosebumps made of sunlight.

“Tell me,” you said. “What’s it like? How does it feel?”

His voice was strained, breath catching. “It’s—fuck—it’s like… some is pouring honey down my spine. Like every nerve’s waking up. I don’t know how else to explain it. It’s… good. So good.”

You swallowed hard, your own fingers trembling slightly now. The intimacy of it, watching him react, watching the pleasure ripple through him, watching him feel, it was dizzying. You hadn’t expected this. You hadn’t expected how much it would undo you.

You hadn’t meant for it to turn you on. But there was something so dangerously intoxicating about the control, not over him, but over what he felt. To give something gentle. Something sweet. To offer pleasure instead of pain.

And God, he took it like he’d been starving for it.

“Do you want me to stop?” you asked, barely recognising your own voice—breathy, tight, trembling with restraint.

“No,” he said immediately. “Please. Don’t.”

Your fingers drifted lower, brushing the soft fabric just above his chest. His eyes locked with yours, dark and dilated, his pupils swallowing the colour. Every inch of him was taut, vibrating beneath your touch. His thighs twitched from the phantom of sensation, his breath ragged. You held still, the thrum of your own pulse deafening. Your underwear clung uncomfortably to your skin, soaked through with want. You shifted instinctively, a slow grind against nothing, desperate for friction.

A wicked thought slid through you. Before you could talk yourself out of it, the magic spilt from your fingers, liquid light snaking down his torso, following the line of muscle, dipping lower, lower….straight into the heat of his groin.

His hips jerked up in response, a shocked, broken moan ripping from his throat.

Both of you froze, eyes locked, stunned. The golden glow in your palm flickered, fading, the magic receding like a tide.

And then something snapped.

Your lips crashed into his, sudden and sure. He kissed you back instantly, almost desperately, his hands coming up to cradle your face. You barely registered the storm outside anymore, the flicker of lightning on the windows, the hush of rain. He shifted, and suddenly he was between your thighs, pressing you back into the couch cushions. His weight blanketed you, but it only made your need ache sharper.

One hand cradled your jaw, thumb swiping across your cheek as his lips moved against yours, needy and desperate. You fumbled at the hem of his shirt, tugging it upward and over, your palms dragging over heated skin and hard muscle. His stomach flexed beneath your touch, and you traced along his ribs, up the carved lines of his back, just to feel how he moved.

He groaned into your mouth, a low, guttural sound that went straight to your core. His hips ground down against you, bandage and gash completely forgotten, lost beneath the press of flesh and want.

Your wrap dress loosened under his hands, fingers slipping beneath the knot and unravelling the fabric with an urgency that made your breath stutter. The fabric parted, cool air brushing your skin as he exposed your chest.

Your head tipped back as his mouth left yours, trailing lower in a feverish line, across your jaw, down your throat, over the arch of your collarbone. His head dipped beneath your chin, kissing his way down your sternum like he was worshipping every inch of you.

Then you sent another slow pulse of magic through your fingers and into him, this time directly into his skull.

His kisses faltered, breath catching. Teeth scraped gently across your skin as he let out a sound that was half growl, half groan.

“You’re gonna be the death of me, sweetheart,” he rasped against your chest, breath hot and trembling. Goosebumps rippled over your skin in waves, the warmth of his voice sinking straight into your bones.

You only laughed, breathless. “Good.”

You sent another wave of pleasure, molten and slow, slithering down his spine.

He stiffened, body arching slightly as he rode the feeling. You used the moment to shift, rolling him carefully onto his back. He let you, too lost in sensation to resist. You knelt beside him, half draped off the couch, hair hanging wild around your face as you gazed down at him.

He looked wrecked. Beautiful. Lost. His eyes unfocused, lips parted, chest rising and falling in shallow gasps. You watched the way his muscles jumped and twitched under his skin, the way his mouth struggled to form words.

When he blinked back into awareness, the first thing he did was reach down, hands fumbling at his belt with shaking fingers. You helped him, breath caught in your throat, both of you working together to strip him down.

And when his pants came off—

You stopped, just for a second.

Your breath hitched.

He was huge, hard and flushed, resting against his belly. Your mouth went dry.

“You have to tell me how it feels,” you murmured.

Your hand flattened against his stomach, fingers splayed wide. A deep, pulsing bloom of heat channelled through your palm, arcing downward into the thick, aching weight of him.

His reaction was immediate.

A sharp cry tore from his chest as his hips bucked up off the couch, hands flying to your thighs, fingers digging in as if he needed something to anchor him.

The pleasure took him like a tide.

And you could only watch, trembling, as he unravelled beneath your hands.

“I—I… fuck, sweetheart.” He stuttered, breathless, mouth slack as your magic surged through him, pushed to its limits. The strain already throbbed in your arms and back, a dull, familiar ache blooming beneath your skin, but you didn’t let up. Not yet.

He was beautiful like this, utterly undone. His cock flushed at the tip, slick with precum that beaded from the slit, catching the golden shimmer of your magic. His chest heaved, muscles tensing and quivering as pleasure rolled over him. His eyes were clenched shut, brows knit tight as he rode every pulse of sensation.

Then, just as he trembled on the edge, you withdrew, your magic vanishing abruptly.

He choked out a curse, hips jerking uselessly toward the absence, left hard and aching.

“Holy fuck—” he muttered hoarsely, blinking up at you with dazed eyes. “You’ve been holding that back, sweetheart?”

You giggled, warm and wicked, delight blooming in your chest as his vibranium hand slid up your belly and cupped your breast through your bra. His grip was firm, thumb brushing slow circles that had your spine arching.

“I didn’t think you wanted me,” you whispered, almost shy despite the heat between you.

He stared at you like you’d just told him the sky wasn’t real.

“Didn’t want you?” He looked stricken. “Shit, I thought you didn’t want me. If I had known… if I’d known you didn’t hate me, after everything, I would’ve had you pinned to this damn couch days ago.”

Your head spun. The words lodged in your throat. You couldn’t speak, not when your body was buzzing, not when your heart was hammering like the thunder overhead.

So you showed him.

Your palm lit once more, gold heat pulsing from your fingers like molten thread, weaving into the core of him. His face crumpled beautifully, a groan tearing loose as he squeezed your breast harder, his body lurching with the force of it. Precum spilt onto his stomach in a slippery trail, his hips trembling with the need to move, to finish.

You watched as his right hand dropped, trailing down his stomach in desperation, fingers clumsy, desperate for friction.

You caught his wrist before he could touch himself, eyes narrowing as your breath came in sharp pants. His gaze shot up to meet yours, pupils blown wide.

“I… you fucking minx—”

His voice caught, and then his eyes rolled back. His chest rose and fell rapidly, wrist twitching in your grip as he fought for release. His hips rocked into the air, helpless, caught between your magic and your mercy.

He was close. You could feel it in the way his muscles trembled, in the sounds he made. You wanted to see him fall apart. To come undone under your power, not in pain, not in fear, but in ecstasy.

For once, you wanted someone to reap the rewards of your magic—

But just as your focus began to flicker, just as your grip faltered, Bucky struck.

With a growl, he surged upward. His weight hit you like a wave, knocking the air from your lungs as he flipped you beneath him. Your magic sputtered out, lost in the sudden jolt. You gasped, blinking in surprise as he pinned you with his body, his hips snug between your thighs.

He grinned down at you, smug and breathless, as he locked your legs around his waist.

“You wanna say it?” he murmured, voice rough with lust and teasing threat as he rolled his hips with one testing thrust. “Or do you want me to make you?”

You arched up into him instinctively, a cry caught in your throat, the space between your thighs pulsing with need. Every nerve ending felt electrified, begging for contact, for friction, for him.

“Touch me, please,” you whispered, voice raw and aching.

That was all it took to break him.

“Good girl.” He purred, and then he surged forward, crashing into you with a kiss that was all teeth, tongue, and hunger. Your gasp was swallowed by him, your hands fisting in his hair as he kissed you like he was trying to devour you, like he'd starve without you. His hand slid beneath your skirt in one bold motion, cupping the heat of your soaked underwear.

��Fuck,” he growled, voice cracking with disbelief and lust. He broke the kiss, pulling back just enough to watch his fingers press into you through the fabric. “You’re dripping for me.”

You whimpered, head falling back against the cushions as his thumb found your clit, rubbing maddeningly slow circles through the damp cotton. Every movement sent a jolt up your spine. You couldn’t help the way your hips bucked, chasing after every scrap of friction he offered.

“God, Bucky—”

He latched onto the underside of your jaw, kissing and nipping, teeth grazing just enough to make you squirm.

“Should’ve known,” he muttered against your throat. “Sitting here all sweet and pretty, thighs clenching, practically vibrating with it. You wanted this, didn’t you?”

Your only answer was a breathless moan as he hooked his fingers under your underwear and tugged them down your legs. The fabric clung to your slick folds before peeling away, leaving you bare and glistening, trembling beneath him.

Cool air hit your wetness, and you jerked, but he held you in place, palm braced firmly against your thigh.

“You’ve been so fucking patient,” he murmured like a promise, and then, finally, his vibranium fingers found you again, brushing through your folds, gathering your wetness before teasing at your entrance. “Such a good girl. Let me take care of you.”

Then he pushed inside, one thick finger curling into you with devastating control. You cried out, hips lifting from the couch as your walls fluttered around him, greedy and clenching. Then another finger followed, stretching you, filling you, and the stretch burned just right.

“Christ,” he groaned, voice ragged, his lips dragging over your collarbone. “You’re so tight… gonna squeeze the life outta me, sweetheart.”

Your hands clawed at his shoulders, his back, anywhere you could find purchase as he fucked you slow and deep with his fingers. His thumb circled your clit in time, the rhythm perfectly matched.

But it wasn’t enough. You needed more.

Without thinking, your magic stirred, wild and hot and instinctual. It bloomed at your fingertips, golden light flickering like flame across your skin. You pressed your palm to his back, right between his shoulder blades, and poured it into him.

Bucky gasped, his body convulsing above you as the magic hit him, raw pleasure cascading down his spine. His fingers faltered inside you, but you grabbed his wrist and pushed him deeper.

“Don’t stop,” you whispered, voice shaking. “Let me…let me feel you feel it.”

His mouth dropped open, a strangled moan escaping him as the heat of your power flowed down his nerves, threading through his blood like lightning. His arm flexed beside your head, trying to hold himself up as your magic made him quake.

“You’re gonna ruin me,” he rasped, voice nearly unrecognisable, jaw slack as he rocked his fingers harder into you, magic fueling his every movement. “You—fuck, sweetheart—”

“I know,” you cooed, hips stuttering.

You pressed another surge into him, palm glowing like molten gold. His body shuddered against yours, and this time, he groaned your name. And God, with his fingers driving into you, his mouth on your skin, and your magic wrapped around his soul like silk, you were close. So close.

“Fuck—what are you doing to me?” he groaned, voice cracking as your magic threaded through his chest like silk. “Feels like—feels like I’m burning—”

“You are,” you gasped, your back arching, thighs shaking. “Burning for me.”

Your walls clenched around his fingers, drawing him in as if your body was desperate to keep him there, to never let him go. Every drag of his fingers, every stroke of his thumb over your clit, sent a new wave crashing through you, building like a storm on the horizon.

“Bucky, I—” Your voice broke on a moan as pleasure threatened to spill over. “I can’t—”

“Yes, you can,” he growled, pressing his forehead to yours, sweat beading at his temple. “You’re gonna be a good girl and fall apart for me. Right here.”

Your magic surged in answer to his voice, responding to the ragged way he spoke, to the desperation in his touch. You reached for him again, palm pressed flat to his chest this time, and pushed, magic pouring from your body into his, sparks dancing where your skin met his. It hit him like a shockwave.

His breath caught, a strangled gasp punching out of his lungs. “Oh fuck—”

His entire body shuddered. His hips jerked forward reflexively, grinding against your thigh as his body buckled under the pleasure, his orgasm taking him by force, torn from him by the sheer intensity of your power. A guttural, broken sound ripped from his throat, and you felt the warmth of him spill across your stomach, hot and thick as his cock twitched against you.

That was all it took.

Your climax slammed into you with brutal force, your body seizing around his fingers as the pleasure snapped through you. Your legs trembled, your hips rolled uncontrollably, and you cried out. Your back arched off the couch as your magic exploded outward in golden waves. You clung to him, trembling, your body pulsing around his hand as the orgasm rippled through you, again and again.

Bucky felt it all, every tremor, every pulse, every wave. He grunted, his eyes fluttering closed, mouth open in pure awe as you came around his fingers, your walls fluttering and spasming, slick dripping down his wrist.

Bucky groaned against your throat, his lips open and gasping against your skin, voice gone to gravel. “Jesus Christ.”

He collapsed half on top of you, arm catching his weight as his vibranium hand slowly slipped free, fingers drenched in your juices. You were both breathless, wrecked, his cum smeared across your stomach. You crumpled beneath him, limbs shaking, still tingling from the aftershocks.

“You okay?” he whispered, brushing your damp hair from your face with trembling fingers.

You managed a breathless laugh. “Are you?”

He chuckled, dropping a kiss to your collarbone. “You just hijacked every nerve in my body and made me see God. So yeah. I’m fucking great.”

You winced sheepishly, heart fluttering. “Sorry. Lost control a little there.”

“Don’t apologise,” he insisted, voice low and reverent. “If that’s you losing control... I want it. Again. And again…”

He kissed your temple, then pulled back slightly to look at you, eyes half-lidded and hungry even in the aftermath. “But next time, sweetheart… I get to make you lose it first.”

You grinned, your pulse still fluttering. “Deal.”

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asahicore · 10 months ago

Text

stupid in love - psh (m)

this work contains smut - minors please do not interact

pairing. best friend!sunghoon x fem!reader

synopsis. One night early on in your summer vacation, your best friend Sunghoon admits that his biggest anxiety about starting college is going there as a virgin - one thing leads to another, and you end up learning a few things from each other. The more time passes, the more obvious it becomes that your feelings for each other surpass friendship, but with the end of summer looming over your heads, it's hard to tell where these newfound emotions will lead you.

genre. best friends/childhood friends 2 lovers, summer au, lots of fluff and smut but also some angst to spice things up, when i say smut i mean LOTS of smut. like mostly smut lol (mutual first time, ice play, crazy stuff)

word count. 22.1k

a/n. bringing this one back from the pits of my google docs guys.. its been so long since i've posted anything and im not sure when the new hoon fic will be ready so i thought i'd repost an og asahicore fic!!! the title was originally 'hot like ice' but i changed it bc this is my blog and i do what i want <3 i'd also like to say that in terms of plot this is probably not something i would write nowadays, it's very smut-heavy and thats not what im about now idk i was crazy back then... but i rmb being happy w this fic and its reception when i first posted it so i'm happy to have it back on my blog and hope u guys will like it too <3 as always lmk what u think!!

It all started with a lollipop. Well, two, to be exact. One strawberry-flavored, one apple-flavored.

You stand in front of your friend, lollipops in hand. “Which one do you want, Hoon?”

“I don’t mind, just pick whichever one you like best,” he replies absent-mindedly, eyes on the TV as he tries to find a suitable movie for this late summer afternoon.

You plop down on the couch next to him and look at the two lollipops in your hands, unable to decide which flavor you like better. “I don’t know what I feel like right now,” you announce to an uninterested Sunghoon. “I’ll just try both.”

That seems to catch your best friend’s attention. He watches as you unwrap both candies, tasting each once, twice, then as you decide you want the apple-flavored lollipop and hand him the strawberry-flavored one. He doesn’t take his eyes off of your lips as you wrap them and swirl your tongue around the candy, letting its sweetness wash over your taste buds. You raise your eyebrows when you notice his staring and he blinks a couple times, trying to snap himself out of it. “Did you want the other one?” you ask, confused by his behavior.

“N-no, I like strawberry,” he stammers, turning his gaze back to the screen in front of you and settling for ‘When Harry Met Sally,’ a movie you’ve both seen a thousand times but never get bored of.

You’re used to Sunghoon getting lost in his thoughts, so you don’t question it much. You sit back on the couch, your knee touching his. You two are no strangers to a little skinship - after being friends for almost eight years, physical contact comes naturally. You have to admit that recently, it’s started to feel different; but the idea of your friendship changing tugs at your heartstrings so much that you ignore the prickles on your skin when he hugs you or the way your stomach flips when he smiles at you, dimples and sharp canines on display. You tell yourself it’s all stupid and that you can handle so much as your knees touching.

Sunghoon, on the other hand, can't. The lollipop in his mouth right now was in yours mere moments ago and you’d given it to him like sharing saliva was no big deal. He feels like a thirteen year-old for thinking like this, but this was pretty much an indirect kiss.

He stares at the TV screen, but all he can see are your perfect lips sucking that lollipop, and his mind is desperately not trying to go there, but he just cannot help himself. Blood rushes to his dick as he pictures your mouth around him, sucking him off with as much enthusiasm as you are the lollipop. Would you like his taste? Would you look up at him with those pretty eyes of yours, smiling even with his dick stuffed in your mouth?

His own thoughts catch him off guard, and before they can get any wilder, he runs off to the bathroom, knowing he’d never live it down if you caught a glimpse of his erection. Thankfully, you don’t, and you call after him, asking if he wants you to pause the movie, to which he shouts back a strangled ‘no.’

He comes back ten minutes later, face flushed and breath heavy. “Goddamn, Hoon, I know we’re best friends, but if you’re going to dump a massive load, I wished you did it in your own bathroom and not mine,” you tease him, laughing as his face gets even redder and he opens his mouth to protest.

“I was just on my phone!” he replies, mildly offended.

“Whatever,” you say, still laughing, and turn your attention back to the movie.

Well. Sunghoon would rather have you think he just took a huge shit than have you know he came to the idea of you sucking him off and swallowing every last drop of his cum.

A few days later, you and Sunghoon are lying on his bed, the both of you on your backs, talking about this and that as you often do. It’s almost 3 a.m., and it feels almost rebellious, being up this late after months of waking up at 6, but your high school graduation was a week ago and you feel like you can do anything. The dim fairy lights you forced him to put up and the bright moon outside are the only sources of light in the room, and when you turn to look at him, you can just make out the outline of his face, the curve of his nose, the sharpness of his jaw. You've looked at him a thousand times before, so your memory makes up for what the light takes away from your eyes. You shift to lying on your stomach, propping yourself up on your elbows so you can take a better look at your friend. Something about the moonlight makes him look ethereal, and his beauty makes your heart skip a beat, but you’d never admit that to him. Out of habit, you reach out to touch his moles, gently placing your middle finger on his nose and your pointer finger on his cheek. Sunghoon closes his eyes at your touch, used to the warm feeling that settles in his stomach whenever you do that.

“Y/N?” he calls out, just as you pull your fingers away from his moles.

“Yeah?”

He opens his eyes again, meeting yours. “Is there anything you’re scared of for next year? You know, heading off to college and all that?” You shift again and lie on your back, the sides of your two bodies touching. You stare at the ceiling for a while, thinking about his question, and Sunghoon patiently waits for your answer.

“I’m scared about not making friends. I’m not the least outgoing person ever, but it’s so intimidating, not knowing anyone. And it’ll be weird not having you around. Shut up,” you warn before he can make an egotistical remark, so he just chuckles. “I’m also worried about the amount of work I’ll have. I’ve heard so many times that it’s a huge step-up from high school, the workload and the type of work and all that. What if I don’t even like the degree that I chose? I know I can change it, but it still stresses me out. Turning 18 doesn’t feel like a huge deal, but going to college does. It’s when all the responsibility hits. My mom told me to make my own doctor’s appointment the other day, and I almost cried when I had to call them. I’m not gonna have anyone to do my groceries for me. I’m scared I might get an awful roommate. I hate the idea of communal showers. I don’t even know what I want to do after college, and I know I have four years to make up my mind, but I’m scared those four years are gonna flash by and I’ll be indebted and unemployed by the end of it.” You pause to take a breath, and you can feel Sunghoon’s eyes on the sides of your face, but he doesn’t say anything. “Also, I heard that you put on a lot of weight during your freshman year.”

You turn to look at him to find him smiling at you. “Wow. That’s a lot.”

The two of you giggle, eyes not leaving the other’s. After a moment, you turn your gaze back to the ceiling and sigh. “Yeah, I know. But I’m more excited than I am scared. What about you?”

Sunghoon follows your gaze and looks up above him. He doesn’t say anything for a while, and when he finally speaks up, he says it so quietly, you almost don’t hear it. “I’m scared of going to college a virgin.”

You try to stay serious for a few seconds, but you can’t keep your laughter in and snort loudly at your friend’s words, laughing so hard your stomach starts to hurt.

“Don’t make fun of me!” he whines, hands coming up to cover his face.

It takes you a while to calm down; not only was Sunghoon’s statement ridiculous, it was so unexpected that you couldn’t stop laughing. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” you apologize, catching your breath. “I just can’t believe that that’s what you’re scared of, of all things.”

“What? It’s a perfectly reasonable concern,” he defends himself.

“Nobody’s gonna care if you’re a virgin, Hoon,” you try to reason with him, but if there is one thing your best friend is, it’s stubborn.

“I’m gonna care! What if I like a girl but I can’t bring myself to make a move on her ‘cause I have no experience?”

“But Hoon, chances are she doesn’t have a lot more experience than you do! She’ll be the same age we are, dummy. We’re not sixteen year-olds jumping into a world of twenty year-olds. Sure, some people have their first time in high school, but a lot do it at university. You’ll be fine,” you reassure. His furrowed eyebrows and pout tell you he’s not fully convinced, though.

“Oh, c’mon! If you really want to lose your virginity before leaving, we can get you laid during the summer. I’m sure we can find a girl nice enough,” you tease, jokingly patting his bicep, trying not to make a note of how firm the skin feels under your hand.

Sunghoon sighs, and you can tell he’s actually taking this seriously. “I’m not that desperate that I’d have sex with the first girl that agrees, you know. I’d still rather do it with someone…” He glances at you for just a second. “Someone I trust.”

You feel your face heat up at the possible meaning behind his words, so you look away, not wanting him to see the effect they had on you. He changes his position on the bed, and now it’s his turn to prop himself up on his elbows and look down at you.

“What about you, Y/N? Don’t you think it’d be good to get a bit of experience before going off to college? It’ll be one less thing to stress about,” he says, a small smirk playing on his lips, and his shy demeanor from moments prior is completely gone. Out of fear that his ego would get even bigger, you'd never tell him, but you love it when he gets like that - when he thinks he’s the shit and teases you mercilessly. You know he does it lightheartedly, and it never fails to bring a smile to your face.

Except right now it does. You’re not smiling, far from it; you’re looking up at your best friend, mouth slightly agape and wide eyes searching for a sign that he may be just joking. He raises an eyebrow expectantly, and your reaction is to scoff at him.

“Do I need to remind you that you’re the reason I have no experience to begin with, Park Sunghoon?” you ask, sitting up on the bed to peer down at him. He shifts again and lays on his back, his hands coming up behind his head as he beams at you.

“Am I really?”

You wish you could slap that shit-eating grin off of his face. This is not the first time you're having this conversation. “Yes, Hoon. Every time a guy was even remotely interested in me, you chased them away. I’m still not over you telling Kang Taehyun I have smelly feet! I had a huge crush on that guy!”

Sunghoon loudly laughs at the memory, and you curse yourself for cracking a smile when you see his face scrunched in laughter. “That was in Year 5, Y/N! It’s been years!”

You grab a pillow and throw it at his head, unable to not laugh along with him. “What about Bang Yedam, then? That was only last year, and you totally ruined my chances with him!”

“Listen, if you having a creepy doll collection is enough to make him not ask you out, then he must not have liked you that much.”

“But I don’t have a creepy doll collection! That’s the whole point!” you say, on the brink of desperation. You sigh at your friend who’s still catching his breath from laughing so much. “You’re just lucky they didn’t repeat your bullshit to anyone. I would’ve had such a weird reputation otherwise.”

“Of course they didn’t. I told them I’d kill them if they did,” he stated matter-of-factly, as if that was a normal and appropriate thing to do.

“Couldn’t you have threatened them that way so they wouldn’t ask me out instead of lying to them about me?”

Sunghoon stares at you for a few seconds, eyes seemingly empty of thought. “Huh. Yeah, I guess I could’ve done that.”

“Ugh,” you groan, and plop down on the bed next to him. Neither of you says anything for some time, until you break the silence again. “You know you even stole my first kiss, Hoon,” you speak softly.

“I know,” he says, voice just as quiet as yours. “You never shut up about it.”

“Why would I? I was about to kiss Lee Heeseung, of all people, the boy everybody, including me, had a crush on, but no, someone had to get between us and kiss me in his stead,” you grumble, giving your friend a harsh side-eye.

Sunghoon sighs and shakes his head as if you’re being irrational. “I don’t get why you’re so hung-up on that. Why would you want your first kiss to be because of a middle-school party dare rather than have it with your best friend, whom you know and trust?”

“It was Lee Heeseung, for God’s sake!”

“And I’m Park Sunghoon!”

Still both laying on your backs, you turn your heads to look at each other. There’s something in his eyes you’ve never seen before that you can’t quite put your finger on. The person in front of you is one you’ve known for years now and yet the look in his eyes is of such unfamiliar intensity that it makes your stomach flip. You inhale sharply when his eyes drift down to your lips, and you can’t help but mirror his actions. The atmosphere has flipped like a light switch; it was playful just mere seconds ago, the sound of your usual banter filling up the room. All of a sudden, there’s something heavy dancing in the air around you, and it makes your heart skip a bit faster and your breath a bit shallower.

Your voice is barely above a whisper when you say his name.

“Yeah?” His eyes snap back up to yours, but you're still stuck on his lips. Have they always looked so kissable?

“Why did you do that? Why did you push those boys away from me?” you ask, even though you’ve asked this question a thousand times before. You want to hear his answer again.

“I’ve already told you. You deserved better than them.” Whenever you ask him about it, Sunghoon always stops here, and you never push. But there are unspoken words left hanging that you’re dying to hear.

“Who, then? Who’d be better than them?”

He's quiet for a second. “It’s a secret,” he whispers finally, a small smirk teasing his lips, and you roll your eyes at him. But then your eyes meet again and your breath hitches. You shift to your side so you can face him more fully, and he mirrors your actions.

It’s his turn to say your name. “Y/N?”

“Yeah?”

“Have you kissed anyone since?” he asks, coming off shyer than he’d intended to.

You giggle and smack his shoulder lightly. “Why do you wanna know?”

He snickers too and, to your surprise, stops your fist from hitting him a second time, enveloping his larger hand around yours and laying it between the two of you on the bed. “Cause I should know that sorta thing. Also, if you did kiss someone since then, and I didn’t know about it, I'd be upset.”

“Why would you be mad?” you say, still giggling, trying to ignore the way your heartbeat quickens when he threads your fingers with his.

“Because you wouldn’t have told me!”

“Well…”

“No way, Y/N,” he practically shouts, already feeling betrayed, his free hand coming up to grip his heart in fake shock.

“Let me at least finish first,” you protest. He obliges, although he doesn't look very happy about it. “You know that summer 2 years ago I went away to camp?”

“Yeah, worst summer ever.”

“Well, I did sort of… get with someone, that summer,” you say, avoiding Sunghoon’s wide eyes as he gasps loudly.

“What? Who with? How come you didn't tell me?” he exclaims, letting go of your hand. He sits up on the bed and crosses his arms over his chest like an annoyed child.

“Because of this exactly.”

“What’s this?”

“Your reaction right now!” you say, sitting up as well, both of your knees grazing his. The simple touch sends a shiver down your spine that you can only hope he takes no notice of.

“Wouldn’t you be a bit upset if I told you I ‘got with’,” he air-quotes, “a random girl two years ago?”

“No? Especially not if it was two years ago?”

You both look just as confused as the other, obviously not on the same wavelength. He furrows his eyebrows and glares at you. “Well, I am.”

You throw your head back in laughter and place your hands on his knees, but when you come forward again, you overestimate the distance between the both of you and find yourself mere inches from his face. The laughter immediately dies in your throat, and you feel it go dry when your stunned reaction elicits a smirk from him. You don’t know how long you stare into his eyes, all you know is you snap out of it when his gaze drifts down to your lips once more. You’re closer now than you were before, and having him so close makes your mind spin with all the possible outcomes of such proximity. You lean back on the bed, pulling away your hands from his knees to hold yourself up on them.

“There’s no reason to,” you say, hoping that breaking the silence will dissipate some of the tension in the air. You keep going back and forth between familiar and dangerous and you don’t know how long you’ll be able to handle that atmosphere. “It’s not like anything grand happened. We made out a bit and held hands. We never spoke after that summer, otherwise you’d have known about it.”

Sunghoon lets out a low hum. His eyes are still trained on yours, and you wished he’d look away because you can’t seem to do it yourself. He still doesn’t say anything, so you speak up again. “You say that like you’ve never had girlfriends, by the way. Surely you’ve done more than just kissing.” Silence again, and you can’t decipher the look he’s giving you. “So, I don’t know what you’re so scared about, because it’s not like you have zero experience. I’m sure the girls at uni will love you, Hoon.”

He sighs and finally tears his eyes away from yours, and you’re not sure if you’re seeing things because of how dark and late it is or if there’s an actual blush creeping on his cheeks. “Sure, I’ve had a couple girlfriends, but you know they’ve never lasted long,” he says, looking down at his lap. “We made out… I guess I-” he gives you a quick glance, “I’ve touched their boobs and they’ve touched my… you know…”

You can’t help but giggle at how shy your friend is suddenly being. “Can’t even say the word ‘penis’, Hoon?,” you tease, and his eyes snap back up at yours.

“Of course I can. Penis! There.” You look at each other for a few seconds before bursting into laughter, Sunghoon hushing you so you don’t wake up his parents, but his hushes are louder than your laugh. After a couple minutes, you calm down and wipe your tears away, grateful for the break in the tension between you and Sunghoon.

“Anyway, yeah, I guess I don’t have that much experience. Which is why I brought it up in the first place.” And just as quickly as it’d left, the tension is back again.

You look around the room because the weight of Sunghoon’s gaze on your face is unbearable. You release a shaky breath when you feel his gentle hand on your knee, and your eyes drift to it, but you can’t get yourself to look him straight in the eyes.

“Don’t you think it’d be good to get experience before leaving for college, Y/N?” he asks, and you can tell he’s trying to sound confident, but his voice comes out breathier and shakier than he must intend it to.

“I don’t know… I don’t think it’s necessary,” you say, eyes still trained on his hand resting on your knee. He squeezes it a bit, making you finally look up at him. Is it just you, or did the room get hotter all of a sudden?

“Not everything you do has to be out of necessity, you know.”

The both of you stare at each other for a few moments. This shift in your relationship was bound to happen; you’d been feeling it more and more recently. You didn’t use to think twice about Sunghoon taking your hand in his, nor did you feel those stupid butterflies eating away at your stomach every time his gaze lingered for a second too long. You’d tried to reason with yourself that it was just teenage hormones doing their stupid job, and that you were doomed to feel some kind of attraction for your extremely handsome best friend at some point in your life, but that if you ignored it hard and long enough it would go away.

Well, now that Sunghoon’s lips are barely inches away from yours and your skin is on fire under his hand, it definitely isn’t going away.

“What would you do if I kissed you?” Sunghoon asks, eyes fluttering down to your lips. You think he’s looked at your lips more than the rest of your face in the past hour.

“I’d slap you,” you lie, gaze mirroring his.

“Would you really?” he says, and your hesitation makes him smirk slightly.

“No,” you breathe out, and it’s the answer he’s been waiting for, the answer he needs to finally press his soft lips against yours.

You don’t even have the time to savor the moment, though, because the warmth of his lips is gone as quickly as it came. He pulls back, a surprised look in his eyes, as if he can’t believe what he just did. The tension above you breaks and rains down on you like small pieces of confetti that settle comfortably on your head and shoulders. There’s a knot in your stomach but instead of twisting your insides in nervousness, it feels warm and makes you giddy for what’s to come next. Sunghoon’s surprised expression transforms into a grin at the sound of your laughter, and he can’t help but chuckle along with you.

You scooch closer to him, and his other hand comes to rest on your second knee. You can tell he’s not going to do much more, so you lean in bit by bit, and peck him softly on the lips. You both giggle again and you blame the fact that you want to feel his lips on yours again on the late hour of the night. You peck his lips once, twice more, giggling inbetween, but when you peck them a third time, he doesn’t let you pull away and keeps his lips on yours. The sudden added strength takes you aback, but it doesn’t take you long to yield to his touch and kiss him back.

Sunghoon moves his lips slowly against yours and it’s surprisingly easy to fall into his rhythm. You don’t have the most experience with kissing, but something about doing it with your best friend reassures you and your whole body relaxes as you focus on the feeling of his lips moving in cadence with yours. The knot in your stomach stays there and tightens when his hands ride up your thighs and settle on your hips, holding you snugly there. You’re only wearing shorts and his palms against your bare skin make you release a shaky breath in Sunghoon’s mouth. You pull back for a bit, surprised at your own reaction, but nothing has prepared you for the way your best friend looks at you.

His pupils are dilated, dark; his glossed-over eyes bore right into yours. Your breath was already shallow from the kiss, but it’s his gaze that renders you completely breathless. Sunghoon tightens his grip on your hips and leans in for more, but you put a hand on his chest to stop him, making his eyes snap back into focus.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry, Y/N. I don’t know what took over me. Are you okay?” he asks, as short of breath as you are, but worry laced in his voice.

“No- Yes- I mean, yes, I’m fine, everything’s fine, I just-” you shake your head, trying to gather your thoughts. “I’m just…”

“Tell me. You can tell me,” he says, rubbing gentle circles into your hips with his thumb, and the unfamiliar yet intimate gesture makes it even harder to concentrate.

“We- we’re best friends, right?” you ask, voice trembling, You ask, even though you know the answer, just because you’re afraid the line the two of you have just crossed is already miles behind you, and you won’t be able to retrace your steps.

“Yeah, of course we are,” Sunghoon reassures, head tilting to the side in confusion.

“And best friends… Do they… Well, it’s normal for best friends to kiss, right?” you say, trying to calm the overpowering urge to kiss him again.

Sunghoon chuckles and tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “I don’t know about that, Y/N.”

“Oh,” you breathe.

Sunghoon quickly catches on to your hesitation. “But who cares about what best friends usually do and don’t do?” he says, holding your face between his hands to make you look up at him. “I liked kissing you, just now. I really, really liked it,” he admits, red dusting his cheeks. “Did you?”

You nod, too shy to put just how much you enjoyed kissing Sunghoon into words. “Do you want to do it again?” he asks and chuckles when you nod again, eyes already on his lips. This time, you don’t stop him when he leans in and let him press his lips to yours again. His words have reassured you and you sigh into his mouth, making him smile into the kiss.

His hands ride up a bit and settle on your waist, bringing you a bit closer to him, and you circle your arms around his neck. The shyness of the first kiss is completely gone, and you’re both gaining more and more confidence, letting everything go and focusing solely on where your bodies meet. He tilts his head, deepening the kiss, and you push your body onto his, a sudden need to feel him against you, to feel his strong arms encaging you.

You pull away at the same time to catch your breaths, smiling at each other when you see how lustful the other’s expression is. Sunghoon’s eyes have glossed over once more, and you’re sure yours have too. “C’mere,” he whispers, beckoning you to him. You climb onto his lap, one knee on each side of his hips. “Is this okay?” he asks, but you don’t answer, you just lean in and kiss him again, holding his face in your hand as his hands roam your back over the thin fabric of your t-shirt. Your kisses are curious, the both of you trying to figure out what feels best as you tilt your heads from one side to the other and let your inquisitive hands travel each other’s bodies. Yours find purchase in his hair, and you revel in the sighs that escape his lips whenever you pull and tug at the strands.

As the kiss gets hungrier and needier, his hands fall down to your lower back, and then to your ass. He just cups it for a while, but after a few moments, grabs it harder and brings you close to him, making your core rub against the hardness that had been building in his sweatpants for a while now. The friction is unexpected and you can’t help the loud moan leaving your lips at the feeling. It’s a feeling you know from your own hand in the privacy of your dark room, but Sunghoon making you feel that way is so foreign that it snaps you out of the daze you’re in.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, was that too much?” Sunghoon scrambles for words, but you’re already pulling away, and he doesn’t know what to do to keep you close.

You sit back on the bed, holding your knees close to your chest. You look at your best friend in front of you who’s looking at you with a worried expression. Something in you craves to reach a hand out to him, to feel his cheeks and jawline under your palms again, to find out if he’d shiver at your touch and if goosebumps would form on his skin. He’s been your best friend for eight years, and you’ve always thought you knew everything about him, the same way he’s supposed to know everything about you. But you realize in this moment that there are things you don’t yet know, melodies to be discovered, treasures to be unearthed. Your fingertips are burning to find them all.

The sound of your name resonates inside your mind and it takes you everything not to fall back on him again. You furrow your eyebrows, confused by all those things you’re feeling. What was it that just took over you, that lit your insides up so?

You straighten your back suddenly and take in your surroundings. Sunghoon’s room is still the same old room you’ve always known, the same blue walls, the same posters he only ever changes when he finds a new interest and lets go of an old one. The same pictures from when you were 10, 12, 15, recent ones now that you’re 18; the same figure skating trophies and medals on his shelves. You turn to look at your best friend. The same soft, round cheeks contrasted by a sharp jaw; the same almond eyes, round with worry at your sudden movement away from him; the same two moles you’ve always found so comforting, for some reason. You almost reach out to touch them, to give you some sense of balance, to reassure you that things aren’t changing as much as it feels like they are. But you’re scared electricity might fry your fingers if you touch him right now. You’re scared you won’t be able to take your fingers off of him, no matter how much it stings. His face is the same as always before, but there’s something else to it, something you could probably figure out if you spent more than three seconds thinking about it, but you’re not sure you want to figure it out.

“Is everything okay? Did- Did I do something wrong?” he asks, voice laced with concern.

Before he can put a reassuring hand on your knee, you get off of the bed, and hurriedly say, “No. I just- I think I should go home.” You look everywhere but at him.

He sits up at your words, concern turned into confusion. “It’s 3 a.m., Y/N, why do you want to go home all of a sudden? You’ve stayed over plenty of times before.”

“I know, I just…” you trail off, trying to come up with an excuse. “I’ve got cramps. I think my period’s coming,” you lie. It’s better than whatever truth is threatening to bubble up.

“Oh. Right.” He scooches a bit, sitting on the edge of his bed. “Is there anything- like- can I do anything?” He sighs, steadies himself. “You don’t have to go, is what I’m trying to say.”

A few months ago, when you had finally wrapped your head around the fact that your best friend was an attractive man and that he made you feel things friends weren’t supposed to make you feel, you’d told yourself it was all just a phase that would pass soon. But feelings this strong surely cannot go away that easily.

You take a deep breath in and tear your eyes away from him. “I think I should go home,” you repeat. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Hoon.”

You turn around and start walking away, but Sunghoon is quick on his feet and stops you from going out the door. “Do you actually have cramps? Or are you just scared that our friendship might change?” He sounds out of breath, like asking this question is taking him all of his energy.

You avert his gaze and try to push past him, but he’s much stronger than you. Puberty sure played its trick on him. You sigh and look down at your feet. “I’m tired, Hoon, let’s talk about it tomorrow.”

But if there is one thing your best friend is, it’s stubborn. “I don’t wanna talk about it tomorrow. I wanna talk about it now. Did it feel nice?” he asks, and his resolute tone of voice makes you look up at him.

“I- I mean-”

“Y/N,” he starts, wrapping his arms around you and leaning in a bit, his familiar scent filling your nostrils. You have to close your eyes. “Answer me. Did it feel good?”

“Yes,” you answer without thinking.

“Is that why you’re scared?”

“Yes.” Your eyes flutter open when you feel his fingers graze your cheek. He leans in again and traps your kiss in a much softer and intimate kiss that makes your head spin and your thoughts cloud. Before you can get carried away, you pull away again, and ignore how beautiful he looks when his eyes stay closed for a couple of seconds longer. He only opens them once you tell him once again you should go home, that you need some time to think.

“Let me at least walk you there. It’s dark,” he pleads, his grip on your waist still tight.

“Hoon, I live right next door, I’ll be fine.” You let him kiss you once more and he makes you promise to call or text him tomorrow.

When you leave, Sunghoon plops back down on his bed, arm resting on his forehead as he plays back the events of the night. Had he done something wrong? Something that made you want to get as far away from him as quickly as possible? He’d tried to be gentle and to make sure you were okay with everything, but he couldn’t help but get carried away when he heard those sweet sighs of yours. He thought he was going to combust when he heard you moan, and he wanted to hear it over and over again, but you’d jumped from him like he’d told you he had killed someone.

He hopes you were telling the truth when you said you were just scared about your friendship changing. He hadn’t wanted to push and get you to stay; he knew it was weird, seeing each other in a different light all at once. He wasn’t completely oblivious; he’d felt that same shift in your relationship those past few months, just like you had, although you’d never spoken about it to each other. He knew he could never go back to seeing you as just a friend when he’d jerked off one day and you were all he could think of. He kept imagining the sounds you’d make and the way your hands would feel on him, and he’d gotten so close to getting that today, but he must’ve fucked something up and now his chances were ruined. He curses himself for letting you slip through his fingers just when he thought he finally had you.

You don’t get a wink of sleep that night. Your mind is reeling with everything that happened in Sunghoon’s room. Your fingers unconsciously keep coming up to touch your lips and feel the ghost of his touch there. Your skin turns hot at the simple thought of how perfect his lips had felt against yours, and you toss and turn in your bed as you consider what might’ve been, had you stayed with Sunghoon.

But it’s all happening too quickly, and even though you’ve been curious in more ways than one about your best friend for the past few months, you hadn’t expected to kiss him and to enjoy it so much on a random summer night. Your thoughts only seem to calm down and your eyes finally close just as the sun starts to rise.

The next day, Sunghoon wakes up in the early hours of the afternoon and checks his phone right away. A couple of notifications, but nothing from you. A text from Jake in their group chat with Jay asking to hang out at Sunghoon’s pool, to which he replies that they can come whenever. He taps a quick one out in the shower, memories of your scent and your lips on his getting him to finish quicker than he’d like to admit. He’s in the middle of a late breakfast when Jake and Jay spawn at his door, swimming trunks already on. Still nothing from you.

It doesn’t take Jay and Jake long to figure out that something is up with their best friend. It’s not like he does much usually, but today especially, he makes no effort to entertain them. He laughs at their jokes, but it feels like he laughs because he hears other people laughing rather than because he genuinely finds them funny. He barely even reacts when the inflatable pool ball hits him right in the face.

His friends don’t say anything until they’re all seated at a table by the pool, sipping on some ice-cold Coke. The air is still warm but the sun is low in the sky, hidden behind the house. Sunghoon is still lost in his thoughts, unblinking eyes fixed on a random point in the distance. Jay and Jake exchange a look before the former breaks the silence.

“Is everything alright, Hoon? You look out of it today.”

Jay’s voice brings him back to the here and now, and his eyes jump back and forth between his two friends who are looking at him expectantly. “Huh? Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. Just tired. I didn’t get a lot of sleep last night,” he says, leaving some of the truth out, but his friends know him better than he gives them credit for.

“Are you sure? I feel like there’s something you’re not telling us. You usually act like a little bitch when you’re tired, you don’t get all…,” Jake shakes his hand in front of his face, “distant like that.”

Sunghoon bites his lip, debating whether he should tell his friends about you or not. No matter how stupid they may be, they also know both of you quite well, so they might prove not completely useless, he thinks.

“Y/N and I kissed last night.”

It’s almost comical, how Jay and Jake bring their head forward in astonishment, how wide their mouth gets, how their eyes look like they might pop out of their sockets, and how they say “You what?!” at the same time. On a normal day, Sunghoon would've laughed.

“We kissed,” Sunghoon repeats, eyes drifting down to the ground in front of him as he rubs his neck in embarrassment.

“Fucking finally!” Jay exclaims.

“Told you it was gonna happen. No way you two were going to stay just besties forever,” Jake teases, punching Sunghoon in the arm. “How was it?”

Sunghoon sighs and leans back in his chair, letting his head hang back. “Really fucking amazing,” he chuckles. His friends holler for him, snickering like 12-year old boys who just saw a hot girl walk past.

“God, I saw this coming from miles away. I don’t know why you kept on insisting nothing was gonna happen between you two,” Jake says, beaming.

“I really didn’t think anything would… I just… Started seeing her differently recently, I guess.” Sunghoon shrugs, sheepishly smiling to himself.

“So, what happened? Did you guys just kiss or…?” Jay asks, raising his eyebrows suggestively. Jake giggles at the insinuation of sex but has a curious glint in his eyes when he waits for Sunghoon’s answer.

“Yeah, um, we just kissed cause she- she sort of ran away?” Sunghoon admits, wincing at the recollection.

“You what?!” Chaeyong’s voice rings out in the food court of the mall where you’re currently sitting, halfway through your strawberry milkshake.

“Keep it down, would you?!” you scold her, smiling apologetically to the people staring at you and your friend.

“If it was so good, why the hell did you run away, Y/N?”

“I just- I don’t know… Freaked out, I guess…” you mumble, cowering under the harsh look she gives you.

“Well, have you talked since?” You don’t reply, just guiltily avoid her gaze. “Y/N!”

“I know, I know! I just… don’t know what to do. ‘Hey, nice making out with you last night, bit weird since we’ve been best friends since we were 11, but that’s fine, right?’ Ugh! That’s so stupid,” you complain, flopping back in your chair.

“That’s exactly what you should say. Going MIA on him will just make things weirder. Plus you’ve never gone more than 24 hours without speaking so one of you will eventually cave in. It should be you,” she says, looking at you with a raised eyebrow as she takes a sip from her milkshake.

You scoff when she gives you a ‘you know I’m right’ look. “I’ll think about it on the way home and text him. There.”

And you do think about it on the way home; but you don’t get the opportunity to send the text, because as soon as you get off the bus at the stop right across from your house, you see Sunghoon sitting on the bench of your porch, looking around nervously and rubbing his hands on his denim shorts. You chuckle to yourself; who knew he got so distressed from not speaking to you for a day?

He stands up when he sees you approaching and raises his hand in a quick wave. “Hi, Hoon,” you greet, and you can feel his whole body relax when you hug him. So, you don’t hate him, he thinks. You sit down on the bench together. “Sorry I didn’t text you. I didn’t know what to say after… last night,” you admit, hugging your knees to your chest as you sit facing him.

“Yeah, I figured,” he chuckles, smiling shyly at you. “I was scared you’d never want to see me again.”

You look at him with wide eyes, mildly offended, and punch his arm. “How could you think that?!”

“Well, you did sort of run away from me last night,” he says, lightly punching your arm in return.

You tut in defeat. “I did, didn’t I?”

“Yeah. I’m just glad you didn’t walk past me straight into your house just now.”

You chuckle and rest your head on top of your knees. “That would’ve been a bit much, even for me.”

Sunghoon lets out a puff of air through his nose in response, and then the two of you sit in silence. You’re contemplating what to do next when your friend pulls you from your thoughts. “Should we, um…” He shuts his eyes tightly in reflection for a second before opening them again and looking straight at you. “Should we just pretend like last night didn’t happen? Would that make you feel more comfortable?”

His words take you aback and your eyes widen a bit; you hadn’t even thought pretending nothing happened last night was an option, because you didn’t think you’d ever be able to actually get it out of your head. Even now, if you stare at Sunghoon for too long, your gaze will naturally drift downwards or you’ll get a flashback of his large hands around your waist. But apparently, if he can offer to pretend like the previous night wasn’t a thing, then it must not have been such a huge deal to him. You quickly try to hide your disappointment and nod at your friend. “Right. Yeah. Sure.”

Silence makes its way between you two again. It makes the late afternoon breeze a bit chillier and the physical distance between you and Sunghoon feel much bigger than it actually is. Wanting it to go away quickly, you ask, “Do you wanna watch a movie, then?”

Sunghoon’s never looked so relieved about watching a movie, and he immediately accepts your offer. You get some popcorn ready while he searches for a movie to watch. He clicks on a horror movie that looks like it’s got a cliché storyline and awful acting, but you’re happy for any sort of distraction when Sunghoon is sitting so close to you.

You and Sunghoon always sit close-by when you watch something together, knees and shoulders brushing against each other. Tonight isn’t any different, except that your skin burns everywhere it touches his. You can smell the faint scent of chlorine in his hair, and it’s so intoxicating you want to bury your face there and breathe it in.

You’re thirty minutes into the movie and still nothing’s happened when Sunghoon puts his arm around you, letting his hand hang over your shoulder. The sudden warm contact makes you take a sharp intake of breath as memories of the previous night come flooding once again. You don’t know what you were expecting, but Sunghoon simply rests his hand there and doesn’t do anything more for another thirty minutes, except for squeezing your shoulder when there’s a small jumpscare, making you chuckle at him. This isn’t much more than what you’re used to with him, but knowing your friend, he must be thinking the ball is in your court. So you scooch a bit closer into his side and rest your head on his shoulder, the scent of his skin even stronger now that your nose is so close to his neck. You feel his chest raise and relax as he sighs deeply and tightens his hold around your shoulders. His small reactions to you spur you on and you decide to wrap an arm around his waist and you feel him flinch oh-so-slightly at your touch in such a sensitive spot. He starts to rub circles into your shoulder and rests his head on top of yours, and your whole body relaxes into his. This is so much more than what you’re used to with him; and yet, you so readily melt under his touch.

