#sort of tongue in cheek line

[moechies]

hihi!!! plsplspls do toji putting on a flavored condom for his bunny girl (vanilla :3) and jus letting her lick on his dick before he makes her deep throat it

omg . this is literally the cutest ask i’ve ever gotten </3 thank u bby anon for ur amazing mind :<

“y’like it ?” he purrs, fingers wrapped tightly around your floppy ears. his fingers sneakily pet against the soft fur, unable to get enough of your silky fluff.

“m-mhm, toji. ‘s sweet !” your little pink tongue lolls from your lips, short but sweet licks to his warm, heavy cock. “mm, knew you’d like it.” he grins, head laid flat against his fists as he inspects you from above.

you’re sat on your knees like a puppy, two hands around his lengthy shaft to succumb for your poor mouth-work. but he doesn’t mind, the cute sight itself is enough is able to get him off just fine.

“suck on it like a lollipop, bunny.”

“l-lollipop ?” you question, head tilting slightly.

“yeah, like this.” his hand tugs at your ears, making you squeal. he drags you above his cock, mouth hovering directly over his crimson tip. you drool at the sight itself, eyes crossed and focused on the fat slit before you.

“w-wan’ it, daddy,” you sniffle, mouth coming down to wrap around the cock head.

“be patient. keep y’r head down.” you hum around the fat bulb, the gentle vibrations causing him to thrust unintentionally. you suckle on the bulbous tip, streaks of saliva sliding down his covered shaft and small spit bubbles forming.

you attempt to pull off in embarrassment, realizing how lost you had gotten in the pleasure of the sweet, intriguing flavor, but you’re stopped by the man’s large hand.

“none of that, c’mon.” he growls, hand pushing your head down lower onto his fat shaft. you throttle your foot in a panic, feeling your lips stretch painfully around him to accommodate his length.

you squeal, hands pushing at his thighs in an attempt to let him off, but it doesn’t work. he simply ignores your worries, dragging your little mouth up and down with a hard grip on your little ears.

“that’s it. does it still taste good?” he teases, watching as crystalline tears begin to form in your sockets, beading along your lash line. you nod to the best of your ability, poor bunny butt aimlessly grinding onto nothing. your cunt aches, looking for any sort of simulation to ease the struggle and the man notices.

“oh. bunny wants something?” he teases, prodding the back of his foot against your silky cunt. you jerk with a yelp, tears wetting your soft lashes and tainting your dewy cheeks.

“d-dwaddy.”

“s alright, daddy’ll give you what you want soon. i always do, don’t i?”

he groans of the sight of your drooly mouth slobbering all over him, losing your little mind over a little cock. spit falls and paints his thighs and your hands, ones you’ve kept in place to keep the man satisfied.

he watches intently at how your little throat bulges back and forth from the intrusion, and your pretty swollen lips stretched almost painfully around him.

he laughs,

“should do this more often.”

[stvrnzcherries]

WHEELS ON THE BUS

m. sturniolo x fem!reader

summary: You and Matt have always been best friends, you never felt something else but an incident while you both were in a road trip together might change that.

warnings: soft dom!matt, smut, pet names, use of y/n, foreplay, p in v, degrading kink, sort of breeding kink, edging, bulging, swearing, semi-public sex, unprotected sex (don't).

a/n: After MONTHS of being a lazy ass and also after a TIGHTT week of anxiety, I’m back and better than ever 🤍 expect more coming soon, I appreciate y’all.

Based on this request!

not proofread!

౨ৎ

The cold breeze tingled Matt’s skin, sending shivers down his spine as he kept piling up everyone’s bags inside the car truck, the blue hour of the sky created this dark yet comforting panoramic view of it.

A voice in the distance caught his attention “Wait up!” You taunt, running down to your best friend as a heavy bag carried behind you. You agreed a few days ago to go on this trip with Matt and his family since he was practically begging you to spend an entire week with him; even though he knew you hated the beach, you hated feeling sticky or feeling a singular drop of sweat on your skin, being in heated places was a thing that always drove you to the edge and you would get in a bad mood the whole day because of it.

It was just too excruciating, but you accepted just because your best friend didn't want to spend an entire week without you yet he liked seeing you suffer since he had always known your hatred towards the beach.

“Here ya go,” You said as you lifted the bag with all the strength you had and handed it to Matt, he just looked at you, a cocky smile forming on his lips as he placed your bag on the last spot in the trunk. “You excited?” Matt asked, closing the trunk before his eyes returned to bore into yours waiting for an answer, “If you mean I'm excited about torturing myself an entire week on the beach, then yeah.” You replied sarcastically gaining a chuckle from him, “It’ll be fun, I promise.” He said, patting your head gently.

“I highly doubt that being in the hottest weather ever is fun, Matthew.” You said, sticking your tongue out, he just chuckled and messed your hair a bit, his hand gently moving to cup your cheek as he pinched it delicately, “Thank you for coming either way.” He smiled gently and you returned it.

The eye contact lasted for a few seconds before the lousy voice of Chris caught each other’s attention, you both turned around to see him walking towards you “Time to hit the road!” He says with a big smile as he places his arm around you, he looks at Matt and then at me, “Are you guys ready?” He asked to which you replied with, “Heck yeah! Let’s hit the road!” A bright smile smeared your face as you, Matt, and Chris made your way to the backseats.

When Chris stopped taking hold of you to go to the other side of the car you were left with Matt inside the car and his face giving slight concern. “What’s wrong?” You ask furrowing your brows slightly.

That is when you realize what it was, the backseat had no space left for you, and neither Matt nor you knew what to do, “Fuck.” He muttered to himself looking back to where his brothers were situated and back to you with an awkward face.

Matt thinks for a second before parting his lips to let out the sentence, “You could sit on my lap.” His palm softly patted his lap as he looked at you with a sly smile.

Your lips pursed into a thin line, the awkwardness getting the best of you as you got into the car and carefully down your weight on your best friend’s lap. To which he just placed his hands around your waist and gently sat you down on his lap. “Relax, you’re not heavy at all.” He whispers in your ear as the car door closes.

You looked back at him and smiled shyly, trying to hide the fact that he was caressing the sides of your hips with his thumbs.

The first two hours of the road were completely normal, you and the triplets had a karaoke session for half an hour, and the rest was to talk about what you guys wanted to do as soon as you arrived and enjoy some snacks. But now you guys were only an hour away from the beach house that the triplet's parents rented.

Nick and Chris had fallen asleep for a few minutes and you could also feel your eyes heaving from the energy you wasted the first two hours throughout the way, also the fact that you didn’t sleep that well last night. Matt on the other hand was with his headphones on the minute Chris and Nick closed their eyes.

You patted Matt’s lap to get his attention, you looked back at him as soon as you did that he took his headphones off “You okay? Need something?” He asked with slight concern.

“No, I’m fine, I was just wondering if I could get comfortable so I can sleep while we get there.” You said with a little smile plastered on your face as he nodded.

Matt spread his legs slightly so you could have more space to get as comfortable as possible, you rocked your hips a little to the sides so your lower back could be resting on Matt’s chest level or closer to it, and you rested your head on his shoulder as he put his headphones back on.

Your eyes closed so easily, and your mind drifted to your dreams so swiftly that you couldn’t even imagine.

Thirty minutes left inside the car, you were still in the embrace of Matt’s arms, your position shifting once in a while.

And how clueless of Matt for not thinking how touch-deprived he is, every time you switched your position while your slept you would move your hips or straddle his lap, making his dick twitch against his pants.

His breathing getting heavier, and his body was shaking trying to contain the pure excitement that just the smallest friction could do to him. He felt so guilty for his body reacting and finding pleasure in something meaningless; something completely common and normal.

He closed his eyes, trying to contain these feelings towards you, towards your body to stop the erection that he sooner or later would have to fix all by himself.

And also wish he could arrive as fast as he could to the fucking beach house.

After what seemed like a good twenty minutes of sleep, you finally opened your eyes carefully, trying not to get blinded by the rays of sun that were passing through the window, the change of scenery makes your stomach flutter with joy as you see the ocean peek through the reliefs of the street.

You turned your head to peek at your best friend who seemed to be sleeping, his dark circles showing off a little bit more with this new change of lighting that the car has. You smiled to yourself as you saw your best friend opening his eyes quickly when he felt your gaze on him. “Did you get to sleep for a bit?” You asked, your throat was dry and raspy, nonetheless, a good cup of water could fix it as soon as you guys arrived at the beach house you were staying in.

Matt nodded, his eyes looking away from yours as he changed his position a little, making your weight lift a little, a small poking sensation in your inner thigh as he did this action. Something felt off in your surface.

You looked down, scanning Matt’s lap to check if he had something in his pockets that could make this sudden change in position make you slightly uncomfortable.

Your eyes widened as you took a glance of what was the strange object poking your inner thigh, it wasn’t just an object it was more of a certain body part. You looked away in shame, forcing yourself to stare at the blankly looking headrest in front of you, your stomach feeling fluttered as you tried to stop thinking about what you just witnessed.

The beach house was beautiful outside, it was a two-story victorian summer house, with a small front porch with two wooden chairs and a tiny round wooden coffee table, the breeze hugging your skin nicely, everything seemed to be perfect, the weather in Long Island was just the perfect balance of not too warm and not too cold, it definitely felt like the summer vibes were there.

As you entered the house, your eyes were amazed by the interior, the walls were covered in this beautiful blueish floral wallpaper, the couches looked like they some sort of English sofas, and a small chimney facing a large path to the back porch of the house, the stairs that lead to the way to the different rooms where you would be staying in for the next week.

Matt steps beside you, glancing around the place, “Wanna share a room?” He asked nonchalantly as he looked at you, taking in all of your factions, you looked back at him “I thought you and Chris agreed on sharing the same room, though?” You retorted.

Matt brushed the strands of hair blocking his view, “Yeah, I thought so too until he decided that he now wants to share a room with Nick.” He sighed, “I think I’m going to go upstairs and shower and then take a nap, I feel like I haven’t slept in years.”

You nodded “Alright, I’ll catch you later.” You replied, giving a sly smile to him as he walked upstairs and disappeared out of your sight. Things have gotten awkward since you discovered the hard-rock erection he had back in the entirety of the ride. You didn’t say a word but interacting with him or even just looking at Matt made you nervous somehow.

Your mind kept racing with the thought of seeing his body react that way to you, does this mean he feels turned on by you? Should you do something about it?

A few minutes had passed and you explored the rest of the house already, you carried your bag in your left hand as you went upstairs, a room door slightly opened and a dim light reflected on the inside of it. You pushed the door gently, and the first thing you heard was the shower running down, Matt’s bag half-opened in the bed, you tossed yours to the other side, sitting down beside it, your head had a pounding headache that you couldn’t make it stop.

Scanning the room, you see the bathroom door halfway opened, the fog from the steaming water escaping through it, you could see Matt, his silhouette revealing the way his forehead was resting on the tiled wall of the shower, the water running down his back and cascading through his hair, his hands rubbing his face exhaustingly as he sighed in pure relief.

The way his muscles flexed each time he brushed his hair back was enough to make you soaking wet in your panties. You stood up, your steps closer and carefully just to get a better view of his silhouette.

You were there, your hand opening the door more, the squeaking sound blowing your cover because Matt looked right at you in the eye, the eye contact holding on for what seemed like an eternity. You shut the door and ran down to sit back on the bed.

Would it be worth it to risk it all?

Dawn arrives, you've been playing with Nick and Chris UNO matches for what seems like an hour now on the back porch of the residence, every match Nick either complained or Chris would make a mess and you guys would have to play all over again, that was until Nick threw a tantrum over him and they both went to their separate ways inside the house.

You were lying now on the couch of the living room, bored filling your senses, your phone not even making an effort to entertain you at all. You heard steps coming from the staircase, as you looked up you saw Matt, his hair was still a little wet and he looked like a brand new person in comparison to how he looked a couple of hours ago. “Hey, I’m going to drive around town, I was wondering if you would like to come with me?”

You stood up from the couch, “Sure! I was getting bored, so.” You both walked towards the front door, Matt opening it for you.

The town was almost like a sort of ghost town, with a few people walking down the sidewalk, and making their way to Amangasett beach. The lamp posts illuminated around with a tenuous yellowish light, the night sky revealing a pale moonlight. “Wanna go for a swim?” Matt’s voice takes you out of your trance.

“Yeah, I don't see why not.” You replied with a small smile as you moved to his seat and gave him a side hug, to which he just chuckled and kept his eyes on the road.

Matt parked the car in an almost empty zone at the beach, the place seemed clear of big crowds, just a few couples sitting by the edge of the ocean but no one else. As you got out of the car you took off your shirt and shorts quickly, running down to the ocean as Matt followed your pace, the both of you giggling.

Your body trembled when your toes grazed lightly on the water, the adrenaline and tingling sensation making your heart flutter anxiously, you kept sinking your body until half of your abdomen was fully covered by the ocean, you looked at the moon taking in the sight of it until you felt cold fingertips touch your lower back. “I’m glad you came with us,” Matt said, his voice sounding so distant yet it had a hint of something else you couldn't fully recognize.

He spins you around by grabbing your waist, your eyes meeting his as he pulls you closer, your breaths mixing with each other’s as he takes the sight of your face, his hands still positioned on your lower back. His eyes shone brighter than ever before. “I mean, that’s what friends are for, right?” You looked for a split second at Matt’s lips, his tongue sticking out to lick the inner corners of his lips before parting them.

“Yeah, friends…” He breathed out, his words laced with that unknown feeling you can’t recognize, his eyes giving a glint of lust as he looked at your lips.

Your mind drifts to the moment you both are in the car, his hard rock erection making you question whether it’s worth it to risk the friendship or pretend like it was a little accident, even though it wasn't little at all.

Or the shower incident, nothing of what happened today was by accident, there was not even a chance that it was.

Your attention gets drawn by his breath getting closer to your ear, his voice carefully whispering his words “What you thinking ‘bout?”

You licked your lips, your voice trembling and your words slipping out of your mouth sloppily “Nothing…w-why?” your lips pressing together as his breath reached down your jawline, his lips grazing the fine line of it teasingly, a low dark chuckle getting out of his mouth when he saw you shiver by the smallest contact.

“Remembering what you saw in the bathroom, hm?” His lips pressed tentatively, traveling from your jawline to your neck, you titled your head to the side to grant him more access, his hand sneaking down to grab your throat delicately as he kept abusing your sweet spots. His other hand caresses your waist.

“I don’t have a clue of what you’re talking about…” You breathed out, breathless whimpers coming out of your mouth as Matt kept doing his attack all over your throat, leaving hickeys and wet kisses all over. He hums, Matt’s vibrant voice coursing through your body “Really? How funny, considering you even tried to be sneaky about it.” He says as he returns to kissing your jawline, then your chin, and then he gets to your lips, tempting you to make the move, his teeth biting your lower lip gently.

“Don’t act so innocent now, you were sneaky about your little accident back in the car too.” Your words shut out with such confidence, you looked at him, your eyes piercing his as you took in his reaction of pure shock; his lips parted and that was the chance you decided to get to kiss him. The both of you synchronized perfectly as if your lips were meant to be for his.

Your hands went directly to his chest, your fingertips doing small circles around his collarbone as he pulled you closer by your waist. Your noses were touching at this point and the kiss got more intense, the both of you roaming your hands all over each other’s bodies.

You were now lying down on the backseat of the car, your hand gripping Matt’s hand as he sucked your right nipple, his other hand playing with the left one, your back arched off the seat and your legs were wide open, fully unclothed now in the secluded space that he decided to take you to. Your eyes closed as you let the overwhelming pleasure take control of your body, his tongue swirling around your nipple, your breathless whimpers making Matt get harder beneath you with each passing second.

His kisses trailed to your belly, kissing it intently “I’m going to stuff this beautiful body of yours with my babies” A dark glint on his eyes as he ascended back to your face to kiss you. His hand traveled down to where your folds were, his fingertips adding pressure as he moved them in circles, causing you to gasp at the sudden wave of pleasure you were experiencing. Your hands flew to Matt’s biceps, your nails burying deep inside his skin as he kept getting you all worked up.

His lips rushed to kiss yours, this time more desperate and sloppier than ever as he kept adding more pressure on your sensitive nub, your moans getting louder as the knot in your stomach gets stronger. “m’ god” You babbled between kisses, your eyes closed as you take in all of the ecstasy.

“So close…” You breathed out, the knot snapping any second.

Then suddenly, the feeling stopped, completely gone.

You opened your eyes, Matt’s looking at you with a devious expression as he untied the lace from his shorts, the bulge of his dick very visible even though you are in an almost dark place. “What?” He asked, his head tilting to the side, a low chuckle as he spoke, “Wanted to finish?” You nodded, the desperation clear.

“Why would I let you finish if we haven’t even started? Hm?” He crawled back to be face to face with you, you felt his tip grazing your folds unintentionally, “Spread those legs wider for me, m’kay?” He said in a low voice, almost a whisper.

The desperation and adrenaline fuels your body, your legs spread wider enough to give him space between you, he positioned his tip in your entrance, edging you out even more until you had to practically beg to him. “Matt, please—“ you huff out at the undying desperation that your body was craving.

“Aw, look who’s getting frustrated now…” He coos, his left hand pumping his dick slightly before he slammed into you without warning, his movements frantic and hard, your head hitting the door slightly each time he pounded back inside you.

Your hands flew back to his biceps, gripping onto them for dear life as erratic moans emitted out of your mouth, his pace was nowhere close to being steady, it was sloppier as if he was already on the verge of getting on his own high too.

The tip of his cock was hitting that sweet spot of yours perfectly, making you salivate due to the incredible amount of intoxicating pleasure you were given in twenty minutes. Your mind felt fuzzy, this kind of pleasure was something that you’d stopped experiencing a long ago, your eyes crossing and shutting as you felt that sweet sensation of being closer, Matt abusing that spot deep inside you over and over again.

You couldn't even remember the last time sex felt this good, and never in a million years, you would’ve thought that your best friend would be the one to achieve that with you. Your thoughts stopped as soon as you felt his thumb on your tongue, indicating for you to suck it which you didn’t hesitate to be asked twice.

Your tongue swirled all over his thumb like a lollipop, getting it all wet as you felt the grunts and whines from Matt, the grip his other hand had on your hip getting tighter within two minutes. His pace not slowing down but getting ten times faster than it already was, the car shaking and your hands gripping the door to hold onto dear life.

Pornographic moans emitted out of your mouth as you felt that tight knot forming once again and getting closer and closer to snapping ferociously, your hand gripping tightly onto the seat as your eyes closed.

Matt’s placed his hand to grasp your chin, forcing you to look at him. “All that teasing to get dumb fucked by me?” He said, his voice losing power from time to time.

snap.

Your juices spurt all over the seat and coated Matt’s dick in a thin, sheer coat of hot cum. Moans emitted out of your mouth as your grip on the headrests of the car loosened up due to the lack of strength that your body was capable of holding up. Your legs are all wobbly and your muscles are sore from all the containment that they did.

At this point your mind was fuzzy, too dumb fucked to acknowledge that the well-known knot snapped already, your body too weak to keep upholding Matt’s pace as he kept pumping in and out constantly.

Not too long after, Matt came to his release too. Your juices and his combined deep inside you, he pulled out of you as he admired the conjoined trail of juices coating his shaft. His left hand immediately went deep inside you, making sure his hot seed was ‘secured’. He pulled his fingers out, a popping sound as he did so, and cleaned them off easily, admiring the rest of your body, a gleam on his eyes reflecting the lustful expression of being satisfied enough.

He pulled you close to his body, sitting you straight up as you both recovered, Matt trailing kisses all over your face and repeatedly saying “M’ love you” as he caressed your hair with ease.

Both of your chests were going up and down irregularly, trying to stabilize each other’s breathing back to normality.

Matt’s eyes shifted around the car, taking a look at the foggy windows, a sly smile smearing all over his face as he traced with one of his fingers the foggy window in front of both of you, tracing the words.

‘We just fucked :)’

You finished reading what he traced on the window and chuckled weakly as Matt looked proudly at his ‘work of art’.

౨ৎ

a/n: tysm for 600 followers, wtf I can’t believe we’re already 600 (Nick fic coming real soon as a 600 followers special). It’s funny how I can easily write shit about Chris or Nick but when it comes to Matt, this mf is the hardest person to ever write off 😭 love y’all

tag list: @sturniolossss @tillies33ssss @chrisloyalgf @alorsxsturn @sturnioloslurps @cindylcuwho @3mm4yung @chrissfavwh3re @blahbel668 @lov3bug @starsturns234 @junnniiieee07 @mstarniolo @sara2233445 @teenagetrash00 @mattsturnioloisbae @mbbsgf @thecynthh @braindead4l @freshsturns @lexisecretaccx @wh0resstuff @jnkvivi

[sugurizz]

(Smut/ NSFW +18 - minors DNI !)

Nanami always keeps clear boundaries with his subordinates. He's a highly professional man who never crosses a line when it comes to mutual respect with everyone around him.

It's almost admirable in your eyes..How efficient he is, how perfectly he executes every task of his job. only does he seem different at times...

You're just so thoughtful it almost annoys him. You've already picked up on each and every one of his little habits; the way he likes his coffee, exactly when he takes his coffee breaks, where he usually hangs his freshly ironed jackets, where each piece of paperwork is kept in his office...

...Might be the old age but it makes him feel things when you knock on his door, when you greet him with the "Morning, Nanami-san, I sorted the documents from yesterday for you", or when you get his jacket for him without him even asking, with a sweet "Nanami-san, please don't forget your umbrella tomorrow, it's going to be rainy."

You're the only one who's allowed to adjust his tie when it's a bit loose, the only one allowed to lay your hands on his chest and fix his collar -breathing in the scent of his colone along the way-, the only one igniting his primal desire despite his exhausting life.

Might be the old age but he certainly wishes he could get this kind of treatment at home as well. He's rather lonely, overworked and tired whenever he gets back to his empty apartment..

Wouldn't it be better if you were the one to bake his fresh bread and prepare his delicious sandwiches for him? Give him a kiss before he heads to work and send him pictures of your legs spread with one of his designer ties barely covering your pussy?

Wouldn't it be so much better if he came back to strip you naked and take a steamy shower with you? push you on his king-sized bed to devour your sex, then have you all prepped and pretty to take his cock?

He'd be so happy with any of that, so happy he's now stroking himself and fondling his balls, trying his best to picture the way your tits pressed on his chest in the cramped elevator yesterday.

He knew your birthday was coming up but you never thought he'd even remember something so seemingly 'irrelevant' to him. So you didn't expect to find a luxurious box delievered to your doorstep, with a handwritten wishcard that had a familiar scent to it.

A note saying "wear them with your black heels, it'd look perfect" was inside the box, signed with a beautiful -Kento- on the corner...

---

"Nanami-san, your morning coffee." You greeted him with a smile the next day, leaning down as you gently posed the cup next to him.

"Nanami-san, I'm wearing your gift for my birthday. And the fabric feels so soft on me..."

a large hand pulled you back by the arm as you were about to walk off..

"Don't go there, sweet cheeks. you know I'll ruin you.."

"Then ruin me, Kento..."

I'll be at my desk if you ever need me."

You closed the door behind you, flashing him an innocent smile on the way...

---

Nanami san was missing at work that evening, secretary y/n was not there either. But thankfully your coworkers didn't know the reason behind your absence..

Nanami is busy training your throat in his spacious apartment. Your ass is on the cold floor tiles, body stripped to the lacy lingerie he bought you, caged between the wall and his lower half as he goes balls deep in your throat.

His tie is leashed around your neck with his leg pushing between your thighs, the tip of his expensive leather shoe bumping against your tiny clit.

"How much did this pussy think of me, hmm? does she like my shoe kissing her? playing with her?"

His leg presses harder, your eyes cross in pleasure as you suffocate on his veiny length..

"Look down princess, she's dirtying herself, drooling on my shoe.."

he frees himself from your mouth, leaving you with a drooly tongue and snotty nose as you shiver under him.

"Nanami..my pussy wants you, put it in her..please!"

"Nasty minx." He flicks his tongue with a grin, tears his shirt open to reveal his broad shoulders and toned chest, then tirelessly lifts you on his biceps.

"Aww...I want her too, princess.."

he kisses you senseless, giving himself a few pumps before he splits you open.

He's fevereshly rammimg inside you..golden strands sticking to his sweaty forehead, blushy cheeks blooming and hazel eyes almost teary as he finally feeds the hunger for you..

"Y/n...I need a wife! I want you-fuck-" you hug on him tighter, pussy clenching at the way he growls it against your lips... he paints your stomach white, his embrace deliciously crushing your body.

---

...A few days later the rumors started circulating among the coworkers; Both y/n and Nanami suddenly started wearing rings around the same time, and Nanami's office door started getting double locked, too often...

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Illuminated.

Pairing: Yandere!Apollo x Reader (Greek Mythology).

Word Count: 1.0k.

TW: Stalking, Unbalanced Power Dynamics, No Specified Gender For The Reader But They Are A Hunter Of Artemis, and Implied Kidnapping.

[Commissioned Piece. Donate To Palestinians In Gaza Here.]

“You, my love, are the poet’s demise.”

You stiffened at the sound of his melodic voice, shrinking into yourself before thinking better of taking on such a mouse-like posture and straightening. Still, you failed to stop yourself from crossing your arms over your chest, pulling your knees up and hoping beyond hope that the silvery water would be enough to hide your form from his unfaltering stare. You thought it’d be safer to bathe at night, apart from your sisters, when the softened moonlight protected you from his burning gaze, but you’d been naïve to think that any hour could be late enough to spare you haven. During the day, you lived under the burning gaze of his blazing chariot, busied yourself with shooting down hawks and ravens carrying gifts in their beaks, and at night, he had no burdens to keep him from closing the distance between you using less... ancillary methods.