You can barely focus on the movie because of how close Sunghoon is. When a particularly scary ghost jumps on the screen, you flinch and hide your face in his neck, and he giggles at your reaction, hand coming up to stroke your hair comfortingly. It only takes you a few seconds to realize what position you’re in, and you release a shaky breath as you slowly lift your head towards Sunghoon, only to find him already looking at you, seemingly having had that same realization. When his eyes drift down to your lips, you know you’re done for.

You call out his name, and he’s already answered ‘Yes?’ before you’ve had time to finish uttering the second syllable. “I don’t think I want to pretend last night never happened,” you admit, holding his waist a bit tighter.

“Good. Me neither,” he breathes out before leaning down and trapping your lips in his, the kiss releasing all your pent-up frustration of the day. The world seems to melt away with his lips on yours, the movie already long forgotten. Sunghoon pulls you into his lap and you slide your palms up from his waist, against his chest and to his shoulders before wrapping your arms around his neck, bringing your body closer to his. His hands are sitting on your hips, fingers lightly pressing into them and your lower back. Now that you both seem to know what you want, it’s so easy, just falling into this kiss.

His tongue darts out to lick your bottom lip and you gladly open your mouth for him, letting his tongue explore it. You haven’t kissed someone like this in ages, maybe ever, but Sunghoon takes the lead and effortlessly gets you to follow his rhythm. When a flick of his tongue against yours feels particularly nice, you arch your back and press your chest into his, making him smirk into the kiss. This time, when he brings your hips down onto his, letting you feel his erection against your clothed core, the feeling doesn’t make you want to run away; instead, you want to feel it again and again.

You fall into a nice pace of rubbing yourself against him, eliciting hushed moans and loud breaths from the both of you. You can’t concentrate on kissing him and grinding down on him at the same time, so you drop your head down to bury your face in his neck, leaving a few pecks there but mostly moaning against his skin, enjoying how your hot breaths make him shiver.

You can’t keep a whine from escaping your lips when he bucks his hip into yours and his tip brushes directly against your covered clit, instantly bringing a hand up to your mouth. “Fuck, Y/N,” he breathes. “I know we gotta keep quiet ‘cause of your parents but the sounds you’re making are so fucking pretty. I wanna hear them over and over again.” His words make you whimper against his neck and you feel your slick starting to pool in your panties.

“H-hoon. This feels so good,” you moan, breathing warmly against the shell of his ear.

“I know, right? Feels so good,” he chuckles, hands grabbing at your ass to bring you harder down onto him. His actions are about to elicit another moan from you when, all of a sudden, a loud jumpscare in the movie makes you jump away from the boy underneath you and yelp in fear, which in turn makes him scream in surprise. You look at each other, panting and eyes open wide, hands clutching at your hearts, until you burst into laughter. The fun moment is short-lived, however, as your mom rushes down the stairs not ten seconds later, frantically asking if everything is alright.

You sit up straight at the sight of your mother and clear your throat. You’re thankful for the dark of the room which hides your and Sunghoon’s swollen lips and flushed faces from her view. “Sorry, mom, we were just watching a scary movie. We’re fine.” She sleepily nods and walks back up the stairs, and when she’s back in her room, Sunghoon and you exchange a look and erupt into another fit of smaller, quieter giggles.

That night, after Sunghoon’s gone home, the both of you get yourselves off in your own beds, the strong memory of each other’s lips and hands bringing you both to your releases. Without even realizing it, you moan out Sunghoon’s name as your orgasm hits. The window from your room doesn’t face his; but still, your heart is beating so loudly that you’re afraid the sound might carry from your open window to his. You get up and close it.

Now that you and Sunghoon both know you want to kiss each other, you do it everywhere: in his pool, his back pressed against the wall; on the sunchairs when you were supposed to be drying off; on your beds in the middle of the night, none of your parents or siblings suspicious of anything; in front of your house, because even though he was supposed to just walk you home, he couldn’t keep himself from tasting you one last time; in the backseat of his car after an evening with your friends and he drove you two home.

You spend a good two weeks of just kissing before your body starts to crave something more. At some point, Sunghoon’s hands resting nicely on your waist or sometimes, if he’s feeling bold, grabbing at your ass, start to not be enough anymore. You knew you wouldn’t be satisfied with just kisses and sweet touches when one day, his hands slowly but surely slid up your naked belly before grabbing onto your bikini-clad breast, lighting your whole body up on fire. He’d slipped his hand underneath your swimming top and rolled your nipple between two fingers and you had felt his dick twitch under your core when you let out a loud moan at the new yet so pleasurable feeling.

You know what it is that you want, but it makes you feel dirty. Your fingers have made you finish a hundred times before, but wanting Sunghoon to make you feel that way is a whole other story. Is that even what he wants? Would he be weirded out if you asked him about it? Is there even the sliver of a chance that maybe, just maybe, he has those same thoughts about you, and wants you to make him feel good as much as he wants to make you feel good?

If his grunts and the way he ruts into you when your make-out sessions get particularly steamy are any indication, then the answer to those questions would respectively be yes, no, and yes.

You’re lying on a sunbed one afternoon, letting the sun dry off your wet skin from the pool, when you finally muster the courage to tell Sunghoon about your wishes. After all, he is your best friend, and you know you can talk to him about anything. Even when that ‘anything’ involves his fingers inside of you and his dick in your mouth.

“Sunghoon?” you call out, turning your head to look at your best friend. He’s bathing in the sunlight without a care in the world. His skin has tanned a bit since summer started three weeks ago and his muscles are even more defined after all that swimming and working out he’s been doing. You want to reach out a hand, to feel the taut skin of his abs and chest under your palms, and to maybe then slide your hand down until you feel his hard-on underneath his swimming trunks. Your chairs aren’t far apart and you could do it from where you are, but you’d rather ask him first.

“Yeah?” he answers without turning towards you.

You take a deep breath in before you start talking again. “You know how you said it could be good for us to get… experience before going to college… And how we’ve been kissing these past couple weeks…”

“Yeah, I know,” he chuckles.

“Well… people do more than just kissing, right?” you ask, voice slightly shaky. This seems to pique his interest as he turns to look at you.

“Yeah?”

You hope you’re not just imagining the enthusiastic tone in his voice. “I think… I think we should try that too, don’t you think?” you ask, eyes not leaving his as he sits up on his chair and turns his knees towards you, fully facing you now.

“Yeah, I agree. I completely agree.” He stares at you for a few moments as if in disbelief. “Do you want to- Should we- Let’s go up to my room, yeah?” he offers, standing up and reaching his hand out to you. You gladly take it.

You and Sunghoon are a giggling mess as you practically run up the stairs, unable to get to his room quick enough. As soon as the door is closed behind you, you wrap your arms around each other, your lips finding his immediately as he walks you back to his bed. When you feel the back of your knees hit it, you detach yourself from him and lay on it, elbows holding you up as you look up at him expectantly.

“Fuck,” he whispers, leaning in to hover over you. He traps your lips in a short but sweet kiss before pulling back and murmuring against your lips, “Have I ever told you how pretty you are, Y/N?”

You beam at his words but decide to tease anyway. “You always go on and on about how pretty you are, but never about me.”

He giggles and pecks your lips again. “Well, I’m telling you now. You’re gorgeous.” You kiss him to hide your flustered face, pulling him so close to you he’s practically laying on top of you. Your hands are a bit more curious than usual, your kisses hungrier, the both of you anticipating what’s to come.

You grind against each other, the feeling of his erection against your barely covered core enough to send your mind into a frenzy. You forget everything around you when you feel Sunghoon pull back in the slightest, far enough so that he can look at your face and gauge your reactions but not too much that you still feel his hot breath on your lips. One of his hands is holding the back of your head as the other travels downwards, stopping for a second on your breast to massage it lightly before continuing its journey. It ever-so-slightly brushes against your core, making you buck your hips up into his touch, but his hand is already gone leaving you whining and pouting and him chuckling at your cute reaction. “You want it that bad, huh?” he teases.

You scoff, not wanting to let your friend know the effect he has on you. You press your palm against his clothed erection and he hisses at the unexpected contact. “So do you, Hoon.”

When he presses his lips to yours again, you both smile into the kiss. You cup his jaw and tangle your fingers through his hair, and his hand slips from under your head and joins his other hand on your thigh, grabbing at both of them, fingers slightly digging in your skin. He’s so, so close to where you want him most, and he seems to have noticed your growing impatience by the way you squirm underneath him. Seeing you so needy for him only makes him needier for you; he has more experience than you, so you probably expect him to take the lead, but the truth is, he has no idea what the fuck he’s doing.

“Y/N?” he murmurs, face buried in your neck as he leaves a trail of wet kisses there.

“Yeah?”

“What do you want me to do?”

The question takes you a bit by surprise. You pull away to look at your friend. His eyes are completely glossed-over, and yours are probably the same. “Oh. I don’t know. I just… want you to touch me, I guess,” you say, voice a bit quiet.

“I don’t know how to do that,” he admits sheepishly. He kisses your neck and cheeks before pecking your lips. “Could you- could you show me? How you do it? And I can show you how I do it?”

You take a second to take his words in. Was he suggesting that you touch yourself in front of him, and that he do the same?

This was like a dream come true.

“Yeah, sure.”

Sunghoon giggles in response, and you can’t help but crack a smile too, even though the idea of getting yourself off in front of your friend, no matter how appealing, is still a bit nerve-wracking. “You first,” he says, a mischievous glint in his eyes, and you roll your eyes at him.

You sit back against the headboard of the bed and slip a hand underneath your swim bottom, the other hand coming up to cover your eyes in an attempt to escape Sunghoon’s heavy, lustful gaze. “None of that. I wanna see you,” he says, pulling your hand away from your eyes and resting it on a pillow next to you. “And if you keep these on, I won’t be able to see anything,” he says, looking down at your bikini top.

Before you can protest, he comes to sit on his knees in front of you, kissing your neck and letting his hands roam your back. “I wanna see all of you.” It’s so easy, untying your string bikini, he almost thinks you wore it on purpose for him to take it off. You avoid his gaze as he takes your top off of you, leaving you half-naked in front of him. “So pretty,” he whispers, and you can’t help but look at him, slick pooling between your legs from the fascination he’s looking at your breasts with. He trails kisses down your neck until he reaches them, taking a nipple in his mouth and swirling his tongue around it, then looks up to see your reaction. You never knew your nipples were this sensitive, and you can’t help but arch your back at his touch and moan loudly, hand flying up to tug at his soft hair. He releases your nipple with a pop and moves sideways to pay the same attention to the other one, but Sunghoon is impatient and doesn’t waste too much time on it; he knows he can come back to your boobs later anyway. Right now, you’ve got a hand between your legs, and that’s what he’s dying to see.

“Can I take this off, too?” he asks, looking up at you as his fingers hook on the sides of your swimming bottoms, waiting for you to nod. His eyes don’t leave your glistening core as he pulls the thin fabric down your legs, discarding it somewhere on the floor of his room. He lays on his belly and kisses the inside of your knee as he holds your thighs in his large hands, still transfixed by your pussy when he says, “Show me how you do it, please.”

You both take a sharp breath in when you start moving two fingers in gentle circles over your clit, already wet from making out with Sunghoon. Your fingers are nimble and know exactly what to do after years of doing this, but the pulse in your core is even stronger now that your best friend is watching your movements this intently. He looks like he’s scared to blink in case he might miss something. You can’t take your eyes off of his face; you’ve never seen him so fascinated by something, so eager to learn. It makes you want to put on a show for him.

A surge of confidence hits you out of nowhere as you slide your digits down your folds, gathering some slick before sliding them back up to your clit and rubbing it a bit faster, a bit harder, your moans growing louder and higher in pitch. With your free hand, you tug at the base of Sunghoon’s hair and make him look up at you. You release his hair and bring your pointer finger up to your mouth, sucking on it and swirling your tongue around it, and Sunghoon’s mind is taken back to that day a couple weeks ago when you had sucked on those lollipops. Oh, how things have changed since then. Not that he’s complaining. “Fuck, that’s hot,” he breathes out, eyes zeroed in on your lips and mouth slightly agape.

You smirk at his reaction, stomach on fire with the feeling of having this kind of power on him. When you’ve wet your finger enough, you bring it down to your slit, circling around your hole before entering it, releasing a loud moan for good measure. Sunghoon is mesmerized by the quickening with which your finger slips in and out of you, the fingers on your clit never relenting. He doesn’t even realize he’s released one of your thighs to palm himself over his shorts until you notice it yourself and tut in disapproval.

“Come and help me, Hoon,” you say, and the boy snaps out of his daze at the sound of his nickname. He nods slowly, changing his position so that he’s laying between your legs, head dangerously close to your core. You slip your other finger out of your hole and he takes that as a sign to replace it with his own. One hand still gripping your thigh, he imitates your previous actions as he gets his pointer finger wet with his saliva before pressing it between your folds, right underneath your clit where your fingers are still rubbing circles, sliding it down towards your slit, and finally pushing it in.

“So warm… So wet, too,” he whispers in wonder, making you cover your eyes with your forearm out of shyness.

“Oh my God,” you moan, arching your back and letting your head drop to the side on the pillow. Sunghoon’s finger is much thicker and longer than your own, and it stretches you out and hits a deep spot inside you you never could, no matter how much you tried.

“Like this?” he asks, eyes curious as they bounce back and forth between your face and your entrance sucking his finger in.

“Yes, yes, just like that, you can also- oh- you can also curve it upwards a bit- fuck, yeah, just like that, Hoon, you’re doing so well,” you say, the praises just flying out of your mouth.

This seems to instill some confidence in him, as he cocks an eyebrow at you and speeds up his actions. “Yeah? My finger making you feel good, Y/N?”

“Oh, shut up,” you bite back, but immediately let out a long whine when he easily inserts a second finger in your soaking pussy. He curves them inside you just like you told him to, and the feeling of his fingers filling you up and your own quick ones on your clit are creating a familiar knot in your stomach that is so close to breaking. That is, until Sunghoon pulls your wrist away from your clit.

“Y/N… Can I?” he asks, and you’re not sure what he’s planning, but nod anyway. He wastes no time before pressing his tongue flat down on the sensitive bud, and you actually feel like your soul might leave your body. Fingers knuckle-deep inside you, he licks and sucks at your clit, and the warmth of his tongue against your folds is what makes you tumble over the edge, tightly gripping his hair and bucking your hips into his mouth.

“Oh my God… Oh my God, Hoon, please, don’t stop, please,” you beg, voice getting higher and whinier as you cum all over his tongue. He continues eating you out until it gets too much and you have to tell him to stop. He hikes his body up yours, pecking you sweetly on the lips when he reaches them.

“Your turn,” you announce and hook your legs over his hips to straddle him. You’re about to lean in for a kiss when you notice how lovingly he’s looking at you: his eyes are soft and a small smile is playing on his lips. It takes you aback, but you’d be lying if you said butterflies didn’t spread in your stomach. “W-why are you looking at me like that?”

His grin gets a bit wider. “Did I make you feel good?”

“Y-yeah…,” you admit, averting your gaze from him.

“I’m glad. You taste good, by the way. Sweet.” You want to kiss the devilish smirk off of his face.

You scoff at your friend, glaring a bit. “Whatever. Sit up,” you order, but it just makes him smirk more.

“Yes, ma’am.”

You look up at him to check for confirmation, and when he nods, you hook your fingers under his swimming trunks, taking them off of him along with his boxers underneath. His already fully-hard cock springs free and slaps against his stomach, and you curse yourself for your reaction that will surely just inflate his ego, as if it wasn’t already massive. Your mouth hangs open, eyes zeroing in on his length, flushed red from lack of attention and what you can only guess is precum leaking at the tip. It's straight from a porno.

“Like what you see?” Sunghoon teases, making you look up at him, and you can only stupidly nod. You take the position he was in earlier, laying your head on his thigh and caressing the other, letting it ride up to rub his inner thigh and the tiniest bit over his cock, making his smirk vanish as he takes a shaky breath in.

“Show me how you do it,” you say, echoing his words from earlier. He gulps, finally realizing that he was going to have to masturbate in front of your curious eyes just as you had. He spits on his open palm and spreads the precum over his length with his thumb, lubing himself up before gripping the base and starting to move his hand up and down. You watch as his head falls back against the pillow when his palm grazes over his tip and his movements pick up some speed.

You rub his palms over his thighs, itching to get closer to his cock and make him feel as good as he had done to you earlier. Tentatively, you reach out to grab his balls in your hands, massaging them softly, feeling satisfied when a loud moan leaves his throat. “Oh, f-fuck, that feels good, Y/N,” he breathes out, voice much higher than you’re used to. If he thought that felt good, then nothing could’ve prepared him for the feeling of your soft and warm tongue kitty-licking his balls, then taking turns sucking each one into your mouth and releasing them with a pop. “Where the fuck did you learn how to do that?” he asks, involuntarily bucking his hips into your face.

You can’t help but giggle, and Sunghoon thinks he might come from the sweet sound contrasted with your lewd actions alone. “I read a lot of fanfiction,” you explain, and he doesn’t question it. If Wattpad taught you how to suck dick, then so be it.

You wrap your hand around his and tell him to keep going so you can get an idea of what pace and movements he likes, and you graze your fingernails over his abs and chest with your other hand, chuckling at how sensitive he is when you lightly pinch his nipples. Sunghoon takes his hand off of himself, laying both of his hands palms up next to him on the bed, so you decide to literally take things into your own hands. Trying to recreate what he did before, you spit into your palm and wrap your fingers around his tip, bringing your hand down in a swirly motion to the base of his shaft. You do that a few times, asking, “Like that?” to get confirmation from Sunghoon.

“Just like that, baby,” he says, not even taking notice of the pet name; but you do, and your face immediately flushes, surprised at how much you like it.

“Baby?” you repeat, but he’s too lost in his pleasure and just hums in response. His reaction eggs you on, and you lick a long stripe from his base to his tip, swirling your tongue around it and humming at the bitter but not unpleasant taste of precum there. When another moan escapes his throat, you take his tip in your mouth, at first just shallowly thrusting your head, but then trying to take more and more of him.

You’re so focused on what you’re doing that you don’t even realize how quickly he’s panting and how his grunts start to get whinier until he’s moaning out your name. “A-ah, Y/N, feels so good, ‘m gonna cum, fuck-”

He goes silent as he shoots his release down your throat, eyebrows deeply furrowed and mouth open wide in pleasure. There’s so much of it and you can’t swallow it all, so you pull your head back, catching your breath, and a hot string of cum hits your chin and your throat. Sunghoon takes a look at you and the sight of you with some of his cum makes his dick twitch before he plops back down on the bed. You giggle as you take tissues from the bedside table (cause of course he’s got tissues next to his bed) and wipe away his seed, then lie down next to him, brushing away the hair that’s sticking to his forehead with sweat and peppering his face with soft kisses.

He opens his eyes and smiles, turning his head to look at you before engulfing you in a bear hug, sweaty bodies sticking together but neither of you minding it. “That was so good, Y/N. What the fuck,” he sighs, pecking your forehead.

You hum, nuzzling your nose into his neck. “I know, right? Who knew you could use your mouth for other things than saying stupid shit,” you tease.

He pulls back and gives you a look that tries to be stern, but you know he’s joking. “Do I need to remind you again, young lady?”

You giggle and peck his lips, forcing him out of character as his dimples appear on his cheeks. “Later, definitely.”

And after that day, he makes sure to remind you time and time again of how good his mouth feels on you. You should’ve seen it coming with how amazing of a kisser he was; but truly, there was nothing like cumming on your friend’s tongue.

You’re relieved to find that not much has changed, after all; you and Sunghoon still play around in the pool, watch stupid movies and hang out with your friends like always. Sure, there are stray hands here and there, or looks that last a little too long and mean a little too much, but if anything, it just makes your friendship more playful and exciting.

You’re both open with what you like and don’t like, so it doesn’t take either of you to figure out exactly how to make the other come undone embarrassingly quickly. (The shortest amount of time it took him was 2:38 seconds - yes, he timed it - and he hasn’t let you live it down since.) You like it when he presses his large hand down onto your lower tummy while he eats you out, or when he sits you between his legs and whispers all sorts of things as his fingers work their magic inside you and on your clit. He likes it when you get down on your knees in front of him and look up at him as you suck him dry, or when you sit in his lap and kiss his neck and play with his hair while he plays video games. And don’t even get him started on when you palmed him over his sweatpants while you watched a movie with Chaeyong, Jay and Jake, making sure that the movements under the blanket went unnoticed by them. He wanted to punish you after they left, he really did, but you took him in your mouth right there in the living room and gave him an orgasm that had his thighs shaking for five minutes afterwards. You were pretty proud of yourself for that one.

You also find out that he hates it when you tease and edge him, which only makes you do it more; the only problem is that, if you do that, he’ll make you ride his thigh and won’t help you at all. His proud smirk and snide praises combined with the feeling of his thick thigh underneath your core were more than enough to get you to your end, though.

And truly, nothing has changed, especially not Sunghoon’s special talent in pushing boys away from you.

“What do you mean, Lee Heeseung is coming back?” he heatedly asks, slamming his glass of lemonade down on the outdoor table so hard you’re scared it might break.

“It’s the summer, of course he’s coming back. He just stayed behind for a bit to enjoy a few weeks of the city without college, and now he’s coming back here,” Jake explains, shrugging.

“Do you know when he’ll be here?” you ask, far too much excitement in your voice to Sunghoon’s taste.

“Just in a couple days.”

Sunghoon has smoke coming out of his ears when he sees how much you perk up at the news of your old crush being back in town for summer. He likes the boy, but he hates that you like him. And since Heeseung is friends with Jay, Jake, and by association Sunghoon, begrudgingly so, he’ll definitely see lots of him in the upcoming months. And if Sunghoon sees Heeseung, then you’ll see Heeseung, too. And that, Sunghoon doesn’t like.

You notice something is off with him that afternoon because of how uncharacteristically quiet he is. Sunghoon, ever the loud introvert, is always arguing for no reason and laughing louder than everybody around him. So when he merely chuckles at his friends’ numerous displays of stupidity in the pool and doesn’t even say anything in protest to you getting on Jake’s shoulders to play against Chaeyoung and Jay, you know something is definitely up. You also have a good idea of what that something might be, and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t find it endearing.

You stay behind when your friends leave in the early evening. Without a word, you and Sunghoon pack away the inflatable toys in the pool cabin and clean up the table, putting the dirty glasses in the sink. You do the dishes while he prepares sandwiches for the two of you, which he insisted on doing after he heard your stomach grumbling. You watch the latest Kurtis Conner video as you eat and can’t help but notice that he doesn’t even chuckle at any of the jokes or skits when he’d usually be clutching his stomach in laughter.

When you’re done eating, you take a resolute breath and pause the video, but Sunghoon doesn’t even notice, only snapping out of his daze when you call out his name.

“Huh?” When his eyes find you, he almost looks surprised to see you, as if he’d forgotten you were there.

“Are you going to tell me what’s wrong?” you ask, slightly frowning. “You look so out of it today.”

“Huh? I’m fine, nothing’s wrong,” he says dismissively and presses play, but you quickly pause the video again.

“I’m your best friend, Sunghoon, I know when something’s the matter and I know when you’re lying. We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to, but don’t pretend everything’s fine when we both know that’s not true.”

He peers at you for a moment, cursing you for knowing him so well. He crosses his arm and averts his gaze, pouting like an angry child. “I hate it when you’re right.”

You giggle and make your way around the counter to him, standing inbetween his legs and wrapping your arms around his neck to make him look up at you. His hands come naturally up to your waist. “I just…” he starts, then immediately stops himself with a sigh., “You’ve always had a crush on Heeseung. But these are our last couple months together, and I don’t want somebody else taking up your attention…”

He buries his face between your breasts to hide his blush, and you can’t help but giggle again. “Stop laughing at me!” he protests, but the muffled sound of his voice just makes you laugh more. You stroke his hair and press a gentle kiss at the top of his head.

“Sure, I’m happy Heeseung’s coming back. But there’s no one I’d rather spend my summer with than you, Sunghoon, you should know that.” He leans back to look up at you with puppy eyes and a small pout. You cup his face, admiring how cute he looks like this, and smile softly down at him.

“Really?”

“Really,” you answer, and he leans in for a kiss.

It’s a soft one. It’s a patient kiss, neither of you urging to get somewhere else, to do something more. It reminds you of that kiss in his room a few weeks ago, when you were still curious and discovering each other. From then on, your kisses had become more feverish, more eager, more playful. But now, you’re taking your time. For now at least, neither of you is going anywhere. So your lips melt together slowly, and when you take breaks to breathe, you look each other in the eyes and smile before leaning back in.

It’s when you sigh against his lips, eyes still closed as you pull away, that it hits him. I could do this forever, he thinks.

I could sit here with my arms around her waist and her lips against mine and the smell of chlorine and the sound of her laugh forever and I’d never get tired of it, he thinks, but immediately afterwards, he realizes he won’t get to do this forever. Summer will end, you’ll both head off to college, and you’ll only get to see each other every few months until another summer comes. And who knows what might happen until then?

You might meet someone and realize Sunghoon isn’t all that; hell, he might meet someone, but he highly doubts anyone could even come close to the way you make him feel.

“Hello? Earth to Sunghoon?” you quietly joke, looking down at him with an affectionate look in your eyes. You press the pads of your fingers to his two moles before replacing your fingers with your lips, giving each one a quick peck. “You were up on the moon for a minute there.”

Sunghoon hums softly, smiling as he lets himself melt under your touch. “Sorry. It’s just really hot, isn’t it?” he says, a stupid excuse he uses as a blanket to cover his feelings. There is some sweat beading at his hairline, which helps make his lie more believable, but you don’t need to know it’s not just because of the summer heat.

Slowly, your smile turns mischievous, and Sunghoon can tell you have an idea in mind. “It is pretty hot… Wait here.”

He watches as you fill a tall glass with ice from the dispenser in the fridge and pop an ice cube in your mouth, a devilish smile on your face, and laughs when that smile is replaced with a frown as the coldness hits you and you spit it back into the glass, laughing along with him. “What the hell are you doing?” he asks between giggles.

“I got the idea a few days ago when we were having popsicles…,” you say looking down at the glass between your hands, slightly embarrassed. “You kissed me and your mouth was really cold but it felt nice.” Sunghoon hums, egging you to go on. You lift the glass up to his cheeks, applying just a bit of pressure to the soft skin. “I thought this could be refreshing.”

You take the ice cube back in your mouth, sucking on it but not letting it melt completely before pressing your lips against Sunghoon’s and opening your mouth just a bit so he could feel the cold of the ice cube. You feel his smile into the kiss as the ice cube swirls between your tongues, sending shivers down your spine.

“Very refreshing indeed,” he murmurs when the ice has completely melted. He gets up and takes the glass in one of his hands, leaning down to your level and says “C’mon” with the same mischievous smile as you on his face.

You two hurry up the stairs, and when you get to his room, he hands you the glass before throwing himself on his back, laying on his back with his hands behind his head. “Show me what you had in mind.”

You straddle his hips and take an ice cube from the glass, rubbing it over his lips before pushing it inside his mouth, the cold making him hiss. You quickly counteract that by pressing your lips to his, the contrast of your warm tongue and the freezing ice turning him on more than he would’ve thought.

When the ice has melted, you take another piece and brush it along his jaw, down his Adam’s apple and around his nipples. The cold temperature makes him squirm but he doesn’t shy away from it, even closing his eyes to focus solely on the feeling. While you play with the ice cube, you also leave warm kisses all over his skin, reveling in its slightly salty taste from the thin layer of sweat. You let the ice cube melt between his abs and watch him wriggle as he sucks in a sharp breath, then grab another one, starting off where the previous one stopped. You circle his navel while your fingers play with the hem of his swimming trunks. He pulls them down himself and you chuckle at his eagerness. “I should’ve known you liked the cold, with all those years of ice skating you did,” you tease.

He’s almost fully hard, and it only takes a few kisses and trailing the ice cube down his inner thighs to have his dick fully erect. He’d only been letting out small sighs and hisses until now, but when you grab another ice cube and circle it around his sensitive tip, he throws his head back into the pillows and moans loudly. You push your luck and drag the ice cube down his shaft, his thighs snapping together when it reaches his balls. You put it in your mouth and let it melt so that your tongue is still cold when you swirl it around his tip, already tasting precum there. But before you can take him further in your mouth, he calls out your name.

“Wait. I don’t wanna cum just yet. My turn.”

He shakes his shoulders in excitement as you switch positions, you taking your t-shirt and bikini top off and laying on your back and him sitting down with one knee on each side of your thighs, an ice cube in his hand and a giddy smile on his face.

He brushes it over your lips before pushing it just a bit into your mouth, holding onto it with two fingers while you suck on it, gazes locked in each other. Just as you did earlier, he trails it down your throat and your chest until they reach your nipples, marveling at the thin wet trail it leaves in its wake. He licks this trail as he circles one of your nipples with the ice cube, and you don’t know if you should focus on his warm tongue or on the cold ice cube. Once it’s melted, he takes another one and circles your other nipple with it, his mouth coming to wrap around the now cold one. Your hands fly up to grab at his hair, your back arching into his touch as you moan and pant loudly.

He sucks and licks at your nipples until you’re calling out his name, begging for more. As nice as his mouth or an ice cube around your nipples feel, your pussy is throbbing and desperate for attention. “Sunghoon… Please,” you whine.

“Please what?” he teases, looking up from your breasts with a smirk.

You whine again, knowing he knows full well what you want. “Please…”

He trails the ice cube down your stomach, circling your navel a few times where it melts before slipping two cold fingers underneath your bikini bottoms. “Is this what you want, baby?,” he asks as he rubs his fingers between his folds, and you whine at the feeling of having him so close to your hole and to your clit but not quite there either. He smirks when you nod frantically but whine at the loss of his fingers against you as he takes your bottoms off and reaches for another ice cube.

You release a loud moan and arch your back off the bed when the ice cube touches your clit. “Fuck, Hoon!”

He rubs the ice cube up and down your folds, your heat melting it much faster than your skin. He takes another one and brings it to your entrance this time, circling around it before pushing the ice cube in and staring with wonder as it melts quickly. He holds your hips down so you stop bucking them up, whimpering at the amazing feeling of the ice against you. He replaces the ice cube with his fingers inside of you and his tongue on your clit, sucking expertly at the sensitive bud and lapping at your juices. And while it feels good - God, does it feel good - and you let Sunghoon know just how nice it feels with your moans, whispers of his names and the way you hold onto his hair, you’re craving something more.

It’s something you’ve been wanting for the past few days, but you couldn’t quite put your finger on it. No matter how nice Sunghoon’s fingers and mouth felt, they didn’t make you feel close to him enough. You wanted to be so close to him you didn’t know where you ended and where he started; you wanted to feel him.

You pull him up by the face, asking him to come here and getting lost in his lips as soon as they reach your level. God, Sunghoon’s kisses. You could drown in them. But still, that craving, that need for more. And now that his body is pressed up against yours and you can feel his erection against your thigh, so close to your core, you think you know what it is that you want. “Hmm, please…”

“You keep asking me for something, but you don’t tell me what it is.”

“You. I want you, Hoon, please,” you beg, murmuring against his lips as you wrap your legs around his hips and bring him even closer, his cock now pressing against your cunt.

“M-me?,” he asks, leaning back just a bit, but you pull him back in right away, resting his forehead against yours.

“Yes, please. I need to feel you inside me.”

Your words are enough to get a moan out of Sunghoon. “Fuck, you have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for this,” he pants, planting kisses all over your face and neck. Usually, you’d giggle at the ticklish sensation, but right now, you’re so drunk on pleasure, it just makes your breath even shallower and your core wetter.

“How long?”

“God. Since the second time we kissed probably,” he replies, reaching for a condom in the drawer of his bedside table. You think back to that moment six weeks ago (how has it been six weeks already?, you think), after you and Sunghoon had made up and made out on his couch in front of a horror movie. He’d wanted you for that long? And he’d waited for you to say something since then?

“Today’s your lucky day, then,” you tease in an attempt to alleviate the need for him that takes over your bones, but his gaze when he looks back at you ruins any effort. If anything, it just makes you need him even more. You feel like you might explode if you don’t have him right now.

You watch as he clumsily wraps the condom around his member, clearly never having done this before, but you wouldn’t be of any help, so you let him figure it out on his own. You let your head fall back as he rubs his tip up and down your folds, gathering your slick on his dick before aligning himself at your entrance and giving you a long, deep kiss.

“Are you sure about this?” he asks, forehead on yours.

“Yeah. Are you?”

“Yeah, I am. But I’m also scared.”

“Scared of what, Hoon?” you ask, opening your eyes to look at him. You caress his cheek and cup his face in your hands, watching softly as he lets his head rest on your palm.

“I’m scared of hurting you. I heard it hurts the first time. And I’m scared…” he closes his eyes and frowns a bit. “I’m scared it’ll feel too good. That I’ll always want it. You.”

You take a small moment to think, your thumb brushing over his cheek in what you hope is a comforting manner. “You won’t hurt me, Hoon. It only hurts if you’re not ready… And I’m plenty ready. I know you’ll take it slow.” You smile softly when he nods, turning his head to kiss your palm. But if sex is as good as you’ve heard it is, you’re also scared that it might be the best thing you’ve ever experienced and that you’ll never get enough. You and Sunghoon have been meeting up almost everyday this summer and it has more often than not ended up with one of you between the other’s legs; you could never get bored of the things he made you feel or of knowing you were making him feel those exact same things. If you couldn’t live without his fingers, how could you live without his dick?

How could you live without him?

You tried to snap out of those thoughts, reassuring yourself that even before all of this you couldn’t imagine yourself living without Sunghoon, and that there was no reason this should change anything. “And don’t be scared of that, silly,” you say, making him smile. “I’ll always be here, Sunghoon. I’ll always want you, too.”

“Fuck, okay,” he whispers, kissing your lips once before pulling himself up on his palms, hovering over you. “Tell me if you need me to stop, yeah?” he asks and waits for you to nod before finally pushing in.

You instantly moan when you feel his tip inside you, and Sunghoon stops, frantically asking if you’re okay. It takes some convincing to get him to push himself further in. “It feels so good, Hoon. Please keep going.”

You tell him to not stop until he’s fully inside you, and he obeys, even though he wants to stop when he sees your frown and your sharp intakes of breath. When he’s buried to a hilt, he can’t help but collapse on top of you, burying his face in your neck and wrapping his arms tightly around your waist. “Y/N,” he drawls out. “Feels so fucking good. So tight,” he murmurs against your neck.

“Mmh. Give me a minute, baby.” Your hands caress up and down the expanse of his back and you feel him relax on top of you. As you adjust around his length, the stretch starts to feel more and more pleasurable, until pleasure is the only thing you feel. “Hoon?”

“Yeah?” he says, kissing and nibbling softly at your neck and earlobe.

“You can move, now.”

Sunghoon doesn’t need to be told twice and ever-so-slowly slides out of you, leaving only the tip in before he slides back in. His thrusts are slow but deep, and it’s everything you’ve ever wanted and more. He’s barely started but you’re both already whimpering messes, holding onto each other tightly as pleasure like neither of you has felt before takes over your entire bodies.

As you both get more comfortable, his pace picks up just a tiny bit and you tentatively raise your legs higher so that they’re hooked around the back of his knees instead of laying on the bed. The new angle only adds to the intense pleasure, but you don’t even realize you’re crying until Sunghoon stops mid-thrust, wiping your tears with his thumb and worryingly asking if you’re okay and if it hurts and if he should stop. You open your eyes and smile, instantly calming his nerves. You bring his head closer to yours and kiss him like you’d stop breathing if you didn’t. “It feels so fucking good, Hoon. So, so good.”

He sighs out of relief and resumes his actions, heart swelling with pride that he’s making you feel so good, you’re crying. He’s always hated seeing you cry or hurt in general; but knowing what kind of tears these are, he thinks you look so pretty with tears streaming down your face. His hands grip your thighs a bit tighter as he quickens his pace, already addicted to the feeling of your warm walls taking him in so well.

He slips out a few times but you’re always quick to guide him back inside you. He lifts his body up a bit to get a deeper angle, hoping it’ll get him to stop slipping out, and he’s blown away by the sight underneath him. He thinks you’ve never looked so gorgeous as you do now, legs spread wide for him, cheeks flushed, brows furrowed and mouth agape for him. He kisses your tears, the salty taste bringing a smile to his lips. “So perfect,” he whispers against your mouth. “You look so beautiful.”

Sunghoon takes your legs and wraps them higher around his hips, the new angle hitting a spot inside you that’s making you see stars and has you moaning his name like it’s the only thing you know how to say. You feel that familiar tension build up inside your stomach much faster and much stronger than it usually does.

“Fuck, Sunghoon, I’m gonna cum,” you warn, and a harsher thrust inside you is what pushes you over the edge, the sensation crashing into you and making your thighs shake. An orgasm has never hit you this hard before.

You’re clenching around him like crazy and Sunghoon gasps as you milk him dry, his own orgasm hitting him all at once. He shoots his release inside the condom and stills inside you, breath completely taken away by the sudden, overwhelming sensation.

He lays on top of you for a moment as you both catch your breaths, trying to make sense of how something can feel this good without killing you instantly. He apologizes when his pulling out makes you wince and kisses the top of your head. He rolls onto his back, pulling you with him so that you’re now almost lying on top of him, head against his chest as his arms wrap themselves around you. You leave kisses all over his chest and neck and his hands caress your back.

“That was amazing.”

“I know, right?” he responds immediately, his enthusiasm making you laugh.

“Thanks, Hoon,” you say timidly, voice muffled against his skin.

“For what?”

“For making me feel this good.”

He chuckles. “No need to thank me, pretty. If anything, I should thank you for letting me make you feel good, and on top of that making me feel good.”

You hum at his words and you both stay there for a bit longer, enjoying each other’s warmth. Something blooms inside your chest, and you don’t know whether to let it grow or to squash it down. It feels nice, almost too nice, and you’re scared it might get ripped away from you and it won’t feel so nice then.

Friendship, sex, love. In those weeks spent with Sunghoon, those previously clear lines have blurred to a point they were all one big messy ball of feelings and not three distinct things you could tell apart. Has sex turned your friendship with Sunghoon into something romantic? Or is that just an illusion, and being so intimate with your best friend has messed up your once platonic vision of him? But was your vision of him ever platonic?

Haven't the two of you always been teased about liking each other for a reason? After all, you and Sunghoon didn't grow up together, and he’s never felt like a brother to you. He has always been your male friend; you’ve always been aware that he was your friend who was also a boy. When you'd moved in the house next to his, you hadn’t instantly clicked; it took a while for the ice skating prodigy to warm up to you, but his parents had warmly welcomed yours into the neighborhood and quickly became friends, so it was only a matter of time before he’d open up to the idea of you being around. Constantly.

You’d walk to and from school together, do homework together, go on family trips together, cheer each other on at your respective competitions. After his ice skating lessons, when his coach let him have the whole place to himself for a bit more practice, he’d tie your ice skates for you and drag you onto the ice rink, holding you by the waist or shoulders as he skated backwards in front of you, but also laughing at you when you inevitably fell. He’d tease you for getting second place at the science fair or for getting your arguments torn apart during Model United Nations, but the way he’d be a little nicer to you or share his food more often that week wouldn’t escape you.

Being a handsome young ice skater, Sunghoon had developed quite the loyal following of boys and girls alike who would come to see him at his competitions. He thrived off of the attention, but no matter how much he enjoyed his fans’ admiration, you were always the one he’d skate to after having won first place, hugging you tightly over the barrier separating the ice from the bleachers. Especially during your younger teen years, Sunghoon wasn’t one for skinship or PDA, so it always meant that much more to you that even after his most important wins, you were the first thing on his mind. It never failed to make your stomach flip, and all the death stares from his fans in the world couldn’t have changed a thing.

You were already close, but you became practically inseparable after Sunghoon’s injury. During the competition that would have gotten him a place at the Youth Winter Olympics had he won, his nerves got the best of him and he didn’t land his triple axel, hurting his ankle in the process. Ten years of dedication and hard work, ruined in mere seconds. To say that it destroyed him would be an understatement.

You were the one to bring him back up. You listened to him when he needed to vent, held him when he needed a shoulder to cry on, cheered him up when he needed to smile. He didn’t even need to tell you what he needed, you seemed to just know. You reminded him that he had a lot more value than his medals and trophies and that he didn’t need them to be complete. His family and friends tried their best to make him feel better, but their words never reached him quite like yours did.

Slowly but surely, his confidence came back. He’d lost his fans, but he’d gained a friend he knew would always be there for him. His dimples would appear more often, his laugh would resonate louder. His injury had made the two of you grow closer, creating a bond that would only strengthen over time.

And yet there were moments when being friends wasn’t enough. When calling him your best friend didn’t feel right. You had other friends, friends you were close to; sure, maybe not as close as to Sunghoon, but close nonetheless. And you didn’t feel that way around them.

Their laugh didn’t make your heart skip a beat. You didn’t want to bury your face in their necks and breathe in their scent when they hugged you. You didn’t want to know every single detail of their day. And you surely didn’t feel a pang of jealousy in your chest when they danced with another girl at your school ball.

You also didn’t crave their lips on yours every single day since it had happened for the first time and didn’t want to see what they sounded or looked like while getting the life sucked out of them through their dick.

Everybody told you it was obvious you were ‘more than friends.’ Why did romantic love have to be ‘more’ than platonic love? Why were there levels to it? You didn’t like the idea of taking your relationship with Sunghoon ‘one step further’; that wasn’t the way it felt to you. Rather, it felt like having to change everything you knew and create something new. Something where you could see him laugh and tell him about your day, but where you could also kiss him and graze his skin with your fingertips. Something that only you could share with him and only he could share with you. But you were afraid the friendship would fall apart if things didn't work out. So, instead of taking the risk of changing everything, you made sure things would stay the same. You’d tell the butterflies raging in your stomach to settle down and you wouldn’t let yourself fall into his touch in case it’d be like falling from the highest mountain.

That is, until he kissed you. Until this moment, right now, lying in his arms, ear right over his heart so you can hear it beat for you. You look up at him. His eyes are closed and a soft smile rests on his lips. He looks so peaceful. He always looks pleased when you’ve just been together, but right now, he seems to be in such a serene state, it almost makes you laugh.

Now that you’ve given in to your feelings, you’ve realized just how strong they were this whole time. Nothing has ever felt better than being in Sunghoon’s arms, than being able to see him at his most vulnerable state and to give all of you to him. All those things you didn’t know about him just six weeks ago, you know them by heart now. You’re sure there’s other things to find out, and you’ll make sure you will.

But summer won’t last forever.

A wave of sadness slaps you right in the face, bringing you back to reality. There’ll come a time where you and Sunghoon won’t be able to lounge around all day or lazily make-out at your will. You’ll go your own ways and not see each other for months at a time. The thought of that is unbearable, and you feel like looking at Sunghoon for a second longer might rip your heart into a million pieces.

When you sit up, tearing yourself away from his grip, he immediately opens his eyes, asking what’s wrong.

“Just need to go to the bathroom. I heard you can get STIs from not peeing after sex,” you half-lie. He nods and falls back into the bed.

You rush to the toilet, needing to get far away from Sunghoon as quickly as possible. Even your pee smells different - guess that’s what having a dick inside you will do to you. You wash your hands and look in the mirror: your skin is darker in some spots, surely Sunghoon’s work. So not only did he mess with your thoughts, he also had to make your body all weird, too?

You splash your face with cold water, hoping it will bring you back to your senses. You and Sunghoon have been best friends for years. There’s no point in changing all of that now, is there? You’ll be leaving soon enough, anyway. Why ruin a perfectly fine friendship for a summer fling?

Those are your thoughts as you head back to Sunghoon’s bedroom, ready to tell him that this whole thing was a mistake and you should just pretend it never happened. But your resolve crumbles at your feet as soon as you step inside the room.

Sunghoon’s got a couple of snacks ready as he browses through Netflix in search of an appropriate movie. “How about Twilight?” he says when he feels the bed dip under your weight next to him. He kisses your forehead and pulls you down on the bed with him so that you’re lying back against his chest.

Screw it, you think. Whatever this is, it’s much more than a summer fling.

The rest of the summer goes by in a flash. No, you don’t try to make Sunghoon jealous by flirting with Heeseung; if the mention of the latter’s name was enough to get your friend mad, then purposefully twirling your hair or batting your eyelashes at the older boy just might make Sunghoon white-boy-punch a hole into a wall. And it’s not like Heeseung would try coming onto you, either, with how clingy Sunghoon gets when he’s around, always an arm around your waist and a glare that could kill Heeseung.

Sunghoon gradually opens up to Heeseung being around, even though it takes you reminding him almost daily that he’s the one whose arms you wanna end up in over anybody’s. After a couple weeks, Sunghoon stops looking like he's on the brink of starting a fight every time Heeseung so much as talks to you or hands you a glass of lemonade, and finally relaxes around him.

You spend countless sleepless nights with Sunghoon. You’ve probably memorized every single one of his moles by now, and you’ve made sure to kiss all of them. He holds you against him like he might lose you at any given moment. The only nights you don’t fall asleep in each other’s embrace are when either one of you is sleeping over at your friend’s house. On those nights, sleep always takes hours before washing over you, the lack of warmth keeping you awake.

Your friends and you spend entire days at the lake or by Sunghoon’s pool, not a care in the world. You rest your head on Sunghoon’s shoulder as you watch the fireworks Jake and Jay bought go off. Sunghoon grills your marshmallows for you, blowing on them so they cool down before handing you the stick. You try to ignore how the night air gets slightly chillier and how the sun sets slightly earlier, but by the last days of August, it becomes too noticeable. When September rolls around, you’re sure there’s a small crack in your heart.

You know Sunghoon feels the end of summer too. His kisses are deeper and his lips linger over yours a second longer. He frowns when he kisses you and hugs you, like he’s trying to remember what it feels like. His usual playful demeanor when you’re in bed together is gone, instead seemingly hellbent on making you feel good and almost begging you to say his name. As if you could say any other name. As if you could say anything else.

Neither of you mention your departure until the night before you leave. After spending the evening with your friends, you lie together in bed, the side of your face resting against his chest so you can feel his heart against your ear. He’s tracing patterns with his fingertips on your back, and it takes you a while to figure out he’s spelling his name over and over again, as if to etch it in your skin. When, once in a while, he takes his hand off of you to reach for his phone, you can still feel his fingers caressing you, ghostlike against your skin.

The air around you feels heavy, pressing the both of you down into the mattress. You wish the bed would eat you alive so you could stay there, warm against each other, as long as you like. You know you can’t leave without talking first, but the words won’t come to you. Instead, they float around the bed, weighing your heart down into your stomach.

“So,” you start. You're unsure what to say, but you know this conversation has to happen, one way or another. In the end, you settle on, “Excited to leave?”

Sunghoon scoffs lightly, his motions on your back coming to a stop. “Not really, no. It’s not like I’m leaving that far, and half of our school is going to our uni.”

“Maybe, but there’ll be tons of other people. Tons of other girls, too,” you add after a short pause.

“Don’t do this, Y/N, please.”

You sit up at his words. He covers his eyes with his forearm and takes a deep breath in, sensing an incoming argument. “Do what?”

“This. Getting mad at me when I haven’t done anything.”

“I’m not mad at you,” you protest, frowning down at him.

“No? Then what’s this?” he says, smoothing down the lines between your eyebrows and on your forehead with the pad of a finger.

“Whatever.” You nudge your head away from his touch. It burns. “It’s not like I’m wrong, anyway. You’re gonna have a bunch of girls at your feet, and you’ll know what to do with them, right? Now that you’re not a virgin?” you question, avoiding his gaze.

“Y/N…” he sighs, shutting his eyes tighter as if in pain.

“What? This was the whole reason why, right? Get experience with me so you could fuck girls better, no?”

“Y/N!” he says, raising his voice enough to let you know he’s upset but not enough to scare you. He sits up, looking at you with hurt and disbelief in his eyes. “What’s this all of a sudden? It’s not like I forced you into this! We agreed on it together!”

“So you agree? That this summer was just about getting experience and now you’ll use it on other girls and pretend like we,” you gesture between the two of you, “never happened?”

“What do you mean ‘agree’? I never said any of this! Don’t put words into my mouth!”

He watches as you get up from the bed, arms crossed and pacing his room. He calls out to you a few times, but you don’t stop to look at him until he speaks your name with a sternness you’ve never heard before from him. “What?” you snap.

“I don’t get why you’re acting like this out of nowhere! We both knew summer was gonna end at some point, and why we were doing this! Why are you blaming me now?”

“Because… because…” you sigh, scrambling for an excuse. Why were you doing this? The thought of Sunghoon doing what he did to you to another girl, making her feel as good as he had made you feel, kissing her like he had kissed you, made you sick. It made you see red, it made you want to make him wear a shirt with your face on it so everybody knew he was yours.

Sunghoon gets up and stands close in front of you, too close. You close your eyes. If you see his moles, you might reach out to touch them and let yourself fall even more. If you fall, you’ll need to get up, but his scent makes your knees weak.

His hands find your face, holding a little too gently, you think. Your small ones wrap around his wrists and grip them, a little too harshly, he thinks.

You take a step back and finally look into his eyes. There’s hope in them; hope you’ll say what he wants, what he needs to hear. That you want him like he wants you. That you wish summer wasn’t over. That you’ll keep him in your heart until you can see him again. So, when what you say next is none of the above, he feels his heart sink down to his feet, leaving a murky puddle there.

“I can’t do this.”

You rush out of the room, practically running home. You fight your tears back until you slam your bedroom behind you, pathetically sinking to the ground as you let out a loud sob. You don't have the energy to get up, and cry into your hoodie's sleeve right there on the floor.

When you’ve calmed down a bit, you get up and lay in your bed, hiding your whole body underneath the covers. Maybe this is for the best, you think. If you end it like this, you won’t have the knowledge of whether he’ll wait to have you back or he’ll move on like nothing happened. That way, you can do whatever you want, not caring about what he’s up to.

But even now, your hands subconsciously reach out towards a person that’s not there and your feet hang over the edge of your bed as though to get up and run to him anytime. You curl in on yourself to stop your body from aching for him. It doesn’t work very well.

Sunghoon stays where you left him for a few minutes, too stunned to move. Should he run after you? Should he let you cool off for a bit and talk to you in the morning? Would you be mad at him if he didn’t try to see you now or would the mere sight of him just make you angrier? He plops down on his bed as these questions run through his mind, butting into each other and making everything more confusing.

He thinks back on everything that led to this, and his mind settles on that day a few days after graduation where his thoughts had dropped to the lowest pits of hell. If only you hadn’t brought those two damned lollipops.

The next morning, Sunghoon wakes up as if somebody had slapped him awake. He doesn’t bother to brush his teeth or eat anything before running over to your house, almost forgetting to put shoes on. He finds you in your room, packing the last of your things into an already full suitcase. He stands at your door, panting as his hands rest on his knees.

“You haven’t left yet. Thank God.”

“God, Hoon. It’s not that far between your house and mine. How are you so out of breath,” you say, glancing at him from the corner of your eye.

He walks to you and kneels in front of you, taking you in his arms before you can say anything. “Talk to me, please. Don’t leave like this. I’d never forgive myself if you left and you were mad at me, Y/N.”

You thought you’d cried so much last night that there was not a single drop of water left in your body, but you thought wrong. Your eyes immediately well up at his words, and he leans back when he hears a soft sniffle escaping you. Only then does he notice how puffy your eyes from all your crying.

“No, no… Have you been crying? I’m so sorry, pretty, please don’t cry,” he pouts, pulling you back into his embrace. It hasn’t even been half a day, but you missed his warmth so much, it only makes you cry harder.

After sobbing against his chest, possibly staining his shirt in the process, you pull away and in your light-headed, dehydrated state, spill your heart out. “It’s so stupid,” you sob. “We’re not gonna see each other for months and I’m gonna miss you so much and I don’t want you to be with other girls. I want you all to myself and I don’t want to be your friend that you fucked for a summer just so you could get experience, it was a stupid idea in the first place, if you wanted to kiss me, you should’ve just kissed me. But you didn’t just kiss me and now I’m scared that this all meant nothing to you but everything to me and that I don’t want to be friends anymore but you do and I’m mad that it took me all summer to say this even though I’ve known it for years but I didn’t want to admit it to myself but also you didn’t say anything and I’m mad about that too. Because there’s no way you don’t feel like I do but maybe you actually don’t and-”

Whatever you were about to say dies out against Sunghoon’s lips as he presses his lips to yours, interrupting your rambling. He pulls away, looking at you with a huge, stupid grin. He’s so stupid, you think. I love him so much.

“Fucking hell, Y/N. I’ve been waiting for you to say this so bad, you have no idea.”

You punch his chest, frowning at him. Those stupid tears won’t stop. Everything is so stupid. “Then why didn’t you say it first?”

“Because I didn’t know how to. You know I’m bad with words. And I was scared it’d make things weird.”

“I don’t want things to be weird,” you pout.

“I don’t want things to be weird, either. I want things to be nice and happy.”

You giggle. “That’s so stupid.”

“Right? It’s so stupid,” he repeats, kissing you again.

“Your breath smells,” you complain when he pulls away.

“And you have tears on your lips. Tastes salty,” he teases.

“Yeah, thanks to who?”

“Sorry.” He smiles and kisses you again. He holds you against him for a while, enjoying this last moment together. As long as he can see a smile on your face before you leave, he’ll be fine.

“I’m gonna miss you so much too, Y/N. And forget about those non-existent girls. There’s no one I’d rather be with than you.”

“How do you know? You haven’t met any of them yet,” you say, voice muffled against his t-shirt.

“I’ve met other girls before. None of them compare to you,” he says, and you immediately gag at how cliché it sounds. “What?! It’s true,” he giggles.

“You’re not gonna go and date a random guy, are you?”

“Of course not. None of them compare to you,” you say, lowering your voice to imitate his.

He helps you finish packing, and when you’re done, you lay together on your bed, not saying much because not much needs to be said. Your parents struggle to tear you away from each other and from your bed when it’s time to leave. He helps your dad put your baggage in the trunk of his car, telling you to not lift a finger so you watch him go to and from the car, leaving a kiss on your forehead every time he walks past you. You notice with a smile that he doesn’t carry much at once, making him have to go back-and-forth quite often.

After saying goodbye to your family, your dad waits in the car as you and Sunghoon hang back awkwardly, kicking small pebbles on the pavement. He takes your hand in his, making you look up at him, then takes the other hand, then hugs you close to him.

“I’m gonna miss you,” you say, as if that wasn’t obvious. You’re trying hard to fight tears from falling again, but it’s like there’s an ocean behind your eyes, water somehow never running out.

“I already miss you,” he says, and that’s enough to get you to sob again, which makes him start crying too. You’re crying, he’s crying, your mom is crying from the porch as she watches the two of you, it’s a mess.

You force yourself away from him, cupping his face in your hands. “We’ll see each other soon, okay? And college will be fun. You won’t even have time to miss me. But make time to think about me, yeah? And text me.”

“I will. I’ll think about you all the time, I already do,” he says.

“Okay,” you whisper and hug him one last time, very briefly, pressing a kiss to his cheek. You’re about to walk away but he doesn’t let go of your hand and pulls on your arm to bring you back to him.

Pressing his forehead against yours, he whispers, “I love you,” and you sob.

“I love you, too.”

This time, when you walk away, he lets you go. He watches as you get into the passenger’s seat and as the car drives away, as it takes you away from him. You watch him stand there in the rearview mirror, until his silhouette becomes smaller, and smaller, and smaller, until you can’t see him at all anymore.

Summer went and fall came as they do every year. Dead leaves are falling but it’s a new start for you. It’s a new town and you don’t know anybody, but you click instantly with your roommate and make new friends throughout your first week there. You realize everybody’s in the same boat, and they’re all eager to meet people and are curious about college life. You love your classes but complain about them nonetheless. You eat more ramen than you’d like to admit and turn up hungover at a 9 am class on a Thursday. You pull all-nighters at the library and develop a caffeine dependency. You’re a college student.

You and Sunghoon were very dramatic when you left, you soon realize. You call almost everyday. He’s not there with you and you miss him but at least you don’t have to pretend you’re not stupidly in love with him anymore. Because it’s stupid, being in love, it really is. You wouldn’t trade it for the world.

Your first semester passes by almost too quickly, and before you know it, you’re on the drive home, already one eighth of the way through university. You’re excited to go home, but Sunghoon’s finals last a week longer so you wait around for him. When you complain about it, Chaeyoung tells you to get a grip. “You haven’t seen him in three months, I’m sure you can handle another week.”

And you can, but barely. You were about to explode but then he’s back and you’re in his arms and his hair is still so soft, his scent is still so comforting and his moles are still there. You kiss them both before you finally press your lips to his, and it makes you feel so alive, you could die right then and there.

You lie on his bed and talk for hours as if you didn’t keep in touch the whole time and it’s like you never left. It’s like summer never ended and you’ve just been lying in his bed the whole time, college just one big fever dream.

But his skin doesn’t smell like chlorine anymore, and he’s not in his swimming trunks. It’s fall, almost winter, and you’re kissing Park Sunghoon. You realize you can kiss him whatever the season and you find comfort in that. It was a big day (you cried a lot when you saw him) and you’re tired so you think you’ll kiss for a bit and that’ll be all but then he whispers “I missed you so much” against your neck and a fire lights inside your stomach. Oh, how it burns. You think it might consume you whole, but you don’t dislike that idea.

In a flash, you’re on top of him, his shirt is off, your shirt is off, but it’s not enough so you take your pants off too and Sunghoon is confused as to why you’re going so fast, but follows you anyway. “What’s going on?” he asks when you’re done with the taking off of your clothes and have moved on to kissing and biting at his neck like it’s your first meal in ages, because it is.

“I missed you too,” you simply answer, and he smirks as he nods slowly, now understanding your eagerness.

“Missed me that much, huh?” he teases, letting his head fall back against the pillow so you have better access to his neck.

“Shut up. Kiss me,” you order, and he doesn’t need to be told twice. Your kisses are ravenous and desperate, very fitting for two horny people in love who haven’t seen each other in months. But the pulse in your core makes you too impatient to stay anywhere for too long, and really, it’s not your fault if you’re grinding down onto Sunghoon’s clothed erection, it’s just that he smells too good and you missed him too much.

Sunghoon laughs at you for being so impatient to hide just how impatient he is. His giggles keep him from moaning loudly enough to wake the whole house, and you laugh as you tell him to stop laughing.

“I’m serious. I missed you so much. Need you so bad,” you say as you get rid of your underwear and quickly do the same for his. He gasps when he feels you take his dick in your hand and brush its tip between your folds, both out of pleasure and out of surprise.

“Shouldn’t I get you ready? Stretch you out a bit?” he asks, his hands roaming up and down your back as he sits up on the bed so that you’re straddling his lap, and you shake your head no. You’re probably already embarrassingly wet from your short makeout session, anyway.

“I don’t care if it hurts,” you say, lining his tip with your entrance. “Need to feel you.”

You sink down on his cock, the both of you releasing loud moans at the long-awaited feeling. He lets you adjust to his size for a minute, but as soon as you move your hips just a bit, signaling to him that you’re ready for more, it’s over for you. He wanted to be patient and take his time, he really did, but you feel so warm around him and your small whimpers are so pretty that his resolve of letting you take the lead is thrown out the window. He pounds into you at a rapid pace that has you biting his shoulder to keep yourself from screaming.

You had imagined your first time back with Sunghoon so many times before. It usually involved a nice playlist in the background, fairy lights and candles lighting the room, hours of foreplay and sensual lovemaking, with a nice bath afterwards. Sometimes, when you were particularly needy for him, you imagined something closer to what was actually happening, where you’d rip each other’s clothes as soon as you got to the bedroom and fucked like animals (a bit much, admittedly, but you really missed him).

What you definitely hadn’t expected, however, was that you’d both cum in less than five minutes. What could you do, though, when he was hitting your g-spot over and over again, his length stretching you perfectly as he whispered in your ear how much he’d missed you and how good you felt? And what could he do when you took him in so well, clinging onto him as you told him how much you’d missed him and how good he felt?

You finish at the same time, hole clenching around him and milking him dry. He doesn’t pull out for a while, letting you collapse onto him as you both catch your breaths, just like you had that first time. “That was a bit quick,” he pants, and you can’t help but laugh.

You pull back to look at his face. It’s so pretty and stupid. What a stupid face that you love so much. Do you love it because it’s stupid or is it stupid because you love it? You think that that’s a stupid question, and you kiss the mole on his nose, then the mole on his cheek, right next to his nose.

“We have all night to go slower.”

“We have all Christmas break,” he corrects.

We have the rest of our lives, you think, and you think that might be a bit much, but you say it anyway. Sunghoon hums and says, “yes, we do,” and you think maybe it’s not all that stupid.

Maybe it’s the greatest thing that’s ever been.

permanent taglist: @zreamy @sunghoonmybeloved @lalalalawon @sd211 @w3bqrl @raikea10 @wntrnghts @moonlighthoon @4imhry @rikisly @loves0ft @iamliacamila @theboingsuckerasseater9000 @chaechae-23 @baekyuns-lipchain @hyuckslvr @vernonburger @amorbonbon @fluerz (ask to be removed/added!)

#enhypen x reader #sunghoon x reader #enhypen smut #sunghoon smut #enhypen angst #sunghoon angst #enhypen imagines #sunghoon imagines #enhypen au #sunghoon au #enhypen fanfiction #sunghoon fanfiction

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stillwatervoid · 1 month ago

Text

Now nothing’s the same PT. 2 | Mark Grayson x Male!Reader

Summary: It’s been two weeks, and you still can’t face Mark. Can’t hear his voice, can’t stand his face, can’t bear his touch—because everything about him reminds you of the things you’ll never have again. Of the lines you weren’t supposed to cross. Of all the things that will never be the same.

Pairing: Mark Grayson x Male!Reader

Warnings: 18+, very brief mention of SA (but it’s a misunderstanding), dry humping/frottage, oral (Mark receiving), anal sex, anal fingering, belly bulge.

Tags: There’s more plot than porn but there IS porn (eventually), so—Porn with Plot, Reader is highkey not okay, self-hatred, extreme guilt and shame, misunderstandings, light angst, fluff, getting together, morning sex, Top!Mark, Bottom!Reader.

w.c: 22.2k | a/n: English isn’t my first language, so sometimes the tenses might be a little inconsistent in the flashbacks! I got kind of lost in my own narrative style (why did I do this to myself? lol). Anyway, it’s finally here. 20k+, baby. I’m honestly a little nervous because a lot of people were waiting for this one, and I really hope it lives up to what you were expecting. Also, thank you for the comments, the likes, the reblogs—I see every single one and they mean the world to me. Enjoy!!!

Part 1 | You're here

By the time your phone’s ringtone cuts out for the tenth time this night, you’re left staring at the screen with a hollow numbness.

The notifications glare back at you—missed calls in angry red, all bearing the same name, each one a fresh stab of guilt. Below them, a flood of unread messages piles up. You won’t open them. Can’t open them.

Because you’ve done the worst thing imaginable.

You betrayed Mark.

Mark, your best friend since fifth grade. The one who, along with William, had pulled you into their duo like you’d always belonged there. The person who laughed with you, stood by you, trusted you.

And you betrayed him.

Now, the mere thought of Mark makes your stomach churn with nausea. The shame is suffocating, a filth you can’t wash away, sinking into your skin like a brand. You feel disgusting. A monster. Because that night with his variant—the one who was all darkness and hunger and twisted devotion—exposed the worst parts of you. The pathetic, desperate parts. You’d poured every unrequited longing into a warped imitation of the boy you loved, because you were starved for it. For the way he looked at you. For the way he wanted you.

And that’s what sickens you most. How easily you gave in. How badly you wanted it. How, for just a fleeting moment, you let yourself believe that Mark could ever lov—

Your fingers dig into your hair, breath hitching.

No. You can’t face him. Can’t even answer a simple phone call—to what end? To hear the disgust in his voice? To confirm just how much he hates you now? To witness the exact moment your friendship shatters beyond repair?

(Vaguely, you remember the shattered window, the jagged shards of glass dispersed across your floor, dust swirling thick in the air.

And then you, thinking, oh he’s going to die.

But in that moment—still half-dazed, aching, your body heavy with the lingering aftermath of sex—you don’t know if you meant him. Mark. Your Mark. Your best friend, the one who has always been nothing but good to you. Or him. The other Mark. The one who took you apart with a smirk, the one who claimed you as if you were already his.

You knew the fight was inevitable. Knew one of them would kill the other. Knew it would be like watching an immovable object meet an unstoppable force.

And when the dust cleared from Mark’s thunderous landing, when you saw his murderous expression mirroring the alternate’s, when their identical hatred burned through the tension—

For one terrifying heartbeat, you couldn’t tell which was which.)

You throw yourself onto the bed, yanking the covers over your head like they could smother the memories—or the shame.

But no amount of hiding could erase the evidence still etched into your skin. The bruises that just wouldn’t fade even after two weeks. Deep purple and stubborn, they mapped every place he had touched, bitten, kissed. There wasn’t a single inch he’d left untouched. Of course not—he’d been thorough, murmuring your name in desperate whispers, sucking marks into your neck like he wanted to devour you whole.

You flinch, shaking your head to dispel the thoughts. The replay. But you did this often—remembered the rasp of not-your-Mark’s voice, the way his hands had gripped you with possessive desperation.

Because you’d liked it.

God, you’d loved it.

It had been a fantasy ripped straight from your most secret thoughts, and the proof still lingered on your body, both exhilarating and humiliating. Worse still was how your skin prickled at the memory. How even now, just thinking about that night makes heat coil deep in your gut, no matter how much you want to suppress it.

(Cecil Stedman would stand over you, his expression unreadable, hands clasped behind his back.

“Are you hurt?” he’d ask, eyes flicking over you, assessing.

You’d freeze, blood draining from your face as you realized—your fingers were fumbling with the collar of your hoodie, tugging it up, up, up, instinctively trying to hide the bite marks beneath.

They wouldn’t know. They couldn’t know.

The GDA agents had swept into your apartment just minutes after Mark had thrown his variant through your shattered wall with a punch that shook the building. By then, you’d already be fully dressed, face burning with shame and self-loathing, hating the way your legs still trembled from the lingering aftershocks of pleasure.

There was no way Cecil could know what had happened. No way Mark would have told him on his way here.

And yet—still, you’d shrink into yourself, pulling at your collar, crossing your arms tightly over your chest, yanking your hoodie’s hood low over your face. You’d eye everyone with barely restrained panic, thoughts spiraling—they’ll know, they’ll see, they’ll realize—

“Don’t worry,” Cecil would say, sensing your unease. “Despite our differences, I know Mark always gives his all to protect the people he loves.”

You’d flinch. Close your eyes. Shrink even further inward.

“…I know,” you’d murmur, voice hoarse and raw.

Cecil would interpret your withdrawn attitude as a trauma response or shock. He wouldn’t know the truth—you wouldn’t tell him. And the others in his team could only guess, while you tugged at your collar again, desperately trying to conceal the bruises blooming on your neck, the tremor in your legs, the ache in your body—the stickiness still drying on your thighs.

“Mark will take care of it,” Cecil would assure you. “No one can hurt you anymore.”

Yet, guilt would seize you by the throat.

Because the truth would weigh heavy on your tongue—how you had arched into those cruel hands, how you had begged him to take you, how the tremble in your body wasn’t from fear, but from the awful, shameful wanting still thrumming under your skin.)

Your throat bobbed as your fingers drifted to the darkest bruise on your neck, pressing down just to feel the ache. The pain was sharp, immediate—a reminder that it had been real. That he had been real.

And that you’d let him.

And fuck—if it doesn’t make your body tingle, heat up, and freeze all at once. If it doesn’t make you a horrible friend all over again. That’s why you’ve been ignoring Mark’s calls. Why, as your phone buzzes in the silence of your room, you refuse to pick up. Refuse to hear his voice. Refuse to stand before him.

Because now you know.

You know the way Mark’s kisses taste like. Know the shape of his body, the flex of his muscles as he moves over you. Know the sounds he makes when overcome with desire—the quiet gasps, the low groans, the desperate moans. Know the way his cock feels, hot and heavy, buried deep inside you, making you see stars and stealing every last bit of air from your lungs. You know the way his hands grip your hips, how perfectly your bodies slot together, the pressure building and building, the obscene slap of skin on skin as he fucks you into the mattress—

Jesus.

Your fingers twist in the sheets, body shuddering as the memories surged back—vivid, hungry. This is why you can’t face him. Because he knows what you did. You both do. How the hell can you ever look at Mark in the eye again? Knowing that now—now—you can never suppress your feelings again, never shove them back into the corner of your heart where they belonged. How do you face him when every glance sends your pulse racing? When your body remembers what it’s like to be loved by him—even if it wasn’t really him?

Just thinking about it makes you lose your grip, heart hammering, body shivering. Because it remembers.

And there’s no way in hell you’ll ever be able to forget.

That’s why you grab your phone, Mark’s name flashing for the nth time, and finally power it off.

The silence that follows is deafening. But the noise in your head doesn’t stop—the endless, pounding thoughts reminding you that you don’t deserve Mark. Not his kindness. Not his forgiveness. Hell, maybe not even his anger. Not the sharp edge of his accusations, not the fury in his screams.

You deserve nothing from him.

(“Nothing,” you’d answer, avoiding his piercing gaze as he studies your body. “It’s really nothing, Mark.”

You’d try to ignore the way his breath comes in sharp pants, the blood staining his suit, how his eyes seem wild with something you can’t place.

Right then, he would remind you too much of the other Mark—who walked into your apartment with that razor-sharp smirk, who ruined you after. Ironic, how now your Mark looks just the same. Only this time, the blood belongs to that version.

The fight’s over.

Your Mark stands victorious.

And deep down, you knew this was always how it would end. You knew he’d be the one left standing.

Still, somewhere beneath it all, you’d try not to think about his variant, who had whispered your name like a prayer just hours ago, gripping you like he couldn’t bear to let go.

“Nothing?” Mark would repeat, voice raw and cracked from exhaustion and the tension hanging between you two. “Y/N, you’re—you’re hurt. You need to get checked out—”

He’d step forward, arms reaching for you. But you’d flinch, stepping back, desperate need to put distance between you, because you feel filthy, disgusting, and you can’t let him touch you like this.

He’d freeze, hands hovering awkwardly in the air, his expression faltering between hurt and disbelief. Then his eyes would flicker to the exposed skin on your neck, to the wound where not-your-Mark had bitten you hard enough to draw blood, then to your lips, swollen and tender from his kisses, and finally to your eyes—red-rimmed, glistening with unshed tears.

Mark’s expression would twist. Just the slightest. Just enough to reveal the anger beneath the exhaustion.

“I wasn’t hurt,” you’d whisper, voice quiet, weak, barely holding together. But the shame would force the words out anyway—force you to confess, to lay yourself bare, to make him hate you. And with your face burning, throat tight, you’d add, so, so quietly— “And you know it.”

Mark would go silent, his shoulders sagging, face falling as if the weight of everything had drained the life out of him. And you—God, you’d want him to hate you. To finally look at you with the disgust you’ve earned. Punch me, you’d think as the silence stretches. Yell at me. Scream at me. Hate me.

But after what feels like an eternity, all he’d say is, “...I don’t—I don’t understand. Why—”

“Kid,” Cecil would interrupt from down the hall, voice clipped and irritated. “The fight’s not over. We’ve still got at least ten Invincibles around the world. Stop the chitchat and get back to work.”

But Mark wouldn’t move. Wouldn’t budge. Even when you couldn’t meet his eyes, he’d stay rooted there, mouth forming words that won’t come—

“Kid,” Cecil would repeat, louder.

And this time, Mark would turn, his broad back facing you, his expression hidden from view.

It’d be his voice—deliberately measured, controlled—that’d betray just how much he was holding himself together, like he was speaking through clenched teeth. “We’ll talk, Y/N. Alright? We’ll talk… later.”

And then he’d be gone, launching into the sky, leaving you behind with the suffocating need to be hated.

Because if he hated you, if he was furious, if he despised you—then it’d be so much easier to just walk away.)

“Fuck…” you whisper, the familiar sting settling deep in your chest, a raw, aching pain that makes you sink further into your mattress, wanting to disappear. “I screwed everything up, didn’t I? Fuck…”

Now, with your phone dead, no calls ringing through, no texts demanding your attention, you’re left alone with nothing but the desperation of your own thoughts, drowning in self-loathing and shame. You can’t stop thinking about everything you wish you could change. All the things that will never be the same.

William has been trying to reach you, too, these past few days. You’ve seen his messages pile up—confused at first, then worried, then frustrated when you vanished completely. And you know it’s not fair to him, disappearing without a word, without an explanation. But you can’t face any of it—not the mistakes, not the consequences, not even your friends.

Not Mark.

Because the embarrassment is unbearable. Because the guilt is eating you alive.

Even here, tucked away in this borrowed apartment with its unfamiliar walls and cold silence, you can’t escape it. After that night—after Mark tore through the walls, shattered your window, with the only mission to kill the variant who dared touch like that—you had no choice but to move somewhere new. Somewhere Mark didn’t know. It’s the only reason he hasn’t shown up yet—hasn’t hovered in front of your window demanding that long-overdue conversation.

With a heavy sigh, you bury your face in the pillow. If you can’t escape your thoughts awake, maybe sleep will silence them. That’s the lie you tell yourself, when loneliness settles into your chest like a second skin, its weight overshadowed only by the remorse festering in your mind.

And as consciousness slips away, you wish—not for the first time—that you’d never fallen in love with Mark Grayson in the first place.

When you wake up hours later, sweat clinging to your brow from dreams you can’t recall, it’s not the sun that rouses you.

It’s the sound.

A soft, rhythmic tapping—knuckles against glass. Insistent. Steady.

Your heart skips a beat as you jolt upright, body tense, sheets tangling around your legs as drowsiness evaporates. You scan the room, blinking hard, trying to convince yourself you imagined it—

But there it is again.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Your muscles go rigid. Because this is the twentieth floor. No one should be knocking through the window.

You glance at the clock on your nightstand. Nearly six in the morning. The sky outside is still draped in gray. Just who in the world—

And then it hits you, the realization sinking in like cold ice.

Who else could it be?

Who else but the one person in the world you’ve been trying so damn hard to avoid—who could casually knock on your outside window like this, despite the fact you’re hundreds of feet above the ground?

Mark.

It must be him. It’s always him. Right outside your window grinning like an idiot and ready to tell you all about his day like it was the most important thing in the world.

But that was before.

Now you doubt he’s here to talk about his day.

You sit frozen, breath shallow, heart pounding like it’s trying to escape your chest. How the hell did he even find you?

Cecil swore—

(“Please,” you’d beg, hands clenched into tight fists. “Don’t tell Mark.”

It would be the third day since the Invincibles’ invasion and destruction, and Mark would still be out there—fighting, barely holding on, while you cowered in GDA safehouses. You’d already demanded a new home, a new phone—now you just needed Cecil’s silence.

“I can’t. He’s threatened me more times than I can count this month alone,” Cecil would grumble, rubbing his temples. “You think I can hide his best friend without a way to trace you? He’s gonna lose his shit.”

You’d hug yourself tighter. “I know… but he’ll understand it’s me who doesn’t want to—” see the disgust in his eyes or hear the betrayal in his voice “—talk.”

“The answer’s still no, kid,” Cecil’s tone would brook no argument. “From the way he reacted when I told him about the rogue Invincible heading your way? I wouldn’t want to know what he’d be capable of doing if I kept this from him.”

Your heart would stutter then freeze—shame and longing and self-loathing and love crashing over you in nauseating waves.

“Then...” you’d swallow around the lump in your throat. You dreaded the moment the fighting stopped, the moment Mark came looking for you, demanding answers. “Then… give him my number. That should be enough, right? If he’s worried, I’ll answer. But don’t tell him where I’m living now.”

Cecil would study you for a beat too long. Just as panic starts creeping up your spine—

“Fine.”

You’d blink. “Really? You swear?”

He’d sigh, long and insufferable, like he was so done with all this. “I swear. Now get out. I still have important shit to do—like saving the world.”

You wouldn’t waste a second, already turning on your heel, heart racing now that you knew you could walk away from Mark without having to deal with the shitty thing you’d done. Without explaining. You could pretend it never happened. Let him hate you for it—that’d be easier.

“But—” Cecil’s voice would stop you cold. When you glanced back, his gaze was piercing as steel. “The second he thinks you’re in danger and wants anything to do with it… the deal’s off.”

You’d process the warning for a moment—but then, you’d think… there’s no way Mark wouldn’t hate you now. There’s no way Mark would want anything to do with you now.

So you’d nod, knowing you’d be safe.

Because after the Invincibles came Conquest, and the aftermath of their fight, and the countless deaths... and you’d know that Mark had enough shit to worry about to even spare you a single thought.)

Fucking Cecil—he sold you out. It’s barely been two weeks. How could you possibly be in danger?

And yet, the tapping continues—more urgent now, almost frantic. You don’t need to look to know it’s Mark. You feel it. The way your skin prickles, the way your pulse stutters, your body shuddering as if it remembers.

He came for you. And maybe… maybe you always knew he would, no matter how many times you convinced yourself he’d hate you enough to never look back.

Still, your body locks up, sitting bolt upright in bed, torn between throwing the window open or sitting there, pretending you’re not home, praying he gets bored and leaves.

But the moment your feet slide to the floor, the second you stand, legs carrying you forward—your body already knows the answer. Because if Cecil gave him your address, that means Mark’s worried. That means he won’t leave. And more than that—You want to see him. Despite everything. Despite the shame, the guilt, the dread curling in your stomach like a cold fist.

Because god, you missed him. You miss him.

Your palms start to sweat, knees unsteady beneath you. But you take a breath—a deep, uneven breath—and decide to just do it. Hear him out. Let him yell. Let him cut you off. Just… rip off the fucking band-aid and move on.

With a trembling hand, you draw the curtain aside—

And with your breath caught in your throat, you finally see him.

Mark’s reaction is immediate. One moment, his fist is raised, his expression twisted in anxious concentration, frozen mid-motion to knock again at your window. But then—his eyes widen, brows lift in surprise as his mouth falls slightly open.

“Y/N—” his voice comes muffled through the glass, both palms pressing flat against it like he’s afraid you’ll vanish. “Y/N, oh my god. It’s really you. I’ve—” a ragged gasp cuts him off, breath fogging the window between you. “Are you—fuck, are you okay? I’ve been—God, we’ve all been—William and Eve and—and everyone. You just stopped answering your phone and William couldn’t—and the texts wouldn’t get through—I thought maybe you were—”

His rambling cuts off abruptly when you flip the window lock and slide it open.

The sudden lack of barrier leaves Mark statue-still, his eyes darting across your face with alarming intensity. You notice the slight sheen in his eyes, the way his lips tremble as they part and close, his shoulder raising and falling, fast and shallow.

“I’m okay,” you mumble, staring at your feet. The concern in his voice feels like a knife twist. After everything, he shouldn’t still care this much. “I’m sorry.”

The words seem to shatter whatever trance Mark was in, because the next thing you know, he’s crossing the gap between you in the blink of an eye. You’re forced to step back, a huff escaping your lips as his arms wrap around you in a desperate, tight embrace.

“Oh my god...” he mumbles, voice barely above a whisper as he buries his face into the curve of your shoulder. “I’m glad—so glad you’re okay.”

Despite his words, no matter how relieved he sounds, your body tenses against him. Your arms stay stiff by your sides, refusing to return the hug. Mark notices immediately—of course he does. You can feel him stiffen, too—his breath catching when he notices how your body freezes up, the way you seem to pull away from him without moving an inch. In a flash, he’s pulling back, hands flying up in surrender like he’s been burned.

“F-fuck—sorry! I know I shouldn’t—after what... after him—” he winces, eyes snapping shut in frustration, like he can’t stand himself. “I—I just... needed to see you were safe.”

He glances away now, his shoulders sagging, the tension in his posture dissolving into something sad and small. His lips twist downward into a pitiful frown, and when he speaks again, it’s quieter.

“I’ll go. I get it. You don’t wanna see me anymore.”

Shit.

This isn’t how it was supposed to go.

Where’s the anger? The betrayal? The screaming match you’d braced yourself for?

You’d imagined this moment a hundred times—Mark bursting in, furious, disgusted, finally giving you the hatred you deserve. Not this... this crumbled version of him, respecting boundaries you never knew were there, looking at you like he’s the one who did something wrong.

It’s not fair.

You were ready for anger. You could’ve handled anger.

But not this.

Not Mark, sad.

Your hand moves on instinct—snapping out, grasping his wrist before he can float off again, knuckles white from how tightly you hold on.

“Don’t—” you choke, the word catching on a breath you didn’t mean to let go. “Don’t go.”

His breath catches audibly when you stop him. You feel the shift in his posture as he turns back toward you, his pulse jumping under your fingertips. When you dare a glance up, his gaze burns into yours with an intensity that steals your breath.

And fuck—no, you can’t do this. Can’t look at him, can’t face him. You were right to keep your distance. So, without thinking, you quickly avert your gaze, feeling the heat rush to your face—shame, embarrassment, self-loathing… you don’t know what it is anymore, but it’s making you burn, your cheeks flushed in a way you wish you could stop.

“We need to talk, right?” you force the words out, voice dry, cracking a little. “Then let’s talk.”

Even though you really, really don’t want to. But you owe him this. You’ve been avoiding this conversation long enough, running from it like a coward.

“Right,” he whispers softly, voice barely audible. “Let’s… talk.”

Yet neither of you say anything. The silence stretches between you, awkward and thick and heavy. That’s when you realize—your hand is still on his wrist. You let go like it burns, flustered and flinching back as if caught doing something you shouldn’t.

That’s when you really look at him.

He’s not wearing his suit, nor his goggles. Just Mark Grayson, in a sweater and jeans, standing in your tiny room like a regular boy. He didn’t come here as a hero, just as your best friend. And judging by the way his hair’s a mess and his eyes are rimmed with exhaustion, he probably rushed. Probably didn’t think twice before threatening Cecil into giving up your location. Probably didn’t even try to hide who he was, flying all the way to the outskirts of the city at dawn, with nothing shielding his identity.

Anyone could’ve seen him. Anyone could’ve guessed who he was. But still, he came. All of that… just to be here with you. To find you. To make sure you were okay.

The silence shatters when you blurt out, “Are you okay? I wasn’t there when—with Conquest—” your voice cracks. “God, I’m sorry.” Another reminder of what a shitty friend you are. “I’m so sorry.”

Mark rubs at his neck, a familiar nervous gesture. “Don’t worry about it. Honestly? I’m glad you weren’t there. You shouldn’t have to see me... like that.”

You hum in response, eyes darting everywhere but him—walls, floor, the curtain still fluttering from when you opened the window. God, the awkwardness is suffocating. Why can’t you cut through it?

Then, quietly, Mark continues. “About… whatever happened. That day.” His voice is tentative, like he’s afraid even saying it might make you crumble. “You don’t have to talk about it. I get it. You’re probably—” he swallows thickly “—traumatized.”

Traumatized?

Your eyes flick up at him, blinking in confusion. “What?”

His eyes stay fixed on the floor. “I’ll give you all the time you need. And if you can’t ever—” a shaky breath. “If seeing me is too hard, I get that too.”

“Mark,” you shake your head, confusion tightening your chest. “What do you mean?” And then, dread begins to settle deep in your bones, a cold fist wrapping around your heart. “What… what do you think happened?”

He recoils like you’ve struck him, nearly stumbling back through the window frame. His mouth opens, closes, then opens again—

“Don’t make me say it.”

You freeze.

Brows draw together, thoughts racing, flipping through every possible thing he could mean—until you see it. The guilt carved into his face. The way he’s carefully keeping his distance, like he’s afraid to spook you. His eyes flick, just for a second, to your neck—where faint marks still linger, bites and kisses pressed into skin that’s long since stopped feeling warm. His expression darkens.

And then it hits you.

(You’d read his messages after the battle was settled—after the smoke cleared and the city stopped screaming.

One after the other, each one hit like a blow to the chest. Guilt. Remorse. Regret soaked into every word.

Mark (2:03 AM): I’m sorry I wasnt there

Mark (2:04 AM): I’m sorry I let it happen

Mark (2:06 AM): I should’ve been faster

Should’ve gotten u somewhere safe the moment we knew

(Missed Call - Mark - 2:07 AM)

Mark (2:18 AM): im sorry

can u pick up the phone?

Mark (2:22 AM): y/n

Mark (2:25 AM): ples

Mark (2:25 AM): please

(Missed Call - Mark - 2:33 AM)

Mark (3:37 AM): I’m sorry. Im sorry. Cecil said u didnt want to talk

Mark (3:39 AM): I get it...

Mark (3:45 AM): im sorry

shouldve never let this happen to u

Mark (3:47 AM): im sorry)

Suddenly, horribly, you understand.

“Oh my god, Mark,” you exhale, dragging both hands over your face as the heat floods in—burning shame, disbelief, something sick and sour twisting in your gut. “God… I don’t—I wasn’t—whatever you think happened to me, you’re wrong.”

Mark frowns. His lips press into a thin line, his jaw tightening. “What do you mean I’m wrong?” he says, voice low, tight with frustration. “Y/N—you don’t have to… I mean, if you’re trying to comfort me, or spare me, or whatever—”

“I wanted it!” the words spill out before you can stop them—louder, sharper than you intended.

But you need to say it. Need him to see you for what you really are—a disgusting, traitorous, filthy human being who took advantage of the situation. Who let himself melt at the first touch of hands that weren’t Mark’s but carried his face, his voice, his warmth. A hypocrite who’d spent years pretending your feelings were platonic, only to come undone the second some twisted reflection of Mark offered you everything you’d ever craved.

God, so this is why there’s no yelling, no accusations thrown at you. Because Mark—your Mark—still sees you as someone worth trusting. Someone worth protecting. Someone who, in his mind, must have been tricked, coerced, hurt. Even after listening whatever happened that night—the sounds of skin meeting skin, the desperate need in your voice as you begged the other Mark to make you come, to unravel you in his touch—he still thinks you’re the victim.

Shit. Shit.

Your arms fall limp at your sides, exposing the damning evidence purpling your throat. “That’s what you’re not getting,” you whisper, tears blurring your vision as you stare at the floor between you. “He didn’t force me. I let him. I—” your voice cracks “—I begged.”

Mark doesn’t move. Doesn’t breathe.

And you can’t stop.

“You should hate me,” you choke out, and god, your voice sounds wrecked. “The person you think I am? That’s not real. I mean, look at me—” A wet, shuddering breath. “God, look at me. After everything I said about still being friends? Pathetic. I’m not your friend. I’m can’t be your friend,” your shoulders shake. You wrap your arms around yourself. “Just—just hate me already.”

You still won’t look at him. Can’t bring yourself to. The silence stretches, broken only by the wind whistling through the open window, raising goosebumps on your skin. And that silence—it feels worse than yelling would’ve.

Hot, heavy tears slide down your cheeks, burning against your skin. Because maybe now he sees it—what you are, what you did, and what you, even now, can’t fully regret. Because fuck, it felt good. So good.

And because you can’t even lie to yourself and say you wish it hadn’t happened, is exactly why Mark should walk away.

Why he should look at you with disgust.

Why he should despise you.

That’s why—

A warm hand cups your cheek.

Mark’s touch is featherlight, his thumb brushing just beneath your eye, catching a tear as it falls. The softness of it, the quiet gentleness of him touching you like you haven’t just shattered everything between you—it steals the breath right out of your lungs.

When you look up, confusion clear on your face, he simply says, “You know I hate when you cry.”

Your lip trembles, and a weak sob escapes before you can stop it. Of course. Even now, after everything, he offers kindness you haven’t earned.

Then he’s moving—stepping into your room. Into your space. Into you. Without hesitation, he pulls you into his arms, slow but sure, like he’s done a hundred times before. He tucks your head against his shoulder, one hand cradling the back of your head while the other rubs slow circles between your shoulder blades.

You melt into him almost instinctively, breath hitching in ragged gasps—like you’ve been drowning, and only now are you finally breaking the surface. But then doubt creeps in—hesitation lingers because you’re not sure you should be this close to Mark, should allow yourself this comfort. But despite everything, you slowly bring your arms around him, unsure but needing him more than you’ve needed anything in the past two long, empty two weeks since you ruined everything.

Because fuck—Mark is everything you’ve been craving. Because this is the Mark you know and love. The Mark you fell for. Gentle, kind, steady. Warm in a way that feels like safety.

And when you bury your face in the crook of his neck, his scent hits you—familiar and grounding—and it makes your head spin. His body, solid and real, holds you like you’re still someone worth holding onto.

“Y/N,” Mark says, voice low and rough, vibrating against your ear. “I could never hate you.”

You shudder as tears well up again—hot and blinding—spilling over as you squeeze your eyes shut. He’s too good. Too gentle. And it hurts.

His embrace is everything the other Mark’s wasn’t—steady instead of desperate, grounding instead of possessive. He holds you like he’s afraid you’ll break, like he sees you, and it’s unbearable.

“I know,” you whisper, voice muffled against his shoulder. “But you should.”

He pulls you closer at that, impossibly close, until there’s no space left between you. And you try—God, you try—not to notice. Not the heat of his hands tracing soft circles on your back. Not the way his breath ghosts along your ear and neck. Not the matching rhythm of your breathing, your heartbeats thudding in sync, chest to chest. You try to ignore it all. Because it’s too intimate. Too soon. Too much to handle when your body still remembers the weight of his—his—naked body against yours. The slide of sweat-slick skin, the hitch of breath against your ear, all breathy moans and hushed gasps.

“No,” Mark blurts suddenly, voice tight, shaking with regret. His fingers fist into the back of your shirt like he’s terrified you’ll pull away. “You should hate me. I was a total asshole to you, Y/N. For weeks. Months, even. And you were right. I wasn’t being fair to you. I ignored you, pushed you away, treated you like crap, and I didn’t even have the guts to tell you why.”

He swallows hard, his next words coming quieter, more broken.

“And then, when it really mattered, I couldn’t protect you. I failed you. You should hate me,” he exhales, his arms tightening around you ever so slightly. Then, in a single, intimate whisper right against your ear, Mark adds, “I’m sorry.”

The words lodge in your chest, unexpected and disarming. That tight knot of guilt loosens just enough to let you breathe.

I’m sorry. The words come so suddenly, so softly, that you almost miss them. You were supposed to be the one asking for forgiveness, the one weighed down by guilt and regret—not Mark.

What Mark did—keep you in this strange, distant limbo for weeks, barely speaking to you beyond polite conversation, and looking at you with a mix of discomfort, guilt, and something else you can’t quite place ever since the day you confessed your feelings—was never something you could truly blame him for.

You were the one who couldn’t keep it in. The one who let your feelings spill out and ruin everything. The one who wanted to still be his friend, desperate to keep him in your life, clinging to any scrap of him you could get.

You were the one who promised yourself you’d move on, who told Mark as much.

And then you ruined everything again.

Because the moment someone with Mark’s voice, Mark’s smile, Mark’s face reached for you, you didn’t stop him. You let yourself fall into him like he was this Mark—as if that made it okay. You let him touch you, claim you, own you in ways this Mark never did, never agreed to—while all you could do was gasp and beg for more.

God. And Mark’s the one saying sorry?

“I forgive you,” you say, the words slipping out faster than you can stop them—too eager, too willing to let months of confusion and pain be wiped away with a single breath.

But as you speak, you feel the wrongness of this moment. You can still feel the heat in your cheeks, the way your skin tingles where it touches his, the dizzying familiarity of his scent flooding your senses. Your body remembers. It remembers. Every place he touched you, every mark he left, every kiss still lingering like a brand. And even if it wasn’t him—wasn’t your Mark—it doesn’t matter.

Because your body doesn’t know the difference.

And you know, with sudden clarity, that this has to end.

“I forgive you, Mark,” you repeat, quieter this time. “It doesn’t matter anymore. It’s in the past.”

Maybe he hears it—that slight shift in your tone. The edge of something final curling around your words. Because then his arms tighten around you—not restraining, just holding. Just keeping you close a little longer.

“That means we’re still friends, right?” the question comes out muffled against your shoulder. You don’t need to see his face to picture the crease between his brows, the hesitant frown you’ve known since fifth grade. “Y/N?” His voice cracks. “Because I forgive you too. Whatever happened that night—” his breath hitches “—it’s in the past for me too, alright?”

You open your eyes. The morning sun is rising outside your open window, spilling pale light through the fluttering curtains. A breeze slips through and brushes against your skin, drying the last of your tears. There’s an odd calm in your chest now, the quiet certainty of a decision made.

For one lingering moment, you let yourself stay—letting the warmth of his body soak into yours, letting yourself pretend—just for a heartbeat—that things could be simple. That they are simple.

Then, gently, you pull away, slipping from his arms with predictable ease. Because of course he lets you go. Of course his hands fall open the instant you retreat, always respecting your boundaries, even now.

Mark stands still as you step back, gaze dropping to the floor, unwilling to meet his eyes.

Mark shifts uneasily. “Y/N...?”

“No.” The word comes out steadier than you feel. “We can’t be friends.”

Mark doesn’t respond right away. You can feel the weight of his confusion, the way he’s trying to process your words, replaying them in his mind as if he might’ve misheard.

“What?” he breathes, voice small and cracked.

You swallow hard, nails digging into your palms. “I can’t do it. I can’t pretend everything’s fine. I can’t go back to what we were because—” you suck in a breath and let the truth crash out of you, unfiltered. “Because I can’t trust myself around you, Mark.”

Mark goes utterly still.

“Because when you hold me like that, I start remembering... things that weren’t real. Things I shouldn’t want.”

A beat.

Mark’s hands twitch—like he wants to reach for you but doesn’t dare. His mouth opens slightly, like he’s about to speak, but nothing comes out.

You don’t stop. You can’t stop. You have to tear through the illusion before it starts to wrap around you again—before you slip, before the memories seduce you back into longing.

“I know it wasn’t you,” you continue, forcing the words through the lump in your throat. “I know you don’t see me that way. And I know it’s not really your fault.”

You glance away, arms folding tight around your chest like a shield—an instinct born from shame and desperation, as if you could protect your body from betraying you all over again. Of remembering it.

(The way not-your-Mark would hold you, fingers digging into your hips hard enough to bruise.

The unbearable pleasure coiling tighter and tighter.

The way he’d groan and growl against your lips as his hands roamed your body, gripping and groping every inch of exposed skin.

The way his lips would brush against yours, both of you panting, gasping for air, and still leaning in—still trying to kiss, to steal whatever breath the other had left.

The way his hips would move, his body joined with yours, each thrust hitting just right, so deep inside you.

“I love—” he’d pant, his rhythm faltering. “I love you, Y/N.”

And how do you recover from that?

How do you erase it?

How do you look Mark in the eye when your body still aches with memory?

You don’t.

You can’t.)

A traitorous shiver runs through you, heat blooming under your skin like fire.

“But I can’t unfeel it,” you rasp, voice hoarse and cracking. Your cheeks burn with the triple weight of shame, guilt, and something far more damning—arousal, thick and undeniable. “I can’t unknow what it felt like to be—” you hesitate, then force the word out “touched like that—by you.”

You take a step back. Then another. And another, putting precious distance between you.

“And I can’t go back to being just your friend like none of it ever happened, Mark,” you continue, breath hitching. “I’m sorry.”

I’m sorry. There, it’s your turn.

The words hang in the air, cold and final. This is the moment the fragile thing between you fractures beyond repair.

You can’t be his friend. Not when just looking at him sends your mind reeling with flashes of skin and heat, of whispered promises and breathless moans and the ache of being wanted. It plays behind your eyes in obscene, impossible detail every time you blink. And it’s not fair—not to Mark, who trusted you. Who never asked for this. Who deserves better than your traitorous body and its wretched, persistent wanting.

Let him hate you now. Let him recoil from the truth of how badly you’d craved it—how part of you still do. His hands. His mouth. His moans. The way he’d murmur I love yous like a prayer against your skin—

“What—what are you saying?” he asks, voice rough with disbelief. He takes a step forward, closing the distance you so carefully created. “That this is—it? Just goodbye? Don’t… Y/N, just—look at me.”

When you don’t, his fingers brush your chin, tilting your face up with a gentleness that undoes you. The tears on his lashes glint in the sunlight.

“You think I can just walk away?” he says, voice raw and aching. “Pretend like you’re not my friend anymore? Like I can forget you? Like—like I can hate you? When I—”

He breaks off, his brows drawing tight, his teeth sinking into his lower lip as frustration flickers across his face. For a heartbeat, he closes his eyes, as if bracing himself, before reopening them, locking onto yours with an intensity that nearly breaks you.

Then, softer, more vulnerable than before, he asks, “You remember I needed to tell you something? Before everything went to shit, before asshole versions of me started crashing through our world?”

Your eyes flicker over his face, confusion and turmoil knotting inside you. Still, you take a deep breath, slowly nodding. “You wanted to tell me the reason you’ve been pulling away,” you murmur, voice quiet. “You said it was because of my confession…” The words taste like ash. You exhale sharply, the ache in your chest blooming fresh as you take another step back. “God, Mark—just forget it. It doesn’t matter anymore. I don’t need an explanation. I know why you pulled away,” you swallow hard. “I ruined it. That’s on me.”

“No, no, Y/N,” he says urgently, voice desperate as he steps forward, closing the gap between you with stubborn, desperate steps. He’s now deep into your room—into your life, the way he always does. And you know, without him saying it, that he’s not leaving. “Just—just listen to me. Please.”

And then, as if he can’t bear to let you go, he does something that completely catches you off guard. His hands reach for your face, warm and steady as they cup your cheeks, rough fingers pressing against your skin. You freeze instinctively, breath catching in your throat.

He tilts your head gently, making sure your eyes meet his. And there it is. His gaze—warm, brown, familiar—pierces through the wall you’ve tried to build, melting the icy grip around your heart. There’s something there in his eyes, something that’s been there for months now, something you recognize but still don’t understand.

For some reason, your heart picks up its pace.

“The reason I’ve been pulling away is because I—I was confused,” Mark says, his voice cracking, thumbs tracing shaky circles on your cheeks. “Because I didn’t want to hurt you—or say the wrong thing. And I thought—I thought maybe if I kept my distance, if I just gave it time, it’d all go away. That you’d move on. That I’d be okay with it.” He lets out a shaky breath, jaw tightening. “But I’m not okay with it. I’m not okay with losing you—not now, not ever. Because every damn day since you told me, Y/N… I’ve been—”

He chokes on the rest, his grip tightening almost imperceptibly, calloused fingers trembling against your cheeks.