“I’m afraid you must be mistaken, my lord.” You forced yourself to laugh, glancing over your shoulder. Sure enough, Apollo stood on the river’s opposing bank, his tanned skin nearly radiant in the darkness. If the sight of him hadn’t brought you such dread, you might’ve thought him beautiful. “As of late, my aim’s been so poor that I can hardly call myself a stag’s demise, let alone a man’s.”

You were quick to look away from him, but you could still hear his gentle hum, picture the way his lips would lilt upward as he shook his head. “I’m afraid it’s deathly true,” he went on, taking a step forward. The water rushed to part as he stepped where it had once been, and in turn, you scrambled for the robes you’d left on the shore, barely managing to pull the ashen cloth around yourself before Apollo came to stand in front of you, his light quickly doing away with what little protection the shadows offered. It was only after you were haphazardly dressed that you considered it might be considered an affront to hide any part of yourself from divinity, but the worry was quickly forgotten. It was only natural to want to create yet another barrier between you and him. Even insects knew to run from their betters. “For even the most talented bard would struggle beyond words to describe your beauty. They could be chained to their desk for an eternity, study under the Muses’ own tutelage, and still be unable to write a single line.”

He held out a hand to you, but you pretended not to realize he meant for you to take it. “You’re far too kind. If you have a message for Lady Artemis, there’s no need to bribe me with such—”

“My love,” he cut in, his smile unwavering. “If I had any desire to speak to my sister, your help would not be necessary.”

“A prophecy concerning our next hunt, then? If there’s something we mustn’t do, I ought to get the Huntmaster, she’ll—”

“My love.” You felt your throat tighten, your mouth go dry. “Although your voice is sweeter than honey and lovelier than birdsong, I’ll admit – I do find myself rather irritated when it’s used to employ such thinly veiled excuses. Any more, and I might think it better to encase your tongue in gold. At least, then, I might have something charming to admire while you lie to me.” His fingers grazed over your jaw as he moved to cup your cheek. It was not a gesture you had the luxury of ignoring. “You know why I have come here.”

Oh, how you wished you’d gone with your sisters.

“I… I can’t, my lord.” Unlike his, your voice was perfectly capable of trembling, of shaking, of plummeting into the sort of jarring, unsteady downward inflections that would’ve been the death of any proper storyteller. “My vows are to Lady Artemis, and—” It was your turn to smile, now, to lilt your head to the side apologetically. “—she’d never forgive me if I broke them. Especially with you.”

For the first time, his good humor seemed to ebb, giving way to not anger, but a melancholy sort of disappointment. “I suppose you’re right,” he relented, his golden glow dimming ever so slightly. Suddenly, it did not hurt quite so unbearably to look at him. “It’s a terrible thing. Me and my sister never did learn to share.”

Relief nearly managed to overshadow your revulsion. “I really am sorry. My desire is not to insult you, but—”

This time, when he interrupted you, it was not with a teasing remark, a nectar-dipped pet name, the vague implication of an affection he expected you to return. Rather, there was a sudden brightness in his golden eyes, a sharpened point to his smile, and then, his lips were pressed into yours. The kiss was shallow, but lingering, and when you tried to draw back, the hand on your cheek kept you firmly in place – his hold not crushing, but steadfast, resolute. His unoccupied arm wrapped around your waist, his hand finding its place at the small of your back as he sapped the last of the breath from your lungs. It was only when your palms pressed into his chest, your blunt nails burrowing into his bare skin in a silent plea for air, that he pulled back. Panting and flushed, you made a desperate effort to pull away, to escape back to your encampment, back to your sisters, back to your goddess, but he only cooed, his bowstring calloused fingertips fanning over your cheek.

“Such a terrible thing,” he muttered, and you considered, briefly, that you might’ve been the first mortal to realize just how wretched his voice truly was.

“How fortunate it is, then, that you’ve caught the attention of such a selfish admirer.”

[notmyneighbor]

Let Me In ~ Doppelgänger Francis Mosses/The Milkman x Female Reader

Chapter 1

Word Count ~1k

Rating ~ Explicit

CW ~ blood and gore, character death, eventual smut(not in this chapter)

Excerpt ~ You know it’s not Francis peering at you through the glass window.

You know it, even though he looks exactly like him, every feature carefully duplicated: the sleep deprived smudges on the frail skin underneath his eyes, the narrow chin and a long nose, that unblemished complexion as smooth and pale as the milk he delivers.

They’re getting better at the replication.

It’s getting harder and harder to tell them apart from real humans now.

Also available on AO3

Fanart used with permission @kaworinx on Instagram and TikTok

You know it’s not Francis peering at you through the glass window.

You know it, even though he looks exactly like him, every feature carefully duplicated: the sleep deprived smudges on the frail skin underneath his eyes, the narrow chin and long nose, that unblemished complexion as smooth and pale as the milk he delivers. They’re getting better at the replication. It’s getting harder and harder to tell them apart from real humans now.

Yet there’s still something off. Something in the way the flesh sits on his bones. Almost a shift, like a mirage in the desert: a shimmery, not quite real haze that’s there and gone again in the blink of an eye. He lays his fingers against the glass, splayed directly across from your face. The pretender’s lips curve into a smile. “Let me in,” he says, and it’s identical to the real milkman’s voice, that same sleepy, gentle tone you’re used to hearing day in and day out, and your heart lurches. When had it happened? When had he been taken? During a delivery? Lured into some back alley? Some devious doppelgänger asking for help, maybe, and of course he’d obliged, he was kind like that, he’d never refuse anyone. You envision the wire rack cradling the bottles of dairy product dropping from nerveless fingers, the glass shattering. White mixing with the bright red blood that leaks out of him all over the pavement.

You wince at the gruesome image. Poor, trusting, foolish man.

“Let me in,” he says again, and the words drag at something deep inside of you. A glint of something feral in the dark eyes now. This imposter knows you can sense his deception. “I know what you need. I can give it to you…”

Another chord strummed on the string of your spine, vibrating along your body. Had he taken over Francis’ thoughts? Sorting through the milkman’s memories like digging through a box of old photographs, perhaps. Choosing which ones to keep and which ones to discard. Had the unfortunate third floor resident known about your hopeless crush? He must have. How else would this creature target your desires so readily? The knowledge of this wounds you. Francis had known, and he hadn’t acted on that knowledge. No return of your feelings. Maybe he’d just been shy.

Or maybe he just didn’t feel the same way.

“You must be so tired, working so hard. You deserve to rest. Collect a reward.” His tongue darts out to moisten his lips and this is the first foreign gesture that completely confirms your suspicions: this is not Mr. Mosses.

Everything you need is right in front of you. The entryway door is still securely locked. The rotary phone is mere inches away. You can call in the team at any time now. Save everyone. Except for Francis, of course; it was too late for him.

“Sweetheart, please let me in.” Attracting flies with honey. His voice dripping affection. His fingertips blanch against the glass. The brim of his cap slides further down his brow. A single track of perspiration leaks down his cheek. The body still fighting, even now. Resisting. Rejecting the invader. But it was too little, too late.

“I can’t let you in.”

His head snaps up and the eyes are bloodshot, spidery lines of crimson streaking across the white orbs. A thin trail of saliva drips from one corner of his mouth. “Can’t, or won’t?” Straight to vinegar now. Acidic tone. It lashes against you. You’re shaking.

“I know what you are,” you declare in a whisper.

The replicant raises his free hand, fingers curling into a fist before striking the pane. It rattles in its casing and you gasp. You’d always thought the material was shatterproof. “You don’t know anything. How can you? You run unchallenged for a small fraction of years and you think you know all there is to in the universe. Such arrogant, fragile things you are,” he murmurs, and the sudden calm unnerves you even more than the rage.

You begin to reach for the receiver and his fingers slide down the glass, squeaking as they go. “Wait. Don’t do that.”

You pause, hand still outstretched. “I don’t have a choice.”

“You do have a choice. You don’t have to be one of the mindless sheep.” His nostrils flare, inhaling deeply. “Francis loved that fragrance you wear. He liked so many things about you. You’ll never know how much if you make that call.”

You suck in a sharp breath. Was it true? Or just a ruse to get you to spare him? “He’s gone. There’s no getting him back now.” Your voice warbles, your fingers trembling as you reach again. Making contact with the ebony plastic this time.

“He’s right here. You could have him. All you have to do is let me in.”

You lift the receiver from the handset cradle. The spiral cord connecting the two sways like a tightrope beneath an acrobat walking its length. You feel like that performer. Teetering on the edge between life and death. Yours. The people in the building. You have a duty to protect them.

The uniformed man’s eyes slide closed. Dark lashes light as moth’s wings kissing his cheeks. He’s humming softly. A melody you’d heard every time Francis had left for his route. The tune unfamiliar. But it’s his. Had always been unique to him. Why hadn’t you asked what song it was? Why hadn’t you…

The handset drops back down and the dial tone is silenced. His eyes reopen. “Let me in, love.” The softest, sweetest smile. You reach for the buzzer. Staring at your hand as if you don’t recognize it as your own. “I’ll give you everything you want, sweet girl.” Nearly to the button now. “There you go. Just a little more.” Contact. The light flashes and the magnetic locks release, granting the doppelgänger access.

[stervrucht]

“Just a second,” Eddie calls from halfway beneath his bed.

Steve taps his foot as he looks around Eddie’s room. It’s messy and there’s a lot of stuff. His eyes drift around, taking it in. There is a poster with ‘Corroded Coffin’ on it in scrawled graffiti and from what Steve can see, Eddie has at least two guitars. 

On Eddie’s desk, he spots a skull — some sort of animal, but Steve has no idea what.

Steve hears Eddie groan as he tries to move back from under the bed.   

“You need any help there, Munson?”

“Nah, I got it.” Eddie turns with some difficulty and then he’s out from under the bed, sprawled halfway across the floor. He sticks up his hand and holds out a book to Steve.

“There you go.”

“Eh, thanks.” Steve flips the book over in his hand and it’s just stupid D&D stuff. “Dustin better be grateful.”

“Is he ever?” Eddie responds while he works himself in a sitting position. There is dust in his hair and his shirt is risen to expose half his chest. 

“You got a point there.” Steve lets out an unamused laugh.

When Eddie finally stands, he readjusts his shirt and quickly combs his hair. Dust still clings to his dark curls.

Steve’s eyes fall on the skull again and from his periphery he sees Eddie follow his gaze.

“You looking at the skull?”

Steve hums in response.

“It’s a fox. Pretty sick, huh? I found it myself.” Eddie’s eyes find his and he looks oddly proud.

“Pretty cool,” Steve echoes. “How do you know it’s a fox anyway?”

“Oh, just you wait.” Eddie leans over, reaching for the skull and holding it up to Steve.

“Skull size, teeth, and see these babies—” Eddie points at the eyesockets. “They’re huge.”

“Aren’t fox heads larger?” 

“All muscle and fur.”

Muscles and fur. 

Suddenly Steve comes to the horrifying existential realization that humans are also just bone and muscle and skin. He looks over at Eddie, studies his face, and suddenly it’s like he has never seen him before.

The way skin pulls over muscle, the lines around his mouth as he smiles. And how smiling pulls Eddie’s jaw taut, appearing more angular than when it’s relaxed.

“You okay, Harrington? Guess skulls are a bit morbid, huh? I sometimes forget how normal people think.” Eddie laughs sheepishly and puts the skull away again. 

When Eddie looks back, Steve is still staring. 

The skin over collarbones is thin with little muscle. 

He looks down at Eddie’s hands which have grown nervous under Steve’s eyes. 

Silver rings, skin, muscle, bone. 

Without thinking, Steve reaches out. He holds Eddie’s hand, runs his fingers over Eddie’s. 

Soft warm skin. 

“Eh…Steve?”

Steve looks up and the urge to touch is overwhelming. He raises his hands and touches Eddie’s cheeks with curious fingers.

The skin is more coarse here — marked by a five-o-clock shadow — but it’s also warmer.

“What are you—”  

Eddie stops talking when Steve runs a finger over his lips, pulling them open, just a little. 

They’re different from regular skin; warmer and wetter. 

And then Steve has no idea what he’s doing, but he moves forward and brushes his own lips over Eddie’s. Under his fingers, Steve can feel the muscles in Eddie’s jaw grow taut. 

That piques his interest. 

He slides his hand from Eddie’s jaw to his nape. From there he can feel the muscles in the jaw, thin over bone; those in his neck, thick and strong. 

He runs his tongue across Eddie’s lower lip and he feels Eddie’s lips part, his body growing soft under his actions. Eddie’s lips are moving, tentative and testing against Steve’s. 

There is no bone there.

He licks into Eddie’s mouth, feels the smooth skin under his tongue; runs his tongue over Eddie’s teeth and takes in the contrast.

Steve pulls back, his hand growing slack against Eddie’s neck as he realises he just let himself go.

Eddie stares at him with dazed eyes.

“I didn’t know skulls did it for you, Harrington.”

[anantaru]

I HATE EVERYONE BUT YOU

— ꒰ synopsis ꒱ — scaramouche has always been yours, yet he needs you to know that you'll always be his no matter what— even when you get all flustered while he shows you.

— ꒰ a/n ꒱ — in scaramouche we what?

— ꒰ wordcount ꒱ — 1.7k

— ꒰ warnings ꒱ — [ns]fw, fem! reader, jealous! reader, dom scara, rough sex but very passionate, scara hates everyone but you, slightly possessive scara, spitting, cumming inside of you

"you have nothing to worry about,"

"stop thinking about it and look at me," fingers gracefully trace on your bare skin, "because i need you to realize," drawing all sorts of shapes into your searing flesh, like subtle curves into your ribs, "that you'll never get rid of me," and lines dragging across your stomach when scaramouche's hand ultimately settles on your hips.

your stomach does flips at his words, and a fresh tide of relief cuts through your initial doubts. he grins and clicks his tongue, eyes dancing with amusement when he catches your shyness, "hm? what's up with you? where's this pretty voice of yours now?" and that smile, ugh, he cannot help himself but irritate you abundantly, especially when he knows how you'd react to his words.

"shut up," you hiss, "don't do that,"

"do what?" he cocks a brow, "—that?" he breathes, boldly as his thumb rolls over your clit in slow circles. the fire in his eyes was hard to miss and when he feels your body react to his loving trace, he's more than happy to indulge in those waves of lust— most notably show you that he'll never go away.

"fuck—" you whine, "you're mean," and you find out that his thoroughly chosen words would end up adding fuel to the looming wildfire burning between you both, the two of you high on the tension and rush smoldering the air.

and scaramouche's confessions were driving you into a spiral.

"careful there," he coos, "take it slow," for him, there was no competition, and even if there was a competition, you're not in it. you're above everything. you're perfect, no one could ever set his heart ablaze like you did.

scaramouche hums, "you're stuck with me." he candidly bites down on your bottom lip, "okay?" when you nod vigorously at him, your hips leaving the bed as your back arches into his digits, your hands finding immediate comfort in his hair as you tug softly at his roots to press his lips on yours.

scaramouche was pretty when he looked at you like that, kissed you like he needed you to survive— dreamily while flushed, his cheeks seething with scarlet redness when he inhales deeply for a moment.

but he's not used to all of this, and he didn't like the fact that you could become jealous sometimes— after all, humans suffer more in imagination rather than in reality, and you have nothing to worry about, scaramouche certainly thought he made that very much clear.

but he's embarrassed, although not because of the fact that he might've gotten too close to someone who wasn't you and experienced regret, which, in fact, wasn't possible.

he simply cannot stand anybody besides you.

truth be told, he's a little annoyed that you forgot about the fact that he wasn't a big talker per se, he even actively chose his schedule so he wouldn't see a lot of people, or anyone for that matter. scaramouche never sought out to make any meaningful friendships with the people of the akademiya as well— despite the god of wisdom helplessly attempting to push him out of his comfort zone.

with that out of the way, the real reason as to why scaramouche was embarrassed was quite silly, because it's due to what your jealousy did to him— fuck, he finds it beyond attractive, yet he refuses to acknowledge that a special heat conquered his chest like that, reaching his groin until he couldn't think straight.

there's a delicate challenge in your ways of reacting when he tells you that you mustn't be jealous, and scaramouche drinks it like water— he knows you're everything he's ever wished for, like ice cream on a hot summer day, you're melting his heart.

he nuzzles into your skin to inhale your scent, leaves soft kisses on your cheekbones while holding your jaw, making you look directly at him.

does he need to show you that he's utterly addicted to you? so, do you require it like a challenge of sorts? because archons, he'll do it, easy work easy done.

to note, it's not scaramouche's fault that people want to talk to him and are curious about the new addition to the akademiya— yet he doesn't like them, it's pestering when they get too close to him as well, ask if he could talk a little more about where he was coming from because they wanted to be nice, civil but end up making him scoff with a roll of his eyes.

enjoying his own company was fine to scaramouche— and he always found himself fantasizing about you all the time, particularly about your soft laughs and candid smiles, your voice, your stories and your understanding was like a sweet melody to the wanderer, and he could indulge in it during his breaks, before he needed to finish a mission, or he could imagine it every single night before he'd fall asleep to the thought of you.

your body was rubbing against his now, sweat colliding as he removes his fingers from your cunt and wraps them around his erection, pretty dark lashes accentuating his flaring cheekbones while you loop your arms around him— parting your legs a little so he could easily slide himself in.

scaramouche gently adds pressure on your tight hole before moving his hips, but it's slow— gentle and delicate that you can feel every crevice of his length in you.

a soft moan rips from his throat as you mold around him easily, feeling him attentively as he traces the thick vein along the side of your walls as your hips twitch at the slight sting deep in your abdomen.

scaramouche was as desperate as ever to show you his love through physical attention— and the word shame didn't seem to find a place in his phraseology when he forces your gaze back under his. "open and stick your tongue out," he taps, once twice, against your lips with his thumb, "wanna taste me, right? so do it now," while keeping his throbbing dick buried inside as he purposefully moves his hips a little to make you squeal.

you cannot help the way your lips curve into a smile before you're parting your lips, applauding his efforts to claim you. it's merciless when he bundles the saliva budding in his mouth before spitting on your tongue, his crystalline eyes open to catch your tremble— how can he not indulge in this? you're nothing short of perfect, pleading for him to give you more.

"show me," he commands further, groaning deep into his chest when he looks at his saliva melting with your own and how it's dribbling from your chin, his length twitching rapidly as you try to steady your breathing at the sinful scenario you're living through.

scaramouche's hands clench at your waist as he fucks you as passionate as he can, his cock pressing against the overstimulated bud in your pussy before starting slow circles with his hips, your mouth huffing out candid i love you's amidst your moans.

inch by inch he slides into you, in and out in rapid movements, the more you take the better it felt having him rub your pleasure spots he so desperately desired to feel suck on his shaft and milk the cum out of his cock. he finds it cute when your face suddenly scrunches up if he moves faster than previous, your jaw parting in awe at how much better it felt the more he upped his tempo to batter your sore pussy.

it feels good— it always does, and if being a little jealous here and there would always result in this, than you'd gladly play your part as much as he needed it. it's almost like you don't hear yourself moaning and spell out honeyed praises, too occupied to indulge on the way scaramouche rolled along your walls and the noises of his balls colliding on your skin over and over.

"fuck— you're gonna make me cum fast," scaramouche gasps, dragging his sensitive cock through you like you're made for him, as if it just fits and he doesn't need to prep you, which he in fact, really enjoyed doing as well.

frankly, nothing tasted as good as your pussy rubbing across his mouth.

one hand leaves your hips before he gives your clit a little attention, pressing through the curtains that protected your sensitive pearl as he rubs your slick over the sensitivity, smirking devilishly when you arch your back off the mattress and begin to shake, your walls spasming while being so perfect when milking his cock, your pussy dripping with slick as he toys with your clit.

you cry out a sound between a broken sob and sharp moan of his name and that's when scaramouche knows you're close too— swift when he drags his hand from your clit to intertwine his digits with your own as he fucked you into the bed, your pussy pulsing around him as your eyes scrunch shut when you reach your high, falling slack against the bed and whining out shortly when he warms you with the weight of his body.

"fuck— shit!," his hips faster, his breath quicker, "you're fuckin mine, mine, mine," scaramouche falls apart,  panting against your ear and groaning lowly, his erection pulsing while constricted by your walls as he holds his cock deeply buried in you before thrusting back and forth once, twice, three more times as he spills his load into your pussy— his warm seed setting your belly on fire by how perfect it felt to be claimed in such lewd, passionate way.

"fuck," he breathes, "gonna stay like that for a bit,"

archons, it's so sticky— borderline filthy and shameless with every intention of it being like that. your tits were still bouncing up and down from the following, last thrusts of him pumping his precious cum into your hole and making sure not a single drop gets lost midway.

after a while of collecting your breathing and turning it evenly again, you giggle out, finding his darkened hair strands as you greet him with a wet, sloppy kiss, "wanna join me for a shower later?" you mumble, eyes half-lidded as he hums softly into your lips, "mhm, or i'll decline so you'll get mad at me, right?"

"i will bite you," you threaten, shaking slightly as he pulls himself out without warning to expose his drenched cock being weaved with your slick, the filthy mixture dripping along your inner thighs,

"please do, "i'm counting on it," scaramouche ends with a wink.

©2024 anantaru do not repost, copy, translate, modify, claim as your own

[kalivodas]

JOHN PRICE I'm so in love. I saw a post with the headcanon how he gets a boner in situations that aren't sexual but sweet. Like whenever they talk about marriage or moving in together or something like that. I just thought that such a cute thought.

awww i blush me + that old man 4ever 💋

YOU AND JOHN Price were standing in the middle of some bustling department store. Walls lined with home decor, faint promises to the future that swelled around you.

John was pressed right to your backside, eyes roaming the bath section curiously, and your mouth parted as you realized a part of him swelled, too.

“John,” you cough out. “Are you hard looking at towels?”

He blinks down at you, head shaking in an accusatory way. “No. Why’d you ask that?”

“I can feel it.”

A taut grin splits his face before he can stop it. “Maybe a bit.”

You go to step away from him, chide him a bit, but his palms find your hips, and he tightens a vice at the fat there. “Don’t move,” he grits. “Please.”

“Fine,” you huff, a snort of insolence passing your lips as you bent down, grabbed a set of black towels, and rocked on your feet to push back into his hips. It sounded like he barked, and he smooths it away with a cough.

“Give you an inch and you take a mile, don’t you, lovie?”

You smile, a juvenile sort of thing painting your face as you toss him the stack of cloth to cover himself while the two of you strolled the aisles.

“Why’d you get hard anyway?” you question. Your gaze zeros in on the candle section before you dart off in that direction.

John’s shoulders shrug as you bring a butterscotch and brandy three wick to his nose. It crinkles. “Too much butter. And I’m not sure.” His tongue should’ve burned in dishonesty.

“You’re a horrible liar, John.” You try a Tahitian coconut next. He hums, so you tuck it between your arms, and glance down each of the end caps of the aisles. The coast was beautifully clear.

Your hand glides down to the underneath of his buckle before you smile. “Jesus, honey, you been popping viagra every time I turn around?”

He chuckles at you, hips pushing into your palm. “No, I just enjoy this. These things—“ he clears his throat. “I want to marry you.”

The palm that teased him changes its course, pinches his cheek instead. “You should. We’d make beautiful, fat babies.”

You hear him sputter on air behind you.

a / n the aftermath

[kunajou]

❝ seeing your nudes ❞ ‣ jjk headcanon

❝synopsis❞ ‣ okay but accidents happen and well, they didn't mean to look at something that wasn't meant for them. it sort of just happened. - or - when they accidentally see their friend(s) gf/wife nudes.

・❥・PAIRING(S) › jjk men x female!reader ・❥・GENRE(S) › fluff/(little)smut ・❥・WORD(S) › 2k+ ・❥・WARNING(S) › yuji & megumi are aged up (always), jjk men seeing other men gf/wife nudes, various nip piercings, various v*g piercings, facials, description of the girls nudes. ・❥・POST DATE › 03/31/2024

❝featuring❞ ‣ nanami kento, fushiguro megumi, gojo satoru, choso kamo, ryomen sukuna, & geto suguru ♡

‣ nanami kento ♡ ↳ accidentally sees satoru's wife.

Nanami didn't ask for this.

Although, it's the universe's fault for making you absolutely gorgeous. Any person with eyes can see that and well, he gets why Satoru would want to set you as his homescreen background but... he doesn't get why it's a picture like this. He didn't want to see you like this without your explicit permission. What was Satoru thinking? Does he not have any shame?

Nanami attempted to distract himself from the image he had seen. Anything that will make his boner deflate as quick as possible. He doesn't think Satoru minds (because he loves to show you off) but this has to be crossing the line, right? 

“You alright, Nanamin?”

Satoru meets his eyes and, of course, Kento can't figure out the words to say when he sees Satoru’s grin.  

“You look pale.”

“I-I’m fine, Satoru.” Kento tries to make his voice sound even but he knows he's failing. Miserably. 

Satoru only hums as he glances down when his phone lights up. It's then that he realizes what it was that's gotten his attention. 

“She's pretty, isn't she?” Satoru grins when you text him again. “She set it to that.”

Kento swallows hard, clearing his throat as he tries to adjust himself. The sight of your arms tied above your heads with what looks like one of Satoru’s button-up shirts. It’s open wide, giving Kento full view of your body as he didn't realize you had a tattoo below your breast and shit, it was so fucking hot. Bedroom eyes, tears streaming down your face and how does someone look so sexy while crying?

He has your left leg over his shoulder, the right bent to your chest and it looks like he took it right after you climaxed.

You look so out of it, so serine, and fuck Kento would give anything to see that expression in person. And fuck did you also have a piercing above your clit area? 

He tried to ignore it. Ignore Satoru and his little comments about you.

It isn't until he glances over to see Satoru looking at a picture of your pussy on his phone that Kento loses the fight. He wonders how you'd taste, the beautiful jewel sitting gorgeously above the hood of your clit that he finds himself imagining his tongue just playing with it.

And those thoughts alone have Kento spiraling.

“S-She's very pretty.” He knows he shouldn't commute the images to memory but fucking hell, you’re so beautiful.

“I know she is.” Ever so cocky but he can't blame him because if you were his wife, he would be too.