“Every day since you confessed, I’ve been wanting to—” a frustrated growl rumbles in his chest as the words get stuck in his throat as if they were physically painful to admit. “Fuck. I’ve wanted—”

The sentence dies on his lips again, but the way his gaze drops to your mouth says everything he can’t.

And suddenly, the air feels too thick, too tight. You can’t breathe. Not anymore.

You feel the heat of his stare, the way it burns through your skin, and the space between you grows impossibly smaller. It makes your chest tighten, heart hammering. Every inch of you is aware of how close he is, of how much he invades you. His touch, his presence, his warmth—all of it settles into you, tingling against your skin.

You want to step back. You want to create some distance, to breathe, to think—but his hand stays firm on your face, thumb gently brushing away the tear you didn’t even know had fallen. And God, it’s just like that other version of him, that hunger in his eyes—the need that burns too brightly for you to ignore.

“…Mark?” you ask, low and uncertain. “I don’t—I don’t understand.”

His eyes darken as they trace over your face, dipping to your lips in a way that sends a shiver down your spine. His breath hitches, just slightly, when you unconsciously lick your lips, an instinct you can’t control under his intense gaze.

“God, don’t make me say it,” he murmurs, voice rough. His forehead presses against yours, the heat of his breath mingling with yours, soft and shaky. “Y/N, I want—I need to—”

Whatever he’s about to say, he doesn’t. The words get caught again, but he doesn’t need to say anything more. Not when he answers in the only way you’ll believe him.

Mark leans in, closes the last bit of space between you, and kisses you.

Your eyes flutter shut unconsciously, a startled gasp catching in your throat as his lips meet yours.

The sensation—Mark’s lips, warm and firm and real against yours—obliterates all coherent thought, leaving you lightheaded and trembling. And then, one final thought cuts through the haze like lightning.

Mark Grayson—your Mark Grayson, the one you’ve known since fifth grade, the one you’ve been secretly in love with since eighth, the kind and good Mark—is kissing you.

The thought alone makes your knees buckle, your pulse roar in your ears, your breath come in shallow pants against his mouth.

“Mark…” you breathe, managing to pull back just enough to speak, your cheeks blazing. “What—”

But he doesn’t let you finish. He’s kissing you again, harder this time. Both hands cradle your face, pulling you in like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he lets go.

Your breath stutters, lost between his lips and your own racing heart. You don’t even realize he’s maneuvering you until your back meets the wall, his body pressing you there, surrounding you completely in his warmth, his scent, his safety.

When he finally breaks the kiss, it’s with a soft exhale that ghosts across your tingling lips. The sound is equal parts contentment and barely restrained hunger, as if he’s both savoring this and already aching for more. He rests his forehead against yours, breathing ragged. When his eyes open—dark and blown wide—they shine with something fragile and new and raw.

“Y/N…” he whispers, voice hoarse and trembling. “Shit. I’ve wanted to tell you for so long, but I’ve been too much of a coward to say it. But, Y/N, I—” He pauses, his expression softening, brows furrowing in that way that always makes you ache, the slight pout of his mouth tugging at your heart. He inches closer, his breath warm against your lips, and in that breath, he whispers, “I’m in love with you.”

Your lips part, expression faltering as tears threaten to fall again, blurring your vision. The weight of his words, of his confession, pulls something tight in your chest, unraveling the last of your restraint.

Mark’s thumb gently brushes under your eyes, catching the tears falling, his gaze filled with a quiet regret. “I’ve loved you for so long. And I’m sorry it took me this long to figure it out. I guess—I guess I was so used to having you in my life that I didn’t even realize what I was feeling. And when I finally started to get it, I freaked out. I pushed you away because I was scared. Scared of—of what it could mean.”

A shaky inhale, both yours, his, it doesn’t matter.

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” he whispers again, leaning in closer, his breath mingling with yours, so close now you can feel the heat of him. “I love you. I love you. I love—”

You silence him with a kiss—partly because your racing heart can’t take another declaration, partly because you’ve dreamed of this moment for what feels like forever.

The heat of his mouth against yours sends fire through your veins, and suddenly you’re clinging to him, fingers twisting in his shirt as you melt into the embrace.

Mark groans against your mouth, his body pinning you to the wall with a delicious pressure that makes your head spin. But you don’t care—can’t care. Not when every inch of you is burning, not when all you can think about is the soft, urgent way his lips move against yours, like he’s been starving for this.

When you part your lips to deepen the kiss—greedy, desperate, aching to be closer—his tongue slides against yours in a slow, exploratory caress that draws a whimper from your throat. The sound seems to unravel him—his hands drop from your face to your waist, gripping hard as he pulls you flush against him. You can feel the wild hammering of his heart through his chest, its rhythm perfectly synced with yours.

“Shit—” he breathes against your swollen lips, his cheeks flushed deep pink. “I can’t get enough of you, Y/N. I can’t—”

You tangle your fingers in his hair, yanking him closer until your breaths are mingling, quick and desperate. “I get it,” you whisper, voice thick. “Mark—just—don’t stop. Keep kissing me.”

Mark does just that.

His arms tighten around you, and the small, needy noise he makes in the back of his throat sends a rush of heat through you. The solid warmth of him holds you steady when your knees threaten to give out, his presence completely consuming, anchoring you in the overwhelming feeling of being wanted, of being wanted by him. And when he nips at your lower lip, the sharp burst of pleasure-pain makes you arch into him with a broken moan.

Shit—shit.

Your body remembers too much, too vividly, and it doesn’t take more than Mark’s feverish kisses—all teeth and tongue and desperate, gasping breaths—for your skin to start buzzing with heat, for arousal to stir sharp and sudden in your pajama pants.

His hands roam with a nervous, almost clumsy urgency, shaking slightly as they slide along your body. You can feel his inexperience in the way he hesitates between touches, in the hitched breaths against your lips—and god help you, it only makes you harder, heat flooding your veins until you’re certain your blush stretches from your cheeks to your chest.

“Mark,” you murmur breathlessly between kisses, “Mmh—Mark…”

You try to say something—warn him, maybe—to tell him that maybe you should slow down, take a breath, but he kisses the words right out of your mouth. And damn, it’s embarrassing how quickly your body betrays you—how just the feel of him, warm and solid and real, reduces you to this trembling mess. He’s only kissing you, for Christ’s sake, yet it feels like he’s branding himself into your very bones.

Still, a coil of anxiety twists low in your stomach. You’re afraid he’ll notice. Afraid he’ll freeze and freak out. Because as far as you know, Mark’s never been with a man—never even kissed one. His alternate version, sure, seemed experienced, confident, knew exactly how to touch you and make you moan. But this—this is your Mark. And the way he kisses you—eager, almost awed, his breath catching like he’s afraid this might all be some kind of dream—it feels different. And if his confession earlier was true—if he’s spent months wrestling with his feelings—then Christ, this might be his first time doing any of this with another guy.

And shit—maybe this is going too fast. You’re getting so fucking turned on and don’t want to scare him off, but—

“Oh, fuck, Mark—” the whimper tears from your throat as he pulls you closer, almost desperately, like he wants to melt into you completely. And when his hips press against yours, the friction makes you jolt, breath catching in your throat.

Your dick is rock hard. You don’t need to look down to know this. And judging by the way Mark suddenly stops kissing you, breath heaving as he pulls back just enough to look at you, flushed and wide-eyed, you know he can feel it too.

The sight of him—messy hair, lips swollen, breath ragged—is so fucking hot you feel your cheeks burn even hotter, shame and desire twisting together in your gut.

“I’m—” you start, ready to pull away, to gather yourself, to put an end to this heated moment before you completely lose it. “I’m sorr—”

But Mark doesn’t let you finish. His hips snap against yours in a sharp, deliberate thrust, erasing every inch of space between you. A broken noise escapes you as you finally feel it—the hard, undeniable length of him straining against his jeans, big, just like you remember.

Mark whines, his breath hitching as he rolls his hips again, slow and experimental this time. The sound he makes is downright filthy, a shuddering sigh against your lips.

“Oh my god,” he gasps, forehead dropping to yours. He does it again, and this time you both moan, the vibration mingling between your mouths. His voice is wrecked, shaky with want. “Y/N—fuck—can I…? Please, can I…?”

You don’t even know what he’s asking, but it doesn’t matter. Not when he’s this hard, this needy, rutting against you like he’ll die if he stops. Not when every ragged breath, every desperate thrust, tells you he wants this just as badly as you do.

“Yes,” you choke out, hands fisting in his shirt to pull him closer. “God, yes—”

Suddenly, your feet lift off the ground. The world tilts as Mark lifts you with that effortless superhuman strength, his hands firm beneath your thighs, until your back meets the wall with a soft thud. Your legs lock around his waist instinctively, pulling him flush against you until every inch of your bodies align—chest to chest, hip to hip, the hard length of him grinding against yours in a way that makes your vision blur.

“Mark—”

His name spills from your lips in a breathless moan as you roll your hips, unable to stop the desperate friction.

It still doesn’t feel real—that after all these years of pining, of biting your tongue through every casual touch and forced smile, of convincing yourself it’s okay to be just friends, of him telling you he didn’t see you that way—he’s here, kissing you with the same frantic need burning through your veins.

So the words escape in a whisper, raw and shy with years of pent-up longing, “I love you.”

Mark’s groan vibrates through your chest, his grip tightening on your ass with barely restrained need. “Yes, yes—” his voice cracks, eyes blown wide with vulnerable sincerity when they meet yours. “I love you too. God, I love you.”

Something in you cracks at that, and you yank him forward, lips meeting in a messy clash of teeth and tongue. There’s no finesse—just frantic, open-mouthed kisses as your hips move in a desperate rhythm. Every roll of his hips sends electric shocks down your spine, pulling ragged gasps from your throat. You can feel everything—the thick drag of his cock against yours, the tremors in his fingertips where they dig into your skin, the wild hammering of his heart where your chests press together. The growing dampness between you only fuels the fire, fabric sticking uncomfortably as precum soaks through layers of clothing.

It’s overwhelming.

He’s overwhelming.

Mark nips at your lower lip with a broken whimper, and for one dizzying moment, you want more—more of his warmth, of his weight pressing you into the wall, of his hands gripping your skin hard enough to leave fingerprints, of his strength pinning you in place like he never wants to let you go. You want him to consume you, to claim you, just like—

Like—

Like his variant. The one you let touch you exactly like this just two weeks ago. The one who kissed you, ruined you, took everything you had to give simply because he looked like your Mark. Sounded like him. Moved like him. You let him in, let him leave his marks on your body—because you were desperate. Because you missed this Mark so damn much it hurt.

All at once, the heat evaporates and the fog of arousal clears. You’re acutely aware of the growing shame, the sudden weight of your guilt pressing down on you.

How dare you? How can you stand here, grinding against your Mark, kissing him as if you didn’t just betray him in the worst way? As if you didn’t let some twisted reflection of him fuck you senseless. As if you didn’t moan I love you to a monster wearing his face. As if the bruises have faded when they’re right there, purpling under your shirt where Mark’s fingers rest now.

Mark freezes the second your body goes rigid against his. His eyes flutter open—hazel gone dark with want, now clouded with confusion.

“Y/N...?” his voice is rough and uneven. “What’s—did I hurt you? Did I—fuck, was that too much?”

He slowly puts you down, feet safely back to the floor, although his hands hover over your waist, trembling—still touching, but not squeezing anymore. Like he’s afraid he crossed a line. Like he’s the one who should be ashamed.

And god, that just makes it worse.

“Nothing’s wrong,” you say, voice small and barely convincing. “I just—”

Your hand lifts before you can stop it, fingers brushing along the tender skin of your neck—right over the bruises and bites the other version of Mark left behind. Still there. Still vivid. Still haunting.

Even after your Mark killed him, that other Mark lingers. Clinging to your skin like a curse you can’t scrub away.

Mark’s gaze snaps to the movement, his eyes tracking your fingers with a focus that makes your pulse stutter. You see the exact moment his gaze changes. His pupils narrow, his jaw clenches. That barely-contained storm behind his eyes. You’ve seen it before, that look, and now recognized it for what it is. Jealousy, raw and unguarded, before he wrestles it back under control.

You look down quickly, heart sinking under the weight of shame. “I’m sorry,” you whisper, because what else can you say?

(You wished they had disappeared along with the alternate Mark.

Every time you’d look in the mirror, you’d wish those marks could vanish—make it easier to forget, to pretend it hadn’t really happened.

But no matter how many times you’d wash, how hard you’d scrub until your skin turned red and raw, they’d still be there.

Eventually, you’d give up, sinking into the hot stream like you could melt into it—like you could drown the guilt, the shame, and the hunger that still throbbed beneath your skin, embedded in every lingering kiss.

Then you’d shut your eyes, mistaking the heat for his touch, the steam for his breath. You’d press your fingers into the bruises he left, hard, like you could still feel him there.

And the heat—God, the heat—wouldn’t come from the water anymore. It’d rise from deep inside you, from the places he had touched, heat coiling low in your belly every time you touched them.)

“I’m sorry,” you say again, softer this time.

You feel like you’ve messed it up—again. Like any second now, Mark’s going to snap out of it, take one good look at you and regret all of it—regret the kissing, the grinding, the confession.

“Why are you sorry?” Mark asks instead, head tilting, that painfully familiar puppy-like confusion softening his features. Then his gaze drops back to your neck, to the bruises purpling your skin, and his expression twists—something between a pout and a grimace. He opens his mouth like he wants to say something, but it’s difficult for him to even ask. “Do you…” he hesitates, swallowing hard. “Do you want him more?”

“No!” you answer immediately, the idea so absurd it’s nearly offensive. “Of course not.”

Because it’s always been Mark. Always.

You’ve spent these last few days pretending it was him, after all. Imagining it was your Mark’s hands that touched you, his voice that whispered those filthy, obsessive promises against your skin. Dreaming it was your Mark who kissed and claimed you, fucking you so deep into the mattress you’d never forget it was him. Every time you closed your eyes, it was him. Even when you woke up shaking, sweaty, needy—it was always him.

Still, your fingers linger on your neck, shame and guilt twisting in your chest like a knife. The bruises feel like damning evidence of your betrayal—like they’re proof of something ugly, something that might disgust him.

You can’t help the question that slips out, barely above a whisper. “Do you want me less?”

Mark doesn’t hesitate.

“No,” he says, like it’s the simplest truth in the world.

And you just stare at him, torn between disbelief and overwhelming relief. It doesn’t make sense—none of this makes sense. Because—because why? Why would he forgive you? Why would he still want to want you?

Mark sees the doubt in your eyes before you even speak. His hand lifts slowly, hovering just for a moment—until it settles against your cheek, warm and gentle.

“I don’t want you less,” he says, firmer now, his gaze locked onto yours. “I just—” his thumb strokes your cheekbone, his voice dropping to a rough whisper “—hate that it wasn’t me.”

Your heart stutters.

“I hate that he touched you like that—that I wasn’t there to stop it. Or—” he falters, jaw tightening as if he’s choking on his own thoughts. His cheeks flush, matching the heat on yours. “Or—fuck—that it wasn’t me. The first to do it.”

Your breath catches, lips parting in a silent gasp. His thumb strokes your cheek absentmindedly, and you lean into it instinctively, like your body knows what your brain hasn’t caught up to yet. His breathing grows shaky, his gaze darting from your eyes to your lips to the marks on your neck—lingering there, his tongue swiping unconsciously over his lips while something hungry blooms in his gaze.

“I should’ve said something sooner,” Mark murmurs, almost to himself. “I should’ve been brave enough to tell you I loved you. That I wanted you. That—”

He cuts himself off, closing the distance between you in one decisive movement. His eyes darken, glassy with want as they flick between your lips and the bruises on your neck.

Then—slowly, so slowly—his hand trails from your cheek to your throat, his fingers skimming the marks with featherlight touch.

“Can I…?” Mark breathes, eyes flicking between your neck and your eyes, trembling at the edge of control. “Please?”

You shiver beneath his touch, voice catching in your throat. All you can manage is a small, trembling nod.

It’s all he needs.

Mark presses you back against the wall, his arms locking around your waist with a possessiveness that sends your pulse skittering. His face buries into the crook of your neck, breath coming in ragged, uneven bursts that raise goosebumps across your skin. His lips hover—barely touching, achingly tentative—and you can’t tell if he’s teasing or just being careful.

Either way, the anticipation is torture. It’s too intimate. Too much. Too not enough. You need more, more, more.

“Mark…” you breathe, voice impatient, eyes slipping shut as your fingers tremble behind his back, clinging to the fabric of his sweater like it’s the only thing anchoring you.

Finally—finally—Mark kisses you.

His soft, warm mouth finds a bruise. He lingers for a heartbeat, then deepens it, tongue sweeping over the purpled skin in slow, deliberate strokes. A sigh escapes you, your head tipping back to give him better access as your body goes pliant against his. Mark groans, low and full of approval, the vibration traveling straight to your dick. His tongue works harder now, sucking over every bruise like he’s trying to erase them, replace them. Like he’s marking you all over again but this time with his. Like he’s trying to say mine.

“Shit, Mark…” you groan, pressing closer, chasing the friction you both left behind just a minute ago, desperate to build the heat until it swallows you whole. “Mark…”

He answers your unspoken need without hesitation. His hips snap forward, meeting yours with a roughness that punches a groan from his lips and a moan from your throat. The sound seems to unravel him—his hands tighten on your waist, pinning you flush against the wall as he sets a relentless pace. You can’t move, can’t think, can only roll your hips in time with his, each thrust drawing out another broken sound.

And all the while, his mouth never leaves your neck—sucking, licking over the bruises like he’s determined to replace every one of them with his own. Bigger. Darker. His tongue branding you with every slow, hungry drag, possessive suck.

“Fuck—mmh, Mark…” you gasp, voice wrecked and breathless, your body trembling from how much you feel him—his cock pressed thick and heavy through your clothes, his tongue hot and wet against your neck, his fingers digging into your skin with a needy kind of desperation.

It’s all too much.

Your head’s spinning, floating, untethered. You’re not even sure this is real.

“Mark,” you whisper, hoarse and pleading, “kiss me. Please. Kiss me.”

Mark pulls back from your throat with a ragged gasp, lips flushed and slick, eyes dark and dazed. And then he’s on you again—hand twisting into your hair, dragging your mouth to his in a brutal, breathless kiss. It’s all teeth and tongue and heat, the kind of kiss that’s more collision than contact.

You moan into him, a fractured sound that melts right into his mouth. He swallows it greedily, groaning back with a breathy, needy sound of his own. Neither of you can breathe—it’s evident in the way your chests heave between frantic kisses, in the dizzying exchange of panting breaths, yet neither of you dares pull away. Neither of you even think about slowing down.

And it’s that—the burn in your lungs, the ache in your chest, the way your head spins from oxygen deprivation—that tells you this is real. God, it’s so real it hurts.

Mark Grayson is kissing you.

Not the maniac from another dimension. Not the twisted version of Invincible who destroyed cities and killed thousands before paying you a visit.

This is your Mark—your best friend who laughs too loud, who geeks out over comics. The boy who’s just as inexperienced as you are, yet kisses you with a determination that makes your knees weak.

This is the boy who’s a hero, not a monster.

It’s everything at once—the crushing weight of Mark pressed against you, the rough drag of his thick cock against yours through layers of fabric, the obscene wetness soaking both your pants as his hips roll in desperate, uneven thrusts— that does it. That coils the tension in your gut tighter until your legs shake violently under the weight of it. His moans vibrate against your lips, ragged and desperate, and when his hips stutter—once, twice—you break.

Your vision whites out, mouth falling open in a silent cry as you spill into your boxers, your entire body seizing around him. But Mark doesn’t stop—his thrusts grow faster, lost in the haze of pleasure, and the overstimulation wrings a choked sob from your throat—toes curling, thighs trembling as your oversensitive cock twitches helplessly. In a daze, you bite his lower lip hard enough to draw a startled whimper from him.

Then your head falls back against the wall with a wet gasp, a silver strand of spit still connecting your swollen lips.

“Ah— fuck, Mark…” you wheeze, vision swimming, the world tilting dangerously. “Fuck, fuck… I can’t—I’m gonna—”

Mark’s gaze sharpens, the lust clearing just enough for him to look—to take in the way your legs tremble around his hips, the obscene wet patch blooming across your thin pajama pants, the way your knees keep buckling from the aftershocks still rolling through you.

“Shit—” his voice cracks, hands flying to steady you. “Y/N—fuck, are you—? Did you just—?”

The raw awe in Mark’s voice makes your flush deepen unbearably. “Shut up, Grayson,” you mutter, eyes darting away.

“Oh,” he breathes, voice raspier now, fingers digging into your hips like he’s trying to ground himself. “Oh, that’s so hot.”

You groan, pressing your hands to his shoulders, squeezing hard as you squeeze your eyes shut, mortified. God. You just came from grinding against him, both of you still fully dressed, like some desperate teenager. The humiliation burns worse than the pleasure.

“Should we—” Mark starts, voice unsure, cracking a little as he swallows hard. “Should we stop?”

You blink slowly, catching your breath, heartbeat still loud in your ears. The high is fading enough for you to register how hard he still is—his jeans pulled tight around the obvious strain in them, and he looks like he’s suffering. You shift awkwardly, skin burning, but the answer is easy. No, you don’t want to stop. Not even close.

“I could,” you whisper, “suck you off.”

The second it leaves your mouth, your face goes up in flames. You want to bury yourself under a rock—but you don’t take it back. Not when Mark’s breath catches in his throat, when his grip on your waist tightens, and he stares at you like you just offered him the goddamn world.

“Huh?” he blurts, like his brain just short-circuited. “You mean—you don’t have to. I can—shit, I can just—”

You yank him down by his collar, cutting off his rambling with a firm kiss.

“Mark,” you murmur against his lips, “I want to. If... if you do.”

A bead of sweat trails down his temple as he nods, rapid and jerky. “Yeah,” he breathes. “Yeah, sure. Absolutely. Please.”

The eager, clumsy response pulls a laugh from you—soft and fond. God, this is your Mark. Awkward and earnest and perfect. And you love him exactly like this.

Then, you’re sinking to your knees—right there against the wall, with Mark still caging you in. Your pulse roars in your ears as you look up through your lashes, watching his reaction unfold in real time. His lips part on a silent gasp, eyes wide like he can’t quite believe what’s happening. Your heart races. His, too—you can see it in the rise and fall of his chest, the way he’s already breathing unevenly, fingers twitching at his sides before he braces them against the wall for balance.

You’re nervous—your hands tremble a little—but you mask it with a veil of confidence, your gaze steady as you reach for the waistband of his jeans. You’ve never done this before, not for anyone. But you’ve thought about it. Over and over. You’ve fantasized about this exact moment—him, always him—Mark in your mouth, groaning your name, falling apart for you.

And the thought alone has your mouth watering.

Your fingers fumble with the zipper, heat blooming in your cheeks as your mind races with possibilities. You picture him thick and heavy on your tongue, imagine the weight of him, the taste of him deep in your throat. Your lips part instinctively, anticipation pooling low in your stomach.

You glance up one last time.

Mark’s already leaning into the wall, palms flat against it like he’s afraid his knees might give out. His cheeks are flushed, pupils blown wide, chest heaving—and you haven’t even started yet.

A thrill licks up your spine, tugging a small smile to your lips as you watch him squirm.

Finally, you tug at the waistband of his jeans, peeling it down along with his boxers in one slow, deliberate motion. His cock springs free, already fully hard and trapped for so long that it curves upward eagerly, the dark flushed tip glistening with precum. You hear Mark’s breath hitch sharply, his abdomen flexing as his whole body tenses.

And damn... he’s big. Just as big as you remember from his variant. Thick, veiny, heavy—pure Viltrumite genes. But this time, the size doesn’t intimidate you. Not even a little. This time, you bite your bottom lip, pulse quickening with excitement. Then you wrap your fingers around the base of him, feeling the heat and weight in your hand. He groans, breath hitching, hips giving the tiniest, desperate jerk toward you like he didn’t mean to move but couldn’t stop himself.

You lean in slowly, breath warm against his sensitive cock, watching how it jumps under your touch. There’s a bead of precum glistening at the tip, catching the light, and your tongue flicks out—just a little closer, just a little more.

“Oh my god…” he breathes, voice cracking like he can’t believe what he’s seeing. “You’re actually—you’re really gonna… oh my god—”

His words dissolve into a choked moan when you finally take him into your mouth, the taste flooding your senses—salty and musky and something uniquely Mark. You take him into your mouth slowly, tentatively, clumsy as you try to adjust to the stretch of him. Your lips drag awkwardly over his length, your jaw already aching, but you hum, determined, and take a little more, and feel his whole body jerk in response.

“S-shit! Shit, Y/N, that’s—” his hips stutter forward before he catches himself when you nearly choke, hands turning into fists against the wall. “S-sorry, I didn’t mean to—oh fuck, your mouth—”

One of his trembling hands finally finds your hair, fingers tangling gently at first before tightening unconsciously when you suck harder. The broken noise he makes goes straight to your own groin. Jesus. You’ll let him grab you however he wants if he keeps making those sounds.

“F-Fuck,” he whimpers. “Oh god, that feels—shit, it feels so good—oh my god—”

Every choked-off groan, every aborted thrust of Mark’s hips sends fresh heat coiling low in your belly. He’s falling apart just from this, just from you, and the power of it leaves you lightheaded. God, it’s better than you’d fantasized. The weight of him on your tongue, the way your lips strain around his girth, the salt-bitter taste of precum flooding your mouth—it’s overwhelming in the best way.

It’s messy, awkward even. Your jaw aches a little already, and your rhythm is more trial and error than skill—mouth bobbing up and down, hand working the base in shaky sync. You know it’s obvious you’ve never done this before. Maybe you’re not even doing it right. But from the way Mark reacts—thighs trembling, the punched-out whimpers spilling from his lips, the white-knuckled grip he has on the wall for balance—it’s clear you’re doing something right.

So you don’t stop.

You can’t stop.

You want this. You want him. Just like this.

Then, when you swirl your tongue along a thick vein on his cock, hollowing your cheeks with a deep suck, Mark shatters. His moan cracks through the room, raw and unfiltered, as his hips jerk forward on instinct. The sudden push sends him deeper than before, the head of his cock hitting the back of your throat with a jolt that makes you gag. Your eyes water, throat clenching around him, lips stretched painfully wide. It hurts, it burns—but strangely, the stretch feels so good that heat flares, sharp and intense, straight to your own cock.

And then Mark’s yanking back, his cock slipping free with a wet sound. “Shit—sorry, fuck, I’m sorry,” he blurts out, voice cracking as he stares down at you in horror. His face is flushed and guilt-stricken, lips parted like he’s still catching his breath. “I didn’t mean to—I didn’t mean to do that—God, are you okay?”

You catch your breath, lips parted as you pant unsteadily, chest rising and falling with effort. Your throat still burns, your eyes sting faintly, and your jaw aches—but none of it bothers you.

You lift one trembling thumb to the corner of your mouth, wiping away the mess of spit slicking your lips. When you glance up at Mark again, he looks wrecked, still flushed, still trembling with arousal—but his hands hover awkwardly, like he’s afraid to touch you now.

God, that hurt. The stretch in your throat was raw, intense, almost too much.

But it also felt so good.

“I’m okay,” you rasp, voice hoarse but sure. Your cheeks burn hot with your confession, but you don’t look away. “I—I don’t mind if you… lose control a little.”

Mark blinks, still breathing hard. “Huh?” he asks dumbly, his voice dazed. “No, that’s—I don’t—” His jaw tightens. “I don’t want to hurt you, Y/N…”

Despite his words, his hips betray him, twitching forward ever so slightly, like he’s already imagining it again.

You lick your lips, greedy and insatiable, the taste of him still lingering there. All you want is to feel that weight again—the ache, the stretch, the sting at the back of your throat. The way he made you feel full, like you couldn’t take another inch and still wanted to try.

“I don’t mind,” you whisper again, lashes fluttering as embarrassment bubbles up—but not enough to stop you. How do you even say this? How do you explain needing him like this? “I really…” a shaky breath, “want you to fuck my mouth. Please?”

Mark’s eyes go wide. His mouth parts in a soundless gasp, his whole face flushing deep crimson, like the words physically hit him. “Are you—” he stammers, swallowing thickly, “are you sure?”

You nod, resting one hand gently on his hip. With the other, you drag your thumb across the flushed tip of his cock, smearing the bead of precum there. He groans, low and broken, his eyes fluttering shut at the sensation.

“I’m sure,” you breathe, leaning in to press an open-mouthed kiss to the flushed head, tasting the salt and bitterness of him. “I’m so sure, Mark.”

Mark’s hips jerk violently when you take him back into your mouth—a little deeper this time, a little more confident—his cock twitching against your tongue.

“Fuck—” his voice cracks. “Y/N, I—”

But still, he doesn’t move. Doesn’t let himself fall into the temptation, not fully. He holds himself back with a trembling restraint, biting his lip so hard it turns pale, brows drawn tight, sweat glistening on his forehead. A moan catches in his throat as you work him over—slow licks, teasing sucks, your tongue gliding along every ridge and vein, doing everything in your power to break him.

“Oh god—” he chokes out, eyes squeezing shut as his hips twitch forward, just slightly, sliding deeper into your mouth.

Even then, you feel the hesitation, the way Mark is fighting himself—desperate to lose control, to give in, but terrified of hurting you.

“You’re so—fuck—it’s too good—,” he sobs, voice high and tight with pleasure. “You’re so—my god—hot.”

The praise coils heat low in your belly.

You pull back until just the head rests on your tongue, savoring his choked whimper. Then—with a steadying breath—you sink down, lips stretching obscenely as you take him deeper than before. You don’t stop when it hurts. Not when the pressure burns. Not when your throat tightens and your gag reflex threatens to kick in the moment his cock hits the back of your throat.

You hum, the vibrations swallowed by the stretch in your throat, and your own arousal spikes sharply at the overwhelming fullness, the stinging pressure, the weight of him.

And Mark—Mark completely shatters.

He throws his head back with a strangled, guttural cry, the sound ripped straight from his chest. His grip on control slips. Hips twitch forward on instinct, not violently, but fast enough to force a gag out of you, your nose brushing against the base of him.

Mark gasps, eyes snapping open in panic the moment he realizes what he’s done. “Fuck, I’m sorry—”

But before he can pull away again, before his worry ruins the high building between you, you dig your fingers into his sweat-slick hips and drag him closer, taking him to the hilt, until you can feel him pulsing somewhere behind your tongue. The pressure is so deep it knocks the breath out of you and settles low in your core. Your eyes sting, tears welling, but you don’t let go. Not yet.

Mark chokes on a moan.

“Fuck! My god, fuck, mmh, Y/N—” he whines, voice cracking beautifully. His chest rises and falls in frantic, shallow bursts, his fists clenched so tightly on the wall that his knuckles turn bone white. “Y/N, ah, I can’t—that feels—oh, you feel—”

He can’t finish the sentence.

He just moans, dissolving into low, breathless curses and half-formed words. Nothing coherent. Just helpless sounds of pleasure as you swallow around him, hollow your cheeks, hum at the sheer power of making him fall apart like this.

Then, when he finally can’t resist anymore, his hands fall from the wall with a trembling lack of grace, letting his forehead drop against it with a dull thud. A second later, his fingers slide into your hair, rough and sure, gripping tight at the roots as his palm cups the back of your head. When he looks down at you, his eyes are glazed over—wild and unfocused—lips red and swollen from how hard he’s been biting them.

The sight alone sends electricity crackling down your spine, goosebumps breaking across your skin. You’re completely, helplessly caged now—trapped between Mark’s thick cock filling your mouth and the wall at your back, with his hands in your hair, keeping you there. And all you can do is look up at him through teary lashes, his cock still nestled on your tongue, and wait.

“Okay,” Mark whispers, voice thick with arousal, low and rough like it scrapes the inside of his throat. “Okay… If you want it that bad—then have it.”

You don’t even get a chance to savor the victory.

Mark’s hips snap forward without hesitation, sheathing himself to the hilt in one brutal thrust. Your throat convulses around him, tears springing to your eyes as he bottoms out—but the choked noise you make only seems to undo him further.

“Ah fuck…” he whimpers, head knocking back against the wall, his fingers fisting in your hair, dragging you in deeper as he rolls his hips. “Fuck—Y/N—Just like that. Just like—”

The words dissolve into a groan as he starts to move in earnest, his hips driving forward while his hands guide you deeper. Each thrust hits the back of your throat with perfect precision—that sweet spot where pain and pleasure blur into something heady and intoxicating.

You force your throat to relax around him, swallowing reflexively even as spit spills from your stretched lips in glistening strands. The burn is exquisite—the ache in your jaw, the stretch of your mouth, the tears pricking at your lashes— every sensation confirming how completely he’s using you.

“Fuck!” Mark’s groans above you, his thighs trembling. “God, you take me so well—” His thrusts turn erratic, the slick sounds of your mouth working him filling the room. “So fucking perfect like this—”

When you blink up at him—watery-eyed, lips swollen, chin glistening—Mark completely loses it.

His fingers tighten in your hair, pulling just enough to sting as his hips stutter. You feel the moment he tips over the edge—the way his cock swells, his breath coming in ragged bursts, his entire body tensing tighter and tighter.

“Oh fuck,” Mark chokes out, eyes squeezed shut, his hands shaking in your hair as his hips rhythm’s falter. “Y/N, I’m—fuck, I’m gonna—”

You barely have time to brace yourself—your heart slamming against your ribs—before he falls apart.

With a shattered cry, Mark thrusts one final time, hard and deep and primal, burying himself so far in your throat that your nose brushes into the sweat-damp curls at his groin. His fingers tangle in your hair, gripping tight, pulling you flush against him until you’re choking.

Then you feel it.

There’s no warning, no chance to prepare, no space to breathe. His cock throbs, pulsing hard against your tongue as he comes, hot and thick, spilling straight down your throat in heavy spurts. You stifle a cough, eyes squeezing shut as tears well and spill, the pressure nearly too much, your throat clenching and flexing against the merciless intrusion.

“Fuck—fuck—!”

Mark groans, high and broken, giving one last desperate grind of his hips like he can’t help himself. The head of his cock nudges impossibly deeper with each twitch, his balls pressing against your chin as he rides out his orgasm. You gag around him but don’t pull away—can’t pull away—not with the way his hands are tangled tight in your hair, holding you there, not with how far he’s buried himself inside you. All you can do is swallow around the heavy spurts of cum, each twitch of his cock coating your tongue and sliding down your throat, leaving your eyes stinging and your lungs burning.

But it’s okay.

It’s perfect.

This is the sting you’d been chasing.

On your knees, mouth full, Mark’s musky scent thick in the air, the taste of his cum coating your tongue, sliding down your throat in slow, hot pulses. The ache in your jaw. The tears drying on your cheeks. The need to please him—and only him. The right Mark. The one who’s kind. The one who’s good.

When he finally pulls back, his cock slips free from your lips with a lewd, wet pop, leaving you dazed and panting. You let your head fall against one of his trembling thighs, lightheaded and dizzy as you catch your breath. Your throat aches in the best way, the burn sharp and satisfying as you swallow down the last of him with slow, heavy gulps.

“Oh my god—” Mark exhales, voice rough and breathless. “Y/N, I’m—god—I’m sorry…”

His hands are gentle as they haul you up, steadying you when your legs threaten to buckle. The guilt in his tone is almost comical—as if he could ever hurt you, as if this isn’t exactly what you wanted.

“Shit—I didn’t hurt you?” he asks, brows furrowed, eyes scanning your face like he’s afraid to find pain there. “You okay? I’m sorry—I should’ve—should’ve stopped before—”

You silence him with a kiss—deep and consuming, filled with heat and reassurance. Mark groans into it, tasting himself on your tongue, his hands sliding to your waist to grip you tightly like its reflex.

“You didn’t,” you murmur when you break apart, voice hoarse but sure. “I love you.”

Mark exhales shakily, eyes glassy and dazed, dark with something fragile.

“I love you too,” he breathes. “God—that was... so good. I—I love you so much, Y/N. Jesus… Are you sure you’re okay?”

To make his point, he gently wipes the corners of your eyes where tears still linger, his thumb soft against your skin, his expression faltering with concern.

You nod, a small smile tugging at your lips as your hands settle on his shoulders. “I’m okay... Are you okay?” Your gaze drifts downward pointedly.

“Huh?” Mark blinks, still dazed, before following your line of sight. His cock, which had started to soften, now perks up once more, half-hard and rising again with a visible twitch. He flushes deep red, mortified. “Oh—shit. I’m sorry, I—I don’t know what’s—I mean—You were amazing and I already came, so I don’t know why—”

You laugh quietly, fondly, cutting him off with a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Don’t worry, Mark,” you murmur, voice low and close to his ear. “We’re not done yet.”

He barely has time to register what you’ve said before you’re pressing on his shoulders, guiding him backwards. He stumbles with a startled yelp, his jeans and boxers still tangled around his knees, making him waddle back awkwardly like a penguin. And then—with a final push—he drops onto your bed, landing on his back with a bounce, eyes wide and stunned as he looks up at you from the mattress.

The sun’s just started to rise outside your window, casting long streaks of gold across the room. It catches the curve of his cheek, the red of his lips. And it catches yours too—the light spilling over the softness in your eyes, the affection so fierce it makes your chest ache.

Mark props himself up on his elbows, staring at you with flushed cheeks, red ears, and a sheen of sweat on his forehead. The sight is so endearingly vulnerable it coaxes a soft smile from you before you can stop it.

Then, wordlessly, you reach for the hem of your t-shirt. You pull it over your head in one fluid motion, revealing your bare chest to the growing warmth of the morning light. Before hesitation can creep in, you hook your thumbs under the waistband of your pajama pants and underwear, pushing them down, one knee after the other, until there’s nothing covering you.

Mark’s breath catches audibly as he takes you in. His pupils dilate, eyes raking over you, wide and reverent. He sees everything—all of you—and his gaze doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t look away. If anything, it sharpens.

There are marks on your skin. Faint purple bruises. Bite imprints. The shadow of fingerprints where his variant had held you too tightly. Mark’s gaze darkens as he takes them all in. He follows every trace like he’s deciding where he’s going to start replacing them—where he’ll press his own fingerprints over those old ones, where he’ll bite to make new ones.

Your pulse thrums wildly at the thought, heat pooling low in your belly.

Still, the question slips out, quiet and uncertain. “Do you… still want me?”

Mark doesn’t hesitate. “Yes.” His voice cracks as his eyes drop lower, where your cock stands hard and aching. “God, yes. Yes. Always.”

The raw certainty in his voice sends your heart fluttering. You step forward until your knees bump the mattress, then climb toward him with deliberate slowness. Mark watches, transfixed, his breathing growing erratic—sharp inhales followed by shaky exhales, as if he’s forgotten how lungs work.

You can’t help the soft chuckle that slips from your lips as you straddle him, your knees settling on either side of his hips. Your fingers reach for the hem of his sweater, tugging gently, and Mark lifts his arms obediently, swallowing hard as you peel the fabric off him. As you do, he kicks the rest of his jeans off in an awkward scramble that makes you bite back another smile.

When Mark is finally bare beneath you, his chest rising and falling like he’s already worn out, he locks eyes with you. There’s nothing guarded in his gaze now—just raw, honest adoration.

You lean in and kiss him.

One hand trails across his chest, feeling the hard flex of muscle, the way his abs clench and shiver under your palm. Mark sighs against your mouth, melting into it.

His hands slide up your thighs, fingers squeezing, greedy, like he needs to memorize the shape of you. He groans low in his throat as they climb higher—until they curl around the swell of your ass, pulling you flush against him.

You gasp, startled and electric, just as his teeth graze your bottom lip in a teasing bite.

“Y/N…” Mark breathes, dazed and needy, his hips lifting instinctively, desperately, trying to grind against you—trying to chase just a little more friction between your cocks. “Please… come on, please…”

You swallow his plea with another kiss, languidly tangling your tongue with his before breaking apart. Beneath you, Mark looks utterly wrecked—lips swollen, cheeks flushed, panting in the heavy quiet. The room is thick with heat and want, the air nearly humming with it. But even with your own cock leaking against his, aching just as bad, you press a steady hand to his chest and push him back until his head meets the pillows in a soft bounce.

“Y/N?” he asks, brows knitting, a pout forming—but he doesn’t resist. He just looks at you, confused, a little breathless, waiting.

You pause for a moment, just taking him in.

That night with his variant, everything had been cloaked in shadows—his body, his face, his expression. And sure, it’s not like you didn’t know it was him—Mark, hero and all. But damn, your Mark is built like something out of a dream—broad shoulders, narrow waist, muscles shifting under your hands, chest rising fast with every breath. And now, in the soft glow of morning, Mark’s features aren’t shadowed, aren’t dark, aren’t animalistic.

Just sunlight slipping through your open window, catching in his hair, warm across his skin. His head sinks into your pillow, hair tousled, cheeks flushed, eyes locked on you like you’re something holy—eyes full of something close to worship. And fuck, he looks perfect.

You bite your bottom lip, anticipation thrumming through your veins, before reaching toward your bedside drawer. Your fingers wrap around the familiar shapes—lube and a condom—and when you pull them out, Mark’s eyes go wide.

His gaze darts from your face to your hands and back again, his chest rising quicker, excitement blooming across every inch of his skin.

“Oh my god, are we—” he swallows, eyes wide, voice barely above a whisper. “I mean, are you—are you sure?”

Your cheeks flush with heat, but you don’t look away. “I’m sure,” you murmur, voice quiet but steady. “Are you?”

“Yeah. Yes,” he breathes, voice thin and shaky, his fingers trembling right where they rest on your hips.

“Yeah?” you repeat, a little breathless yourself, as you flick open the lube cap with a quiet pop.

Mark nods, eyes fixed on you with laser focus, like he’s drinking in the sight of you—every movement, every breath. His lips part slightly, tongue flicking out unconsciously, and it makes your heart flip, your body hot all over.

The lube is cold when it hits your fingers, slick and slippery. You brace yourself, resting your free hand against Mark’s chest where his heart thunders beneath your palm, and lift yourself slightly on your knees. You try to block out the way his gaze clings to you, the way it makes your stomach twist with nerves and desire at once, and you slide your fingers lower, toward your entrance.

You swallow, breath catching, and with a soft gasp—one you don’t know whether it’s yours or his—you press a finger inside.

Mark jerks beneath you, his cock twitching, hips lifting off the bed slightly like his body is trying to follow yours. His grip on your waist tightens—not hurting, but holding, trembling, like he’s trying so hard not to lose control. You know you must look obscene like this, fucking yourself open on top of him, and it clearly does something to him. His fingers dig in, a low, choked noise leaving his throat.

But then—suddenly—he lets out a breath that sounds nearly pained, one hand snapping up to grab your wrist and still you.

You freeze, eyes flying open, confusion and a flicker of panic flooding through you.

“Mark?” your voice comes out small. “What’s wrong?”

But his eyes aren’t on yours. They’re locked on your leaking cock, on the way your body moves, his gaze so full of hunger it nearly knocks the air out of you.

His voice is shaky when he speaks. “Can I—” he breathes. “Can I do it?”

A shudder runs through you as you register his question, then you nod, dazed.

That’s all the permission Mark needs.

He reaches for the lube, coating his fingers with shaky hands, then lifts your hips with a care that makes your heart skip. You brace your arms behind you, palms resting against his knees, back arched in anticipation.

“Like—like this?” he asks, voice uncertain but eager, his slick fingers trailing toward your entrance, brushing lightly in a way that steals your breath.

“Yes,” you exhale, eyes half-lidded. “It’s okay… just push—”

He pushes in before you finish speaking, drawing a sharp gasp from your lips, body jerking at the intrusion. His fingers are thicker than your own, the stretch immediately noticeable.

“That’s fine?” he asks, already breathless.

“Fuck—yes,” you mutter, thighs trembling.

Mark watches, fascinated, as your hips twitch, silently begging for more. He complies eagerly, sinking deeper. “Oh shit,” he murmurs. “You—you feel so tight, so warm.”

You bite your lip as he begins moving experimentally, feeling your body gradually relax and accept him. Then he slides in a second finger.

Your head tilts back, a pant escaping your lips.

“Shit—” you groan, the tip of your cock leaking messily against your stomach, throbbing with the weight of your arousal. “Deeper, fuck, deeper, Mark. It’s fine. I can—ah—handle it.”

Mark’s breath hitches. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

He pushes in a third finger.

It makes you jolt—your toes curl, your vision whitens, and a broken moan slips past your lips before you can even try to hold it back.

It’s different.

You never felt this way when you did it yourself.

You’d tried. Again and again, chasing the same fucking high from that first time—but it never came close.

(You’d jerk awake in the darkness of your new apartment from yet another haunting dream—sheets clinging to sweat-slick skin, body trembling.

You’d feel disgusting, guilty, and ashamed—because it was another dream of Mark doing things to you he’d never done before. Not your Mark, anyway.

In the darkness of your room, alone and overwhelmed by shame, you’d vividly remember the touch of not-your-Mark’s hands on you, his shuddering breaths against your ear, his possessive grip, his kisses down your throat, his groans and growls, the sheer size of him, buried so deep inside you that it jolted your entire body.

And when you’d finally come to, breath caught and sheets damp, you’d realize it wasn’t really the variant you were dreaming of. Because in the haze, his face would shift—when the sneering cruelty melted into your Mark’s tender expression, his touch gentling even as he fucked you deeper.

Your cock would throb against your pajamas, traitorous, and aching with a need that refused to be ignored.

You’d buy lube the next day like some shameful criminal, hoping to drown the thirst you couldn’t shake.

But deep into another restless night, jerking awake from a dream that left your body aching, Mark’s face seared into your mind like it had been burned into your eyelids—fingers buried knuckle-deep inside yourself—you’d realize something awful.

You can’t.

You can’t satisfy it. The need. The wanting. The hunger.

Mark’s variant had whispered it, during that heated moment, a filthy promise in your ear: Gonna ruin you for anyone else.

And he’d been right.)

But with Mark—

With Mark—

Fuck, it feels good. It feels right.

So good it melts your inhibitions, strips away your shame. You let every sound fall from your lips—gasps, moans, breathless cries—because he’s reaching places inside you that’ve ached ever since the day you learned what it felt like to be touched—to be wanted—by him.

“Fuck, Mark—fuck!” you cry out, biting your lip hard in a half-hearted attempt to stifle the filth spilling out. “Oh fuck, that’s it—that’s so good—”

Mark responds by pushing deeper, fingers curling just right. Your hips stutter, body trembling.

His mouth is parted, breathing shaky, eyes dark and full of reverent lust as he watches you unravel. He takes in every twitch, every sob, every buck of your hips, like he’s burning it into his memory—learning exactly what makes you gasp, what makes you writhe, what makes you lose control.

Then he twists his fingers just right, and your mouth falls open in a soundless moan.

Your toes curl, your arms nearly give out. “There—” you gasp, voice wrecked, “there, yeah, that’s—god—”

Mark can’t hold back any longer.

With a low, guttural growl, he props himself up—one arm curling tight around your waist, the other still working you open. You gasp, startled by the sudden movement, but your breath is stolen the moment his lips crash against yours. It’s fierce, bruising—desperate. You wrap your arms around his neck without thinking, pulling him closer. He moans into your mouth, swallowing every shaky breath, every whine, every broken sound that slips from you.

“Fuck—Y/N,” he pants between kisses, voice wrecked and trembling. “Let me—mmh—let me, please. Please.”

You know exactly what he’s asking.

You don’t need to ask.

You don’t need him to say it.

It’s written all over him—in the way his hips buck into the air, his cock flushed dark red and leaking steadily, twitching with need. In the way his muscles tense and flex with restraint he’s barely hanging onto. In the way his fingers keep fucking into you, wet and slick, the obscene sounds echoing in the quiet, sunlit room.

And god—you want it too.

You’ve wanted this. You’ve dreamed of this.

Over and over, the memory of that first time replayed in your head like a sweet nightmare, haunting you with something you never thought you’d feel again. Not with your Mark. Not after everything. Not if he hated you.

But shit. You were wrong.

He doesn’t hate you.

Mark wants you.

Despite everything. Despite what you did. Despite the marks someone else left on your skin. Despite the betrayal.

He still wants you.

And fuck, he wants you bad.

So you kiss him, tongue sliding against his, messy and desperate. You let him suck and lick into your mouth however he wants, because god, he seems starving for it. Like he’s been holding back for years. Then, you press a hand to his solid chest. He lets you, even though your strength is nothing compared to his—but Mark lets you guide him anyway. Lets you push him down, pull away from the kiss, lips swollen and glistening, a soft pout on his face and heat in his eyes, waiting eagerly.

His fingers slip out of you with an obscene, wet sound, and despite everything, a needy gasp escapes your lips at the sudden emptiness. But the thought of what’s coming—something thicker, fuller—makes your skin tingle with anticipation.

Mark’s head falls back onto your pillows, messy hair damp with sweat leaving faint prints in the fabric. There’s a giddy thrill in knowing that, even after this day, your sheets will carry the raw, distinct scent of Mark Grayson in them.

He watches you intently, eyes burning with anticipation, breathing shallow.

“It’s okay,” you murmur, grabbing the condom and tearing it open. Your voice comes out steadier than you feel. “I’ll take care of you, Mark.”