‣ fushiguro megumi ♡ ↳ accidentally sees toji's girlfriend. (Yuji & Megumi are aged up)

It wasn’t Megumi’s fault, he swears! He was looking for a photo of you to show Yuuji and of course, his father doesn’t know much about iPhones. He doesn’t know he can hide your explicit photos behind a facial lock and with him being curious, that led him to click on a photo that wasn’t for his eyes to see. 

“You okay, Megs?” Yuuji inquires, worry etched in his eyes as his friend's cheeks turn beet red. ”Are you not feeling well?’

“I-I’m fine!” Megumi splutters, coughing to clear his throat. Shit. Yuuji can’t see this. He shouldn’t be seeing this.

“What is it?”

“Nothing! It’s nothing.” Megumi groans before closing the photos app completely and tossing his father’s phone to the side of the couch like it scorched his hand. “L-Let’s go do something else!”

“Oh, I thought you were going to show me a picture of your stepmom?” It’s an innocent question, one that wouldn’t have Megumi blushing like he was back in high school if it wasn’t for that picture.

“Y-You’ll see her later.”

“Oh! Great! I can’t wait to meet her!” Yuuji's innocence makes Megumi wish he could take back the last couple minutes or scrub the image of your face with (no doubt) his dad’s cum all over it to preserve his prenotion of you.

“Where’s my phone?” Toji’s voice booms from behind the boys as both point toward the edge of the couch where the device landed. “Why is it over there?”

“Oh! Megumi was showing me a picture of his mom!”

Toji’s face scrunches into confusion before glancing at his son who was trying to hide the embarrassment he was sure was written on his face from his dad.

“Did yo-”

“Yes? Sorry.” It comes out rushed but it has Toji cursing at the thought of his son seeing you in all the provocative positions he’d put you in.

“Next time ask me.”

Megumi nods (because what else is there to say?). He gets up to hastily make his way to his room as his situation continues to grow and Yuji calls after him.

‣ ryomen sukuna ♡ ↳ accidentally sees yuji's girlfriend (not really. it was on purpose lol).

Sukuna opening an eye on Yuuji’s cheek to see what the brat was gawking at. He can feel the warmth rushing through their shared body.

Curiosity overtakes him as he watches the brat swipe through photo after photo of you. His eyes lock on one that you took, finger against your lip as he can see your breast sitting so pretty. It's a half-body picture and fuck, Sukuna wants to see that sweet cunt of yours but he can view of the real thing later.

"Isn't she a sight for sore eyes."

"Wha-"

“You’re a pervert.” Sukuna snickers, “In public. Really?”

“Shut up!”

Yuji can’t help the blush that spreads over his cheeks, the heat becoming unbearable the more Sukuna ridicules him. It's not his fault you have him this down bad.

“I’ll admit. She’s got a pretty p-” Yuji rushes to cover the mouth on his face as he hears Sukuna cackle behind it. Why now? Why did he have to get horny on the way home???

He quickly shoves his phone into his pocket, tapping his foot impatiently and listening to Sukuna talk about you in ways he hates in his head.

‘She’s got a pretty pussy, I’d love to bury my face in it.’

‘You’re lucky I haven’t taken over while you’re balls deep in her.’

‘She’ll be begging for me once she gets a taste of what a man can do.’

Yuji is seething, red blurring his vision but there’s nothing he can do right now. So he half-ass listens to the intruder in his head, letting his anger bubble beneath the surface.

He knows Sukuna’s not joking. It's not the first time he's expressed interest in you. He wonders what makes you different that Sukuna would want to risk it for you.

He’s not even phased that Yuji is cursing Sukuna in his head, it won’t deter him from his prize.

You.

He can't wait to take part when Yuji least expects it.

‣ kamo choso ♡ ↳ accidentally sees yuji's girlfriend.

“Yuuji!” Choso calls to his brother as Yuji practically jumps up from the couch to see what’s wrong. He’s confused, however, when nothing is physically wrong. His brother’s face is slightly redder than it usually is.

“Choso? What’s wrong?”

He practically shoves the phone into his brother's hand before rushing past him to get to his room. Is he having a mental crisis? Yes because he hadn’t expected to see you like that. And also because he doesn’t know what Yuji will do.

“Choso?” He hears Yuji knock quietly. “Are you okay?”

“N-No. I’m sorry. I promise I wasn’t trying to snoop!”

“What happened.”

“Your girlfriend… She-” Choso stops talking the moment the realization dawns on Yuuji.

“It’s okay!” Yuji smiles, going to message to see what you’d sent him. His breath hitches as he sees the mirror shot you sent him. Your back toward the mirror as the pretty red thong sits snugly between your cheeks as the bra has a big mesh bow on the front of it. Your breast looks fucking amazing and it makes Yuji turn redder than Choso. 

He never knows how to handle it when you send him things like this.

“Fuck. Um, you don’t-’

“It’s okay, Yuji.” Choso tries to smile but it comes off as a grimace. Yuji nods, before turning and tailing it back toward his room to call you, leaving Choso sitting on his bed to contemplate what to do. He feels horrible that he can’t get that image of you out of his head. 

He feels worse that he’s horny because of it.

‣ gojo satoru ♡ ↳ accidentally sees kento's wife.

Okay, but it wasn't Satoru’s fault! Really! How was he supposed to know that if he kept swiping right, he would see something he shouldn't have? Something meant for Kento's eyes only.

And fucking Kento. Why did he have your nudes just out for anyone to come across?! If it was Satoru, he would be gatekeeping the hell out of them. Away from everyone's view!

But damn, was it a fucking sight.

Satoru couldn't unsee it even if he wanted to (and trust he doesn't, he just wishes it was his cock in side of you). Your head thrown back in absolute ecstasy, making his cock stir just thinking about how you would feel sitting on his cock.

Your breasts (so round and soft looking, he knows they would fit perfectly in his large hands) made Satoru want to caress every inch of your skin. He didn't know you had a belly button piercing but why was it the sexiest thing he's seen.

How did Kento get so lucky?!

He tries not to let the picture affect him even if he can feel his cheeks run hot the more he stares at it.

Satoru had always thought you had a banging body, beautiful as hell too. He was unsure of how Nanami was able to snag you. Was it through a dating app? Maybe it was a chance meeting somewhere?

So he commutes the picture to memory. 

"What's wrong?”

“Ah, nothing!” Satoru quickly swipes back to the picture of you standing in front of a beautiful sunset before handing Nanami his phone back. “Cute vacation photos!”

He's sure his smile looks more like a grimace as Nanami looks highly confused. It isn't until he accidentally swipes right after Satoru is gone that he realizes his mistake.

Shit.

‣ geto suguru ♡ ↳ accidentally sees satoru's girlfriend.

Suguru knew his best friend's girlfriend was a doll. You were Satoru's dream girl after all (he only knew because he said it all the damn time).

Although Suguru never paid the two of you any mind, he did think you were cute but you were taken and well, Suguru isn't a homewrecker.

At least, he wouldn't consider himself one until his thought process changed the day he was able to sit down and have a very mature conversation with you. One he knew he wouldn't be able to have with Satoru or even Shoko. Your take on the subject matter was informative and it made him wonder how his childish best friend was able to pull someone like you.

He knew his crush blossomed from that day and every other day you had conversations with him but...

What he didn't know was how deep that crush ran. It seemed as if it was getting harder and harder to not see you as just a friend.

And well, the day he saw your nudes on display on Satoru's desktop screen was the icing on the cake for him. He should have left it sitting idle. He shouldn't have touched anything. His mistake? Moving the mouse. It made everything disappear while leaving you on display for anyone to see.

His mistake.

The picture in question was of you, nude as you're smiling at the camera with your knees pressed to your chest and giving him a very pretty view of your pussy. He can see how wet your pussy is, little hints of cream around your pussy entrance too. He can also see a pieces of metal running through your nipoles. Fuck, nipple piercing too?

That's so hot!

It makes his mouth waters and fuck does he wanna know how good you taste so much that he finds himself licking his lips.

He eyes the collar dawning your neck. 'Satoru' embedded in gold. It compliments your skin that's shines with a sheen of sweat, making Suguru feel things he shouldn't feel for his best friends girlfriend.

He's sure Satoru is the one behind the camera because who else would it be? It all sends his mind into a whirlwind of scenarios that his brain should not have conjured out between the three of you. 

He tries to clear his throat when the second picture pops up and Suguru is sure he is going to burst right there. You bent over with your ass in the air. Cheeks spread and he's able to see both holes (your pussy glistening and making him lick his lips). He knows it’s Satoru’s dick settled (no doubt he was about to push it back in) and he can't help the slight color that spread along his cheeks.

He doesn't realize he's still staring at the screen, unwavering until he realizes Satoru is calling his name. It brings him back to his reality.

“Suguru!”

“Yeah? Y-Yes!” Suguru clears his throat but poor Suguru, Satoru already knows he saw them. “ ‘m Sorry, what did you say?”

“I asked if you liked what you saw.” Satoru’s brow raises in question and well shit, Suguru was caught.

© GOJOLATTE 2024 ➳ ALL RIGHTS RESERVED  PLEASE DO NOT Copy, Translate, Re-Upload, or Steal ANY of my work. Thank You, Beautiful People!

[lucyandthepen]

salted caramel | lmh ( m )

you hadn’t been aware that mark’s jealousy followed the rules of baseball — three strikes, and he snaps?

read the first part here!

pairing: barista!bf!mark x reader verse: college!au rating: r warnings&tags: unprotected sex, mentions of creampies (although not an actual one), hickeys, possessiveness and jealousy, exhibitionism, sort of phone sex in conjunction with said exhibitionism, oral (m!receiving), mark has an understated but unending obsession with mc’s stomach, tummy bulges, we always love an implicit bigdick!mark, donghyuck is kind of a little shit and basically he has to cross a few lines for this “plot” to get to where it gets word count: 20.3k

a/n: this is a bit rushed and panicked because I basically wrote it in a feverish 2.5ish days… i’m so sorry that the pacing might be a little off, especially since I can never tell if it’s actually too fast or not. this is also unedited and unbeta’d but oh well because i never edit my stuff before posting and just re-edit when I re-read! regardless, i hope it’s something that you can enjoy, and i couldn’t pick between sweetest bf ever!mark and hottest mf ever!mark, so i guess you get a little bit of both!

if you liked it, please consider reblogging to support (especially because this may get flagged for mature content)!

You should have noticed it the first time, but in your overall defense, you find most things that you take note of about Mark Lee to be more on the highly positive and greatly endearing side — or, maybe, you just have a tendency to paint him in that kind of light.

You can’t really help it; he’s still got that halfway shy, softly adoring look in his eyes whenever he sees you, which is more often now than ever before, and you just can’t do anything but reciprocate, if only to see his eyes grow a little brighter. You wonder if Mark’s aware that if this were a Shakespearean scenario, you’d easily fall on your sword for him without question, for as long as he asked, but you don’t think there’s any pressing need to remind him — not with the way you spend most of your free time figuring out ways to be with him. You’re certain he should know, what with the fact that every time he looks at you, even just a glimpse, your gaze is always on him, ready to make eye contact whenever he turns his head — something he often acknowledges with one of those signature blushes that spread like wildfire across his cheeks, up to the tips of his ears.

It also should be unmistakably clear that you’re head over heels for him, given how at least once a week, he’s got his face buried between your legs in an attempt to hear the thing he wants you to say the most (see: his name, in varying pitches and decibels) — but if he doesn’t notice then, you can’t hold it against him; Mark’s mouth is so attentive that you doubt his mind is anywhere else apart from what inch of you his tongue is going to meet next in that moment. At least, that much is true for you.

He should at least know, what with you waiting for his classes to end so you can walk to Starbucks for his afternoon shift; you even race the twenty-minute distance to the Department of Mathematics, still holding your European Renaissance History textbook from your last lecture, just to make sure you’re there right as he gets out — a fact he has to know is an act of devotion, considering how often he finds you heaving for air and leaning your back against the brick wall outside the Accounting 150 Lab. Even his professor knows you as Mark Lee’s admirer, which is all well and good, but if you had the breath to spare, you’d correct his terminology for accuracy. Girlfriend. You’re Mark Lee’s girlfriend.

It’s a fact you don’t mind reminding him of but that you actually have to do quite often, because when you call Mark the appropriate counterpart — boyfriend — his eyes still widen, like he’s hearing it for the first time. It’s cute, just like everything else about him. You just have to wonder, at times, if he doesn’t believe you.

Whatever. It doesn’t matter; you’ll just keep telling him.

You don’t have any classes with Mark this semester, which is a shame, considering your favorite pastime over the last few months had just been to stare at his side profile and wish he’d look over so you could kiss him, but the fact that you spend almost every day with him now, using that time to remind him of how much you want to kiss him and actually getting it to do it right then and there, pretty much more than makes up for your previous schedule of daydreaming.

However, hanging out with him doesn’t always mean you’re just with him; you came to learn this after the first week of the new semester, and you’ve now gotten used to the fact that with Mark Lee sometimes comes his band of tall, often loud friends.

The loudest by far is Lee Donghyuck, the mysterious figure last semester that you’d only known by one syllable, now easily recognizable (and no longer enigmatic by any means to you) by his booming voice and even more demanding personality. He’s supremely outgoing, a trait you can’t say you mind, but there’s an interesting contrast between Mark, who tends to say things after carefully considering his ideas, and Donghyuck, who seems to just burst out in fits of impulsive rambling that often leads to some kind of semi-structured debate. It kind of gives you whiplash, in a funny, slightly perplexing way.

The whole friend group likes to meet up at Starbucks while Mark is on his shift, and now that they’ve come to know you as that girl Mark didn’t teach a single thing in College Algebra to but still somehow got lucky with (something you’ve wasted immense efforts into correcting but have ultimately failed to do so), you now find yourself sitting with them, all somehow waiting for who appears to be the nucleus of this group to stop taking coffee orders and hang up his (cute, but you’re the only one that thinks so, actually) green apron.

Again, you don’t mind it; new people aren’t an issue to you, and you’re also interested in finding out more about Mark through those closest to him. You get to see the few ways they’re alike in contrast to the staggering number of things that make them amusingly different from one another. Despite the broad spectrum of their intersecting interests, you’ve come to learn, through the conversations you’ve had to sit through over the last month, that they have varying opinions on said interests. For instance, you know they’re all into video games, Japanese manga, and long-winding fantasy movies, but every conversation takes flight the moment there’s even a spark of dissent from one person — and the source, usually (and quite unfortunately), is Lee Donghyuck himself.

Today is no exception.

“Dude, you’re crazy,” Zhong Chenle practically seethes. Whether by sheer coincidence or actual desire, he’s the one who most often finds himself staring Donghyuck down, trying to bend the latter’s will into admitting defeat. Donghyuck, on the other hand, has mastered the art of looking supremely unperturbed, especially when Chenle is in the heat of his rage. “The ninth was the worst, hands down.”

“Art and rendering were so solid.” Donghyuck raises a finger, and you’re not sure if it’s to start off a list or to shut Chenle up. You don’t want to ask, anyway, too busy finding amusement in the shifting expressions of despair, rage, anguish, and murderous intent on the latter’s face to speak up. You presume that’s why everyone else isn’t stopping them — or maybe they’re just preparing their own defenses and points to raise. “Intuitive combat and flawless combo chains. The fucking open world? Which other installment in the franchise offers that much depth in the gameplay?”

“Depth? Do you even hear yourself right now?” Chenle grips his head so tightly that when he pulls his hands away, there are actual red marks across his forehead and temple, and his bangs are askew. “What kind of depth comes from cloned movesets? The character designs are so stupidly traditional too. And—”

“There’s a unique kind of beauty in familiarity.”

“The open world was a disaster,” Chenle plows on. “It was so empty, and the map was the farthest thing from intuitive. It’s quite literally the worst thing KOEI has ever done. That’s exactly why they went back to the limited map strategy in later installments. Even the spin-offs.”

“I thought the grappling and ambush systems were pretty intuitive. Ingenious, even.”

It’s a singularly amusing sight — Chenle is one insult to his pride away from imploding, and Donghyuck is just checking the dirt under his nails like he’s waiting in line to take his school ID photo. Park Jisung, one of the quieter ones in the bunch, tries to diffuse the tension by clearing his throat and going ‘I actually really liked the Age Of Calamity Zelda one they released with all the different campaigns,’ but that just goes unnoticed by either party.

“You once failed an ambush play just because you were stuck behind a wall you couldn’t scale. Don’t say shit about the ambush and grappling mechanics.”

“Unlike some people sitting around this table, I learn from my mistakes. That’s also probably why some people — not naming names — just can’t appreciate the artistic beauty that is Dynasty Warriors 9.”

Donghyuck doesn’t even look up from his cuticles when Chenle explodes.

“You’re fucking impossible!”

“Can you guys relax?” Lee Jeno, who had somehow miraculously found the space and silence in the breaths between the entire argument to doze off, opens one eye, only slightly irate. “You’re making a scene over a dead game franchise.”

“It’s not dead; they’re on hiatus,” both Chenle and Donghyuck chime in together, apparently finding a moment of unique solidarity to shoot Jeno down before going back to glaring daggers at each other. Jeno shrugs, gives everyone else at the table an I tried kind of exasperated expression, and settles back into his seat, the one eye already closing before he’s fully folded his arms across his chest.

Your eyes wander away from the group over to the counter. You’re thankful for the fact that most of the time, you just get invited to share a table with them without necessarily being trapped in the middle of a conversation — especially one as heated as the one Chenle is prolonging while jabbing his finger accusingly at Donghyuck, as if he’s trying to pin a crime on the latter instead of just explaining why Donghyuck’s opinion is ‘borne of ignorance.’ When they’re all caught up in their business like this, you end up being able to revel in your more or less unobstructed view of Mark behind the barista’s station, where he’s busy piping an extra helping of whipped cream on top of a strawberry frappuccino for a kid that’s already jumping up and down next to the pick-up station.

The biting winter had already given way to the first signs of spring, and the Starbucks Mark works at has a supremely effective central heating system that allows people to shed their coats. This works in your favor, considering Mark wears nothing but a button-up shirt over his apron while he works, and he’s got this habit of rolling up his sleeves so they don’t catch any stains. You’re pretty sure he has a second motive, though; surely, he’s aware of how the view of his arms, muscles tightening under his skin whenever he even lightly grips something, drives you crazy. You’d bet a month’s allowance he’s doing it on purpose so that you start entertaining the thought of yelling at everyone in the branch to fuck off so you can grab him by the front of his stupid shirt so you can kiss his stupid face. Or ride it.

And for some inexplicable reason, he still has the audacity to act like there’s nothing amiss. When he looks up at you right after pushing the frappuccino towards the little girl, his eyes still brighten, almost innocent in their gaze, the corners of his lips turning up surreptitiously, hiding the smile he seems to save for only you from everyone else in the room.

You smile back, but when he turns away to take someone’s order, you let out a heavy sigh and take a long sip of your vanilla sweet cream cold brew until you start reaching the last dregs of it under the ice. Your brain pretty much cries out in protest, but you know it deserves as much as a mental cold shower for entertaining the thought of asking him to bend you over the counter at five-thirty in the afternoon in a Starbucks.

Stupid Mark. Stupid brain. Stupid fucking people in the room.

The warm breath in your ear alerts you to a slowly approaching presence, but you don’t have the reflexes to turn back to its source before it starts talking.

“Got anything to add to either of our cases, ___________?”

“What?” Your palm comes up to rub your ear as Donghyuck pulls away, laughing lightly. You’re sucked back into the foreground of the conversation, but you’re just as lost now as you had been before you started tuning them out in favor of your lust. “Uh — no. Sorry. To be honest, I know nothing about… sorry, what were you guys talking about again?”

“See, that’s how normal people act,” Jeno grumbles, both his eyes flying open this time. “Instead of hosting a presidential debate about Dynasty Warriors.”

“Not that there’s anything wrong with that.” You’re quick to add, and Jeno looks mildly amused at your attempt to still mollify the rest of the group. “I’m sure I would have liked it. If, you know, I actually had been introduced to it at any point in my life.”

“And if you had, I’m sure you’d have the taste to assert alongside me that the seventh installment was revolutionary,” Chenle sniffs, but he’s looking more pointedly at Donghyuck, who’s still ignoring him, save for the fact that he’s now looking at you instead of at his nails (which doesn’t feel like such a great upgrade).

“Nah, she’d be on my side. ___________ looks like she’d appreciate a good, scenic open world and grappling system. Right?”

“Uh…” you say smartly.

“Man, shut up.” Chenle throws his hands in the air before he stands up, his chair scraping against the floor as he pushes it back with astounding force. “Got me so pissed off I need to pee now.”

You have no idea what the correlation is between getting annoyed and needing to use the bathroom, but even if you wanted to bring up your doubts — which you don’t — Chenle is long gone before you can get your thoughts together. It’s only when he’s out of earshot that Donghyuck leans in, almost conspiratorially, to whisper to you again.

“Actually, I think the ninth sucks too. But isn’t it kind of funny how worked up that fucker gets?”

“To be honest, I’ve never known anyone with quite your talent in riling people up,” you admit, and even though you’re not sure what kind of meaning you want attached to that, you notice that he decides to take it as a compliment all on his own, his chest puffing out in pride. “Too bad I have no idea which opinion is really right, or I’d weigh in, too.”

“Not a Dynasty Warriors kind of girl, then?”

“No one is, Hyuck,” Jeno snorts, shaking his head. “You two are the only people I know who still played that past the fifth installment.”

“Fair. I nurture a love for old franchises.” Donghyuck leans back, looking supremely satisfied at how he’s managed to tick off one of his most important ‘to-do’ points of the day. “So what’s your poison, ___________?”

“What’s that mean?”

“You a Gardenscapes kind of girl? Tekken? Maybe you like some good ol’ fashioned LoL?”

“I honestly don’t have the hand-eye coordination to play,” you confess. “I know Mark likes to play PUBG from time to time. I mostly just sit and ask questions, though. The few times I tried playing with him, I swear any normal person would’ve cried. He had to babysit me like crazy. It was a miracle he didn’t throw me out.”

“She even tries to play with him,” Donghyuck whistles lowly. “Dude, how’d Mark get a chick like you?”

“Meaning?”

“You’re way too good for that dope.” His laugh is light and good-natured. “Never thought a moony-eyed weirdo like him would actually wind up with his dream girl — which he’s called you, more than once, by the way. Fucking disgusting, but… I get it. Doesn’t make it less crazy or weird to hear, though.”

“Sorry to put you through that.” You smile, using your straw to stir the contents of your cup. A warmth spreads through your shoulders and down your arms to the tips of your fingers as you digest what Donghyuck’s just said to you, and you find your eyes trailing back to Mark, who’s pulling off his apron. His eyes are already fixed on you, and when you lock gazes, he mouths a wait for me that makes you want to squeeze the life out of something in pure joy. You settle for a soft sigh. “I guess it won’t help if I say your friend over there’s my dream guy.”

“It absolutely will not,” Donghyuck groans, faking a gagging noise that has you laughing. “But tell you what — if you ever get tired of Mark playing PUBG and ignoring you like the clown he is, I’ll find you someone else more your speed.”

“No thanks,” you snort, taking the last sip of your drink. “More than that, I’d just want to be some kind of helpful to him if I ever play with him again.”

“We can help you with that too,” Jisung volunteers. “Jeno taught me the basics. I’m sure he can teach you too.”

“Yeah, and I’m guessing you’d be a better student than mister “how come you didn’t tell me I had to focus the crosshairs myself” over here,” Jeno chuckles, surreptitiously pointing at Jisung when you cast him a questioning look.

“I’m pretty good at sneak attacks myself.” Donghyuck makes a show of pretending to slice your neck before grinning smugly. “We’ll take care of you. Mark won’t know what hit him next time.”

“What’s happening to me next time?”

You feel Mark before you see him, his hand landing on your head lightly and smoothing your hair back in an idle, gentle motion to announce his presence. You look up at him, already beaming, and he returns the favor as his hand settles on your shoulder.

“We were just talking about replacing you. Both as a friend and as a boyfriend, for your poor little dream girl here who’s just too nice to turn you down.” Donghyuck lies like it’s second nature; you wonder if that’s a Finance major thing or just a him thing.

“And you’re offering that to someone who didn’t ask for it?” Mark snorts, nudging Chenle’s bag over so he can sit in the empty spot.

“She’s so caught up in your sticky little web that she can’t struggle against you.” Donghyuck feigns a heavy sigh that suggests he feels sorry for you before he puts a hand on your free shoulder, shaking his head in a convincing kind of pity. “I’ll save you, so don’t worry. Mark can’t keep his grubby hands on you forever. Whenever you need to be saved, I’ll come a-running to free you.”

There’s a tightness on one shoulder that disrupts the balance of your torso, and you find yourself leaning closer to Mark. Your hand finds its way to his knee, giving it a light squeeze under the table, and his grip loosens by a fraction. Donghyuck’s as quick to let go as he is to hang on.

“We were just talking about PUBG,” you correct, and Mark’s eyes snap to you. “I was asking for help — you know, so I won’t drag you down the next time I join in?”

“I don’t mind whatever you do in-game.” He’s quick to comfort you, even if you don’t actually need it, but it feels warm and cold “I’m just glad you wanna try it with me.”

“No, but I kind of want to learn too. So it can be fun for both of us. Also so you don’t have to keep avenging me after five minutes,” you laugh. Mark cracks a smile then, and you don’t realize his expression had been slightly harder until it softens under your gaze.

“Then I’ll teach you next time.”

“No, I want to surprise you with how cool I get. And then next time, I’ll even beat you.” You turn to Donghyuck, slightly unsure. “Uh… I can beat him, can’t I?”

“If you play different teams, yeah,” he confirms. “Trust me. I’ll help you kick his ass.”

“Or we’ll both kick yours,” Mark chuckles, his grasp now tightening and loosening intermittently. He’s massaging your shoulder lightly, and you end up sinking deeper into his side. You don’t miss the slightly nauseated amusement that passes across Donghyuck’s face nor the way he mouths ‘sap’ to Mark, who ignores this comment in its entirety.

“Yo, hotpot at seven? Renjun’s asking,” Chenle announces as he returns to your table, his phone in one hand and a crumpled paper towel in the other. “Jaemin can’t make it, though. Study group or whatever shit he always says.”

“I’m down,” Donghyuck immediately replies, and Chenle’s eyes shoot heavenward, like he’s already asking for the divine strength to not sock Donghyuck in the face later.

“Can’t,” Jeno yawns, both his arms outstretched as he tries to move the sleep out of his spine. “Pre-test tomorrow.”

“Dude, it’s a pre-test,” Donghyuck rolls his eyes. “You don’t have to study if they’re just testing how much you know before studying.”

“Gotta study all the same.”

“I gotta pass too,” Jisung looks actually apologetic. “I promised my mom I’d help her move some stuff to my aunt’s place tonight.”

“Boring,” Chenle grumbles before turning to the both of you. “Lovebirds?”

“Rain check,” Mark shakes his head. “Family dinner. My brother’s home for the weekend. How about Monday instead? Most of us can’t make it anyway. At least Jaemin doesn’t have study group either.”

“If that’s even what that weirdo’s doing,” Chenle sighs, already punching in a message to send to Renjun. “Fine; I’ll ask about Monday. You guys better actually reply to the goddamn group chat. I can’t coordinate in six different private chats ever again.”

“You can put my name down already,” Mark casts you a sideway glance, and you nod immediately. “Two names, actually.”

“I’m good on Monday too. When we see each other again, I’ll bring some prospects for you to sift through,” Donghyuck adds to you, and you laugh. “Cool guys. Jocks. I know this upperclassman all the girls say is really hot. I think I still have his Messenger from when we did a group discussion last semester.”

“I’ll have Mark look at them so he can reject them all for me,” you promise. Donghyuck feigns affront before looking at Mark in utter disbelief.

“How the fuck did you snag a girl like this, man?”

“I’m pretty sure she once told me I… what did you say?” Mark glances at you amusedly. “I had some moves, I guess.”

“You mean stutter and blush in her presence?” Donghyuck can’t decide how to look at you without being even the slightest bit offensive; he just settles on incredulity. “And that won you over?”

“Most powerful move in the Mark Lee playbook,” you shrug, grinning. “Had me from the first ‘um,’ and he’s had me ever since.”

“You lucky son of a bitch,” Donghyuck snorts, and neither of you misses the slightly abashed but unmistakable smugness in Mark’s face when you lean in to rest your head on his shoulder.

The second time it happens is on that Monday, in a far more noticeable capacity. You just aren’t quick enough to read the signs, as usual.

But in your defense (again), it hadn’t felt all that significant.

“Fuck, this is spicy,” Na Jaemin sucks air in through his teeth and lets it out in a sharp whistle that’s broken by a laugh that’s not necessarily at anything funny. Maybe he’s just laughing at the sheen of sweat across his forehead that he has to wipe off with the other side of his napkin.

Miraculously, the hotpot plan pushes through, with no small amount of effort in coordination on Chenle’s part; he’d even texted you just to make sure he’d gotten the head count right, despite the fact that Mark had already confirmed your attendance twice over. Even the often elusive Na Jaemin, who always seems to have one or another study group to attend on most nights, manages to come and is currently busy mixing his peanut sauce in his little bowl with such vigor that you can’t help but wonder if he’s not trying to drown the mala-flavored strips of meat in it completely.

“That’s why I said you need a bowl of water for dipping, you dimwit,” Donghyuck points his chopsticks at Jaemin’s messy plate in a way you can only describe as nagging, even if that’s actually impossible. “You’ve got super mala breath now.”

“Don’t know about me, but I can smell yours all the way from over here,” Jaemin quips back with an easy kind of nonchalance, hastily ducking the balled-up napkin that goes flying across the table. It lands on the floor behind his chair harmlessly.

It’s nice, you think, that Mark’s friends like to invite you to their outings now; despite all the jokes they’ve made at his expense, they’ve been consistently open to having you around. You’re not necessarily the type of couple that acts in a way that disgusts people into moving to a completely different table anyway, and you allow their conversations to unfold easily without ever interrupting, so you think that this arrangement works for all parties involved.

They’re even louder outside Starbucks, you’ve come to note; the restaurant is significantly busier than the cafe anyway, filled with people on their company dinners, so Mark’s friends all seem to want to rival that boisterous energy. Weirdly, you like it, even when they’re already half off their seats and one (Chenle) is just about to strangle the other (Donghyuck). The laughter flows freely, and there’s a messiness to the whole affair that makes it impossible to feel uncomfortable.

Even Mark pipes in occasionally, offering his opinion on topics he knows much more about than you, and you can’t help but admire how everyone listens to him when he starts to speak, even if he has nothing realistically important to say. His friends might find it odd that you’d been so drawn to him, but they just don’t know that even they’re victims of Mark’s natural magnetism, also falling quiet and eager to hear his voice, his light-hearted laugh, in response to the things they say.

But even when he’s mostly distracted by conversation, there’s a part of him that continuously pays attention to you in his own way. He nudges his ginger and soy sauce bowl towards you with the side of his wrist so you can dip your beef in, even if you’d adamantly declined him giving you your own bowl of it in the first place (you’d always thought you were peanut sauce or nothing kind of girl, but one sneaky venture into Mark’s sauce proved you wrong). His hand hovers over your head when you drop your chopsticks and bend over to pick them up from where they’ve rolled under the table, making sure you’re bump-free when you resurface.

And his palms always, always settle somewhere on you, no matter what he’s doing. If one hand is busy feeding himself, the other is intent on warming your thigh, passing over the denim in slow, steady strokes. His fingers tickle your knee when you laugh, just to make you laugh a little harder — you’d even almost kneed the table at one point, much to Huang Renjun’s alarm. But the most common place for his arm is around you, fingers lightly bunched into the side of your shirt, like he’s worried loosening his grip on you further will cause you to vanish. It keeps him close to you, keeps his scent and warmth washing over you in gentle waves, so much so that you often have to remind yourself that he’ll be the target of much light-hearted mockery if you so much as lean into him and rest your head on his shoulder.

But it’s hard to resist it, especially when his hand seems to be intent on outlining every curve on that side, passing over your hip and dipping into your waist. The motion allows him to slowly but surely lift the fabric of your shirt, up until there’s just enough of an opening for his palm to slip under, and suddenly it’s much warmer on that side, with the light roughness of his hand grazing at your skin. His fingers always stretch apart, like he’s trying to feel as much of you as he can, and the pads of his digits have a tendency to graze the plane of your stomach — his nails sometimes even travel featherlight just next to your navel, etching out words you can’t really decipher. Like he’s writing a message just for you.

It makes you feel like no matter what he’s doing, a part of his mind is always on you.

“You guys want to see that new horror movie? The Ghost Within, I think it’s called,” Jisung asks the group from over at the other end of the table, having to raise his voice significantly to make sure it isn’t swept away by the raucous laughter from across the restaurant. “I think it’s coming out in a week or two.”

“I’d be okay with it,” Renjun shrugs, although he doesn’t look enthused. “Kind of looks like a cliche horror with all those cheap jump scares and shit, but I’m down if you all are.”

A wave of assent passes over the group in general, but you notice Mark doesn’t immediately respond. You take this opportunity to lean in and confess your stance.

“If I have to sit around and watch a ghost pop out at me from a big-ass movie screen, you may never again see me in the same wonderful light you do today,” you warn. “Remember me as I am, not as I will be, Mark Lee.”

He snorts, coughing lightly as a mixture of ginger and fishcake sticks in his throat. “Yeah — we’ll pass, I think.”

“Scaredy-cat,” Donghyuck teases, and you’re surprised that Mark doesn’t come to his own defense. There’s something romantic in him not wanting to be the one to sell you out, but you suppose there’s also a kind of chivalry in being the one to take the bullet.

“Actually, I’m the one who can’t handle it well,” you smile in apology. “Sorry. I don’t have much of a reputation, so to speak, but what elegance may be attached to my name, however misplaced, is something I really want to maintain. At least until I graduate.”

“In short, you don’t want Mark to see you scream and cry,” Chenle deduces. You can’t even find fault in him figuring it out so quickly.

“Bingo.”

“Well, we can solve the problem,” Donghyuck claps his hands, getting everyone’s attention for no good reason. “__________, you sit beside me, and Mark can sit on the far end of the row. With how dark it is, he won’t see anything, and I get to sit next to a cute girl in a movie theater. Win-win.”

“Thanks for the offer,” you laugh, shaking your head. “But it’s not a win-win if I accidentally grab your hand out of instinct.”

“It is to me,” Donghyuck winks, and you feel Mark’s hand stop brushing over your stomach. His fingers curl in lightly, almost like he’s trying to make a fist but can’t quite get to that point out of personal restraint. “Or better yet, you could do what we all think you should do and dump Mark for someone you won’t be ashamed to cry in front of. I, for one, would not even bother to comment on whatever emotions you’re going through in the middle of a movie, so what do you say? It’s a pretty sweet deal, in my humble opinion. Me versus Mark Lee. The showdown of the century, right here in Hai Di Lao.”

You’ve noticed that the more Donghyuck piles onto his little teasing rampage, the more forcefully Mark tugs you over; his fingers aren’t just skimming over your skin but have now grown into the habit of gently pinching it, as if begging for your attention. It feels nice but also a little urgent, although it’s hard for you to understand why; the whole foundation of this group is built on teasing each other until someone (Chenle) snaps and lobs a bottle cap at someone else (Donghyuck), so it should be normal for Mark to be at the receiving end of some light banter.

“Should we ask the hostess to referee the match, then?” You ride along with the joke.

“No way. You’re the one calling the shots.” Donghyuck sits up a little straighter, putting on a smug face. “Okay, pick, __________. Me or Mark; who’s got the better punches?”

You make a show of acting thoughtful, even tapping your chin to pretend considering it deeply, but there was never any doubt on your choice. Still, you can’t really decipher the sudden slowness, the light tremble in Mark’s palm as it travels to your hip, where it settles, heavy, over the curve.

“It’s a complete knock-out,” you finally announce, grinning. “Championship belt goes to Mark.”

“Man, if I had a girlfriend as straight-shooting about her feelings for me as you are about your feelings for Mark, I’d propose in a day, max,” Jeno groans, half-exasperated and half-amused all at once.

“Man must’ve saved a nation or something in his past life,” Donghyuck grimaces. “No way he deserves a girl this hot and crazy about him. Hey — got any tips on stopping natural disasters or something? I could use a sexy, loyal girlfriend in my next life. Or maybe I’ll just poach yours in this one and see what it feels like.”

“I would actually deck you, so don’t even try it,” Mark snorts, his arm now winding full around your waist. You’re flush against his side, and he uses this opportunity to do something he doesn’t often do in front of his friends: show explicit affection by pressing a light kiss just behind your ear. It tickles, his breath grazing your earlobe, and you giggle, squirming in his hold. All he does is smile and pull you in tighter.

The bill’s split eight ways, but Mark’s fishing out cash to pay for your share even before you can get your wallet out from the bottom of your bag; it’s one of those quick, instinctive moves he likes to use on you, where he pushes the money and sends the bill back to the staff before you can even protest in full, so you have to settle on thanking him by returning the earlier favor — landing a peck on his cheek, which flushes a warm and contented pink the moment your lips make contact.

You just pointedly ignore the snickers that run around the table, particularly from Donghyuck and Jaemin.

The group splits ways at the front of the school dorms; most of them head in after their goodbyes, while Chenle backtracks towards his apartment building off-campus, mumbling something about how he hopes his roommate’s in because he accidentally left his key in the bowl next to their doorway. Mark should be piling in with the rest into the dorms, but he has a habit of insisting that he take you to the subway station; you’ve long since given up on convincing him against tagging along, mostly because he looks slightly hurt whenever you try to get him to stay put. You’re not going to complain anyway; for as much as you like being around Mark’s friends, it’s even better when you have this little slice of alone time despite the hassle it brings him.

Your fingers are linked when you walk under the street lights, the campus road leading to the station entrance significantly less busy at this time of evening; it’s cool enough for you to have an excuse to press yourself into Mark’s form, and he accepts this additional burden with an immense amount of grace, his arm finding its way around you again. Two minutes later, his palm is pressed against your bare skin once more, rubbing small, gentle circles just above your pelvis.

A part of you wonders if you’ll be able to do this — lean in, flush against him — when the summer heat starts to stick, but rather than really worrying about the logistics, you realize you’re more hung up on the idea of spending this summer with him.

“Sorry,” Mark murmurs out of the blue. Your eyebrows shoot up, and he looks down at you sheepishly. “Isn’t hanging out with my friends kind of driving you crazy?”

You hum in thought before shaking your head in resolution. “Not really. Not in a bad way, at least. I like how close you guys all are — and how big the group is. It’s usually just Yeji and Jisu with me, and they’re definitely not as rowdy. The change of pace is pretty fun.”

“Yeji and Jisu,” he echoes. “Your best friends. I haven’t met them yet, have I?”

“Not yet. Jisu started a part-time job across town, so we can’t get our schedules to align right just yet.” Your hip collides gently with his. “Should I let you, though?”

“One day… I think it would be nice to hang out with a less migraine-inducing crowd for a change.”

“I’ll tell them, then. They want to meet you.” You crane your neck up slightly, lowering your voice into a hushed whisper that’s completely unnecessary. “They want to know if you’re as cute as you look in your pictures.”

Mark draws back, laughing incredulously. “How do they know what my pictures look like?”

“I stalked your Instagram and showed them,” you answer simply. He throws you a funny look that’s equal parts disbelief and amusement. “They liked that one with the Spider-man costume.”

“Please don’t,” he groans, passing a hand over his face. “I should have taken that down, but I didn’t think anyone would care.”

“Why? I like it.” Your hand’s the one that manages to slip under his sweater this time, fingers trailing down his stomach; you feel him suck it in for a second in surprise before he lets out an exhale.

“I can’t ever understand what’s going through your head,” he chuckles, and you think it’s unfair that he manages to extract your hand from under the fabric while his is still firmly pressed against the side of your stomach. “You saw that and still wanted to date me?”

“Mark Lee, you simply underestimate how much I adore you. It’s kind of hurting my feelings at this rate.”

You’re just a few inches shy of the circle of light cast by the subway station sign. Your feet try to bring you forward, but Mark lingers behind, just outside the curve of soft white on the pavement, and his hand slips from under your shirt. You turn, and his hand skims down your arm instead, fingers locking around your wrist. With the slight distance between you, it looks like you’re caught in motion.

“I still can’t wrap my head around it sometimes.”

“What?”

“I just look over at you and feel like it’s not real. Like you’re going to disappear, and I’m just going to wake up from a dream and see you the next day, just some other stranger who doesn’t even know my name.” He licks his lips, and you want to reach out and kiss him already, but you know he isn’t done talking. “And I’m going to remember how much I liked you in that dream, but you won’t ever feel that same way.”

“You know I’m right here, though, don’t you?” Your fingers mimic his, squeezing around his wrist. “You can feel me. I’m here with you.”

Hesitation flashes across his face even when he nods, and you notice his eyes flit down to his shoes before looking back up at you — a habit of avoidance you know he’s trying to correct. “Sometimes I have to wonder if they’re right.”

“If… who’s right?”

“Them.” He jerks his thumb back in the general direction of the school dorms. “The guys. You know — when they ask me how I got a girl like you… the truth is, I don’t even really know. They can’t believe it, and it’s so crazy to me that I still sometimes can’t myself. So I start wondering if—”

You don’t let him finish this time; it’s rude to interrupt, you know, but you also know that what he’s about to say is probably something neither of you wants to hear anyway. Your lips connect with his, firm and demanding, and his words die in his throat, melting into a soft groan that vibrates against your skin. When you pull away, you don’t create the same distance, and Mark’s hands find their way to your waist, slightly trembling.

“They’re wrong,” you murmur, a quiet strength in your voice. “So stop wondering and just be with me.”

A smile starts tugging on the corners of his mouth, and the next moment, he’s nodding in assent, in wholehearted agreement, and the next kiss you share is one he starts, far more gentle than earlier.

“Next time I catch you entertaining nonsensical thoughts, there’ll be consequences.”

“Are you threatening me?” His laugh is colored with incredulity.

“Yes.” Your tone is firm, but your grin gives away too much of the jest. “Maybe I’ll ground you for a week, or something really childish.”

“I’d take it if you were with me.”

“That’s not how it works,” you snort, gently flicking the tip of his nose. He scrunches it on impact. “You’d be in solitary. You must reflect on your actions and all that nonsense. Meanwhile, I’ll be out having some good hotpot with everyone else.”

“If that happens, promise me one thing, then.” He maneuvers your stance until you’re both back in the blanket of darkness, just out of reach of the subway entrance. “Don’t sit next to Donghyuck.”

“And let him and Chenle give me an earful about how bad-slash-good the first Human Centipede movie was all over again? I think not.”

“No, really.” Mark buries his face into your neck, and you hear the quiet inhale as he breathes in your scent. On instinct, your hand comes up to thread through his hair, nails gently scratching at his scalp. “I don’t want you sitting there and hearing him talk your ear off about how much I don’t deserve you or that he’ll help you find someone better.”

“You know he’s just joking — and I’m just joking, right?”

“Just promise me.”

You pause, wondering if it’s in your best interest to tease him for whatever act he’s pulling, but there’s a shortness to his breathing that makes the whole situation feel weirdly tense. He’s really waiting for something — an answer. The right answer, maybe.

“I promise,” you finally say, and you know you’ve said the correct thing when Mark’s lips press a soft kiss to your collarbone, like he’s sealing in your vow.

On the third time, Mark pretty much gives up.

The strangest thing is that it starts at a time when you’re not even actually together; if you had to pinpoint the exact moment, it probably had to be when Donghyuck had walked you to the dorm from library. No — maybe even before that. Somewhere in the time you’d spent in there, he’d thought up yet another way to push Mark’s buttons. You just didn’t really know the exact minute he’d first seen you with Jung Jaehyun.

You don’t know how Jaehyun does it; he skips half his classes and somehow doesn’t even get in trouble, let alone fail. You’d only met him last semester, but he was just about the only person who was halfway familiar in your Anthropology 120 class, so you thought you could at least feel comfortable enough to chat with him about the weather or what had happened in the last meeting. You don’t expect him to strong-arm you into being something of a literal proxy for him; the first week of the semester, you’d spend almost each lecture period gnawing on your nails and fretting over the fact that your signature for attendance looked nothing like his. By the second week, you’d already come to realize that it doesn’t matter because he had only attended one lecture — the first one — thus far and your professor was as clueless about Jaehyun’s handwriting as you. By the fourth week, you had resigned yourself to being his slightly unwilling associate for his random escapades, allowing him to copy off your notes and turning in his homework for him.

Now that you think about it, that’s probably how he does it.

You sacrifice your free time for him today, caged up in a library for pretty much the afternoon. You can’t help but resent him, not just because the whole room is stuffy and the librarian keeps passing by, clucking to remind people not to litter between shelves, but also because you’d much rather do things that are important to you — like pretending to flirt with Mark for the first time when you place your order and watching him act like it’s the first time you’re saying something so sweet to him, except he’s definitely not pretending. Instead of watching Mark’s face color that cute shade of pink and that sweet little smile pull at his mouth until he’s basically biting his lips back to stop himself from grinning, you have to bore yourself with the sight of Jaehyun trying to decipher your handwriting.

“You should really be more legible with your strokes.” He has the audacity to chastise you as if he’s the one doing you a favor by giving you constructive criticism.

“You should really come to class more often,” you bite back, although there’s no real heat to your words. You just look out the window and watch the sun sink down behind the university hospital building, wondering if there’s a chance you’ll still be able to catch Mark before his shift ends.

“Would if I could.”

“You actually fucking can,” you say tiredly, and even the way he turns the page is so impossibly slow. “Can’t you just take a picture?”

“Nah; writing it down carefully really helps my retention of this kind of stuff.”

“So take a picture and then write it down carefully.”

“With your ridiculous handwriting? I’d probably fail.”

“So come to class and write it yourself!”

Your hiss increases in pitch, and it calls the attention of the librarian over to you. She swoops in, clicking her tongue, but she’s not even looking at you. Her eyes are zoned in on Jaehyun, who meets her gaze with so much innocence it’s hard to imagine you’d wanted to smack him two minutes ago.

“Jung Jaehyun,” the librarian snaps in an undertone. The slow, punctuated way she says his name suggests she knows him fairly well — and not in a great way. “I see you’re back in here after your probationary period.”

“Sorry for the trouble, Mrs. Park.” He grins up at her, looking anything but apologetic. “I promise I won’t get in your way again today.”

“And this one—” She points to you, and you point to yourself in shock at being pointed to, and Jaehyun’s pointing at you and mouthing ‘this one’ with excessive mirth in his eyes. “Isn’t another one of those girls you plan on defiling my sacred space with?”

Jaehyun says ‘we didn’t defile anything’ at the same time you say I’m going to throw up, and the librarian just adds to the noise by shushing you on top of that jumble of words.

“I’ll be keeping a close eye on you two,” Mrs. Park warns before stalking away, tutting at a library assistant for wrongly shelving a volume of Encyclopedia Brittanica.

“Please, Jaehyun,” you groan, crossing your arms over the table and flattening your forehead against them. “Just hurry up. Release me.”

He ignores you, still leaning closer to your notebook to decipher your handwriting. “I would like to set the record straight and make it known I didn’t fuck anyone in the library.”

“What’d you get probation for, then?”

“Just making out.” You notice he has the energy to grin wickedly even without meeting your eye, even while he’s still scrawling on his own notebook, and you groan something incoherent and irate once again. “What are you in such a big hurry for, anyway?”

“Has it ever occurred to you,” you grumble, raising your head. “That some people might want to do better things than sit here and watch you write stuff for ages?”

“No,” comes his simple reply. You bop your head onto your arms a few times in the hope that the impact will shake you out of this nightmare and you’d find yourself waking up in Mark’s arms instead, but you have no such luck. “By better things, do you mean fucking Mark Lee in someone else’s bedroom? That’s real defilement, by the way.”

“How’d you hear about that?” You squeeze your eyes shut and growl under your breath. “Fucking Youngho.”

“You doing that too?”

“Shut — please, would you hurry?”

He pointedly purses his lips in an effort to keep himself from letting out what you can only assume is, by the glint in his eyes, a witch’s cackle. “Almost done, man. Relax a bit. So did you guys get together — like, together together?”

You initially contemplate not telling him, but Jaehyun’s nosiness is probably going to reveal the truth to him sooner or later anyway. “Yeah. What’s it to you, though?”

“Nothing. You’re lucky.”

For the first time today, you feel like Jaehyun has finally said something right. “Yeah — yeah, I am.”

“I bet his friends don’t seem to think so.”

“Is this something you know because it’s a guy thing or because you’re so nosy that you just can’t help but listen in on every other juicy conversation around you?”

“A bit of both,” he chuckles. “Mostly just because I know Lee Donghyuck was giving him a hard time about it last semester.”

“I noticed that too — a bit, anyway. But it’s just banter, I think.”

“Probably. Imagine being his friend and getting a girlfriend; it’s like… the perfect ammunition for teasing. But I’m pretty sure half of the things that come out of his mouth are jokes meant to annoy.”

“What about yours?”

“I get it,” he sighs, shutting your notebook resolutely. It makes a thud that alerts the librarian two tables away, and she glares at you like you’re climbing onto Jaehyun’s lap in the middle of the References on the Korean War aisle. “I’ll set you free. Thanks, by the way, for letting me copy from you. Same time next week?”

“Or how about you look up the schedules for our classes and actually come instead of piggybacking off of my efforts and making snarky remarks about my handwriting while you’re taking advantage of my goodwill?”

“Sounds like too much effort on my end,” he yawns, waving you off as you stuff your notebook into your bag. “Later, ___________. Say hi to Mark for me. The normal way — not the girlfriend way, please.”

You stick your tongue out at him before you make a mad dash for the door, ignoring Mrs. Park as she shushes your footsteps on the marble. You’re so intent on fishing your phone out of your bag that you almost ram the door into the person standing behind it.

“Oh, fuck— Jesus, I’m sorry, I wa— wait, Donghyuck?”

“Great to see you too, ___________.” He rubs his jaw where the edge of the door grazed it. “You in a rush?”

“I was just about to go see if Mark was still at Starbucks.”

“His shift’s probably almost over. I’m headed back to the dorm if you wanna tag along.” When you nod, he starts leading the way, breaking the silence again soon after. “Were you in a study group, or something?”

“No,” you jerk your thumb backwards towards the minuscule form of Jaehyun, who’s now busy wasting time and space playing something on his phone where you’d left him. Donghyuck’s eyebrows shoot up. “He’s my classmate who never comes to class. I was just lending him my notes.”

“Oh, Jaehyun, yeah.” Donghyuck snaps his fingers. “We were classmates last semester. He never went to class either, but I don’t know who he mooched off of to pass. You guys close?”

“Not really. I just fell into the trap of being too nice to him.”

“It’s funny,” he hums, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “Jaehyun seems more your speed. On paper, at least.”

You can’t help but look taken aback, and Donghyuck laughs at your expression. “What do you mean, my speed?”

“Not sure.” He pauses, trying to find the right words to explain himself. “Someone who’d fit more into your social circles. Someone who probably likes Formula One and considers men’s health magazines to be classic literature.”

“That’s your impression of my social circle?”

“You know what I mean. People like Jung Jaehyun or Seo Youngho. I literally thought you were dating him last semester, so it was totally crazy to hear you asked Mark out.” He scratches the back of his neck. “Like… you asked him out. Not even the other way around. That’s ridiculous.”

“Why?” You know he doesn’t mean anything bad by it; Donghyuck has next to no filter, and something about him being unable to process your relationship is honestly a little funny. “A girl can’t ask a guy out?”