Because today, you wanted to be the one to give him everything he craved—to make him feel good, to pleasure him. It was your weakest, most pathetic way of making up for letting another version of him touch you first. But it was all you had to offer.

You settle on his thighs, fingers curling around his thick, heavy cock, rolling the condom down his length with painstaking care. Mark’s eyes flutter shut, his head falling back into your pillow with a soft moan, sweat-damp hair clinging to his forehead.

“Y/N…” he breathes out, voice cracking around your name. “God—Y/N…”

You don’t stop, making sure the condom fits just right. Then you reach for the lube, slicking your fingers generously before wrapping them around his cock again. He jerks in your hand, hips twitching helplessly as you spread it evenly, coating him until he’s glistening and ready.

“Please—fuck—please…” Mark gasps, barely holding it together. His voice is raw, thick with need, and every broken sound he makes sends a fresh coil of heat twisting in your gut.

You swallow hard, the fire in your belly almost unbearable. “It’s okay,” you repeat, softer this time, though you’re no longer sure who you’re reassuring—him or yourself.

Finally satisfied, you lift your hips—guiding his cock with a shaky breath toward your entrance. The swollen tip brushes against your rim, thick and fat, and it makes you flinch with anticipation. Mark’s head snaps up instantly, his eyes flying open, dazed and dilated, lips parting like he’s forgotten how to breathe.

“Oh my god—” he whispers, almost in awe.

You sink down slowly, just enough to take in the tip, and a gasp tears from your lips. Mark lets out a low groan, biting into his bottom lip as his brows knit tight with restraint. His fingers claw at the sheets beside him, knuckles white, trying so hard not to thrust up into you.

You look at him then.

Flushed, eyes half-lidded, his chest rising and falling in sharp, unsteady bursts. The sunlight filters across his face, casting him in a warm, golden glow, making him look like something unreal. Like something angelic and ethereal.

He’s nothing like the other version of himself.

This Mark isn’t looming over you with control. He’s underneath you, undone, baring his vulnerability like it’s the only thing he’s ever wanted.

This isn’t the Mark who took; this is the Mark who gives, who lets you take the lead without hesitation.

And when he looks at you, it’s not with obsession or possessiveness. It’s with reverence.

Your Mark—all sunlight, warmth, kindness, the one you fell for, the one you never stopped aching for.

Your Mark, who meets your gaze with pouty lips, flushed cheeks, and aching despair when you don’t move.

You grin—soft and disbelieving. Your heart swells with something too big to name, affection blooming so wildly it nearly chokes you. You can’t believe this is real. That it’s not some dream clawing at your chest in the middle of the night, reminding you of what you could never have. Because it’s not.

You have it now.

You have him.

Your Mark.

Mark’s hips stutter upward with a whimper, his cock sliding just that fraction deeper inside you. When your eyes meet again, you make sure he sees it—knows it.

“I love you,” you say.

He freezes, then his eyes soften, wide with something so raw and tender it punches the air from your lungs. A shy, breathless smile tugs at his lips, and he murmurs. “I love you too.”

It’s enough to make you start rolling your hips—once, twice, three times—in slow, teasing circles over his tip. Your body heats under the friction, under the weight of his gaze. And when Mark exhales, a soft sigh slipping from his parted lips, that’s when you move.

You drop onto him in one smooth, determined motion, sheathing his cock fully inside you with a single thrust, helped by the slick glide of lube.

Mark’s reaction is immediate—head snapping back, mouth falling open as a guttural moan rips out of him, eyes fluttering shut, spine arching hard against the mattress. His hands shoot to your hips, gripping hard enough to bruise—bruises that, for sure, you’ll trace later with a breathless kind of joy instead of regret.

“Oh, fuck! Fuck!” he chokes out, hips jerking up instinctively, driving in deeper. “Fuck—Y/N, you’re—you’re so—” his voice splinters, breaking into a wrecked, almost-whimper, “—tight.”

You pant, head tipping back with a broken cry, your body twitching as Mark stretches you open. “Oh my god, Mark—”

His cock throbs inside you—thick, full, massive—just like you remembered. He’s forcing you open in a way you never thought you’d feel again. In a way it aches, burns, and hurts.

It’s too much—you know it is. You should’ve taken your time, let yourself adjust, eased into it. But god—god—you liked it. The overwhelming stretch, the raw, sudden fullness. The steady throb of Mark’s cock buried inside you.

You realized it that night—when Mark’s variant had pushed in without gentleness, without patience or shame—that you fucking loved being used like that.

He should’ve known, of course. Just like he knew everything else about you. That the fullness drove you mad. That the ache didn’t repel you, it fed something inside you—something primal, greedy, and starved. That no one could ever satisfy it but him.

Gonna ruin you for anyone else.

A shudder runs through you.

Yeah. Yeah.

No one but Mark.

No one.

“F-Fuck,” Mark stammers, his voice thick with heat, his expression crumpling in bliss. “Mmh—fuck—it’s so hot, it’s—god, it’s like I’m gonna melt.”

His hips roll deeper into you without thought, dragging a sharp, broken whimper from your lips. Your muscles tighten around him, a visceral reaction, and Mark chokes on a moan—half sound, half sob—as his fingers clamp harder into your skin.

“Mark—” you gasp, hands flying to his chest to steady yourself, nails digging into solid muscle as you tremble. “Nngh—how—how does it feel?”

“So good,” he chokes out, chest heaving. “God—it’s so good. You’re—fuck—you’re perfect. Just—”

His words dissolve into incoherence, his body trembling under yours. His chest is rising too fast, too shallow, his face flushed red and wrecked, lips parted in stunned, shivering gasps. He’s coming undone right beneath you, completely losing it, and you haven’t even started yet.

You watch, equal parts awed and concerned—because you need him here. Not spiraling. Not fading.

“Mark,” you whisper, cupping his flushed cheek, your thumb gently brushing over his heated skin. “I’m right here. Breathe.”

He sucks in a sharp breath, like your voice alone gave him permission to come back to earth.

“That’s it,” you soothe, grounding him, voice soft but firm. “That’s it, baby. Just breathe.”

Little by little, through shaky, shallow inhales, Mark’s eyes flutter open. You smile at him, tender and full of adoration, and reach up to wipe the tears gathered in the corners of his eyes. When his gaze finally lands on you—dazed and wide—his pupils are so blown they nearly swallow the brown of his eyes whole.

“My god—” he exhales, forehead slick with sweat, chest rising and falling slower now. “Oh my god, Y/N. Are you—are you okay? I’m not hurting you, am I?”

The question’s ridiculous, really—he was the one on the edge of passing out from forgetting to breathe.

You let out a soft chuckle. “I’m okay,” you reassure, stroking his cheek, then squeezing his cock with a deliberate clench. He gasps beneath you, twitching inside. “Are you, Mark?”

“Mhm,” he hums, nodding frantically as he swallows thickly, hips giving the smallest, involuntary jerk. “Peachy. Great. Never been better. Just—just a little… overwhelmed.”

“We can wait—”

“No. No!” he interrupts, voice pitched and desperate. His hands grab at your hips, dragging you down, sinking himself even deeper inside you. You gasp at the sharp, pulsing stretch—at the feel of every ridge, every thick inch of him. “Shit—sorry—fuck, I can’t wait,” he groans, breath hitching again. “I need you.”

Your cheeks burn, heart stuttering, desire coursing through your veins like wildfire—lighting you up from the inside out. Mark needs you. Holy shit. The words echo through your mind on an endless loop—sharp, breathless, haunting. Words you’ve longed to hear—to feel.

Your voice is barely a whisper, foggy with disbelief and affection. “Okay.”

Your hand drifts from his cheek to his chest, palm gliding over the warm, sweat-slicked skin, tracing the dips and ridges of his toned torso. Mark shivers beneath your touch, breath hitching, like your fingers alone are short-circuiting him. Then, slowly, you trail your hands down his arms, catching his wrists and guiding them lower—down, down—until his palms rest against the flat of your stomach.

Mark’s eyes widen instantly, a sharp breath tearing from his lips as his gaze snaps downward.

“You feel that?” you whisper, rolling your hips in the smallest motion, just enough to press his hand deeper into your abdomen. “That’s you.”

You already knew it’d be there—just like the first time. That small, firm bump rising from the flat plane of your stomach—where Mark’s cock is buried so deep, so thick and long and overwhelming, it carves a visible imprint against your abdomen.

Mark chokes on a sound that’s half-groan, half-growl. “Ah, shit…”

His eyes are blown wide, locked on the bulge beneath his hand, thumb slowly pressing into it like he can’t believe it’s real.

His voice comes out hoarse, wrecked with awe and arousal. “Shit—look at that. Look how deep I am. Fuck, Y/N…”

Mark thrusts up experimentally, a sudden jolt of his hips that punches a yelp from your throat. But your body responds before your mind can catch up—thighs trembling, you lift yourself just enough to drop back down, and the sharp rush of pleasure that crashes through you both is instant.

His eyes flutter, unfocused, locked on where your bodies meet—the slow shift of his cock inside you, how far he sinks in, how deep you let him go. Rearranging you. Filling you so completely he looks like he might lose his mind.

“Aw fuck—” Mark groans, voice cracking around the edges, head lolling back before snapping forward again, trying to keep watching. “Fuck—I’m inside—I’m so fucking deep—”

He proves it in the next moment—hips snapping upward at the exact moment you slam down. The impact draws twin cries from you both, his hands still pressing into your belly like he needs the tactile proof of just how deep he’s buried. You rock into him again, and again, the rhythm building into something messy, urgent, addictive.

“Yeah, Mark—” you pant, voice shaky, trembling with every word, “—yeah, nh—it’s you.”

“Fuck—” he breathes, brows knotting together in that beautifully wrecked way, lips parted, breath stuttering. “Mmh—fuck, it’s so hot. You’re so—shit—so fucking hot—”

His voice dissolves into broken sounds—soft whimpering breaths, helpless noises you never imagined you’d hear from him. And god, the way he’s falling apart under you makes something burn in your chest.

You reach for him again, hands finding his wrists, guiding his palms away from your belly, intertwining your fingers with his. You start moving in earnest—hips rolling, grinding, riding him with purpose now. You use his hands as leverage, keeping them pinned against your waist, making him hold you steady as you fuck yourself down onto his cock like you were made for it.

“Y/N—ah—Y/N—” Mark groans, his voice ragged, hips jerking up to meet you halfway. He’s trying, trying so hard to match your rhythm, to give you everything. “Fuck—ngh—Y/N—”

“Oh god, oh god—!” you cry out, head falling back as one especially deep thrust slams into that spot, sending white-hot sparks ripping up your spine. “Mark—fuck—there—oh my god, there—”

You slam down at the same moment Mark snaps his hips up, and his cock slams straight into your prostate so hard it sends a white-hot jolt through your body—your vision blurs, eyes nearly rolling back into your skull.

“Holy fuck—! Fuck, fuck, fuck—!” you gasp, your whole body arching into the pleasure. “Fuck, Mark—Mark—”

Your nails dig into his arms, clenching around him, pulsing and tight and desperate. You ride him with everything you have—up and down, again and again—chasing that perfect heat, that delicious pressure deep inside you, stretched full around the thick length of him. Your own cock leaks helplessly, slapping against the firmness of his stomach with every bounce, every thrust, adding sparks of stimulation that make your whole body twitch.

“Shit—Y/N—fuck, like this?” Mark pants, meeting your hips with frantic thrusts. His eyes are wide and dark with arousal but still so painfully earnest—always checking, always making sure. “Here? Feels good?”

“Yes!” you cry out, spine curving as you push down harder, grinding into him, pressing in deep, chasing more even when you’re already full to the brim. “Yes, yes—yes!”

Every nerve in your body lights up—your fingertips, your thighs, your cock, all buzzing with raw, electric heat. And when you angle your hips just a little lower, just right, Mark’s thick cock crashes into your prostate again—and again—and again, pounding that spot in a rough, perfect rhythm that steals the air from your lungs.

“Fuuuuck—” you gasp, voice catching in your throat as your eyes squeeze shut, pleasure burning hot and blinding. “Oh god—it feels so good—so fucking good—”

“Yeah?” Mark pants beneath you, fingers digging into the soft flesh of your hips, gripping you like he can’t get enough. He drives up into you, deeper, harder, and the greedy way he squeezes you makes your head spin. “Jesus—you feel amazing,” he groans, breath shaky. “You’re so fucking tight, I’m—I swear you’re gonna kill me—fuck—”

Your thighs are burning now, trembling from the strain. Your stomach coils, muscles seizing with effort.

“Ah—ngh—Mark—I can’t—” you whimper, voice breaking as you cling to him, nails dragging across his shoulders as your strength slips. You’re shaking all over, legs giving out, rhythm falling apart.

You can’t keep going. Even though your body wants to. Even though you’d give anything to ride him into oblivion. But your legs shake violently, threatening to give out entirely. The only thing keeping you moving is Mark—his strong hands lifting your hips, guiding you up and down on his cock.

“I can’t—Mark,” you sob, eyes brimming with overwhelmed tears. “Please—fuck me. Just fuck me—”

Mark growls—deep and guttural—and you barely have time to breathe before he shifts, rolling you to the side. The world tilts, everything spinning—and then you’re on your back, blinking up at him, caged beneath the weight of his arms on either side of your face.

And then he kisses you like he’s starving, swallowing your gasps as he devours your mouth with desperation. You cling to him, barely coherent, mind already melting as his body aligns with yours again, cock pulsing hot and heavy where it presses against your entrance.

Instinctively, your legs lock tight around his waist, arms looping around his neck. Mark thrusts back in with one smooth, deep stroke—your body taking him effortlessly, like it’s made to welcome him. Your toes curl at the stretch, at the sheer fullness of him, stars bursting behind your eyes as another desperate, broken moan rips from your throat—one that Mark swallows greedily between kisses, mouths moving feverishly against each other.

“Mmph—Mark,” you pant into his mouth, barely able to breathe, “I love—mmh—I love you.”

Mark pulls back just enough to meet your gaze, eyes shining with unshed tears of pleasure that mirror your own. “Fuck, Y/N—” His voice cracks, hips stuttering. “I love you. So much. So much.”

You nod, dazed and floating. “Don’t stop. Please—keep going.”

And he does.

He fucks into you hard, desperate, the sound of skin meeting skin raw and constant. He now knows you can take it—knows you want it—and Christ, he wants it so bad too. Wants to lose himself inside you, feel every inch of you wrapped around him as his self-control frays and snaps, tension coiled so tight in his gut it’s barely manageable. You’re squeezing him perfectly, body clenching down like you need him, and every sound you make pulls another raw groan from his throat.

He wants to stay here forever. He wants to be inside you, part of you, one with you—if that were possible, he’d do it in a heartbeat.

“You like it?” he pants, voice cracking with another deep, sharp snap of his hips. “Y/N—fuck—you like it?”

“Fuck! Yes!” you arch off the bed, toes curling. “I love it—I love it—I love it—”

His teeth sink into his bottom lip, head spinning as your incoherent moans fill the room, every sound soaking into his skin like heat. You melt into him with every thrust, open and pliant and so fucking willing it nearly undoes him. God—and he’d run from this. From you. Too scared of what he felt. Too scared to face it, to own it.

Mark could’ve had this months ago. Could’ve heard these sounds, seen this look on your face, felt you tremble like this under him—if he hadn’t been such a goddamn coward.

“Good,” Mark growls, thrusting harder, more desperate now. “Good—because I’m not letting go.”

He presses a featherlight kiss to the tip of your nose before trailing lower, breath hot as it ghosts across your neck. Your breath stutters—your entire body tightens—when he lingers over the bruises. Fading now, but still there. The ones his variant left behind to claim you, to make sure you don’t forget him. To make sure your Mark didn’t either.

Mark’s jaw clenches.

Then he bites down.

A choked gasp rips from your throat, pulse pounding as his teeth sink into the bruised skin, right where it still aches.

“Oh god—” your eyes fluttering shut, voice breaking into a high whine. “Mark—”

He doesn’t stop—sucking dark new marks over the old ones, sweeping his tongue over each one like he’s rewriting them. His fingers dig into your hips hard enough to leave their own bruises, his thrusts never losing their punishing pace. It’s overwhelming, the way he consumes you.

“Fuck, Mark—” you groan, head tilting back to give him more room. “Fuck, yes—”

A broken moan tears from your throat as Mark picks up pace, his hips slamming into you with a force that should hurt but only sends lightning up your spine. Each thrust punches deeper than you thought possible, hitting that spot that makes your vision blur at the edges. His breath scalds your neck—panting, uneven—and you feel the goosebumps erupt across your skin.

Then his hand wraps around your leaking cock, using your own precum to slick the way as he starts jerking you off with frantic, uncoordinated strokes.

You nearly black out.

“Fuck! Mark—!” your back arches off the mattress, nails biting into his shoulders hard enough to leave marks. “Mark—Mark!”

It’s overwhelming—too much at once. His cock nailing your prostate with terrifying accuracy. His mouth hot and wet on your neck, teeth scraping just shy of breaking skin. His hand working your length with a roughness that borders on painful.

Mark’s everywhere. Around you, inside you, all over you. And you don’t stop him. You can’t. You love him. And love every second of it.

“Yes, yes, yes—” you babble, face scrunching in overwhelming pleasure, eyes rolling back. “Fuck, yes. Mark—ah—don’t stop, don’t stop—I’m gonna—”

Tears blur your vision, trailing down your cheeks as the sensations overwhelm you. Every thrust, every bite, every breathless groan Mark lets out sends you spiraling. You’re burning from the inside out, aching, and full and right at the edge.

“Mark—” you pant, voice wrecked, hips jerking to meet the strokes of his hand. You’re trying to warn him, trying to form words that make sense. “Mark—I’m gonna come—oh fuck, I’m so close—”

But then—just when it’s all building to an uncontrollable high—the frantic pace stutters.

Mark slows, pulling away from your neck. His forehead drops gently against yours, nose brushing nose, both of you panting, your breath mingling in the space between.

Everything slows down.

You stare at Mark through glassy, dazed eyes.

The sunlight hits just right, turning the brown in his eyes molten gold, his lashes casting soft shadows on his cheeks. His hair is damp and messy, clinging to his forehead, his face flushed and burning, lips swollen and parted with every heavy breath. His expression—open, yearning, achingly soft—melts straight through you.

Mark looks beautiful.

Mark looks yours.

And Mark whispers, “I got you.” Then softer, “I love you.”

And you believe him.

God, you believe him.

The kiss that follows steals what little breath you have left. Your body locks up—a lightning strike of pleasure that makes your thighs tremble violently around his hips. You come with a strangled sob, shaking apart in his arms. Your body clenches around him, cock twitching in his hand, hot release spilling across your stomach, over his fingers. Every jolt wracks through you like a wave, and Mark holds you through all of it—grunting softly into your mouth, matching the kiss with gentle rolls of his hips and firm strokes that push you through it.

He drinks in every gasp, every broken sound you make, kissing you slow and deep, teasing your lips between his, coaxing out every last drop like he wants to milk you dry.

“Mark,” you rasp, voice rough and awed. “Mark.”

“I’m here,” he breathes, voice just as wrecked, thumb brushing your cheekbone, wiping away tears you didn’t realize had fallen. “I’m right here.”

Tears spill over—not from the oversensitivity, not from the aftershocks still wracking your body—but because this is Mark. Your Mark. Not a dream. Not a cruel echo from another world. Not something twisted in the dark.

“I love you,” you sob into his mouth, clenching around him hard, desperate to hold onto him. “I love you so much, Mark.”

Mark makes a wounded noise in the back of his throat, his hips stuttering but still driving into you with that same relentless intensity that has you squirming beneath him from the overstimulation—but you take it.

“Love you too,” he breathes, voice cracking.

And then—Mark comes.

You feel it in the way he bottoms out with one final, shuddering thrust, so deep you can see the outline of him through your stomach. In the way his cock pulses inside you, spilling heat into the condom until it swells, pressing insistently against your tender walls. In the way his entire body locks up, then collapses against you with a broken whimper, his mouth desperately seeking yours even in the haze of it all.

You part your lips for him. Let him lick, let him breathe you in.

Then he finally slips his cock out, making you whimper into his kiss at the sudden emptiness. Your legs twitch, shaky, your body clenching instinctively around the absence. But Mark kisses you again—gentle, grounding, soft—and then collapses back onto you, chest to chest, skin to skin.

And finally—everything stills.

The only sounds left are your ragged, breathless gasps as the two of you try to come down, lungs working overtime to catch up. Mark buries his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply, pressing soft, distracted kisses along your throat. You shudder, cheeks burning with flustered heat at the intimate display of affection—even after everything, even after just having sex with Mark, it makes you shy.

Jesus—you just had sex with Mark.

And there’s no guilt clawing at your chest. No remorse creeping up your throat. No shame curling in your gut like it wants to make you sick.

You had sex with Mark Grayson—and this time, it’s perfect.

You hum, low and content, arms sliding around his back, your nails lazily dragging over his skin in faint, aimless patterns. Mark shivers against you, arching slightly in reflex, his weight shifting more into you—pressing you deeper into the mattress, and into him.

“That tickles…” he mumbles against your ear, voice low and hoarse, rough in a way that makes your heart jump.

You chuckle softly. “Baby.”

He grumbles something incoherent, then nips playfully at your neck, just below your ear—exactly where he knows it’ll make you squirm. You flinch, breath catching, a sharp little jolt running through you.

“That tickles,” you echo, trying for mock annoyance, but the smile is already pulling across your lips.

Mark doesn’t need to see it—he hears it, the smile on your tone. He smiles back, the hint of mischief in his grin evident as his teeth graze your neck, sending another shiver through you.

Then he pulls back just enough to look at you, bracing his elbows on either side of your head. His eyes—soft and full of love—search yours with an intensity that makes your chest tighten.

“Hey,” Mark says shyly, cheeks tinged pink.

“Hey,” you whisper back, just as flustered.

“That was…” Mark exhales, his chest still heaving slightly. “That was amazing.”

Your cheeks burn, body still buzzing—soft and sore and tingling in all the right places. “Yeah,” you say, voice hoarse. “So good.”

He swallows hard, eyes flicking over your face like he still can’t believe you’re real, and here, and his. Then, like he can’t say it enough, Mark exhales. “I love you.” He buries his face in the crook of your neck, arms pulling you close as if he’s afraid to ever let go. “I love you. God, I love you. I’m never—never letting you go now. No one—” his voice drops to a low, dangerous whisper “—will take you away from me.”

You chuckle, warm and light, and wrap your arms around him in turn, holding him just as tightly. “Good. I love you too.”

It’s a promise.

It’s that simple.

In the quiet aftermath, Mark’s nose stays buried in the crook of your neck, breathing you in like he’s addicted to your scent, you feel something pressing insistently against your thigh.

You blink, stunned. “...Are you hard again?”

Mark whines—a high, embarrassed sound muffled against your skin—as he shakes his head violently. But his hips betray him with shallow, involuntary thrusts against your leg.

“My god,” you murmur, voice low and amused, affection lacing every word. You feel his hips twitch, his cock nudging insistently against your thigh. “Is this… is this a Viltrumite thing? Did I just condemn myself to your ridiculous alien stamina?”

He groans against your skin, lips brushing sensitive flesh as he mumbles, “…Maybe.” Then, quieter, with a smile curling into your collarbone, “Or maybe I just really fucking like you.”

Your cheeks heat, breath catching, your own body already stirring in response. Your cock—sticky and still sensitive—starts to throb faintly between you. “I guess... we're lucky the day just started.”

Mark lifts his head at that, and the sight alone knocks the air from your lungs—his grin wide and a little bashful, brown eyes gleaming gold in the sun, hair a mess, lips kiss-swollen, skin glowing with sweat and love.

The rays catch on the sweat still glistening between your bodies, on the marks you’ve left on each other—fading bruises, fresh bites, the ghost of fingertips pressed too hard. Little traces of everything that’s changed. Of all the things that will never be the same.

A/N: Okay, I’m honestly a little embarrassed by the ending, haha—I swear I wrote like three different versions and scrapped them all 😭 it gave me such a hard time... Anyway! I really hope you enjoyed it! this is the end of it!

taglist: @horrific-dust @cronasluvr @kogadoguinho @kirsoup @kaycesspade @killerd1 @rosy-myhouse34 @cim0nnin @garlicforthewin @unfaithfulmemories @krispytimemachinepolice-blog @parastaein @connorlupin @tired12sstuff @1nfinitestarr @hasperxzt @numberonetimemachinething @tozixmq-t0zl5ta @sl1m3y11 @marsblues @no-bishes @the-ultimate-librarian @optimisticstrawberrypizza @uncharted-lands-world @queermaeda @gaychaosgremlin @qi-rong-husband @kaelyre @at4-raxia @f1nn-03e @verort @fonkthedonk @gojosdumpydump @mef0rg0r @tinfoil531 @iwillrisefromthefire @wshyouwerehere @brymalibu @starlightchildsworld @your-platonic-gay-lover @ifaitos @chemicalwindexbottle @kobenio @decaffinetedcookiecrossiant @halo-chao @atenmybeloved @fruitypebblerancher @bensontrechic @m4r13ll @thekit-katkairi @gayaristocrat @exactlyclevercollector @fin-boi-twig @yellowfrog-withagun @nightblanc @wind19845 @lazy-ahh @sweet-cherub @imakms @montimer @jo-cujoh @dazaiosamutheoneandonly @bunnymysteriously @cssammyyarts @makitokokonoi

#mark grayson x male reader #invincible x male reader #x male reader #male reader #mark grayson #mark grayson x reader #invincible #gay #male!reader

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dixons-sunshine · 2 months ago

Text

Improvement | Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Summary: After starting a playful argument with your partner about not knowing whether or not he had improved since you two first slept together all those years ago—which you knew he had, you were just messing with him—Daryl decided to take matters into his own hands.

Era: Alexandria, can be any time post Saviour war.

Genre: Smut.

Warnings: Porn without plot, basically, soft sex (I think), unprotected p in v, swearing, dirty talk, praise, others I am probably missing.

Word count: 1.3k

A/N: So...hi lol. I haven’t written anything in over three weeks, so this was long overdue. This was mainly written for practice because I am not that confident in my smut writing skills, but I hope you all like this! And thank you so much to @dixonsdarkelf for being a second set of eyes 💜

The sound of soft gasps and groans filled the air in the bedroom. The sun had begun its descent into the horizon, illuminating the room in a way that gave the atmosphere a more romantic feel. The room was warm, the summer heat clinging to every atom it could. However, the heat in the room did not compare to the warmth of the archer on top of you.

Daryl’s warm, solid body pressed against yours, his bare chest nearly flush against yours, your breasts moving with each thrust of his hips. His face was buried in your neck, his breathing heavy and erratic, his eyes closed as he relished the feeling of pure, utter bliss that washed over his body. Your moans and gasps of pleasure reached his ears with each snap of his hips against yours, and that sound was like music.

“Oh, Daryl,” you drawled your partner’s name, your voice several octaves higher than usual. Daryl’s dick dragged against your walls deliciously, hitting that one spot inside of you that he knew well. “Oh god, just like that.”

“Yeah?” Daryl whispered into your ear, breathless and panting. He snapped his hips against yours, his cock hitting that spot once more, and it tore a breathless ‘Daryl’ from your chest. Soft, almost asking, begging, pleading for him to get you over that edge in the way that only he could. “Y’like that, Sweetheart?”

You nodded frantically, your eyes rolling to the back of your head when he picked up his pace, going a little faster, a little harder, a little deeper. “Yes,” you whined, your fingers tangling in his brown locks. “Jesus Christ, please don’t stop.”

“Not even if the world was endin’,” Daryl promised you. He pulled his head up from your neck, only to then lower it back down to capture your lips with his for a messy but absolutely perfect kiss.

If it were any other situation, you would make a joke about what he said. Probably say something along the lines of “well the world already ended.” But not now. Not while he was making you feel so good. Not while you were steadily approaching that edge, getting ready to dive headfirst off of it, right into the pool of immense pleasure.

Without breaking the kiss, and without letting his pace falter, Daryl snuck one of his hands down your body, gliding lower and lower, softly kneading at your flesh along the way, until it reached its destination. Daryl smirked slightly against your lips when he gently pressed his thumb against your clit, loving the way your body responded to his touch.

Not missing a beat, he began rubbing slow, tight circles against the little bundle of nerves, his kisses trailing from your mouth to your cheek, your jaw, down your neck to your collarbone. The urge to mark you was strong, but he resisted. You were going on a run that following day, with people in the group who would be relentless in their teasing if they saw hickeys on you. Because of that, his teeth only lightly nipped at your flesh, enough to cause pressure but not enough to leave a mark.

“Oh my—oh my god.” The sounds that escaped your mouth were downright pornographic. Your mind was clouded, that coil in your belly winding tighter and tighter. You weren’t going to last much longer, that you knew for certain.

Daryl groaned when you lightly tugged his hair, his breath hitching at the feeling of you clenching on his cock, squeezing him, a sign that you were at your peak. You just needed that little push to fully let go.

“Come on, Sweetheart,” Daryl whispered into your ear, pressing a tender kiss to the skin there. “Let go f’me. Wanna feel you.”

Almost as if his words were the key to unlock the metaphorical gate, the coil in your stomach snapped. Waves upon waves of pure, unadulterated pleasure washed over you. You arched your back and let your hands fall to Daryl’s shoulders, gripping them to try and ground yourself as your orgasm continued to take over your body. Soft whimpers spewed from your lips, muffled only by the archer kissing you once more. You could taste the faint linger of the cigarette he had earlier on his tongue, mixed with the flavour of the whiskey he had drunk before this. There was something else as well, something you could not quite make out, but that wasn’t important.

When the fog in your mind cleared just enough for you to be lucid, you detached your lips from his and focused on Daryl. His brow was furrowed, quiet grunts slipping past his lips as his thrusts grew sloppier, but his pace sped up. He was close. You knew it. You could practically feel it.

“You close, Baby?” you asked breathlessly, leaning up slightly to press your lips to his jaw. “You gonna let go for me this time?” Your lips moved lower, lightly nipping at the flesh beneath his jaw and smirking slightly when Daryl muttered a quiet fuck. “Come on, Dar.”

With one, two, three more thrusts, Daryl came undone. He snapped his hips forward, locking himself there as he spilled deep inside of you, small, quiet curses spilled past his lips. The archer dropped his head to rest against your shoulder, his body shaking and his mind clouding up in the best way possible.

You were breathless, still coming down from your own euphoric high as you held Daryl, your fingers gliding through his hair and lightly scratching his scalp as they went. The huntsman was panting, his eyes screwed shut and holding his body weight up with his shaking arms, trying his hardest not just to collapse on top of you.

The two of you stayed like that for a while, just basking in each other’s presence and slowly coming back to reality. It was peaceful, quiet, except for the sound of your erratic breathing that was beginning to even out.

You were the first to break the silence. “Wow.”

That made Daryl chuckle. He lifted his head and gazed down at you, his beautiful ocean-like eyes scanning over your face. Even after all these years together, after many times of being in this exact position, Daryl could never get over how absolutely gorgeous you looked post orgasm, how you seemed to positively glow. “Yeah. Wow.”

You raised your hand and gently cupped Daryl’s cheek, a lazy, contented smile on your face. “I love you.”

A small, genuine smile graced the archer’s features. He turned his head and pressed a tender kiss to your wrist. “Love ya too.”

Slowly and carefully, he gently eased his cock out of you, and you instantly missed the feeling of him. However, your heart swelled with love when you saw Daryl reached for his discarded shirt on the floor, using it as a makeshift rag and gently cleaning you up. When he was done, he flopped down on the bed next to you, opening his arms so that you could snuggle into his chest, which you did.

With a contented sigh, you closed your eyes. However, Daryl’s voice cut through the air before you could begin to drift off.

“Y’think I’ve improved?”

Laughing lightly, thoughts of your earlier playful argument surfaced to the forefront of your mind, the very reason you both were here at that moment. “Yeah,” you mused. “You have definitely improved since our first time.”

Daryl hummed, a small, satisfied smile tugging at his lips. “Told ya so.”

“Oh I know you’ve improved. I was just joking around earlier,” you told him, pressing a kiss to his chest. “And I was hoping that it would rile you up so that this could happen.”

“Mhm,” Daryl hummed again. “You could’a jus’ asked.”

“Now where’s the fun in that?” you joked. “Seeing you all riled up…it’s hot as fuck.”

Daryl scoffed, but that small smile didn’t falter. “If ya say so.”

1K notes · View notes

tojisbbg · 2 months ago

Text

pacify her

❝she's getting on my nerves, you don't love her... stop lying with those words!❞

♡ caleb ♡

sypnosis: you and caleb have been best friends for years, growing up and living together since childhood. nothing more and nothing less... so why did seeing him with that bitch hurt so much?

wc: 20k (i know, sorry, i got carried away but it's good i promise)

a/n: hai!! thank you so much for all the love and support on my first lads smutfic i posted for valentines day, i did not expect it to blow up like that (calebcore). as a token of my appreciation, please take this caleb smutfic as a gift. this is my longest written piece as of yet, so if this flops i'm gonna pull a caleb. (｡•̀ᴗ-)✧

reblogs, comments and likes are always appreciated <3

content: fratboy!caleb x fem!reader, college au, reader is a little naive, heavy possessiveness on both sides (c'mon, it's caleb), heavy jealousy, mean caleb, reader's manipulative, lots of sappy feelings, pure filth, porn with plot, smut (lots of sex, beware!! and no details, find out lol), all acts are consensual, not edited.

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"what was that, pipsqueak? couldn't hear ya from up here." caleb smirked, violet eyes twinkling with mischief as he leaned down a little.

"calebbb! give me back my phone, i'll be late for my nail appointment." you whined, once again trying to snatch your phone out of his grip. however, your attempts were futile and comical; as the obviously taller man kept extending his hand out of your reach purposely.

"ask me nicely and maybe, just maybe, i'll give it back." he teased, chocolate brown fringes falling over his eyes as he tilts his head to the side.

"stop being mean!" you huff out, annoyed as you kept tiptoeing and reaching up to grab your phone.

caleb continued to watch you helplessly struggle against his height with nothing but amusement. he was more focused on how your skirt hiked up with every small jump, revealing more of the soft skin of your thighs. or how your tits cutely jiggled a few inches right below his face as you wore a pink laced babydoll top.

it was wrong and downright perverted, but god did it make his cock throb.

"caleb-" your words were cut short as you lost your footing, the thick heel of your mary janes slipping on the wooden floor of your living room. you yelped, face planting on caleb's chest as he wrapped his free arm around your waist to ground you.

"woah, easy there, pipsqueak. if you wanted a hug from me so bad you could've just asked." caleb lightly joked, making you pout as you looked up at him with a gaze he could only describe as-

how to get caleb hard in under two seconds.

your eyes were probably his most favorite feature of you. they were so doey, how they'd disappear when you'd giggle over his jokes, how your pupils would dilate when he bought you those stupidly adorable bows you wear on your hair; or how you'd look at him like he's ripped your heart straight out of your chest when you didn't have things go your way.

lethal puppy eyes.

"please caleb?" such a sultry voice only you could produce that could make even the strongest man on earth crumble; and god, caleb was definitely not the strongest soldier on the battlefield when it came to you.

"okay, okay, here." he smiled, handing you back your phone as his eyes briefly glanced at the dangling apple phone charm—which he had one as well to match with you.

"yay, thanks. i'm gonna go then, my girl friends are waiting for me." your eyes lighten up, giving him a girly smile which nearly sent his soul flying.

"mhm, make sure you make it in time for your math lecture, y'know how strict that professor is. batting those cute lashes of yours won't work on him like it does on me." caleb reminded you, his tone became slightly stern, but you only giggled at the sudden shift of his demeanor.

"roger that, captain." you gave him a small salute, making his small facade break for a couple of seconds as he cracked a smile.

"cheeky brat." he shook his head as he watched you rush out the door, purse adorned on your shoulder. suddenly, his phone buzzed in his pockets.

ding!

your $100 transaction at nailsbytojisbbg is complete

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you walked out of your last lecture, chit-chatting with a classmate as you exited the building. you noticed the familiar figure of a tall, broad man in the distance, wearing a white tanktop and gray shorts.

your lips curled into a smile, quickly waving your classmate goodbye as you quickened your footsteps. but, your smile would drop as you observed that he was not alone.

a girl, whom you've never met before, emerged from behind him as they both conversed. your steps became less urgent, a weird feeling bubbling in your stomach and chest—making you nauseous.

before you could turn around and walk away, caleb already caught your eyes, smiling as he waved at you. now there was absolutely no way in avoiding him, so you tried your best to reciprocate a smile to him, using one of your freshly manicured hands to wave back.

the distance between you two, or rather three, soon closed as caleb now stood in front of you; backpack slung over his shoulder.

"finished your classes, pips?" caleb asked, eyeing you playfully as if to prevent you from lying to him.

"yes, why wouldn't i?" you scoffed, making him chuckle.

"just checking 'cause you have a bad habit of skipping that class and i don't want you to fail." he pinched your cheek and although he teases you with this all the time, for some reason it was irking you now specifically because that stupid random girl was standing beside him.

you didn't want her to think that caleb knew dumb girls like you!

"i'm not failing that class, caleb. also, i only skip that class when needed, you're making me sound like a bad student." you glared at him, swatting his hand away from your face.

caleb's eyes widened at the sudden ill reaction from you, holding his hands up to surrender.

"my bad, pipsqueak; didn't know you were all studious now." caleb lightheartedly chuckled, making you roll your eyes.

"whatever, i guess we're not going home together since you have company." you commented, your tone a bit vice as you glanced at the girl next to him who quietly took in the interaction. caleb noticed the heavy tension between you two, thinning his lips as he mentally slapped himself for not introducing you both to each other.

"oh, caleb, it's fine. you could go home with your sister, we could catch up on the project another time." she smiled, making you almost puke in your mouth.

your eyebrows pinched together at her words.

sister?

you weren't his damn sister, did he not talk about you to her? all of caleb's friends knew of your presence in his life as caleb always made sure to let the whole world know about the one and only person that mattered to him the most.

you.

although you and caleb aren't related by blood, you were just as close to him as real family, and likewise for you. your adoptive grandmother passed away a few years back when the two of you were still high schoolers.

josephine, your grandma or gran as you both would call her, was a pretty kind old lady. she always treated you two like her own, making sure that you and caleb were nothing short of living a normal childhood. the initial plan was to only adopt you, but after seeing how inseparable you and caleb were, she didn't have the heart to snatch you away from him.

it was odd because you both weren't related, but she never pried deep into why.

all because of an apple.

when caleb was first brought in, he was hostile and scared; like most kids would. no matter how much the nurses and caretakers tried, they couldn't get him to take a single bite of food.

so one night, you saved your apple from dinner by hiding it under your bed, waiting for the lights to go out. after deeming the coasts to be cleared, your small footsteps tiptoed to the boys room as you opened the door to find him crouched against the wall; head buried in his knees as he sniffled.

you approached him with a gentle aura, sitting on your knees in front of him as you softly tapped his arms; glossy amethyst eyes meeting yours before landing on your small hands that offered him an apple.

the rest was history.

gran's death hit you both hard, but she always thought two steps ahead; leaving her inheritance for both you and caleb to use towards your education and living expenses.

she knew how much caleb wanted to be a fighter pilot and work for the DAA one day. as for you, well, you're a bit... slower on the run. you didn't know what you wanted to be and to be honest, school really wasn't your thing. gran always assured you that you didn't need to have things figured out so early and that you'd eventually have things sorted out... but that was four years ago.

you're now a sophmore in college while caleb's in his senior year.

"ah, no, y/n isn't my sister. she's my best friend, actually." caleb corrected, rubbing the back of his nape as the girl's eyes widened at the revelation, quickly apologizing.

"it's fine, most people assume that anyways, so we're used to it. we grew up together, so in a way, it makes sense." you shrug, making caleb frown.

"trust me, i'd never wanna be related to this pipsqueak here, she's a handful." caleb poked fun at you, making you groan as you pinched his side, making him yelp.

"i'm not!" you defended, making him laugh.

"as you say. now, before i forget, y/n this is my classmate from my mechanics lecture, ___. we're both in the aviation program, so we're paired up for the final project." he explained with a bright smile, but the commonalities between them only made your skin crawl.

why did he smile around her like that?

was he that happy to have someone like her in his field of interest?

were you not enough for him?

all these questions assaulted your mind, giving you a rising migraine.

"hello, earth to pipsqueak, you with me?" his voice woke you up, making you sigh.

"i wanna go home, tired." you shortly said before walking off, not bothering to wait for him or glare at that bitch one last time.

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you were splayed on the couch, head rested against the soft apple cushion you forced caleb to purchase years back because it seemed like a perfect buy. too lazy and annoyed to go up to your room and change out of your clothes, you decided to cool off by listening to some music.

as you leisurely listened to your playlist, you observed your nails which you got done earlier. the music blared in your ears and you failed to notice the jingling sound of the door-lock, the knob twisting open before revealing a tired caleb with arms full of groceries.

you took a quick look at him before quickly gluing your eyes back on your nails. your best friend noticed, a small smile perking up as he realized that you were still a bit annoyed at him for earlier.

that was no biggie, he had no problem in apologizing to you hundreds of times until you forgave him.

that's how it always was for you two, even as kids. as adorable and cheeky you were, you were a damn klutz too. so, you'd end up tripping and bumping into tables, causing the beautiful antic vases gran thrifted to fall and shatter on the floor.

not wanting you to get into trouble, he'd take the blame for you, saying he knocked it over when playing basketball inside.

when you two argued, it was always short lived no matter who was in the wrong; because caleb would always end up being the first to apologize, not being able to stay mad or distant from you. if he was to describe your place in his life in just a few words, he'd say you're just as important as the air he needed to breathe.

it's natural for him to need you, to want you and to love you.

caleb kicked off his shoes after closing the front door, walking over to the couch where you were resting and ignoring his presence. with a small grunt, he placed the grocery bags down before hopping on the couch; plopping right on top of you without exerting his entire weight, not wanting to crush you.

you groaned in both annoyance and the sudden weight of his body, shooting him a glare from between your fingers, but he only grinned at you.

"still mad at me, pipsqueak?" caleb asked, placing his head on your stomach as peered up at you, giving you his stupid puppy eyes.

literally, he looked like a sad, wet puppy.

it took everything in your willpower to not throw away every ounce of anger and jealousy you had boiling inside of you to just wrap your arms around him.

so, you just closed your eyes and ignored him, turning up the volume on your phone.

caleb frowned at your actions, using a hand to tug on the wire as the earphone plugged in your right ear fell.

"hey, i'm talkin' to ya, pips." his voice was soft, but harbored a little bit of disappointment.

"don't wanna talk to you." a childish huff left your mouth as you glared down at him, but to caleb you looked like an angry kitten.

so, he took bait.

"really? so after paying for these cute nails, you won't even show me? no 'thank you, caleb! you're the best in the world!' ? i think i've spoiled you rotten." he lets out an exasperated sigh, but his expression is more fond than annoyed.

his gaze drifts back to your nails, his fingers briefly wrapping around your wrist to take a closer look.

"cute and expensive..." he tuts, but his thumb is gently stroking the softness of your wrist.

"what are you implying? that i get a job and work my cute ass off?" you murmured, your tone full of offense just at the thought.

he lifts his gaze back to your face, his playful smirk back in place.

"of course not. i don't mind providing for your cute ass until we both reach our graves and you know that, y/n." he laughs, shaking his head in mock annoyance. his grip on your wrist loosens, but his fingers continue the light stroking motion almost absentmindedly.

"but now that you mention it, maybe having a taste of the real world wouldn't be so bad after all. then you'd be more appreciative of all the things i do for you." his eyes dancing with amusement as he feigns indifference.

of course, caleb didn't mind whether or not you wanted to get a job. in fact, he liked being able to provide for you and spoil you rotten! seeing the joy in your eyes when he agreed to buy you those stupidly overpriced trinkets that now decorate both of your rooms, or shopping for clothes and shoes and of course your nails and makeup.

after everything you've done for him, which was simply existing in his lonely life, he felt like he owed you his whole life. he'll never forget that night, when the two of you had nothing, yet you gave him everything.

the kindness of your heart.

"tch, now you really do sound like my brother." you joked, knowing how much it irked him when you called him that.

a grimace flashes across his face, his grip on your wrist tightens momentarily. he always hated it when you called him your brother or when someone mistakenly addressed you as his sister.

"don't call me that." he mutters, his voice firm and possessive.

"then don't nag at me like one." you bit back.

his expression softens, his grip loosening back into a gentle touch. he sighs, a mixture of frustration and concern creeping into his expression.

"i just... i worry about you, alright? i try to give you everything you want, but you don't—" he cuts himself off, the words hanging in the air, as if choosing whether to continue or not.

"i don't what?" you cocked an eyebrow.

"nevermind." caleb mumbled under his breath, lifting himself off of you, only for you to grab the collar of his shirt and pull him back.

"no, say it." you looked up at him with a puzzled expression.

he looks away, his gaze locking on a small crack in the wall, his voice low and gruff. he's struggling to articulate his feelings, not wanting to hurt you.

"you don't... apply yourself. you spend your time on things that don't matter. you have talents, but you don't use them. you're wasting your potential, pipsqueak. gran left behind so much for us, i'm sure she'd want you to take advantage of the path she built for us." caleb explained, violet eyes locked with your as his tone was stern but still embrace a gentleness to it—hoping that you could take his words to heart.

which you did, but not in the way he wanted you to.

"are you getting tired of me, caleb?" your voice wavered, coming out like a whisper.

his eyes widen in surprise, and he shakes his head vehemently.

"no, god no. it's not that at all. it's just—" he pauses, his gaze flitting away for a moment before returning to you, his expression a mix of frustration and conflict as he pursues his lips.

"we've known each other since we were kids. you're just as smart as i am, so why don't you want to be...more? pips, i don't mind devoting my whole life to feed you, spoil you endlessly and so much more—but i want you to seek out more in life. we both came a long way, from being unwanted to finding each other. i just want you to take everything that you can." a gentle calloused hand came up to stroke your cheek, his fingers lithe and a little cold.

caleb had a habit of getting clamy hands when he was nervous.

"smart? don't make me laugh. you and zayne were always ahead of me, it was so embarrassing to show gran all those red marks on my grades. i-i... i don't have a place in the world of academics. why do you think i spend so much time on caring about how i look? if i can't offer the world my brain then maybe i could make it up with my looks. and if all goes to hell, then i'll just marry some old, rich guy." you shrugged, your words coming out a bit jokingly as you chuckled at the end.

he falls silent, for once rendered speechless by the nonchalance in your tone. he doesn't know what's more infuriating—that you think so little of yourself, or that you could so easily imagine a life without him.

"is that what you think you're worth? that being a trophy wife is the best you can do?" he takes a deep breath, trying to keep his anger in check.

"at this rate, honestly yeah." you grumbled, looking away from him.

his eyes narrow, a mixture of anger and exasperation in his gaze. he grabs your chin, forcing you to meet his eyes which were full of hurt at how you downplayed yourself.

"bullshit! you're smart, talented, and goddamn beautiful, and you're just gonna waste it all by marrying some rich guy you don't even like?" caleb grits his teeth, cupping your cheek as his thumb rubbed across the apple of your soft mounds.

"there's no other choice! look, i get it, okay? you have a life too and i don't wanna be a pest leeching off of you forever." your lips quiver, heart pounding in your chest as it felt like someone just twisted the knife in your gut as the words left your lips.

only to be oblivious that your words cut caleb deeper than it did you.

"no choice? there's always a choice for you as long as i'm alive on this earth, y/n—me! i'll work my ass of in this program and get in the DAA to be a badass fighter pilot and make tons of money. i'll be the only man you'll ever need, don't you worry your pretty head over nothin', you hear me? don't ever think you're a liability. i need you, damn it." he poured his heart out, looking deep into your eyes as if he was trying to touch your soul; gently to caress it and help you mend those scars of insecurity that bled.

but you were scared and found it difficult to believe his words, not after seeing how happy he looked earlier with someone else that was not you.

"you don't have to lie, caleb. that girl from earlier... she seems like a better pick for you. she's smart enough to be in the aviation program with you, she's strong and she's pretty. she has beauty and brains while i merely have half." your throat squeeze tightly, a lump forming as it physically hurt to say the next set of words.

"she's perfect for you, caleb." your eyes welled with tears as you looked down to where your hands rested on your stomach.

"i don't care if she's smarter, or more talented. she's not you. she's not the one i grew up with, the one who's always been there for me. this is what she can't offer me. this connection we have. i don't want anyone else, I just want you in my life, pipsqueak." his jaw tightens, his eyes fierce as he speaks. he takes your hand, bringing it to his chest, his heart beating rapidly under your palm.

all the tears that you've been holding back finally slip out one by one, running down your flushed cheeks as streaks of black mascara taints your skin. caleb's eyes softened, sitting on his knees before pulling you up with him, cradling your head in his chest.

"shh... it's okay, i'm here. i'm not leaving you, i promise." he whispers in a honeyed voice, making your heart flutter as you sobbed.

"e-everyone's so mean to me! your friends whistle and laugh when i walk past them in my skirts or if the bow in my hair unties and falls—o-or when i trip on my pumps! they call me a bimbo or brainless s-slut!" you choked on your tears, clutching onto his shirt as your tears formed damp puddles on the white fabric.

caleb's eyes darkened at your words, blood boiling in fury. his embrace tightened, but a vein could be seen present on his forehead as he tried his best to keep his temper in check while calmly speaking to you.