(You try not to think too hard about the fact that up until you’d cornered him in Youngho’s room, you had been praying to whatever god could hear you to convince Mark Lee to do the romanticist thing and ask you out.)

“Nah, dude. Like… a girl like you asked a guy like him out.”

“I didn’t ask him out because he was a guy like that,” you say pointedly. “I asked him out because he was a guy I liked. I wouldn’t have asked anyone else out if it weren’t him.”

Donghyuck falls quiet for a while, and only the crunching of the leaves underfoot accompanies your walk. “You really like him that much, huh?”

“I’m crazy about him.” His nose scrunches up like he’s been hit with a horrible smell, and you laugh. “Can you stop giving him a hard time? Or tone it down? I know you probably don’t like it—”

Donghyuck’s chuckle is light and easy. “I’m not teasing him because I hate it; let’s be clear on that. I actually really like that you guys are together. I’ve never seen him this happy with anything or anyone.”

“Then why are you—”

“Because he’s Mark.” A devilish grin creeps up his features as he holds the door to the dorm lobby open for you. “And teasing him is my favorite thing to do.”

You shake your head; you can’t help your amusement, but you’re not sure you fully understand this kind of friendship. You suppose if Mark is okay with it in its totality, then there isn’t much you can say to change it either.

The next twenty minutes pass in comfortable back-and-forths; Donghyuck is, as you already have learned, an expert conversationalist, and while he doesn’t aggravate you the way he does Chenle, he does manage to navigate a quick-fire kind of exchange of thoughts and information that allows you to see the speed at which he thinks. There’s barely any lag between when he digests what you say and when he responds. You suppose there’s a measure of wit in that, but it’s also a little bemusing to see someone speak without at least running it through the conscience checker every once in a while. You decide you’ve never met anyone quite like Lee Donghyuck before.

He’s in the middle of asking you what the Anthropology professor is like because he’s planning on taking it as an elective if he can when you notice a familiar figure pushing into the lobby, backpack swinging on a folded elbow.

“Mark!” The brief confusion on his face morphs into a surprised joy when he spots you on the couch, even though a bit of it lingers upon recognizing that Donghyuck is seated next to you. He walks over in long strides, and your posture straightens to meet his palm as it comes down gently against the crown of your head again; it bumps lightly, causing the both of you to laugh.

“Hey, you.” His voice is warm and fond in its greeting, and you beam up at him. “Did you have a busy afternoon?”

“Unfortunately. Did you just get back from your shift?”

“I passed by the co-op to check out the new university letter jackets. Design’s pretty dope.” He nods towards the elevator. “You wanna head up for a little bit?” You almost get to respond before your companion cuts in instead.

“Hey. Can’t you see we’re having a riveting conversation over here?” Donghyuck sniffs, making a show of hitting Mark’s shin lightly with the heel of his shoe. “Have some respect.”

“Is the conversation so riveting that I can’t take my girl for the evening at all?”

You mouth out a no, but Donghyuck’s flair for dramatics has him humphing and shoving Mark’s hand away from your hair. “Yeah, man. At least let us finish up.”

“What’s this even about?”

“How Jung Jaehyun asked her out in the library today,” Donghyuck replies easily. You start, shaking your head immediately, but Mark’s jaw slackens a little upon hearing this. Donghyuck continues loudly over your protests, and you can’t keep your voice straight because you’re adamant and yet, somehow, still laughing incredulously in your shock. “Oh, dude, let me tell you. He had his arm around her like this — and he was giving her the bedroom eyes… I wouldn’t have blamed her if she folded, honestly.”

“Mark, no,” your stupid gasp comes out as half a giggle as a result of Donghyuck trying to reenact his imaginary scenario. He’s slung his arm across your shoulders and pulled himself in, doing his best expression of a pleading dog’s gaze, which is both perplexing and hilarious. “He’s just kidding—”

“Then he got all close like this—” Donghyuck presses his forehead against yours, and the view he allows himself blocks him from having to look at Mark. You, on the other hand, are still trying to resist a misunderstanding, your palms up and every part of your body that can move shaking vehemently, but you can see Mark’s face turn a violent shade of red you can’t remember having seen from him before. “Spoke all low — you remember he had that sexy, husky voice, right? ”

“He’s just messing with you,” you wheeze out, trying to extract yourself from Donghyuck’s hold, but he only tightens his arm around your neck, almost to the point where you can’t inhale properly.

“And he said ‘you’re the hottest chick I’ve ever seen—’ then you know what he did, Markie?”

Mark doesn’t respond; you’re not even sure if he can, considering his Adam’s apple is bobbing dangerously like he’s one misstep away from exploding. You laugh again, stupidly, because you don’t know what else to do; you know Donghyuck’s teasing him, and you know Mark usually takes it in stride, but you’ve also never seen the latter look so focused on anything that didn’t involve a math problem or eating you out. “No, really, nothing hap—”

You don’t even have the space to finish your sentence. Donghyuck’s too quick when he grabs your face and plants a comedically sloppy kiss on your cheek, bursting out in laughter when he pulls away. You can only sit there, probably as stunned as Mark looks, raising your hand slowly to wipe the spittle Donghyuck left behind in his wake.

“Oh, Jesus,” Donghyuck rasps out between snorts. “Your face is priceless, man.”

“Not funny,” Mark grumbles, and there’s a hoarseness to his voice that makes you feel like it’s barely controlled.

“Also not true. I just bumped into her on the way from the library. We were talking about one of her classes or whatever.” Donghyuck dramatically wipes the tears from his eyes, and you sigh, nudging him. “Sorry, sorry. I couldn’t resist. Man, don’t even worry. She’s downright crazy about you. Even if Jung Jaehyun had asked her out—”

“Anyway.” Mark reaches down, lacing your fingers together, pulling you up and closer to his side like he’s worried you’ll catch Donghyuck’s crazy. “If that’s all of it…”

“Yeah, yeah. You two lovebirds go moon over each other already. I just love seeing your face like that.”

Mark snorts, yanking on Donghyuck’s earlobe punitively, and the latter cries out sharply (and a little exaggeratedly) at the pain. Mark doesn’t even seem to care; he leads you to the elevator and punches in his floor. You barely have time to call out a belated ‘bye’ to Donghyuck, who acknowledges it with a raise of his palm, before the doors slide shut.

It’s a slow elevator, given that it’s an old building, and the first couple of floors pass without much noise between the two of you. You’re not unaware of how tight Mark’s grip is on your hand, but you don’t comment nor take it against him. By the fourth floor, you’re raising his hand up to your lips and pressing a kiss against his knuckles.

“Nothing happened.” You confirm his unasked question, and you see a modicum of tension leave his shoulders. “He was just messing with you because he thinks it’s funny.”

“Yeah, I know.” Even if he says it like that, there’s still lingering doubt in his voice. “Were you with Jung Jaehyun today, though? Is that why you didn’t show up?”

You nod. “He was copying my notes for Anthropology. Guy barely shows up to lectures, so he borrows my stuff. I can’t believe he hasn’t been suspended yet. Or punched in the face by the people he leeches off of.”

“No kidding.”

You step out on the sixth floor with him. Even if you already know where Mark’s dorm is, you let him lead the way, and he ushers you into an empty and dimly lit living space while taking his shoes off. His roommate barely seems to be around; you’ve seen him all of two times, and it doesn’t look like he’s here either right now. You pause anyway, listening to any signs of life just to be sure, but when you both confirm that there’s no one but the two of you, you busy yourselves with turning on the lights and plugging in the water dispenser.

You work in relative silence; it isn’t anything unusual since you’ve done this a million times, and you’ve come to learn that small talk isn’t necessary when you’re just washing your hands or opening the refrigerator aimlessly even if you know you both plan on ordering in. But there’s a weird aura around Mark that you’re not sure how to place; he doesn’t seem like he’s mad, but there definitely seems to be something off — a problem, at least, that you’re not sure you know how to ask about.

So you just try to diffuse whatever it is by completely ignoring it.

“Pizza or Chinese?” You ask, flopping onto the couch as he plugs the television into the outlet. He looks up at you, and you notice his eyes are slightly dazed, like you’ve just woken him up from a dream. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” His voice is hoarse the first time he says it, so he clears his throat and tries again. “Yeah, sorry.”

“What’s on your mind?”

“We just had pizza, so I’m thinking Chinese is the better option. Cream shrimp? Fried rice? Not the salted fish one, though, maybe.”

You hum in assent, but when he straightens up from behind the television, you extend your arm to him, attempting to clarify yourself. “I mean, what are you thinking so hard about?”

“Nothing.” His answer’s a little too quick. A moment of awkward silence passes where you telepathically tell him you know he’s lying and he has to come to terms with his horrible lying skills, and he sighs, crossing over to the couch and settling beside you. Immediately, he tangles your fingers together, belatedly returning the favor from the elevator and brushing his lips across your knuckles. “He didn’t ask you out, right?”

You know he knows the truth, so you decide to bat your own question back at him in an attempt at rhetoric. “What would it matter if he did? The answer would have been the same, real or imagined.”

Mark pinches the bridge of his nose, inhaling slowly. There’s a red flush on his neck that’s only started fading, it seems. You reach out and skim your finger along the vein that runs down the side of his throat. “I know. I don’t like it all the same. I hate… even thinking about it, actually.”

“Really — nothing happened. If you don’t count the fact that I almost strangled him for keeping me there — which I’m sure you’d agree doesn’t count as anything in favor of him.”

“I heard Jung Jaehyun’s kind of a playboy.”

“What does that have to do with me?”

“Nothing. I don’t know.” His head lolls to the side, and his eyes hold a sadness that pulls at your heart. “It means he really could have made a pass at you. Or you could have — I don’t know. In the end… I just worry.”

“Don’t you trust me?” Your lower lip juts out, and his eyes widen slightly, his head shaking before his mouth can even work out a proper response.

“No — I mean, yes, absolutely. It’s — I mean, it’s just—” He inhales again to gather his wits, two fingers still rubbing his forehead. “I trust you, without a doubt. I don’t trust other people — not around you. Not Jaehyun, or Youngho, or—”

“Or Donghyuck?” You smile a little apologetically at his embarrassment, clear on his face when his eyes stray from yours. “Mark, you know he’s only messing with you, right? I thought it was a funny thing for you guys.”

“It’s not funny if it’s about you,” he mumbles, more to himself than to you. He looks up at you again, chewing on his bottom lip. “I know. I’m trying to control it. Sometimes… I don’t know why it gets under my skin. I guess it’s because it could happen — you… finding someone else. I kind of hate the thought of that.”

“And if I said I hate it even more than you?”

His gaze softens, something like relief passing over his features, but the rest of his body still holds a significant amount of tension; you know by the way he’s running agitated circles on the back of your hand. You gently tug on his arm, allowing yourself to use it as an anchor to shift your weight. Mark makes a soft noise of inquiry but says nothing more, waiting until you’ve maneuvered your body to settle on his lap.

The view is reminiscent, and you can see that the core memory you share flashes through his mind too. A small smile, still somewhat reluctant, plays on Mark’s lips, and you hate that it’s all you get right now, so you rectify this by leaning down and leaving a small, chaste kiss on them. You pull away much too soon, and his head follows in response to the distance, chasing your lips until you’re realistically too far to reach. His arm extends instead, swiftly tucking your hair behind your ear.

Your fingers close around his wrist, and your head turns, continuing the kiss against his palm — short and firm.

“Stop doing that.”

His eyebrows fly upward in questioning, his other hand freezing in its trail up your thighs. Even his breath seems to catch, and what’s left of it comes out as a raspy whisper. “Stop being jealous? I’m… I’m trying.”

You shake your head. “Stop being sexy when you’re jealous.”

The ‘what’ he seems to want to ask dies in his throat, his mouth only able to form half of the word before you interrupt, your lips taking in the rest of the syllable. When you kiss him this time, there’s a slow hunger to it; your teeth find his lower lip even before he’s able to get into the rhythm of kissing you back. You just want him to know — everything about him drives you wild, even when he doesn’t know it.

You’ll never grow sick of the taste of him, you’re sure; today, he tastes even more enticing, the hint of something rich mixing in with the stronger flavor of coffee on his tongue. It’s familiar and comforting, and it’s only when you break away, both your faces flushed from a prolonged lack of air, that you puzzle out what the taste is — the lingering aftermath of a vanilla sweet cream cold brew, one he must have prepared in anticipation of you this afternoon.

You briefly squeeze your eyes shut and thank whoever’s listening for the gift of Mark Lee.

“Mark,” your murmur, your voice much softer, intent on coaxing him into releasing his worries. “You know, right?”

His ‘hm’ is only half-there in focus, the rest of his attention on his hands, which have found their way to your ass and have started digging his fingers into the flesh beyond your jeans. You have to tilt his head up with one finger under his chin, and there’s a whirlpool of emotion in them: curiosity, desire, and, interestingly, a quiet, almost suppressed kind of anger.

“If it isn’t you,” you whisper. “Then there’s nobody else.”

You see his jaw tighten, feel his grip against you do the same, and his brow furrows, like he’s trying — much too hard, and for no good reason — to stop himself from tipping over. You don’t like that either; if he’s there, you think, you should take him over the edge.

“But if you want them to know so badly, then…” You tilt your head to the side, exposing more of your neck, bringing the expanse just a little closer to his mouth. “Why don’t you go ahead and put your claim on me?”

You swear you see his pupils dilate right before he presses his mouth to your skin. With a low, almost pained groan against your neck, he latches his teeth in lightly, and you feel the soft sting, the increase in pressure the moment he starts sucking a mark just above your collarbone. There’s a wet, messy pattern to his movements, always punctuated by the sweep of his tongue to soothe your flesh. Even with that, his movements are slow and careful, still gentle in the way he’s handling you, but you feel it anyway — all of his tension’s concentrated in his grip, the way he keeps you close, hips pinned against him as if he’s worried anything less will cause you to disappear.

“Every time you worry, remember you can do this.” You pause, your breath catching in a lilt as his teeth dig in a little more fiercely. “You’re the only one that can.”

His lips detach with a soft groan, fingers squeezing your ass tight for a moment. Warm breath cools against the damp patch on your neck, and a second later, you feel his mouth graze against the few inches of skin, sensitive and slightly raw. “I know. It’s just not fair.”

You hum in questioning, but he doesn’t answer immediately; his mouth busies itself just under the mark he’d surely left, already starting up the same routine. You’d let him, and you want him to, but you want to hear his voice more. Your fingers tangle into his hair, and you use that hold to ease his head back, urging him to look up at you. It’s almost a mistake, seeing him like that — lips slightly swollen and definitely slick with his own saliva, parted just a little to reveal teeth he’d been desperate to nip your flesh with again. It crosses your mind that Mark has a mouth made for kissing — no, that isn’t accurate.

A mouth made for you to kiss.

“What’s not fair?” You ask softly. Even now, he takes his time in answering, his eyes falling close for a second; you watch him swallow, lick his lips, breathe in before he speaks, and all of those mundane things he does somehow make you lose your mind all the more.

“How badly I keep wanting you,” he breathes out, his eyes slowly opening. “And how it makes me think everyone wants you just as much.”

His hands leave the curve of your ass, traveling up your shirt, resting against your sides. He holds you like he’s careful in trying not to break you, his fingers spread wide to make sure his thumbs almost meet against your stomach, but there’s a smoldering headiness in his gaze that tells you he’s thinking a little too hard about wanting to break you.

“I touch you like this, and I think that everyone would kill to do the same.” His fingers squeeze against your flesh, inching upwards until they rest just under your breasts; his thumbs stroke the curved underline of your bra. “I think about kissing you and it feels like everyone’s thinking it at the exact same time. I look at someone next to you, even if you don’t know them, and I wonder if they want to pull you close, if they want to feel you against them just as much as I do. When I—”

He inhales sharply between his words, and the exhale comes out somewhat shaky. For a moment, he grits his teeth, jaw flexing in an attempt to keep himself in check. You worry he doesn’t want to continue — doesn’t want to let you hear it, but it feels so important that you can’t let it go. “Tell me.”

“When I think about fucking you,” he breathes out, voice barely audible. “Whenever I look at you and think about how much I want to feel you around me, feel you cum around me… I just know everyone else wants the same thing, and it’s driving me crazy because… because they can’t.”

It’s there again, flashing in his eyes — a determination that reads almost like fury.

“They can’t,” he repeats, his voice firmer. “I won’t ever let them. Never.”

You don’t stop him this time when his mouth reclaims your skin. You let his thoughts fuel the need in his movements, allow yourself to move only in reaction to what he does — the tilting of your head to give him more room, the tightening of your fists against his shirt to keep yourself steady. A surprised mewl leaves you when you feel his teeth pinch against your flesh again, and it’s harder, sharper this time, his quiet anger finally dictating his strength. You grapple for words, but they come out in weak gasps.

“It doesn’t — doesn’t matter,” you manage to whimper out. “How many people think that way, how much they want me that way. I only ever want you.”

His breathing is caught, warm, in the pocket of space just between you and his mouth; it tingles against your skin, tickles your senses into heightening. Your fingers unfurl, pressing against his chest, and you can feel his quickened heartbeat thrumming under your palm.

“God, please,” he murmurs, the soft peck of a kiss landing against your collarbone. “Please, tell me.”

“Mark, I’m yours.” There’s no teasing in how you say it; it was never meant to rile him up. It even escapes sweetness, the romanticism it usually comes with when you remind him on any other occasion. This is a promise to him, something you’re reinforcing as fact, something that can’t ever change. “I’m always going to be yours — no one else’s. I’ll never let anyone have anything that’s yours. Ask anything, take everything you want. I’ll never say no to you. Only you — always you.”

You know something’s different in a number of ways; his arms circle around you, but instead of keeping you firm and stable in his lap, they’re tight, squeezing a whine out of you, holding your torso flush against his. His face never leaves the crook of your neck, but you hear — feel — something there — a soft growl of need, of frustration that begs release. Suddenly, you find yourself off the couch; you barely have the presence of mind to wrap your arms around his neck and tighten your thighs against his sides before he’s carrying you to his room, kicking the door open and letting the rebound of the impact against his wall slam it shut behind him.

You’ve been in Mark’s room before, so there’s absolutely no need for you to take in the scenery when he sets you down on his bed. It doesn’t matter anyway, even if this were your first time; Mark’s crawling over you, his face flush and eyes sharp with hunger, and he looks so enticing that you wouldn’t want to pay attention to anything else around you anyway. His limbs cage you in, arms on either side of your shoulders and his knees just by your thighs, and you don’t really know why he’s already panting, but it just makes you want him all the more.

“Never,” he groans out, leaning down to nose against the patch of skin his mouth had worked on. “I’m never going to let anyone take you, ever. You’re all mine.”

His name fades on your lips, carried away by a moan when his mouth reattaches itself to your neck; it moves, almost frenzied, to renew the mark he’d left, make it a deeper red, a slightly bruised purple. You’re usually careful not to do anything that will require any attention or cover-up after, but Mark seems a little too far gone to care, and you realize you like him best this way.

Even with all the attention he gives your neck, his fingers are busy; they work on the button of your jeans, sliding them down with the help you offer by raising your hips. They only reach halfway down your thighs, his reluctance to come back up for air stopping him from peeling them off completely, but it’s all he seems to need for now.

Eager fingers ease between your thighs, two at once, pressing against your folds. You’re unable to spread your legs like you usually do, but this tightness makes you all the more sensitive, and you keen as his digits fit themselves into your slit. Frustratingly, they don’t move right away, and you have to raise your hips again just to get some sort of friction. Even then, Mark doesn’t take the hint — or, perhaps, the bait — keeping a light pressure against your clit without doing anything else. His focus is still on your neck, now slightly aching under his lips, and when he finally pulls away, you see a look of triumph on his face. He tilts his head back slightly to admire his work — the blooming dark patch you’re sure he’s left where your skin tingles the most.

“If I said I wanted to mark you all over, would you let me?”

“What makes you think I wouldn’t ask for it?”

He chuckles, tightening the pressure of his fingers against your clit; you say something that sounds halfway between ‘Mark’ and a sob.

“I want to, so badly.” He admits, gaze still fixed on your neck. “I’d want to see you walk out of here, walk into class covered in them. I’d want people to ask you how you got them, and who gave them to you. And I’d want you to say it proudly — that it was me who did it. That I fucked you all night and made you mine over and over again.”

“Why don’t you?” His eyes snap up to you, a small smile forming on his lips. “I want to say that too. Let me brag about having you. Let me tell everyone how good you always make me feel. Then you can tell everyone who doesn’t believe you, too — how I let you take me every single time. Show me off and tell them to look at how you made me yours.”

Another laugh escapes him, but there’s more disbelief than humor in it; he seems to find it amazing, that you can just agree with what he says, no matter how strange he thinks it is.

“Show you off? If I mark you in other places, do I have to show them every part?”

“Do you not want to?”

“I want to, and I don’t.” He pauses, slightly amused, and you know he’s remembering the first time you fucked. “I don’t them to see your body, but I want them to see what I did to it. I don’t want them to look at what’s mine, but I just want them to know it is.”

“Then you can fuck me in front of everyone and make them watch you ruin me completely.”

He shakes his head, even if desire flashes clear across his features. He busies himself with actions while he mulls it over, tugging your jeans down alongside your panties and casting them aside before he straightens up. His eyes rake over your form; you’re bare from the waist down, your shirt halfway ridden up, the underside of your bra peeking out from under the hem. Again, his eyes land on your neck, and his smile widens slightly.

“Can’t.” He decides finally. “You’re too pretty for that.”

You hum thoughtfully, and he raises his eyebrows. He doesn’t move, even when you sit up, shifting yourself so you can tuck your calves under your thighs — not even when you reach out to undo his belt or tug down his zipper. He only reacts a little when your hand presses against his hardness through his boxers, the girth now easily familiar to your palm.

“What about something like this?” You ask, inching closer to the edge of the bed. You’ve started slow strokes against him, the fabric creating extra friction, more heat under your palm, and you watch his jaw clench as he swallows back a soft grunt. “Would you let them watch me do this for you?”

“Let me think about it,” he chuckles softly, and you nod, letting your fingers work to make your point. You don’t have to undress him completely to get what you want; all you need is to tug down the front of his boxers to free him, and you already have him wrapped in your palms, stroking his shaft to full hardness.

“Think faster,” you urge, and he shakes his head, slightly bemused. “Are you telling me you wouldn’t even want them to watch me jerk you off?”

“At least give me a full minute.”

You laugh lightly, whispering a ‘fine’ before you press a soft kiss against tip. He inhales sharp through his teeth, already sensitive, and you waste no time in letting your tongue flick out against the smooth head. He doesn’t need the lubrication, realistically; his precum’s already leaking from the tip, mixing in with your saliva as you run your tongue around it. All you do is make him a little messier, a little slicker, your spittle running down his length.

Taking Mark in your mouth is a demanding task, but one you’re always up for; there’s something uniquely satisfying about letting him fill your mouth, inch by inch, and watching his breathing hitch and stutter until your lips are closer to the base than to the head. What you can’t reach, your hand always squeezes around, eager to make sure he feels good completely. His expression is sublime when you draw your head back the first time, sucking as you do so — his eyes are half-lidded, and he doesn’t stop the moan that falls from his lips. His gaze is fixed on you, hazy but still able to drink the sight of you in, and you’re not sure how, but you almost feel like you could get off to watching him watch you taste him.

You try, somehow, vaguely conscious of the movement of your hips; you’re grinding at nothing at first, so your knees give way just enough for you to press yourself against his sheets. It’s slightly uncomfortable, a strain in your thighs that you’re not really used to, but you don’t care; Mark’s sharp inhale at seeing you attempt to grind your pussy against his mattress is pretty much as arousing as anything else. His cock twitches hard in your mouth, and you suck just a little harder, a little messier, your head bobbing down to meet your hand, still firmly wrapped around his girth.

The room’s filled with nothing but slick sounds and soft groans; Mark’s hand has found its way into your hair, tangled into a makeshift ponytail, and while he isn’t guiding your mouth to do anything, you can feel his hips stutter then start to move, pulling back when your head does. He tries to hide it, tries to keep himself steady, but pride blooms in your chest when you note that he can’t; he wants to feel like he’s fucking into your mouth, into your hand, the way he does when he takes your pussy.

It’s relatively quiet for that time, nothing but muffled moans from you that mix in with his noises, but you only realize you’d been waiting for an answer to something when he speaks up again.

“It’s… still a no for me.”

Your movements slow, your gaze lifting to communicate your mild confusion to him. You don’t want to ask; you just don’t want to lose the taste of him on your tongue just yet. He looks down at you, smiling with overflowing tenderness, almost like he’s apologetic.

“Even just this — you’re too pretty when you do it.” His hand reaches down, thumb stroking over your cheek. “I can’t let anyone see what you look like when you’re like this. They’ll keep thinking about you doing it for them. And you’d only do it for me — right?”

You nod immediately, your response causing your mouth to slip down his shaft just a little more. It elicits a guttural noise from him, one that fuels you into sucking him just a little harder, your enthusiasm overtaking your restraint. His fingers have let go of your hair, stroking it back into smoothness, almost comforting in their movements.

“God, I wish you could see yourself; you’d know what I mean,” he continues to murmur, his voice just a little louder over the eager, wet noises you’re making. “How pretty you look with your mouth wrapped around me. How perfect you are when you’re kneeling like this for me — how happy you look when you’re sucking me off. I can’t share that with anyone. Fuck — not ever.”

Your mouth draws back, completely this time, and your tongue presses against the underside of his cock. You lick a long stripe up his shaft, moaning softly at the light throb you feel, and you watch him tip his head back. The groan that follows soon after is almost close to a frustrated growl, ending in a whispered ‘shit’ before his eyes land back on you. He watches you press kiss after kiss against his tip, coaxing the precum out even more, and you take special care to leave more down each inch of his cock until you’re finally able to release your hold on his base so you can leave the last one there.

His hand combs your hair back before it falls to cup your chin, his thumb swiping at the corner of your mouth to gently clean up the froth of spittle there. You smile up at him in thanks, and his thumb sweeps over the seam of your lips to follow the slight curve.

“So pretty,” he repeats, and your cheeks glow pink under the palms that caress them. He leans down, pressing a kiss to the tip of your nose. “Pretty as hell, fucking perfect — and you’re all mine.”

You kneel up again, chasing his lips with your own, and he locks you in his arms as his tongue slips its way past your teeth, the aroma of coffee still on it. He leaves today’s taste of him against your tongue, on the ridges of your teeth, until you feel like you’ve all but consumed him, and you whimper softly when he pulls away, urging you to turn around and lean back into his chest.

His mouth reattaches itself to the same spot; it’s like a home base for him, and he breathes in your scent from there before giving the same patch of skin a light suck, almost as if he’s worried it’ll fade in a few minutes’ time if he doesn’t give it attention.

“Show me.” Hands slide down to your hips, squeezing them lightly, like a prompt for your response. “Show me how pretty you are for me.”

His palms never leave you, not even when you detach yourself from his chest and bend down; your elbows meet the mattress, but your hips stay raised, giving him a view of your pussy. Your gasp easily turns into a moan when his digit dips into your wetness again, his other hand pushing gently at your asscheek to keep you open.

You think he’s about to slip his finger in, the tip brushing against your entrance, and you tense in anticipation, but it doesn’t happen; he continues to run his finger down your slit, careful not to linger against your clit for too long. The result is that you tighten around nothing, and you hear him suck in a breath as he watches your hole grow smaller for a second. You laugh breathily, resting your chin against the backs of your hands, one folded atop the other. “Pretty enough for you to fuck?”

“Do you have to ask if you already know?”

“I want to hear it anyway.”

His finger slips into your hole, finally, and you keen softly as he breaches the first ring of tightness. He doesn’t really move it, just tests your tightness, feels you contract around him as if to know what his cock will feel in a few moments.

“Your pussy’s too pretty not to fuck,” he manages out, and his throat sounds as tight as you feel. “Seeing it like this… makes me think there’s no way anyone can resist. It’s exactly why I can’t let anyone see you like this.”

You hum as his finger presses in deeper, and you know it’s nothing in comparison to the real thing, but you like feeling that mild stretch, the depth it reaches all the same. “How should we let them know, then? That I’m all yours.”

His finger stills, and you hum softly, swaying your hips to shake him out of whatever trance he’s in. He’s grown quiet, but there’s a thoughtfulness in this pause, like he’s seriously considering your question. You laugh lightly, ready to tell him you’re just egging him on until he fucks you, but he slips his finger out of you, leaving you clenching around nothing again. You can’t help the confused noise that comes out of you, but you at least know he isn’t completely backing away, his other hand still firmly on your ass.

“Mark, what—”

You get your answer in the thud that interrupts your question — he’s tossed his phone onto the bed, having it land next to you. Something in your blood runs hot, and your fingers tremble when you pick it up. You see yourself reflected in the blackened screen — excitement in your eyes, your lips glossy from your blowjob.

Mark’s silent as you let the meaning of his actions settle; wordlessly, he slips his finger into you again, followed by another one this time, and you shudder in pleasure at the difference in the stretch. He doesn’t ask, but you can tell he’s wondering if he’s gone too far— if you think he’s crazy. He lets his fingers stay anchored in you, unmoving, waiting for you to say something, but from where he is, he just can’t know the smile that passes your face.

Finally, he tries to speak up. “We don’t have to— I just meant—”

“What’s your passcode?”

He breathes out, the exhale quivering as much as you probably are. “Your birthday.”

Your smile only widens when you tap the screen to life and see a picture of you — you don’t even remember when he’d taken it, but it’s a shot of you sprawled on his bed, bundled in his blanket and reading something that looks oddly like your textbook for your European Renaissance History class. It’s grainy and dimly lit, a stolen photograph of you, but it makes your heart swell, and you laugh lightly as you key in your birthday; the screen unlocks, allowing you access to all his applications.

“What’s funny?”

“Just thinking about how you should replace this wallpaper.”

“To what?” He sounds bemused.

“The view of me you have now.”

His fingers curl in you, pressing down against your walls, and you push your hips back in a bid for more friction; you hear him hiss out a ‘fuck’ under his breath, and his hand digs harder into the flesh of your ass.

You open Mark’s contacts, scrolling down aimlessly. Most of the names, you don’t recognize, but you see a few familiar ones crop up here and there. He doesn’t ask, only starts pumping his fingers into you in quiet anticipation, wondering how far you’re willing to take it, how much you’ve bought into this crazy idea.

“Mark,” you call out, and he hums in response. “You trust me, don’t you?”

“With my life.”

“So if I called Donghyuck right now—” His fingers hook into you, the delicious pressure on your walls making you squeak instead of finish your sentence immediately. You twist your torso to meet his eyes, and you’re slightly surprised but not at all displeased to see something crazed lingering in his gaze. “How much of a show would you want to put on for him?”

He shifts his weight, his knee sinking into the mattress as he slots it between your legs. This change in position allows him to angle his fingers a little differently, driving down into you with a force that makes you squirm. You almost forget you’ve asked him something again until he leans in closer, his murmur almost drowned out by the slick sounds of his finger pressing into your hole.

“Just… enough for him to know you’ve always been mine.”

Your thumbs are shaking when you scroll through his contacts again, up and down until you find the right name — Lee Donghyuck — and Mark watches you intently, wordlessly, as you press his number, start the call, and put it on speaker.

The wait feels like an eternity, with Mark’s finger slipping in and out of you in a steady, languid pace as you watch the line connect, but in reality, Donghyuck really only answers after the fourth ring. “Yo, Mark.”

His voice is casual, lacking in any sort of expectation; you can hear explosions and gunshots in the background, and you’re willing to bet he’s in the middle of an action movie. You’re proven right when you hear random English babbling soon after.

“Hi, Hyuck.”

“___________?” He sounds genuinely confused that it’s you that greets him. “Where’s Mark? You okay?”

“He’s right here with me; don’t worry.” Your voice is a soft croon, and he has to lower the volume of the television to be able to hear you better. “We’re totally fine. What are you up to?”

“Watching Resident Evil. Uh, is there a reason you called?”

You want to draw out the lie of something casual for as long as you can, but Mark doesn’t let you. His fingers push, suddenly forceful, into you, and you let out a soft cry into the receiver. You look back at him, eyes wide with amusement, and he shrugs, having at least enough sense to look slightly abashed at his experiment.

One moment, you’re listening to a female voice shout something, and the next, Donghyuck’s side of the call is silent except for his breathing. When you don’t bother explaining what had just happened, he takes matters into his own hands.

“Hello?”

He sounds equal parts affronted and amused, like the shock of it has tickled him. You can’t help it; you laugh too, but it’s quickly cut off by another whine when Mark pulls his fingers out. Donghyuck makes an incredulous noise.

“Now, what the fuck is all this about, you freaks?”

“You kept wondering why I ended up asking Mark out,” you evade his question with another one. “Should I tell you why, if you’re that curious?”

“No way. Have fun, weirdos,” he laughs, and the line goes dead a second after.

You snort out a laugh, and Mark mumbles something that sounds vaguely like that was crazy before he leans down and presses a kiss to the small of your back. You make to turn so you can finally face him, but you’re distracted when his phone screen lights up again, and Donghyuck’s name flashes across it.

You exchange amused glances before you pick up the call, and you don’t even get a ‘hello’ out when his voice rings out, sharp and clear.

“But pretending I am,” he says, as though he hadn’t hung up the call a few seconds ago. “Exactly what kind of answer would I get?”

“The kind that’ll hopefully shut you up for good,” Mark pipes in instead of you.

“What’s that even going to sound like?” Already, Donghyuck’s activated whatever toggle in him that gets him to push Mark’s buttons. This time, though, you can’t say it works against you; you feel Mark inch closer to you, and a moment later, the fat tip of his cock nudges against your entrance. “I bet you can’t even get her to yawn, man.”

Mark doesn’t have to respond; you do it for him when he pushes in, torturously slow, as if to draw out your moan. It works a little too well, with you keening into the phone, and yet no part of you is acting for his sake. As familiar as the stretch is, it’s not something you’ve ever been able to commit to memory fully, and it feels like a new breaching of your tightness each time. Your legs fold in slightly, a useless movement that attempts to get you adjusted to his size faster, but Mark interprets it as discomfort, his hands tightening on your hips.

“You okay?” He sounds genuinely worried for a second, forgetting that Donghyuck’s still on the line. Your cheek brushes against his sheets as you nod, trying to meet his eye even in this position to let him know you’re being honest.

“Fucking big, Mark.” You hear Donghyuck tsk from his end, and you laugh breathlessly. “You don’t like knowing he’s big?”

“I just hate that fucker,” Donghyuck quips back easily, but there’s no seriousness in his voice. If anything, it sounds a little raspy, with him clearing his throat soon afterward.

“Well, I’m crazy about him,” you whisper into the call, and your breathing hitches as Mark finally bottoms out, groaning at your tightness. “I’m crazy about the way he touches me, the way he tastes. I’m crazy about how big his cock is, how deep it gets when he’s inside me, how he stretches me out — fuck—”

Your verbal rampage is cut short by a loud moan as Mark draws his hips back and pushes forcefully into you; you haven’t fully adjusted, and you’re even tighter now from what you’re saying, so the friction inside you is nothing short of delicious. He starts a pattern of thrusts, not bothering to build up from his usual slow and steady pace — hearing you talk that way and knowing that Donghyuck is listening is enough to get him to abandon self-imposed restrictions.

“Mark,” you whine out, accidentally pushing the phone a little further away as you reach out blindly for him behind you, and he catches your wrist to let you know he’s there. “Mark, fuck, it feels so good—”

You tighten around him as if to prove your words, and he growls in response. You find yourself having to press your cheek in a little harder into the mattress as he gathers your wrists together into one hand, pinning them to your lower back, and it’s with that hold on you that he leverages his thrusts, pumping into you a little harder each time.

You’re not completely unaware of your surroundings, but it takes a while for you to process the sounds coming from the phone’s speaker — labored breathing, the sound of a zipper being pulled down. You want to wonder if this is working a little too well, but nothing comes from your mouth apart from soft whimpers, and it’s all the cue Mark needs to be the one to fill in the relative silence himself.

“You’re so fucking pretty,” he whispers, and you feel his lips press between your shoulder blades. It feels like a chaste kiss at first, but he leaves his breath there, still flitting over your skin as he continues to speak. “I’ll never get tired of how pretty you are — how pretty you always sound for me. Doesn’t she sound pretty, Hyuck?”

“Fucking pretty,” Donghyuck agrees, though his voice sounds somewhat distant. You can only sob back a quiet ‘fuck me, harder, harder,’ in response.

“Can you imagine how much prettier she looks under me?” It’s almost a full-blown conversation now, but even if Mark’s addressing Donghyuck, the rest of his attention’s fully on you. He adjusts his stance, still keeping his hold around your wrists as he angles himself deeper into you, causing you to cry out and squirm in pleasure. With your face pressed against the bed and his weight driving down into you, you feel utterly trapped, in the best kind of way. Mark, in the way he is now, is inescapable, almost incorrigible, and he pistons deeper into your pussy, his free hand brushing your hair away from your shoulder so he can leave a kiss against it. “Bent over, legs spread just a little, all for me to take. Pretty little hole wet for me, and so fucking tight. Can you imagine that?”

“I’m doing it right now.”

“It’s a thousand times better in person. Trust me.”

The same hand slips between your thighs, two fingers spreading your folds apart; the middle one circles your clit in a pace that matches his thrusts, sudden and shocking, and you arch your back upwards slightly with a choked noise. He finally releases your wrists, and you claw at the sheets helplessly to keep yourself somehow upright as the force of Mark’s hips, their impact against the backs of your thighs, pushes you forward, closer to the phone again. The stimulation is merciless, endless, and in the haze of your pleasure, you wonder if you should make Mark a little more jealous everyday if it gets him to act this way.

“Mark, I…. I’ve been— s-since—”

“Not yet,” he whispers, his teeth sinking into your shoulder as if to bring you back to reality. You shudder at the pain, the pleasure that accompanies it, and when you squeeze your eyes shut for a moment, you notice that a few tears escape your eyes. “Hold out for me a bit, okay? Please. It’s not enough. Not yet enough.”

You wonder if ‘enough’ is a concept the both of you even understand when it comes to wanting each other; already, you feel desire pooling in your stomach, threatening to spill from you, and clenching around him isn’t helping you stop it the way your body seems to think it’s supposed to. It also doesn’t help that Mark’s fingers are relentless, one still drawing tight, heavy circles around your clit, and the other creeping up under your shirt to tug down the cup of your bra, letting a breast spill into his warm palm. He kneads with an unusual — but not unpleasant — roughness, and you squeak out incoherently as he tweaks at the hardened bud of your nipple, pinching it between his thumb and forefinger.

“Hold on for me a little,” he continues murmuring, even after you shake your head and whisper ‘can’t’ to him over and over. “Do it for me. Tell Donghyuck — tell him how good it feels. How much you want to keep feeling me inside you.”

You don’t even know what to say; the pleasure that washes over you, the new kind of roughness that Mark exhibits has you drawing a blank, and you can only whine in a last attempt at protest, only for your tongue to start moving on autopilot, fueled by your want.

“It’s not enough,” you echo — and even if it feels like it is, even if it feels even more than you can possibly handle, something tells you that it’s true. “Not enough — need to feel you more, Mark. God, I want to feel you stretch me out, fuck my little hole into the shape of your cock— until no one else can fuck me but you—”

“What,” Donghyuck breathes out, his exhale coming across as static. “The fuck.”

You don’t have to explain; your babbling’s doing most of the work in that regard anyway, and you can tell by the wet, staccato noises on the other end that Donghyuck can easily piece together the scenario anyway. He’s jacking off to the both of you, something in your mind whispers, and the notion of that alone has you tightening around Mark’s cock. The change doesn’t go unnoticed, and his fingers sink deeper into your flesh; you cry out softly when you feel a jolt of pleasure as he gives your clit a sudden pinch.

“How much tighter can you get?” He sounds incredulous but also, interestingly, proud — there’s a smug tinge to his voice that arouses you even more. “Does it feel that good?”

“Fuck, yes,” you breathe out, the syllables quivering in your throat. “So good I’m going to lose my mind. Let me — God, please, let me—”

“Not yet,” Mark mumbles, and you whimper as he slows and slips out of you, his hand gently rubbing your folds in what feels like comfort — a small apology for his overt enthusiasm that you don’t even really need. “Just a little more. I need to see it.”

“See what?” Donghyuck’s voice is barely above a whisper, hoarse and pretty much muffled by the sound of his hand pumping his own shaft. Your head’s light, so your body moves on its own when Mark inches away slightly, giving you room to turn yourself around and lay on your back. You’ve barely even settled when he lifts your hips, dragging you closer to him and easing your thighs apart to slot himself between your legs.

His cock weighs heavy, pressed up against your folds, and he pushes his hips in a superficial thrust to get them to spread. His eyes fall briefly on your swollen clit, the wetness that you left on his shaft, even more of it still leaking from your hole. When he looks back up at you, there’s something triumphant in his gaze.

“Fucking gorgeous,” he coos, so lovingly it’d be hard to imagine his cock still sliding against your folds if you couldn’t feel it yourself. “I’ll never get enough of your perfect pussy — so perfect that it was made to take me.”

“See what?” Donghyuck presses, an impatience now coloring his voice. Mark chuckles, nodding at you and mouthing silently. Tell him.

Your inhale’s shaky, quivering like the rest of your body, and you don’t ever break away from Mark’s gaze, even as you speak.

“His cock fucking me in my stomach.”

Donghyuck’s ‘Jesus fucking Christ’ is drowned out by your cry of need as Mark pushes back into you. There’s no lag time now, no wait for any kind of adjustment; he takes you in one motion, until you feel his hips hit the backs of your thighs again. Your walls flutter around him, unable to process his size fully, and all that comes out of you is a string of messy mewls that’s constantly interrupted by the wet sounds of his thrusts.

Your body feels almost weightless, the only thing you can understand being the feeling of his cock pumping into you, stretching you out further. You’re only able to shake yourself out of the reverie when you feel his hands push back against your thighs, folding you in half, before they crowd atop your stomach.

“God, I need to feel it,” he groans out, his palms skimming under your navel, searching. “Please — do it for me.”

Even with your brain muddled, you don’t even have to try to figure it out; you let him feel it every time he asks. You inhale, deep and slow, until your stomach sinks, and the walls of your stomach flatten against his cock, which pauses briefly in its movements as he revels in the newfound feeling.

“That’s my girl,” he murmurs, and you flush in pleasure, in satisfaction at his praise. “Love seeing my cock inside you.”

He adjusts himself before he starts pumping into you again, burying his shaft all the way to the hilt each time; each thrust is followed by a soft sob from you, and you reach out, planting your hands on top of his. You obviously can’t feel his cock under your palms, but you don’t have to anyway; the fit’s tight enough that it feels, ridiculously, like he’s fucking your whole body, like he’s pressing into the deepest part of your core. You just want him to feel it more — the movement of the bulge under his hands, the resistance it has to push through to get to your stomach.

“Love feeling me inside you,” he continues, and his breathing stutters then, signaling that he’s also barely hanging on. “Love seeing how pretty you look when I rearrange your insides.”

You mouth out a disbelieving ‘what the fuck’ that earns you a simple smile, but Mark’s unrelenting in his movements anyway, his palms completely covering your stomach.

“Dude, I wanna see it too,” Donghyuck reminds you both of his presence when his voice comes through the speaker. “Put her on video.”

“No way,” comes Mark’s swift, firm reply. Donghyuck makes a noise of protest. “This is just for me.”

“Selfish as hell, calling me without really sharing.”

“The point wasn’t really ever to share.”

Mark’s hands suddenly press down on your stomach, and you stifle a soft scream; the pressure increases tenfold, as does the tightness of the fit, his cock brushing against your walls in a way that makes you feel breathless — it makes you feel used. Your hands fly up, fingers locking behind his neck, and you squirm under him, knowing fully well that you can’t escape anyway — not that you really want to, anyway.

“Mark,” you warn him again, your voice thin and airy. “I can’t anymore — I really—”

“I got you,” he murmurs — something you’ve come to learn he always says, always wants to let you know. He’ll be here until you break, until you can’t take anymore. “One second, okay?”

“Bro, what? Are you serious—” Even Donghyuck sounds confused, although his voice is tight too; he must be close, your mind weakly registers, but it doesn’t matter. Mark, albeit reluctantly, slips one hand away from your stomach — for a good cause, he must think, and you learn what it is when he ends the call, effectively cutting off Donghyuck’s complaints. Your eyes widen in confusion, but all Mark’s gaze is to you is reassuring, gentle, and he leans down to press a soft kiss to your lips before he answers your unspoken question.

“Can’t let him hear you cum,” he murmurs against your mouth. “That’s only for me, isn’t it?”

You nod, letting the movement of it brush your lips against his. “You’re the only one I’ll cum for — the only one that can make me.”

Above your head, his phone is trilling noisily; the vibrations course through your back, weak but persistent, and for some reason, it heightens your arousal all the more. Mark ignores it completely, single-mindedly focused on pistoning into you with the bulk of his strength. His hands push down just under your navel, increasing your awareness of the feeling of his cock, him fucking you, coaxing out your climax.

“Do it. Show me how pretty you look when you cum for me.”

You don’t think it’s possible for him to inject any more strength into his movements, but he proves you wrong time and time again; the wind’s knocked out of you as he braces himself and fucks you harder, sharper into the bed, and the only noises you can make are weak whimpers and choked sobs. Your mind’s so overrun with pleasure that your climax hits your body first before your mind fully parses it; your back arches again, and you mewl out something broken, something that sounds like his name as you come undone.

Mark still doesn’t relent, the tremble in your legs somehow only inspiring him to put more power in his thrusts. Even through the dazedness that comes with all the stimulation, you can see the fine details you’ve come to know so well — the tightness in his jaw, the growing flush across his collar, the quick heaving of his chest. He’s close too, so close he’s just holding himself back out of sheer force of will to make sure he can watch you come down from your climax completely. You don’t know why he has to, but you want to see him let go too, and you scramble for words, for more touch — pressing your thighs firm against his sides to keep him close, locked — just to get him there.

“Will you mark me up one last time?” You breathe out. He reacts almost instantaneously, moving to lean down and press his mouth against the still-untouched side of your neck, but your palm on his chest stops him from doing so. Surprise crosses his face, followed by slight confusion. You squeeze your thighs against him, trying to make your point, but even then, his brow furrows. “Mark me — inside.”

His eyes widen, and his hips stutter before they resume pace, his fingers digging into your stomach almost painfully as he tries to keep himself in control. “I— no, you know I can’t…”

“Do you want to?” You egg him on, your hand dropping from his chest to land on top of his again, adding to the pressure until you’re sure he can feel every small movement, every throb of his own cock inside you. “You can, you know — make me yours, from the inside out.”

“God — we can’t; you know we’d be in so much trouble.”

“But I’d let you anyway, if you wanted to. Do you ever think about it, Mark?” Your fingers toy with his, almost like you’re having a casual conversation instead of a situation in which he’s deep inside you, already aching for release. “Fucking your cum deep into me, letting it seep into my stomach — making sure no one else can fill me up?”

“Jesus,” he growls, and he reluctantly slips his hands out from under yours to grip your thighs. Realistically, he has enough strength to peel them away, have you release him, but his hold just tightens, not really making any motion to do so. You see the thought flash in his eyes, serious even just for a moment. He thinks about it all the time.

“Think about it,” you urge, your voice soft but close to a demand. “And every time you do, remember one day, you will — because you’re the only one that can.”

He tilts his head back, letting a growl rip from his throat, and he finally manages to push your thighs apart. You let him, let them fall apart so he can slip out of you. You watch him shift upwards, his knees on either side of your torso, and you’re met with the erotic sight of him fisting his cock in front of you, urging himself into completion. You do the only thing you can think of to help; you open your mouth wide, pushing your tongue out, silently asking for his load.

“Even when you do that, you’re fucking pretty,” he groans out, and his thumb presses his cock down, resting the underside flush against your tongue as he rocks his hips. “How much prettier are you going to look with my cum all over your face?”

He doesn’t have to wait long to find out, and you don’t have to respond; he gets the answer he wants with one last thrust against your tongue, and you close your eyes briefly, allowing yourself to drink in the taste, the smell of his cum as it streaks across your cheeks, all over your lips. You hear his release as it comes too — the soft rumble from his chest, the release of air that gently whistles through his teeth.

When you open your eyes again, Mark is looking down at you, a warm flush creeping up his cheeks and ears again; he’s breathless, panting as he comes down from his high. From the daze of his climax, a slightly sheepish look of apology crosses his face, and he reaches down, seemingly without any real plan, to clean you up, only to withdraw, slightly bemused, when you shake your head.

A laugh escapes him when you shimmy out from under him, straighten up, and extend your arms upward, puckering your lips in slight demand. You think he might reject you, but Mark doesn’t even hesitate longer than a second. He swoops down, capturing your lips in a fierce kiss, and your thighs press together tight as you enjoy the feeling of his tongue swiping away his cum from your bottom lip before he takes it between his teeth, sucking softly as if to clean you completely.

When he pulls away, his head dips into your shoulder; again, his face turns to press against the mark he’d left, and his teeth nip at the soft bruise that’s already begun to blossom. Satisfied by the soft noise you make at the sensitivity you feel from the contact, he breathes out, long and steady, against your skin.

“Just… can’t get enough of you,” he finally exhales, pressing another kiss to your neck; it’s gentler, situated just under your jaw.

“You don’t ever have to think about having enough,” you whisper, leaving a light nuzzle against his shoulder. “Just always think about having more.”

He lets out a breathy laugh, but he nods, accepting your offer anyway. A moment of silence passes, where you’re wrapped up in each other, his weight against you in a blanket of heat, and it stretches to what almost feels like an eternity — if not for the phone suddenly ringing again, Donghyuck’s name coming up on the ID. You both start, and Mark reaches over, fumbling with the sides of his device before he finds and toggles the silent switch.

“Seriously,” he grumbles, watching the call drop just for it to start up again, the screen flashing.

“We kind of left him hanging, to be fair.”

“No fairness.” Mark tosses the phone to the foot of the bed, where it lies, facedown and buzzing. “He got more than he deserved today.”

You watch him as he slips off the bed, rearranging himself before clipping his jeans button back into place. He whispers a gentle ‘be right back’ and exits the room, leaving the door only slightly ajar. You hear the water run in the bathroom, and a few moments later, Mark returns to your side, holding a damp towel.

He leaves a kiss after each light swipe across your face, as if to apologize for the pain he thinks he might be causing; you laugh, partly because it’s ridiculous, but mostly because you like it. He cleans your mouth last, even though there’s already nothing left, just so he has an excuse to leave a long, lasting kiss there.

You think it’s the last you’ll get for now, but he surprises you by bending down even further, hiking your shirt up your torso again. His hand rests on your thigh, keeping himself balanced as he presses a flutter of kisses around your navel, lingering at the exact spot that sits above where he knows his cock hits every time he bottoms out in you.

“One day,” he whispers into your skin before he looks up at you, his eyes shining. “I’ll really make you all mine.”

“Dummy.” Your voice is just as low, and you pull his head up again, enjoying the brush of his hair against your hand, the swoop of his jaw under your palm. “How many times do I have to tell you?”

“Every single day, considering I’ll never get tired of it.”

You hum, not one to deny him of what he asks anyway; you push him back onto his calves, climbing back onto his lap; it’s your favorite way to be near him, you decide, with almost nothing between you, almost everything of yours touching everything of his — like you fit in him perfectly. You rest your cheek against his shoulder, feeling their soft rise and fall as his breathing steadies, and you squirm a bit, if only to make sure his arms are locked securely around you — to make sure he won’t let go. Just like that, in his arms, you say it again — a truth, a fact, and a promise.

“I already am.”