"they said what now, y/n?" his tone was grave, making your breathing go a bit uneven.

"h-hey, it's okay. i don't see them much anyways." you tried to assure him, but caleb was no longer listening.

all the functions in his brain has gone haywired, loss of connection after hearing you. suddenly, he gently pushed you off his lap, grabbing his phone before shoving it in his pocket.

your eyes widened as you watched him get up from the couch. you reached out, grabbing his wrist.

"where are you going?" you asked, watching him only turn his head to the side but his eyes looked at you faintly. there was no light, just darkness and his face read a dangerous expression.

to kill.

"i'm gonna beat the absolute shit out of them and make them kneel in front of you to apologize." he bitterly spat out, words laced with venom before ripping his hand out of your grasp; not needing much force.

your heart rate quickened as you quickly followed his footsteps, not wanting him to make it out the door. you grabbed the back of his shirt, grounding your foot to hold him back.

"caleb, don't do this! you're in a high-stake program, if they find out about you doing this type of shit, you'll be kicked out! i swear i'm fine." you tried to convince him, but your words only made his anger rise.

he turned around, glaring at you.

"be quiet. you're not fine, i know you're not. so stop lying to me, 'cause i hate it when you do that. i know what's best for you and me, so don't stop me." caleb's tone dropped octaves lower, but you pushed aside your slight fear of him at this moment, caging him in your comparably smaller arms to hold him hostage.

"i won't let you go." you shake your head, holding him tight. you heard him let out a heavy sigh, as his shoulder slumped. you closed your eyes in relief, thinking that you were able to avoid the worst possible situation.

"you really don't like it when i'm a nice guy, huh?" caleb chuckled darkly, making your eyes widen. suddenly, he lifted you up in his arms and began walking upstairs.

fuck.

"wait, caleb!" you squirmed in his hold, but his grip around you remained stern.

"y'know i don't like it when you butt into things you shouldn't, pipsqueak." he walked up the second flight of stairs that led to the attic. after opening the door, he pushed you inside and quickly closed the door, locking it.

"caleb, what the hell?! let me out! you can't fuckin' do this to me, we're not kids anymore! ugh, let me out!" you banged and kicked on the door, but he wouldn't budge.

soon enough, his footsteps were getting distant.

"caleb? caleb!!"

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a week has passed since that incident. you were pretty pissed at him when he finally returned and unlocked you from your confinement, ready to pounce on him, yell and slap him.

but all that fury dissipated once you saw his bruised knuckles and disheveled state. caleb wasn't insensitive and to save you the trauma of witnessing three bloodied guys kneeling to you on the floor, he recorded their voices which dripped with pain and remorse as apologies flew out of their mouths like a mantra.

the smile plastered on his face was almost deranged and crazy, but yet without a fail it made your heart leap in your throat.

"so you wear skirts and smell like peaches. so what? that doesn't make you less than anyone else. if anything, it's one of the things i love about you. they can call you whatever they want. i know who you are, and that's all that matters."

his words rang loud and clear in your ears every time you remembered them. you can vividly imagine his eyes, the tenderness they held while his voice softly cured the aches in your heart.

"hey pips, gonna do laundry now. anything else you need for me to throw in?" caleb peeps in his head through the small crack of your door, chocolatey brown locks coming into view. you ushered him to come inside, to which he obeyed.

there you saw him, in all this handsome glory. you pondered quickly, how did he change so quickly?

in the back of your mind, you could still picture caleb to be a scrawny little kid with a high pitched voice; playing as the dragon while you were the princess trying to run away from him in the sandbox.

and then came high school when he got his first job as a restocker at the local grocery store, being required to lift heavy things, so he began to frequently workout at the gym and at home too; insisting that you could be of help by sitting on his back while he did push-ups.

the scrawny squeaky caleb would then transform into a tall, handsome and broad young man. he carried you in his big, beefy arms in the summer heat; one hand full with gorcery bags while the other held you as you sipped on the overpriced fake pink lemonade the girls scouts were selling—letting him take a few sips from your straw to compensate.

and now here he stood in your room, shirtless and only in a pair of calvin klein boxers; the tag necklace attached with the apple charm hanging on his neck.

"hm, nope. everything should be in my basket. thanks caleb." you smiled with gratitude, pointing to the lavander laundry basket by your door.

"mhm, don't mention it." he hummed before bending down to grab your basket.

caleb made his way down to the basement where the washing machine was. he remembered how you always nagged at him for throwing your clothes with his, how the rough material of his clothes ruined the cute lacey frills of yours.

he rolled his eyes as he could mentally hear your voice whining at him. so, to save him the trouble, he decided to wash his clothes last. caleb began to throw your clothes in, only to find the deep crimson pair of panties that he loved so much in the pile, peeking and tempting him.

the brunette groaned, fingers playing with the soft red laces that decorated the edge of your panties. his imagination ran wild, picturing you in nothing but the thin fabric of the panties that were now crumpled in his large hands.

it was sick and perverted... he knows that it was wrong to do so.

but he couldn't help himself—holding your panties to his nose, the part where your pussy would've been hugged with, taking a deep inhale. his eyes rolled back, whimpering as he could smell the musky scent of your cunt, his mouth salivating as he could only wish to be able to taste your sweet pussy.

blood rushed down to his cock, making him painfully hard. caleb groaned, tugging the waistband of his boxers down as his dick sprung back to hit his abs.

he grabbed another pair of your dirty panties, this one being a soft blue, and wrapped it around his cock. caleb's mouth gaped open, moaning as he began to stroke his dick, feeling the fabric of your panties rub against his sensitive skin.

"hnghh... fuck, you smell so good, princess." caleb quietly moaned, the hand gasping your panties tightening as he sniffed your panties while shamelessly jerking himself off.

he bit down on his lips, increasing the pace of his hands as beads of precum trickled down his swollen mushroom tip. the vein that ran on the underside of his cock throbbed with adrenaline, making his knees almost buck.

caleb could imagine how your soft pussy was hidden in these same pair of panties, your cute little clit peeking out of your sopping wet folds. did you ever touch yourself through these panties of yours? who do you think about when you touch yourself? was it him?

god, all these questions only made his balls twitch as he could feel himself grow closer to his orgasm.

"ahhh- shit, please, y/n. need to taste you so bad, h-hahh.." he whimpered, tongue lolling out as he began to suck on your panties desperately while trying to chase his high.

with a few more pumps, caleb's cock began to spurt out white, thick wads of hot, sticky cum onto your blue panties. his chest heaved, trying to catch his breath as post-nut clarity was hitting him.

his face rushed with a red tint, embarrassed but not enough to stop. after all, this wasn't his first time.

"hey caleb, have you seen my pink panties? i checked everywhere but couldn't find them. were they in the basket yesterday when you did the laundry? i could've sworn i placed them there."

"nope, didn't see them, pipsqueak. maybe you left them in your locker or somethin'. don't worry, if you need more i could always take you shopping."

caleb had all your bras and panties memorized just like how he memorized the different functions and buttons of aircrafts. he begrudgingly allowed you to pull him into victoria's secret to go shopping for new cute sets, wanting his opinions and of course, needing his card as well.

of course, he didn't mind buying them for you! after all, he'd pluck a pair from your weekly laundry every time and use it to fuck his fist or even keep for himself if he really liked that pair. so, it was only fair to buy you more to compensate.

"yeah, definitely keeping this one." caleb grunts before throwing the crimson red panties in his basket.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･

the spring semester was coming to an end, meaning that caleb would soon graduate. you were so excited to attend his graduation, having your dress readily hung in your closet, noting down on your ipad what kind of flowers you wanted to include in the massive bouquet you were planning to welcome him with and of course—

his gift.

caleb always gave a dog kind of guy, so you were thinking of getting a puppy for him. but, of course, things change like always and you still had another few weeks to plan.

the only problem was that getting a hold of caleb nowadays became extremely hard, which might sound weird considering the fact that you two literally live together in the same house.

but it's true.

for the last few weeks, caleb's been buried in books and drowning himself in the strongest concoction of what you could only make out as coffee and redbull. he's been on his grind to study for the final exam, which would determine if he got in the DAA or not. of course, the semester long project, which he worked on with ___ was at its finishing polishes. everything in life was hitting him all at once, college, work and other shit; so catching a glimpse of him was like being able to catch a shooting star.

slim chance.

but of course, you didn't want to bother him and you were proud of him for working so hard towards his dreams. so, naturally, you expected him to crash into your bed and cuddle with you after taking the exam—newsflash: you were wrong.

though caleb was nerdy, he was very popular on campus. all the girls wanted a piece of him because he was everything a girl could ever dream of. he's smart, caring, domestic and he's sexy as fuck.

all the guys wanted to be his friends and naturally caleb ended up being invited to a bunch of senior frat parties as the soon-to-be graduates celebrated their achievements. so, you'd only see caleb in the mornings where he's drunk and passed out on the couch or you wouldn't see him at all because he crashed at his friend’s place.

it was late one evening, you stirred in your bed as you woke up from your nap. you tapped your phone screen and saw that it was almost eight. you sat up, the shoulder strap of your nightgown falling off your shoulder, making you groan in annoyance as you fixed it.

feeling parched, you got off your bed and slipped on your house slippers to head down to the kitchen and fix yourself an ice cold glass of water. your ears perked up upon the hearing of deep laughter echoing in the living room, well, multiple voices were voicing these laughs.

as you went down the the stairs, your eyes fell on caleb who was leisurely lounging on the couch with a game controller in his hand, surrounded by three other guys; who you assumed were his new friends or rather frat buddies since he beat his last ones to pulp for you.

"caleb?" you called out, making him stop mid-sentence as he looked up and noticed your familiar figure approaching him.

"oh, pipsqueak, you're home? i didn't even know." caleb chuckled, pausing his game, the sudden acknowledgment of your presence made the other three heads turn to look at you.

"uh, yeah... i was napping." you replied, feeling a little exposed as you didn't know he'd have his friends over and you were still in casual home-wear. you could feel his friends roaming their eyes all over your exposed arms and legs, making you shift uncomfortably.

"woah, didn't know you had such a hot sister, dude." one of them finally spoke up, letting out a low wolf-whistle.

caleb's jaw tightened at that, making him shoot the guy a glare.

"watch your mouth, don't say shit like that to her. and we're not related, we just grew up together." he clarified, nose flaring with irritation.

another one of his friends rolled his eyes, dismissing his words.

"yeah, yeah, same shit. so, sister-not-sister of caleb's, you got a boyfriend?" the guy asked, making your cheeks heat up at the question as you cleared your throat.

"n-no." you stammered, playing with the hem of your nightgown. he stood up, walking over to you with a grin as he took your phone.

"let me give you my number then. let's get to know each other and i'll take you on a nice date, darling." he purred, a hand coming up to touch your arm; only for a vice grip to stop the dirtying hand from laying a finger on you.

"i swear i'll kill you." caleb's violet orbs bored holes in his friend's skull, possessively pushing you behind him. his friend scoffed, ripping his hand away from the tight grip.

"chill, dude. you're acting like i was asking her to fuck me." he joked, but caleb's face contorted into a scowl.

"say one more fuckin' word and i swear on everything i'll beat the shit out of you. you're really pissing me off." caleb swore under his breath, his other friend that was calmly watching everything unfold decided to intervene.

"okay, okay, everyone relax. we should head home, it's getting late. uh, caleb, i'll text you the address for the party being held this weekend—don't miss it, man! oh, also, let me invite your... er, friend, in case she wants to attend." the other guy spoke up, glancing at you. but, before you could even get a word in—

"she won't be coming." caleb strictly answered for you, making your eyebrows furrow.

"caleb!" you frowned, only for him to shoot a glare down at you. his friend thinned his lips, deciding not to push further.

"alright then. see you later, man." caleb's friends finally packed their stuff and left.

you angrily shoved caleb onto the couch, towering over him to have some kind of intimidation factor towards you; but of course, you were nothing compared to a six-foot something muscle pig like him.

nonetheless, he let you.

you crossed your arms over your chest, glaring at him. however, caleb was more focused on how your tits were now squished because of your arms; granting him the sight of the beautiful soft curves of the supple flesh. he licked his dry lips, imagining how they'd feel in his hands. you failed to noticed his ogling from how pissed you were, preparing to lash out at him.

"why can't i go to the party? you're gonna be there, so i don't see what's the issue." you huffed out.

"it's a frat party, pipsqueak. they're not meant for you." he dismissed your frustration like it was nothing, but his answer only riled you up more.

"the hell you mean?! i'm an adult, you think i can't handle a fuckin' frat party? i'm gonna go, whether you like it or not." you stubbornly fought back with equal amounts of venom in your words.

"like hell you would, i'd like to see you try. those parties are full of drunk guys dancing on girls who shake ass for some temporary validation, the house reeks of alcohol and sex. you're none of that! you never even drank in your life or had your first kiss." caleb lectured, his eyes were stern and unwavering, not harboring any leeway to be convinced otherwise by you.

"t-that's not true!" you helplessly tried to lie, but of course, it didn't fly by him. he let out a heavy sigh before planting his hands on your hips, pulling you closer between his legs.

"listen, pips. y'know i care a lot about you, right? you saw how those guys were just a few minutes back. it took every inch of self-control i had to not just plummet my fist in his face. i don't want those sick perverts to look at you like you're a piece of meat. you're more safer home than anywhere else, if you wanna drink and party so bad, a two person party right here sounds like a pretty solid idea." he looks up at you with a gentle smile etched onto his lips, offering such a lame idea, making you scoff as you shove his hands away.

"it's always what you want, never what i want! ugh, you're so fucking annoying, caleb! i don't wanna stay as some boring loser forever and you're making it worse." you seethed with anger and fury, making his smile drop as his face darkened at your words.

"i know what's best for you, y/n. you are not going to that party and that's final. don't make me lock you up in the attic again, 'cause i will if i have to." caleb threatened, making you scoff in disbelief.

"unbelievable." you shook your head, your mouth opened once more to give him a piece of your mind; but the doorbell rang.

you groaned in annoyance, trudging to the front door as you wondered who the hell showed up to your place this late. you opened the door and you were shocked to see the girl in caleb's mechanics class.

"ah, sorry! is caleb home? i texted him earlier but it seems like he didn't see it." ___ nervously laughed, her sudden appearence made your eye twitch.

"why." you blurted out, no hint of welcome in your voice.

after noticing your longer-than-usual time away, caleb decided to check who was at the door. his eyes widened when he saw ___ outside.

"oh shit, i'm so sorry. i just saw your text, i had some friends over earlier, so i didn't get a chance to see it. i didn't know you wanted to do the finishing touches tonight." caleb rubbed the back of his neck, a guilty smile plastered on his face, but the girl quickly dismissed his apologies.

"no, no, don't worry! if you want, we could still finish it up tonight. it shouldn't take long." she offered him a smile, making your dig your nails in your palms to contain yourself from clawing at her.

"you sure? it's pretty late." his eyes were washed with concern, making you want to puke at how he... cared for her.

"yeah, totally! i'll wait for you here." she assured him, making caleb quickly nod as he ran up to his room to change.

the atmosphere suddenly became awkward, with you throwing discreet daggers at the girl while she played footsies with herself.

"so... i heard you both decided to make a 3D-solar airplane model. that's pretty complex." you chimed in a small conversation starter, your sudden voice made her jolt.

"yep, the idea was mine but caleb's the main head behind the mechanics. the guy is so damn smart, really! it's honestly been so fun working with him, he's so reliable." she gawked at him, making you clench your jaw.

"i see, you must really be fond of him, huh?" you shot her a fake smile, but your words made her let out a small giggle.

"we're just friends, he's a great guy though, which i'm sure you know." she smiles.

"uh-huh... so, you got a boyfriend?" you pried deeper, wanting to know what exactly her motives were.

"nope, single as a pringle." she answered, the cringey joke nearly made you vomit a bit in your mouth.

an awkward silence falls between you, and the girl seems to sense the tension. she fidgets, glancing back and forth between you and the staircase.

"you two seemed to have gotten pretty close over the course of this... project." you emphasized as your eyes darkened, making her clear her throat.

"oh, yeah, definitely! we do a bunch of things after working on our model. we've been working on the project, of course, but we also watch movies, cook together, and just chat about random stuff. it's been pretty fun!" the girl seems oblivious to the shift in your demeanor, and continues to chat cheerfully.

"c-cook together?!" you choked on your words, eyes going wide.

"yeah! he makes the best omurice, like it's seriously delicious. he's really talented in the kitchen." the girl nods, her expression enthusiastic.

your heart sinks at her words. cooking has always been your thing with caleb, something special and intimate between you two. hearing that he has cooked for someone else, and that she raves about his skills, feels like a knife twisting in your chest.

the girl chatters on, but her words fade into background noise as your mind races. the jealousy and insecurity welling up inside you is almost too much to bear.

"you seem very... doted on him. do you like him?" your throat went dry as you asked the big question, heart hammering against your chest.

the girl pauses, her expression softening as she smiles bashfully.

"well, i mean... yeah, i do kinda like him. i've had a bit of a crush on him for a while, to be honest. he's just so nice and handsome, plus he's really smart and talented, too." she continued to shower him in compliments, eyes dreamily glancing in the distance as she spewed out her thoughts.

before you could interrogate further, you could hear caleb's heavy footsteps descending down the stairs, making you zip your lips.

"okay, reporting for duty. let's go and finish that sucker real quick." caleb announced, making the girl laugh at his silly words; but for some odd reason his stupid joke now tasted bitter in your mouth.

you were quiet, too quiet; which was loud enough for him to notice. caleb walked towards you, ruffling your hair.

"gonna be back in a few, pips. don't miss me too much." he teases with a smile, yet you give nothing back to him; watching him leave with her before closing the door behind him.

later that night, out of pure spite, you decided that it was time for a change. you were angry at that stupid show-offing bitch, caleb, yourself and the whole world itself.

who the hell was praying on your downfall?

whatever, you were tired of all this bullshit, feeling your frontal lobe developing. you surfed the internet for a recipe to follow and began to cook.

it can't be that hard, can it?

god, were you so wrong.

caleb pauses in the kitchen doorway, taking in the sight of you in the kitchen, your phone on the counter next to a messy array of ingredients. concern etched across his face as he looks at the mess.

"hey... what are you doing, pips?" he asks.

"making myself food." you stated the obvious, rolling your eyes at his stupid question.

"and that involves making the kitchen look like a war zone?" he quirks an eyebrow, his eyes flickering from you to the ingredients strewn across the counter.

"shut up." you grumble, already overstimulated by your mess and the fact that what you were currently stirring in your pot looked like someone just took a massive shit in it.

you could fear your hunger slowly disappearing.

"wow, someone's feisty tonight." caleb takes a step closer, his expression a mix of amusement and disbelief. he can tell you're in a bad mood, and he's not surprised by your snappish response.

you ignore him, trying to focus on how you can fix your dinner.

he leans back against the counter, watching you with growing curiosity. something tells him that this is more than just a bad mood, that something else is bothering you.

"okay, spill it. what's going on? you've been ignoring me since i got home, and now you're trying to burn the kitchen down with whatever the hell you're making." his tone grew impatient, giving you a sharp look.

"you think my world revolves around you? well, newsflash, asshole—it doesn't! now shut the fuck up 'cause you're pissing me off and my food is gonna burn." you angrily spat back, crashing out completely as you just wanted him to leave you alone.

"excuse me? i'm literally just trying to talk to you, and this is the response i get? and what exactly is this 'food' you're trying to make anyway? it looks like a science experiment gone wrong." he's taken aback by your harsh tone, but he doesn't back down. his eyes darken, his own temper rising.

"it's the curry for omurice, it's just not done yet!" you defended your culinary work.

"puhlease, i doubt you'll make anything edible at this rate, that curry's been done. you barely know how to boil water, let alone make a proper omurice." caleb snickers, he knows all too well that you're not exactly a natural in the kitchen.

"i can boil water, you fucking jerk!" you snapped, spoon dropping out of your hand as you panicked and tried to grab it, only for your hand to hit the scorching hot metal of the pot.

"fuck." you yelped in pain.

"damn it, y/n. you just burned yourself! let me see your hand." his expression immediately shifts to alarm, and without a second thought he rushes to your side.

you shimmy away from him, as if he had infectious cooties or something, making him frown. caleb felt you push him away, seeing you wince in pain made his heart ache, but he was annoyed with how you were acting-

like a fucking child.

"i'm fine." you breathed out, turning on the sink to run your hand under some cold water, biting your lip to hold back a scream itching to rip out of your throat.

"for fucks sake, would you just let me see? you're being ridiculous." caleb grabbed your hand gently, lifting it to inspect the burn. it's not too serious, but it still looked painful.

"let go of me!" you grit your teeth, pulling away your hand.

"god, you're so damn stubborn. why won't you just let me help you? what is your problem?" he reluctantly lets go, but his irritation and concern continued to grow at your behavior.

"i don't need your help! i don't need your concern! i don't need your stupid cooking! i don't need your money! i don't need you, caleb!" you bellowed, eyes full of anguish as you watched his jaw drop at your outburst.

he's stunned by your words, his heart clenching at the venom in your voice. he'd been worried this was about him, but hearing the harsh words coming from your lips still feels like a punch to the gut.

"what the hell is that supposed to mean? you don't need me? after all this time?" he let's out a bitter laugh in disbelief, shaking his head.

"so, that's it? after everything we've been through, everything i've done for you... you don't need me, huh? is that what you're saying? am i just some useless piece of trash to you?" he paces the kitchen, his hands running through his hair in frustration. he's angry, hurt, and confused all at once.

"you know what, since you spelled it out so perfectly, yeah. after how you toyed around with me and threw me away like nothing, hell fucking yeah!" you yelled at him, balling your fists to the side to ground your feelings, to dig your nails in your palms for some kind of twisted comfort to prevent the tears in your eyes from pouring out.

"is that what you think? you think i discarded you like some toy? god, if anything, it's been the opposite. i've been doing everything i can to support you, to make you happy. and this is the thanks i get? you're acting like a prissy, spoiled, ungrateful brat!" he stops in his tracks, staring at you in disbelief.

"the fuck did you just call me?" you voice was shaky, but your eyes flickered with hurt and fury.

"you heard me. you're acting like a damn brat! you're throwing a tantrum because i'm trying to help you. because i care about you! because i love you!" caleb steps closer, his gaze hardening. he's sick of your attitude, sick of your ungratefulness.

"spare me the bullshit, caleb. now i know how you really feel about me, and i was really fucking dumb to believe you. tch, you're just like everyone else." you scoffed, heart cracking with every advancement of this pitiful and painful conversation that you'd never imagine would come to existence.

"like everyone else? what the hell is that supposed to mean? you think i'm some sort of heartless monster just because i'm busy with getting my life together? because i have responsibilities? do you have any idea the stress i've been under lately? you've been acting as if the world revolves around you!" he was beyond pissed at this point, tone rising with every word.

"oh yeah? but you're not busy enough to make that bitch omurice at her place? not busy enough to watch movies with her? not busy enough to spend time with her while i'm home alone waiting for you, fucking asshole?!" you screamed at his face, your head throbbing as a painful migraine brewed inside.

his eyes widen in surprise, and for a brief moment, he's speechless. it all makes sense now.

"is that what this is about? seriously, y/n, are you hearing yourself? after the countless amount of times i explicitly told you that me and her have nothing between us! that i don't give two fucks about her! are you that jealous?" he crosses his arms over his chest, unable to fathom the situation.

all because of something so stupid.

"jealous? don't be delusional. go fuck her for all i care. i'm not your girlfriend or wife." you snarled.

"you're trying to push me away because of some petty jealousy? are you seriously that insecure?" he's furious now, his eyes blazing with anger. he steps closer, crowding your personal space.

"yeah, i am. so fucking leave me alone, bitch." you swallowed harshly, emphasizing the last word before walking out of the kitchen.

you halted your steps, turning your head to the side.

"i'll clean the kitchen later, i'm gonna order takeout. don't worry, i removed your card from my phone, i work now." you cleared your throat.

you've been working for the past month actually, but you never had the chance to even tell him about it because he's barely home.

"you got a job? why didn't you tell me? and why did you need to delete my card? i don't mind taking care of you, y'know that." caleb feels his anger start to cool, replaced by disbelief and hurt.

you no longer felt like you could stay a minute more in the kitchen, already feeling the waterworks activate in your eyes, ignoring his words as you stormed out of the kitchen to head up to your room.

he stands there, staring after you, feeling helpless and frustrated. he wants to follow you, to talk some sense into you, but he knows you need time to cool off. he lets out a deep sigh, leaning back against the counter as a heavy weight settles in his chest.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･

the week passes by slowly, the tension palpable between you two. caleb tried to talk to you, to bridge the gap, but you're still stubbornly ignoring him. his heart hurts with every failed attempt, the distance between you feeling greater than ever.

he's on the edge, his mind constantly wandering to you. caleb misses you, he misses just being able to look at you and talk to you.

it was a friday night and you just got back from your closing shift, exhuasted as you plopped down on the couch. you still had a few assignments left to do, which were unfortunately due tonight.

an hour later, caleb enters the house, his shoulders slumped from exhaustion as well. his eyes immediately fall on you, sitting on the couch, head bent over a book.

"hey... how was work?" caleb asked softly, approaching you cautiously.

you ignored him, continuing to scribble notes in your notebook.

"pipsqueak, come on. i'm trying here. can't you at least look at me?" he groaned, frowning at your lack of response, but doesn't give up.

however, you continue to mind your own business, not paying him any mind.

"y'know, this silent treatment is getting old real fast. we need to talk." he lets out a frustrated sigh, crossing his arms.

he takes a seat on the chair across from the couch. he can see the tension in your body, the way you refuse to acknowledge him. it's driving him crazy.

"how long are you going to keep acting like a petulant child? you can't just ignore me forever." caleb scoffed, glaring at you.

he watched you scribble something on a blank sheet of notebook paper before tearing it out, crumpling and throwing it right at his face; before it fell on his lap.

"thanks." he sarcastically grumbled, unraveling the crumpled ball before reading what you wrote.

i'll try to.

his jaw tightened at your stubbornness. you got up from your seat, heading to the staircase to go up to your room. he's stunned speechless for a moment, staring at the crumpled paper. a wave of anger and hurt washes over him. he stands up, following after you.

enough is enough.

"you can't be serious. you're just going to shut me out like i'm nothing to you? y/n!" he catches up to you, grabbing your arm lightly to stop you from entering your room.

"let go, caleb." you spoke through gritted teeth.

he hesitates for a moment, his grip on your arm loosen slightly. he can see the pain in your eyes, the wall you've put up between you. it hurts him more than any physical pain he's ever felt.

you snatched away your arm before opening the door to your bedroom, slamming it shut right in his face.

caleb's shoulders slump, a frustrated sigh leaving his chapped lips as his fist rests on your door, not having the strength to knock and fight any further. initially he was planning to cancel the invite to the frat party taking place tonight, but after the constant failures of trying to mend his friendship with you, he needed to blow off some steam.

so, with a resigned look, he left your door and headed into his room to shower and get ready. as you heard his footsteps slowly disappearing, you slid down the door as your knees gave out, burying your face in your hands as you cried.

you've never felt this distraught in your life and you couldn't help but blame yourself. of course, it was always you who created trouble and chaos.

caleb was never obligated to be yours, you had no rights to snap at him for choosing someone else over you.

he's not yours.

but, god did it hurt whenever you remembered that. you wanted him to be yours so bad, it was suffocating. you wanted him to only think about you, laugh with you, spend every moment of this fucked up life... just with you.

you know it was wrong to think of him like this, after all, caleb's your best friend; the closest person you have left to call family.

these feelings that you tried so hard to bury years ago keep haunting you and come back stronger. it scares you because even after ruining so many things, you don't want to say something stupid and destroy everything you've built up till now.

just by saying those three words that you always say to him... but now with different meanings.

after a while, you heard caleb's bedroom door open before closing as you could hear his heavy footstep descending down the stairs. you suddenly remembered that today was the night of the frat party, so he was leaving to attend.

you fished out your phone from your purse, ringing your friend's facetime as you patiently waited for her to pick up.

"hey girl, why the sad face?" your friend on the other line asked, face washed with concern, noticing your tear-streaked face and puffy eyes.

"caleb." was the only thing you could mutter out before your lips quivered, eyes welling with tears again.

"oh sweetie, him again? ya gotta be stronger than that, y/n. we can't let these stupid boys dictate our lives, y'know? did you hear about the big senior frat going on tonight?" she asked, making you sigh.

"yeah, caleb just left a few minutes ago to attend. i was invited too, but caleb strictly told me no." you frowned as you recalled the memory. your friend scoffed, rolling her eyes as she heard your words.

"girl, fuck that asshole. you're a grown ass woman, you can go to a damn frat if you wanna. tell you what, the party's just beginning and the night is still young. how about i pick you up and we both go?" she suggested, a playful grin dancing on her lips.

your eyes widened, the thought of rebelling against caleb's words struck a little nerve in you, but you couldn't ignore the rush of adrenaline weirdly surging in you.

this would be your first time going against his words.

this was the proof of your change that you didn't need him to make all the decisions for you.

he didn't know you better than yourself.

fuck caleb, you can handle a damn frat party!

"okay, give me an hour." you smiled, making your friend giggle as she nodded in agreement and you both hung up a few seconds later.

that being said, you hopped in the shower to wash off all of today's sweat and gunk from working hard; leaving the bathroom smelling sweet and peachy.

you dug into your closet, reaching for your usual style of clothes; a skirt and a simple blouse. but, your hand stopped midway from pulling them out.

you remembered how people called you a ditzy bimbo, making fun of your skirts and cute blouses. they poked fun at you for wearing bows in your hair.

and caleb thinks that you're not the type that's meant to attend these frat parties.

a wave of anger washed over you, angrily jumbling that skirt and blouse back into your closet.

instead, you decided to take a more... risque option.

you pulled out a pair of low-rise deniem shorts that were definitely too short, keeping them unbuttoned as the black lace of your panties peaked out. for your top, you opted for a cropped cheetah print backless halter top that had a deep v-neck; the matching tag necklace you and caleb had hung right above your sternum.

you skipped your usual soft makeup, opting for a more simple yet alluring look; accentuating your features. without a second thought, you threw the bow on your dresser behind your back as it landed on your bed, you didn't need it tonight. you sprayed on some perfume and then slipped on a pair of black heels.

shortly after some last minute finishing touches, your friend came to pick you up.

"is this... the same y/n i talked to an hour ago. sweetie, you look sexy." she gawked at you, watching you giggle as you hopped into the passanger seat next to her.

"frat approved?" you asked cheekily, making your friend smirk.

"without a doubt."

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･

you pushed the unlocked front door open, immediately being welcomed with the deafening volume of music blaring into your ears. it was dark, flashes of neon lights were making your eyes trip as you walked inside. the foul scent of alcohol hit your nose, making your stomach churn as you could vividly remember begging caleb to change your route home when you both walked home from high school; just to avoid passing by the bar.

you lost sight of your friend, now being pushed amongst the crowd of drunk college graduates dancing and slurring the song lyrics. you swallowed harshly, trying to find a pocket to escape the dance floor; only to have your arm be pulled back.

your eyes widened as a gasp left your lips, turning around to see that it was one of caleb's friends; the guy who offered you his number.

"i see you didn't listen to your big bro caleb, huh? oooo~, he's gonna be mad when he finds out his sweet, innocent little girl is here, darling." obviously drunk, the guy snickered. you grimaced, shoving his hand away as you backed up, trying to create some distance.

"you think caleb's words are set in stone? i don't give two fucks about him, i'm my own person." you glared at the guy, words spitting out venom.

the guy's eyes glinted with amusement.

"oh? so the kitten finally found her voice. let me treat you to a drink to congratulate you." he smirked, pushing the red cup containing god knows what, towards you.

"i'm not drinkin' that shit, you could've spiked it." you scoffed, crossing your arms.

"guess you're not that brainless after all, darling. see ya around." the guy chuckled, shrugging before taking a sip of the drink instead, walking away.

you grumbled under your breath, already feeling like you stuck out like a sore thumb. you made your way to the table where all the liquor was spread out, deciding to make yourself one instead. you weren't dumb enough to accept a drink from just anyone.

after successfully (kinda) making a cup of some sort of concoction, your brought the rim of the red cup up to your glossy lips; the smell of the mixed liquor contents already making you wanna gag.

you took a deep breath, closing your eyes before taking a few big gulps of your drink. your throat burned, stomach threatening to retch as you could feel bile rush up your esophagus. your eyes screwed shut, trying to keep everything inside as you breathed heavily.

"eugh..." your body shivered.

you tried to take a few more sips, but you could see your body clearly rejecting it. so, you called quits, deciding to throw it away.

you walked towards the kitchen, sighing in defeat, concluding that maybe you really weren't meant for a life like this.

caleb was right.

your eyes were trained to the floor, not realizing who was in front of you as you bumped into someone's hard, muscular back.

"ow... sorry." you quickly apologized, but your eyes would soon widen in horror as your jaw dropped when the person turned around.

"the hell are you doin' here, y/n?" violet eyes pierced into you, caleb's taller frame towering over you as his voice was gravely.

"fuck.." you gulped, hand unknowingly squeezing at the plastic cup in your hand, making it creak.

his eyes dropped to your hands, eyebrows pinching in both irritation and concern. caleb snatched the cup out of your grasp, bringing it to his nose to take a few sniffs.

"are you fucking serious right now? who gave this to you? how much did you drink?" caleb bombarded you with questions, seething with anger, making your heart pound in your chest.

"none of your business, now give it back!" you used whatever remaining bits of courage you had in yourself to retort back to his interrogation; hands reaching for your cup, only to have him dodge your advances.

"god, are you that dumb, y/n? you never drank in your life and i'm asking you about what the hell you just put in your body! and the hell are you wearing?! i can see your fuckin' panties!" caleb's eyes darkened, speaking through gritted teeth as he stepped closer; amethyst eyes roamed all over your figure, making your knees turn into jelly.

"so? it's not like i'm walking around naked. also, i made that drink, so it's not spiked or somethin'." you huffed out, crossing your arms over your chest.

"yeah, no. we're going home." caleb scoffed, throwing your cup in the garbage before grabbing your wrist, about to drag you out of the kitchen; but you planted your heels firmly on the ground, tugging your hand back.

"no. if you wanna go home, then go by yourself. i came with my friend and i'm not leaving her, besides, the party just started." you shot him a sharp glare, your voice holding a slight tremble but you remained firm. caleb's face fell, looking at you with disbelief and exasperation.

"fuck your friend, we're going home. NOW." he sternly dismissed your words, bending down before wrapping his arm around your waist; swiftly lifting you up and throwing you over his shoulder.

"caleb, put me down! you can't do this!" you kick your feet in the air, but he remains unfazed, walking through the sea of people and towards the door.

"oh yeah i can, watch me. you're in a shit ton of trouble, pipsqueak. just wait till we get home."

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･

the ride home was silent and as soon as caleb's car stopped in front of your house, you angrily got out and unlocked the door; not wanting to spend a second more with him as he parked.

you kicked off your heels and ran upstairs to your room, slamming the door shut as you sat on your bed. not shortly after, caleb barged into your room, furious.

"the hell were you thinking?! you like pissing me off? i told you to stay home, didn't i?!" caleb yelled at you, making your blood boil.

"who the fuck do you think you are? we're not even actual family, stop trying act like you're my brother or somethin'! you don't get to tell me what to do!" you yelled back, grabbing your pillow before throwing it at him, trying to relieve your pent-up anger somehow.

however, caleb swiftly dodged your attack, walking closer to the edge of your bed where you were seated.

"repeat that, i dare you, fuckin' brat. who am i? i'm the one who's been dealing with your shit for all these years, giving you everything that you could possibly want; loving and caring for you. while you... while you drive me to the brink of insanity." his voice trembles, a shaky exhale leaving his throat as he reaches out to grab your chin; lifting your head up to force your eyes to meet his.

his gaze hardened when he saw the resentment in your eyes, but he knew that deep down you were trying to conceal yourself, to appear strong against him. caleb knew you like the back of his hand, you were throwing one of your tantrums again.

but, that's okay. if you wanted to be a brat, he has no other choice but to tame you.

caleb gently pushed your head backwards, making you fall back onto the bed. his larger frame hovered above your body, caging you between his arms as his necklace dangled above you. from this angle, you couldn't help but feel so... small and weak.

just like helpless prey.

you should be pushing him off, slapping him and cursing his entire existence. but, fuck... why did the familiar heat in your stomach begin to settle as your eyes shamelessly drank in the sight of his beefy bare biceps pining you below him. caleb's scent was surrounding you, the mix of apple cinnamon and cologne intoxicated your senses; making you wonder if it intensified because of the pheremones in the air.

whatever the fuck it was, you felt insanely horny.

"i was never like a brother to you, y/n. can't you see how badly i want you? how desperately my body craves for yours? are you that dense? i fuck my fist every night to the thought of you, how the fuck can i see you as family?" he speaks in a husky voice, body pressing down as you could feel the hard tent between his legs rub against the soft skin of your thighs.

"c-caleb.." you meekly call out to him, making him snap a look at you.

"what." he spat out, making the words die on your tongue as you zipped your lips.

caleb scoffed, leaning his head down to the crook of your neck, pressing soft kissing upwards to your jaw. you shuddered at the sudden feeling of his lips on your skin, making your breath hitch.

"since when did you wear shit like this, hm? you like flaunting this pretty ass of yours? showing off these cute tits?" caleb's voice was dire, his hand creeping under your shirt, caressing your sides.

"n-no.." you reply, feeling the bridge of his nose nuzzle in the crook of your neck; pressing open mouth kisses on your skin as you squirmed below him.

"then why'd you wear it? y'know i hate it when other guys look at you, when they go for what's mine." he sneered, tone possessive as he pulled away, looking at you with sharp eyes.

"wanted your attention... i-i wanted you to notice me." you stammered, hands reaching forwards to cup his face as you gazed into his violet eyes. he froze, admiring how beautiful you looked beneath him; it felt like he was dreaming.

"yeah? well, you got it." and without another word, he crashed his lips onto yours; pulling you into a searing kiss.

the kiss was needy, touch-starved and hungry. caleb moaned into your mouth, tongue licking at your bottom lip to beg for permission. a whimper flew out of your mouth as you felt his hips grind down between your legs, right on your clothed cunt as the friction of his hard cock felt so so good.

caleb took that as an opportunity to slide his tongue in your mouth, intertwining with your wet muscle as he suckled on it. he drank in your whimpers and moans, tasting every inch of your mouth. drool began to trickle down the corner of your mouth, the kiss being super messy as it was full of salive and teeth clashing. you never expected your first kiss to be this intense.

you used your arms to wrap around his neck, pulling him impossibly closer as you needed to feel him, smell him and just consume him whole.

it wasn't enough.

"please, caleb... i-i feel so h-hot. i need you now." you pleaded with a sultry voice and it took every single fiber of self-control within caleb's whole existence to just not blow his load in his pants.

"yeah? you need a lot of things from me, don't ya?" caleb snickers, pulling back as he now sat on your bed, shortly before tugging you towards him. now you were situated between his legs, back pressed against his warm chest.

"i-i'm sorry, caleb!" you breathed out an apology, but your futile attempt only amused him as he smirked.

"no, no, no. that's not gonna work on me tonight, pretty girl. you used up all your chances for forgiveness. and as for if you’ll get more… well that depends on how you behave." caleb whispered, leaning down to press a soft kiss on the shell of your ear before giving it a playful bite.

"i'll behave, promise." you pouted, resting your head on his shoulder as you looked up at him with bambi eyes, long mascara lashes batting.

caleb looked down at you with a calculated gaze, searching your eyes for any sign of truthfulness. he hums, his fingers tracing over your skin, their path slow and steady. there's a hint of tension in his body as he speaks, his voice rough and quiet.

"after that little stunt you pulled on me, i have a hard time believing you, pips. i think i need to teach you how to be more... appreciative and obedient, no?" his long, thick fingers squished your soft cheeks together; firmly holding you in place before pressing a hard smooch on your pouted lips that were now swollen from the previous sucking and biting.

caleb's other hand wandered south, cupping one of your perky tits as he fondled the supple fat through your barely-covering top. you moaned into his mouth, feeling the pad of his thumb brush against your pebbled nipple.

you could feel his lips curl from how responsive and sensitive your body was from his simple actions. caleb decided to toy with you for just a bit more. taking the tip of his index finger, he circled the swollen bud, making you shudder as your eyebrows pinched together.

"hnghh... caleb.." you desperately moaned against his lips, feeling him pinch your nipple through your top; teeth sinking on your shoulder as your eyes screwed shut.

"wearing such skimpy clothes, havin' your panties showing and wearing no bra... you're bold; daring even, i'll give ya that." he spoke huskily, trailing kisses to the back of your shoulder, before guiding his lips to the expanse of your back.

a loud gasp left your lips as you felt the tip of his tongue drag up your spine. caleb continued to press open-mouth kisses afterwards, nibbling down on your shoulder blades.

his keen eyes fell on the small knot tied behind your neck, sneaky fingers coming up to pull the string as it unraveled. your eyes widened as you felt the top part of your blouse loosen, his hands grabbing it to pull it down, making your tits spill out.

"fuck... beautiful. so damn beautiful, god.." caleb groaned, whispering honeyed words in your ears as he kissed your temple. he ogled at the sight, wondering for years how your boobs looked cupped behind your bra.

he's been jerking off to the perverted thought ever since he learned how to masturbate.

his large palms wasted no time in pawing and groping at the swell of your tits, feeling the warm fatty mounds of flesh beneath his callouses. you squeezed your thighs shut, biting down on your bottom lip as you felt his index finger and thumb toy with your hardened nipples, tugging at them.

caleb craned his head forwards, hand full of tit before latching his lips on one of your nipples. a whiny mewl left your mouth, feeling his tongue circling the sensitive bud before the tip of his wet muscle flicked at it.

"ahh, caleb! feels so g-good, hmm.." you breathed out, your hand going behind his head to scratch at the bottom of his scalp.

you nuzzled your face in his neck, pressing gentle kisses at his skin and trailed them up to behind his ears; and he could hear your soft uneven breathing as he continued to suckle and bite at your tits. his chocolatey brown lock tickled your nose as he continued his ministrations.

with a lewd 'pop', he released your nipple as a string of saliva connected his lips to your bud.

"lift your hips for me, princess." caleb commanded, your brain no longer located in your head but now in your pussy as you obeyed. with a swift motion, he grabbed the waistband of your deniem shorts and pulled them off; throwing it somewhere on the floor.

he leans down and kisses the side of your neck, his teeth scraping over your skin, a small possessive noise escaping him. his fingers find the sensitive skin of your hip, his touch firm, but gentle as he cups your hip, thumb tracing over the bone there.

his hand caressed your plush thighs, making your heart beat faster as his fingers inched higher to your achy cunt. caleb noticed how you pressed your legs just a bit tighter, a murky chuckle echoed in your ear.

"ah, so the problem is here." caleb pried your legs open with ease, a hand reaching down in between to cup your needy cunt. you leaned back into him, whining as you felt him trace your slit with a lithe finger.

"stop teasin' me, caleb." you glared at him, but that only sparked a flash of amusement and irritation within him.

"think i'm gonna give you whatever you want, brat? quiet, i need to make sure my sweet girl hasn't been interested in other men except for me." his voice dropped an octave lower, now tracing the laces on your black panties before digging his hands inside.

your jaw dropped as a soft moan escaped your lips, feeling his middle and index finger spread your slick covered folds open.

"you're dripping, baby. all for me?" he asked with a teasing voice, making you nod.

"only for you." you replied, making him smile in satisfaction.

"good, you passed the first part." caleb ran his finger between your sopping lips, the tip of his finger catching your swollen clit each time. you sighed in bliss as you felt him rub your sensitive bundle of nerves as he stroked your clit at a leisurely pace.

"f-fuck, oh caleb!" you cried out his name, your hand dragging up and down his meaty bicep.

"what a cute little pussy ya got, pips. she's gotten ten times more wetter after i played with her for a bit." he whispered dirtily, but his words made you clench on nothing as it sent heat straight down south.

"you touch yourself?" caleb asked, his fingers continuing to rub your pussy while his other hand busied itself with massaging your tits.

you shamelessly nodded, but your response left him frowning as you felt a sharp impact on your wet cunt.

"c'mon, you're a big girl, no? use your words, y/n." he snarks, pinching your clit.

"y-yes!" you cried out in pleasure.

"good girl, wanna hear your voice, 'kay? who do you touch yourself to?" he continued to interrogate you, making your cheeks heat up as you felt like a mouse being caught by the big, scary cat.

"you.." you whispered.

"louder." he strictly barked, slapping your pussy again as you yelped from the pain mixed with pleasure.

"you! you, caleb!" you groaned, feeling his finger drag between your dripping folds in a painfully slow pace.

"oh? tell me more." caleb pressed on, making you huff in annoyance as you knew that this was his way of punishing you. to embarrass you after you ignored him for the whole week.

oh, he was gonna make you talk to him now.

"no, it's too embarrassing." you shook your head, making him scoff.

"you don't wanna talk? fine, i guess i'll just leave." he suddenly threatened, hands attempting to pull away from your pussy, but you were quick to grab his wrist and clamp your thighs shut; locking his hand in place.

"no! fine, fine, i'll tell you! ughhh.." you grumbled, bracing yourself to let go every bit of dignity you had inside you.

"mhm, go on. i'm listening." caleb smiled at your compliance, fingers resuming their work on rubbing circles on your clit to stimulate the bud.

"after you came back from the gym and took a shower, i-i went to your room to ask you for some help on my homework. your bathroom door was open and i saw your soaking wet body, a small towel wrapped around your waist. your back is so broad and muscular, i wouldn't help but wonder how it'd look with my nail marks." you admitted, making his eyes widen.

"you peeked in on me and touched yourself? what a naughty girl." he smirked, voice harboring a faux accusatory tone, when in reality his cock just throbbed at your confession.

you were just as perverted as him.

"h-hahh.. sorry, i d-didn't mean to!" you apologized innocently.

"lying to me won't help you, pips. ever had a finger in here?" his finger pressed against your hole, making your breath catch in your throat.

"yeah." you weakly answered, hearing him hum as he prodded at the tight opening, making you wince.

"yeah? she's so tight." caleb muttered, plunging in a thick digit as a choked moan ripped out of your throat from the sudden stretch. he grunted, feeling your wet, velvety walls clamp down on his finger.

you've fingered yourself a few times, but your fingers were so small and slim compared to caleb's long and thick ones. he began to slowly thrust his finger in and out of your hole to loosen you up, your eyes rolled back from the pleasure he was providing you with.

"ahhh~! need more, caleb." you heaved a sigh, face flushed as your lips were now glossy with spit from how much you licked them.

"eager are we?" caleb teased with a wicked grin, complying as he pushed in a second finger, making you gasp as your thighs instinctively closed.

"tch, don't be a brat." he growled, an almost bruising grip on your thighs as he peeled them back open.

in spite, he sped up the movement of his fingers that were now fucking into you. the thick digits scissored inside your hole at an unforgiving pace, grazing your cervix as you'd never even dream of your fingers caressing that sweet spot.

your juices gushed down your inner thighs, coating his fingers with a sheen layer as your folds were now sticky. his fingers continued to rub your walls deliciously, moans and whimpers flying out of your mouth mixed with whiny calls of his name; sounding like music to his ears.

suddenly, he withdrew his fingers, the tip of his middle finger drawing languid, purposeful circles on your twitching clit. your nose flared in frustration, pouting as you glared at him.

"caleb!" your voice was between a moan and a bellowed cry.

"good girls get what they want. c'mon, pips, ask nicely and maybe... just maybe i'll give you what you want." he egged further, making your pupils blow wide open.

he wanted you to beg?

"n-no! i'm not beggin' you." you argued stubbornly.

"is that so? then have fun finishing yourself off." he lightly pushed you off, making you groan in annoyance.

"okay, okay! sorry, please—god, please caleb. make me cum, please?" you begged, giving him the most nastiest and fuckable looking puppy eyes you could muster.

and it worked like a damn charm.

"see? that wasn't so hard, now was it?" he pressed a chaste kiss on your head before delving his fingers back into your achy cunt. you felt him sink his fingers deeper into you, making your mouth gape open as you used your hand to pull his face towards you—sloppily kissing him.

he's everywhere, his touch all-consuming, his body pressed against yours, his desire for you an almost tangible thing.

he swallowed your moans as you began to rock your hips forwards, fucking yourself on his hand; finger-fucking your dripping hole relentlessly. the obscene sounds your wet cunt produced was pornographic, the squelching noises of his slick covered fingers plunging in and out of your hole was nasty and hot.

caleb feels your walls pulsate around him, clenching as your thighs begin to quiver to indicate your incoming orgasm. your pussy drooling on his fingers made him eager to slip them out just to lick for a quick taste, but he wasn't that mean to ruin your orgasm for a second time.

the familiar warm, burning sensation now welcomed your lower stomach. you wriggled in his hold, feet digging into the sheets as your hand came down to grab at his wrist.

"w-wait! slow down, it's too much!" you breathed out, feeling like you were at the edge.

caleb rolled his eyes, not paying mind to your pleas as he continued to finger you through your orgasm. his free hand came down to press against your lower stomach, making your eyes widen as the pressure increased while his fingers plunged deeper in and out of your leaking hole, prodding at your cervix with each deep push.

"can't be too fast but can't be too slow. need to be rough but also need to be gentle. tch, you are sooo hard to please, princess." caleb draws out his words, thrusting his fingers inside your sloppy hole as your cunt sucked them in greedily.

"nghhh~ c-caleb i feel weird.. s-stop!" your words were empty, feeling your cunt gush all over his hand. a small stream of warm, clear liquid squirted out of your hole, making your eyes widen as you watched caleb press your lower stomach a little harder.

"that's it, pretty girl. give it to me." he talked you through your release, hand now drenched in your cum and juices. you tried to catch your breath, feeling like you just ran a marathon.

caleb slipped his fingers out of your ruined pussy, bringing them to his lips before his tongue lapped at his cum-covered digits. he hummed in satisfaction, enjoying your taste.

"so sweet." he praised, making you shudder.

you lifted yourself off of him, turning your body to face him with a scowl as you crossed your arms over your chest.

"you're such a jerk! you didn't let me cum the first time." you complained, making him cock an eyebrow.

"is that how you say thank you after i made you cum so hard? what an ungrateful mouth ya got, pips." caleb's eyes darkened, now settling to sit on his knees.

you gulped harshly, watching the slow yet calculated movements of his fingers working through his belt before unzipping his jeans; pulling the waistband of his pants and boxers down. his cock sprang to life, hitting against his clothed abs as your eyes widened at the sheer size and girth of his dick.

caleb was fucking hung, to say the least.

the dark pinkish mushroom tip of his hard cock angrily wept with beads of precum. he was long and thick, at least a good eight inches as his heavy cum-filled balls were settled on his waistband. a singular pulsating vein ran up the underside of his cock, a small peek of the dark happy trail leading to his huge cock graced your eyes.

"let's put that bratty mouth of yours to some good use, yeah?" caleb's hand reached out, thumb grazing your lower lip before pushing it a bit further, probing into your mouth. your tongue poked out as he pressed down on it, making you playfully bite down.

his body is trembling, his breath coming in ragged gasps. caleb's hands are everywhere, touching, grasping, holding you. he's desperate, every kiss, every touch filled with a raw, primal need.

caleb pulls you closer, his body hot against yours, his muscles coiled and tense. he's lost, drowning in you, his mind filled with nothing but the need to touch you, to be closer to you, to claim you as his own. he kisses down your neck, his mouth finding your collarbone, his teeth leaving marks, his hands leaving bruises.

you felt his bare cock rub against the smooth skin of your thighs, the tip smearing a trail of warm precum. you reached down to wrap your hand around his massive girth, making a ragged moan rip out of his throat, muffling the sound by biting down on your neck; leaving a purplish bruising mark to claim you as his.

"you're so big, caleb." you whispered, thumbing at his tip as you ran your finger along his wet slit.

caleb swallowed harshly, grunting as he felt you stroking his cock; noting how your small hands could barely hold him. it only made him wonder...

how much could your mouth take?

he kisses over the tender flesh of your boobs, his teeth grazing over your skin, his touch growing rougher, more demanding with each movement. he's desperate, craving you, his hand gripping your hip, his fingers.

he pulls away for a moment, trying to catch his breath as he looks down at you. his hand tenderly comes up to cup your face, tilting your head up to make you meet his eyes.

"you gonna be a good girl for me, princess?" he asks, thumb grazing over the apple of your cheek. you nodded, kissing the inside of his palm.

"mhm, promise." you gave him a girly smile, making his heart and cock jump at the same time.

you leaned down, pressing a teasing kiss on his tip, making caleb's jaw hang open from the contact. you gave small kitten-licks, tasting the slightly salty taste of his precum.

you grabbed a hold of his thick shaft before opening your mouth as wide as you could; feeding yourself his cock inch by inch until you felt the tip hit your uvula. the sudden warmth and wetness of your mouth welcoming caleb's hard dick made his muscles tense, hands unknowingly finding purchase in your hair as he pushed you towards his pelvis.

you gagged at the sudden movement, making caleb moan from the sudden tightness in your throat. you began to bob you head at a steady pace, sucking his cock with vigor as you pushed yourself to take as much of his massive length. whatever was left behind was tended by your hands.

you hollowed your cheeks, tongue circled around his tip before suckling on it like a lollipop, as caleb's head was thrown back from the intense pleasure you were giving him.

"fuuuuuckkk, just like that. good girl—h-hahhhh... such a good fuckin' girl." a ragged breath leaves his mouth, feeling the tip of your tongue trace the rigid line of the vein that ran up the side of his cock before swirling it around the sensitive head of his dick.

his hips buck slightly into your touch, seeking more of that delicious friction. caleb look down at you with lust-filled eyes, his gaze hazy and unfocused.

"where'd you learn how to do all of this, huh?" caleb groans, voice strained and tight with pleasure. he throws his head back with a low moan, eyes fluttering shut as the sensations overwhelm him. caleb's cock throbs and pulses in your warm mouth, growing even harder as you shove his cock deeper in your throat.

the feeling of your lips stretching around his girth while your tongue worked along the underside of his shaft felt like pure ecstasy. caleb grips your hair tighter, guiding your head as you bob up and down faster.

caleb begins to rock his hips slightly to meet your movements. he can feel the pleasure building rapidly, heart pounding in his ribs and breath growing ragged.

"fuck, fuck, fuuuckkkk.... gonna cum. shit, gonna cum so much down your throat, princess." caleb cries out, dick twitching in your throat as he bucks his hips into your mouth desperately to chase his high. the erotic sight of your hair framing your face while swallowing his massive hard cock sent pleasure waves all throughout his veins, adrenaline pumping as his balls ached for release.

suddenly you pull your mouth away, leaving his throbbing, aching cock exposed and pulsing in the cool air. a choked moan rips out of his throat, frustration warring with the lingering pleasure. caleb frowns slightly, brows knitting together.

before he could even put in a word of retaliation, you harshly tangled your fingers in his hair, pulling him in for a nasty-cum coated open-mouthed kiss. caleb grunts from the sudden action that caught him off-guard, still recovering from the shocks of his denied orgasm.

the sounds of his moans and groans are muffled by your invading tongue. you kiss him with a fervor that steals his breath away, lips sloppy and wet against his. caleb can taste the lingering essence of his own precum on your tongue.

your tongue pushes deeper, stroking along his, sliding against the roof of his mouth. caleb can feel his cock throbbing almost painfully against your thigh, leaking and twitching with each roll and swirl of your sly tongue.

he grabs a hold of your jaw, forcing the two of your to part as he tries to catch his breath. clearly you were trying to distract him from what you did a few minutes ago, but he wasn't about to let that shit slide.

"you think you're funny, huh?" caleb pants harshly, reaching down to grip his spit-slicked cock, giving it a few slow, teasing strokes as he gazes at you with a mix of longing and bewilderment.

"you're gonna pay for that, brat." he glares darkly, shoving your head down towards his pelvis; rubbing the swollen, leaking head of his cock against your soft, plump lips, smearing them with his precum. you gasp at the sudden maneuvering, planting your hands on his thighs to ground yourself.

"open your fucking mouth." caleb commanded with a thick tone, and as soon as he felt your lips part, he thrusted his hips upward, driving his thick cock past your lips and deep into your warm, tight throat. he held your head in place, using your mouth like his personal fleshlight. caleb groaned at the sudden sensation of your throat clenching around his sensitive flesh.

caleb fucked your face with deep, rough strokes. the wet, obscene sounds of you choking and gagging filled the room as he used your mouth, heavy balls slapping against your chin with each brutal thrust.

"gonna fuck your pretty little throat until you're nothing but a sloppy, drooling mess." he promises darkly, voice strained with pleasure and a hint of cruelty.

your throat constricts around his pistoning cock as caleb's thrusts become more erratic, more desperate, as he chased his rapidly approaching orgasm. the room fills with the wet, gagging sounds of your struggles followed by his guttural moans. drool and precum mix together, dripping down onto your heaving tits.

you weakly tap at his thighs, only for him to ignore your feeble attempts; too far gone and lost in his pleasure from the wet heat of your convulsing throat. he's determined to take what he needs and use you until he's satisfied.

"no tapping out, brat. you're gonna-hnghh... fuck, you're gonna take what i give. gonna blow my load and you're gonna swallow every last drop." caleb can barely form coherent thoughts, brain fogged by how good your mouth felt swallowing his aching cock.

with a final, brutal thrust, he buries himself balls-deep in your mouth, swollen cock pulsing and throbbing. caleb throws his head back with a guttural, animalistic groan as he starts to cum; hot, thick and sticky webs erupting directly down your throat to paint it white.

caleb holds your head in place, forcing you to take every last drop as he fills your stomach with his seed. he can feel you swallowing desperately around his pulsing dick, trying to gulp down his load.

caleb releases his grip on your hair and pulls you off of his now softening cock. you gasp for air, coughing and sputtering, thick ropes of his cum and drool dripping from your fucked-out mouth.

"you don't like it when i play nice, huh." caleb taunts, reaching out to catch a stray drop of cum and drool on your cheek with his finger.

"y-you! i hate you!" you glared at him, face now flushed with embarrassment as your plan of getting payback completely flopped.

"don't glare at me like that. i just cummed down your pretty little throat, what do you say?" he asks, making you pout as you look to the side.

"don't ignore me." he scowls, squishing your cheeks to make you face him and you groaned.

"t-thank you, caleb!" your words were muffled, but he heard you. caleb scoffed, letting go of you before swiftly taking off his shirt. he pushed you down into the mattress, parting your thighs to slot himself between them. violet eyes gleamed with a newfound hunger as he drank in the sight of your glorious dishevelment.

"i should lock you up... put a bell around your neck to know where you're headed when you wanna act against my words." caleb snarls, making you gulp as you felt slightly intimidated by the shift in the atmosphere.

however, your eyes were now trained on his well-sculpted muscular body. there was a thin sheen layer of sweat glistening on his chest from the shocks of his intense orgasm.

he grinds his hips forward, rubbing his erection along your panty-covered slit. the damp patch on your underwear grows, the fabric clinging to your swollen folds. caleb can feel the heat radiating off your core, drawing him in as his slick covered cock smears a mix of his cum and spit on your panties.

"oh, caleb!" you squealed at how deliciously the hard ridge of his cock slid along your slit, grazing over your puffy clit. your panties were now soaked with a mix of your juices, his cum and spit all combined; making it easy for him to glide his dick over your clothed pussy.

"tell me, why do you insist on running away from me, huh? don't you know you're mine? that i'll always find you?" caleb murmurs, his voice low and possessive.

he hooks his fingers in the waistband of your panties and yanks them to the side, baring your dripping slit to his hungry gaze. caleb notches his bulbous cock head at your entrance, the swollen tip nudging against your slick folds. he doesn't push inside, not yet.

caleb's cock throbs against your bare folds, the thick shaft sliding along your sticky slit. the bulbous head nudging against your sensitive clit with each roll of his hips. he watches with dark satisfaction as your twitching little bud peeks out from beneath its hood, swollen and glistening with your juices.

"look at this greedy cunt, so hungry for my cock," caleb rasps, his voice heavy with lust. he circles his hips, grinding his hard dick against your aching clit. the motion sends sparks of pleasure shooting up your spine, making your back arch off the mattress.

he feels your slick arousal coating his shaft, your juices dripping down to his heavy balls. the sensation only spurs him on, urges him to rut against her harder, faster.

he wants to fucking ruin you.

caleb leans down and captures your mouth in a searing kiss, his tongue invading your mouth and claiming it as his own. he swallows every whimper, every mewl of pleasure that escapes your lips. his cock jumps against your folds, the thick length pulsing with a mind of its own.

"gonna make this pussy sloppy with my cum. fuck, you need my cock so bad, don't you?" he breathes out, words failing to process in your head as you just nodded.

"yes, yes, yes! oh please, caleb... f-feel so so good. nghhh~ love your cock..!" you cried out, seeing stars as you can feel every ridge and vein of his shaft as it drags between your wet folds; the tip of his weeping slit kissing your clit each time he snaps his hips forward.

your fingers claw at caleb's shoulders, nails digging into his skin as you cling to him. the heat building inside you coils tighter and tighter, inner walls starting to flutter on nothing as you could feel your incoming orgasm.

it takes everything in him to not slam his cock in you and fuck you to an oblivion.

"s-shit, gonna cum." caleb lets out a strangled moan, his cock pulses and jerks against your folds, the tip flaring angrily and leaking a thick spurt of cum. the hot, sticky liquid coats your folds, as caleb continued to grind his hips against yours; the lewd shlick shlick sounds of your wet cunt rubbing against his cum-coated cock nearly made you cum again undone.

"you're having too much fun." you cleared your throat, looking at him with a serious look.

"am i, now?" he innocently responds, making your irritation grow. using whatever bits of strength you had left, you pushed yourself up to sit before shoving him to the side; making him fall onto the bed.

he let you, of course.

hunger-filled amethyst eyes trailed your every move like a predator, licking his lips to revive some moisture.

"you never shut up, do you? always fuckin' nagging at me like i'm some dumb little kid. like you know everything! i'm sick of your shit, i can't stand you!" you yelled through gritted teeth, making him cock an eyebrow at your sudden change in attitude.

"yeah? can't stand me? then fucking sit, princess." caleb snarls back with equal bite.

your eyes darken, a twisted smirk ghosting on your lips.

"you know what, i will." you barked out a small chuckle, grabbing a hold of the waistband of your panties to shove them down; completely discarding them to the side.

you draped your leg over to the other side of his head, your dripping pussy hovering right above his face. caleb's eyes were trained on your cunt, engraving how your folds glistened with slick, puffy little clit cutely peeking out of your lips.

"no more talking. be a good boy and eat." you sternly directly, before putting your weight on him, mashing your dripping slit against his eager mouth.

caleb grips your hips hard, his fingers sinking into the soft flesh of your ass.

"i could eat this pretty pussy all fucking day." caleb groans against your folds, his voice muffled but dripping with desire. he leans in and takes a long, slow lick up your slit, his tongue delving between your swollen pussy lips to lap at your juices.

"aahhh, yes... oh caleb, mhmmm..." you drawled out, eyes rolling back at you grinding your needy cunt against his tongue.

caleb's tongue swirls around your sensitive clit, flicking and circling the swollen bud as he sucks it between his lips. he presses open-mouthed wet smooches; the smacking and slurping sounds rang loud and clear in your head.

"thaaatsss what i wanna hear. fuck, so good." you giggle, drunk in pleasure as your head was thrown back in ecstasy. your fingers tighten in his hair, manicured nails peeking through his dark brown locks.

caleb's eyes were closed, relishing in your taste and the feel of your soft, wet pussy that was now making out with his tongue. it was perfect, everything he could possibly dream of when he used to desperately suck on the gausset of your soiled stolen panties.

you tasted so sweet, he's becoming addicted.

"so tired of hearing you. always so fuckin' mean to me... so b-bossy—hnghhh... always a fuckin' bitch when you don't get your damn way." you spoke through broken sentences, biting down on your lips, tasting the metallic taste of blood as soft whimpers were drawn from your throat.

as you grind your hips against caleb's face, his nose nudges against your clit with each desperate roll. the little bud, swollen and throbbing from his relentless assault, catches on the bridge of his nose with each downward thrust.

he takes advantage of the sensation, tilting his chin to rub his nose against her clit. his tongue darted out to tease your aching hole, jaw gaped open as you feel him plunge his tongue inside. he drives his muscle in and out, lips sealed around your entrance to catch every drop of your sweet juices. the lewd sound of wet, sloppy sucking fills the room as he eats you out with vigor.

his tongue pokes and curls inside your wet walls, making wanton moans escape your lips as you tugged on his hair. your eyes screwed shut, short, sharp gasps itched your throat.

"yes, yes, yes! h-hahhh, so good. fuck, gonna cum!" you cried out, pressing your leaking cunt down on his face, smoothering him completely. caleb was completely pussy drunk, his brain short-circuited. you body tensed, thighs trembling as you could feel your lower stomach tighten; reaching your high.

"caleb!" you moaned out his name in the most pornographic tone ever, body jerking from the after shock as your pussy gushed all over his face; coating his chin and lips with your cum. he lapped at your wet, overstimulated cunt to clean you up, not wanting to waste a single drop.

you hastily grabbed at the headboard, trying to escape but his fingers dug into the soft flesh of your hips to yank you back down, locking you in place as he sucked you dry.

"s-stop, it's too much." you breathed out, pushing his head away. with one final slow and long drag of his tongue between your sticky folds followed by a wet kiss on your clit; he finally pulls away, licking his lips.

you watch his face peek out from between your thighs, a lazy wet smirk dancing on his lips. violet eyes staring up at your flushed face, watching the small beads of sweat trickle down the side of your face. caleb presses soft kisses on your inner thighs, making goosebumps form all over your body; still recovering from the sensitivity your previous orgasm gave you.

"you've been holding all of that inside you for a while, huh? that nobody of a girl made your panties twist so hard that you've been acting so harsh with me. i'm hurt." caleb's words were soft spoken, tone lace with an undertone of sadness, lips grazing against the skin of your thighs.

"you're hurt? what about me? i watched you smile and laugh with her like she told you the world's funniest joke ever. you seen her these past few months more than you've been home. and... a-and-" you could feel the familiar lump form in your throat, eyes pricking with tears as you silently cursed at yourself for still being so weak.

caleb's gaze softened, heart clenching at the sight of seeing you hold back tears. nonetheless, he remained quiet, wanting to hear you out and speak to him after your unforgiving silent treatment.

deep down, he knew that neither of you wanted things to head down south. you wanted to fix things and so did he, and this was the only way.

the only chance the both of you will have to be so vulnerable to each other, so weak and soft.

"you cooked for her caleb. i thought... i thought that was something you only did for me. i feel special when you care for me, knowing that there's still someone left on this planet that'll put up with me. that... that i still have you to find home in." with that being said, all your walls came crashing down as warm tears ran down your cheek, bottom lip quivering. each droplet landed on his cheek, making his gut twist in guilt for hurting you so much unknowingly.

"pips... i never cooked for her with any intention. i showed her a picture of the omurice i made for you and she wanted the recipe. i just showed her the technique i used to fold the egg." caleb explained, lithe fingers softly caressing the softness of your hips, tracing the small faint lines of your stretch marks that he adored so much.

"r-really? so you don't hate me?" you sniffled, making him let out a small laugh.

"of course not, silly girl. where'd you get that from? you know i love you more than life itself, y/n. you're my whole world, everything in my life revolves around you, pips. without you... i'm nothing." he sincerely confessed, his voice raw with emotion as if every last word was ripped straight out of the depths of his heart that bled for you and only you.

he looked at you like you hung the stars for him, like your gentle arms cradled the moon in the night sky to shine light in his dark life; like you were the warmth of the sun that embraced him.

you moved down, now sitting on his stomach before leaning down; releasing your weight to lay on him.

"oh, my sweet girl." instinctively, caleb wrapped his arms around you. he pressed a tender kiss on the top of your hair, gently stroking your back to soothe you as you cried.

"i'm sorry, caleb." you choked out, making him shake his head.

"you have nothin' to be sorry for, baby. i'm sorry for not realizing how much i was hurting you." caleb apologized, making you tighten your embrace.

"why do you put up with me?" you genuinely asked.

was it pity?

emotional attachment?

"because i love you." he answered without any hesitation, making your heart flutter.

"you're stupid." you laugh, making him chuckle. you pulled away, face hovering above his as you looked down at his handsome face, his features already memorized and engraved within the deep crevices of your brain.

"you think i'm kidding? i'll prove it to you then." caleb wipes away the stray tear on your cheek before bringing his hand behind your head, pulling you in for a kiss.

it wasn't rough or messy like the previous ones. no, this one was different, felt different. his lips were molding with yours, just like how his soul molded with yours whenever you were in his arms; safe and sound. he felt warm, smelled like home and felt like heaven on earth.

with a firm arm wrapped around you, holding your body in place with his, he manhandled you; now having you under him as his broad stature hovered above you.

after giving him your whole heart essentially and having that sappy conversation, you suddenly felt shy under his gaze. with a swift motion, you rolled onto your stomach, hiding your face in the sheets. a warm smile was painted on his lips, finding your actions adorable.

"hiding that pretty face of yours from me? how selfish of you." he teased, his words held no malice. caleb moved your hair to the side, exposing more of your skin as he pressed soft kisses all over your back; trailing down your spine.

suddenly, his eyes fall on the inked words on your lower back.

kiss here 💋

his eyes widened, never noticing the tattoo because your panties probably hid it from him or something.

it must've been recent.

"when did you get this?" he questions, tracing the words with the tip of his finger.

"a month ago." you blurted out, words slightly muffled due to your face being buried in the mattress.

"and you didn't tell me? who did it? was it a guy?" caleb bombarded you with questions, voice sounding a little on edge.

"relax, it was one of my girl friends. she recently opened up her own tattoo shop and i offered to be her first client." you defended, but the situation didn't switch directions regardless.

"could've been an animal for all i care. only i can see you like this." he presses wet smooches on your tattoo repeatedly, making you sigh in bliss.

you could feel his hard cock rubbing against the swell of your ass, his hips rutting against you to gain some kind of friction. caleb grunted, licking and kissing your flesh.

"tell me you want it, y/n. please, i-i... i need to hear you say that you want me as bad as i want you." caleb begged, making your breath hitch as you felt his arm dig under your stomach, lifting your waist.

you turned your head a little, eyes locking with him.

"please caleb, i want you so bad. i need you, only you. please, fuck me." your voice was broken with desire, feeling yourself getting wet as you clenched your thighs tightly together.

as you lay face down on the bed, legs slightly spread hips tilted up, caleb kneels behind you, taking in the tantalizing view of your ass and the glistening, swollen folds of your pussy peeking out from between your thighs. he can see the way your body trembled with anticipation, heat radiating off your skin.

"gonna make you feel so good, sweet girl. i'll take care of you." caleb leans down, trailing open-mouthed kisses along the curve of your spine, his hands kneading the soft globes of your ass before kissing it.

he parts your thighs further with his knees as he positions himself behind you, hard, thick cock hovering over your entrance. he takes a moment to rub the leaking tip up and down your sticky slit, coating himself in your slick arousal as the head of his cock swipes at your clit a few times.

the fat, mushroom tip of his dick prods at your tight hole, making you gasp as you feel him push it in.

"breathe, baby. i got you, i promise." caleb softly whispered, his free hand rubbing up and down the sides of your thigh.

slowly, he begins to push in further, feeding your wet cunt more inches of his massive cock. a yelp escaped your lips from the pain of being stretched, the sensation foreign. your arms gave out, body now slumped on the bed as you shoved your face in the bed, muffling your painful winces as you gripped the sheets.

"i know, honey... i'm sorry, i promise it'll feel better." caleb groaned, feeling your walls fluttering around his cock. he takes his time, letting you adjust to his size.

he was barely halfway in, but you already felt so full of him, like you were one.

caleb's hand reached down to rub your clit, trying to provide some kind of pleasurable stimulation to distract you from the pain. after some time, he pushed his hips further in, making you take more of his cock until you were stretched to the brim, a small bulge forming in your lower stomach.

caleb pants, cock enclosed by your soft, wet, gummy walls. he suddenly pulled back until the tip of his cock threatened to slip out. confused, you raised your head to look back at him, only for the wind to be knocked out of your lungs as he snapped his hips forward with a sharp thrust, making your eyes blow wide open as a squeal ripped out of your throat.

"you're doing so well, y/n. taking me so beautifully, like you were made for this, made to be mine. i love you so fucking much, baby. i want this to be everything you've ever dreamed of." caleb moaned, fucking into you at a leisure pace, making you whimper as the pain subsided to a delicious pleasureable feeling.

he leans down, pressing a tender kiss on your nape, his flushed chest pressed against your back. caleb grinds his pelvis against your hips, the tip of his cock kissing your cervix as you were filled to the brim.

"caleb! hnghhh... s-so full.." you mewled, your body hot and trembling as he continued to thrust in and out of your sloppy hole that was now leaking on his cock.

you shuddered, feeling his hips pistoning into you, dick driving into you deeper and deeper as your walls clamped down on it. the single vein on his cock rubbed your velvety walls, making your eyes roll back at you could feel his dick pulsate inside you.

caleb's eyes land on the pink bow discarded on the side of your bed, arm reaching out to grab the clip. he clips the bow onto your hair, before kissing the back of your head.

"beautiful, so damn beautiful." he praised, breathless.

his thrusts are still slow and deliberate but growing steadily harder, deeper, more purposeful. he takes his time, savoring each slide of his thick cock through your tight, virgin cunt, each clench and flutter of your walls around him, each breathless little sound that escapes your lips.

caleb's hand snakes around your hip, slipping down to the juncture of your thighs. he finds your swollen, aching clit and starts to circle it with the pad of his thumb, his touch maddeningly slow and teasing at first before growing more insistent, more demanding.

"f-fuck, you're perfect. been dreaming of this moment my whole life, baby. i love you, god, i love you so much! h-ahhh... please, please, please. oh sweet girl, tell me you love me. please? oh, i'll do anything for you. anything!" he desperately ruts against you, thrusts becoming more needy as he grunts in your ears.

caleb was was balls deep in you, each stroke was sharp but it hit all the right spots. his balls heavily slapped against your clit, making you cry out in pleasure. he licks and bites down on your shoulder, intoxicated by your smell and taste.

your hand reaches behind him, fingers finding his dog-tag necklace as you tugged it; pulling his face closer. you turned your head to the side, lifting it before locking your lips with his. with the sloppiness of his thrusts, you chased the movements of his lips.

"i love you, caleb. fu-nghh~ i've always loved you, always! there's no man for me unless it's you. god, i love you so bad, my body craves you... only you." you moaned against his lips, eyes gazing into his violets with nothing but pure adoration.

caleb's heart pounds against his ribs, blood rushing to his cock as adrenaline pumps into his veins. his hips never faltered, a steady pace as he continues to bruise your cervix with each deep thrust.

"you're mine, only mine. i'm the only one who can see you like this, make you fall apart like this. god, you were made to be loved by me." and suddenly, his eyes prick with tears as the fat drops trickle down his cheek.

you could feel the familiar coil tightening in your lower stomach, making your thighs tremble as your toes curled in pleasure.

"fuck, fuck... oh, caleb! i'll study hard, so fuckin' hard. i'll become a nurse in the DAA, so that i can be with you all the time. everyone will know that your mine, only mine!" your eyes screwed shut, brain fogged with nothing but the feeling of being so cock drunk.

caleb's pupils dilated, the possessive undertone of your words, how you claimed him and wanted to be with him; it's all that it took for him to blow his load.

"cumming, fuck, gonna breed this sweet pussy." caleb groaned, arm circling around your hips to deeply nestle his cock in you; thick, sticky webs of cum painting your walls white. he continued to thrust his dick inside, feeling your walls twitch before gushing all over him, drenching his balls as a white ring of cum formed at the base of his shaft.

caleb rests his body on top of yours, careful to not crush you with his entire weight. the two of you are completely breathless, bodies covered in sweat.

he pulls out his now soft cock, watching your hole gape open from the loss of contact of being stretched with his massive girth. his cum spilled out of your messy cunt, trickling down and onto the bed.

caleb laid on the side, scooting closer to pull you against him. you wrapped your arms and legs around him, clinging to his body heat as you nuzzled your face against his chest. he stroked your hair, brushing the baby hairs that stuck to your sweaty forehead.

your eyelids fluttered open, a hazy look as you looked up at him. he gave you a soft smile, leaning down to press a kiss on the tip of your nose before pressing a long, tender kiss on your lips.

"tired." you mumbled, making him laugh.

"yeah? get some sleep, pips. i'll clean you up." he offers, making you giggle.

"wow, ten out of ten aftercare. no wonder why every girl wants you." you grin, but he could sense a small undertone of sadness in your voice.

"aftercare that they'll never get to experience because they're not you, y/n. this was my first time too, y'know." caleb shyly admitted as the tips of his ears turned red, making your eyes widen in suprise.

"seriously?" you asked, a bit baffled.

"yeah, it felt wrong to be with any other girl that wasn't you." he sheepishly smiled, making your heart skip a beat.

he saved himself for you all this time.

caleb grabbed the matching necklace that sat gracefully on your tits, brushing his thumb over the cold metal.

"i love you and only you. y/n, you're the woman of my dreams, the only one who can make my heart beat with purpose." caleb's tone was sincere, words pure with love.

your fingers wrapped around his chain, bringing the tag pendant closer to you.

"and you're the only one my heart is set to love, caleb." you smiled warmly, eyes lovingly gazing at him.

the two of you kissed each other's pendant, sealing the heartfelt confession.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･

it was finally the day that caleb would graduate from university and the DAA program. you were excited to attend his graduation, your heart swelling with pride as you knew how hard he worked for all his achievements.

he passed his exams and necessary coursework, graduating with honors and securing a full-time job at the DAA. god, just how much more perfect could he get?

you entered the huge stadium, holding a bouquet of colorful lilies and orchids. you took a seat in the sea of parents that came to see their children walk on the stage, fixing your white sundress.

the ceremony began as the faculty members began to give their boring speeches. soon after, it was time to hand the degrees and certificates as each graduate began to walk across the stage.

your heart leaped into your throat as you watched caleb step up the stairs of the stage, his name being called and a loud scream of his name erupted from your throat as you cheered for him proudly.

"i love you baby!!" you yelled from the back, but your voice caught his ear as he turned to the audience, immediately finding your face. he shot you a charming smile, waving before walking off the stage.

you felt like a fan who's celebrity crush finally noticed them.

after the ceremony was over, all the students scrambled in different directions to congratulate friends and hug their family. you finally made it past the swarming crowd of parents, watching caleb walk towards your direction as he was deeply immersed in his conversation. however, from the corner of your eyes you could make out the familiar face of the one person you wished to not see.

it was the girl in his program, ___. you smirked to yourself, halting your steps as you let her approach him first. you watch caleb freeze, body tensing as an awkward smile replaced his previous expression.

poor baby.

saving him from the misery, you tightly grip onto the pretty bouquet of flowers in your arms, running towards him. the click-clack sounds of your heels echoed, and yeah, your toes did hurt.

but it didn't matter.

"caleb!!" you chirped with a bright smile, catching his attention as caleb's lips automatically curled into a grin.

he opened his arms as you jumped into his embrace, wrapping your arms around his neck as your legs locked around his waist. you giggled, pressing kisses all over his face; staining his flawless skin with red kiss marks.

"congrats, caleb. oh, you look soooo handsome in your uniform." you cooed, smooching his lips shamelessly as you smiled against his lips.

"yeah? you got a thing for guys in uniform now, pips?" caleb teased, making you smirk.

"only if it's you... but i think i'd prefer if your uniform was off." you playfully bite his bottom lip, making him chuckle.

"naughty girl." he whispered, making you giggle.

suddenly, you heard someone clear their throat. you turned your head and looked at ___ shift from one foot to the other, face tainted with embarrassment.

"uh, i think i'll go, my parents are probably looking for me. congrats again, caleb." she forced a tight smile, waving at you two before turning around to leave. your eyes fell on the small letter in her hands, now gripping it tight to crumple it as she walked away.

"confessing on graduation day? how lame. well, not like she had a chance anyways." you huffed, shrugging with indifference.

"you're real mean, pips. i like this side of you." caleb grinned, pressing a kiss on your forehead.

"now can we go home? i still have to give your gift!" you pouted impatiently.

"oh really? or is that an excuse to trap me and strip me out of my uniform?" he poked at you with a sly expression, making you smirk. you gasp playfully.

"how did you know?" you winked, before the the both of you broke into a fit of laugh.

"okay, okay. let's go home, my sweet girl." with that being said, caleb walked out of the stadium with you still in his arms and his face full of your kiss marks.

and he wouldn't have had it any other way.

---

a/n: if you made it to the end, here's a fat smooch for you :3 hope you guys enjoyed this caleb piece, it took me a few weeks to work on it lol. idk why but it's something about this man that just makes something clench iykyk. sigh, wtf did infold lace into him when making him. anyways, let me know if you guys prefer longer smutfics or if you like them short! if you couldn't tell, i get carried away very easily lolol.

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daryltwdixon · 1 month ago

Text

Summary: You wake in Joel’s bed, sharing a quiet, tender moment together. But by mid-morning, he can’t keep what’s been bottled up inside any longer, and the dam finally breaks, taking everything with it. || smut MDNI 18+, thigh grinding/riding, handjob, pinv, still considered a pregnancy kink right?, dirty talk, lots of longing and angst, fighting (physical and emotional!!!), no outbreak, they're still terrible communicators, possessive joel, these are not healthy dynamics and I do not support these characters lol, au: joel speaks his mind, this is not medically accurate we do it for the plot || notes: this follows a bit of a different layout than the other parts, more focused on the drama than the smut. and it sure is dramatic. but hope you still enjoy!

The next morning, things felt… well, normal.

Waking up next to Joel was becoming close to what could almost be routine with how often you stayed there, though your brain still struggled to make sense of how it all happened. How his house, his sheets, his scent had started to feel like home.

Sleep came in fragments these days, always interrupted: by the need to pee, by the stretch of your skin, by the tiny feet inside you drumming against your ribs at ungodly hours. Nothing about your body was comfortable anymore—except maybe this.

Joel was still asleep, his body slung heavy and loose with the kind of deep, unguarded rest you never saw from him in daylight. He took up so much space—broad shoulders pressed into the mattress, bicep curled behind his head, the other arm draped over your hip as if to anchor you to him. His bare chest rose and fell beneath your palm, warm and solid, coarse hair spreading beneath your fingertips in a dark, masculine patch.

You couldn’t help but touch him. It was always hard to fight the urge, especially when he was laid out like this: soft in the face, the furrow between his brows smoothed out, sunlight painting the bridge of his nose, brushing across the dark stubble along his jaw. You let your hand drift, fingers splayed, tracing idle patterns through the hair on his chest, letting your nails graze lightly just to feel him shiver in his sleep.

Joel was always so warm. The kind of heat that felt like security, the kind that seeped into your bones and made you melt right into him. He was a furnace as he laid next to you. It felt safe and warm and secure next to him. One of his thick thighs was wedged between your legs, supporting your hips and keeping the ache in your bones at bay, but also creating a whole new kind of ache—a throbbing pulse you couldn’t quite ignore.

Sometimes you wondered if it was just the pregnancy. If it was hormones making you this needy, this desperate for him in the early morning light. But then he’d breathe against your neck, heavy and steady, or shift beneath you and pull you closer, and you knew it wasn’t just that. It was him. You’d never felt this strung-out and aching, like you might crawl right out of your skin just to get closer.

You pressed closer then, greedy for him, for the solidity of his body. Your swollen belly pressed snug to his side, your leg hiked up over his, and for a moment, you just breathed him in. He smelled of that pine leather cologne he always wore and the faintest hint of last night’s sweat that still clung to him.

Your hand slowly wandered down the curve of his chest, tracing the faint scar just under his ribs, feeling the soft give of his stomach beneath your palm. Your fingers played along the dip of his waist, following the trail of hair down until you reached the band of his sleep shorts, his hip bones jutting out under your touch.

He shifted, a low sound rumbling from his throat, half a groan, half a sigh. The arm around you tightened, pulling you in closer, and you felt him begin to stir, breath hitching as your nails scraped lazily over his skin. Your eyes traced the length of his body—broad chest, thick arms, the way his stomach rose and fell with each breath, the muscles in his thighs flexing as he adjusted beneath you.

You were so caught up in the feel of him, so solid, so present, so utterly Joel he was that you barely noticed when his eyes cracked open, lashes casting shadows across his cheekbones as he looked at you, still foggy with sleep. His mouth twitched into the beginnings of a lazy, crooked smile.

“Mornin’,” he rasped, voice gravelly and rough with sleep, his hand sliding up under your shirt, palm spreading wide over the curve of your back.

You smiled lightly up at him, your finger hooking into the top of his waistband as you said, “Good morning,”

He let out a soft grunt, half amusement, half satisfaction, and tucked you closer, big hand gliding up and down your spine with steady, lazy affection. The warmth of his thigh was still pressed snug between your legs, and you couldn’t help the way you rocked against him, just a little, seeking out any relief for the ache you woke up with.

Joel’s gaze flickered down, darkening as he felt you move. His hand stilled, heavy at the small of your back. “Someone’s eager this mornin’,” he murmured, his voice low, the smile never leaving his lips. He squeezed your hip, guiding you to press down just a little harder on his thigh.

You bit back a laugh, the sound coming out as more of a breathless sigh. “I blame hormones.”

He hummed, a deep rumble in his chest, and shifted his thigh, giving you more to grind against. His eyes were heavy-lidded, hungry, but still gentle in the way only Joel could be—with you, at least.

“Can feel how wet you are, sweetheart.” His hand pressed between your shoulders, holding you steady as he watched your face, watching the way you moved for him. “You want somethin’ from me?”

Your cheeks flushed with embarrassment, but you didn’t stop. You finally moved your hand below his waistband and curled your fingers around him, sliding over the thickness that waited beneath the fabric, already hard and aching for you. He shuddered, hips twitching just barely, a low, broken sound caught at the back of his throat. He let you stroke him, slow and teasing, his eyes fluttering shut as your thumb swiped across the slit at the head of him, spreading the pearl of precum.

“Jesus,” he said, fidgeting beneath your touch, his hand coming up to cup your face then, pulling you closer to him, his lips brushing over yours as he said, “You like makin’ me crazy for you, huh?”

You nodded, feeling too breathless to tease him back at the feeling of how thick he was in your hand. You reached forward just a little bit to place a kiss against his lips and he sighed dreamily into it, your mouths slotting together, tongues already searching for each other in a dance you’d come to know so well. His hand threaded into your hair, keeping you close as you moaned into his mouth, your hips grinding down on his thigh, matching the rhythm of your hand as you stroked him.

“That’s a good girl,” he whispered against your lips, “Take what you need baby. Ride my thigh, just like that. Gonna take good care of you if you come for me.”

You whimpered, caught between embarrassment and desperate hunger. Your body was so heavy, so swollen with want, and the pressure of him beneath you was almost enough to make you dizzy. He held you steady, watching your face, kissing your jaw, murmuring encouragement every time your hips rolled a little harder, a little sloppier.

“There you go,” he whispered, voice so gentle but the words biting at your resolve. “This all for me? Just from wakin’ up next to me, hmm? Greedy little thing.”

“Yes, Joel,” you whispered as you kept your hand wrapped around him, stroking him as you moved, loving the way his cock pulsed under your touch, how he didn't care to bite back the moans every time you squeezed a little tighter.

“Come on pretty girl,” he coaxed, kissing your lips between words, groaning as you squeezed the head of his cock in your hand, “Want to feel you come just from this. Be a good girl for me, baby.”

His praise did you in, pleasure cresting in a wave as you cried out, grinding down hard on his thigh, squeezing him tight in your fist. He hissed, holding himself together as you rode through your climax, fingers loosening and twitching around his cock.

When you finally stilled, breathless and shaking, Joel’s arms came around you, gathering you close, his lips pressing lazy kisses to your hair and shoulders.

“Fuckin’ perfect,” he mumbled, voice like gravel, “You’re perfect.”

“Here, let me—” you started, realizing he hadn’t finished yet.

“Don’t worry, greedy girl,” he chuckled rough with affection. “I’ve got you. Why don’t you turn over for me?”

You did as you were bid, rolling onto your other side with his help. Joel crowded up behind you, big hands steady and sure as he adjusted you—so careful with your body, always mindful of your swollen belly, always treating you like something precious and breakable, even as he was aching for you.

He slid his arm across your clavicle, cradling you close so your face tucked into the warm crook of his elbow, his other arm hooking beneath your belly and holding you flush against him. You felt him press up behind you, the thick head of his cock nudging at your entrance, and he groaned low and desperate.

“Promised I’d take care of you,” he said, his voice tight as his breath fanned over your ear, “Always gonna take care of what’s mine, baby. All fuckin’ mine.”

Goosebumps rose across your skin and he slowly pushed inside you. Your body welcomed him, pulsing from your own release, stretching to accommodate the sheer girth of him. Your head tipped back, jaw slackening as your lips fell open. Joel’s breath stuttered out, his face buried in the nook of your neck, lips pressed to your skin. His hand stayed splayed wide of your stomach as he pushed himself into you.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” he whispered, voice rough in your ear, “So good for me, always takin’ this cock so well.”

He moved inside you, slow at first, rocking his hips while keeping you locked tight in his arms. The weight of his body behind you, the press of his hand over your belly, the heat of his breath at your ear. It was overwhelming, and you never felt safer, more wanted.You moaned, helpless, reaching back to grab at his thigh, needing to anchor yourself to him. Joel’s grip tightened, his possessiveness coming out in every word, every movement as it so often did in these moments. His voice dropped lower, rougher, almost a growl.

“Tell me, baby. You ever feel this way before, huh?” His hips snapped a little harder then, his words sharpening with how much he needed you. “My brother ever make you this cock drunk? Ever have you so full you can’t even think straight?”

He didn’t give you a chance to answer, just pressed his mouth to your ear, biting down gently. “Knew you’d never need anyone else after me. Knew you were fuckin’ mine the second I made you come on my cock that first time. Now look at you, carryin’ my baby, takin’ it so well in my bed. No one else gets to see you like this. No one else gets to make you feel this good.”

You sobbed his name, caught between shame and desperate pleasure, the stretch of him inside you almost too much. Joel’s hand slid lower, finding the pulse between your legs, working your clit in slow, insistent circles.

“That’s right, my pretty girl,” he hissed, “Give it to me. Wanna feel you come on my cock, wanna see you lose your fuckin’ mind for me. Just for me.”

You came again, shivering in his arms, and Joel groaned behind you, the sound thick and desperate as he felt you clench and pulse around him, drawing him in even deeper. His arms locked tighter, holding you close, his hips stuttering as he finally let go, spilling inside you with a low, broken moan.

He stayed pressed to your back, catching his breath, his body curled protectively around yours. His hand never left your belly, stroking gentle circles there, as if he could soothe every ache and tell you without words how much you meant to him.

You let yourself drift in that silence for a moment, letting your breathing slow, letting his touch ground you. But the words he’d said, the rawness, the edge, still lingered, curling in your chest with something you couldn’t quite name.

“Joel…” you whispered, voice small in the hush of the room. He hummed in response, nuzzling the back of your neck.

You hesitated, then said softly, “You can’t… you can’t say things like that.”

He went still, hand pausing on your belly. “What things?” His voice was quieter now, the cockiness gone, just him and you and the smell of sweat.

You sighed, turning in his arms to look into his eyes, something nervous and uncertain there in them as you said, “When you ask me if anyone’s ever…if Tommy has ever made me feel the things you make me feel.”

His brows furrowed, mouth opening for a moment before closing again, eyes drifting over your shoulder in thought.

“With the way things are right now… I’m already so…” you buried your face in the pillow.

He tucked a lock of hair behind your ear, thumb tracing the line of your cheek as his eyes came back to you. “Hey,” he said again, softer this time. “I’m sorry. I know I get carried away.”

You nodded, not quite able to meet his gaze. “It just… it gets in my head. I know it’s just talk, but right now everything feels so… intense. Heavy, you know? I just need it to be you and me, just for a little while. No one else.”

“Alright,” he murmured, voice softer, “I can do that. I promise.”

You let yourself relax into him, feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest, his heartbeat thudding strong and sure against your cheek.

“I got you,” he whispered, his lips brushing your hair. “Always.”

You closed your eyes, letting yourself believe it, letting the quiet settle between you. Wrapped in Joel’s arms, for just a moment, the rest of the world could wait.

Later that morning, the house felt unusually quiet—just the low hum of the fridge, the distant tick of a clock, and the sunlight slipping in through half-closed blinds, striping the living room floor in gold. You stood near the old couch, hands braced at the small of your aching back, watching Joel as he finished gathering your things. Your shoes sat where you’d left them by the coffee table, just out of reach.

You eyed them, willing yourself to bend, but your body had other ideas. With a defeated laugh, you dropped your arms and stood there, belly rounding out in front of you, toes barely peeking beneath its curve. “I feel so helpless,” you giggled, breath catching as you tried again to reach for your shoes, only to give up with a little sigh.

Joel turned at the sound, the corners of his eyes crinkling with something between amusement and worry. “Ain’t helpless,” he said, voice a low rumble. You watched the way he moved unhurried, steady, filling the space so completely as he made his way over to you.

He knelt in front of you, the soft thud of his knees muffled against the old rug, and took your foot in his hands, slipping on your shoe, lacing it up with quick, practiced movements. Then the other, just as careful, his broad shoulders hunched in concentration, the top of his head catching a slant of sunlight.

When he finished tying your shoes, Joel didn’t move to get up. He stayed kneeling on the old rug in front of you, one hand wrapping gently around the back of your calf, thumb tracing thoughtless circles. His head bowed a little, eyes fixed on your legs in front of him, jaw set as if he was working something over and over in his mind.

The morning seemed to hush around you as you watched him, noticing the way his brows pinched together, the distant look in his eyes. He was somewhere else, thinking so hard you could feel the air around you shrinking just to this moment.

You opened your mouth, about to ask what was wrong, but before you could, Joel spoke, his voice low, barely above a whisper, still not quite looking up at you.

“Leave him.”

The words didn’t register at first.

“What?” you breathed, sure you’d misheard.

That’s when Joel finally looked up, really looking at you, still kneeling on the floor in front of you. It felt so vulnerable, so raw, pleading in a way you’d never seen before. He swallowed hard, hands tightening gently at your leg as he met your eyes, voice breaking just a little.

“Leave him,” he said again, everything in him laid bare.

You blinked down at him. “Joel… I—”

He stood slowly, hands trailing up from your calves to your shoulders, his touch hesitant, like he didn’t know if you’d let him hold you. His palms cupped the back of your arms, not squeezing, just there. His eyes searched yours, and for a moment, he looked as wrecked as you’d ever seen him.

“I know I’m not supposed to say it,” he said, the words tumbling out like he couldn’t stop them now that they’d started. “I know it ain’t… fair. But I can’t keep pretendin’ ”

He swallowed, jaw tight. “It ain’t about the baby anymore. Hasn’t been for a long time. You know it. I know it.”

You shook your head, the tears stinging, but he pressed on.

“Tommy—he gets to walk around actin’ like everything’s normal, claimin’ this baby’s his, claimin’ you. All I do is stand on the sidelines, pretend I’m just helpin’ out, just some fuckin’… uncle. I gotta stand there and watch you cry over him, watch him treat you like you don’t matter. And I’m the one here, holdin’ you together when he can barely look at you.”

He looked away, chest heaving, voice breaking. “He asked this of us. Asked me to do this—then treats me like it was nothin’. Like you’re nothin’. And you…you keep comin’ back to me. You keep wantin’ me. So I know it ain’t just me who feels it.”

You’d never heard Joel talk like this before—like the words were burning his throat, like if he stopped, he’d never be able to say it again. Once, months ago, he’d admitted he wanted you. But this was different. Now he sounded like a man drowning.

And you felt caught in his undertow, sinking just as fast.

He raked a hand through his beard, eyes shining with something desperate before his hands fell on you again. “I’m tired, darlin’. Tired of bein’ on the sidelines, watchin’ you cry over him, of hidin’ what this really is. I’m yours, and I love you. It’s killin’ me to watch you let him take everythin’ from you. From me. From us.”

And for some reason, as you watched him, as he waited your answer, your thoughts immediately were of Tommy. Of your vows, of the years you’d spent building a future you could barely recognize anymore. Of all the nights you’d spent crying, and all the mornings you’d woken up in Joel’s arms instead. Was it always headed here? Had you just been pretending too?

Tommy was your husband. He’d been your first love, your future, your family. He was supposed to be all of it. But you couldn’t shake the memories that belonged to Joel too. The way he was always there, always solid, the person you leaned on—at first for Tommy’s sake, and then… somehow, for your own. You thought it was comfort, survival. You thought you were just playing the role Tommy asked for.

It hit you now, standing in front of Joel, just how much you’d missed. You’d been living this way for months—sharing yourself between them, saying it was all agreed, all out in the open. But still, you’d let yourself believe it was something you could manage, that it could stay simple, that no one would get hurt. You hadn’t let yourself see the way Joel looked at you, how often he put you first, how quietly he let Tommy take credit, how he swallowed his feelings for your sake and the baby’s.

God, you couldn’t let him go. You didn’t want to. Maybe you loved him too, maybe you always had and just refused to see it.

But Tommy. And this baby. And the wreckage you’d leave behind if you chose yourself, if you chose Joel.

And here he was, pouring everything out for you, breaking himself open because he couldn’t stand in the shadows anymore. Because he loved you. Because you think…maybe, almost certainly…you loved him back.

It all tangled together inside you—loyalty, guilt, fear, want—making it impossible to breathe, impossible to choose.

You felt the world slip sideways, like your heart was in your throat. “You can’t…” you whispered, voice barely there, “You can’t ask me to leave my husband.”

Joel’s grip loosened, his hands falling away slow, like letting go was the hardest thing he’d ever done. You saw the pain in his eyes, the way it hollowed him out. He looked older in that moment, worn down and emptied, as if saying the truth had cost him something he couldn’t ever get back.

You took a step back, knees trembling, the world tilting beneath your feet. “Take me home,” you whispered, barely able to meet his gaze. “Please.”

The whole ride home, you tried not to cry. You weren’t sure if Joel said your name once or maybe even twice. Everything was a blur, your thoughts screaming so loudly you could barely hear the world outside. It all felt dreamlike, suspended, unreal.