[hopesworlld]

౨ৎ got to love me harder, baby

౨ৎ 𝗽𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴 — jealous!anakin x fem!reader

౨ৎ 𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆 — anakin doesn't make you cum, so then he does again, and again, and again

౨ৎ 𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁 — 1k

౨ৎ 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 — swearing, insecure anakin, anakin kinda scares reader for a sec, smut ( unprotected sex, p in v, creampie, spanking, oral sex f receiving, fingering, pinching, over stimulation ) think that’s all !

౨ৎ 𝗵𝗼𝗽𝗲 𝘀𝗽𝗲𝗮𝗸𝘀 ! — i was possessed by some sort of smut demon and wrote this in a haze in about 30 minutes and i kinda love it. so thank you for requesting this i loved writing it !

part one ( kinda ) part three masterlist

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“holy shit,” anakin hissed, burying himself deeper inside of you, his hips twitching with the force of his thrusts, the sick squelch of your juices echoing around the room as anakin chased his relief, glasses askew on his face in such a way that it could have been endearing had his cock not been bullying your cervix. “feel so good, baby,” he told you, eyes meeting your, piercing blue stained onyx with lust. 

“ani, just like that, oh my god,” you cried, lifting your hips from the bed to meet his thrusts, grinning at the way anakin gasped, eyes rolling into the back of his head, he was sheened with sweat, golden skin glimmering beneath the dull lamplight, he looked ethereal, lips red and flushed, tongue lolling to the side as he hammered into you, closer, closer… 

“i’m gonna cum,” anakin told you, words babbled, as he sank into you once again, you could feel your own phantom relief curling up your spine, sinking into your core in white hot flashes, but as quickly as it had started it began to ebb away as anakin let go, a cry escaping his lips as he came flooding your gummy walls with thick hot spurts of cum, he continued to thrust for a few moments, fucking you through the oversensitivity before going still and collapsing down atop of you. 

“good boy,” you whispered, brushing your hands through his amber curls, “did so good for me, angel,” you murmured, planting soft kisses along his hairline, the taste of salt lingering on your tongue. 

“you… did you cum?” anakin asked, pulling back, his eyebrow pulled into a firm line, you smiled at him gently, leaning in and pressing a gentle kiss to his pouty lips. “you didn’t… i didn’t feel you?” his lips trembled, tears welling in his pretty blue eyes. 

“it’s okay, ani, i’m okay,” you told him with a reassuring smile but anakin shook his head, he pulled backward, tugging his cock free from your soaking core, looking down at the mix of your juices and his cum spilling from you with glaring hatred. 

“no, you think that's okay?” he growled out, “think it’s okay that i can’t make my girl cum?” he demanded, searching your face for answers but he didn’t seem to find what he was searching for, “you think i’m pathetic don’t you? can’t give you what you need,” you quickly shook your head, pushing yourself upwards on the bed and reaching out, cupping anakin’s cheeks between you palms but he pushed you off, anger flashing in his teary eyes. “don’t,” he ground out, voice trembling.

“anakin, calm down,” you said soothingly, “lots of girls can’t just come from penetrative sex, it's not your fault it was just a bit fast tonight, you always make me feel so good, okay, a one-off doesn’t matter,” you told him, but your words fell upon deaf ears, if anything your words seemed to upset him more as he grasped your shoulders and shoved you back down onto the bed, your head slamming against the pillows, you gasped, looking to anakin with wide eyes but he was gone. you had never seen him look so… feral, his chest was heaving, tears staining his pretty face but he looked mad, more angry than you had ever seen him and you couldn’t help the little burst of panic that flared in your stomach. “ani,” you whispered unsurely. 

“you think i can’t make you cum?” he asked, words like ice as he stared down at you. 

“i didn’t say that,” you argued helplessly but anakin didn’t seem to care what you had to say right now as he grasped your thighs with both hands and wrenched them open, spreading you out before him, his grip was harsh and you were sure if he continued like this he would leave bruises along the delicate skin. 

“i’ll fucking show you,” he muttered and you were unsure if he was even talking to you anymore or himself, but you didn't have time to overthink it as anakin buried himself between your thighs, plunging his face into your cunt and sucking your clit into his mouth, a surprised moan fell from your lips as anakin suckled on the bundle of nerves with vigor. anakin had eaten you out many times before, but usually, it was soft, gentle licks and caresses with his tongue before he delicately entered his fingers into your sopping hole and opened you up for him, but right now, he was fucking devouring you. he switched between sucking on your slit and licking large stripes from your core up to the top. 

it was messy, the sticky sounds of your release coating his tongue and him slurping as he took every little thing your body gave him. it wasn’t long before you came for the first time, completely mesmerised by the sight of anakin between your thighs, and the way he ate you out like a man starved. you thought that was it as you finally came down from your high, body tingling, but anakin didn't pull away, instead, the spill of juices that escaped you seemed to encapture him more, he greedily sunk his tongue into your gummy walls desperate for more. 

“anakin,” you moaned, hands falling to his curls and tugging slightly, trying to pull him away from your sensitive cunt but he yanked your hands away and planted a firm slap on your thigh that had you screaming, pain mixing with pleasure as anakin went down on you. you had never seen him this worked up, so dominant with you, usually he liked your guidance, and whispered words of assurance as he kissed your cunt to release, but right now he was pussy drunk. completely lost in your taste as he went back to your clit, slipping two fingers into your cunt and pumping, a cry fell from your lips as you jerked against him, but anakin didn’t stop, instead curling his fingers inside of you hitting that spot that made your toes curl. “fuck,” you screamed as another orgasm crashed over you, your vision went white and everything around you seemed to spin, but still anakin wasn’t done. 

“anakin, please, i can’t,” you gasped, once again trying to pull him away from your swollen cunt but anakin scowled at you, eyes rasing from your cunt for only a moment and the look he sent you worked almost immediately as you fell silent. he began lapping at your clit, little kitten licks before switching to larger drags of his tongue, his face was soaked, a mess of cum and drool, you whimpered as he began to pump his fingers faster, slipping a third one in to continue the stimulation as he played with your clit. 

“oh my god,” you shouted, “ani, i don’t know if i can cum again,” you hissed as he harshly suckled your clit back between his lips, grazing his teeth over the most sensitive part and you were falling once again. this orgasm even more powerful than the last, it crashed through you, welling in your stomach and coming to a crescendo, and you screamed, tears spilling from your eyes as you thrashed against the pillows, face soaked with sweat and sticking stray hairs to your forehead and temple. 

“ani,” you screamed hoarsely as he once again locked himself between your thighs, arms warped around your ankles like a vice so you couldn’t escape, your hips writhed against him as he suckled your lips, tongue sliding across your sopping hole, slurping and swallowing you whole. you had never felt such intense pleasure in such a short amount of time in your life, your legs were aching, tears spilling down your cheeks as you cried out, begging for him to stop, or never stop, you weren't sure what you wanted. all you knew is that anakin had ruined you for anyone else, he has always been it for you, from the moment you met, but now, you knew you could never leave, not as he sank his tongue back inside of you and pulled one of his hands free to pinch as your clit, it was hard, his blunt nails sinking into the sensitive skin but it was enough to send you spiraling. 

you couldn’t be a hundred percent of what had happened next, all you remembered was tears spilling down your cheeks and screams pouring from your lips as you hit the peak of pleasure and your entire body went rigid, but when you managed to tear your eyes open once again anakin was hovering over you, a bright smile twisted on his cum soaked lips. 

“ani?” you whimpered, sobs ripping from your throat, your entire body was trembling and your legs felt numb, your mind fuzzy from pleasure as you looked up at him with wide eyes. 

“baby,” he crooned, leaning down and pecking your lips, smearing your face with your release. “did so well for me,” he said happily while you could only blink up at him, jaw slacked. “you’ve never cum that hard before have you, sweetie?” he asked and all you could do was shake your head dumbly. “that’s why you need me, always gonna make you feel good, aren’t i?” and you nodded in agreement, completely blissed out as anakin sank down beside you. 

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feel free to send me more horny asks guys i’m home for two weeks for easter and need some entertainment while i’m here ! mwah !

tags: @johnbassplayercutie @anakinscrybaby

[macfrog]

fucking diabolical | one shot

i don't have a semblance of an explanation for this one. i've fallen off the ledge and i'm never coming back. if you know, you fucking know.

pairing: billy butcher x f!reader summary: you move in across the street. butcher notices. warnings: unspecified age gap, infidelity, unprotected car sex, creampie, daddy kink, breeding kink (one mention of pregnancy), softdom! & soft!billy...? weird. word count: 3.6k

main masterlist | follow @macfroglets w notifs on to be the first to hear when i post 🖤

Six days. He made it six days.

He’s not this weak a man, is he? Is he really? To stand by the living room window, whiskey in hand, white-knuckle grip threatening to shatter the glass. Five minutes. Only five more minutes.

To watch your figure float between rooms, flicking lamps on and flitting blinds closed. A patchwork façade, now become an almost nightly routine. Polite little home on a polite little street, on this polite little evening.

You’ll leave the radio on in the hallway. Your neighbors will never know.

He’s not so weak to feel himself harden at the mere thought: your body bending backwards under his, his every move stealing the sweetest of sighs. Leaden weight in his pants, painful and premature and at the same time – a fucking relief, honestly.

Relief that he’s still alive, somewhere inside himself. Relief that he can feel something other than burning rage, simmering resentment. Relief that he can still spot a right fucking sort when he sees one.

Billy’s not a weak man.

You just might be testing his willpower, is all.

It’s been a month since you moved in. Since you first crossed paths across the street. He was walking Terror, cooling off after another spat with the missus. Never fucking listens, does she, old boy? Never. I ain’t tryna cause a fight, but she makes it so bloody –

Hang about. Who’s this?

You looked too good to be true. Boosting yourself up into the back of the moving truck, dipping into the shadows for the one, two, three steps it took him to reach the curb. He could feel the ricochet of his pulse through every vein in his body.

You resurfaced in the light, nudging a brown box towards the ledge with the heel of your shoe. Skimpy little shorts, Billy noted, your skin glistening with sweat and sun.

When you hopped back down, your breasts – Jesus fuck, your breasts – they bounced so perfectly into place. Full and round and fucking delicious beneath that tank top.

Billy loves a challenge, doesn’t he? Fly little bugger. Didn’t matter to him when your little twat of a husband came scurrying out, scooped up the box and, following your direction, staggered like some pathetic drunkard back inside.

Didn’t matter to him, and didn’t seem like it mattered to you. At least, not when you caught sight of your new neighbor and took one looping glance – from raveled boots to rugged beard, lingering on the Hawaiian shirt in the middle – and then smiled.

Smiled like you knew you were about to ruin his fucking life.

Hi.

Hello, love. Moving day, is it?

You gestured to your feet, then to the Tetris block boxes in the back of the truck. Bit of a shitshow so far.

Looks like it. Need a hand?

He could’ve sworn you were considering it, the way you paused. The way your hands crossed to cover the ring on your third finger.

You rolled your tongue from one cheek to the other. Thanks, you decided, I think we’re good.

And then, just as Billy made to cross the street, you cast another line.

Nice neighborhood?

His mouth twisted into that sick smirk of his. Muscle memory. He had you ensnared already. He glanced over his shoulder. Hm?

I’m not from around here. Is it a nice neighborhood?

He staggered back over, stuffed his hands in his pockets. ‘s alright, yeah. Few wronguns, couple curtain-twitchers.

Terror sniffed a trail between the boxes at your feet. His leash wrapped around your bare legs.

You knelt to cup his blocky head, scratch the folds of fur between his ears. Curtain-twitchers, huh? you echoed to the pup. And which category does your daddy fall into?

Billy’s fist locked around the leash. He could already feel it: the rush of blood heading somewhere he knew it fucking shouldn’t.

Neither, he replied. Yet.

You looked up at him. All doe-eyed and innocent. Younger than him by a decent amount, so it looked. A light in your eyes and a fullness in your cheeks that gave you away instantly.

You looked brand new. Lovely little thing; a baby crease between your brows as you ruffled the dog’s snowy fur and stood up, mirroring Billy’s suspicious smirk.

So fucking sweet. So sweet, in fact, that Billy wanted to chew you up and spit you back out. Wanted to see how much of a mess he could make of such a pretty girl.

He’s always known just how to ruin a good thing, hasn’t he?

Well, you cleared your throat, it was nice to meet you, uh…

Butcher, he said, holding a paw of a hand out. Billy Butcher.

Billy Butcher, you echoed. I look forward to seeing where we both turn out.

Forty-five seconds still on the clock, he gives in.

Gives in to the need thrumming through his bones, so electric he can’t stand still. Gives in to his fluttering heart and the way it falters with each sighting of your silhouette.

Gives in to the fucking brick in his pants, the painful ache and the feeling like bruising each time it ruts against his jeans.

Can’t help himself, can he? He’s already bursting at the seams. He hasn’t touched you in – Christ, Billy, it’s only been eighteen hours – but fuck it.

You’re the only good thing about his day. The only relief he gets, the only time he feels like himself.

The only thing Billy has to look forward to these days, is pushing his cock inside someone else’s wife.

Ain’t that a fucking thing? Fuuuckin’ hell.

He thinks, swaggering down his front steps, that he should feel bad about it. He almost wishes he could.

He thinks, watching you mirror him across the street – collar up, head down, the way he’d taught you the first night – that he should call it quits. Tonight, last night, last week. This affair should never have started in the first place.

He thinks, as he sighs into his car and you strut off in the opposite direction, that he should let you go. Tell you to turn around, head back home. Back to your husband, back to your life – unblemished by Billy’s messy, poisoned hands.

He should let you go back to that girl he met on the side of the road. Ring on her finger, dimple in her cheek. A twinkle of innocence as bright as sunlight in her eye.

But you pause at the end of the street. Billy catches it in his rearview. You pause, twirl on your heel, and stare back at the Cadillac. Your arms come up – something of a signal, a prompt. He should have the engine running by now. He should be on his way to the meeting spot.

Billy thinks, if he’s half the man he’s spent his entire life trying to be, that he owes it to himself not to turn the key. To get back out of the car, and never watch for the shadow of you ever again.

He knows he’s not half the man he should be. And why the fuck would he be, anyway? He ain’t exactly got a decent lineup of role models to choose from. A seed planted in shit can grow into as tall a tree as it wants – the roots will always be steeped in shit.

Sod it.

The engine rumbles to life, and so does he.

Billy pulls the Cadillac in to the usual spot. A couple blocks from your street, the place is perpetually deserted – save for a couple stumbling teenagers last week and a meddling raccoon the week before.

You’re loitering beneath the cover of some trees, avoiding the splotches of amber streetlight. Hands in your pockets; shoulders bunched. Almost a month of sneaking around and still, each time, he almost mistakes you for some other ghost on the street.

The door whips open. You sink into the passenger seat.

“Don’t tell me you almost got cold feet.”

His eyebrows quirk. “That sound like me?”

You bite down on a cheeky grin. That dimple of yours makes itself at home. “Thought you were about to bail on me. Car trouble? Couldn’t get it to start?”

“Hm,” Billy pinches your chin, “That don’t sound like me either.”

He could swear he feels you nuzzle into his grasp; could swear your gaze softens just a little. But it’s dark outside, even darker in here, and he’d do well to remember exactly who you are, and exactly who he is.

Selfish, careless, irresponsible. A right cunt. Broken from the inside out, a black chasm which splits the four chambers of his heart. It’s in his bones, in his blood.

The kind of man who flirts with the neighbor, who meets her in a backstreet and fucks her in his car. The kind of man who goes home afterwards and showers her perfume from his skin; who plays with himself until he’s hard all over again just from the memory.

The kind of man whose wife reckons the new couple look happy. Honeymoon phase, she’ll say, and then drift off into some other corner of the house.

Billy lets his hand drop. “Come on, then,” he says, putting the car into park. “Ain’t got all night.”

He’s never bored of it.

Never bored of the smutty smirk on your face, or the way you skip around to the backseat. Never bored of that first touch, the heat on his skin that meets your frozen fingertips. Never bored of the way you melt into him, the need pouring from your body as soon as Billy pulls you into his lap.

There’s a thrill to it. A kind of ecstasy he hasn’t felt in years. For the sliver of night that you share together, he can be exactly who he wants to be.

It just so happens to be who you want, too.

He lifts the tee from your shoulders, teeth dragging between your collarbones. Across red lace and strap, pausing only to suck a delicate mark into the plush of your chest.

You giggle, throwing your head back. “No proof,” you pull his jaw away, “He’ll see that, you know he will.”

Billy nips at your bottom lip. “Tell ‘im he left it.”

“Ha,” you roll your eyes, “Good one.”

He toys with the lace on your hips, slipping a hand between your legs. “Poor baby,” he pouts, “Ain’t got no one to touch her at home.”

Your spine curls when he cups your mound. Tongue pokes at the corner of your mouth, eyes flood black; a wild animal eyeing her next meal.

He swirls his middle finger, teasing your clit over your underwear. “Make a mess in ‘em, sweetheart, just for me.”

“They’re already a mess for you,” you grit, nails digging into his shoulders. You grind into his palm, hips stuttering. “They’re – always – a mess – for you.”

He can feel it – the damp material at his fingertips, the warm wet on the inside of your thighs. You need this as much as he does. And that’s all this is, right? Helping each other out, being neighborly. A favor asked and answered inside of an hour.

Lend me some milk, water my houseplants. Fuck me until I can’t fucking think straight.

His cock strains against his jeans. Any longer and he’ll be making a mess in his own fucking underwear.

He kisses along the ridge of your jaw, sliding a hand up your spine to unhook your bra.

You shake the lingerie from your body, fucking perfect tits jiggling between your arms. Bare on top of him now – nothing but a scrap of lace over your hips and a sinful smile on your lips.

You fiddle with the buttons on his shirt, writhing still with the pressure he’s quickly building between your hips. Grinding into him, hungrier and hungrier.

“Stupid fucking shirt,” you groan, ripping the floral pattern from his shoulders. Your hands find the plain of his chest; solid, dappled with dark hair, chain catching the streetlight and reflecting it in your eyes.

Billy laughs to himself. He pulls his hand from between your legs, sucks the tease of slick from his fingers, and guides your lips down to his. “Come here.”

No, he’s not a weak man. He’s been a fighter his entire life. Fists that have broken bone, words that have crumbled foes to dust. If you ain’t already a cunt, the world will make a cunt of you, yeah?

But here, now, you – undoing his belt, tossing it to the footwell; pushing the denim from his hips. You, giggling when he bucks you up to rid himself of his underwear, and your head hits the roof of the car.

You, taking his stiff cock in both hands, biting down on a moan when you feel the weight of him –

You might just be the thing that breaks him.

He thrusts up into your grip. “Drivin’ me off my head, you are,” he groans, burying his face in your chest when you squeeze.

“Good,” you reply, spitting into your palm. “’s what you do to me, anyway.”

You drag warm saliva over his length, slipping lower to massage his balls. So big and heavy in your hand, though Billy knows you’re being gentle.

Everything about you is gentle. Even while breaking your most solemn vow – the bullshit promises you made to that cunt at the altar – you’re so sweet with it. A favor, sure – but you want to make him feel good. You still want to pretend it’s real.

Only – there’s not enough time. Your husband will be home any minute, Billy’s wife has probably already noticed he’s gone. There are only so many excuses that an hour can allow, and the longer he spends admiring the way you caress his ball sack, the more of those excuses are written off.

For now, the back of his Cadillac behind a dilapidated Burger King will have to do.

“Alright,” Billy croaks, pausing your movements with a light hand on your wrist. “Gotta let me fuck you now, sweetheart. Been waiting all day for it, haven’t I?”

You chew on your lip, guiding his cock to your entrance.

His tip notches at your hole, so warm and snug just for him. He can feel how tight you still are, even after a month of him. Still not used to the size, the way he punches the air straight out of your lungs with that first thrust.

He wonders if you’re still having sex with your husband. Stupid question, maybe, but he does. He wonders whether, when the bloke slips inside, you feel yourself aching around him. Feel your cunt needing more, needing him.

The thought drains his head of any blood and sends it straight to his dick. He leans back against the headrest and pulls your cunt down over him.

The sound you make is almost enough to send him over already. A tiny squeak, a yelp which shatters into the most beautiful sound he’s heard all day. Need. Need and want, laced up and tied into the form of a pretty girl on his cock.

Need and want, which happens to push the word over her tongue just as he goes to ask for it.

“Daddy,” you whine, head rolling across Billy’s shoulder. Your hips are still, split open on top of him as your cunt adjusts to the intrusion.

“There she is,” he whispers into the shell of your ear, smirking. “’s my girl, let Daddy open her up a little.”

So fucking tight, it almost hurts. He can’t remember the last time he was inside someone who gripped him this much. Like you don’t want him to move at all, just stay put between your walls and let you call the shots.

“That feel okay, darlin’?” Billy asks, helping you straighten.

You look down to where your bodies connect – the dark trail of hair on his groin meeting yours. The twist of lace, underwear warped to make room for the width of his cock.

You brace yourself with two hands on his stomach, and push up. Only an inch, barely enough for any relief, but when you drop down on him again, you wince.

“She’ll get there,” he says, slipping a hand around the small of your back. He cradles you in the crook of his arm, kisses the hinge of your jaw. “Just gotta give her a little bit a’ time, don’t we?”

“Yeah, Daddy,” you reply, in a bottled voice. You link your own arms around his neck, anchoring yourself to him.

He lifts his hips, gently bucking until your whimpers quieten. Until the crease between your brow smooths, replaced with creases at the corners of your lips. A smile, a satisfied thing – her daddy always makes her feel better, doesn’t he?

Always blurs the edges of her pain. The relief after a long, shitty day; the escape from a long, shitty marriage. The need met; the want fulfilled. The hunger satiated, until eight p.m. the following night when you pull your hood up and go for another one of your walks.

You chant it to him, like with each syllable you’re turning the pain into pleasure. Daddy Daddy Daddy. Each one higher than the last, each one more desperate.

Your walls squeeze around him. You grind down against the thick hair at his base; clit swollen and soaked with your wet and his.

Billy’s eyes roll closed. He slips his fingers through yours, feels the cold brush of your wedding ring on his skin.

A good man would snap out of it. A good man would glance down at the strip of gold around his own finger, and call the whole thing off. Stuff himself back into his pants, drive the both of you home. Never look the road you’re on again, never look at another woman who isn’t his wife.

But his wife’s not here. Hasn’t been here, for longer than Billy would like to admit.

You’re here. Dove of a girl, soft coos from her lips and little fluttering movements. Good girl, right in his lap, begging him to tear her apart.

And thank fuck he’s not a good man.

He grits his teeth, jaw clenching around a pathetic moan. “Daddy’s gonna come, darlin’, gonna fill her right up.”

“Daddy,” you pant, “Daddy, I’m – I’m ovulating, please –”

“Good,” he grunts, slamming in again, “Means you’ll take it all then, won’tcha?”

You slur something of a laugh into his chest. Your thighs clench around his waist, rutting begins to falter. You dig your nails into his shoulders and, with a sobbing moan, you come hard around his cock.

“Oh, my God – Billy,” you gasp, hands grabbing the hair at the base of his skull. You give it a sharp tug and tilt his head skyward.

Billy comes with a guttural moan, a sound that tears from the base of his throat and echoes into your mouth. His cock pulses inside you, emptying into your little cunt.

Nothing has ever felt so fucking right, he realizes, than this cramped backseat. A tight squeeze, all of it – the sweet pinch of your pussy around his cock, the sweat and sex coating the windows in a hazy film.

The stars in his vision spatter, fading into the dull car. He settles back with a sigh.

You giggle, swaying to and fro in his lap. When you slip off, his cock settles heavy and soaked on his groin.

“Hold it,” Billy says, snapping your underwear back into place. “You hold it all in there.”

“Okay,” you smile, wrapping your arms around one of his, “Okay, Daddy.”

He closes his eyes. For a moment, he allows himself to fade out of this stifling backseat and to somewhere fresher, cleaner. Unbroken and untainted. No vows or golden rings suffocating either of you.

For a moment, he could almost believe it.

At his side, he hears the ruffling of denim. The flick of a lighter, once, twice, and then the soft crackling of a cigarette burning. The thick stench of tobacco fills the car.

“You wanna know something?”

You ask it quietly, timidly.

Billy snaps back to the Cadillac. His eyes flutter open. “What?”

You twirl the cig between your fingers, watching the snaking smoke bend and twist. “This is all I have. The only time I feel like I’m above the waves. Everything else is just…fucking…”

“…drowning,” he says.

You hum an agreement and lift the cigarette to his lips. “Isn’t that awful? I mean, we’re fucking awful people, aren’t we?”

Billy takes a long drag. The question fills his lungs, sour as smoke. “Not you,” he says, lifting his chin to exhale over your head. “Not you.”

“Hey,” you tug on his arm, “How come you get to be the cunt, and I don’t?”

He answers with an empty shrug, another cloud of smoke obscuring you from his vision.

“What would we do if you got me pregnant?” you ask, wafting the air.

He scoffs. “You’re askin’ if we’d pretend it was his?”

You shrug. “Sure. Would we?”

He rests his chin on your head. “S’pose we’d have to,” he utters, watching the blur of headlights soar by the parking lot. “You want to admit this is what you’re up to every fuckin’ night?”

“No.”

“No,” he repeats.

“It would be a shitstorm, though,” you snicker. The cherry glows again as you suck on the end.

“Fuckin’ diabolical,” Billy agrees.

[sashiavi]

no thoughts head empty just riding kaveh's face 😔😔😔 he'd definitely whimper and moan, acting like it's his last meal<3 thrusting his hips in the air to try and get some sort of relief, and ends up cumming untouched<3<3 oh the things I'd do to him

(I'm supposed to be productive rn)

(but kaveh<3<3<3)

Kaveh x Reader - Riding Kaveh's Face Haikaveh x Reader Mentioned

Some Kaveh food ♡

I'm slowly working through a few requests and my own little projects hehe~ thank you for your patience and I hope you enjoy!

Ilysm Kai Ty for sneaking into my ask box hehe~ 💕

Warnings : 18+ Smut | afab reader | face sitting/riding | jealous Kaveh | spit | squirting | not beta read | ʷᶜ ¹.⁷ᵏ

“Kaveh.. I don't want to hurt you..” Was the first thing that tumbled from your pretty lips, a kiss of nervousness lingering on the edge of your words. The words he should have seen coming, like an overused opening line to a spicy scene in one of his romance novels, written by some lazy author.. Maybe to you, your concerns were valid, more than reasonable, even, it’s not everyday that he has you on him like this. Any ounce of rationality quickly scatters from him when Kaveh meets your eyes. 

Nervous face looking down at him between your legs, eyes already a little bleary, lips tucked into a nervous pout. What a sight. Pretty tits drooping with gravity, framing your abdomen and tummy so well. One hand planted on his chest, the other being nervously nibbled at, tips of your fingers, lips biting into your nails. Kaveh huffs, a puff of a sigh tickling your skin. He had you kneeling on your knees, soft squishable thighs grazing against his ears, skin warm on his cheeks, sucking the metallic cool from the dangling jewelry he always adorned. His hands snake over the back of your thighs squeezing, groping, making an attempt to pull you down.

“K-Kaveh-!” Your squeals make his brain spark. The subtle fight and pull of your hips, his own hands trying to gently combat your squirms, all but makes him more eager- desperate even, for you, for your smell, your taste, to hear those soft whimpers he knows will spill from your lips. Archons, he wants to stuff his face full, dig his nose into your little clit, tongue your pussy with kisses and licks. 

“S’ okay- Can take it, honest..” He cranes his neck, chin tilting up, lips managing a soft, wet kiss against your mound, his breath hot against the sensitive skin. 

“We've never..” You trail off, looking anywhere but him. It was true, they hadn't ever done something like this, not together at least, but the memory- memories even, of your pretty pussy being tongue fucked by Alhaitham all those times before. Riding on his face, squealing, whimpering, crying. Tugging at the man's silky grey hair, pleading with him, all while knowing he wouldn't stop, grip too tight on your thighs and ass. Gods, Alhaitham, ever the dominant, putting both of you in your places, fucking you too stupid to even lay a finger on one another- one always twitching and out of commission for the rest of the night while he tortured the other with utmost pleasure.

Kaveh's cock flexes in his pants, tip rubbing against the taught material, nearly cracking out his own whimper. This was one of those rare chances, he had to get his own hands on you.

“You ride 'Haitham's face..” Kaveh can't help but whine, his lips visibly pout, head turning, pointed nose nuzzling into the soft fat of your thigh. He resists the urge to kiss, to sink his teeth in, nibble, and leave his own marks on your skin. Gods, he wants you to use him, ride his tongue and choke him with your pussy.

“H-He..” Your voice cracks, laced in something sinful, nervous from heat and embarrassment already taking over your body. The pause is tense, ringing in Kaveh's ears. "He can.. handle it, he's-" Kaveh cuts you off.

“Why can't I handle it? Wanna make you feel good..” He tries again, breathing warm on your core, aiming kisses on your inner thighs, the subtle swell of your tummy and that pretty patch of skin that leads down to your pussy. Just a little lick, a little kiss and he's sure you'd agree.

“He's just.. hnn.. Stronger than you- Ahn~!” Kaveh stops you again, forcing a startled moan from your lips with a harsh nip to your sensitive inner thigh, followed with a slicing glare from his sharp, crimson eyes. He had no right to be jealous- you were his as much as Ahaitham was, the same for the latter and yourself (and every other way, betrothed to each other equally) and yet, that achy feeling sears down his throat. Alhaitham with his high praise, thick biceps and stupid pretty face- Kaveh was pretty too! Stronger? Kaveh can show you stronger. Show you how he can make you feel good. Show you he can take on and bully your pretty pussy with his tongue. Show you he can take all of you. 

It starts with a fat lick of his tongue, a thick stripe up your cunt, right over that puffy untouched clit of yours. His chin tilted up to reach you, breath already hot and laboured, fanning over your core, he nearly growls when your hips make an attempt to snip away from him. He reels you in, grip on your hips a little firmer, landing wet hot smooches and kisses on all your most sensitive bits. That look on your face makes his cock twitch, embarrassed, guilty even, chin wobbling with the shaky breath you manage.

“Ahn~ K-Kaveh m’ sorry-” Apologies be damned, you'd started something, a fire in his gut to prove himself, to lap at you like a dog in heat. Gods, his neck already stung, ached with the strain of chasing you, chasing that pretty, drooly cunt- His fingers tighten, squishing the fat of your thighs under them. He feels your muscles tense and ripple, trying their best to keep you upright against his pull. Gods, he wanted you, wanted more, wanted you to sit, hump at his tongue, let him suckle and spit and make a mess.

“Ka-veh-” You start, heat and arousal dripping from your voice, winded and breathless. You squirm again, fingers threading through his hair, gently tugging him back down to the cushioned pillow below. “Haitham’ will be home soon, we- Ah~ Kavehhh!” You're cut off with a squeal. Knocked hard under your knees by a pair of hands, forced to drop down on Kaveh's face. His eyes roll, arms snaking around your ass and lower back, pinning you to himself with a rough hug. No escape now, you were all his. His gorgeous girl and her pretty drooly cunt.

Archons.. Fuck this was what he needed, what he craved. Squishy pussy smushed up on his lips, his pointed nose digging into your tender clit, tongue already fucking into the soft squeeze of your hole. He forces your hips to rock, guiding them with his hands, fingers squished into the fat of your ass and thighs. Gods, he wanted to cry, sob into your pussy and praise it over and over.

He can't help but crane his own hips, feeling the hot burning tension of his pants, the seam and fly digging into his weeping cock. He moans himself, tongue flicking and fluttering against your cunt, forcing his voice to stutter and staccato. You were no better off, soft mewls and whimpers tumbling from your lips when he mouths hot kisses and hard suckles on your clit, warm and wet and sticky. 

The fingers in his hair tighten, tugging on the strands oh so deliciously, coaxing him on and on. To keep tongue fucking your cunt, grinding his nose on your clit, squishing your soft thighs with his fingernails. The weight of you felt right on his face, grounding and stern, forcing him into submission - Even if unintentional.

“Kaveh~ KavehKaveh..” you repeat his name like a mantra, voice raising up and up in octave, choked up and wobbly. Your fingers squeeze again, hips wriggling, thighs twitching with a strain. Your breathing elevates, moans oh so breathy. He could tell you were close, little hole squeezing up on his tongue, thighs squishing his head, pretty voice squealing.

“Cummin- cumming, cummingcumminggg~” Archons you were so cute. Thighs flexing, squishing his face as you let go, selfishly riding his face, grinding your wet cunt all over his tongue. Your pussy pulses with your release, forcing another hearty moan out of Kaveh, kissing and lapping at you to guide you through. 

Gods he needed more.

Kaveh gives you no time to cool down, two long, pretty fingers plunging into your quivering hole, poking against the spongey little spot inside of you. You cry, telling him to slow down, “s’ too much!” And yet you keen into him, now gripping the headboard for dear life, moaning into your arms. Kaveh wraps his lips against your sensitive clit, suckling, lapping, spitting all over, taking the little bud in and abusing it. Kaveh rocks his own hips, finding a soft friction against the seam of his trousers, rubbing against his leaky cock head just enough. 

Gods, he was in heaven. His girl, his pretty girl and her cute cunt, humping his face and fucking back on his fingers, taking and taking all he had to give. Fuck it was wet, so gushy and sticky, soft, yummy squelches from your twitchy hole, wet smooches and sucks from his lips. His eyes roll under his eyelids, peeking up to see that face of yours, eyes bleary, lips parted with huffed breaths. He fucks his fingers in faster, harder, nearly biting into your clit with his teeth to see all those gorgeous reactions of yours.

“Ka.. Kaveh- can't.. gonna-! Gotta stop or- s’ too much! Anh~ ahh ah~!” You babble and cry, he nearly joins you, breathing laboured on your cunt, hips snapping up into nothing, following that brutal pace he had fucking into your cunt. That's it, that's it, thaaats it. Let him treat you, use him, use his face, fuck and hump on him, let him choke and squirm.

“Kaveh!” Is all the warning he gets from you before you gush - cumming hard with a choked sob, squirting in his mouth, down his chin, making a hot sticky mess all on his face. He humps the air, creaming hard in his pants, nearly untouched, hot ropes being wasted in his trousers. He blubbers, an attempt at praise being muffled away by the sweet rocking of your hips, riding out your orgasm on his tongue. Kaveh feels the tight squeeze of your cunt on his fingers, he gently presses into your cunt, slowly coaxing you down, soft and tender. He kisses your thighs tenderly, peppering his lips all around your lower half, palms rubbing over your bare skin.

You manage to lift yourself off of him a smidge, face beat red, looking anywhere but him. Kaveh can't help but stare, a goofy grin slowly edging itself on his face, eyes full, love hearts dancing in his vision. 

“Having fun without me?” A voice calls. Kaveh can just imagine the stern raise of an eyebrow, the annoyed arms crossed over a chest. You squeak, and Kaveh sighs blissfully. 

•··········🍑···········• ֪٘ ︶ ͝ ٘⏝𖹭⏝ ͝ ٘︶٘ ֪•···········🍑··········•

Hi there >v> you k n o w I have to throw Haitham in I can't not it's illegal - I know cause I wrote the law.

I hope you enjoyedddd~ I haven't written for Kaveh in a while </3 I missed my boy

Thank You For Reading ♡

[demonzoro]

WANTED: GRAND LINE'S HOTTEST ROGUES AND RUNWAYS

INPRNT ✦ tip jar

i had this thought of a fashion/news editorial that rivaled the anticipation of the wanted posters that came with the news coos named WANTED. sort of a tongue-in-cheek thing to navy-controlled news. this volume with sanji is inspired by al parker's art!

[ID: Sanji from waist-up in a dark red suit, black shirt, and pink tie - he's holding a black and gold lighter in his right hand, a lit cigarette perched loosely between his lips. His face is in profile, showing a dangling pearl earring in his left ear. His right arm leans against the bottom right corner, as if propping himself up. The flat red of his suit blends with the background - in contrast, his rendered face and hands pop from the composition. END ID.]

white varation + blank version under the cut:

[frenchkisstheabyss]

♡ Ateez & Their Favorite Part of Their Chubby Gf's Body ♡

♡ A/N: This one (as with anything I do tbh) is for my chubby babes out there so I hope you enjoy it my darlings. Make sure to check the warnings under the break. Love you to pieces - xoxo your chubby godmother

♡ Pairing: ot8!ateez x chubby!fem!reader

♡ Genre: smut/fluff

♡ Word Count: 1.5k-ish total

♡ Warnings: oral sex (m & f receiving), swallowing, nibbling, kissing, marking, spanking, doggystyle, nipple play, tit sucking, dry humping, riding, manhandling, some dom vibes, rough sex, unprotected sex, cumplay, hair grabbing, mirror sex

♡ Hongjoong ♡

Hongjoong loves your body, that isn’t even a question, but the first thing he noticed about you was that pretty face of yours and that’ll never stop being his absolute favorite thing about you. You have the sort of eyes he could get lost in forever and a smile that gives him butterflies every time he looks at you. Don’t even get him started on how kissable your cheeks are. They’re always so soft and fluffy, especially when his cock’s buried between them, your glossy lips wrapped around his thickness as your head rocks up and down his length. He likes to stroke your cheeks while you look up at him, feeling them flutter around him, your tongue squirming against the throbbing veins of his cock. Nothing’s hotter to him than seeing your cheeks get even fluffier when they’re all filled up with his cum right before you swallow him down like the good girl that you are. 

♡ Seonghwa ♡

Seonghwa has made such a habit of tracing your stretch marks with his fingertips that it’s become a mindless act at this point. You’ll never have to feel shy or ashamed when you discover new ones because he finds them beautiful. It’s to the point where he doesn’t even need to have his eyes on them to know they’re there. On days when you’re feeling a little insecure he likes to take you into the bedroom and bend you over right in front of the full length mirror. He’ll grab your hair, not letting you take your eyes off of your teary eyed reflection for a second. Not only does he want you to see how you take his cock better than anyone else ever has. He wants you to see how hot those stretch marks look riding your curves. He whispers words of praise to you that only make your nipples stiffer and your pussy wetter. By the end of it all you’re leaking enough to make a little puddle on the floor and you’ve cum so hard you can barely talk but you feel like the hottest girl in the world. 

♡ San ♡

San’s been staring at your ass all day. It doesn’t matter if you’re wearing the tightest dress possible or a loose fitting pair of sweatpants. He knows what a perfect ass you have and anytime it's in his line of vision he gets the irresistible urge to touch it. That’s why he has to do everything not to cum too soon when you’re bent over in front of him, your knees buried in the mattress and your ass poked up in the air begging him to spank it. The recoil the first time he thrusts his cock into you is enough to make him drool. Your ass jiggles so wonderfully when he fucks you like this, your walls clamping down around him each time he slaps your ass to tell you how well you’re taking him. The sound of his palms snapping against your skin is so heavenly. The only thing better is digging his fingers into your plush ass when you’re both about to cum. It feels so soft and warm beneath his touch that he doesn’t want to let go. 

♡ Yeosang ♡

Yeosang never lets you think for one second that you were too big to get on top. He loves to grab you by those plush hips and pick you up. The perfect place to set you down is always in his lap, kissing you hungrily while you ride his cock. Your hips are so soft and full, the perfect thing to squish during sleepy morning sex when neither of you are in a rush to get anywhere and you’re riding him slowly, savoring the feeling of his length throbbing deep within your pussy. Your hips are also perfect for when he wants to get more dominant, that extra cushion letting him grab you as hard as you like while he manhandles you. With his hands controlling your hips every move you make is under his control. He can keep you right where he wants you, pounding his cock harder and deeper into a pussy that’s just so dripping and needy that he can’t stop. Afterwards he’ll always massage your hips, still keeping a hold on them as you come down from your high, your soft body cuddled up to his.

♡ Jongho ♡

Jongho pretends that he doesn’t like to cuddle but you know better than anyone else what a lie that is. His favorite thing to do is to lay in bed with his arms wrapped around your curvy figure and his head resting on your pillowy breasts. On rare occasions it’s enough to put him to sleep but those occasions are very rare. More often than not he finds himself trailing kisses across your cleavage, his bulge rubbing against your leg as his tongue dips between your breasts, tickling the sensitive skin. It gets him even harder when you aren’t wearing a bra and he can freely take handfuls of your breasts, rolling your stiff buds between his fingertips while hushed moans dance from your lips. He kisses them through your clothes at first, teasing your nipples through your thin shirt until the material’s damp. The second your shirt’s pushed up, your breasts bouncing free, his lips are wrapped around your buds, licking and sucking them to the point that your panties are drenched and you’re silently begging him to fuck you. 

♡ Yunho ♡

Yunho doesn’t care what you call them. Love handles, rolls, whatever. Call them what you like as long as you remember that he’s such a sucker for them. There’s no need for shapewear or only putting on clothes that hide them. Yunho wants them on full display. In fact, it’s best when you’re in nothing but a bra or completely naked so that his large hands can spend all the time they want exploring your body, worshiping your love handles with his touch so that you feel just how sexy he finds them. It’s so hot for him when you’re laying side by side, one of your legs wrapped around his waist, his cock inching into you as his hands ride up and down your form. This way he can grip your sides tighter, tilting you back to drill into your sweet spot at the perfect angle. Or he can wrap his arms around you completely, keeping you so close to him that he can feel every single detail of your pussy as you clench him so tightly, your juices leaking down his cock, making a total mess of the both of you. 

♡ Wooyoung ♡

Wooyoung is feral for your thighs. It’s especially bad when the two of you are at home and you decide to walk around in nothing but your panties, your delicious thighs on full display just ready to be praised. He’s on you in no time, pinning you down on the bed or the couch to kiss and nibble on them until he hears you letting out those cute little giggles that he loves so much. It never stops there though. The kisses always deepen until his tongue’s running along your smooth skin, leaving hickeys behind as he suckles at your tender flesh. Before you know it his fingers have found their way between your thighs, tugging your soaked panties to the side to play with your plump clit, his tongue at the ready to lap at your juices. He’ll spend as long as he can like this, his tongue buried inside of you, your thighs wrapped around his neck, eating you out until you’re gushing all over. Once you're spent, he takes the initiative to clean you up. Every single time it’s with his tongue and he won’t stop until he’s tasted every bit of you.  

♡ Mingi ♡

Mingi has such a thing for your belly that it’s not even funny. It’s better than any plushie in the world when it comes to comforting him when he’s stressed or just giving him something nice to cozy up to. This man will take every opportunity available to squish your belly and is super vocal with you about how much he adores it. It doesn’t matter to him if you gain a little weight, that only means that your belly will be even softer to touch and kiss in whichever position he chooses. Mingi’s always had his kinks but being with you has led to the discovery of a new one. After you’ve cum—and he always makes sure you cum first—he likes to rub the leaky tip of his cock through your slick folds, arousal dripping down your perky clit as he strokes his cock over top of you. His eyes are glued to your twitchy little pussy, your belly just bouncing against the head. Once he’s right at the edge he likes to move up to your belly, tapping his cock against it to watch it jiggle so beautifully as hot, white ropes of his seed spill all over you.

[senascoop]

☁︎ . , LOVE’S FINAL EMBRACE , P.SH ! 18+

PAIRING: crown prince ! sunghoon × afab ! reader. . . SYNOPSIS: sunghoon loves you a lot, he really does but the responsibilities of being a crown prince weigh upon him and he finds himself marrying the princess of another kingdom. feeling really horrible to betray you, you two make love for the last time before drinking poison. . . GENRE: smut, historical. . . WARNING(S): nsfw, smut, mdni, kisses, mature theme, death/killing, control dynamics, risky sexual behavior, manipulative intimacy, breeding kink, emotional angst, sort of non-consensual elements, not proofread, lmk if I missed anything. . . WORD COUNT: 1.6k.

Under the veil of the moonlit night, you find yourself in the arms of the crown prince, Sunghoon. The opulence of his royal chambers is a stark contrast to your humble existence, yet you can't help but feel a sense of bittersweet comfort.

Sunghoon's fingers trace the line of your jaw, tilting your face up to meet his gaze. The room is silent save for the distant hum of the night, and the unspoken words hanging heavy in the air. He sighs, his breath warm against your skin, "You're angry."

You nod, your throat tight with unshed tears. Your voice wavers as you speak, "You're getting married, Sunghoon. To someone else." Your hands ball into fists at your sides, a silent struggle playing out on your face.

Sunghoon's eyes soften at your words, and he cups your cheek in his hand. His touch is gentle, reverent even, "I have no choice, love. My heart wants you, but my duty lies elsewhere." He leans in closer, his voice barely a whisper now,

"But tonight, I am yours." Sunghoon's words hang between you, a promise as heavy as the night itself. He leans in, capturing your lips in a passionate kiss. Sunghoon's lips press against yours, igniting a spark that threatens to engulf you both. The kiss is urgent, as if trying to make up for lost time. His hands roam your back, tracing the lines of your body with an almost reverent touch.

You part your lips, inviting him in. His tongue dances with yours in a rhythm as old as time. Your breath hitches, and you find yourself clinging to him, your fingers tangling in his hair. He groans against your mouth, his hands tightening around your waist.

Sunghoon breaks the kiss only to trail his lips down your neck, his hands slowly untying the laces of your gown. His touch is tender, as if he's worshipping every inch of your skin. He whispers against your collarbone, "Tonight, let me love you."

Your breath catches in your throat as his hands slowly push your gown off your shoulders, baring you to his touch. He guides you to sit on the edge of his grand bed, his eyes never leaving yours. His own fingers deftly unbutton his tunic, revealing the chest you know so well.

Sunghoon sees the hesitation in your eyes and he pauses, his fingers hovering over the last button. He tilts your chin up with his thumb, his gaze softening. "Are you having second thoughts?"

You bite your lower lip, a lone tear rolling down your cheek. "You're not mine to keep," you whisper, your voice barely audible. "But for tonight, I want to pretend. Pretend that you're not promised to another."

Sunghoon's heart aches at the sight of your tears. He gently wipes them away with his thumbs, his eyes filled with a mix of sadness and longing. "Tonight, I am yours," he whispers, finishing the unbuttoning of his tunic.

He pulls you into a tight embrace, his arms wrapped around your waist. His heartbeat pounds against your chest as he nuzzles your neck, inhaling your scent. "I've always been yours," he confesses, his warm breath sending shivers down your spine.

His lips find yours in a soft, gentle kiss. It's a kiss filled with years of unspoken love and longing. As he kisses you, his hands roam over your back, pulling you closer until you're practically sitting in his lap. "I love you," he murmurs against your lips.

Your arms wrap around his neck, your fingers playing with the silken strands of his hair. You pull him closer, deepening the kiss. You break away only to bury your face in the crook of his neck, whispering back, "I love you too. Always have, always will."

He squeezes you tighter, pressing a kiss to your forehead. His thumb brushes away a stray tear. "The crown means nothing if I can't share my life with the one I love," he says, his voice filled with sincerity.

Sunghoon lifts you into his arms and lays you down gently on his bed. The cool silk sheets beneath you are a stark contrast to the heat of his body against yours. His touch is gentle yet firm as he finishes undressing you, baring you completely to his gaze.

You blush under his intense gaze, your arms automatically wrapping around your breasts. Sunghoon smiles softly, leaning down to place gentle kisses on your wrists. "Let me look at you," he murmurs, slowly unraveling your arms.

You hesitantly unwrap your arms, revealing yourself to him. His eyes darken with desire as he takes in every inch of your body. "So beautiful," he breathes, trailing his fingers along your collarbone, down to your breasts. "And all mine tonight."

As Sunghoon continues to worship your body with his gaze and his touch, you can't help but think of his marriage. The thought brings a fresh wave of tears to your eyes, and you bury your face in his chest, sobbing. "I hate it," you choke out between sobs.

Sunghoon wraps his arms around you, holding you close as you cry. "I know it's hard," he murmurs, kissing the top of your head. "But I'm here with you now." He runs his fingers through your hair, trying to soothe you.

As you continue to cry, Sunghoon's heart aches. He hates seeing you in so much pain, and he wishes there was more he could do to ease your suffering. "I promise I'll make it up to you,"

Sunghoon's hands, veined and strong from years of swordplay, slowly caress your body. His touch is gentle yet firm, leaving trails of fire in their wake. He pauses at your thighs, spreading them gently as he settles between them. "Look at me," he commands softly.

You look up at him, your eyes red and puffy from crying. Sunghoon's gaze is intense as he stares down at you, his hands gently holding your thighs apart. He reaches out with one of those large, veiny hands and wraps it around his thick, hard cock.

He guides the tip of his cock to your entrance, teasing you with it for a moment before pushing forward slowly. His thick length stretches you open, the veiny texture of his shaft rubbing against your inner walls as he sinks deeper and deeper into your tight pussy.

Sunghoon's eyes are filled with a mix of emotions as he gazes down at you, his cock buried deep inside your body. "I can't stand seeing you like this," he confesses, his voice thick with angst. He pulls back slowly, only to thrust forward with more force, causing you to cry out in pleasure-pain. "This is all I can do for you," he continues, his words filled with emotion.

You gasp, your nails digging into his back as he sets a steady rhythm, his hips thrusting forward and pulling back with each emotion-fueled movement. "It's enough," you manage to choke out, your voice filled with unshed tears.

Sunghoon lets out a low moan, burying his face in the crook of your neck as he continues to move inside you. "If only... if only things were different," he whispers, his breath hot against your skin. "If only I were free to love you as you deserve..."

You cling to him tightly, your arms wrapped around his shoulders, your legs locked around his waist. "But you're not," you whisper back, your voice barely audible. "So, for now, this... this has to be enough." Your voice hitches as he hits a sensitive spot.

Sunghoon's pace quickens, his movements becoming more urgent as he buries his face in your neck once more. "It will never be enough," he growls, his voice hoarse with emotion. "Not until you're truly, fully mine..."

You let out a shuddering breath, arching your back as you feel yourself nearing the edge. "Sunghoon," you call out, your voice filled with longing. "Please."

Sunghoon's face contorts with passion and guilt as he pounds into you, his hands gripping your hips tightly. "Tell me you're not using anything," he growls, his voice laced with urgency. "Tell me I can breed you tonight."

You bite your lip, hesitation written all over your face. "I'm... I'm not," you confess, your voice barely a whisper. "Sunghoon, please pull out... please."

Sunghoon's face darkens with desire, his hips snapping forward as he ignores your plea. "Not tonight," he pants, his voice filled with determination. "Tonight, I'm going to fill you with my seed."

With a final, powerful thrust, Sunghoon buries himself deep inside you, his body convulsing as he spills his hot seed. You cling to him, tears streaming down your face as you feel his warmth flooding into you. "Sunghoon... you didn't pull out."

Sunghoon's breath hitches as he holds himself deep inside you, his seed still pumping into your womb. "I know," he says, his voice rough with satisfaction. "And that's exactly how it's going to stay. You're mine now, completely and irrevocably."

Sunghoon's expression softens, but only for a moment before it hardens again with a new emotion: determination. "I can't bear the thought of losing you to someone else," he confesses, his voice low. "So, I made a decision. A... drastic one."

He pauses, his eyes flicking to the bedside table, where two glasses of water sit. "Both of those glasses are poisoned," he reveals, his voice heavy with guilt. "If I can't have you, then no one can. We'll die together, instead of being torn apart."

You stare at him, shock and betrayal written all over your face. "Sunghoon... you poisoned our drinks?" you ask, your voice barely a whisper. "So that we'd... die together?"

Sunghoon nods, his expression resolute. "I love you, and I can't stand the thought of living without you. If we can't be together... then at least we can end this way. Painlessly, peacefully, in each other's arms."

taglist: @moonpri @chexnluv

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