You’d be kidding yourself if you hadn’t all along how hard this would be, how eventually you’d have to make a choice. To pick one of them. But how were you supposed to choose? The man you married, the man you’d loved for years, who you built a life with… or the man beside you in the truck, who saw you, wanted you, cared for you in ways no one ever had?

And what if fate really was a twisted son of a bitch? What if destiny was cruel enough to let you meet Joel first, only for you to be blind to it and end up falling for his brother instead? You tried to build a future with Tommy, tried to make it work, only for everything to splinter when he couldn’t give you a child. And as if that wasn’t enough, it had to be Joel—his own brother—who could. As if the universe itself was determined to tangle all your lives together, to make you pay for something you never even understood.

You barely said goodbye as you climbed out of the truck, slamming the door behind you as Joel parked. Maybe he thought of getting out too, but you’d already made it halfway to the porch, fumbling with your keys, desperate to get inside. You didn’t even look back. It wasn’t anger, not really, or at least, not at him. Joel was right. He was valid in every feeling, every need. What you had was real, stronger than anything you’d ever known, with a pull you could feel in your bones.

You were angry at yourself. For thinking you could have both. For letting yourself believe you could keep your life neat and easy, that you could somehow have your cake and eat it too. How did you ever think this would work? That you could be the hinge between two brothers and keep the peace?

The door clicked shut behind you, louder than you meant, and your eyes blurred so badly with tears you couldn’t make out anything in the mid morning light. You were already halfway to the stairs when you heard the scrape of a chair, a mug thumping on the dining room table.

“Hey—” Tommy’s voice cracked, hoarse with sleep or worry, you couldn’t tell. He was on his feet in a second, moving toward you, catching you just as you broke, your face falling into your hands, sobs spilling out uncontrollably.

He wrapped you up the moment you let go, arms tight, rocking you gently in the foyer, his chin pressing against your hair. “Honey,” he whispered, kissing the crown of your head, “It’s okay. I’ve got you. It’s okay.”

You clung to him harder, wanting to explain everything and knowing you couldn’t. You wanted him to understand—this wasn’t how you’d pictured things, all you ever wanted was a baby with him. You’d never planned for Joel to become such a force, such a gravitational pull in your life, but now you couldn’t picture a future without him in it. Not as an uncle. Not as a stand-in. You wanted them both, in some impossible, beautiful fantasy you thought could work. Just you and the two men you loved, raising your child together.

You knew, even through the heartbreak, that Tommy had reason to feel the way he did. Even though he was the one who’d first suggested this, he couldn’t have known how much it would change you, how much it would change everything.

He held you until your sobs softened, his hands smoothing over your hair, grounding you.

“Talk to me, baby,” he whispered, his breath warm against your ear. “Please. Are you okay?”

You wiped your eyes with trembling hands, forcing yourself to breathe deeply, to find your voice again. Nodding, you pressed your palms against his chest, steadying yourself as you finally met his eyes.

“I’m fine. I just…” you shook your head, gazing up at him, “Tommy, why were you so…” you hesitated, your voice breaking around the words, “What happened yesterday?”

Tommy’s eyes dropped to the floor. His hands stiffened around you, searching for the words. “I messed up. I know I did. I… I was angry and I took it out on you. That wasn’t fair. None of this is fair, I know.” He swallowed, eyes shining with something raw. “I’m sorry, honey. I shouldn’t have said those things.”

You nodded, but it didn’t feel like enough. The ache inside you was still sharp. “But you meant them,” you whispered, “Didn’t you? The things you said—about me, about Joel, about the baby.”

Tommy’s jaw worked, shame flickering across his face. He reached up, fingers threading through your hair, his thumb brushing your cheek with so much tenderness, “I was angry. I was scared. I didn’t mean all of it.” His voice dropped, hoarse and pleading.

You held his gaze, desperate for something real, something to hold onto, “Do you still want this, Tommy?” you asked, your words trembling with need. “Do you still want me? This family? After everything?”

He stared at you, searching your face like he could find his answer there. His eyes were wet, his voice ragged. “I do. God, I do. I just—” He shook his head, trying to hold himself together. “I don’t know how to do this, but I want you. I want our baby. I want all of it.”

Before you could say more, a sudden sharp movement made you wince. Instinctively, your hands flew to your belly, pressing gently where the baby’s heel—or maybe an elbow—thudded against your ribs from the inside. You let out a small, startled sound, your breath catching as the sensation lingered.

Tommy’s hands covered yours instantly, his touch gentle, thumb brushing over your knuckles. “He kickin’ again?” he asked, voice a little lighter now, though still concerned.

You nodded, letting out a shaky laugh. “Feels like he’s trying to break out.”

Tommy smiled, the first real one you’d seen from him in days. “He’s gonna be a handful, huh?” His hands moved to your hips, steadying you, thumbs pressing soothing little lines into the small of your back.

“I uh… Learned somethin’ while readin’ that book you gave me,” he offered, nudging your arm playfully.

“Oh yeah?” You tried to sound curious, grateful for the change in subject, letting him tug you gently out of your head and back into the warmth of the living room. “Which one?”

He bent to press a soft kiss to the top of your head. “What to Expect When You’re Expectin’, of course. The classic.”

You rolled your eyes, a smile tugging at your lips despite everything. “Bet you skipped right to the good parts.”

Tommy grinned, shaking his head, “Actually…” He turned you so your back was to his chest, and slipped his big hands beneath your belly, palms lifting with careful, practiced strength. You sighed out, relief washing through you as the pressure lessened, your spine grateful for the reprieve.

“Oh–” you sighed, your head dropping back onto his shoulder, tension melting from your body. You let your eyes flutter closed as you breathed through the release of tension.

Tommy kept you there in his arms with his hands steady, the rise and fall of your belly matching the gentle rhythm of his breathing. He pressed a kiss to your exposed shoulder, voice a soft rumble in your ear, “Let me take care of you.”

You didn’t have it in you to argue. That was all you wanted. Just for him to be here, present, to see you and stay beside you. To be the husband you needed, the father this baby deserved. He’d been so distant lately, lost in his own thoughts, and maybe he didn’t even realize how much you missed him.

You stayed like that for a moment, letting him hold you, letting yourself relax into his body and the softness of the morning. For just a few precious seconds, the heaviness in your chest eased, the worries faded, and you let yourself believe, maybe, that things could be simple again.

Tommy nuzzled your cheek, his hand smoothing down your belly. “He’s lucky, you know. To have you for his mama.”

You swallowed, a tightness returning, but you held onto the warmth as long as you could. “He’s lucky to have you too,” you whispered, your hand finding his on your belly, fingers threading together.

Joel, a few weeks later

Your eyes.

He couldn’t get them out of his head. He felt haunted by the way you’d looked at him last, pain and shock and something deeper flickering through. Every time Joel closed his own eyes, yours stared back at him. Confusion, then pain, then a kind of sorrow he hadn’t known he could cause. Maybe that was the worst of it, knowing you’d looked at him like you didn’t recognize him anymore.

He sat alone at the far end of the bar, shoulders hunched, the air thick with the smell of cheap beer and fried food. His third glass of whiskey was nearly empty, but the burn in his chest hadn’t faded. He nursed the glass, letting the heat crawl down his throat, wishing it would take the edge off the ache in his gut. It didn’t.

Joel Miller never asked for things. He learned the hard way that nothing was ever handed to him. When Sarah’s mom left, he’d prayed for a sign, for mercy, for anything that might make it hurt less. None of it came. He’d gotten used to that kind of emptiness, filled it with work, sweat, exhaustion, anything to keep from wanting what he couldn’t have.

But then you.

He didn’t mean for things to change, not like they did. Didn’t mean for a deal struck in desperation to become the center of his goddamn world. He never meant to start wanting things like soft mornings, the sound of your laughter, the smell of you in his bed. He didn’t mean to want…this. A family with you.

And he never meant to need you.

Now look at him. Washed up, bitter, nothing to show for it but a ruined family and a half-empty glass. Weeks had passed with nothing but silence. And these last weeks had been so crucial in your pregnancy, he knew. He knew it was only a matter of time before you went into labor. Would he get a phone call? Would he have to hear about it after the fact? Even Tommy had been avoiding him, working separate jobs, never meeting his eyes in the rare moments they did cross paths. Joel had never felt so exiled.

It was punishment, he told himself. For wanting too much. For saying what should’ve stayed buried in his chest. He deserved it. He’d fucked everything up by asking, by hoping.

But the longer he sat there, nursing his shame, the more it curdled into something ugly, something stubborn. He started to wonder—why shouldn’t he ask for more? Why shouldn’t he get to want you, after everything he’d done, everything Tommy hadn’t?

He thought of how you’d cried to him, how Tommy had left you to do it alone. How you’d reached for Joel in the night, not your husband. How it was Joel you called when you needed someone steady.

Didn’t that mean something? Didn’t he deserve something too, for once?

The whiskey didn’t answer. The bartender didn’t look his way. The whole world spun on, uncaring. Joel stared into the bottom of his glass, jaw clenched, the want and the guilt burning together now, making something sharp and wild out of him.

Maybe he didn’t deserve you. But even if that were true, he knew for damn certain his brother didn’t deserve you either.

The bar lights blurred as Joel got to his feet, setting down the empty glass with a heavy, final thud. He slapped some bills on the sticky wood, not bothering to count.

He was already moving, pushing out into the night air, his mind made up before his feet hit the parking lot.

You

Dinner was quiet, the kind of quiet that crawls under your skin and makes everything feel brittle. The kitchen light buzzed overhead. You pushed food around your plate, barely eating, feeling every small irritation sharper than usual. Tommy sat across from you, arms crossed, his own meal barely touched.

He sighed, “You gotta eat more than that, honey. For the baby.”

“I’m not hungry.”

Tommy frowned. “You need to keep your strength up. Doctor said—”

You set your fork down with a little more force than necessary. “I know what the doctor said, Tommy. I was there.”

He rolled his eyes, muttering, “Hard to tell sometimes. You never listen to me anyway.”

You stiffened, the tension simmering right under your skin. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Just means you don’t listen, is all,” he replied, voice tight. “Always got your mind somewhere else.”

Your hands balled into fists under the table. You wanted to scream, to throw your plate across the room. Instead, you bit out, “Maybe if you tried talking to me instead of talking at me, I’d want to listen.”

Tommy’s face went hard. “Real nice.”

You stared at him, something ugly swirling in your chest. This wasn’t about dinner. It wasn’t even about the baby, not really. You knew exactly what was bothering you. The ache of missing Joel had been gnawing at your insides every minute he was gone. But you couldn’t say that, not now. Not ever. Besides, it was you who’d been avoiding him.

Maybe Tommy sensed something had happened between you and Joel, and maybe he knew more than he let on, but he never asked. Maybe he didn’t want to know.

The argument stalled, both of you sulking in silence, a thousand things always left unsaid. You were about to get up when a sharp, heavy knock rattled the front door.

You froze. Tommy scraped his chair back and headed for the entryway, leaving you sitting there, heart suddenly pounding.

You heard voices. Tommy’s was low and annoyed, and then another, rough and urgent, words muffled but unmistakably angry. The front door banged open, making you jump in your seat. The sound of boots hit the hardwood, the smell of whiskey and cigarettes hitting you before you even saw him.

Joel strode past Tommy, ignoring the hand at his shoulder. His eyes were wild, dark and desperate, and before you could react, he was kneeling beside you right there in the dining room. He looked wrecked, raw, everything stripped bare.

“Joel, what are you doing? Have you been smok–”

He cut you off, grabbing your hands, holding them tight like he might break apart if he let go. “I’m sorry,” he rasped, voice thick. “I’m so fuckin’ sorry. But I can’t—I do this. I need you to see. Need you to understand what this is, what you are to me.”

“Joel…”

Tommy stormed into the room, voice sharp. “You got no right to barge in here. This is my house. She’s my wife, goddammit, Joel.”

Joel’s eyes never left you.

He just clung tighter to your hands, gaze pleading, almost haunted. “You don’t know what it’s been like—how it’s been eatin’ me alive, sweetheart. I see you everywhere. I wake up in the middle of the night just... I can’t breathe. I can’t fuckin’ think straight.”

You opened your mouth again, but he just shook his head, voice cracking. “I know I ruined everything. I know I asked for too much. But I can’t stand watchin’ him treat you like you’re somethin’ he has to endure, like you’re not the best thing that ever happened to any of us. You needed him, and he left you alone. Over and over. And I’m the bastard who made it worse by fallin’ for you. But I can’t lie. I love you. I love you so goddamn much it’s made me stupid.”

Tommy’s jaw flexed across the room. “Let her go, Joel. Jesus, look at yourself. You reek like booze. You’re pathetic.”

Joel’s head snapped up at that, finally turning on his brother, rage simmering in his eyes. His hands still held yours even as he looked away, “You wanna talk about pathetic? You had everything. You had her, you had a family, and you still managed to make her feel alone. That’s on you, not me.”

Tommy bristled, stepping closer, voice rising. “You think you’re some kind of hero or somethin'? She showed up cryin' the last time she saw you. And you're...you're just a goddamn homewrecker. You’re supposed to be my brother, and you’re tryin’ to steal my wife—”

“Hey–” you tried to cut in, but they were already too heated.

Joel’s lip curled, the words coming out as a snarl. “You don’t even know what you’ve got. You’ve never treated her like she mattered. You just wanted a baby, and when you couldn’t do it yourself, you handed her off to me like it was a job, not a fuckin’ life. Just admit you’re angry ‘cause you know I can actually take care of her.”

Tommy shoved him then, hard, and Joel staggered back, catching himself on his palms behind him.

“You piece of shit,” Tommy spat.

“Guys, please, don’t do this.” you begged, looking between the two brothers. Your stomach clenched and tightened beneath your hand as you flattened then against your swollen belly.

They ignored you, Joel getting up on his feet and moving into Tommy’s space. He glared at his brother, chest heaving, eyes wild with grief and fury.

“Go ahead, Tommy,” Joel growled, voice low and venomous. “Hit me all you want. Won’t change a damn thing. You couldn’t give her what she needed. Couldn’t give her a family. And you sure as hell never made her feel the way I do. Had to show you the way, didn’t I? How to touch your own fucking–”

But he was cut off by a right hook to the jaw, Tommy’s fist flying through the air. Joel staggered a little, but was quick to push back, lashing out in return, and then they were tangled, fists flying, bodies crashing into the table, sending a glass shattering to the floor.

You shouted again, stepping toward them, panic clawing at your throat, your hips and stomach tightening in clenching waves. “Stop it! Please, just stop!” But they barely registered you, lost in months of anger, shame, and jealousy.

Tommy had Joel pressed back against the wall, forearm pinning him, spit flying. “You think you’re better than me?” he roared. “She’s my wife, not yours!”

Joel snarled, twisting free, shoving Tommy back and sending him stumbling. He caught sight of you trying to get closer, and his tone softened even in the chaos, rough but laced with worry. “Not right now,” he said, breathless, eyes flicking over you, pleading for you to stay back, “This is between us.”

You hesitated, wanting to reach out for one of them, but Joel was already swinging, fist connecting with Tommy’s ribs, knocking the wind out of him. Tommy slammed Joel back against the wall, knuckles bruising, both men wild-eyed, locked in a vicious, ugly dance neither seemed able to end.

Your whole body was trembling, tears streaming down your face. “Stop it! Please, you’re going to hurt each other!”

A sudden, sharp pain twisted through your belly, stronger than before. You doubled over, a cry escaping your lips, and just as you felt a gush of warmth down your legs, you gasped, “Oh my god.”

The chaos stopped all at once. Joel and Tommy froze, both of them panting, bruised and bloodied, staring at you in utter shock.

The room fell silent but for your ragged breaths and the sound of water pooling on the floor.

taglist: @mrs-hardy-hunnam-butler-pascal @alidiggory92 @pinkylouise @izzy698 @doblasftcisco @devotedlypaleluminary @elsplayground @puduvallee @victoriaholland @legoemma @leenieweenie12 @possiblyafangirl @alitaar @mads198-9 @emmaoc10 @auteurdelabre @the-last-twin-of-krypton @lilasskicker2 @levislegislation @flowercrowns-goodvibes@starmurdock@94namkooksworld @staley83, @escapefromrealitylol, @starkleila, @ashleyfilm, @honeyydip, @timeladyrikaofgallifrey, @brooklynbbxo, @ratoonstown, @caroldxnvxrs, @lovelykat001

#sorry for the drama #it was kinda needed #joel miller #tommy miller #tlou #the last of us #joel miller x you #tommy miller x you #joel miller x reader #tommy x you x joel #feeling sad about tlou e3? read some family matters!!#joel miller smut #joel miller fanfic #tlou fanfic #if you've made it this far in the tags I love you plz be kind #family matters

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bbokicidal · 5 months ago

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"What Happens When..." | [SKZ] OT8 | [I.N]

Everyone decides to take a guess what Jeongin's girlfriend's favorite thing to do in the bedroom is - and almost everyone gets it wrong.

Genre: Smut [18+ MDNI] Pairing: Jeongin x Fem!Reader Warnings: SPIT, lots of spit, PinV (wrap it before you tap it), tummy bulge/size kink, manhandling, bondage/hands being bound together, pussy spanking, spanking in general

Notes: This IS a short fic and isn't anything really long. There's no plot - it's purely smut for your viewing pleasure and my mental peace, lol. <- This is the last installment of this series !! It's finally coming to an end.~

Word Count: 2.2K

"Why does Hyunjin get to go first?" "Because he's already between her legs, I guess."

"Would you two shut up? This is all for educational purposes. You need to watch and learn; Because I'm about to prove to you that I know what her biggest kink is." Hyunjin's head whips to face the two that bicker about him, Jisung stepping back and Felix letting his arms cross over his chest. "Ayen-ah's let on before that she really likes this one." His thumb finds your clit, flicking over the bundle of nerves and you finally give him a soft reaction to work with, your eyes slipping shut and hands curling against your chest in awe.

Felix lets out a heavy breath that ends in a soft whine, his head tipping to the side to get a better look at where his Hyung's cock begins to prod at your folds - and Felix can't help but stare as he slowly sinks into your warmth, wishing it were himself instead. "That's not fair.."

"So what exactly is the kink here...? Or is this just one big excuse to fuck your friend's girlfriend?" Chris quips off to Hyunjin's right, peering almost just over his shoulder to watch as the younger's cock sinks further into you. ".. Going in raw?" He questions shortly after, realizing Hyunjin hadn't slipped a condom on before pushing into you.

And Hyunjin sighs, tongue prodding at the corner of his mouth as he listens to the others continue to bicker about him just wanting to have sex with you.

But then Jisung sees it.

The way your skin tightens; The way your stomach bulges each time Hyunjin slowly rolls his hips forward. The way your head tips back as he leans down over you and whispers for you to feel it, guiding one of your hands away from your chest to instead press down on the very place his cock prods and rocks against. "..Bulging..." He whispers, lips parted in surprise at the sight in front of them.

"That's.. a pretty close second." Jeongin hums. He sits back against the headboard as he watches his Hyung rock into you slowly; He was lucky he got to fuck you at all - with Jeongin's permission of course - so he was going to do it with the utmost care. "But that's definitely not top spot."

Jisung practically barks from where he stands behind Hyunjin, reaching to tug on his shoulder. "I knew that wasn't going to be it-! Move, it's my turn." And to many of their surprise, the artist lets himself be pulled away from your sweetness.

Just as expected, Jisung moves forward instead to test his theory. If he could get this right with his one guess he would win the bet. And the prize... God, he's never imagined something so wonderful in his entire life. One hand drops to lay on your thigh while the other reaches to undo his belt - and he watches your eyes widen in surprise at his bold move, thinking he'd won already. Your lips pop apart and you're sure you're about to drool at the way his fingers curl around the buckle and rip it wide open, his belt dragging through the loops of his jeans in such a quick and slick manner that you're sure this is a practiced move. With your reaction he was sure he just ended the bet.

Jeongin almost moves to ask Jisung what he's going to do with that belt, hoping there's no impact about to be made with the accessory - but he simply sits up and stays quiet as he watches Jisung wrap the thick, heavy leather around your wrists to keep them snug together. Your soft gasp of anticipation feeds into Jisung's delusion that he was winning the bet, letting him pin your arms down above your head before he leans in to smile right in your face. "You like bondage, don't you, angel?"

And your smile grows, teeth sinking into your lower lip as you nod. "I do; I really, really do. But..." Jisung's heart sinks as you giggle. "It's not my favorite."

"Hah!" Changbin's laugh basically spews from his lips in a visual syllable, his arms previously crossed over his chest now gesturing to Jisung to skidaddle. "Go. She said you lost the bet so get off 'er and let someone else have a turn." His lips pull into a soft smirk, parted and exposing the way his tongue pokes between his teeth like he has ideas of his own to try out.

But someone else is just a tad quicker with wanting to win the bet. As soon as Jisung moves off of the bed in front of you to go sit beside Jeongin in defeat, Minho is right there to take his place; Only he doesn't crawl onto the bed to get to you and instead stands at the edge of it, feeling as though he looms over your still-bound body displayed for them so openly atop the sheets.

Your wrists stay above your head as you crane your neck to look at the man standing so close yet so far, only to have your head bounce back against the mattress from the force of Minho's hand locking around your right ankle tight enough you're sure it might bruise. He wastes no time in dragging you to where he stands so he's properly positioned between your legs, his eyes dark as they drag over every curve that comes to him so swiftly. And no one in the room can ignore the way you yelp at the feeling of being manhandled.

Calloused palms and rough fingertips run up the outer expanse of your thighs, coming nowhere near close to your warmth as they wander higher. He grips at your hips and gives them a teasing squeeze, feeling the way your skin presses between his fingers; So soft, so tempting. With careful but fairly stiff and rough movements, the muscle in his biceps tightens and flexes as he flips you from your back to your front - your face down and ass up for him. A position most would expect when it came to the resident ass-lover of the group. "There we go."

And with the way you moan the moment your face hits the sheets everyone in the room can almost guarantee Minho had won the bet fair and square. That was until your head slowly lifted from where it pressed against the mattress, breathing heavy with eyes dragging up towards your boyfriend where he sat now in front of you - smirking and letting his arms slowly cross over his chest. "You gonna tell them, baby, or do I have to?"

"There's no way that wasn't it." But Seungmin steps forward to test his luck anyway. Even if Minho won the bet just now, he wanted to get his own needs met, his palm smacking down hard on the bare skin of your asscheeks twice before he brought his hand lower and let it meet the wetness of your folds. That gets you to jolt, a sharp gasp escaping swollen lips.

The way you whimpered against the satin of your sheets almost made Seungmin think he was right about his guess, but the glance and small shake of Jeongin's head seemed to secure the realization that he was wrong, too. Seungmin sighs out and brings his hand down harder than before, making you flinch and moan loud - just for him, considering he'd been spanking you for his own satisfaction at that point. May as well let him know you appreciated it while it happened - and that you were open to it in the future, too, of course.

"I'm starting to think we're never going to guess it," Chris murmurs from where he stands near Changbin, leaning against the wall just to watch as everyone took guess after guess. "Maybe we should start going for softer kinks? Stuff that's less harsh...?"

Changbin shakes his head almost immediately. "She seems like the type who would like impact play or something, though. Do we need to go for something more extreme..?"

"What if it's got something to do with toys?" Jisung quips quietly, seated on the edge of the bed and fighting hard not to beg for another chance at winning the bet.

While the producers babbled on to each other about where to go from their current point, Felix stepped forward from where he'd been observing the entire time the others tried to figure out what it was you liked. You'd reacted well to everything they'd done so far; Hyunjin's size, Jisung's restraining, Minho's manhandling, and then Seungmin's spanking. There was no way in Hell you didn't enjoy the more hard-hitting kinks and the like - so he was going to take his chance while the others whined to each other about losing the bet. Besides, they were working against each other - not with.

"Move." Felix hums, gently nudging Minho aside. The older of the two surprisingly complies with ease and steps aside to watch Felix with close eyes, his hands settling on your ass before rubbing down to your hips. There's no hold, no grabbing - no slapping, spanking, bruising or restraining. No, Felix's hands are gentle as they rub over your skin, smoothing down the swell of your ass before giving a teasing squeeze and trailing lower. He settles his hands along your thighs before using his thumbs to spread your pussy open just for him to see - and for Minho to get a glance at.

Chris tips his head as he watches, eyes drawn away from Jisung and Changbin when Felix had stepped forward to take a shot at the prize. "Felix, wait. We should figure out what --"

But then he stops, lips popping apart in pure surprise at the utter filthiness of the younger man placed behind you.

Just as you lift your head to peek up in slight confusion at their constant rambling - and the feeling of someone's hands on you from behind who definitely was not Minho - Felix spits on your pussy.

It splatters on the pink of your skin, mixing with the slick that seems to gush from your aching, empty hole - and Felix watches as you clench around nothing in desperation. Yeah, he'd just won the bet.

"Shit," falls from Hyunjin's lips before he can help it, staring down the brunet who he wasn't aware until now was quite so.. dirty. His eyes dart from Felix over to where you lay, your reaction giving everything away; The way you bury your face down in the sheets as a strangled and shy moan rips from your throat; The way your cheeks burn a crimson hue none of them had seen all night. Even your ears tint pink in embarrassment that your dirty little secret had been revealed.

Jeongin, finally sitting forward and reaching to cup your cheeks in one of his hands, tips your head to face him so you can't quite hide away from them no matter how much you want to. "Look at me," he demands, voice soft but firm with instruction. "Open." And the others watch as you obey so sweetly for your boyfriend, lips falling apart and jaw completely slack so he can spit right onto your tongue - your mouth closing so you can swallow it before whimpering out in need of more.

And Felix - well, he's in Heaven. He'd took his shot and won the bet, belt everyone else out of the water no matter how hard they tried to figure you out - and he'd done it just by standing back and watching. His chest swells with pride and excitement at the knowledge that now, he got to receive his prize; That being you for at long as he wanted - or as long as he could last, he supposed. There was no way he was giving you back up to Jeongin before he was milked dry. And what kind of a friend would he be if he didn't pump you full before he returned you to your rightful owner?

"Get out." His voice is low in his chest, demanding everyone else leave so he could have his time with you. He needed it more than anything at the moment - you two shared the exact same kink and he was sure now he'd put that knowledge to good use, maybe even treat you so well with it that you wouldn't want to go crawling back to your boyfriend. But more importantly, you needed it, too, what with the way you were still clenching around nothing and just begging for him to spit on your pretty pussy again.

As the others file out the bedroom door, Jeongin chuckles low in his throat and leans forward to give you a quick kiss before he departs. His thumb slides over your cheek, gentle and soft - soothing before the heated, lust-filled ache that was bound to come in the following hours. His lips were like Heaven - like home - as they pressed against yours in a promise that once Felix was done with you - done with his reward for winning the bet and getting to use you like a toy for as long as he wanted - he would return and greet you with a warm embrace to give you as much care as you needed. Not that he doubted Felix would treat you well. Jeongin took a moment to peek down at where your wrists were still bound together with Jisung's belt, moving a hand down to hook a finger around the leather to give a gentle tug. He smiled against your lips, thumb tugging at the lower as he slowly pulled away to whisper,

"I'm going to leave this here. Good luck, baby."

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@thatonedarkskinnedsiren @oc3anfloor @theyadorevalerie

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#skz imagine #skz x reader #stray kids x reader #skz smut #stray kids smut #felix x reader #Jeongin x reader #yang jeongin imagine #skz poly imagine #stray kids scenario #stray kids imagine #IN x reader #in smut #Kpop x reader #Kpop smut

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kitten4sannie · 8 months ago

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imprint

pairing: werewolf! mingi x hunter! reader (fem)

genre: fluff, romance, smut

summary: you seemingly end up biting off more than you can chew upon discovering that the beast you hunted down for dinner is not what it seems.

w.c: 4.5k (more plot than smut this time hehe)

warnings: needy soft dom! mingi, sub! reader, pet names + praise only (shocking ik), pheromones mentioned, possessiveness, kissing, groping, tit play, spit + drool bc wolf mingi is a messy boy <3, mingi eats out reader like she’s his last meal 🫶🏼, SIZE KINK,,, feral unprotected sex, knotting <333, bulge kink/cum inflation, breeding kink ofc

a/n: IT’S FICTOBER TIME BITCH LETS FUCKING GOOO 🗣️ i am fashionably late ~ but i have come here to humbly offer you lovestruck werewolf mingi 🐺 <3 this is the softest my fictober stories will get btw lol it’s gonna be depravity from here on out ^^ oh and i’m sorry if this fic seems disjointed in any way,, i have a lot on my mind these days but regardless i hope you enjoy ~~

pssst: thank you so, so much for 5.5k followers !! it’s honestly insane to me and i still can’t fathom it hehe but the support and love means so very much to me <333

song rec: say - keshi

fictober 2024

You knew better than to hunt at night, but your rumbling stomach begged to differ. The evening air was frigid, sitting heavily inside your lungs each time you regrettably breathed it in, your hefty pelt only doing so much to keep you safe from the powerful winds that continually blew through the vast forest around you. You pulled the hood of your pelt down for a moment, the familiar sounds of wildlife finally making their way to your now exposed ears, though a freezing breeze made its mark on the soft flesh of your rosy cheeks and nose. You bit into your chapped bottom lip, surveying your surroundings for something you’d be able to feast on once you were back inside the safety of your cabin, thanking the gods for the decent visibility you had from the full moon above.

The longer you sat there in silence, your body never growing acclimated to the fierce winter temperatures, you began to fall susceptible to exhaustion, the kind that had sunk its way deep into your bones in the same way your loneliness had for years at a time, feeling so heavy you retired from your once rigid stance and slumped down against the oak tree behind you. A few winks of sleep couldn’t possibly hurt you, not when you were quick to rise and fight if need be, your trusty bow and arrow at your side, as well as a pocket knife always sitting in its holster at your hip. You would be up as soon as you had the strength to open up your eyes and go on.

You eventually woke up to the sound of howling. It had been so distinctly powerful that it was most likely produced by a large wolf, perhaps the leader of a pack. It was then that the culprit of the noise stalked past a few nearby trees and bushes, its dark shaggy coat leaving it virtually impossible to see due to the way it blended in so seamlessly. Leaving abnormally big paw prints behind in the ground below, it slowly paced back and forth in front of you, still quite a distance away from you, but getting closer and closer with each step it made, its large brown eyes piercing right through yours and seemingly gazing upon your soul, deeply fixated on your presence.

It was much larger than any wolf you had seen in your entire lifetime, more akin to a dire wolf, which you had only seen in books, as it had been extinct for hundreds of years before, yet it was…so familiar. Still trapped inside the limbo of the dream you were initially having and your reality, you weren’t completely sure if what was happening before you was actually real. Not only that, but you had the sudden urge to be at the mercy of the wolf, even if it meant that you’d end up with your throat between the beautiful creature’s ragged teeth. However, you weren’t going to roll the dice with death, not when you’ve seen past loved ones get their lives snuffed out by a predator half the size of the one that was suddenly eagerly making its way towards you.

Just before the wolf could reach you, your bow was drawn, the feathered arrow slicing into the cold skin of your cheek as it sailed through the air and lodged itself into the creature’s shoulder, your eyes shut tight all the while. What you expected to hear were the familiar pained whines of a canine but you instead were exposed to the lower pitched groans of a man, causing you to freeze, your eyes opening back up, now widened like marbles. The last thing you were expecting to see was another human, not when you lived alone in the woods for so long, and especially not a man that was stark naked and cowering in pain, with tears in his glistening eyes, looking at you as though you had betrayed him.

You dropped your bow in favor of being at the strange man’s side, surveying his wound, realizing you were so exhausted and hungry, you must’ve simply imagined the wolf. “I-i thought…” you whispered, mostly to yourself, your voice trailing off, almost surprised to hear it after not using it for so long.

“Is that your way of saying hello?” The man hissed in pain when you touched the site of his wound, pushing your hand away from the broken shard of wood that was still lodged inside his bare shoulder.

“I thought you were…going to kill me…” You reached down and tore off a portion of your thick linen blouse, about to wrap it around the man’s wound when you blocked you with his forearm. “I saw a wolf…”

“Do I look like a wolf?” he pouted, reaching over to hold his shoulder in pain.

“I’m sorry, I–…Please, let me help you. I need to apply pressure,” you reasoned, your face contorted with growing regret and concern.

Studying your body language, the man cautiously let go of his arm and allowed you to wrap the torn linen around the wound site, biting into his lip all the while, letting out a few pained grunts. “Hurts…”

“I know, I’m almost done, I promise…” you whispered softly near him, taking a second to share a look with the man, apologizing once again with your softened gaze and upturned brows.

Once you were done, he leaned forward slightly into your personal space to study you, his eyes widened once again, this time with curiosity and admiration, already trusting you despite remnants of your arrow still left inside him.

You bit into your lip, letting out a small breath, which turned into condensation as soon as it left your mouth. “I didn’t think anyone else lived in this forest…Where did you come from?”

Afraid that you would find his true identity to be far too much for you to handle, he thought it would be better to hide it. “Some would call me a nomad…I’m here, there, everywhere, really.”

You nodded at his words, noticing once again that he lacked clothes when you were finally able to pull your attention away from his hypnotizing likeness, never having been drawn to someone like this before. It was then that you averted your eyes with diligence, your once cold cheeks growing warmer the more he stared at you. It took all your strength to return his gaze for just a moment. “Do nomads usually wander around the woods without proper clothing?”

“Well–” The werewolf’s vision went dark for a second, as your pelt was thrown onto him. He pulled it down just enough to continue admiring the human he had been watching from a distance for so long, blowing a few strands of dark shaggy hair out of his sight. “I’m Mingi, by the way. What’s your name?”

“Y-Y/N,” you answered sheepishly, not sure why the strange man was so keenly interested in you, especially after you just shot him with an arrow.

“Y/N,” he repeated lovingly, enjoying the way it sounded, slowly sitting up until little white dots began to dance around his vision. “I don’t feel so good.” When Mingi fell forward into your arms, he couldn’t help but smile. You smelled so pretty, just like he had imagined. Warm like cinnamon, smoky like the fire you always kept burning inside your cabin, sweet like flowers in a garden he would roll around in when no one was around. You smelled like home.

It took most of your strength helping the injured man back to your cabin, immediately laying him down in your bed and pulling your warm blankets up over him. To beat the freezing temperature inside your cabin, you quickly tossed a few pieces of wood in the fireplace and lit it up. You stayed crouched near the controlled flames for a little while to make sure the fire stayed alive, until your company let out a soft groan of pain. Now at his side, you pulled the pelt from his shoulders and frowned at the extent of the damage you caused, tears pricking at your eyes. “You’re still bleeding, Mingi…I’m so sorry…I need to stitch you up.”

Just as you stood up, Mingi reached up to hold onto the corner of your torn blouse, blinking hazily up at you, a few beads of sweat cascading along his straining neck. “Please, don’t worry about me, love. You’re the one who needs rest.”

“Nonsense.” You shook your head, pulling away to find your sewing kit, your cheeks hot to the touch. Once you found it inside one of your drawers, along with a sleep shirt that had belonged to a previous loved one, you returned to Mingi’s side. “Now, stay still, okay?”

“I’ll do whatever you need from me.” Mingi slowly sat up and rested his back against the headboard, watching with interest as you expertly sewed his wound closed, quite fond of the way you took care of him, and of how close you were to him, your hand resting on his chest for stability as you worked. Before you could pull your hand away from his body, he placed his over yours, unintentionally allowing you to feel his rapid heartbeat. “Thank you for this. Anyone else would’ve left me for the wolves.”

Biting into your lip, you couldn’t help but take into account the way his hand completely enveloped yours, truly forgetting just how important physical touch and connection with others was until this very moment, now that his warm skin was pressing into yours. “I-it’s nothing, really…”

“No, it’s not just nothing,” Mingi pouted, slowly bringing your hand up against his cheek to gently nuzzle into it. He couldn’t believe he had gotten this close to you, the special human he had been head over paws for ever since he had seen you for the first time. “It’s everything. You saved me.”

It was almost as if this stranger had escaped one of the novels you read over and over, seeming too good to be true. “It was the least I could do after I hurt you…”

It was when Mingi began to look at you for too long, with that unwavering longing in his eyes, that you cleared your throat and stood up, announcing, “I think I’ll make us some nice, warm soup. How does that sound?”

It took everything in Mingi not to let out a few celebratory howls, instead nodding his head eagerly, his shaggy brown hair bouncing. “I’ve always wanted to try your food. I can smell it from outside sometimes and it always makes my stomach rumble.”

You began to expertly chop up vegetables, stopping mid slice when you digested Mingi’s interesting choice of words. “So you know of me?”

“I-i do,” he nodded shyly, despite your back being turned away from him.

“Have you been watching me, Mingi?” you asked after a few more minutes of silence, your knife now slicing into the last few potatoes you had pulled from your garden before winter began.

“….Admiring you,” he gently corrected, knowing his big fluffy ears would be splayed out in embarrassment if they were there.

Just as you began to pour the cut up vegetables into the pot of boiling broth, you blushed and jolted suddenly from the implications of the handsome stranger’s words. Your elbow knocked into the side of your cleaver, causing it to slip off the edge of the wood counter. Before you could blink, Mingi had already caught the handle of the cleaver, slowly standing up by your side, officially displaying the sheer size difference between the two of you.

“I didn’t mean to scare you, love…” Mingi set the cleaver back down onto the counter, reaching over to touch your hand with a gentleness you hadn’t experienced before.

The speed and quickness of Mingi’s reaction was incomprehensible; you were still reeling from it. Now he stood beside you, his size and stature more akin to a beast in human form than a simple man. Not only that, but the hand that was overlapping yours felt hot to the touch, like Mingi had a furnace burning away inside of him. You had heard stories of shapeshifters that lived in dense forests much like the one you called home. They had been around for centuries, living amongst themselves, never interacting with humans, able to take the form of beasts at will. You glanced out your window, peering up at the bright orb looming over you. It was a full moon, after all — but did myths like that really exist in the real world?

“Mingi…are you…?” Your words began to die inside your mouth as soon as the puzzle pieces began to fall into place inside your mind. You couldn’t deny the connection you felt with Mingi, knowing that your total isolation played a part in your desire to let him in. It clouded your mind. You were growing so tired, you almost didn’t seem to mind if he wasn’t strictly human.

Mingi smiled softly down at you, one of his canine teeth poking out past his plump lips, leaning himself down a bit to shorten the distance between you. He waited eagerly for you to finish your question, tilting his head to the side, having to blow his hair out of the way.

“Are you hungry?” you finally asked, lowering the flame on the stove so that the soup could settle now that it was ready to serve.

Mingi’s lips formed a silent ‘o’, his cheeks burning with embarrassment. He thought you might’ve been on the same page about your mutual attraction, but he was beginning to suspect that his obsession with you was one sided. It’s not like you had imprinted on him; it was the other way around. Silly wolf.

Before Mingi could cry about it, he tasted something so delicious, he couldn’t help but let out an enthusiastic ‘mmm!’. You had slipped a soup spoon into his open mouth, allowing him to try the first homemade meal he’s ever had in his life, one that you had made for the both of you to share together within the sanctity of your cabin, away from the bitter isolation of the forest. He was a silly wolf, after all, because this, this was love.

“Good?” you gauged softly, your eyebrows upturned with sheepish anticipation.

“Good! Ahhh~” Mingi licked his lips and opened up again, savoring the warm, comforting feeling inside his stomach once you fed him another bite. “I’ve never had something this delicious before.”

“Oh, stop,” you blushed, pouring some soup into a bowl and handing it to Mingi, shocked to see him bring it up to his mouth and gulp it down. “Oh, you weren’t lying…were you?”

Mingi’s brown eyes were round, shiny like marbles, filled with unwavering sincerity. “Everything tastes better when you’re with the one you love…”

You almost choked on your own soup, finding it hard to breathe all of a sudden. “D-did I hear that right…?”

Mingi was a romantic at heart. He couldn’t help it, especially when the moon was so big and bright, glowing with everlasting light. She was reminding him to be brave. “Y/N, do you believe in love at first sight?”

Your heart thumped away inside your chest, a steady reminder that you were alive, and not alone for the first time in a long time. “I think I might…Is that crazy?”

Mingi brought his hand up to his face to hide the way it scrunched up with pure joy, his cheeks rosy and full of warmth. “If it is, then I must be too.”

“Where…have you been all this time? I’ve been waiting…for someone like you…” You slowly reached up to pull his hand down, bringing it to your own face, pressing your cold cheek into his large palm. “For someone to keep me warm.”

He had been there all this time; you just hadn’t seen him yet. But now, you would see all of him. Without thinking, Mingi brought his other hand to your face, gently cupping your cheeks and bringing himself down so that he could press his lips onto yours. It took everything in him to pull away just enough to whisper, “I’m here now. Is that…better?”

For the first time, you felt like you could let your guard down, not be the lonely, hardened hunter you had to be. Now that you were safe, you could take a rest. “Better,” you whispered back, wrapping your arms around Mingi’s neck just in time to lay against his chest, losing the strength to stay awake.

You woke up to the sensation of something intensely warm wrapped around you from behind, someone’s lips idly pressed to the nape of your neck, what felt like fluffy ears twitching near your hair, the soft fur tickling your exposed skin. The air around you was hot and heavy like you were stuck inside an oven, an enticing aroma of spiced cinnamon and woody musk clouding your senses. Your eyelids fluttered open, first noticing two strong arms locked around your middle, realizing Mingi was holding you close to him, his heated chest pressing into your back.

Overcome by the memories of earlier, the forgotten intimacy of being touched and held by someone, the intense pheromones you were practically doused in, and the want, the need to be truly seen by Mingi, despite having just met a few hours ago, you attempted to turn around to face him, only to have him tighten his grip just enough to keep you still. “M-mingi, I want to look at you…I’m not mad, I just–”

“Do you know what you’re getting into, love?” he whispered in a gravelly voice into your ear, sounding like he had just woken up out of a deep sleep, sending a rush of goosebumps across your skin with just his words. “I’m not…what you think I am.”

You sheepishly pushed back against Mingi, hearing him let out a soft groan, knowing he was just as satisfied with the way your body felt against his. “I already know, Mingi…I trust you. I’m not scared.” You felt his grip loosen up around your waist, opting to cement his hands around your waist.

His lips were now pressing directly onto the shell of your ear, making you shiver. “Do you know what I am, Y/N? Do you wish to see?”

“I do…”

It was then that Mingi climbed on top of you, his broad naked body keeping the glowing orange light of the fire from reaching you, the pelt you had offered him earlier falling into a pile on the side of the bed. Filled with a sense of lustful wonder, you studied Mingi, your half-closed eyes trailing along his tan skin, noticing how his wound had already healed completely, unable to ignore the arousing addition of his elongated canine teeth and the way his tongue ran across them. “You’re a…werewolf…”

Mingi’s fluffy wolf ears twitched slightly, listening closely to the way your breath hitched. “Most would be scared of me, but you…you like this.”

You swallowed harshly, still finding it very difficult to breathe in the air around you, Mingi’s dominating presence further encouraging you to submit. “Will you eat me?”

Mingi let out a small puff of air through his nose, the corners of his mouth curling up into an amused smile, lowering himself further onto you, knowing his heavy cock was pressing into your heat through your linen trousers. His lips ghosted along your jaw, the bushy end of his tail gliding back and forth along one of your ankles, replicating the light strokes of a paintbrush. “Only in the way that would have you begging for more.” The small moan that escaped your throat didn’t go unnoticed by Mingi. He nosed at your neck, resisting the urge to lick and bite at it. “Though, i won’t do anything without your permission, love.”

You cupped your hands around his heated face, your insides feeling as if they had been set ablaze. “Do with me what you will, Mingi. I insist.”

When Mingi’s lips parted, you pressed yours onto them with a fervor you didn’t realize you possessed. The kiss grew more and more intense, the two of you holding onto one another as though you were afraid it all would end too soon, taking turns licking into each other’s willing mouths, breathing in each other’s air when you grew dizzy.

Growing frustrated with the lack of skin on skin contact, Mingi pushed his large hands up past the hem of your woolen top and slid it off of you, admiring the soft curves of your exposed breasts, before his desperation kicked in and he nuzzled his face against them, sighing onto your skin. “Beautiful…” He dragged his tongue up in between your tits, grabbing one while he sucked desperately on the other, a low growl erupting from his throat.

“Mingi,” you moaned out, your back arching, only encouraging him to see what other pretty noises he could get you to make, gasping when his sharp teeth teased your sensitive nipples.

He licked over them to ease the sudden bout of pain, unable to keep himself from sucking one of them into his mouth, apologizing with his upturned eyebrows and his big, round eyes.

You simply couldn’t take it anymore. You needed him to make a mess of your aching cunt, feeling your wetness stick to the thin linen material of your pants as you kicked them off. “Mingi, more, please, need more…”

The werewolf knew what you needed when your fingers slid into his soft hair, leaving kisses along your bare body as he moved down south, getting himself comfortable between your spread thighs. “You want me to eat you up, yeah?” He spread your pussy open with his thumbs, nosing at it to inhale your flowery scent, quite aware that it bumped into your clit when he gave your slit an experimental lick, just enough to collect your essence on his tongue. “My beloved needs me to ravage her?”

“Yes, plea–oh, my god,” you reacted whinily, your thighs involuntarily pressing into the sides of his head just as he dove in, which he grabbed onto, pushing them up and out of his way, his lips and tongue already working in tandem to drive you to a place of pleasure you’ve never been before.

Mingi devoured your cunt in true animalistic fashion, licking and slurping up your juices as soon as it spilled out of you, just to spit it it back onto your slit and drink it all down, eventually plugging you up with his large tongue to feel you throb, unable to keep himself from fucking you with it until you began to cry out his name in between unintelligible words, your fingers tugging on his hair.

So good, it’s so good, nnnghh, i’m–” You cut yourself off once your impending orgasm took over your body, barely able to register Mingi rubbing soft circles into your shaking thighs and leaving kisses across your inner thigh and on your sensitive clit. You were finally brought back to earth when Mingi’s arousal coated tongue slipped into your mouth, his heated body pressing heavily into yours, gasping into his mouth as soon as Mingi began to desperately rut against you, doing your best to swallow his drool. It was when he whimpered that you broke the desperate kiss, asking softly, “What is it, dear? Tell me what you need.”

“Need you, need to be inside you,” Mingi exhaled against your jaw, letting out a few shaky breaths, unable to keep himself from sinking his claws into your sheets, clearly at his limit. “Can I…? Please?”

“Have your way with me, Mingi,” you granted his wish, welcoming him with open arms, just as he folded you up into a mating press and began to pound himself into you.

Mingi knew that such an intimate position would almost guarantee that you would home his pups after the very first knot. It drove him crazy. He couldn’t help but fuck into you as hard and fast as he could, emitting a animalistic grunt or growl with each thrust he made into your dripping cunt, a few drops of drool escaping past his plump lips and landing on your flushed, sweat-ridden face. “You’re mine now, love. My mate. I’m going to breed you.”

“Y–ours…!” you could barely enunciate, not when he kept punching the air out of your petite body when his oversized one came in contact with yours, his heavy cock continually slipping back into your willing hole with so much ease, it was clear that you were made for him.

“Mine. My pretty little mate, all for me.” It was then that Mingi bit down into your neck, hard enough that he could leave his mark on you, a white hot streak of pleasure shooting through your spine as he did so.

It felt so good, you could’ve swore you were already cumming, dragging your nails down his broad back, your eyes disappearing underneath your fluttering eyelashes. The werewolf didn’t seem to get tired, no matter how many times you came undone, his large hands still tugging on your hips, forcefully guiding you back onto his cock as though you were a simple doll, at least until you felt a new sensation, something stretching you open even further. “Haaah, it’s so big…”

“That’s my knot, love. Will you take it, Y/N?” he panted into your ear, licking and nibbling at it as his husky voice finally penetrated your hazy mind.

“Yes, give it to me, please, Min…”

He hummed against your skin, running his hands along the soft edges of your heated body. “I’ll breed you full…so full of my cum, you’ll be carrying my pups by the next full moon.”

Something about what Mingi said altered the state of your mind on a primal level, your thighs automatically hooking around the werewolf’s waist, your arms around his neck to hold him impossibly close. You wouldn’t be alone anymore. You had a “mate,” like Mingi had lovingly coined the phrase. You would be his, and he was yours, and something so simple made you feel safe.

“Yes, please.”

It wasn’t the heavy knot that stretched you wide and locked you in that brought tears to your eyes, but the sudden, hot, seemingly endless rush of cum that flooded your womb that made you cry. Mingi rubbed gentle circles over the small pouch that joined the prominent bulge his cock made inside your abdomen. “You did so well, love, so good for me,” he cooed at you, giving your cheek a few loving licks. “You were made for me.”

“I was just thinking that,” you sighed softly, running your fingers through his matted, sweaty hair, loving how it felt to have him still stay inside you, keeping all his love from pouring out. It just felt right. Being here with Mingi felt right, like you had always been waiting for him to fall into your life.

“That’s because you’re my other half.” He pressed a kiss to your forehead, before resting his against yours. “It was destined.”

“For me to shoot you with an arrow?” you joked, reaching up to gently play with one of his furry ears.

Mingi nuzzled into your touch, wanting to stay with you in that moment, that warm bed, that cozy little cabin that kept you both safe for as long as he could. “I would get shot a million times over, if it meant that I could meet you again.”

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